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dulceamore · 3 days ago

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you’re so vain

pairings pedro pascal x reader

summary after endless late nights on set, pedro finally has a moment to breathe. but with you, the night is anything but quiet + aftercare w pedro pascal after intense lovemaking.

tag 18+ detailed smut, minors dni. explicit language, eventual smut. dirty talking, reader fantasizing pedro while he cooks. established & secret relationship. unspecified agegap. just pedro expressing his love for you, cooking for you, removing your heels and massaging them. pedro pascal taking care of you, calling you baby. this is unedited.

masterlist

after weeks of long hours on set, late-night shoots, and endless takes, pedro was finally done filming. he had barely had time to breathe, let alone relax.

when you arrived at his apartment, the door swung open to reveal a pedro that immediately made you smile. pedro stood there, his signature smile lighting up his face.

"finally, you're here."

you raised an eyebrow. "missed me that much?"

instead of answering, he just held your hand, pulling you gently inside. his apartment smelled like home—garlic and onions simmering on the stove, warm notes of something sweet lingering in the air. a few lamps cast a cozy golden glow over the space, their soft light reflecting off the vinyl records stacked near his player.

pedro shut the door behind you, running a hand through his hair before turning back around, studying you for a moment like he was memorizing the way you looked in this exact second.

"you have no idea how much i needed this,"

"a quiet night, good food, and me causing chaos in your apartment? what more could you ask for?"

pedro chuckled, stepping closer. he reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze lingering on you before dipping slightly lower.

"you look beautiful tonight," he said softly, his voice warm with sincerity. his eyes flickered over the dress you were wearing, admiration evident in the way his lips curved into a smile.

"is this new? it suits you perfectly."

you felt a warmth creep into your cheeks, but you managed to keep your expression playful. the fabric hugged your waist.

"so you do pay attention," you teased, giving the hem of your dress a little twirl.

“always,” pedro chuckled, eyes studying you.

"especially when it comes to you."

pedro moved with practiced ease in the kitchen, the soft glow from the overhead light casting warm, golden shadows over his figure. his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the strong lines of his forearms.

you couldn’t help but watch, drawn to the effortless grace in the way his fingers curled around the wooden spoon. the way he slowly stir the sauce.

you imagine his hands curled up like that deep into your cunt, hitting that sensitive spot.

those same veins engraved around his dick when he thrusts deep inside you, his touch lingering, his breath warm against your cheek.

pedro reached for a bottle of wine, twisting the cap off with a practiced flick of his wrist. the muscles in his forearm flexed with the motion. he glanced at you then, catching the way your gaze lingered.

"you’re staring," he said, voice deeper now, softer. like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.

you hummed, giving a small shrug. "just enjoying the view."

pedro let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he poured the wine into the sauce, the deep red swirling effortlessly into the mix.

"dangerous thing, letting me know that,"

your breath hitched, pulse quickening.

that's when you wandered over to pedro's collection of albums in the shelves. punk legends. the clash, ramones, sex pistols.

you reached for ‘carly simon’s no secrets’, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. without hesitation, you placed ‘you're so vain’ onto the vinyl player.

you lifted the needle onto the vinyl, and as the familiar crackle filled the space.

"you walked into the party like you were walking onto a yacht, your hat strategically dipped below one eye, your scarf it was apricot" you had one eye in the mirror, as you watched yourself gavotte,"

pedro is famous. breathtakingly, unfairly, effortlessly handsome. the kind of man whose name alone set hearts racing, whose every interview had reporters shamelessly leaning in closer, hanging onto his words like they were something meant just for them.

and then there were the fan edits.

you had seen them. stitched together with slow-motion frames, just enough depth to send people into a frenzy.

and now, here he was. not in an edit. not on a screen.

just him.

standing in his kitchen, watching you with something real, something that wasn’t meant for millions, wasn’t curated for cameras.

just for you.

the thought sent warmth curling through you, something dangerously close to disbelief, something undeniably real.

and still, pedro stood there, smiling like you were the only person who had ever mattered.

“and all the girls dreamed that they'd be pedro's partner… they'd be pedro’s partner…"

pedro had frozen mid-motion, eyes locked on you with something between amusement and absolute fascination.

he let out a low, breathy laugh, setting the plate down on the dinner table, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you.

”oh, so this is what we're doing tonight?" he mused, eyes glinting with mischief.

you simply grinned, swaying a little to the rhythm, letting the song fill the space between you. laughter bubbling up in your chest.

"and you're so vain… you probably think this song is about you!"

pedro's hand pressed gently against his heart, his palm tracing slow, reverent circles. like he was trying to steady the overwhelming warmth spreading through him.

"you…" he started, but his voice was softer now, unreadable. pedro let out a small breath, as if he was trying to steady himself, eyes following your every move. his hand still on top of his heart.

"you really are something else," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

your movements slowed, your hands smoothing over the fabric of your dress as you finally stilled, standing just a few steps away from him.

"oh?" you mused, tilting your head slightly. "and what exactly am i?"

pedro let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he was trying to clear his thoughts.

"someone who makes my heart feel too full," he admitted, eyes flickering with something deeper.

"and honestly?" he added, a teasing glint slipping into his gaze, breaking through the quiet tenderness. "at this rate, you might actually give me a heart attack."

you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, warmth curling through you in ways you couldn’t even begin to explain.

pedro grinned, victorious, like he had been waiting for that exact reaction. like making you laugh, even in the softest, most intimate moments, was something he’d never let himself fail at.

because somehow, he always knew exactly when to bring you closer and when to make you laugh like every little piece of him was attuned to every little piece of you.

then, before you could tease him again, he took his steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you. his fingers brushed lightly against your waist, his voice lower now, softer.

”you’re really trying to kill me tonight, huh?" he murmured, voice rough with something that sent a thrill down your spine.

"just keeping things interesting," you mused, your smile lingering.

"you don’t have to try," he murmured, his voice softer now.

"you already are."

pedro's gaze drifted toward the dinner table, the soft glow of the candles flickering against the polished wood. the meal he had spent so much time preparing sat untouched, but as his eyes shifted back to you, something in his expression changed.

"forget about the food."

"after all that work?"

whatever had been simmering on the stove wasn’t nearly as important as whatever was happening between you now.

"i might’ve been hungry for something else." pedro whispered into your ear, his voice lower now, softer,

his fingers grazed lower into your stomach, enough to send something electric through your skin.

his hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw, holding you there as his mouth met yours.

it deepened quickly, tongues meeting, breath tangled, your body already pressing into his. he slid his hand down your thigh, then up under your dress. when his fingers brushed the lace of your panties.

pedro pulled back just enough to look at you.

he kissed you again. this time harder. both your dinner forgotten on the table.

he lifted you easily, hands gripping your thighs and carried you to the bedroom, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d starved for this moment.

as soon as the door to his bedroom door clicked shut, you backed him against it with a kiss that made his breath catch. he smiled against your lips, one hand already sliding up the back of your thigh.

“tell me how long you’ve been thinking about this.” you pressed your body to his, feeling the hard line of him against your stomach.

“since the moment you've been gone.”

when he laid you on the bed, you sat up, eyes burning.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night. not just your dress, though the way it clung to you made his jaw clench but the way you looked at him. like you already knew what was coming later.

“you’ve been teasing me all night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw, “and now you’re gonna take everything you asked for.”

you didn’t answer with words, just reached between your bodies, fingers finding the hard length of him through his jeans.

“not yet.”

without a word, he slid his hands up your thighs, slow and firm. his fingers found the back of your ankle straps. he unbuckled each one deliberately, pulling the heels off and setting them aside.

your feet now free, he massaged your heel briefly, then the arch, his thumbs pressing softly. a quiet hum escaped your lips, involuntary.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he said, his voice rough.

pedro undressed you with a kind of reverence. his hands memorizing every curve, every breath, every sound you made as he sucked your tits.

and then his mouth was on your inner thigh.

he pulled your panties down your thighs, he kissed the inside of each as if in prayer.

he spread you open, knelt between your legs, and just looked for a moment. then he lowered his head and licked you slowly, deliberately, like he meant to ruin you.

his tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it. you can feel his nose brush down your bud as he licked your pussy.

you bucked against him, but he held your hips down, groaning into you as your thighs tightened around his face.

“fuck baby… i haven’t even started yet.”

he didn’t stop when you begged. he didn’t stop when you came. he only growled softly, licking you through it, pulling another orgasm out of you until your body went limp and trembling beneath him.

pedro pulled back, his face glistened with you, and he kissed up your stomach, your boobs, your throat.

“take off your shirt.”

he smirked, pulling it off slowly.

you leaned up and ran your hands over his chest, down his stomach, then unbuckled his belt with slow, teasing hands. he let you, watching you with dark eyes.

then he hovered above you, sliding the tip of his cock along your folds.

he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch until he was buried into you.

your breath left your lungs. he filled you so completely it was almost overwhelming.

pedro didn’t move at first. he just stayed there, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“god baby, you’re perfect,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

then he began to thrust—deep, controlled, building rhythm with purpose.

he moved inside you like he was trying to memorize your body from the inside out. each stroke deeper than the last, each shift hitting the exact place that made your toes curl and your voice shatter in pleasure.

he flipped you over, dragging you up onto your hands and knees, spreading you open for him. he slid in again from behind, slow and hard, both his hands grabbing a hold of your breasts.

you arched for him, moaning loudly, shamelessly.

one hand on your hip, the other slid under your body, teasing your clit as he pounded into you harder now—each thrust shaking the bed, your moans swallowed by the storm raging outside the window.

you looked back at him, hair clinging to your face, and begged.

“please pedrito— don’t stop. i’m so close—”

his hand moved faster, thrusts rougher, until you came with a cry tightening around him, body shaking uncontrollably.

pedro swore under his breath, pulled out, and turned you onto your back again.

he slid in deep, kissing you with tongue and teeth, hips snapping against yours. he held your face, moaning into your mouth.

“i’m gonna come—”

you pulled him closer. “inside please—“

that single word unraveled him.

you both moan into each other's mouths, his hand finding your breasts once more.

he gripped you tighter, buried himself deep, and came with a low groan, spilling inside you in long, shaking waves.

the room felt heavy with warmth and breath, like the world had folded in on itself to make space just for them.

the blankets were twisted, sheets pulled halfway down the bed, skin cooling under the air conditioning.

pedro lay on his side, watching you.

you curled towards him, your cheeks still flushed, chest rising and falling in that slow, uneven rhythm that only comes after something raw and real. your hair clung to your temples.

he reached up and brushed a finger down the side of your face.

“you okay?” he asked, voice so soft it.

“yeah,” she whispered. “i’m more than okay.”

pedro smiled, his gaze soft and unwavering. “i love you,” he murmured, the words settling between you like a quiet promise.

slowly, he leaned in, his elbow propped against the bed for support, his body angled towards you.

“i love you too.” you whispered back, the words felt both gentle and immense as you closed your eyes.

after a few minutes, he wasn’t in bed anymore. you heard quiet footsteps padding across the floor, careful not to wake you. but you were awake, floating in that sweet, sleepy in-between where the world feels gentler.

pedro came back with a towel, damp and warm. his dark curls were tousled and his eyes.

those rich, thoughtful eyes flickered with a kind of focused tenderness that made your chest ache a little.

“hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside the bed, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

you smiled lazily. “you don’t have to…”

“i want to,” he said, his voice hushed like the room itself. “let me take care of you.”

he moved slowly, as if every motion carried meaning. with practiced care, he pressed the towel to your skin, wiping gently, never rushing, never too firm. you watched the concentration in his expression, the way his brow furrowed just slightly, like you were something fragile and precious.

he pressed the soft towel against your face, the coolness of the fabric a gentle contrast to the warmth of your skin. the towel glided over your forehead to the gentle slope of your nose, caressing the soft skin along the bridge before gliding over your cheekbones, wiping with tenderness along the curve of your jaw.

his eyes soft and focused on the quiet ritual of tending to you. the air between you felt still, as though time had slowed in those moments.

with a subtle shift, his hands moved to your neck. the towel swept down the length of your throat. from there, his hands traveled to your shoulders.

the towel, slightly damp, moved over to your shoulder blades, gliding with a soft but firm motion as he worked his way across your chest and stomach.

as the towel traveled lower, the fabric travels over the curves of your body until he finishes.

the rain fell harder now, but in here, there was only warmth. breath. skin.

pedro leaned in, kissing your shoulder.

when he finished, he tossed the towel aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up around both of you. you shifted, nestling into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you like the easiest thing in the world.

“you always do that,” you murmured.

“what?”

“take care of people. even when you’re tired.” his fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine.

“doesn’t feel like work with you,” he said.

“feels like… coming home.”

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hoonstqr · 3 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ۫ 𓈒 EMAILS I CAN'T SEND ♩ (TRAILER!)

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ────𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗈𝖽, 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 , 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗉𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍.

synopsis. forced into a marriage with the lee heeseung, a cold and calculatingly successful CEO, to secure your family’s financial future. heeseung’s presentation of the marriage as a business deal further fuels your resentment. despite your defiance and desire for autonomy, you reluctantly agree to the marriage, motivated by a sense of duty and responsibility towards your family. after you’ve made it clear to heeseung that you refuse to ever accept him as your husband, he proposes an begrudging agreement; you will maintain the facade of a happy couple for one year. after that, if you wish to leave, heeseung will grant you a divorce. perhaps you’ve signed a deal with the devil… atleast the devil looks attractive, way too attractive.

𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍. billionaire reader ( 𝘧𝘵. ) lee heeseung, an arrogant bastard ceo

genre. forced proximity au, nsfw, bantering, slow burn, fluff if you squint, you hate him, or perhaps hate the fact why you stare at his arrogant cocky face for a little too long, he doesn’t even like you so why is his dick always hard when he thinks of your boba eyes and pouty lips.

word count. estimated to be around 10k

𝗏𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗌. my first full length fic yay >.< if you would like to be tagged lmk by commenting or sending an ask and if you'd like to be tagged in all of my works, click here!

You stare at your father across the mahogany table, the crystal chandelier blurring in your vision. The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. “You can’t be serious,” You mutter, each syllable a struggle. “Marry who?” It wasn’t the idea of marriage that horrified you, but the prospect of being bound to someone—to him—for what felt like an eternity.

“Lee Heeseung,” your father says firmly. You knew the name—everyone did. The youngest, most successful CEO in the country, a man who had built his empire on a foundation of cold, hard numbers. A man whose smile was as rare as a solar eclipse.

You feel your heart racing in your chest, the walls of the grand library closing in around you. You were Y/N, the daughter of a billionaire, but that didn’t mean you were a trophy to be handed off to the highest bidder. You had dreams, ambitions, and a fiery spirit that had led you to become an activist for various causes. Marrying someone like him felt like a betrayal to everything you believed in.

“Why him?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your father;s eyes harden, the lines around his mouth deepening. “It’s a business merger,” he explains, his tone as cold as the marble floor beneath your feet. “Our companies will become unstoppable, and your inheritance will be secure.” The word ‘inheritance’ feels like a noose tightening around your neck. Was this the price for your freedom?

Lee Heeseung. The name echoes in your mind like a mournful bell. You’ve seen his picture in the papers, his sharp features and piercing gaze that seemed to cut through the very essence of those around him. A man who thrived in a world of power and ambition, the exact opposite of your idealistic soul. You can’t imagine sharing a life with someone so... cold.

The room seems to shrink around you, the walls closing in. cantbreathecantbreathcant— You’re acutely aware of his power, his influence, and the inescapable fate that awaits you. But you’re not one to back down easily. “I have my own life, my own plans,” you say firmly. “What makes you think I’ll just roll over and do as I’m told?”

His smile doesn’t falter. “Because,” he leans forward and places his hands on the table, “you’re a smart girl. You know the value of what’s at stake. And you love your family enough not to put their future in jeopardy.”

The words sting, but he’s not wrong. You’ve seen the financial reports, heard the whispers of decline in your father’s company. This merger isn’t just about power and wealth; it’s about survival. Your chest tightens with a mix of anger and resentment. You’re being forced into a corner, and you’re not sure how to break free.

“Fine,” you say, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ll marry you. But know this—I’ll never be the obedient wife you expect.”

Heeseung’s smile turns into a smirk. “Good for you, I don’t expect anything from you.”

fic taglist── : @kikidoul, @jiyeons-closet @bl43bl00d @quilevyt @niyzu @heelovesmeknot @usuallyunlikelyfox @dreamiestay @riqomi @skyearby @yohanabanana @amaraeofsunshine @bubblebubly @dearestdreamies @hi00000234567 @cloud-lyy @girlwholovekpop @heeseungsbm @iluvkkura @nocturnebite @luvksnn @immelissaaa @hoonprksung @cloudiesblog @b1tem4rks @kittympirty @brooklyninawhitemustang @bambibbles

perma taglist── : @rikkesttz @annondino

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strang3lov3 · 1 day ago

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Honey-Do

“You’re gonna work on these every day. And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet all the way up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya cum,” Joel explains. “That’s how you can earn back your privileges, Pumpkin.”

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, orgasm denial, ddlg dynamics, fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, sneaking around with bad influence uncle tommyyyyy, joel jerks off, sex before dinner, angst + tension, spankings, rewards and punishments, elements of abuse, hurt/lots of comfort, pinky promises, dark. this is a work of fiction, and all characters are adults.

A/N - have I ever not delivered. here’s your uncle tommy fill, as promised. thank you to two anons who know who they are for helping with the creation of this fic, and thank you to my dear L for editing with me! anyway, it's been a minute but i'm happy to see you all :) hope you enjoy. i wrote this through a splitting headache so i'm going to chill now.

Your bedroom door clicks as Joel unlocks it from the other side, and the hinges groan and creak as he pushes it open. He looks at your figure lying in your bed, warm sunlight painting over your skin. Joel knows you’re not sleeping. You’re just lying in the quiet room, soaking up the sun like a kitten.

“Hi, kiddo,” Joel greets softly, smiling before taking long strides across the room to meet you. He’s stepping over your clothes and tripping on other odds and ends before he reaches you - you’ve been picking out your own clothes lately. Apparently you’ve been less than impressed with Joel’s sense of fashion. Ooohkay, he thought. You’re such a messy girl with the way you try on all of your clothes, then leave them all on the floor. Those, coupled with old, expired bottles of nail polish and lip gloss. Joel told you not to use those lip glosses, but they’re just pretty to look at sometimes.

“Jesus, girl. Fuckin’ room’s a pigsty,” he says, and he sits on the end of your bed, springs creaking with the shift in weight.

You ignore him. Joel leans over and kisses both of your cheeks and then your forehead, then your nose. “Don’t smile,” he teases, “Don’t you dare laugh.” And he repeats this, his facial hair tickling your skin, until you’re giggling and your eyes finally open.

“Ohh, there she is. Mornin’, Pumpkin,” Joel says, chuckling at the way you squint through the bright sunlight.

“Mmm…morning, D–” you’re interrupted by your own yawn, which makes Joel laugh. “Daddy.”

Joel pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Lazy ass,” he mumbles. “Listen, kiddo. M’on patrol today, so you’re gonna be home all alone. Y’gonna be alright?” he asks, softly stroking the skin on your cheek. “Gonna be a good girl?”

He wonders if he can trust you. If he can give you this inch, and you won’t take a mile. The doors and windows will stay locked, of course, but there’s other things he worries about. Joel knows you, you know. You’re never as sneaky as you think you are.

“Mhm. I’m always good, Daddy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Uh huh, fuckin’ smartass. You can make eggs an’ toast for breakfast, and there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. We’ll figure out supper later, hm? Maybe we’ll go to the cafeteria. See what they’re cookin’ up.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile.

“Good.” Joel pats his thighs and then stands up, knees popping loudly. “And I want you to clean all this shit up, alright? Didn’t raise ya to leave messes.”

You sigh heavily. “I know. I’ll do it.”

“Good girl.” Joel bends down and kisses your head one last time. “Eat all your lunch an’ have a good day. I love ya.”

You love days where you’re home alone. You used to hate it, and Joel wouldn’t let it happen a whole lot. You hated how lonely it felt, how quiet. You’d hear things go bump that weren’t there, and you’d feel just…nervous. Joel came home once and found you all scared and trembling, and he promised he’d be home with you as much as he could.

He made good on his promise. And you liked being home with him until you didn’t, until you found it suffocating and boring. Scary. Joel’s house went from being a quiet safe haven away from the horrors of the world to a sort of horror in and of itself. A Sisyphean loop, where nothing ever changes. And it never will, no matter how much you tug on your windows that are bolted shut, or yank on your door that only Joel can unlock. You can never leave.

You’d stare longingly out the window, hoping to go outside on your own. Just once, maybe. To go in the woods and wander, pick at strange flowers and plants and everything else. Just be alone. Joel grants you so much, and yet, you want so much more than that.

It makes you feel bad, if you’re being honest with yourself. You know what’s out there. What he saved you from. You know you’re safer with Joel, and you know everything he’s done to keep you safe and comfortable and happy. You’re in good hands with him, even if they’re hands that hurt you sometimes. Hit you. Spank you. Choke you. They’re still Joel’s hands, and they’re warm, right? And they love you.

He said when the weather warms up some more he’ll take you to the lake. You really hope he does.

You spend the day reading, drawing, watching birds and other critters that come by. Joel thinks it’s cute, the way you’ve named the chipmunks and squirrels that frequent his patio. How you recognize them like they’re your friends.

Joel tries to leave his bad mood away from home. He knows he’s got a habit of carrying it with him, and regrettably, taking it out on you. You take your moods out on him too, though. Not that it matters. He curses himself for even acknowledging the fact. He’s older, he’s wiser, he’s more patient. You’re not. He’s the parent, you’re the child. But when he comes home, you can tell it was a bad day. You can hear it in his footsteps and in the way he breathes, and it makes you tense. “Y’ready for dinner?” he asks, voice tired.

“Mhm.”

“Didn’t hear ya, kiddo. Speak up.”

“Mhm.”

“No, no mumblin’. Use your words and tell me, yes or no,” Joel demands, feeling his blood pressure begin to spike.

“Yes.”

Oh, you fucking…you. You’re always going to match Joel’s temper. You stare at him and he glares back, balling his fists before turning on his heel to get changed. You both need something to eat, before this goes from zero to one hundred.

But then Joel goes upstairs, and he walks past your bedroom and sees that nothing - nothing is picked up. He’s back downstairs before he even thinks it through. Before he showers and takes a moment to breathe, even.

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?”

Your stomach drops at his tone. “What?”

“I asked ya to take care of your room, and I come home to see you’ve done fuck all.”

“I guess I just forgot, Daddy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Joel scoffs, “Yeah, uh huh.” He pauses for a moment, then puts his hands on his hips. “We talked about this, Pumpkin.”

“Talked about what?” you ask, and it makes Joel fucking irate that you won’t turn your head to look at him.

“Look at me when you’re speakin’ t’me,” he barks, startling you. Looking at him from across the room, you can see he means business. Joel’s eyes are already dark to begin with, but they’ve gone black - so depthless and so endless that you can’t tell what’s behind them.

“You’ve been slackin’,” Joel says in a low tone, breathing heavily as he takes heavy steps toward you. “S’gettin’ old, kid.”

“I know, I just–”

“Jus’ what?”

You pick at your chipping, poorly-applied nail polish as you roll the answer around in your mind. “I don’t really want to do chores. I mean, I know my room is…but the other stuff, I–”

“Tough. You live under my roof, y’live under my rules.”

“Then it’s your roof, your mess.”

The words come out before you can even think about them. You press your lips together immediately, shrinking in your seat a little at the way Joel cocks his eyebrow and puts his hands on his hips. “Wanna try that again?” he asks, and you know what this is, what it is he’s doing: he’s giving you an out. And it’s awfully generous of him, considering. “Don’t make this a bad night,” he warns.

You pause this time, thinking about what you want to say next. I’m sorry, Daddy is that fucking close to rolling off of your lips when you notice that little wren sitting on the windowsill. She’s a frequent visitor, and Joel says she’s just like you. Fiery, assertive, sometimes. Vocal. A pistol.

She looks at you for a minute, then flies off. It sends a pang of longing through your heart, and perhaps even jealousy that that beautiful little bird can spread her wings and fly away and you…can’t. Not with the locked doors and windows, not while eternally existing under Joel’s fucking microscope.

“I didn’t ask to live here, Joel,” you bite.

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this? This is how tonight’s gonna go?”

“Yeah.” You get up from your place on the couch and shove into Joel’s shoulder, but he shoves you right back down. He glares at you, and you glare back as hard as you fucking can. Staring at him like you wish you could fucking…you don’t even know. You’re blinded by the same rage and upset that Joel is at this moment, but without the agency to do one fucking thing about it. Joel, on the other hand.

He takes your jaw in his hand, squeezing your bones tight enough to bruise the soft flesh that covers them. When you jerk your head away, he squeezes tighter. “You don’t get to walk away from me,” he growls, leaning in close enough that you can feel his hot breath on your face. “I do a lot for ya. Done a lot for ya,” he says in a low tone.

“You never let me leave,” you argue. “You trap me.”

That gets Joel, wounds him a little. His face changes when you say that, before twisting back into something darker. “That’s what you think, huh? That I trap ya?”

You swallow thickly, then part your lips to speak. Joel cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I keep you safe,” Joel whispers. “Fed. Happy. An’ all I ask is that you follow a few simple rules. That’s all. You wanna go back out there on your own, with the fuckin’ raiders and clickers, I can make that happen. Watch.”

Joel’s jaw ticks as he glares at you, fuming at the indignant little look on your fucking face. He could hit you right now, right across your cheek. Or maybe he’ll bend you over his knee and beat you until your ass is fucking raw and bleeding. That’ll teach you, that’ll fuckin’ teach you…

The anger flows through his veins like a fucking poison, and only when one of Joel’s knuckles crack, startling him, does he let your face go. He didn’t realize he was holding you so hard.

“I don’t like you,” you whisper.

Joel makes a face at the statement, then nods, because he’s heard it all before. It hurt the worst the first time you said it, but you came back to him crying, hours later when you’d had a nightmare and needed him. Not want - that wasn’t the word you picked. You said you needed him, Daddy, and you were so sorry. You didn’t mean it. You love him and you need him.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “M’not too keen on you either, right now, Pumpkin.”

The room is tense as you and Joel stare each other down, and neither of you budge until Joel tells you to go to your room and stay there. He tells you that you can forget going out to dinner, and you can stay in your bedroom until he feels like looking at your face again. You’re grounded, too - he doesn’t say from what. Now get out of his sight before he fucking hurts you.

You’re in your room forever, the hours alone spent alone passing like days. The sun went down forever ago, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You held it together long enough downstairs while fighting with Joel but the moment you stepped foot into your room, you burst like a dam.

And it sucks to cry alone, to not have Joel there to hold you and wipe your tears. But is that what you’d want? Is that what would make it all better? Maybe. Joel has a special way of being your heaven and hell, all in one man. He’s both your nightmare and your solace after a bad dream. What are you supposed to make of that? What are you supposed to do other than cry like this?

You don’t bother wiping your tears when there’s a double knock at the door. “S’me,” Joel says. “M’comin’ in.”

You keep your back turned to him as he enters your bedroom with a plate and a glass of water, and he sets both down on your nightstand. “Went and grabbed some food. I gotcha…let’s see here. Chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.”

“Not hungry.”

“Not even for some pumpkin pie?” Joel asks, noticing the way your eyes widen at the mention. “Still your favorite, right?”

You pause. “No,” you answer, eventually.

“No?” Joel asks. “Hmm. Guess I’ll eat it myself. M’gonna get even fatter than I already am…this is a very unhealthy thing to do to your dear old man, y’know,” Joel says, cutting into the pie with the side of his fork, which scrapes against the ceramic plate. You flip over and sit up, and Joel feeds you the bite instead of eating it himself. “There she is,” he murmurs.

That’s how you got the nickname. Joel asked your name many times back in that cold, shitty cabin. You wouldn’t tell him. He understood, of course, and he told you his name anyway. You were always such a stubborn girl. For the life of him, Joel could not figure out why you wouldn’t come back to Jackson with him, why the hell you were so apprehensive about trusting him. Most people jump at the opportunity to stay in the cozy, warm settlement but…not you.

You were a tough nut to crack. It took a lot of time for you to trust Joel. He used to sit in that cabin with you while on his patrols - Tommy would show up sometimes, too. He’d just sit with you, talk a little, the way you’d do with a stray dog in a shelter. He’d bring you warm thermoses full of soup or tea and sandwiches for you to eat, and he was just patient.

And it was pumpkin pie that finally got you to come home with him. He brought you a slice one day, and you scarfed it down quickly and asked if he had more. “Nope,” he answered. “Gotta come back to Jackson f’ya want more. Got all the pumpkin pie you could eat.”

You mulled it over in your mind more than you ever had. And this was after weeks of Joel visiting you, bringing you food, sometimes dry wood to keep your fireplace warm. You didn’t trust him yet, but you didn’t…not trust him. And you really wanted that fucking pie.

It was your choice to live with Joel, too. When he brought you back, they offered to put you in a house with other girls around your age. Nope. You wanted to be with Joel. Somewhere deep down, you know you picked him to be yours before he picked you to be his. Doesn’t that make you a little responsible for where you are now?

“Yeah, alright, Pumpkin. I guess I could make some room for ya,” he winked.

“Breakin’ rules here,” Joel murmurs. “It goes dinner first, then dessert. Right?”

You ignore him as you swallow your bite. He’s only teasing. And besides, this is not a battle he wants to fight. At least you’re eating, anyway. Joel puts his hand on your knee and speaks softly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on your ass the way I did.”

“No. You shouldn’t have,” you snap, and Joel feeds you another bite of pie. You take the fork and eat the rest of the slice quickly, then lay back down and flip over.

His poor, sweet, tender-hearted girl. Don’t you know that attitude of yours is only gonna get you in trouble? Joel thinks it's just where you’re at in life - he thought he knew the world like the back of his hand when he was your age, too.

Joel turns your face and wipes your tear-stained cheeks, all swollen and raw. Eyes rimmed red as more tears well up, then spill down, back into your hairline. “Oh, sweetheart. What am I gonna do with ya?” he sighs, gently thumbing away those tears again. He wipes a few crumbs of pie crust from your lips, too.

You sniffle and shrug, avoiding his gaze. A hiccuping sob escapes your lips. “S'okay. Drink some water,” Joel tells you, pulling you upright. He gives you the glass, has you take a few sips, and he notices the way you look at his hand between your thighs. He notices your muscles twitching, eyes widening…knows exactly what you want as he rubs his thumb over the skin. Joel knows you want him to fuck you, to make you feel good, because you always feel better after he gets you off. Presses your little reset button. He’d reckon those pretty pink panties of yours are a little soaked, too. Poor thing. And isn’t this part of tonight’s problem?

You can’t get anything past Joel. You’ll never be able to.

“Daddy–”

“Not tonight, kiddo. Y’lost them privileges.”

“Please,” you beg. Joel takes your glass of water and sets it down on the nightstand.

“No,” Joel bites, pulling his hand away. He pulls your blankets over your shoulders, then turns off your lamp. “Daddy’s gonna have to think of a way for you to earn ‘em back.” He kisses you on the forehead, saddened by the way you turn away from him. “I love ya with my whole heart, Pumpkin, but you are gonna learn that there are consequences for your actions. Now get some sleep.”

Joel takes the glasses and checks to make sure the baby monitor is on, then leaves you. A night of sleep will be good for you both.

But it is a hard night, isn’t it? You spend the night tossing and turning - Joel can hear it on the tinny, crackling speakers of the receiver. He doesn’t rest any easier either, so he gets in the shower late at night. Maybe the distant noise of the running water will soothe you to sleep.

He washes his hair and his body, then grips his cock tightly in his fist. He strokes himself slowly, top to bottom and over and over again, building to a quicker pace in short time. “Ohh, Pumpkin,” he whispers, cumming over his knuckles. Joel rinses himself off and dries himself, then checks on you in your bedroom - you’re out like a light. Good. Fuck, he hates fighting with you.

In the morning, you tiptoe down the stairs, stopping first behind the wall to steal a peek at Joel before he sees you. He’s got breakfast made already - French toast, eggs, hash browns. You take your place at the table, yawning as you twirl a fork between your fingers. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. He serves you a large helping of breakfast, your Felix the cat cup is already filled with juice. “Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting next to you and serving himself.

You shrug.

“Yeah, me too,” Joel agrees. You and he eat in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sounds being the chirping birds and the cutlery scraping against the plates. Joel finishes his food before you do, and when he does, he gets up from the table. You watch him set his dish by the sink, then grab a couple of papers or something from the counter and bring them back to the table. “Been thinkin’ about how you can earn back your privileges,” Joel begins. Your attention is immediately caught by a few shiny, sparkly papers, decorated in little stars. “Stickers,” Joel explains, peeling one off and sticking it on your nose. “See?”

“Mhm.” You grab the packs of stickers, but Joel tugs them back.

“Ah, ah, ah. Can’t have those yet. You gotta earn ‘em.” Joel shows you a larger paper next, something he made and drew up himself. ‘Pumpkin’s Honey-Do List’.

“What’s honey-do?”

“S’a chore chart,” Joel explains. “Honey, do this for me. Honey, do that. Get it?” You nod. “We’re gonna use this chart to keep track of your chores, okay?”

Before you answer, you take some time to look over the chores Joel wants you to do. Sunday through Saturday Joel wants you to tidy your room every day. “Every day?” you whine, thinking of the enormous mess sitting in there right now. It’s gonna take for fucking ever to deal with all of that.

“Every day,” Joel answers. “F’ya stay on top of it, it’s not much of an issue. Been tryin’ to tell ya that, Pumpkin.”

The rest of the daily chores listed are no surprise. Do the dishes, set the table, make the bed, sweep. But there’s some new ones at the bottom of the chart - dust all the shelves and baseboards, wash the windows, mop. Joel explains that they only have to be done once at some point this week.

“You’re gonna work on these every day,” Joel says. “And I’m gonna check to make sure you did ‘em all, and if you did, you get to put a sticker down. And if we fill this sheet up by the end of the week, I’ll make ya feel good again. That’s how you can earn back your privileges.”

You think about it, looking over the chore chart. Joel’s all capital letter handwriting, and the silly pumpkins he drew at the top of the chart. “Hey, you,” Joel taps your arm. “We square?”

You still don’t know. You don’t know why you’re hesitant. You’re just…that’s just who you are. Stubborn, indignant. A rebel with a heart of gold.

“Psst. Take the fuckin’ deal, kiddo.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Joel holds out his fist, pinky finger extended. You wrap your pinky around his, and then he brings both his and your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckle.

You get started after breakfast, cleaning up your room while Joel takes care of some other stuff around the house. It’s not so bad when you have a goal in mind and a better attitude about the entire thing. It goes by quickly, too, and you feel better when your room is put back together. You don’t know why you let it get so bad. Maybe it’s reflective of your mood.

Dishes come next, and it’s made easier because Joel cleans as he cooks. It’s just a matter of washing and drying a few plates and forks and glasses, then putting them back into the cabinets. Sweeping comes after that, and then you’re done until dinner tonight when Joel needs the table set.

It is nice to walk through the house with him as he inspects your work. The concentrated frown on his face as he looks in your closet at all your clothes all hung up and folded neat, and the way it splits into a smile of approval. “Y’did good, kiddo,” he murmurs as he kisses your head. It takes you a moment to decide how exactly you want to place the stickers down, but you like doing it. It’s going to look so pretty when it’s filled in.

Tomorrow is the same, and the next day, and the next day. Joel does his walk throughs every evening, and then you do your stickers at the table. “Mm, doin’ some neat patterns there, I see,” Joel says gently.

“Mhm.”

“Very pretty, sweetheart. I’m so proud’a ya,” he smiles. “Couple more days, right? Finish strong.”

When you wake up on Friday, you feel excited. There’s really not much in your room to clean, not much to sweep around the house, not much of anything to do, really.

…Until Joel reminds you about the specials. “Ahem,” Joel says, pointing to the chores at the bottom of the chart. “These need’a get done, too.”

“Oh, fuck.” You cover your mouth before Joel has a chance to scold you. “Sorry.”

He makes a face at you, but he lets it go. If letting a dirty word slip is the worst thing you’ve done all week, then so be it. You probably picked it up from him, after all.

Joel quickly makes you a sandwich at the counter, then slices it in half and puts it in the fridge. That’ll be your lunch later. “Uncle Tommy’s coming by today,” Joel says. “But don’t think you can sweet talk him into helpin’ you with those chores, Pumpkin. This is still a punishment.”

“Mhm. I know, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Joel kisses you quickly on the cheek, then he’s out the door. “I love ya. Be home later.”

When Joel leaves, you go upstairs and shower, then pick out something to wear - just a pair of shorts and a tee, neither of which you particularly like, but that’s okay. You don’t want to dirty your favorite clothes. After checking your list, you get started with dusting first. You’ll work top to bottom, and then do the windows at the very end, per Joel’s suggestion.

Dusting is tedious. It’s tedious to take every little knickknack and tchotchke off the shelves, but you do like the way the wood sparkles after you wipe it clean. And it feels better, too. There’s a noticeable difference when you clean the place, like you’re washing away everything bad that’s built up over time and starting anew.

You pause cleaning briefly to eat the sandwich Joel made you, and then you’re back to cleaning, on your hands and knees as you wipe the baseboards. You still have some tall cabinets and shelves to dust, but you’ll figure that out later.

The back door opening startles you, and in comes Tommy, handsome as ever and smiling so big when he sees you. “Hiya, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Uncle Tommy,” you greet. You feel Tommy’s eyes on you as you dust, tracing over every inch of your figure. It’s awkward as you clean and Tommy stands there. You’re not exactly sure what he was sent here to do. Maybe he’s your babysitter or something.

He peruses the house, and you wonder what he’s thinking. You have a more difficult time reading him than you do Joel, though that doesn’t mean Joel is always easy to read, either. Tommy notices your chore chart and smirks at it. Good fucking god.

Baseboards are done now, so it’s time to finish those cabinets. You drag a chair over to the kitchen counters, but even with the added height, you can’t reach the tops. “Uncle Tommy?” you ask.

“Yeah, honey.”

“Do you know if Joel has a step stool or something around here?”

Tommy holds up a finger before he’s off to check for you. There’s nothing in the closet, nothing in the garage, either. “Don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Hmm…”

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

Joel would throttle you if he knew what you were about to do, but he’s the one who didn’t account for your inability to reach the tops of the cabinets he wants cleaned. You hoist yourself up onto the counter top with a rag in hand, wobbling as you stand up tall.

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me use the chair an’ I’ll get ‘em myself, darlin’,” Tommy says as he stands behind you, his fingers tapping against your legs as he gets ready to catch you. He gets a nice look up your shorts from this angle, too, llikes the lace on your panties. “Gonna crack your goddamn skull open, girl.”

“You’re not supposed to help me,” you tell him, frowning at how disgusting the tops of these cabinets are. “Ew.”

“Says who?”

“Daddy,” you answer.

“Ohhh. Daddy says so, huh?”

You sigh, “Yep.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Get down, honey. I don’t like ya up there like that.”

You know better than to argue with Uncle Tommy. He’s fun, sure. But he does have the authority to do whatever Joel does to you, too. Joel’s made it clear that when Tommy’s around, you are to listen and obey him the same as you listen to Joel himself. You turn around and bend down slowly, feeling nervous and unstable on your feet. “C’mere, sweet pea. I gotcha.” Tommy grabs your waist and steadies you, grunting as he helps you down.

“Can’t believe your old man’s gotcha doin’ all these chores without any music,” Tommy says. You shrug, and Tommy’s off toward the living room where Joel’s got a turntable and some vinyls. He puts them on every once in a while, but you’re not always into the music he picks.

Tommy puts on Jim Croce and does a little dance that makes you giggle. He wiggles his hips and snaps his fingers, biting down on his bottom lip. “Alright,” Tommy claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

He takes the rag from your hand and stands on the chair, dusting the tops of the cabinets himself. “I appreciate this, Uncle Tommy, but you really shouldn’t…if Joel finds out–”

“You gonna tell on me, sweetheart?”

“N-no…” you mumble, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Then your daddy won’t find out,” Tommy replies.

He finishes the cabinets quickly, then gets off of his chair with a grunt. “Okay, darlin’. What else ya gotta do?”

“Uhmmm…” you trail off, mentally tallying the chores you’ve already done. With Tommy’s help, you’re just about finished. “Windows are last,” you tell him.

Tommy nods. He grabs a spray bottle from a closet as well as two squeegees, then hands you one. “You wanna do the outsides or the insides, sweetheart?”

“Insides,” you answer. “I’m not supposed to go outside without Joel.”

Tommy makes a real show of looking around, raising his eyebrows and squinting dramatically. “Funny, darlin’, I don’t see Joel anywhere,” he says, then pauses. “Why don’tcha wash the outsides and get some fresh air, honey?”

“Okay,” you smile. Tommy gives you the spray, then opens the door and tells you to meet him at the kitchen window. You feel exhilarated as you leave and round the house, loving the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. When you meet him on the other side of the window, he motions for you to spray yours down, which you do. Then Tommy opens the window and reaches for the spray, then shuts the window. You flinch when he squirts it at you, and laugh when it hits the glass and not yourself. Tommy winks, then squeegees his side of the window as you do the same.

He nods his head to motion to you to go to the next window, where you and he repeat the routine. You do the same with the next one and the one after that, and when you’re finished, you come back inside and rest on the couch.

“Think that means we’re ‘bout done, huh?”

“Yep,” you answer, then pause. “You won’t tell Joel, right?”

Tommy sits next to you and zips his lips. “M’not a narc, honey. So we get to put stickers on your chart now, don’t we?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Joel has to do a walk through,” you explain.

“Ahhhh,” Tommy nods, understanding. “So whatcha gettin’ for fillin’ in all the stickers?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you shy away from Tommy, which makes him laugh. You have no poker face at all.

“Uh huh,” Tommy winks. “Oh, I get it.”

You squirm in place a little, wondering if you should talk more about it. You kind of want to, honestly. Joel tells you that you can tell him anything, but you know you can’t. Not just anything. “It’s been a week,” you admit finally to Tommy, and immediately you feel relieved to have someone else to talk to about this. About Joel. “Well, almost. Tomorrow makes a week.”

Tommy scoffs. “Well shit, kiddo. Your old man’s a fuckin’ hard ass.” You shrug silently, and Tommy raises an eyebrow at you. “You can agree, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt. An’ I won’t tell him if ya do, either.”

“A little,” you admit, quietly. But Tommy hears, and he smiles.

“Can’t go a day without it, myself,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on the couch a little. He rests his hand on your thigh, drawing little patterns down to your knee and back up again, patterns that make your skin tingle and make you feel funny inside. Nervous, excited…in almost the same way Joel makes you feel nervous and excited. But there’s an added layer here. You know you shouldn’t be letting Tommy do this to you.

“I think you should reward yourself, ‘f I’m bein’ honest. You did all your chores, after all. Right?”

“...yeah.” Uncle Tommy has a funny way of making the guilt in your belly disappear, if not for just a moment. It’s in the way he speaks and the words he chooses, and it’s in his sparkling brown eyes and his charming smile.

“Why don’tcha go to your room and take care of yourself, then? Hm?”

You shake your head. “Joel - Daddy says I’m not allowed to,” you reply.

“Ohh. Not allowed to do it by yourself.” Tommy clicks his tongue and turns his head toward you. “S’too goddamn bad. Joel’s gotcha on a short fuckin’ leash, don’t he?”

He slides his hand up your thigh, inching his pinky finger past your shorts. Tommy likes the way your breath hitches in your throat when he traces the thin, damp fabric of your panties with just his fingertip. Sensitive fuckin’ girl.

“And you’re really hurtin’ for it too, I can tell. A fuckin’ week, good lord,” Tommy whispers, then pauses before speaking again. “Well, I’d reckon you’re not doin’ nothin’ wrong by lettin’ Uncle Tommy make ya cum, huh?”

“I-” you stutter, “I really - I don’t know, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy grins, his eyes so warm and so black, so endless. “Oh, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it in my book.” He wriggles his fingers up your shorts a little more, and slips them past your panties. That little gasp when he touches your lip, lightly teasing you there. Good lord.

“Then s’gonna be our little secret,” Tommy whispers. “Somethin’ special, jus’ for me and my sweet girl,” he says. “How ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You nod before the little voice in your head telling you not to do this becomes too loud. You can trust Tommy, right? He wouldn’t do anything to get you into trouble with Joel. And like he always says, what Joel doesn’t know won’t kill him.

You can’t ever pull one over on Joel, but you can try. And if Tommy’s right, and he probably is - you’ll succeed.

“Good girl,” says Tommy, pulling your body into his lap. He unbuttons your shorts and pushes them down your legs, then cups your pussy with his large hand. You sigh at the relief that comes with the pressure, resting against Tommy’s chest. “C’mere, honey. I gotcha.”

You spread your legs for him and he rubs you through your panties, just lazily at first, feeling you dampen the fabric. He traces your clit next, “Oh, fuck,” you moan, leaning into him. “More,” you gasp.

Tommy slides his hand under your panties, touching your bare heat. You’re so fucking warm and so fucking wet, with that pool of arousal he’s created. And it didn’t take much, did it? No, no. Of course not, not when you’ve been starving for it for so long. Longer than a week, too. Tommy knows the way you look at him and what goes on in that head of yours. And if he were a betting man, he’d bet that when you do summon the courage to get yourself off on your own fingers, despite Joel’s rule, that you’re thinking of him. Maybe not every time, but enough.

“Uncle Tommy,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. You rock your hips as he circles your clit, reaching for his thick bicep. You hold him tightly, whimpering, “Oh my god.”

“Y’wanna hold onto me?” Tommy chuckles quietly, rubbing you slowly. “You can hold onto me, sweet pea. M’not goin’ nowhere. Jus’ you and me right now, sweet girl.”

He’s so warm, and he smells so fucking good. It’s nice to be in a pair of arms that are safe and dangerous, but different from Joel’s safe and dangerous. You watch yourself in the freshly cleaned windows, all wrecked as Tommy pleasures you.

He’s sliding his fingers down your seam next, then pushing two into your entrance. And it’s when he curls them rhythmically, looking for that special, sweet little place deep inside you, that you really start to moan. “Relax,” Tommy whispers, squeezing you tightly. “Hold still, honey. Be good.”

Tommy shifts the positions a bit so he can rub your clit with his other hand while fucking you on his fingers. It’s not long before release is right around the corner, with all of that hot, sparkling pleasure blooming deep in your gut. Your thighs begin to shake and twitch, “You cum nice for me now,” he whispers. “Show Uncle Tommy how hard you can cum.”

And that’s all it takes for you to fall apart, crying out loudly as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tommy doesn’t let up until you’re a shuddering, gasping mess, until he’s made certain that your needs have been met. A goddamn week, he thinks. That’s fucking ridiculous.

“You cum so pretty, sweetheart,” Tommy whispers, pulling his fingers away from your cunt. They’re all shiny and drenched in your arousal, and he brings them to his lips and sucks them clean. He pats you twice and you get up and off of him, all shy and bashful as he stands up and stretches, his rock-hard erection bulging through his denim. “Fuck, look whatcha do t’me,” he groans, pressing his palm against it. “I’m off, kiddo. Gonna let me leave without a hug and a kiss?” he asks.

You wrap your arms around his thick middle quickly, perhaps needing the hug more than Tommy even does. You kiss his cheek, and Tommy squeezes your ass. “Alright. Keep outta trouble, honey. I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

A few hours later, Joel’s barely got a foot in the door before you’re taking him by the hand and leading him through the house, showing him how well you cleaned everything. “Jesus, girl. Can’t a man eat dinner first?”

“No,” you answer. “Look at the windows.”

Joel laughs, “I know, I see ‘em, Pumpkin. They’re sparklin’.”

“And the baseboards–”

“Are nice and dusted, I see it all, sweetheart. You did good. Wanna go get your stickers?”

You show Joel that you’ve already got your stickers and your chart in hand. “Go ‘head and put ‘em on then, honey. Y’did good,” Joel says, then pauses as you put the rest of the stickers down. The only one that’s missing is dishes and table setting for today, but that’s because it hasn’t been done yet. Joel tells you he trusts you, and you can put the stickers down anyway. “And you did do it all by yourself, right, Pumpkin?”

“Mhm,” you lie.

“An’ if I ask Uncle Tommy if he helped, what’s he gonna tell me?”

“No,” you lie again.

“Good answer,” Joel replies, then pauses. “Did you play with yourself this week?” he asks.

“No.”

“Promise?” Joel asks. “Did anyone else play with ya?”

“Nope,” you tell him. Joel smiles, then kisses you on the head and sits down on the couch as you admire your chart. You join him on the couch, sliding onto his lap instead of taking your usual place right next to him.

“Hey, you,” Joel smiles. “What’re you makin’ me for dinner, hm?”

You shrug. “I’m not even hungry,” you tell Joel, and he makes a face.

“Sure you’re not.”

You think you know what that means, what he’s doing. He’s deliberately quiet, waiting for you to ask for what you want. But you say nothing as you sit on his lap, eyes wide as you wait and wait and wait for what you’ve earned, squirming on his lap a little. “Whatcha so squirrely for?” he asks finally.

“You know, Daddy.”

“Mmm. Don’t think I do,” Joel drawls. “M’not a mind reader, Pumpkin.”

But you’re too shy to say it out loud. So you take Joel’s hand and stand up, yanking him with you. He groans as he stands up, knees cracking. You hold his hand as you lead him toward the stairwell, “Where ya takin’ me?” he asks.

“Mmmuhno,” you mumble, walking up the stairs with Joel trailing behind.

“You dunno, huh?” he teases, amused as you take him towards his room. “Mmm, Daddy’s room. Okay,” he sighs dramatically. “Guess it’s bedtime, since Pumpkin says so. And I was gonna let ya stay up an’ everything, but alright.”

You’re such a quiet, shy girl as you sit on the end of Joel’s bed, swinging your feet as he undresses himself. You pull at a string on your shorts, waiting for Joel to get the hint. You’re sure he does, but he’s just dragging this out, the same way you are, really.

Joel, standing naked except for his boxers, turns to you. “Y’look like you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart.”

“Mm-mm,” you lie, unable to hide the smile that makes your lips curl up.

“Oh, I think ya do. Wanna tell me what it is?” Joel asks.

Finally, you relent. “Did I earn back my privileges?” you ask, biting down on your smile.

Joel chuckles. “Was wonderin’ when you’d ask,” he says, leaning in close. He puts both of his hands on your knees, squeezing you there. “Yes. You earned ‘em back, Pumpkin.”

You hum in delight and smile so big, then whisper something in Joel’s ear. “Well lie on down, then,” Joel murmurs. “You know what to do.”

It takes no time at all for you to take off your clothes and lie on Joel’s bed completely naked, legs folded in half and swaying side to side as you wait for that inevitable dip in the mattress that comes from Joel settling between your thighs. It arrives all in good time, and Joel spreads you wide so he can devour you alive.

He pushes your knees toward your chest and wears a crooked smirk at how anxious you look, ready for him to start. You’re wiggling your fingers, fidgeting with his comforter. Joel teases you with a couple of kisses pressed against your knees and your inner thighs. “Daddy,” you whine, pushing your hips toward his face.

“Oh, I know, I know,” Joel murmurs, quieting your whines with a kiss to your pussy. “Iiii know, sweet baby girl.” He licks you from bottom to top with his tongue flattened, dragging it slowly through your slick folds. And Christ, how swollen you are - poor thing. But you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“I am so–” Joel interrupts himself to suck on your clit a little, “So proud of you, Pumpkin,” he says, “My girl. You did so good for me, baby.”

His beard tickles your inner thighs as he kisses you all over, then goes back to your clit. He circles it a few times with his tongue, then licks lower, burying his tongue in your soft, dripping entrance. You reach for his beautiful aquiline nose as he fucks you on his tongue, drawing up that gorgeous slope and past his forehead, tangling your fingers in his curly, graying hair.

“Daddy,” you moan, whimpering for Joel as he drags his tongue back up and down your folds. He builds a rhythmic pace then, circling your clit repeatedly, all while allowing you to rock and grind against his face. He guides you orgasm quickly, savoring the way you gush into his mouth, your clit throbbing beneath his tongue.

You’re fucking soaked, a mess of both Joel and yourself. Joel shoves his boxers down his thighs, erection springing against his soft tummy, and swipes his fingers through your folds. He collects your arousal on his hand, then uses it to coat his hard length. “Ready?” he asks, hovering over you.

“Mhm.”

“Y’wanna help Daddy put it in?”

You nod quickly. Joel knows you like to have some semblance of control over the pace at which he enters you, so he likes to grant you that. Not always, though. Sometimes he’ll split you in half just to remind you of who’s in charge here, usually when you get a little mouthy or something like that.

You take Joel’s cock in your hand, tracing the bulbous head and the veins that climb up the shaft. You tilt your hips and drag him through your folds, sighing softly at the way you tease yourself.

“You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Joel grunts, taking your wrist in his hand to stop you.

“Sorry.”

“S’all good, baby.”

You notch his tip at your entrance. “Your turn, Daddy,” you tell Joel softly.

And in he goes. He slides into you slowly, filling you with the entirety of his length. “Ohh, big stretch. Attagirl,” he praises, grunting as he bottoms out.

It always takes you a minute to get used to him. You do your little routine, make your little faces as you squirm and get used to his cock stretching you out, and when you’re ready, Joel begins to move. “Watch,” he says. “Look, look. Wanna show you something,” Joel tells you softly. You lift your head as he pulls out, his thick length all coated in your arousal. “Ain’t that somethin’?”

“Yeah,” you agree, letting your head fall back again. Joel braces himself on his forearm as he thrusts back into you, building to a slow pace. He’s in no rush, really, not when he’s sliding his big hand up your waist and over your ribcage and squeezes you there. He could crush you, you know. His delicate girl. He could do it.

Joel bends down and skims his mouth and the tip of his nose over your breasts, taking time to wrap his lips around both of your nipples. He loves you so much, the elegant, gentle shapes of your body. All of those curves, all for him.

The special way he fucks you - nothing comes close to this. No matter what, good day or bad, this will always be yours and Joel’s to savor.

His cock is dragging against your g-spot, his pubic hair grinding against your clit. It’s all becoming too much, too sensitive for you to even cum. But Joel tells you to anyway. “Can’t, Daddy,” you whimper.

“Sure ya can,” Joel says. “S’been a week, honey. I know you’re needin’ it.”

But are you, though? Not really, when Tommy took your punishment and reward into his own hands and made good and sure that you were well satiated before he left. And with the orgasm Joel pulled from you using his tongue, well.

“One more, nice and big,” Joel encourages. “Show your daddy how hard you can cum on his cock, huh?”

Funny. Didn’t Tommy say the same thing?

Joel rubs your clit in practiced circles, coaxing along your release as he thrusts into you harder, faster, and deeper. And then it’s happening, and Joel’s name is spilling from your lips in breathy moans as you cum so hard on his cock, feeling indescribably full as your pussy pulses around him. It’s such a weighted, overwhelming feeling, and it washes over you in wave after wave. “Oh, baby girl.” Joel’s right behind you, breathing your name as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting rope after rope of his cum. “Take it nice an’ deep f’me,” he says, and like the most perfect girl you are, you take it all.

Joel pulls out of you, not worried about the cum that spills on his comforter. It’s seen better days anyway, he thinks.

After you both come down, Joel breaks the silence. “Think we should redo our date?” he asks, still breathing heavily.

“Yes,” you answer.

“I think so too,” he says. “Go pick somethin’ pretty to wear, and meet me in the shower to get cleaned up. Maybe we’ll see Uncle Tommy there or somethin’ too, huh?”

more dark daddy!joel here

anyway, i love ya. thank you for reading ♡ please dirty talk me in my inbox and reblog, because your words go a very long way in keeping me motivated to write. wouldn't be doin' this without ya.

aaaand the cat tax. remember that when it takes me a while to publish a fic, THIS IS WHO IS MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO DO SO!! okay!! do you see this! he's sitting on my arm like a fuck. fricken gizmo.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller smut #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x reader smut #Tommy miller smut #joel miller #tommy miller #dd!joel #dark daddy!joel #uncle tommy #dark!joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #tommy miller/reader #tommy miller/you #tlou joel #tlou hbo #tlou fanfic

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beloveds-embrace · 2 days ago

Text

(p2 of john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It turns out that Captain John Price is, unfortunately, not a fever dream conjured by stress and blackberry pie. He is very real, very present, and very much making himself at home in your cottage.

The next morning, you wake to the unmistakable sound of your mother cooing like a particularly smitten dove. Your heart sinks as you stumble out of your room, still trying to rub sleep from your eyes.

There, at your kitchen table, sits John- completely at ease, like he’s been your husband for years. He’s drinking your favorite tea blend, bulky frame almost dwarfing the chair, and he’s listening attentively as your mother babbles on about your so-called “devotion.”

“Oh, she was absolutely heartbroken when she thought you wouldn’t come back,” your mother gushes, practically swooning, and your father nods his sagely alongside her tale. “You should have seen her, sitting by the window with her knitting, sighing over those letters. I’ve never seen a girl more in love. My poor daughter!”

John hums appreciatively, lips twitching into that insufferably smug smirk as he glances over at you beneath his equally insufferable beard and mutton chops. “Could tell from the letters,” he says, eyes practically sparkling. “All those sweet words. Such a lucky man I am.”

You grit your teeth, feeling the vein in your temple throb. “I was trying to avoid Thomas.” You mutter, but your mother (thankfully) doesn’t hear you over the sound of her own gleeful rambling.

“Oh, and when she baked those little honey cakes just because you said you liked them! I told her it was too much, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

You freeze. You most definitely did not bake any little honey cakes. Your mother, bless her meddling heart, is getting so caught up in the fantasy she’s started making things up. You shoot her a glare, but John is already giving you that half-lidded, knowing look.

“Honey cakes, eh?” he rumbles, sounding far too interested. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on me, lovey.”

You snatch the teapot from his hands and pour yourself a cup, resisting the urge to pour it over his head instead. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your mother beams, entirely oblivious to your silent war. “Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. So happy to see you’re finally together!” She bustles out the door, humming cheerfully, and drags your sagely smiling father along with her.

The moment she’s gone, you whirl on John, a fierce glare on your face. “What are you doing?”

He leans back, stretching leisurely, his grin nothing short of wicked. “Having breakfast with my wife. Not how I pictured it, but it’ll do.”

You scoff. “I’m not your wife.”

Price shrugs. “Your letters say otherwise. And your mum’s convinced enough. Can’t exactly leave you now, can I? Wouldn’t be right.”

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut. It’s as if your own trap has snapped back at you, jaws clamped tight around your life. You cross your arms, glowering, and think of something else to say. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, barging in here like you own the place- drinking my favorite tea blend, too!”

He just looks at you, eyes twinkling. “Funny. That’s not what you wrote. Said you missed me. Said you’d make me the sweetest of teas. Said you just couldn’t wait for me to come home.”

“That was fiction, you horrible man!” You hiss, but he just chuckles, entirely unbothered.

Otjer than John, though, you also had another problem that was also caused by him; wedding preparations, the bane of your existence as you’ve come to realize.

Some people look forward to their wedding day- the flowers, the vows, the promise of a life shared. You, however, never pictured it like this, and never expected your “fiancé” to be a man who waltzed into your cottage like he owned it, dropped a stack of letters on the table, and declared himself your soon-to-be-husband. You certainly never imagined he’d take to it so naturally, like he was born to sit at your breakfast table and make himself comfortable with your family.

Your mother, thrilled to bits and practically floating on a cloud of matrimonial bliss, has begun planning the “official” ceremony. Blissfully ignoring your protests (and your thinly veiled threat to elope with the next traveling bard) because she assumes her sweet, beloved daughter is just nervous, she’s already halfway through arranging the entire affair. John, meanwhile, seems to find the whole ordeal oh so terribly amusing.

You find him at the kitchen table one afternoon, carving a piece of wood into something vaguely useful. He’s taken over the end seat- like he’s the head of the household now, of all things, and your father merely laughs sagely- and seems perfectly content to whittle away while you stew in frustration. His coat hangs on the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong forearms that seem permanently smudged with wood dust and effort.

The door bursts open, and your mother flutters in like an overly enthusiastic magpie, clutching swatches of lace and muttering about floral arrangements as if the fate of the world depends on which flower goes where.

You can practically feel your sanity slipping through your fingers like the flour dust you use in your baking.

“Oh, I’ve spoken to Mrs. Beech about the flowers- she says lilacs would be perfect for the bouquet. Don’t you think so, John?”

Fuck you, Mrs. Bitch-

John doesn’t even look up, his knife still scraping curls of wood from his project. “Lilacs. Sounds nice.” He says with that slow, sure nod of his, like he’s contemplating the tactical advantages of the flower choice even though you just know he has no fucking idea what flowers lilacs are and just knows them by name, not shape.

You glare at him as if sheer force of will could make him combust. “You’re not helping.”

He finally lifts his gaze, an eyebrow raised, amusement curling along his lips, while your mother now frets and flutters around your father. “Don’t think your mum would take ‘no’ from either of us, love.”

You slump back in your chair, arms crossed tight against your chest, trying to will away the traitorous warmth blooming in your stomach. Curse him and his voice. “… I was hoping to at least have a say in my fake wedding.” You mutter in the end.

“Now, now,” he drawls, leaning closer, his voice dropping to that familiar rumble that makes your stomach do a little somersault- so much worse (better) than his usual voice. “A proper husband lets his wife plan the details. I’ll just stand there lookin’ pretty for you.”

Your jaw clenches. You open your mouth to retort, but your mother interrupts with another idea- apparently, she’s already been thinking about colors for John’s suit. “John, you’re so thoughtful! And I’ve been looking at suits- do you prefer navy or charcoal? I do think charcoal brings out the blue in your eyes.”

John glances at you, his lips twitching in a barely suppressed grin. “Whichever makes her happy, ma’am.”

You’re torn between strangling him lightly and strangling him harshly. The worst part is that he doesn’t even sound insincere; he just leans back, all relaxed confidence, like he was born for this domestic chaos just as much as he was built for fighting in ward. You try to glare again, but your resolve falters when he shoots you a quick, soft wink.

Your mother, oblivious to your internal crisis, claps her hands together, now planning the guest list. You sink lower in your chair, wondering if you’d survive being exiled to the woods. John, ever the menace, just gives you a look that promises he’d happily follow you even there and maybe build you a cottage so he can show off those arms of his.

A few days later, you’re back in the kitchen, trying to reclaim some semblance of peace by kneading dough with a vengeance. You don’t even know what you’re baking anymore- scones, maybe? Bread? At this point, it’s less about the final product and more about taking out your frustrations on something pliable and innocent that won’t screech for its life.

John wanders in like he owns the place (again), smelling like the outdoors and freshly chopped wood. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Another batch of sweets?” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t know you were so dedicated. Those famous honey cakes of yours?”

You shoot him a glare. “They’re not for you.”

He raises a brow. “Oh? Someone else in line to be sweet on you?”

You huff, too tired to argue. “They’re for your men.” You snap, your hands practically mauling the dough now. Almost strangling it, to be honest.

A little smile spreads across his face, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were so sweet on them too, love.”

You huff, flour smudging your cheek as you try to actually shape the dough. “They’ve had to put up with your grumpy ass, haven’t they? Thought they deserved a treat… and mum said to, anyways- so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Before you can blink, his hands slip around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin settles on your shoulder, scruffy beard tickling your skin. “You keep spoilin’ them like that, they’ll think you fancy ’em.”

You squirm, but his grip tightens, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t have that, can we?” His voice is a growl, low and deep. “Better make sure they know who you belong to.”

Forget somersaults, your stomach actually flips. “They know,” You mutter. “Doubt they’d go against their own Captain.”

He hums, nuzzling your temple. “Good. Only one man gets to come home to your bakin’.”

You manage an eyeroll despite your heart pounding like a trapped bird. “You’re ridiculous.”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “You like me that way.”

When he finally releases you, it’s only to snatch a fresh scone off the tray, biting into it with that satisfied grin of his. “Perfect,” he murmurs around the mouthful, nodding his approval. “But I’ll make sure to tell the lads you made ’em for me.”

You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “What are you, five?”

“Nah. Just a man who likes showin’ off what’s his.”

When he reaches to take another scone, you smack his hand away and he just laughs, the sound rumbling low and warm. He stays with you after that, bothering and pestering you like a stubborn pustule, until all of the scones have been baked and cooled.

And when he kisses your cheek before heading out the door, tipping his boonie hat with a teasing, “Be good, love.” You realize that maybe- just maybe- you should have strangled him when you had the chance.

As revenge for upsetting your stomach, of course.

#noona.posts #cod x reader #cod x you #noona.writes #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #john price x reader #john price x you #john price imagines #john price drabble #john price imagine #captain john price

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maskedbyghost · 2 days ago

Note

ghost with a reader who’s really anxious/overthinker during sex 😩😩🥺

i got another request asking for a virgin!reader with some nervous energy but a lot of enthusiasm, so i just combined them and made it soft and clingy and a little bit feral. thank you to the anons who sent those, y’all own my brain. cw: smut, anxiety and overthinking, soft dom simon, lots of reassurance and praise, possessive but gentle vibes, aftercare, clinginess, mentions of crying (but like overwhelmed/happy crying).

you’re already hiding your face in your hands when he leans over you again, big and warm and heavy in the way that feels reassuring instead of overwhelming, and even though you’ve already said “wait” a few times and squirmed away more than once, he hasn’t gotten frustrated or pulled back.

he’s just watching you now, calm as ever, mouth pulled into a faint smile like he finds you endearing instead of difficult, and that only makes you feel more self-conscious.

“we can stop,” he says plainly, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s disappointed. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. i’d rather you be comfortable than push through something that doesn’t feel right.”

you groan and keep your face covered. “it’s not that,” you mutter. “i do want to. i just… i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m nervous. and overthinking everything. and probably being really weird right now.”

he kisses your wrist, then gently tugs your hands away from your face. “you’re not weird,” he says, looking down at you with the kind of patience that makes your chest ache a little. “you’re nervous. and that’s fine. it doesn’t scare me off, alright?”

you nod, even though your cheeks are burning and your whole body feels tense and unsure.

he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and then lower, to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—slowly, not rushed, nor pushing for more.

“you don’t need to have it all figured out. you don’t need to impress me,” he says. “just be here. with me.”

he says it so simply, so easily, and you believe him, even if your body still feels stiff and your mind won’t stop racing. you want this, you want him, but the anxiety is crawling all over your skin and your heart’s pounding so loud it’s hard to stay in the moment.

he settles between your legs again, not moving too fast, one of his hands resting over your stomach like he knows you need the weight there, something to ground you and warm to hold you still.

“just breathe,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you. we’ll take it slow. nothing has to happen all at once.”

you feel tears sting your eyes, not because anything’s wrong, but because he’s being so good to you. so calm, so kind, and it makes everything a little easier to manage.

when he starts to push in, it’s barely anything, just the tip, and your fingers immediately grip his shoulders and your whole body goes tense, not from pain but from how big it feels and how intense it suddenly is.

he doesn’t move. just kisses your temple and waits, his breathing shaky but controlled.

“you’re alright. you’re doing so well,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “just tell me what you need, and i’ll give it to you. we’re not in a rush.”

you nod, and he murmurs, “that’s my girl,” in a way that makes your heart clench and your body relax just a little more.

when you whisper, “okay,” he starts to move again, gently easing in until he’s fully buried inside you, and even though it’s a lot, it doesn’t feel too much—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with the way he’s holding you.

“you feel so good around me,” he says, his voice thick with restraint. “you’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. i know it’s a lot. you’re taking me so well.”

you let out a whimper, both from the stretch and the weight of it all, and his hands are everywhere—holding your hips, stroking your sides, curling around your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.

he stays slow, keeps his movements careful, and he doesn’t stop talking, just keeps giving you little things to focus on.

“you’re not too much,” he murmurs when you try to hide your face again. “you’re not doing anything wrong. you don’t need to worry about how you look or sound. i want you just like this.”

you try to believe him. and it gets easier when you stop thinking and just feel—his body against yours, his hands gripping tight, his mouth at your neck, the little praises he keeps whispering in between shaky breaths.

when he reaches between you, his fingers find your clit, and you jerk a little in surprise, but he doesn’t stop—just keeps rubbing you gently, patiently, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters to him.

“there you go,” he says. “that’s it. let me help you.”

and somehow, despite how nervous you were, despite how unsure everything felt just moments ago, you’re already on the edge before you even realize it, gasping into his shoulder as your body starts to tremble.

“you gonna come for me?” he says, and his voice is rough now, but still so sweet. “yeah? let go, baby. i’ve got you. you’re safe.”

and you do—you come with a shudder, gripping him tight, burying your face in his neck as your whole body goes hot and soft and overwhelmed in the best way, and he holds you through it, breathing hard and kissing the side of your head, whispering, “that’s my girl, fuck, that’s it, you did so good.”

he doesn’t last long after that, not with how tightly you’re wrapped around him and how much he’s clearly been holding back, and when he finishes, it’s with a low groan and a few rough thrusts, then stillness as he stays inside you and clutches you like he never wants to let go.

you’re both quiet for a moment, your limbs tangled, your skin flushed, and you’re not thinking anymore—you’re just tired and happy and full and feeling safe in his arms.

he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“you don’t have to be brave with me,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “you just have to be mine. i’ll take care of the rest.”

he doesn’t pull out right away. he just stays there, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body's rhythm.

you’re still a little dazed, arms limp around his shoulders, and your thighs are trembling but you don’t want him to move either, not when you feel so full and warm and safe like this, not when he’s still murmuring little things against your neck like, “you did so good,” and “you were made for me.”

and then, eventually, he does move, carefully easing out of you, and he makes this low, strained sound like it physically pains him to separate from you.

“fuck,” he mutters, half to himself, dragging his hand down his face like he’s trying to stay composed, but his brain’s still short-circuited. “you—fuckin’ hell, you just…”

he glances at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to say something too intense.

“you alright?”

you nod, still catching your breath. “tired. but yeah.”

and then he’s back on you in a second, cupping your face, brushing sweaty hair off your forehead, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw, like he needs to check every part of you to make sure you’re okay.

“good,” he breathes. “that’s good. ‘cause you were perfect. you don’t even know—”

he cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds a little overwhelmed, like he’s trying to play it cool and failing.

“what?” you ask, half asleep and smiling now, because he’s acting like you just knocked him flat.

“you don’t get it,” he says, dragging the sheet over your bodies as he settles beside you, still so close his thigh is hooked over yours. “i’ve been picturing this—wanting this—for so long, and now that i’ve had you, now that i’ve seen how good you look like that…”

he kisses you again, this time slower, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself back down. “you’re in trouble, sweetheart.”

you snort. “me?”

he nods seriously, brushing your lip with his thumb. “yeah. you. ‘cause now i’m not gonna let you go. ever.”

you laugh, but your stomach flips a little, because the way he says it isn’t a joke—he means it.

he means mine in a way that’s not just possessive, but protective, like he’s decided you’re the most important thing in the world and he’s not letting the universe take you from him.

he’s back to touching you again, tracing patterns over your shoulder, your waist, your hip—hands never still, like he can’t help himself.

“you’re sore?” he asks after a few minutes, voice quieter now.

“a little.”

he hums and shifts. “stay here,” he says. “don’t move.”

you close your eyes, already half-asleep, but he’s back fast—warm towel, glass of water, his shirt that he slides over your arms even though it’s way too big on you.

“you didn’t have to do all that,” you mumble, but he just shushes you and kisses your forehead.

“yes i did.”

you end up curled in his chest, limbs tangled, your face tucked into his neck while he rubs your back in lazy circles. he’s not even pretending to sleep—he’s just staring at you with this dumb little proud look like he just won the lottery and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“you’re mine now,” he says again, softer this time, like a promise more than a claim.

“i always was,” you whisper.

and the way he holds you tighter after that, you feel it in your bones.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley smut

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blank-potato · 3 days ago

Text

my kid's better than your kid

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.” “Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat. “Absolutely not! This is about accountability.” “There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—” He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.” You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Or You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, hair pulling, mirror sex, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, breeding kink, sexual overstimulation, John Walker is a biter, No Superhero AU!, slow burn, enemies to lovers, dead spouse (I killed off his wife oop), John being a good dad, Ava Starr cameo

A/N: I feel like John would be one of those dads who's coaching from the sidelines at their kids' game, so I wrote this. I'm also obsessed with him right now so expect more fics

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Some might call you intense or insane.

A little crazy, definitely.

There’s a fire in you, always has been, and when it comes to your daughter, you didn’t play around. Every aspect of her life was important to you, especially her Saturday morning soccer games.

Though you didn’t know what intense was until you saw that dickhead across the field. Blonde hair, a trimmed beard, built like he probably hits the gym four times a week. His biceps flexed under his white shirt every time he threw his arms up at the ref, which, to be fair, was often.

If he weren’t so obnoxious, you might even find him hot, but you totally don’t find him hot. He was pumped up, red in the face, and just as invested in the game as you were. Pacing like a coach who got fired but still showed up anyway. He was shouting directions, clapping like his kid was about to be scouted, and cheering like it was the World Cup and not just a rec league game on a patchy field behind a middle school.

He was showing you up, so you started cheering louder for your kid. Because if this is a competition, you're damn well not losing it.

“That’s it, Lily! Give ‘em hell!” You shout, your daughter just smiles at you and goes back to playing, used to your competitive nature.

The man takes notice of you and looks at you like he isn’t also acting like a lunatic before cheering even louder. That rubbed you the wrong way. What gave him the right to look at you like you were the problem?

Then it happens.

You watch as your daughter gets slide-tackled for no reason.

And the ref? Doing fuck all about it.

“What was that call, ref?” you shout, already on your feet.

“I—” the ref starts, backing up as you approach.

You trudge towards him, angry but trying to maintain a look of composed fury, like you weren't two seconds from setting the field on fire.

The ref was used to your antics, and now every time he saw you storming towards him, he’d be sure that he’d be going home with a headache.

“No yellow or red card? She got slide-tackled,” you bark.

“It’s—”

“She didn’t even have the ball!” you snap, the words ripping out of you like they’ve been waiting. You’re so fired up, so high on rage and love and disbelief, you swear you could take flight.

“It was an accident, so there’s no need for that,” a voice cuts in, calm and condescending in the worst possible way.

You turn, and it’s him, the guy from across the field. The look on his face, the matter-of-fact tone, the casual smugness oozing off him like cologne. You hate him instantly. It was that easy.

“I’m guessing that was your son that ran over my daughter,” you say, each word clipped like you’re trying not to launch them at his face.

“Ran over?” he snorts. “Talk about an exaggeration.”

“It’s soccer, these things happen. You don’t have to throw a tantrum just because your kid's team is down two,” he adds, smirking like he thinks this is witty banter and not a declaration of war.

You scoff, hands on hips, already stepping into his space. The ref backs off like a man realising he’s standing between two charging bulls. This wasn’t a sideline spat; this was two planets colliding, and he wanted no part of the fallout.

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.”

“Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not! This is about accountability.”

“There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—”

He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“That’s it! Take this off the field,” the ref finally blurts, hands up, voice cracking. “The kids have a match to play!”

You exhale sharply and hard through your nose, fists clenched at your sides. You try to calm yourself down, jaw tight, heart pounding. You sit and look out at your daughter, brushing grass off her knees and already back in position.

She's tougher than you give her credit, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to put that guy’s head in the ground.

After the game, her team, the Honeybees, lost after a few missed goals and lots of questionable calls, but your daughter was still laughing with her friends, unfazed in the way only kids can be.

You, however, were still stewing in quiet indignation when you spotted the world’s biggest jackass, in your humble, entirely accurate opinion, making his way toward you.

“Oh. It’s you,” you say, arms crossed automatically.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your loss,” he says, all fake sincerity, like he wasn’t two seconds away from being shoved into a juice box cooler.

“How mature.”

“I try,” he replies with that same maddening, self-satisfied grin.

You narrow your eyes, ready for whatever condescending nonsense he might say next. If he says “good effort”, you’re swinging. Choosing not to let him fuck with you, you tell him what’s what.

“Your team only won because of the ref’s bad calls,” you say, arms still crossed, tone sharp enough to slice fruit.

“Oh really?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow like he’s genuinely amused. Like this is his idea of foreplay.

“Yeah. My kid was dynamite out there.”

“So was mine,” he says back instantly.

“I mean, sure, but my kid has the most assists on her team,” you say, trying to keep your cool, even as your voice edges higher.

“Assists,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “Not goals.”

You blink at him. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with mock innocence, hands raised like he’s never been petty in his life.

You press your lips together, biting your tongue so hard it might bruise. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t want to, but it slips out anyway.

“My kid can out-pass, out-hustle, and outplay any other kid on that field.”

He grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“Well, my kid can run circles around your kid while tying his cleats.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Alright then, my kid was able to run a full field drill without missing a pass when she was five.”

“Well, mine could do cone drills backwards while coaching his teammate through theirs.”

Your eye twitches at that and he delights in seeing you so bothered.

“Lily has a killer left foot and once scored a hat trick with a stomach bug.”

“And Tommy is a human wall on defence.”

“Oh, please. Lily once did a bicycle kick and landed on her feet. What’s Tommy got?” You say, crossing your arms.

“Perfect attendance and a clean penalty record.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘clean penalty record’ but you keep it moving.

“Lily brings orange slices for the whole team.”

“Tommy brings strategy diagrams and pep talks.”

You pause, blinking. “Are we… bragging about how nice our kids are now?”

“Seems like it.”

You both go quiet for a beat, then he adds with a smirk, “Still doesn’t mean your kid’s better. I think you should admit to defeat.”

You step forward, just enough to make a point. “I’ll admit defeat when the Honeybees start losing because of their own mistakes, not because your future linebacker throws elbows like he’s in a bar fight.”

He actually laughs, and it’s a little too charming for your liking. Before you can wrestle with what that means, you hear a voice.

“Dad!” his son calls from across the field, waving dramatically. “Hurry up, you promised we’d get ice cream!”

He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with that same smug glint in his eye.

“Again, enjoy your loss,” he says, already turning. “And get used to it. The season’s still young.”

You narrow your eyes. “Until next time, Captain Suburbia.”

He chuckles and starts to walk away, but pauses, turns back with a smirk plastered on his face.

“John,” he says. “My name is John.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Hiding.”

“From?” Your friend, Ava, says as she looks around for the apparent danger.

“John.”

Ever since that day, you were livid with the dickhead you knew as John Walker. You had never hated someone so much from just one meeting. You never wanted to see him again, but you did while shopping.

Ava takes a peek, “Oh, the hot soccer dad? Which one is he?”

You never described him as hot but Ava figured from the way you were kidding your mind over him, you thought he was.

“Blonde, beard, tall and wearing a blue shirt.”

Ava sees him in the fruit and veg aisle and hums in approval, “Is he single? He’s right up your alley, no?”

You nudge her arm. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn't see him with anyone at the game…” You say your voice drifting off before you're back to your senses. “Whether or not he's single is irrelevant! He’s a complete asshole.”

“Just because he's an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not good in bed.”

The death glare you give her is intense and could be considered lethal, but she laughs it off.

“Let’s be honest, if you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t be so riled up.”

“Oh, please, I’m not into evil blonde men.”

Is he hot? Yes. But his evilness outweighs the hotness.

“Well, the evil blonde man is coming your way.”

You look towards the end of the aisle to see that Ava was right, so you immediately duck down behind a tower of soup cans.

“Please come out from over there,” Ava whispers but you protest, hoping you can camouflage yourself and become one with the cans.

Ten seconds pass, and you hear your name in that familiar voice and know you’ve been caught.

“Oh. Hi.”

Your attempt at being nonchalant is honestly pitiful, but not more pitiful than him knowing you were hiding from him.

“Don’t mind me, go back to whatever this is,” He says, gesturing to your hunched-over, goblin-like stance. He reaches over you and grabs a can off the shelf, walking off without another word.

“See? No need to panic. He was perfectly civil,” Ava chimes in.

“Only because he caught me in a state of weakness. He has the upper hand, and he’s already plotting against me. I can feel it.”

“He’s a soccer dad, not a supervillain,” Ava sighs, helping you off the floor, concerned about the effect he was having on you, but then again, she was always concerned about you. You regularly lose your mind at your daughter’s soccer games so she has just cause.

“I need to grab the wine, I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Ava says, and you nod, letting her walk off.

You had to circle back around to get the limited edition coffee you had become obsessed with anyway. You get to the aisle and your eyes widen when you realise that there’s only one left. Your hand flies to grab it, you can already imagine it in your trolley, and it looks good. It looks happy, like it's ready to be at home in your pantry.

But at the same time, another hand wraps around it, the hand belonging to John, because fate was still playing in your face.

“You.”

You thought you were done with him for the day. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

John raises an eyebrow, not letting go. “Come on. Be a gentleman and give it to me,” You say, trying to force a smile.

Your grip tightens, so does his.

“I don’t think so,” he says smoothly, as if he weren’t just on the verge of sparking a full-blown aisle standoff. “It’s the last one.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have to go across town for another,” You say, your eyebrows knitting together.

“Cry about it.”

You tug on it a little, but he doesn’t budge. The item wobbles dangerously between your hands.

“Are you even trying?” he asks. He was so good at being a smug bastard, you wonder if he was born like this or if he honed this craft. You open your mouth to really let him have it, but you don’t even get the chance.

Without another word, he snatches it clean from your hand in one smooth move, drops it into his trolley like he just won Olympic gold, and starts walking away, whistling.

You stand there, mildly offended but mostly impressed.

“Oh no, you did not just—” you march after him.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Better luck next time.”

“I hope it’s expired!” you shout after him.

You stop walking and watch as he struts off with your coffee like he was the King of Aisle Seven, you were planning his downfall in at least three different ways.

And two of them involved shopping carts.

After the grocery store incident, you were looking forward to having a reprieve from John Walker. But it was like fate or something more evil was forcing the two of you together. You have a PTA meeting the next night, and who do you see there but John, who was now becoming a permanent fixture in your life.

You sigh and sit beside the only empty seat, which was next to him.

“Let’s not even speak,” You suggest you say as soon as your butt hits the seat.

“Fine with me,” John replies as he crosses his arms, looking away from you.

You sit there tapping your foot. It was almost painful being silent when everyone else was having conversations. Especially when you were next to a thief. You didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him properly for swiping your coffee.

You finally break, “What you did yesterday was shitty.”

“And I thought we weren’t going to speak.”

“I’ll be sick if I don’t call out injustice when I see it.”

John laughs, and you want to strangle him. “You’re still thinking about that? I’m constantly on your mind, aren’t I?”

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat climbing up the back of your neck. How dare he even suggest that? Yes, you were thinking about him, but only about all the ways you wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap under your breath.

The meeting starts before he can muster up a comeback. You catch yourself zoning out as the agenda drags on, filled with tedious updates about the bake sale and a desperate plea for chaperones for the 3rd-grade trip to Lake Maribelle.

You swing your leg absentmindedly and accidentally bump his shin. It’s genuinely an accident.

“Did you just kick me?” he whispers.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t taking up half the space with your big—”

“You’re unbelievable—” He interrupts, turning his body to face you.

“Gangly legs, then you wouldn’t have gotten hit,” You whisper your sentence over his.

Your whispered bickering is only interrupted by the teacher at the front calling both your names.

“You’ll help chaperone the trip to Lake Maribelle?”

With all those expectant eyes on you, how could either of you say no?

“Yeah…”

“Of course…”

You both reply sheepishly at the same time.

“Great, I’ll sign the two of you up.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Stepping onto the bus, you watch as Lily disappears to go sit with her friend, leaving you with a slight pang of loneliness. You head to the front and slump into your seat, next to who else but John, because you can’t even be surprised. You really needed to start arriving at places earlier to avoid sitting next to him, but here you were.

It’s a four-hour ride, and you can already feel your exhaustion creeping in. You try to keep yourself alert, but your eyes are heavy. Before you know it, your head tilts to the side, falling onto his shoulder.

John glances down at you, noticing how tired you look. He’s always been perceptive like that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts slightly to give you more space. But when he feels you drift further, he gently shifts, adjusting his posture. His shoulder feels like a small slice of comfort amidst the exhaustion.

He lets you use his shoulder the whole ride. You looked quite peaceful when you weren’t trying to rip his head off, quite beautiful too. John catches the thought and tosses it out. He couldn’t be caught slipping, you were his mortal enemy after all.

The bus reaches the camp, and suddenly, it jerks to a stop. Your head flies forward, but before you can react, John’s hand shoots out, catching your forehead in the palm of his hand just in time.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little embarrassed but too tired to really care.

He just hums in response, his fingers lightly grazing your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “Quick reflexes.”

Hoping off the bus, you notice the camp leaders waiting to greet the kids. You stand off to the side ensuring everyone gets off the bus when you notice one of the teachers, Miss. Lucas, sidling up next to John, laughing a little too loudly at something he barely said. Your eyes narrow without even realising it, and your fist subconsciously tightens. It’s like a sudden surge of irritation hits you.

The worst part is that you don’t even know why you're so bothered. You’re pretty sure it's just your general distaste for him as a person, and anything he does seems to irritate you. That felt like the easiest explanation. No need to dig deeper into that nagging feeling in your chest, like someone’s poking it with a stick. You shake it off, willing yourself to focus on something else, anything else.

After you get the kids all settled in for the first activity, though, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The exhaustion. You’re winded in a way you don’t remember being before. You try to shake it off, but it’s clear that you’ve reached your limit for the day. This trip wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and now, even a simple walk feels like you’ve run a marathon.

You take a deep breath, looking around for a moment to regain your composure. There's no need to make a bigger deal out of it. Just power through, you tell yourself. But it’s harder than you expected, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just the physical exhaustion that's weighing on you.

But at least John was out of sight. You didn’t have to see him on the nature walk or the obstacle course, but you’d have to supervise the canoeing together. You make it out there first, sitting on the dock as the kids are getting in the canoes with the instructors. A smile tugs at your lips as you see how excited Lily is, her face lighting up as she waits for her turn, then spotting you in the crowd. She waves enthusiastically, and you wave back, your heart swelling just a little at the sight of her so happy.

“Nice day out,” John says, looking out at the water. You’re shaken to your core. Not just because you didn’t hear him walk up, but because of what he said. What was this? A normal conversation starter?

You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off by Miss. Lucas' syrupy voice slicing through the moment like a dull butter knife.

“It really is, and John, you really should wear sunglasses. With how blue your eyes are, the way the sun hits them is just distracting,” she purrs, twirling a lock of her overly straightened hair.

It’s laced with flirtation and just enough condescension to make your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes — hard.

John notices.

“What? You don’t like the sun?” he asks, amused now, that sharp gaze flicking to you like he already knows he’s poking the bear.

“I like the sun,” you answer evenly.

“Then what were you rolling your eyes at, huh?”

You’re so tempted to say exactly what’s on your mind. To call out Miss. Lucas’s thinly veiled thirst trap of a compliment, but you catch yourself. The last thing you need is her holding some petty grudge against Lily over adult nonsense.

So instead, you force a too-sweet smile and say, “None of your business.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained.

Miss. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s still lingering like a wasp at a picnic.

John tilts his head, a grin still playing at his lips. “Touchy.”

Stepping into your space, he does that thing, that infuriating thing, where he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to break any rules.

You guys just couldn’t seem to be near each other without someone stepping over the invisible line.

“And you’re observant,” you shoot back, voice low. “Someone might think you’re a little obsessed.”

His brow lifts. “Is that right?”

“You know what? I’m sorry, I'm being rude. Let me ask you this,” you say, your voice sweet and dangerous all at once, “Do you like water?”

“What kind of question is—?”

Splash.

He never finishes.

You shove him clean off the dock, and he crashes into the freezing lake with a satisfying crash. A few heads turn at the sound, followed by laughter, mostly from the kids.

John surfaces, sputtering, slicking his hair back with both hands as he glares up at you like a betrayed golden retriever.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts.

“Oh no,” you gasp dramatically, hand to your chest. “Is it? I had no idea.”

He blinks the water from his eyes, slow and deliberate, before gripping the edge of the dock with both hands and pulling himself up in one smooth, effortless motion.

It’s… a problem.

You might hate the man, scratch that, you definitely hate the man, but God help you, he had the audacity to look good doing literally anything. The sunlight caught the drops of water rolling down his arms, his shirt plastered to the ridges of his abs and the degenerate part of your brain wanting to see them with his shirt off.

His hair dripped, tousled and messy in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. It was like watching someone climb out of a cologne commercial.

You bite your lip instinctively, then immediately cover it up with a cough and a scowl.

He strides toward you, soaking wet, every squelching footstep a declaration of petty war. You’re forced to crane your neck to meet his eyes as he stops in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” he says, water still dripping from his sleeves, “that one of us knows how to act like an adult.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips twitching despite yourself. “You sure it’s you?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, then turns and walks down the dock toward the cabins, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a hundred silent thoughts you’re too proud to say out loud.

You watch him go and tell yourself it’s because you want to see if there’s the off chance he falls in.

Definitely not because of the view.

You’re watching your back the rest of the day, fully expecting some form of petty revenge. A frog in your shoe, a cold fish under your pillow, maybe even your toothbrush mysteriously tasting like lake water. But nothing happens.

No pranks. No payback.

You’re in the clear.

Now, sitting by the campfire, the sky a hazy lavender above the treeline, things feel… calm. The kids are running wild around the open field, fireflies blinking to life as marshmallows roast and someone strums a guitar softly in the distance.

“Hi,” a small voice says beside you.

You turn and see Tommy, John’s son, standing there with a hesitant smile.

“Hey, having fun?” you ask, shifting to make room.

He nods and sits next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The nature walk was pretty cool, and me and my friends loved the obstacle course. And the canoeing was fun too… even though you pushed my dad in the lake.”

You groan lightly, a hand going to your face. “Yeah, about that…”

The guilt hits, a pang of embarrassment. You knew your behaviour was juvenile. Funny, sure, but maybe not your finest moment, especially in front of the kids.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was pretty funny,” Tommy admits, “And I know you and my dad have problems.”

You feel even more ashamed that it was bleeding into your kids' lives too.

“My dad can be a lot,” he says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “But he’s just… I don’t know. He tries really hard. Especially for me.”

It helped you understand John a little better. The bluster, the sarcasm, the stubborn streak a mile wide… It wasn’t just pride or ego. It was effort. The kind that comes from someone trying to do right, even if it comes out messy. You could appreciate that because you were the same way.

And if he’d raised such a polite kid, then he couldn’t be all bad. Not even close.

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Tommy asks.

“Not lately,” you say, then gesture toward the table behind you. “But you can have some marshmallows while you wait, if you want.”

“Sure!” he says, lighting up as he grabs a stick and starts roasting.

John comes back to see something he wasn't expecting. The bane of his existence, laughing with his son and roasting marshmallows. Tommy didn’t warm up to most people that easily, so when he sees him lighting up with you, his opinion of you shifts. Maybe you weren’t an evil witch.

You still got a bucket of freezing lake water poured over you the next morning, though.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You’re out running errands, finally—blissfully—alone. Lily’s spending the weekend at your parents' place, which meant you had time to catch your breath, clean without stepping on glitter, and maybe finally recover from the whirlwind that was the school trip.

You understood John better. You still thought he was annoyingly smug, sure, but maybe not completely irredeemable.

But you weren’t getting ahead of yourself. He was still the same cocky asshole you met yelling across a soccer field... right?

Just as you’re mulling that over, tongue in cheek, deciding if you’d imagined all the softness, you feel your car begin to slow down.

“What the—?”

You frown, tapping the gas. Nothing. A few panicked beeps. Then a sputter.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road just as the engine completely gives out, your car coasting to a reluctant stop.

“No, no, no!” you shout, slamming your palms against the steering wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when you finally had a few hours of peace and you were this close to getting Thai food and going home to binge terrible reality TV.

With a heavy sigh, you get out and open the bonnet, even though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Wires? Steam? A glowing red light labeled you’re screwed?

You’re standing there, staring blankly into the guts of your car, when you hear it, a car slowing down behind you and parking behind you.

You barely glance back, already waving them off. “Thanks, I’m good—”

But then you hear a too-familiar voice say, “Well, that doesn’t look promising.”

Of course.

You turn around slowly.

And there he is.

John Walker, ladies and gentlemen.

“Need a hand?” he asks, already strolling over like he’s been waiting his whole life to rescue you.

“I uh…” You start becasure you’re so tempted to say “I got this” but the moment your eyes look back at whatever the fuck is going on in your car, you sigh.

“Do you have a toolbox?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the boot,” you’d said, thinking nothing of it.

Then he came back, popped the hood, and casually peeled his shirt off with a warning: “Don’t read into anything. I just don’t want grease on my shirt.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, a little too quickly.

You didn’t say anything, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you from watching. Because damn. The man was all broad shoulders, and strong arms that had no business looking that good twisting bolts.

You could’ve watched him work all day.

“Try starting it,” he called, interrupting your horny thoughts.

You slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It’s a miracle.

“Thank you, seriously.”

He leaned over the hood, smug smile fully loaded. “No problem. That should get you moving, but you definitely need to take this to a garage. I can come with you, if you want.”

Seeing the way your face contorts, he follows up with an explanation before you start berating him again.

“You’ll need a ride home after, won’t you?”

“Oh, true… I guess I’ll take you up on your offer. I mean as long as I'm not keeping you from Tommy, am I?” You say as you watch him put his shirt back on.

“No, he's at his grandparents’ place.”

“Oh same with Lily,” You admit.

“Guess we have some errands to run together then.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You arrive back home in his car and say “Home sweet home,” because you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking baout. Ever since you watched him fix your car, haggle down the price of your repair with the mechanic and drive you home, you’d been in a bit of a daze. A ‘John Walker is the perfect man’ daze to be exact.

“Do you ... wanna come in?” You say, the words escaping you, but what you didn’t expect was his reply.

“Sure.”

You welcome him in, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as John casually walks around your house.

It was clean, for once and cosy too, filled with little signs of your life with Lily. Pictures lined the walls: school plays, messy birthday parties, soccer games. Her drawings were stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets.

“This you?” John asks, voice tinged with amusement.

You turn to see him holding a framed photo from the shelf, a younger you, maybe around Lily’s age, standing proudly in a baseball uniform, cap askew and a dirt-smudged grin on your face.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah. I peaked in Little League.”

He chuckles, eyes still on the photo. “You look like you were about to take someone out at home plate.”

“I probably did.”

He glances over at you, that familiar smirk on his face. “Not much has changed then.”

You snort. “Are you calling me aggressive?”

“I’m saying I’d definitely want you on my team,” he replies, setting the photo down gently. “You were a force to be reckoned with, no doubt,” he says with a chuckle.

“Always.”

“Are there more?” he asks, leaning a little closer with that annoyingly charming glint in his eye.

You cross your arms, sitting back a little as you narrow your eyes. “Nuh uh. We are not going through my baby pictures.”

“Yes, we are.”

And five minutes later, you were both on the couch with a photo album spread across your lap.

“You even look like a soccer ball in this one,” he teases, pointing to a photo of you in a puffy striped onesie.

“I bet you were an ugly baby,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’ll have you know I was adorable. Practically a Gerber baby.”

He flips a page and pauses. “Is this you or Lily?”

“That’s Lily,” you say, your smile softening.

“She looks just like you.”

“I like to call her my twin,” you laugh. “And she hates it.”

Time ticks by, and you barely even notice it. The room has dimmed with the setting sun, shadows creeping in, and a warmth building low in your stomach. You’ve been flipping through photo albums for what must’ve been hours, laughing and teasing each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then you hear it, John’s stomach growling, loud and unmistakable. You glance at him, and he’s already giving you a sheepish smile. Clearly, you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I was going to order Thai,” you say casually. “If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

He hesitates for only a second. “I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, takeout containers spread between you, Real Housewives playing in the background. The chaotic drama on screen contrasts with the quiet ease between you.

It had been so long since you’d just relaxed like this with someone—someone who wasn’t Ava or Lily. And it felt good. Easy. Right.

“I have a suggestion, feel free to say no.”

“Hit me,” John says, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion behind you.

You bite back a grin. “I have a bottle of whiskey that’s begging to be opened. Wanna throw on some music and help me put it out of its misery?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Why not?”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You shouldn’t drink around him. At this point, you were touchy and honestly just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. You’re not too drunk but definitely tipsy enough to say whatever comes to your mind.

“I haven’t seen Tommy’s mom around. Did you guys split up?” you blurt out, half-curious, half-dreading the answer. You feel a drop in the atmosphere as his hands seem to tighten on the glass.

“Sorry, you don’t need to answer. That was weird of me to ask…” You're trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh no, it’s okay, she uh,” he says quietly. “She passed a few years ago.”

You pause, your posture softening. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “Still tough without her, but we manage.”

He glances down, like he’s trying to ground himself before continuing.

“I’d like to say I was a good husband, but I was always away in the army. I could’ve been better before she…” He trails off, eyes now solely focused on the liquid swirling in his glass.

You stay quiet, wanting to listen rather than rush in.

“When I came back from my last tour, she was already sick. But for a while, we were okay. We were happy. Then she got worse. It was hard seeing her like that when she was so full of life before I left. I felt like I had missed so much, and when she…” He pauses again, his voice catching in his throat like he was being choked.

“Tommy’s the only thing that kept me going after. I’m always scared I’ll mess things up with him and miss the important stuff. That I already am.”

He exhales sharply, almost laughing at himself. “Shit. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” you say gently, shaking your head. “And I can tell you’re a good dad. Anyone can. He's such a sweet kid and he adores you.”

He looks at you then, and for once, there’s no smirk, no one-liner. Just quiet gratitude.

“Thanks,” he says. “That means more than you know.”

You both take another drink, the burn lingering in your throat like something you don’t mind holding onto for a while.

“What about you? I noticed there aren’t any pictures of Lily’s dad around,” he asks, voice softer now, like he’s not just making conversation anymore.

“We got divorced ages ago. He was a total disaster.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“We got married too young, had Lily, got divorced two years in and… I honestly can’t even remember the last time he showed up for her. No birthday messages, no calls. Nothing.”

You pause, trying not to let the anger twist your words.

“It’s a shame because she’s so amazing,” you add, staring into your glass. “And her dad doesn't give her the time of day and never has. She deserves so much better than that, and I wish I could be everything for her, but I…”

John’s quiet, listening. Really listening, giving you the space that you gave him.

“It’s hard doing it on your own,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you get that.”

He nods slowly, then offers a small, warm smile. “It’s his loss. She’s a kick-ass kid with a pretty kick-ass mom.”

You laugh, the real kind this time.

“I genuinely thought you were about to fight me the day we met,” he says, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You grin. “I was about to fight you.”

“Very hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel exhausting to let someone in.

“Okay, Mr. Tight-White-Shirt,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks instantly. “Ah, so you were ogling me that day.”

Damn. You walked right into that one.

“A woman can’t appreciate the male form?” you say, all mock innocence.

John laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drink. The music shifts, a different song now, low and smooth, some classic jazz number that’s always sounded like warmth and memory and late nights.

You perk up instantly. “John, we have to dance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“C’mon!”

Before he can argue, you’re already pulling him to his feet drunkenly. He hesitates for half a second, then relents because, of course, he does. His hands find your waist, cautious at first, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t remember the last time I slow danced,” you murmur against his chest.

“Same,” John says quietly. “In all honesty, it was… probably my wedding.”

“Damn, me too,” You let out a low laugh. “Did you go all out?”

“We tried,” he nods. “We had lessons and everything. I remember practising in our tiny apartment, knocking over chairs and swearing a ton.”

She grins. “I bet you were shit.”

John, very much in ‘John’ fashion, gasps. “Correction, I was the shit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna show you. Get ready to be dipped.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, suspicion written all over your face. “No way. You’ll drop me.”

He smirks. “I won’t. Trust me. I’m strong and very capable.”

Before you can protest again, he spins you, just fast enough to make your stomach flip. And you squeal, laughing as you come back into his arms.

“See?” he says, proud as hell. “Didn’t hurt a hair on your pretty head.”

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless, heart thudding in your chest for reasons that have very little to do with the dancing.

“I hate to say it,” you murmur, “but that was quite smooth.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might think you like me.”

You look up at him and realise, you’ve never been this close to him, unless you count getting in his face at a soccer match, but this was different. It was a whole new type of tension.

“Whatever…” you say, but it comes out with no bite. Not even close.

Maybe because you’re tipsy, but under the dim lighting of your living room, with the jazz still murmuring in the background and that stupid, crooked smile on his face.

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek before you even fully realise what you're doing.

“I like your beard,” you blurt out, your thumb lightly grazing the line of it.

He blinks, surprised, not because of what you said, but because of how gently you said it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a little quieter now.

He’s not able to get another word out before you’re kissing him, soft and tender. His hands cup your face as he kisses you like there’s a magnet pulling you to him. Your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, hands desperate to touch skin. He lifts you off the floor, your lips not breaking contact. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands cup your ass as he walks you over to a wall. Pressing you against it and kissing your neck like he’s trying to consume you. “Oh, John…”

Breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

Your back hits the wall again, but gently this time, his lips brushing over yours before pulling back just enough to ask, “You sure?”

You nod, breathless. “Go.”

He carries you like it’s effortless, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other gripping the bannister as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top, he kicks the door open with his foot. The room is dim, the late evening light bleeding through the curtains, but neither of you cares. You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His mouth is on yours again before it hits the ground.

You fall into the bed together, tangled and wild and urgent, but with something else beneath it all. Something tender. Like every kiss and touch is catching up on lost time you didn’t even know you missed.

“Mind if I leave marks?”

“You can,” You gasp out and he goes to work, biting and sucking your skin. In all honesty, your drunk brain needed a memento, a way to remind sober-you that this wasn’t some sex dream.

You feel his strong hands wrap around your wrists, and he squeezes them. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his presence.

“I want you,” John breathes and it sounds so good hearing it. Like you had both finally done away with pretense and given in to what you wanted to do since you met which was rip your clothes off and fuck eachother senseless.

He starts kissing his way down your body, taking his sweet time in making you feel good. Reveling in the way you react to him.

When he reaches your panties, he doesn’t hesitate to tug them off his teeth and the sight of him doing that nearly kills you.

He starts eating you out like a man possessed, his beard tickling your inner thighs. He needs your pussy on his face and he needs it now. As he licks and sucks, driving you insane, your legs start slowly closing, trying to shy away from how good it felt. He catches them, prying them back open.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod but he wants more than that.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll keep my legs open for you,” You say and you think you’d do the splits on his face if he wanted.

“Good girl,” he smirks before going back to ruining you. It had been too long since you felt like this, but even then, you had never felt like this. You were feverish and sensitive, fighting to keep yourself sane. You never recall feeling like you were dying of happiness when anyone else had gone down on you. Must be the John Walker effect.

The more you struggle and shake, the more pressure he applies. His hand rests on your stomach to hold you in place as he sucks on your clit.

Feeling the pleasure growing, you instantly try to muffle your moans with your fist. He moves his mouth away from your aching core and reaches up with one of his hands, moving your fist away. You look at him with reverence and surprise.

“You don’t need to hide…” He says, his other hand still moving inside you, “I want to hear you.”

You don’t speak right away. You just look at him, this man who had once driven you absolutely insane, who now felt like the only person who could see through all the armour.

“I’m not used to being seen,” you finally whisper.

“I know,” John says, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I see you.”

He moves back into position between your legs, and you let him have every moan you have.

“John!”

You finish, back arching, legs trembling and clenching down on his head with your thighs so hard you’re scared you might kill him.

But he doesn't stop, instead going faster. “H-hey!” You moan out as you kick your legs around, which he clearly takes as a challenge.

Wrangling your legs and pinning them over your head, your body now in the shape of a backwards C.

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you up,” John comments and you shiver at how good that sounds.

He gets up on his knees, continuing to lick at your trembling folds as he fingers you even faster, adding a third finger that had you moaning in desperation.

It's like he's set your whole body on fire, the feeling of your lost orgasm threatening to push you straight into another one.

“John, it’s so…” You croak, your eyes focusing and unfocusing. “Think I’m gonna cum again.”

At this point, your voice is hoarse, each touch he’s giving you making you scream and cry out like you’ve never done before.

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You nod, your eyes gassy with tears, “Wanna be your…your good girl.”

You could feel something coming, as he goes back to sucking on your clit, his fingers massaging your G-spot.

It only takes a few moments before you're letting your body relax and squirt all over his fingers, the pleasure washing over you in waves. You’re too undone to make a noise, breathing heavily and choking on air. There are a few seconds where you think you’ve died.

He unfolds you, and you lie back down on the bed, needing him instantly.

“John,” You whine, reaching out for him, and he’s right there, pulling you into his arms and taking care of you.

“What about you?” You ask. He had just about taken you to heaven and believe me you wanted to return the favour.

“Next time.”

Your heart flutters with the thought of a ‘next time’.

“Okay,” You snuggle against him and fall asleep together in pure bliss.

You wake up in the morning, expecting to feel John’s arms around you. But there's no one there. You sit up and look around, but find nothing. No note explaining where he was and his car's no longer in the driveway.

You came to the conclusion, he woke up, saw you and decided that it was a mistake. It was disappointing but you’re used to being disappointed.

So much for ‘I see you’.

So much for ‘next time’.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

The next couple of days are a blur, it’s back to business as usual. Soccer practice, laundry, answering emails with a fake sense of urgency. To anyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed, but not to your daughter.

“I saw Tommy yesterday,” she says casually as she sets her backpack down.

“Oh? How is he?” you ask, trying to sound neutral.

“Great, but his dad didn’t look too happy…”

Your ears perk up at that. He was also miserable? Good. It was his fault anyway… wasn’t it?

“You don’t look happy either.”

You flinch at how blunt she is. You should’ve known, there was no hiding anything from her. She might only be a kid, but she could read you like a book.

“Lily…” you start, but she cuts you off with the maturity of someone far beyond her years.

“Just be adults and talk to him…”

“It's not that simple,” Your voice is shaky with uncertainty. You're not even sure you'd be able to speak if you were face-to-face with him again.

“Well you need to especially since I’m going over to Tommy’s today.”

“You what?” you say, nearly falling out of your chair.

“You said I could,” she adds quickly. “Last week, before… whatever this is.”

Damn it. She was right. You had completely blanked on that. It was before the whole thing with John went bust.

You were conflicted with how you felt about John, but you wouldn’t let your issues affect her.

“Fine, go get your stuff. We leave in five.”

You drive over to his place, your heart dropping lower and lower as you get closer to his house. Your fingers grip your steering wheel like it’s your lifeline.

“You’re not coming in to say hi?” Lily asks almost incredulously.

“I think it’s best I don’t. I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up. Have fun!”

Lily doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at you, brows raised, lips pursed like she’s debating whether or not to push. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of your judging looks? You didn't like it one bit.

But in the end, she sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and grabs her bag. “You two are so dramatic.”

He sees her first, ruffles her hair, then his gaze shifts past her, locking with yours through the windshield. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. You look away first.

Then you drive off, trying not to think about him.

Hours pass, John is very much on your mind the entire time, and before you know it, you’re back at his house to pick up Lily. Walking your way up the driveway, you feel your nerves creeping in. You hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell.

“Hey,” John greets you, opening the door—and he looks just as good as the last time you saw him, maybe even better.

“Hey yourself,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

There's the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, and then Tommy appears, greeting you with a wide grin.

“It’s time to go already?” Lily calls from behind him, voice dripping with faux innocence. She was laying it on thick.

Before you can answer, Tommy jumps in. “Can you and Lily stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure how to say no politely.

“Dad, convince her. We’re having your famous spagbol,” Tommy adds, eyes hopeful.

You catch the look on his face—so earnest, so excited—and then turn to John. An easy smile creeps onto your face despite yourself.

“Famous, huh?”

John smirks. “It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

By the time dinner is ready, it feels easy with him, dangerously easy. You sit around the table with him and the kids, laughing between bites of spaghetti, the kind of domestic quiet that used to feel foreign now curling around you like a blanket. It felt so right. But still, there’s that persistent whisper in the back of your mind — If he wanted this, really wanted this, he would’ve stayed that night.

Before you can spiral too deep into your own thoughts, Tommy pipes up brightly, “Can Lily and I have a sleepover?”

You glance at John, caught off guard. “Lily and I should really get going, plus Lily doesn’t have anything to change into.”

“I brought clothes and my toothbrush,” Lily says far too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “And why did you do that if you were just supposed to stay for the afternoon?”

Lily and Tommy exchange a look — a guilty, sheepish look that screams we planned this.

John chuckles under his breath, clearly catching on. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing at you. “I could set up a spot for Lily in Tommy’s room.”

“You should stay too!” Tommy adds enthusiastically, eyes shining with innocent matchmaking energy.

“I don’t have any pyjamas to sleep in, Tom,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“You can borrow my dad’s!” he says like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You blink. These kids were really committing to the bit.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” You begin, your voice a little quieter, your gaze flicking to John.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I have a guest room. It’s yours if you want it.”

His voice is calm, but there’s something soft in it. An invitation. Like he wanted you to stay.

“It’s decided then,” Your daughter interjects before you can try to squirm out of it.

You had been tricked by two 9-year-olds; this was a new low.

The hours drifted by as you sat in the living room, all watching a movie together.

Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but all you could think about was John. The fact that sitting just a few feet away, but still felt so far away.

Though if you had turned your head to look at him, you would’ve seen him looking back at you. His gaze would tell you everything you wanted to hear, but alas, that isn’t fate’s plan.

The movie ends, and the kids groan when John tells them it’s time for bed. It’s a whirlwind, as they rush around tuckering themselves out. Entering Tommy’s room, you go over to Lily, who’s already in bed, ready for you to tuck her in. You pull the blanket up to Lily’s chin, smoothing her hair like you do most nights, your voice soft in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Remember, be an adult,” Lily says, reminding you not to be a coward, essentially.

“Goodnight, Lil,” You reply before kissing her forehead. Maybe, just maybe, you’d consider her words.

“Goodnight, Mom,” she murmurs, already half-dreaming.

You stand slowly, and as you turn to leave, you notice Tommy looking at you. His eyes are peeking out from under his blanket, lids heavy but alert.

You pause. “Do you want me to tuck you in, too?”

He hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, like he’s not quite sure he should, but wants to anyway.

You gently and carefully tuck him into his covers like you had with Lily. “There,” you whisper. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye. “Thanks, Mom.”

You’re shocked hearing him call you ‘Mom’. You glance down at him, already drifting off, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

You swallow and manage a quiet, “Goodnight,” brushing his hair back gently before slipping out of the room. What you don’t know is that on the other side of the hallway, just out of sight, John is standing perfectly still.

He’d heard it too.

He didn’t know how to respond to it either, wasn’t sure what it meant or what came next, but for now, he was just… happy. Happy that his son felt safe with you.

Later that night, you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, your thoughts louder than the quiet hum of the house. The shadows shift with the streetlight outside, but your mind stays frozen. You were wearing his shirt, and he was on your mind. It smelled like him, and you could imagine his arms around you. You bury your face in it, wishing that he was with you and not in a room down the hallway.

You needed to confront what happened that night. You hadn’t talked about it since. It lingered like static between you, unspoken but never forgotten. And you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter, not when it meant everything.

You needed to know if he wanted you when you’re both sober.

So, gathering every ounce of courage, you throw off the blanket, slide quietly out of bed, and make your way down the hall to his room. The floor feels colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just your nerves.

You stop in front of his door.

Raise your fist.

And then… freeze.

You stand there for what feels like forever, five minutes, at least, your knuckles hovering midair. Your heart pounds loud enough to fill the silence, your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if that night was just a mistake?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it startles the living hell out of you — your fist, already midair, connects squarely with his face.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as John stumbles back, one hand instantly flying to his nose.

“Shit,” he groans, squinting in pain and trying to blink away the surprise. “You can throw quite a punch.”

“Oh my god, John. Holy fuck. I am so, so sorry,” you ramble, panic surging through you as you hover uselessly in front of him. “Let me get ice, I’ll fix it… just, don’t die.”

You spin around and scuttle off toward the kitchen, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your heart’s thudding like a drum solo. The freezer is a disaster. No ice trays. Who doesn’t have ice trays?

You spot something. Grab it.

Moments later, you return with a sheepish expression and a frozen bag clutched in your hand.

“I couldn’t find an ice tray,” you mutter, pressing the bag gently to his face, “so I got peas.”

You sit down with him on the bed, holding the bag of peas to his nose. “That won’t bruise or anything, right?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Worried about my handsome face, are you?” John jokes, and you’re just glad he has a sense of humour about it.

You groan and drop your forehead onto his shoulder, mortified. “This was not how I pictured this going.”

His hand gently touches the small of your back. “You were coming to talk to me, right? About… us?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. Before I assaulted you.”

“Let’s start there,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a crooked smile. “Because I was kinda hoping we’d finally talk about it too.”

“Really? It didn’t feel like that since you ran,” you say, voice low. You were trying not to sound hurt, but you were. He weighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and moves his bag of peas off his face to look at you.

“You’re right to be mad. I just… I panicked when I woke up next to you.”

“You were regretful,” you say, attempting to finish his sentence. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts like he’s about to protest.

“No, no—that’s not it at all. I was scared. That if you saw me when you woke up, you’d think it was a mistake.”

He takes a breath, shuffling closer. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re such a pain in the ass, always calling me out and keeping me on my toes. But also kind, and funny, and you make me feel so… alive.”

His hand lifts gently, your cheek resting against his palm. It feels perfect, like this is what fate had in store all along.

“I'm an idiot for running but I do like you. I’m falling for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, heart racing. “I’m falling for you, too, John Walker.”

Pulling him in, your hands still cold and wet from holding the bag of peas, but he doesn’t care. You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—like if you stop, everything might collapse around you.

The two of you pull your clothes off each other's bodies but there's no rush. Each layer that comes off brings you that much closer together.

Now completely naked you sit in front of him and you can see why he has all that confidence. His fingers tangle in your hair and he's about to kiss you when you stop him.

“Will they hear?”

“There's a couple rooms between us, they won't hear as long as you're not too loud.”

“We both know that's going to be a challenge,”You say, recalling the way you were hollering when he ate you out. Your surprised that none of your neighbours issued a noise complaint.

“You need to try or I'll have to find something to gag you with,” John suggests, his voice low and sultry.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

He pressures you back into the bed and bites your neck hard enough to leave a big mark.

“You better hope no one asks about that.”

“Let them ask, you can explain to them exactly what I did to you.”

The marks don't stop there. By the time he's done you look like you've been attacked by a wild animal. Hickeys and love bites littered all over your skin, each one a testament of John's desire for you.

“Need you inside me,” You pant out already guiding him towards you with your legs.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes the anticipation eating you alive before he wraps his arms around you and crarryignyou off the bed.

“Where are we—?” You start but don't finish as you notice he's plopped you down right in front of a mirror.

It's the perfect solution for when someone wants to fuck you from behind and see you fall apart of their cock. Thank everything for whoever invented mirrors.

He lightly kicks your feet apart, hands gliding up your body before resting on your boobs.

You getting back against him, trying to feel him and needing him to fuck the daylights out of you. It had been long enough and you were tired of waiting.

“Impatient, aren't you?”

“I just need you. Don't make me suffer,” You pout, the mirror capturing the needy look in your eyes.

“Well, who am I to say no to you?” He says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in.

Anticipating the screen you were about to let out, he covers your mouth with his hand. Only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the room.

“Look at yourself, look at how quickly you feel apart for me,” John whispers against your ear. And he was right. You were a complete mess after only a few thrusts, eyes watery as your neck arches into him.

“So good,” You manage to get out without screaming. He grabs you by the hair, exposing your neck too him as he gives you a few more hickeys for good measure. Rocking your hips into you as he paints your neck with his lips.

Suddenly, your hips are being lifted into the air as he wraps his arms around you as if getting ready to suplex you. The way he starts fucking you is just as disorientating as a suplex would be. He's hitting your sensitive spot dead on turning your legs to jelly as they dangle in the air.

He's manhandling like you're a doll and you love it, especially when you can see it all happening in the mirror. The way his veins on his arms were popping with effort as he milks his cock with your pussy like you're a fleshlight.

“That's it, breed me, John.”

Hearing you say that only made him double his efforts.

“Is that what you want? Want me to get you pregnant?” John says, his fingers gripping your hips, clearly excited at the prospect. You nod desperately like you need to have it or you'll die.

You gasp, whimper, cry and reaching out for anything to keep you quiet.

“N-need you to fill me up,” You stutter out, “Need your cum in me.”

Then you're given a brief break when he pulls you back from the mirror, tossing you back into the bed. But two seconds don't even pass before he's feeding his cock back into your needy hole.

“J-john!”

You squeal a little too loudly and never you know it his hand is on your chin guiding your own panties in your mouth.

“Such a pretty sight,” John says as he cages you, fingers intertwining as he pins you against the bed.

You know you won't be able to keep going much longer. Wrecked doesn't even begin to describe what you were and your orgasm was about to knock you into a whole new dimension.

Feeling his cock twitch, you lock your legs around his waist and he finishes deep inside of you which triggers your own orgasm. His hot cum fills you up, painting your fluttering walls as he effectively breeds you.

The both of you lay there catching your breath as your orgasms pulse through you. This was what life was about; having sex with hot single dads.

You come back to your senses, just barely and have an evil idea.

Seeing the opportunity fate had presented you for payback, you flip your positions climbing on top of him and riding him into overstimulation. A strangled cry that was supposed to be your name falling from his lips.

“Baby…” John whimpers as his body tenses up, abs contracting lines he's already about to cum again.

You could get used to having him at your mercy, bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep it together.

“I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me and only me.” You pulling him to your lips by his hair. He groans but he's into it, he'd let you have your way with him just as much as you let him have his way with you.

“Only you,” He replies and you believe it.

Your hand away from his hair, letting John's head hit the mattress, before going in and leaving your own string of love bites. He bites his lip, all but writhing under your soft touch.

“Someone might see those.”

“Then you can explain to them what I did,” You say throwing his words back in his face.

You keep fucking until you tire yourselves out, your bodies sticky and heaving. It was as good as you imagined it would be and you're kicking yourself for not giving in earlier.

John's hand rests on your thigh tracing little patterns as you play with his hair when he asks a very pertinent question.

“Are you on birth control?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you are in fact not on birth control. With the downright sad lack of sex you were having before John walked into your life there was no reason to be on it.

“No”, You gulp,“We'll talk about it in the morning?”

John hums in agreement and holds you against his chest in a vice grip that screams “You're mine.”

In the morning, you’re happy to feel John’s arms still wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder, his breath slow and even. Peaceful.

“Who wants pancakes?” you call out, later in the kitchen, sliding a golden stack onto the table with a grin.

You have a slow, sweet morning breakfast—the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas, laughing over spilt flour and slightly burnt edges.

“Oh! Let me go get the syrup. Can you show me where it is, Tommy?” you ask.

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hopping up and heading toward the pantry with you, eager to help you find it.

Back at the table, Lily narrows her eyes at John, clearly sizing him up. Then, dead serious, she delivers:

“If you hurt my mom, you die. Understood?”

John blinks, caught off guard for a second, but then a slow smile tugs at his lips. He knew exactly where she got that intensity from.

“Understood.”

“Good,” Lily says, her expression finally softening. “You make great spagbol so I'd hate to have to kill you.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

It’s been a few months since you and John started dating — the kind of comfortable, lived-in months where you had keys to each other's places, regularly took the kids out together, and fell asleep on the couch on each other.

Unlocking the door, John and Tommy step inside, and they’re immediately hit with the scent of burnt toast, a low hum of music, and the unmistakable energy of mild chaos. They were here to pick you and Lily up to carpool to the Saturday morning game, but it looked like they’d walked into a warzone, and at least it smelled like pancakes.

“Morning!” Tommy calls out as he looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

“Oh hi, guys,” you pant out from somewhere in the kitchen, out of breath and flustered. He doesn’t need to be able to see you to know you’re going through it.

Lily’s sitting at the dining room table, calmly sipping orange juice like she’s been through this before. Tommy runs over and sits beside Lily, swiping a pancake off her plate.

“Mom’s having a meltdown,” she says, totally unbothered. “It’s pretty intense. She yelled at the coffee machine.”

John raises an eyebrow and walks to the kitchen, and there you are, wearing one sock and a hoodie that you actually stole from John, batter on your cheek, surrounded by open containers and the remnants of pancake making.

“It’s so good to see you,” You cry as you practically jump into his arms. You let go of him so you can continue your spiral when he stops you.

“Honey, you’re running around like a headless chicken. Let me help,” John offers.

You hesitate, then sigh and reach into the mess on the counter and pull out a hairbrush. “Can you finish braiding Lil’s hair for me? She’s lost her lucky cleats, and I need to find them before we leave.”

“On it.”

He kisses your forehead, warm and steady, before heading into the kitchen.

Lily watches him approach with guarded suspicion. “Please don’t mess this up.”

John grins. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

He ruffles her hair on purpose, just to rile her up, and she bats his hand away with a huff and a laugh.

Meanwhile, you’re darting around the house in full-on panic mom mode — lifting couch cushions, checking under the bed, even inside the fridge for some reason (you never know), until finally, you spot the missing shoes. Inside her toy chest, naturally, buried under a plastic tiara and two mismatched Barbie legs.

You walk back into the dining room to the sound of laughter, Tommy’s head thrown back as John tells some ridiculous story, funny voices and all. Lily’s giggling along too as he finishes tying off the braid with surprising skill.

You lean against the doorframe, heart swelling. It’s loud, it’s messy, but it’s yours. And in that moment, it hits you: this is what happy looks like.

“Found it,” you say, holding the shoes up triumphantly.

John looks up, grinning. “See? I told you everything would come together.”

You smile at him. This is perfect; he’s perfect.

“Are we ready to go?” you call out, grabbing your bag and keys.

They respond in a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Almost!” as shoes squeak across the floor.

Clambering into the car like a small tornado, Tommy buckles in and grins over at Lily. “Losing team’s parent buys ice cream,” he declares.

“Ohhh, bold move,” you say, raising your eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’re buying ice cream,” John says smugly, sliding into the driver's seat, glancing at you like he already knows today’s outcome.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, smirking as you start the engine.

This was the kind of happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention—and all it took was yelling at a hot dad at a soccer game.

Masterlist

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science-hoes · 3 days ago

Text

Guilty Pleasure

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+, arm riding, biting, deepthroating fingers, language, filth, the worms in my brain told me to write this

Jack Abbot Masterlist 💕

——

Your boyfriend stared at you, mouth agape at your request. His arms were crossed over his chest, forearms flexing as he unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists. The low glow of the lamp in his bedroom was the only reason he could see that you were actually serious. “You…what?“ He questioned.

Usually, you knew better than to avoid Jack’s gaze. But after a 12 hour shift, finally in the comfort of his home in the early morning, you unashamedly stared at your guilty pleasure. Freckled muscles threatening to bust through the fabric of his well-fitted black t-shirt. But who could blame you?

Every shift, you had to stare at those arms. Fuck, they stared at you. They were so big, they could have their own zip code. And they distracted you. The way Jack worked diligently with his hands on a patient, tendons of his forearms rolling with each flexion. The way his arms corded with bulging veins after helping move a patient or heavy equipment. The way his beefy hands guided yours during a procedure, making yours look dainty and frail. It sure made it difficult to concentrate during the pre-shift huddle, the way your boyfriend loved to move his hands as he spoke, flashing those gorgeous arms in all their glory.

“I want to bite your arms.” You repeated for him.

Jack looked down to his arms, trying to figure out what the fuck you were seeing. “You know, I’m into whatever you want, love. But cannibalism?” He teased, flicking his whiskey eyes up to you, craning his neck like a turtle, that silly move he does when he’s questioning someone.

You rolled your eyes, closing the distance between you. You unwound his arms and massaged one of his aching wrists. “Oh, please. I don’t want Kuru.” You joked.

Jack shook his head, but smiled nonetheless. “Good girl. You’ll ace that board exam if they ever ask about spongiform encephalopathies.” He continued to mock.

You jabbed him in the sides with wiggling fingers, and he laughed. “Don’t change the subject. I want your arms.” You redirected.

Jack just continued to stare at you with bewildered amusement. “Why do you like my arms?” He questioned.

You shrugged, manhandling the arm you held, examining it like an ancient artifact. Your hands dwarfed in comparison to his engorged muscles. “They’re so sexy. They’re so…big.”

He huffed a laugh. “So? Your boobs are big, and I don’t wanna…” He trailed off as he recalled the previous night and how long he spent suckling at your breasts. “Oh, I guess I get it.” He conceded.

You smirked, kneading your fingertips into his bicep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jack was about to come up with another witty response, but you pushed him back toward the bed, making quick work of removing his black t-shirt. The dominance that he allowed you to hold in that moment made him chuckle. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, letting you stand in between them. His fingers slid under your scrub top, ghosting over the skin of your waist.

“You want something, doll?” His voice was graveled with sleep but there was a twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

You pulled your scrub top over your head, tossing it over to where his shirt ended up. “Can I ride your arms?” You asked.

Jack’s lip twitched, the foreign request sending a chill through his body. “What?”

You pulled the drawstring of your scrub pants and let them pool at your ankles, stepping out of them. “Can I ride your arms?” You repeated, firmly this time.

He still wouldn’t let up, and his lip began to deepen at the sides, dimples morphing onto his face. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

You narrowed your eyes, but they were no match for his steadfast stare that bore through you with desire. “Can I drag my pussy across your fucking massive arms?” You gritted through clenched teeth, blushing at the vulgar words leaving your mouth.

A low rumble left his chest as he began to lean back on the bed. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He praised. “All yours, kid. Have at it.”

You crawled onto the bed, perching beside him on your knees, and lowering your head to his arm. You pressed a single, innocent kiss against the freckles of his bicep, and you could’ve sworn those freckles kissed you back as his muscles pulsed underneath your chapped lips. Your mouth began to open more as you moved along his bicep, trailblazing down to his forearm, tongue dragging in tow.

Jack studied the way you worshiped his limb, curiosity peaking when your teeth began to graze against his flesh with your kisses. The first sensation of your hardened enamel sent a jolt of electricity through his entire arm causing his shoulder to spasm. You flicked your eyes up to him and smirked.

“You like that, huh?” You purred against his skin.

The muscles in his neck strained as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, kid.” He muttered, reaching a hand to his crotch to palm away some new pressure. “But it ain’t bad.”

You smirked and continued your expedition. The sun-worn skin against your tongue and teeth stretched just slightly as you licked a stripe down his forearm, from elbow crease to wrist. A shudder escaped his nose, and he bit the inside of his cheek to maintain his composure. As you worked your way up again with sloppy kisses, you opened your eyes just enough to see the indent of the long and short head bicep muscles. You dragged your tongue to massage the just-noticeable valley, mouth watering far too much. Your drool dripped down his upper arm, down to his elbow.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack mumbled, eyes riveted on your mouth. “Getting what you need, baby girl?”

His voice was sweet but too condescending. In retaliation, you bit down hard on the chunk of muscle, digging your teeth into his flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to satisfy your primal appetite. Jack let out a startled but aroused groan at the sensation. The muscles flexed in your jaws, writhing under your tongue. You sucked on the skin, a last attempt to leave a mark, before releasing his arm from your mouth.

Teeth marks indented in his bicep, claiming it as yours as the area surrounding it began to swell into a warm magenta. You admired your work and pressed a soothing kiss against your mark.

“You like marking me up?” Jack mumbled through dazed eyes. “Want people to know I belong to someone?”

You smirked before taking another chomp at his muscles, this time on the forearm. You sucked greedily at the cephalic vein that was permanently visible through his skin, always taunting you when he wore short sleeves. Your tongue lapped at the skin that grew saltier by the second with sweat, indulging in the savory taste.

“If you leave too many bruises, people will ask questions.” He warned, still palming himself through his scrub bottoms. “And I promise, I will mark you tenfold what you leave on me.”

You just hummed in acknowledgement to his threat before releasing the patch of skin, secretly hoping that he would hold true to that promise. The blotch grew darker as it adjusted to open air again, and you smiled with content. But then something caught your eye. The way his fingers twitched slightly, curling down to his palm as his arm rested on the bed. Those fingers spent a lot of time in your pussy, but not enough time in your mouth. That needed to be fixed.

You delicately grasped his wrist, lifting his hand. His fingers brushed against your cupid’s bow, tracing the outline. You met his eyes, and without breaking contact, you swallowed his meaty index finger. Jack let out a vulgar groan as he felt the smooth back of your throat against his fingerprint. You held him there for a moment until your gag reflex forced you to withdraw.

“Oh, fuuuuck.” He hissed, brow furrowed in bliss. “You know, you’re gonna-“

You cut him off by shoving his index and middle finger down your throat this time, somehow going deeper than before. His voice cracked as your pharynx constricted around his fingers. A wet gag forced them out of your mouth again, freeing your airway. A strand of beaded saliva connected your mouth to his hand as he reluctantly pulled away.

Jack wanted to fuck you senseless in that moment. Being such a good girl for him, taking his fingers so deep, face flushed and eyes watering. But he knew what you wanted, what you had asked so nicely for. So he extended his right arm away from his upper body.

“Wanna take a ride, baby doll?” His face was smug, mouth pulling to one side to show off his adorable grin.

You smirked in response. “What’s that saying? Save a horse, ride an ER cowboy?” You teased.

Jack chuckled, stretching his arm further to you. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

You hovered above his forearm, the heat of his skin matching the radiation from your pussy. Your thighs trembled as you lowered closer and closer and closer.

Until Jack let out an unexpected groan as your juices melted against his skin. “So wet for me?” He sputtered. “Just for my arms, baby girl?”

You were a little embarrassed at his questioning, but you couldn’t help the euphoria speeding through your neurons. Every vein against your clit was electric. You placed a balancing hand on his broad chest, stabilizing yourself to slide up and down his arm.

“If you answer me, I’ll make it even better. I promise.” The look in his eyes was unrecognizable. Almost possessed.

You couldn’t look away from his powerful gaze, mainly because you knew if you did, he would force your jaw with his hand to meet his eyes. “Just for your arms.” You finally whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” He nearly growled.

You whimpered as you slid against him. “Just for your arms.” You verified, much louder this time.

He smiled with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.” He cooed.

Then he flexed his forearm under you, rippling the muscles and veins against your pussy. Just like he was pumping his arm before giving blood. Your eyes rolled back as you continued to grind against him.

“Oh, fuck, Jack.” You moaned.

Your vaginal lips smeared across the unholy marks you had left just a few minutes before. Jack placed his free hand on your thigh, guiding you ever so gently.

“Yeah? That feel good, baby doll?” He whispered.

He began to slide his arm in the opposite direction of your thrusts, enhancing the friction. The muscles and veins that nearly popped out of his skin were teasing your clit in a way that drove you mad. You whimpered as you dug your hips deeper, chasing your orgasm with every lewd squelch of your pussy.

“Feels so good.” You panted.

The familiar warmness in your belly began to creep lower and lower as you rode. Your thighs shook violently as you struggled to maintain balance as your climax neared. Jack chuckled and placed a strong hand on your shoulder to stabilize you.

“Oh, you’re so close, sweet girl. Take a break. I’ll get you there.” He said, voice laced with fake pity.

You finally stopped moving your hips, legs shaking as you came to a halt. And just like he promised, Jack continued move his arm underneath you, faster than he had before. You scratched at his chest with the hand that rested there as he set a bruising pace. Your clit swelled at the rapid brush of his worn, leathered skin, and it became too much. Your thighs clenched around his arm like a vice as you rocked into your orgasm, screaming his name as you did.

“There you go. Keep coming for me.” Jack coached you on.

Your pussy throbbed against him, slathering your juices on his freckled skin. When you finally collapsed on top of him, freeing his arm for the first time, he held it up to inspect it. Your slick honey dribbling over the veins down to his elbow, crossing over the bruise and bite mark you had left on his forearm.

He chuckled to himself. “Look at that mess you made.” He mumbled against your head. “All for my arms, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, still dazed by your release. “Told you they’re hot.” You breathed against his chest.

Jack wrapped his clean arm around you securely as you reeled from your high. He admired the way your juices glistened on his skin in the low light of the bedroom, how they glossed over his freckles.

“Why didn’t you just ask me sooner?” He questioned.

You shrugged, face still buried in his chest. “I was worried you’d be too…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Too…?”

You smirked slightly. “Too old fashioned.”

“Old fashioned.” Jack repeated, a smile on his lips. “What makes you think that?”

You rubbed circles onto his chest with your thumb, feeling pulled closer and closer to sleep. “I dunno.” You mumbled.

“Because I’m old?” He deadpanned.

You giggled and looked up to him. “You said it, not me.”

Jack chuckled, the warm vibrations rumbling through his chest and to your ear pressed against it. He lifted a finger underneath your chin to maintain your gaze and leaned down to kiss you gently. “After we get some sleep, you're gonna be apologizing for that little ‘old-fashioned’ comment for hours.”

—

A/N: I’m sorry this was shorter than my usual fics but I needed to have this written so the worms would stop talking to me 🐛

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #jack abbot #Jack abbot smut #Jack abbot x reader #Shawn hatosy #Jack Abbott

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mcrdvcks · 2 days ago

Text

truly

summary: After seeing Scott and Jean's newborn, Logan gets baby fever. word count: 6.6k+ pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader notes: here was the request that inspired this! i will say, anon who requested this, it got a little out of hand, lol. so enjoy 2 smut scenes. this is set in the same world as Deck The Halls and i just need this love spiral but you don't have to read those to understand this! (title is a song by cigarettes after sex) warnings/tags: reader and logan have a bio kid, laura, fluff, talks of having a baby, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, cum play (?)

The four of you were visiting the X-Mansion to see the new addition to the family, Rachel Summers.

Laura and Sierra had already dashed off to the backyard with some of the other kids, leaving you and Logan alone with Jean and Scott.

"Here," Jean said, carefully transferring Rachel into your arms. "She's fed, changed, and hopefully about to nap."

You grinned, gently settling Rachel against your shoulder. "I've got her. Go take a break."

Jean let out a relieved sigh. "You’re amazing, Y/N. I haven’t had an hour to myself in days."

Scott chuckled softly. "More like weeks."

Jean lightly elbowed him. "Be quiet."

"Go," you insisted softly, waving her away. "We’ve got this."

Jean nodded gratefully, already backing out of the room. "Thank you."

Scott followed behind her, offering Logan a quick grin. "Don’t let the girls destroy the place, please."

"No promises," Logan said dryly.

As they left, you gently rocked Rachel, smiling down at her. "Hey, pretty girl. You gonna sleep for your Auntie Y/N?"

Logan watched from a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you and Rachel. "Looks good on you."

You glanced up, raising a brow. "What?"

He tilted his head toward Rachel. "That. Babies. Always did."

You laughed softly, moving slowly back and forth. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad ours are finally sleeping through the night."

He snorted. "Mostly."

"Mostly," you agreed.

He stepped closer, leaning against the table next to you. Rachel’s tiny fingers curled sleepily against your shoulder, eyes blinking drowsily before finally shutting. Logan’s eyes softened just slightly.

"I forgot how small they are at this stage," he murmured quietly.

"Yeah," you sighed, gently smoothing Rachel's hair. "Time goes by fast."

Logan watched the baby settle peacefully in your arms, his eyes thoughtful. "Laura and Sierra used to do that too."

"What, sleep?"

He smiled faintly. "Be quiet for longer than five minutes."

You grinned, keeping your voice low. "They're not that bad."

"Not that bad," he repeated dryly. "Laura's probably climbing a tree right now, and Sierra’s probably giving her ideas."

"True," you conceded with a chuckle.

Logan’s gaze drifted again to Rachel’s peaceful little face, the faint rise and fall of her chest. A tiny pang of something tugged deep in his chest, something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

"You want to hold her?" you offered gently, sensing his quiet contemplation.

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Looks like she's comfy with you."

You smiled softly, carefully swaying back and forth. "Suit yourself."

Logan shifted, still watching. A beat passed before he cleared his throat. "Scott and Jean seem good."

"They are," you said. "Exhausted, but good."

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "A newborn’ll do that."

You gave him a curious look. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Logan straightened slightly, clearing his throat again. "Just... thinking."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "Thinking about what?"

He shrugged lightly, voice careful. "Nothin'. Just... been a while since we had one this little."

You chuckled softly, shifting Rachel gently. "Someone’s getting nostalgic."

He snorted quietly. "Maybe a little."

"Well, you can always babysit Rachel," you teased softly. "Jean would probably be thrilled."

He cracked a faint smile, shaking his head. "Think I'll leave that to you."

"Mhm," you hummed knowingly, still watching him closely. "Sure."

Rachel stirred slightly, fussing softly in her sleep. Logan moved instinctively closer, a hand coming up to carefully rub the baby’s tiny back, helping soothe her immediately. He paused when he noticed your raised brow.

"What?" he muttered defensively. "Ain’t lost my touch yet."

You smiled, tilting your head. "No, you haven’t."

He watched Rachel settle down again, peaceful and warm against your chest. That gentle tug deepened quietly, making him sigh softly under his breath.

"I'll go check on Laura and Sierra," he muttered, pulling back carefully.

You smiled gently, letting him retreat. "Okay."

Logan paused at the doorway, glancing back once more. The sight of you holding Rachel—so natural, so easy—was etched warmly into his mind. He shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he disappeared into the hall.

---

The house was quiet—after getting back to the cabin late, Laura and Sierra took their showers then got into bed.

You stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Logan sitting on the bed with a notebook in his hands.

“You ever think ‘bout ‘nother one?” he asked, still lazily doodling.

You glanced at him, pausing with your towel still wrapped around you. “Another what?”

Logan looked up, meeting your eyes. “Baby.”

You smiled faintly, resuming your movements as you searched for clothes. “Not much. Maybe a few times.”

He hummed quietly, his pencil pausing. “Today got me thinkin’.”

You chuckled softly, pulling a shirt from the dresser. “Seeing Rachel gave you baby fever?”

He shrugged, setting the notebook down. “Maybe a little.”

You turned to him, amusement on your face. “You’re serious?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so shocked, darlin’.”

“Not shocked,” you said, pulling the shirt on over your head. “Just surprised, I guess. Thought you liked finally gettin’ sleep again.”

He snorted. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased, tugging on a pair of shorts.

Logan watched you, quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Wouldn’t be so bad though, right?”

You paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “Another baby?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah. Sierra’d probably like bein’ a big sister.”

You smiled softly, moving toward the bed. “Laura already is one.”

“Yeah, but she’d probably love bossin’ around another sibling,” he smirked. “And Sierra’s gettin’ pretty independent.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him, crossing your legs and looking thoughtful. “You’re really thinking about this.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, eyes gentle as he studied your face, “today got me thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, a soft smile curving your lips. “Are you saying you want another baby?”

He reached out, tugging you gently closer until you settled across his lap. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed softly, sliding your arms around his neck. “Logan Howlett, secretly a softie.”

He rolled his eyes, brushing his thumb along your hip. “Keep it quiet. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You hummed, leaning in, lips brushing his gently. “Another baby, huh?”

He kissed you softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Only if you want.”

Your gaze softened, fingertips trailing lightly along his jaw. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

He smiled slowly, hands slipping beneath your shirt, warm against your skin. “That a yes?”

You laughed, pulling him closer. “Yeah, Logan. That’s a yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, lips ghosting along your neck. “Figured we’d better get started.”

“Now? I just took a shower and put my clothes on.”

Logan’s lips barely brushed yours as he murmured, “Good thing I’m the one who takes ’em off,” voice low, teasing, full of promise. His hands were already sliding under your shirt, warm palms grazing bare skin as his mouth found your jaw, then lower—kissing along the line of your throat like he had all the time in the world.

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he eased you back against the pillows, but a flicker of something practical snuck in through the haze. “Did you lock the door?”

He groaned, forehead dropping against your chest for a second. “Fuckin’—” He sighed, kissed you once, then reluctantly shifted back. “You ruin all my fun, y’know that?”

You grinned, tugging the hem of your shirt up. “Go lock it, old man.”

He muttered something under his breath about being cockblocked by fatherhood and stomped off toward the door. A second later, you heard the lock slide into place. Then a scrape—he was dragging the chair under the knob.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Paranoid much?”

“Sierra picks locks now,” Logan growled as he returned, eyes dark and determined. “Not takin’ chances.”

Before you could say another word, he was back over you, hand splayed on your stomach, pressing you into the mattress. He shoved your shirt up to your ribs, mouth finding the underside of your breast, stubble scraping along your skin, tongue hot and slow as he sucked a mark against your ribs.

“Still smell like soap,” he muttered against your skin. “Gonna fix that.”

You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple through the fabric, your hand flying to his hair. “Logan—”

He shoved your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside, then sat back on his heels, tugging your shorts and panties down in one rough pull. “Been thinkin’ about this since the second you held that baby. Looked like a fuckin’ dream. Like I needed to put another one in you.”

You flushed, heartbeat pounding as he lowered himself between your thighs, spreading them apart with firm hands. He kissed your inner thigh first—slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, teasing heat.

Then his tongue flicked—slow, deliberate, dragging up through your folds—and your breath caught hard.

You reached down, tangling a hand in his hair. “Thought you were impatient.”

His voice was muffled against your cunt, lips slick, tongue dipping low. “Can still enjoy it, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready, don’t I?”

His mouth was hot, deliberate, tongue sliding in slow circles around your clit, then back down, teasing your entrance, sucking one of your lips between his teeth just enough to make your thighs twitch. One of his hands slid up, spreading you wider, while the other held your hip down when it bucked.

You let out a breathy moan, biting your knuckle to stay quiet. “L-Logan—”

He didn’t stop. He groaned low against you like you were his favorite meal, tongue flattening and dragging hard and slow right over your clit again—wet, unrelenting pressure that made your eyes roll.

Your hips jerked and he growled, fingers digging into your thigh. “Stay still.”

You whimpered, breath catching. “F-fuck—”

He pulled back just long enough to say, voice all gravel and heat, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me taste you.”

Then he dove back in, and this time he didn’t hold back—tongue pressing deep, lips sealing around your clit and sucking with filthy precision. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room, and your thighs trembled as heat snapped up your spine.

His hand moved, one thick finger sliding into you slow and curling just right, and your back arched off the bed, a helpless cry breaking from your throat.

“Fuck—Logan—oh my god—”

He moaned against you like your taste was the best damn thing he’d had all year, and when he added a second finger, stretching you, working you open, it was almost too much. You squirmed, gasped, toes curling as heat bloomed sharp and fast in your belly.

"A-ahhh—fuck, Logan—"

His tongue didn’t stop, his lips slick with you, beard damp against your thighs. “Mmhhhn,” he growled low, the sound vibrating right through your clit like a goddamn electric current. His fingers curled again, slow and dirty, dragging along that spot that made your back arch like a bow.

You reached down blindly, tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gripping tight. “S-shit—Logan, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t even lift his head, just sucked harder, lips locking around your clit, two thick fingers buried deep and fucking slow, pushing you right over that edge without mercy. It hit like a damn freight train, ripped the air from your lungs.

"Logan—ohmygod—"

Your hips jerked, your thighs clenched around his head, and you came hard against his mouth, a helpless, strangled moan punching from your chest as your body shook apart under him. He didn’t stop—kept licking, slower now, easing you through it, savoring it like he wanted to bottle the sound of your wrecked breathing.

"Good girl," he rasped when he finally came up for air, voice dark and hungry, mouth glistening with you. "Fuckin' love when you fall apart on my tongue."

You were still panting, trembling slightly, your skin flushed all over. “Y-you’re a menace,” you managed, trying to blink him into focus as he crawled up your body.

He grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Hot. Filthy. You moaned into it, hands tugging him closer.

"Not done," he murmured against your lips. "Not nearly fuckin' done."

You reached down between you, felt him thick and hard through his sweats. He hissed between his teeth when your palm pressed against him, his hips twitching.

“Get these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband.

He didn’t waste a second, shoved them down and kicked them off, his cock springing free—thick, heavy, flushed at the tip and already leaking. You bit your lip at the sight, reaching to wrap your hand around him, stroking slow. He groaned, low and rough, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck, darlin’... been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day."

"Yeah?" you murmured, breath hot against his neck, hand still moving. “About knocking me up again?”

He growled, deep and hot in his throat, hips rolling into your grip. “Mhm. Watchin’ you hold that baby—made me wanna bend you over right there and fill you up. Stuff you full, see if it takes.”

You shuddered, moaned softly, your thighs squeezing together. “Logan…”

He grinned, dark and wild, then reached down and hooked your leg over his arm, lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your soaked folds, teasing the head through your slick. "You want it?"

"God, yes—please—"

That was all it took. He pushed in slow, dragging a deep groan from both of you as you stretched around him. Inch by thick, fucking inch, he sank into you, filling you up with no resistance, just wet heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Shhhhit," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched tight. "Tight as ever… fuckin’ perfect."

You whimpered, clutching his arms as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. The stretch, the fullness—it burned in the best way, had you writhing under him, thighs already trembling again.

"Move," you begged softly, voice catching. "Please—Logan—"

He did. Slow at first—rolling his hips in smooth, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back, the head of his cock grinding deep, right where you were still sensitive. You gasped, clawed at his back.

"That what you need?" he rasped, breath hot against your ear. "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

You nodded, whimpering, too far gone to answer with anything but a broken moan. “Uh-huh—ahh—yes—f-fuck—”

He picked up the pace, thrusts harder now, deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. You could hear the chair scraping faintly under the doorknob every time the headboard knocked against the wall. Didn't matter. Let it fall. Let it shatter.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop,” he growled, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it higher, angling deeper, harder. “Gonna make me a daddy again, sweetheart?”

You cried out, eyes wide and hazy. “Y-yeah—yeah—want it—want you—”

"That’s my girl," he groaned, slamming into you, pace relentless now. "Gonna breed this pretty pussy till you’re knocked up. Fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll still be leaking me tomorrow."

You moaned, helpless under him, his body caging you in, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside. It was too much, too good—your second orgasm building sharp and fast. Your nails bit into his back.

"L-Logan—gonna—I'm—fuck—"

"Yeah, baby, I got you," he panted, snapping his hips harder, faster. "Come on my cock—"

You shattered around him with a scream, back arched, body clenching down so tight around him he cursed loud against your throat.

“Fuuuck—you’re squeezin’ me—shit—!”

He slammed in hard one last time, then froze, cock twitching deep as he spilled into you, growling loud and low through gritted teeth, his whole body shaking. You felt it—hot, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up just like he promised.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving, his weight warm on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

Then he chuckled, breathless, voice still wrecked. “That’s one hell of a start.”

You snorted, weakly swatting at his arm. “You're insatiable.”

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck. “With you? Damn right.”

His cock was still twitching inside you, and he didn’t move—just held you, sweaty and tangled, not caring about the mess between your legs, the heat of your skin sticking to his. You stroked a hand through his hair, still dazed and sore in the best way, heart thudding against his chest.

You didn’t say anything else for a long moment. You didn’t need to.

Then Logan shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were warm, wild, a little wicked. “Round two’s gonna be messier.”

Your breath hitched. You smiled. “Good.”

---

A few weeks later, Sierra sat at the kitchen table drawing a picture for Rachel with her crayons. You were at the stove, making a pie for Jean and Scott.

Logan and Laura sat with Sierra, both of them reading—Logan a newspaper, and Laura a comic.

Then, Sierra spoke up. “Daddy, how are babies made?”

Logan choked on his coffee as Laura let out a snort. "What?"

Sierra tilted her head, blinking at him innocently. "How are babies made?"

Laura snickered again, hiding behind her comic. "Yeah, Dad. How are they made?"

Logan shot Laura a pointed glare. "Not helpin', kid."

You pressed your lips together, fighting to stay serious as you turned to Sierra. "Why do you ask, honey?"

"'Cause Rachel is a baby, and Jean said she grew in her tummy," Sierra said, still coloring carefully. "How'd she get in there?"

Laura’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, Dad. How did Rachel get in Jean’s tummy?"

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re grounded."

Laura rolled her eyes, clearly not taking his threat seriously.

You sighed softly, leaning against the counter. "Well, Sierra, when two people love each other very much—"

Laura snorted again, louder this time. Logan shot her another look. "Laura."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all.

Sierra looked at Logan expectantly. "So how'd she get in there?"

Logan rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "Magic."

Sierra's eyes widened. "Magic?"

Laura laughed outright this time, ducking behind her comic to hide it.

You shot Logan an amused glance. "Really? Magic?"

Logan shrugged defensively. "You got somethin' better?"

You walked over, gently brushing Sierra’s hair back. "Babies come from love, sweetheart. When two grown-ups love each other very much, they decide they want a baby. Then one grows in the mommy’s tummy."

Sierra frowned thoughtfully. "Like planting flowers?"

Laura snorted loudly again. "I’m gonna die."

Logan leaned toward Laura, lowering his voice. "Keep it up, kid, and you’re gonna have this conversation next."

Laura immediately sobered, returning quietly to her comic.

"Sort of like planting flowers," you said gently. "A seed gets planted, and it grows into a baby."

"How does the seed get there?" Sierra asked, eyes big and curious.

Logan cleared his throat loudly, folding his paper. "I’m gonna go chop some firewood."

You shot him a pointed look. "Logan."

He sighed, looking resigned as he turned back to Sierra. "The seed... just gets put there."

Sierra narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "By who?"

Logan’s eye twitched slightly. "The... other grown-up."

You smiled sweetly at Logan. "Good job, honey."

He shot you a dry look. "Thanks."

Sierra seemed satisfied enough, nodding thoughtfully. "Oh. Okay."

Logan exhaled in relief, taking another careful sip of coffee. Laura smirked behind her comic.

"So, Daddy put the seed in your tummy when you had me?" Sierra asked suddenly, eyes brightening with realization.

Logan promptly choked again.

Laura burst out laughing. "Amazing."

Logan pointed a finger at her, voice rough. "Grounded. For real."

Sierra smiled happily, oblivious to Logan's distress. "Right, Mommy?"

You patted Sierra's head gently, trying not to laugh at Logan's red face. "That’s right, sweetheart."

Sierra grinned, returning to her drawing. "Daddy’s good at planting seeds."

Laura howled with laughter, dropping her comic. Logan groaned, covering his face with his hand.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. "Maybe let’s talk about something else now."

"Please," Logan muttered weakly. "Anything else."

---

The next afternoon, Logan walked into the living room, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. He paused when he saw you sitting cross-legged on the couch, sorting through a box of tiny baby clothes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ain’t wastin’ time, huh?"

You glanced up, smiling softly. "Just figured I’d see what we still have from Sierra."

He stepped closer, peering into the box and reaching down to lift a small yellow onesie. His expression softened as he ran his thumb over the tiny fabric. "Forgot how little these things are."

You chuckled quietly. "You said that about Rachel."

"Yeah," he murmured. He looked up again, studying you carefully. "You feelin’ alright?"

You smiled reassuringly. "I'm good."

He nodded, thoughtful. "So we really doin' this, huh?"

You tilted your head playfully. "Second thoughts already?"

"Nah," he said, voice firm. "Just makin' sure you're sure."

"I'm sure," you said warmly, tugging gently at his hand until he sat beside you. "How about you?"

His eyes softened. "Darlin', I was sure the second I brought it up."

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good."

Logan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he watched you fold a tiny shirt. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat softly. "Laura asked me about it earlier."

You glanced up curiously. "What did she say?"

"Asked if we were really thinkin’ about another kid," he said. "Think she likes the idea."

"That's good," you said softly, smiling. "Sierra already acts like a mini-mom anyway."

He snorted gently. "She bossed me around for fifteen minutes earlier ‘bout how to feed Rocky. Pretty sure that dog ain’t listenin’ to anyone but her now."

You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, at least we know she’s ready to help."

He hummed softly, fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "Yeah."

There was a comfortable silence between you, Logan's steady heartbeat soothing beneath your ear. Then—

"Mommy," Sierra said from the doorway, her expression deeply serious, "Rocky ate my crayons again."

Logan sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Told you, he don’t listen to anyone but her."

You chuckled softly, sitting up to look at Sierra. "How many did he eat?"

She held up her fingers. "Three. And one was blue."

Logan grunted, standing up with a resigned sigh. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, earning a faintly amused glance from him as he headed toward Sierra.

"You're lucky you’re cute," he muttered affectionately to Sierra, ruffling her hair gently as they disappeared into the hallway.

You smiled to yourself, settling back against the couch and resting a hand lightly on your stomach, already looking forward to the chaos ahead.

---

Just a week later, you got your period. You weren’t necessarily disappointed—you and Logan had only tried once.

You stepped out of the bathroom, catching Logan’s curious glance from where he sat on the bed, tying his boots.

"No luck?" he guessed.

You shrugged lightly, unbothered. "Not this month."

Logan raised a brow, mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully. "Yeah, I guess you will."

He leaned back on the bed, studying you carefully. "You good?"

"Yeah," you assured him, stepping closer. "Took a few months with Sierra too, remember?"

"I remember," he said quietly, pulling you toward him until you settled comfortably against his chest. "I ain't worried."

You smiled, fingers playing lightly with his collar. "Neither am I."

He brushed his thumb along your hip. "Besides, practice makes perfect, right?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Always looking on the bright side."

"Hey," he teased, voice low and warm. "Never heard you complain."

You hummed, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Guess we'll just have to try again."

"Exactly my plan," he muttered, lips brushing yours softly. "Tonight?"

“Mmh.” You scrunched your brows together. “No. Sorry, honey. I just wanna lay in bed and eat ice cream.”

Logan chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Ice cream, huh?"

"Mmhm," you hummed, settling comfortably against his chest. "Salted caramel."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Pretty sure Laura ate the last of that yesterday."

You groaned dramatically. "Seriously?"

"Yup," he said, voice low and amused. "Saw her sneakin’ the tub back into the freezer."

"She’s your kid," you muttered. "Stealin’ my ice cream."

"Our kid," Logan corrected, thumb stroking lightly along your side. "And Sierra steals your cookies."

You sighed heavily. "I never get anything around here."

Logan snorted. "Welcome to my world, darlin’."

You smiled faintly, tilting your head to look at him. "Can you go to the store?"

He raised an eyebrow. "For ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

You gave him your best pleading look. "Please?"

Logan groaned softly, head dropping back against the pillows. "Fine."

You grinned, kissing him quickly. "You’re the best."

He rolled his eyes playfully, shifting you carefully off his chest as he stood. "I’ll remember this next time I need a favor."

You stretched lazily across the bed. "I’ll be here waiting."

Logan gave you an amused glance as he grabbed his keys from the dresser. "Don’t doubt it."

You heard his footsteps fading as he walked down the hall, followed by Sierra’s curious voice. "Daddy, where you goin’?"

"Your mom needs ice cream," Logan answered gruffly.

"Ooh," Sierra said excitedly. "Can I have some?"

"Nope," Logan said firmly. "You and your sister ate hers already."

There was a brief pause. Then Sierra called toward your room, voice filled with concern, "Sorry, Mommy!"

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "It’s okay, baby!"

Then, the front door opened and shut, and a few seconds later, Laura’s head appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, eyebrows raised.

"Dad went out just for ice cream?" she asked skeptically.

You shrugged innocently. "He loves me."

Laura smirked. "You’re spoiled."

"Jealous?" you teased.

Laura shrugged lightly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe."

You chuckled softly. "Good. You should be."

Laura shook her head, turning to leave. "I’ll tell Sierra to leave you alone ‘til he’s back."

"Thanks, Laura," you called after her.

A moment later, the house was quiet again, and you relaxed into the pillows, smiling to yourself. A quiet night, ice cream, and Logan—exactly what you needed.

---

A few nights later, the house was finally quiet. Laura and Sierra had both been asleep for at least an hour, and Rocky was curled up contentedly on his bed in the living room.

You stood by the kitchen sink, absently rinsing dishes from dinner, lost in thought until Logan’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently against his chest.

“Kids asleep,” he murmured softly against your ear, voice low and warm.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “Mm. I noticed.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, lingering softly. “Rocky’s passed out too.”

You laughed quietly. “You sound like you’re plotting something.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan muttered, teeth scraping lightly along your pulse point, making your breath hitch.

You set the dish down, water dripping off your fingers as you turned in his arms, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Feeling lucky tonight?”

His eyes darkened slightly, hands tightening around your hips. “Yeah, darlin’. Pretty damn lucky.”

You chuckled, fingertips brushing lightly along his jaw. “Confident.”

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smirk. “Got every reason to be.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth softly, the kiss slow and deep. You melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he pressed you back gently against the counter. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you smiled against his lips.

“Guess we should make the most of a quiet house,” you whispered.

“Exactly what I was thinkin’,” he agreed, voice rough.

He didn’t waste another second. Logan lifted you easily, setting you onto the counter and stepping between your legs. Your breath hitched as his hands slid beneath your shirt, tracing warm paths along your skin.

“You think tonight’s the night?” you asked quietly, eyes locked on his.

Logan smiled softly, brushing your hair from your face. “Hope so.”

You laughed, hooking your ankles around his waist and tugging him closer. “Then we better get started.”

Logan’s eyes sparked with amusement and heat. “Yes, ma’am.”

He leaned in again, kissing you hard and deep, hands gripping your hips firmly. You let yourself get lost in him, warmth curling low in your stomach as he pulled you flush against him, grinding slowly, deliberately, the friction making you gasp softly into his mouth.

He broke the kiss briefly, his voice ragged against your ear. “Gonna take this to the bedroom, darlin’. Counter ain’t exactly comfortable for what I got planned.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “Lead the way.”

He lifted you easily off the counter, keeping you wrapped securely around him. You pressed slow kisses along his neck, smiling against his skin as he carried you toward your room.

“Better lock the door,” you teased quietly.

“Way ahead of ya,” he muttered, kicking the door shut and clicking the lock into place.

You didn’t even get a word out before Logan’s mouth was on yours again—hot and demanding, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you ten seconds ago. He walked you backward toward the bed without breaking the kiss, one hand gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair.

By the time the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you were already gasping into his mouth, dizzy with heat. He eased you down onto the bed, crawling over you slow like a fucking wolf, all heat and weight and hunger.

You slid your hands up under his shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin and hard muscle. “Off,” you mumbled, tugging at the fabric.

Logan grinned against your neck. “Bossy tonight.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

He sat back on his heels, yanking his shirt over his head in one smooth pull. You reached for your own, but he caught your wrists.

“Nuh-uh, lemme do it.”

His voice had gone low, dark—gravel scraped through honey. He peeled your shirt up slow, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. Stomach. Ribs. The underside of your breast. He paused there, nuzzling warm against you, lips dragging over the swell. You arched into him with a soft gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets.

Then he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sucking slow, deep—just once—before switching to the other, tongue flicking in lazy circles until your breath hitched and your thighs rubbed together on instinct.

“Logan…”

“Shh. I got you.”

He kissed down your belly, thumbs hooking into your waistband, dragging your shorts and panties off in one slow pull. His gaze never left yours. Even with the heat low in his belly and the tension buzzing through his limbs, he wasn’t gonna rush a damn thing.

“You ready?” he asked, fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere in your chest. “Please.”

That smug little smirk curved across his face, and he leaned in, kissing you again—soft this time, like he was savoring it—while his fingers slid down and dipped between your folds.

You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking up as he rubbed slow circles over your clit, his fingers slick and teasing. Then he pushed one inside—slow and deep—and you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

“Fuck—Logan—”

“That’s it,” he muttered, sucking on your bottom lip. “Already soaked for me. You really want this, huh?”

You nodded again, barely coherent. “Want you. Want you to fuck a baby into me.”

He groaned low, forehead dropping to yours. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

He added a second finger, curling them just right. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, body trembling as his fingers fucked into you slow and steady.

“I’m gonna knock you up tonight,” he growled, kissing down your throat again, biting at your collarbone. “Gonna make you a mama all over again. You’re gonna feel it, darlin’. Gonna know it took.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers, your thighs clenching. “Logan—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped. “Gimme one. Right here. All over my hand.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you broke—moaning, shaking, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers as you came, soaking his hand with a whimper that died against his shoulder.

He eased you through it, kissed the top of your head, then reached for the pillow, shoving it under your hips with practiced ease.

You blinked up at him, still breathless. “Logan—”

He was already stripping out of his sweats, his cock thick and flushed and heavy in his hand as he lined himself up, eyes locked on yours.

“You want it?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Want me to fill you up?”

You bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading wider. “Please.”

He sank into you with a deep, guttural groan, one hand gripping your thigh, the other planted beside your head. His body was hot, heavy, every thick inch of him pushing slow and steady until he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead resting against yours, breath hot. “This pussy’s gonna take all of me tonight, huh?”

You whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Always does…”

“Yeah?” He rocked his hips, slow, deep, grinding against your cervix until your back arched. “Gonna take my come too, sweetheart? Gonna let me put a baby in you?”

“God—yes,” you breathed, hands clutching at his back. “Wanna make you a daddy again.”

That sound he made—half growl, half moan—went straight through you. “Fuckin’ hell, you say that again and I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Do it,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “Come inside me. Fill me up. Knock me up.”

Logan snarled, hips snapping forward, hard. “You filthy little thing… beggin’ to get bred.”

“I want it,” you gasped, breath catching with every ruthless thrust. “Need it.”

He fucked you harder then—rough, relentless, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours. His hand left your thigh and pressed against your belly, right above where he was buried inside you.

“Right here,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up so full you’ll feel it for days.”

You cried out, nails dragging down his back. “Please—Logan—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he panted, grinding down. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good. This tight little cunt’s made to keep me in, yeah?”

You could barely breathe, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, pleasure spiking sharp and high. “Gonna—gonna come—”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, mouth against your ear. “Then do it. Milk my cock, sweetheart. Get yourself good and ready to catch.”

You shattered around him, legs locking tight around his waist, your whole body pulsing as you screamed his name into his shoulder. He kept going, driving through your climax, chasing his own with that low, animal growl rising in his throat.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” you begged. “Come inside me—please, baby, I need it—”

Logan slammed deep and stayed there, cock throbbing as he came hard, spilling into you with a choked moan, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, body trembling. “That’s it—fuck, that’s it, take it all…”

You felt him twitch inside you, his come hot and thick, filling you until it leaked out around him.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just laid there, buried deep, one hand splayed across your lower belly like he could feel it taking.

Then he lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and dark. “That oughta do it.”

You gave him a dazed little smile. “Think you got it in one?”

Logan grinned, kissed you lazy and slow. “Maybe. But better be sure.”

His hand slid down, slow and sure, knuckles brushing between your legs—right where you were still stretched around him, messy and slick with the load he’d just pumped deep inside. His eyes stayed locked on yours as two fingers pressed to your swollen folds, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out.

“Fuckin’ shame,” he muttered. “Wastin’ good it like that.”

You shivered, hips twitching as he eased a finger back inside, slow and deep. You gasped, back arching slightly. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmured, voice low, gravel-smooth. “Lemme make sure it stays where it belongs.”

He added a second finger, thick and insistent, curling them inside you like he knew every sensitive spot by heart—and he did. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make your breath catch, not enough to push you over yet.

Your hips rocked into the motion instinctively, body still greedy for more. “God… you’re not done with me?”

He snorted, lips brushing your cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started.”

His fingers pumped slow, deliberate, his palm slick with a mix of your arousal and his come, still leaking out around his knuckles. You whimpered, clenching down on him, thighs shaking.

“You feel that?” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, letting his teeth scrape lightly across your skin. “That’s mine. All of it. Gonna keep pushin’ it in ‘til your body holds on tight.”

“Logan—fuck—” you moaned, legs spreading wider for him. “You’re gonna make me come again…”

“Good,” he growled. “I want you to. That sweet little pussy soaks me every damn time, ‘course you’re gonna come.”

He curled his fingers again, hitting just the right spot, and your whole body jerked, toes curling. You could hear the wet, obscene sound of it—his hand working between your legs, your pussy clenching greedily around him like it knew what he was trying to do.

“I can feel you pulsin’ around me,” he rasped, kissing down your chest. “Just like that. Keep squeezin’. Gonna milk it all up inside you.”

You bit your lip, desperate to hold it back, but your body had other plans. With a sharp cry, you came hard, thighs clamping around his wrist as your cunt spasmed around his fingers, milking them like it wanted to keep every drop of him inside.

“There it is,” he breathed, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty when you come for me.”

You twitched beneath him, breath ragged, and Logan gently eased his fingers out, slick and dripping. He watched the mess on his hand for a second, then brought it to your mouth.

“Taste what you’re takin’ in,” he muttered.

You opened obediently, sucking his fingers between your lips, tasting salt and heat and something that made your whole body ache with want all over again.

He groaned, leaning in to kiss you slow, deep, filthy. “You’re gonna get pregnant from this,” he whispered against your mouth. “I fuckin’ know it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, breath still catching in your throat. “Think so?”

He grinned, cocky and warm, brushing his fingers lightly over your belly. “I’d bet on it.”

You gave a tired, blissed-out laugh. “You always so sure of yourself?”

He nuzzled close, lips grazing your ear. “Only when I know I’m right.”

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