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honeyedmiller · 8 months ago

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Pretty Little Thing | Joel Miller

joel miller x oc!f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

synopsis: it’s summertime and you’re working at a retro diner on the outskirts of austin. you’ve seen many faces and heard many voices all in a passing blur; ones you’ve never really payed any mind to—until one handsome southern gentleman in particular catches your special attention, and he’s got a voice you’d recognize anywhere—one that’s gotten you off more times than you’d like to admit.

warnings: original female character, no outbreak (game) joel, joel has a hidden identity in this for a bit, joel is taller than reader, joel can pull reader’s hair, reader is mentioned to blush once, joel indulges in virtual sex work, joel has no kids in this, flirting, talks of masturbation, smut (protected sex, blowjob, consensual choking, spitting, hair pulling, many ass slaps, edging, squirting, name calling, ass play), no use of y/n.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: this is entirely self indulgent. sorry for the small writing hiatus, life has been insanely busy. thanks for being patient with me as i ease back into writing fanfic.

It was like clockwork.

Every day was the same.

The same regulars, the same orders being put in, the same rushes.

The lunch rush usually died down around two, which gave you time to prepare for the dinner rush before five.

It was funny, really. You never thought that such a tiny diner off of Interstate 35, tucked in a corner on the outskirts of Austin, would have such an attraction as it does.

Maybe it was the house favorite flapjacks you guys sold. Maybe it was the friendly hospitality you and your favorite coworker, Betty, gave to new and familiar faces. Hell, maybe it was the half-decent coffee and the low prices for everything that kept everyone coming in and coming back.

Either way, it was all the same every single day.

Until today.

Usually, there’d be no more than three stragglers from lunch, and no one would come in until around five.

The little bell above the door chimed as someone walked in, and Betty tapped you on the shoulder with a pleading look in her eyes.

You averted your gaze from the sugar pourers you were refilling, giving her a small smile.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I was about to take my break. Can you take that table for me? I need a cig after this morning’s rush.” Her blonde-gray hair was in disarray and her voice was scratchy and desperate.

“No problem. Enjoy your break.”

“Bless you, sweetheart.”

You brush off the straggling sugar crystals that stuck to your hands on your black apron, pulling out your pad of paper and pen before approaching the man that sat with his back facing you.

You muster up the best smile you can before stopping at the booth, ready to jot down his order.

“Hello sir, how are you doin’ today?” You ask, and he looks up from the menu with a grin.

The first thing you notice is his eyes. They’re a warm and inviting shade of hazel; a mixture of a beautiful green that reflects off of his tan skin and an amber as smooth as whiskey.

Then you notice his lips. Pink and plush. Kissable.

And then there’s the smile hidden behind the lips. Bright, pearly whites that take your breath away and make your heart palpitate, because god, why is he so handsome?

It’s like he won the genetic lottery or something.

The mustache above his lips and the scruff on his jawline matches his dark hair with a few silver strands peeking through; the only identifier of his prospective age.

His lips pull up into a smirk as he watches you shamelessly checking him out. Truthfully, you want him to watch you watching him.

He clears his throat and your eyes snap back up to his. You tilt your head to the side and study him for a moment further before he finally speaks.

“I’ll take a black coffee n’ the number three please. Eggs over easy.”

You write down his order and your brows furrow as he speaks. Something about his voice sounds so… familiar.

“Midday breakfast?” You tease, and he offers you a shrug and a grin. “It’ll be right out, sir.” You gingerly take the menu from him and walk back behind the counter.

His voice keeps ringing through your head as you ring in his order on the POS system. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but his voice was attractive nonetheless — deep and gruff, yet sweet and polite.

Where the hell have you heard that voice before?

And then it hits you.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

That man’s voice has brought you more orgasms than you can possibly even count.

In a desperate need to get yourself off one night, you explored your options until you came across a faceless account. It was his broad body and thick, muscular arms that caught your attention. And — yeah, okay, maybe his deliciously girthy cock, too.

The final nail in the coffin was that thick, syrupy Southern drawl that reeled you in and immersed you in a world full of pleasure.

His voice and groans alone have made you come harder than any man you’ve ever been with.

Your throat goes dry as you look back at him, tucked into the booth he chose to sit at, looking at his phone.

You mindlessly pour his coffee and bring it out to his table, legs seemingly floating in his direction.

You set the coffee cup down on his table. His large hand grabs the cup, making it look nearly miniature.

Your mind was fuzzy and your core suddenly had an aching throb as you thought of his hands exploring your body; what they’d feel like all over you and — god, get a fucking grip.

“Was there anythin’ else I can get for you?” You ask as nonchalant as you can muster up.

“Nope, that’ll do it darlin’. Thank you.” The crinkles beside his eyes deepen in the slightest as he tosses a polite smile your way.

“Food should be out in a couple of minutes.” You rap your knuckles on the table once before turning around to finish topping off the sugar pourers.

The chef chimed the bell indicating the handsome man’s food was done. You wipe your hands on your apron once more before sucking in a breath.

You decided to shoot your shot and call him out by his screen name. You were confident it was him.

You saw no wedding band on his finger, either, so what the hell, right? Worst that could happen is he rejects your advances.

You grab his plate from the kitchen window and head toward his table. Your palms start to sweat and you’re nervous as hell, because fuck, a face like that is hard to forget.

You set the plate down in front of him and he softly thanks you. You hesitate for a second before tucking a stray hair that had fallen out of your braid behind your ear, shooting a wink his way.

“Anytime, Mr. Ryder. Let me know if you need anythin’ else.”

He pauses before looking up at you again, eyebrows furrowing.

“How do you—?” He starts, clearing his throat as his eyes travel down your figure.

“I’m a fan of your work.” You shrug, passing it off like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” He looks back at the now empty diner, gaze shifting back to you. “Wanna sit for a minute and chat?” His voice holds sincerity and — god, let it be — desire.

You nod and hold a finger up to him. “Just a sec.”

You walk back to the counter, catching Betty at a perfect time. She grins at you as she re-ties her apron around her waist.

You jerk your head back to Ryder. “The guy over there wants to chat for a few. Mind if I take a break?”

“Go ‘head baby. Not like we got a ton ‘a people to serve.” She laughs, and you shoot her a smile.

“Thanks, Betty.”

You untie your apron from your waist and walk back over to his booth. He gestures for you to slide into the side opposite of him, and you clumsily settle into the worn leather bench.

He chews on a piece of bacon before his gaze roams your face, seemingly studying you before he swallows.

“So, what’s the first video you watched?” He asks, and you feel your face burn with a blush. You thought he’d be more subtle, but it’s better to lay the cards on the table you suppose.

“Truthfully, I’ve scrolled all the way to the bottom of your page and have probably watched every single one.” You shrug at your confession, and that pulls a smirk out of him.

“What about your favorite?” His tone is almost challenging, but truthfully, he’s intrigued. Never did he think anyone could recognize him by just his voice.

Joel was careful not to show his face on camera. He wanted to keep himself a mystery—the gruff, sexy voice of a suave cowboy and his perfect body that he shared with the world—a secret.

“It’s probably gonna have to be the one where you’re pretty much just talkin’ the viewer through it and, fuck, this is kinda embarrassing but we’re already here,” You huff, and Joel shakes his head and urges you to continue. “When I watch that video, I’ve kinda timed it to make myself come the same time you do.”

“Not embarrassin’, sugar. That’s the sexiest thing a woman has ever confessed to me.”

“Yeah, well, when you got a voice like yours and a dry spell like mine, it’s the perfect mix for a most blissful—” Joel’s hearty laugh cut you off, and you couldn’t help but admire him from across the table.

He was so fucking handsome and you genuinely couldn’t believe you were seeing the man who’s made you come more times than you can count without even fucking touching you, in person.

“Can I see your notepad and pen real quick, baby?” He asks, gesturing down to your lap. You shuffle the items out of your apron pocket before sliding them across the table, and at the click of the pen, he starts to write something down.

You lick your lips and cross your arms over your torso, lolling your head to the side. He clicks the pen once more before sliding it back over to you with the notepad.

You look down at what he’s written, to see his fake name, phone number and an address.

“Whenever you get off, gimme a call n’ come over if you’d like. No pressure though, sugar.”

Holy fuck.

No way in hell you’re passing up this opportunity, so you shoot a smirk his way and tuck the paper into your apron pocket.

Play. It. Cool.

“I get off in about,” You look down at your watch, twisting your lips to the side. “An hour.”

You try to keep your voice steady, but your heart is thumping in your chest and your desperate, aching cunt.

“Sounds good,” He raps his knuckles on the wooden table before grinning at you, nudging your foot in the slightest before he finishes off his breakfast for lunch. “Just the check, sugar. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I’d rather you pull it than get out of it.” You grin wickedly at the astonished man in front of you, sliding out of the booth.

You walk away to the counter before he can retort and ring the check up for his meal, but before you can bring it back to him, he slaps two twenties on the counter before you.

His thick fingers find their way to your wrist and give it a squeeze as he leans down to you and whispers his next words.

“Hope I can satisfy you in more ways than one, baby. See ya in an hour,” He straightens back up before looking down at the twin Jacksons staring back at the both of you, “Keep the change.”

He walks out without another word, without looking back, and it leaves you nearly winded.

“What was that all about?” Betty asks, sidling up beside you as she gently nudges your ribs.

“Looks like I got a hot date.” You half joke.

“If I was thirty years younger I woulda been all over that too, baby,” A hearty laugh escapes her and she shoots a wink your way. “Have fun tonight.”

The hour goes by surprisingly fast and you find yourself almost scurrying to your car after you clock out. You toss your apron into the passenger seat of your car and immediately roll down the windows.

The AC decided to give out on you about a week ago, and of course it was during a time where it was hotter than the devil’s fucking asshole outside.

You groan as you close your eyes, the heat already making you miserable. At least the diner had a good central air system.

You peel your eyes open to fish the paper out of your apron pocket with Ryder’s number and address on it, dialing the numbers scrawled across in blue ink.

After the second ring, his rich voice picked up on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey Ryder. ‘M off work now if you still want me to head to your place.”

“Hey sugar. Head on over. There’s a spot in the driveway for ya.”

“See you soon.”

Nerves coursed through your veins as the line went dead. You type in his address into your phone, and to your surprise, he only lived fifteen minutes away.

You threw your car in drive and you were off, the hot air whipping through the cab of your car.

It was truly unlike you to do something so bold like this.

You never went to strangers houses, always ignored when you got hit on at the diner, rejected offers from several men for what would probably be a night full of mediocre sex—and yet, there was something about this man that you couldn’t shake off.

Even with just video evidence of this man’s gruff voice, veiny cock and skillful hands, you could just tell he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.

It wasn’t long before you pulled up to a quiet neighborhood. His house was on the right hand side, and you pulled up into the driveway next to his black truck.

You took a deep breath before looking at yourself in the mirror of your sun visor before touching up with some lip gloss. You spray your perfume on your pulse points before deciding to stop stalling and finally get out of your car before psyching yourself out.

Your beat up work shoes scuff the concrete path leading up to Ryder’s door, and you swallow thickly before you knock.

Thirty seconds later, a now shirtless Southern gentleman answers the door, hazel eyes catching yours as you stare up at him in awe.

“Well fuck me.” You mutter under your breath as you study his handsome face and his thick, toned torso.

“Tha’s the plan, sugar.” His deep voice shoots straight down to your core, nearly making you audibly moan.

He steps aside to let you into his house, which is surprisingly warm and inviting. It’s cozy with its worn-in furnishings and family photos on the walls. It smells like him too; something earthy and musky and delicious.

He guides you into the living room with his hand on your lower back, touch sending a chill down your spine.

“Make yourself cozy, darlin’. Would y’like anythin’ to drink?”

“Whiskey, neat please. If you have it.” You respond, and he softly smiles at you before nodding and retreating into the kitchen. You can’t help but watch him walk away with the muscles clearly rippling in his back as he walks, all the way down to the back dimples he has.

There’s no fucking way this man is real.

You sigh and settle onto the couch, folding your hands into your lap after setting your purse and keys on the coffee table in front of you.

It’s only a couple of minutes before Ryder reappears before you, handing you a glass of amber liquid. You thank him and sip on it graciously, the smooth taste gliding down your throat and going straight to your already throbbing core.

He sits next to you and slings his arm over the back of the couch, allowing himself to get comfortable as if this occurrence is the most natural thing in the world.

Fuck, maybe it might be for him. You wouldn’t really be surprised considering the charm and suave demeanor he possesses.

“You can relax, darlin’. ‘M not gonna try anythin’ or touch ya without your consent.”

Your shoulders visibly relax at that, not even noticing they were tense to begin with. He didn’t give you bad vibes or scare you. He made you nervous—a feeling you haven’t felt with a man in a very long time.

“So,” You start, voice scratchy from talking so much hours prior and the burn of the whiskey affecting your throat, “You usually bring women home like this?” You’re half teasing and half curious, wanting to see if this really is a regular occurrence for him.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and practically vibrates the whole couch. “No, sugar. You’d be the first t’ even recognize me just by my voice. Gotta say, ‘m pretty impressed with that. Guess you’re a regular viewer then, I take it.”

Now he’s the one teasing, but there’s a knowing tone in his voice. You didn’t even have to say it. He knows.

There’s really no point in denying how turned on he gets you, so you just… let it happen.

You feel a little looser with the whiskey swimming in your veins, giving you the bit of courage you mustered up within the past minute or so. You sink into the couch further, spreading your legs enough to keep the man curious.

He watches you wearily, eyes trained on your body and the signals you were emitting.

“You’re the only man that can get me off now. You’ve got me wrapped around those skillful fingers, Mr. Ryder.” Your voice sounds more smooth and sultry than you expected it to, but it was definitely working in your favor.

“These skillful fingers would love to show you a thing or two, baby.” His fingers twitch around the glass he holds tightly; clearly a form of self-restraint.

You didn’t want him to hold back anymore.

“Show me.” You say.

A small groan emits from the back of his throat.

You suck in a breath as your eyes notice his going completely dark, drowning in desire for you. His once bright hazel eyes have since been replaced with something deeper than a simple need to satiate.

It was fucking carnal.

He downs the rest of his drink and licks his lips, patting his jean-clad thigh.

“Sit on my lap. Back against my chest.” He commands, and you try to smoothly maneuver yourself onto him just as he’d asked.

Once you’re settled on top of him, he gently grips onto both of your knees to spread your legs apart so they’re on either side of his thick thighs.

Your lips part and you don’t even notice you’re breathing heavier until you feel a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Relax, baby. ‘M gonna make you feel good. If you need me to stop, just tap my thigh twice and hard. Got it?”

“Yes.” You whisper, nearly shaking in anticipation.

“Good.”

And his hands are grazing up your legs to the inner part of your thighs, delicately tracing your skin. Goosebumps raise at his featherlight touch, and before you know it, he’s spreading his own legs wider to spread yours.

You were aching and damp even back at the diner as you sat with him in the booth, studying his handsome features. The cool air of the home hits the dampness on the cotton panties you wore.

Ryder’s fingers made their way up to the lace trim of your panties, causing you to softly whimper for him. You genuinely didn’t think you needed anyone to touch you so fucking bad in your life.

You didn’t want to come off whiny and absolutely desperate, so you kept your pathetic begging to yourself.

“So wet already, pretty girl. This all for me?”

You can’t muster up the words because your brain is simply mush at this point, and all you want is his fingers on you, and fuck, in you.

“You know I respect you, right baby?”

Respect you?

You’ve only known this man—physically—for a few hours, albeit knowing his voice and his body long before he’d even tell you his real name.

And yet, there’s a comfort in his presence. One that would have you willing to do nearly anything for him—with him.

And all you could do was meekly nod your head at his words, his Southern twang dripping in honey—buzzing into your veins.

You turn your head to look at him with a bewildered expression on your face, though, wondering why he’d ask such a thing.

He shoots you a devilish smile.

“Good, ‘cuz for the next few minutes it’s gonna look like I don’t.”

“Oh, fuck.” You mewl, tossing your head back onto his shoulder. He noses at your jaw, littering kisses and small nips all along your jawline and neck as he slides your panties to the side.

He slides his middle finger through your slick slit, moving up to circle your already sensitive clit. You shudder at the touch, clamping your eyes shut as you softly moan.

“Fuck baby, you’re drippin’ already. This what I do to ya? You get this wet when you’re by yourself and you’re bein’ a dirty fuckin’ girl gettin’ yourself off to my videos? Hm?”

His deep voice vibrates through your body, finger traveling down to your entrance. He teases you as he slips the tip of his finger into you—nothing more—and moves it back out.

He continues this a few times, and when you don’t answer him, he slaps your dripping cunt lightly. You gasp and grip onto his forearm that was wrapped around your torso.

“Answer me.”

“God, yes, I–I fuckin’ love your videos. You always get me this wet. Every time. You’re just so—fuck—goddamn hot.”

He chuckles at your blabbering. “Hot, huh? You think that highly of me?”

“Ryder,” You moan as he fully sinks his middle finger into you. He stops his movements and it takes everything in you not to rock your hips.

“Joel.”

“W-what?”

“I want you moaning my real name, baby.”

Joel.

That name is somehow very fitting for him, and lucky for you, it rolls off the tongue easily.

“Joel.” You test it, and his grip on you tightens.

“Atta girl.” He praises, sinking a second finger into you. You moan at the feeling, long fingers hitting spots yours never could. He curls his fingers to hit that exact spot and you cry out in pleasure.

You can feel Joel’s cocky smirk on his lips as he kisses your braided hair, likely in a complete disarray at this point.

The squelching noise that reverberated throughout his living room was truly obscene, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on as he twisted his wrist and worked his fingers faster, pressing into that spot inside of you that had you choking on your own moans.

Without warning, you felt yourself nearly at the brink of your orgasm—and Joel pulls his fingers out of you. You cry in desperation, the beautiful build up completely dissipated.

“Not. Yet.” Joel’s mouth was next to your ear, nibbling at your lobe as he worked you through the edging.

He didn’t stop after that, though. He kept the momentum going, sliding his other hand from your torso down to your swollen clit. He slowly starts to rub small circles onto the already overstimulated bundle of nerves, and you cry out a strangled moan as the feeling surges through your body.

“Now.” He says.

Your mind was going blank at this point and a pressure kept building and building and building—until you felt a huge gush, forceful and draining. Your eyes snap open to see clear liquid dripping all down the couch.

“Fuck, Joel I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize baby. You ever done that before?” He asks, and you shake your head no. He moans at your wordless response and readjusts himself beneath you, and you can suddenly feel how hard he is in his jeans.

Even through the denim he felt fucking big, and you knew you were in for it.

“Let me,” You start, shakily sliding off of his lap and onto the floor. “Let me take care of you.”

Joel watches you and the same muscle in his jaw ticks furiously. He nods without another word as you lean up to kiss the hot skin above his jeans, trailing your lips down to the hemline. You undo the button and zipper swiftly, and he lifts his hips to pull his pants and boxers down to his mid thigh.

Your hunch was correct: he’s fucking huge. You swallow as you take in the sight of his cock in-person rather than over a screen, and it was even better than you’d imagined all those times.

You gently grab the base of his silky flesh, giving it a soft squeeze as you move your hand to the tip. Your eyes flicker up to his, and he’s watching you intently. You smile sweetly up at him before bringing your head down to lick the pre come from his slit, moaning as you get a taste of the salty musk.

Joel’s hand flies to your head, threading his fingers through the loose braid as you slowly lick your way down the vein on the underside of his cock.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” You say, and he groans at your praise. “Even better than I imagined.”

You bring your tongue back up to the tip and take him in your mouth this time, going as far down as you could before you gagged softly.

“Fuck yeah baby, just like that. Doin’ so fuckin’ good for me,” He mewls as you set a faster pace, one of your hands coming to pump the rest of his cock you couldn’t reach with your mouth, the other gently fondling his balls.

You moan around him as his silky flesh easily glides onto your tongue. You enjoy getting him off like this; unraveling him inch by inch just as he’s done to you many times before.

He began to rock his hips up into your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you try your damndest to not forcefully gag around him.

“Mouth feels so goddamn good on me, honey. ‘M not gonna last much longer.” Joel confesses, and your tighten your lips around his cock to silently urge him to let go.

It was only another minute until his hips completely stilled and his pulsing cock was drained, salty spend coating your mouth in haste.

He groans loudly as he reaches down to cradle your jaw, slowly sliding your mouth off of him. You swallow his spend and sit back on your heels, looking up at him innocently.

“On your knees, baby. Ass up.” He pats the spot next to him on the couch, and you happily oblige. He pulls the skirt of your uniform up over your hips and slides your wet panties down your legs so you’re on full display for him.

You feel his hands slide over the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to get a good look at all of you. You suck in a breath for a second before you feel his fingers slide through your slick folds once more, teasing you so.

“You ever had a man touch you back here? Pretty little thing.” He asks as his thumb circles the tight ring of your ass.

“No.” You moan, closing your eyes as you press a cheek to the couch cushion.

“Hm. ‘S a shame. Feels real good.”

“Please, Joel.” You truly weren’t above begging for this man to touch you in any way possible.

“Please what, sugar?”

“Please—please touch me. Make me feel good. Even better than I already feel.”

You turn your head more to lock eyes with him staring down at you with a look of determination and hunger.

He keeps his eyes locked on you as he grabs his half-hard cock, reaching to the coffee table beside you both to grab the foil packet you didn’t even see until this very moment.

He rips it open and slides it on before sliding his cock through your slick folds. You sigh in pleasure as your eyes flutter shut for a brief second before you open them again as his tip notches your entrance.

“You ready baby?”

You nod your head, but he shakes his.

“Need your words this time darlin’.”

“Yes Joel. Please.”

He sinks into you slowly, his girth stretching you out so deliciously. It stung a little, because in truth, you’ve never been with anyone his size.

Once he’s fully sheathed into you, he shoots you that same wicked grin before letting spit slowly dribble out of his mouth and onto your asshole.

“Oh fuck me,” You whisper, moaning as his thumb circles the tight ring once again. “Please.” You say, and he hooks his thumb gently into you.

You feel so full like this, barely even able to comprehend the fact that you’re about to get fucked by your favorite adult content creator.

Joel starts to rock his hips slowly at first, moaning at how tight you are. He picks up his pace once you’re both comfortable and it feels like he’s punching your fucking gut.

It’s almost unbearable— but the pleasure outweighs the pain by a mile. He’s rocking his hips so hard that the couch starts to scrape onto the floor, nothing but skin slapping on skin. You feel a sting on your left asscheek and moan at the contact, realizing Joel had slapped you.

He does it again, and again, and again, until tears are in your eyes and you can no longer bear the sting.

“Pussy feels so fuckin’ good baby. Was meant to take this cock, hm?” He says through gritted teeth, and you can’t help but agree with him.

His hand slides up your back and reaches your hair, pulling it so your head tilts upward.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Love the way you feel around me.” He confesses, taking his thumb out of your tight muscle before wrapping his other arm around your torso once, only to pull you upright this time.

He’s pistoning into you as you lean back onto his body. His hand wraps gently around your throat as he scatters more kisses onto your jawline and up your earlobe.

“Can I?” He asks, and you choke out a meek yes.

His large hand wraps all the way around your throat, squeezing the sides. Joel turns his head down to look at you, all helpless as he fucks you relentlessly.

Your jaw hangs open and your eyes are squeezed shut, relishing in the all-consuming feeling of Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You open your eyes as you plead his name, feeling another orgasm burning within you.

He moves his fingers up from your throat to grab at your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he spits into it.

“Swallow.” He commands, and you don’t question him one bit.

He likes seeing you like this—submissive and practically breedable—and yet, he barely knew you. He knew he wanted that to change after this, though.

“Joel I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hoarse and desperate, trying so hard to keep the feeling of pleasure at bay.

It was no use, though. The way he was looking at you made you want to fucking risk it all, and when he finally bent his face down to kiss you, you knew it was a wrap.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths as your tongues tangled together, tasting each other and exploring one another.

It wasn’t long before the coil finally snapped for you, and seconds later, him as well. You both panted heavily as you were submerged in the post-coital bliss.

“You did so good, baby. Hopefully I lived up to your expectations.”

You huff a laugh at his words as he pulls out of you and shuffles himself down onto the couch, pulling you on top of him. He kisses the top of your head as he plays with your hair, a strange feeling blooming in his chest as you both enjoy the presence of one another.

One thing’s for sure and two things for certain:

You’re everything he’s wanted, and he didn’t even know how to tell you. There was no way he was letting you go now.

tags: @endlessthxxghts @punkshort @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @party-hearses

@joelsgreys @ozarkthedog

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x oc #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #joel miller tlou

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cheriecoke · 2 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY — levi ackerman

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. your car breaks down before you can make it home for christmas. it leaves you with no choice but to call your ex-boyfriend.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, sfw, gn!reader, exes, christmas, light angst, second chance romance, soft!levi, modern au — 3.3k words

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. dropping the annual levi christmas fic. happy birthday to my beloved, he is such a special character to me and has gotten me thru some rough times :( forever grateful u exist levi ackerman. this was going to go in a completely different direction in my head but... alas the words lead me and i must follow. hope you enjoy!

Of all the things to happen on Christmas Eve, car trouble ranked among the worst. Which, naturally, meant that’s exactly what happened to you.

Something not too far from a blizzard had come in overnight, coating the roads in a thick, hazardous blanket. It looked beautiful, sure, but you were two hours away from where you needed to be on Christmas, and you figured — how bad could it be?

The answer was bad.

You’d skidded, blown out a tire (they were old, due for a change), and found your hood popped open with an odd smoke, stranded only 30 minutes south of where you’d come from. Your family was expecting you home by the evening, there to see everyone for Christmas Eve dinner.

At this rate, you’d be lucky if you made it for Christmas at all.

After cursing yourself profusely for not just taking an extra day off and leaving yesterday, you started scrolling through your phone, looking for assistance.

The towing company answered the line in a sharp tone, already dismissive of your worries. It was idiots like you that kept them working Christmas Eve, and their annoyance was evident.

“What can I do for you?” a man, testy and older, answered.

You explained the situation, and received a less than understanding response.

“Sorry, miss, but we’ll be two hours out. There’s been a few other incidents, and we’re short-staffed. We can give you another call when we free up.”

“But I need to be somewhere tonight. There must be something you can do?”

“Sorry,” he said again, but it was clear he wasn’t very sorry at all. “If I were you, I’d start making calls… See if there’s anyone brave enough to come pick you up in this weather.”

He hung up on you.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in the air. It was unlikely that anyone would want to be your savior tonight. Your family was still 70 miles away, and everyone else you knew had other plans for Christmas Eve.

But.

You knew this stretch of road well, were more familiar with it than most streets along here. It was a country highway that wrapped around the smaller town before leading you onto the interstate, one direction to your hometown, the other to the city you lived in.

Of course, it was here that your car had decided to break down, just ten minutes away from your ex-boyfriend’s house — a man you knew would be home, and certainly wouldn’t be afraid of the weather.

In fact, he was the only one that wasn’t a tedious drive away, that could save you from the unfortunate situation you’d found yourself in.

You squeezed your eyes tight, trying not to cry.

Calling Levi seemed your only choice — as pathetic of a choice as that was. You weren’t even sure he’d still have your number, or if he’d answer. But, your hands were becoming numb, the temperatures were dropping with the sun, and you weren’t sure how long you could stay out here without getting frostbite.

Still, on the second ring, you faltered, licking your lips.

Maybe this was a bad idea. It’d been three years, after all. For all you knew, he could’ve had a new partner, could’ve been engaged. He could’ve moved across the country without any warning — you had no idea.

Your hand started to fall away from your cheek, phone dropping with it. But the familiar tone stopped you, interrupting the third ring.

“Hello?”

You exhaled, unprepared for the wave of emotions that washed over you from that simple word. Levi sounded exactly like you’d remembered, his voice even, almost monotone, nothing in it betraying his emotions.

Still, it made your stomach twist. You couldn’t help but recall a time when that word had held a hint of affection in it.

“Levi,” you said, pushing away that line of thought to keep your voice steady. “You answered.”

He was, apparently, just as surprised as you were. There was a long pause on the other end, before he resumed talking.

“I almost didn’t,” Levi admitted, releasing a breath of air that had to have come through his nose. “I didn’t want to. But, I couldn’t think of a good reason you’d call me on Christmas Eve unless—”

“I’m so sorry,” you cut him off, apologizing. You pinched the bridge of your nose, shivering in the cold. “I wouldn’t be calling if I weren’t desperate. but my car broke down — I was driving back to my parents’ house, and the tow company can’t come yet…” you rushed through the story, sparing too many details. “But it’s freezing, and you were the closest person I could think to call.”

He went silent once again.

That was when you started to realize how crazy you’d been to call him. The last conversation you’d had was around this time of year, both of you stiffly walking through all the reasons you were worse for each other than you were better.

This was a horrible idea.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, shaking your head. Tears of embarrassment flooded your waterline. You weren’t sure they’d ever stopped. “This was stupid. Fuck. Forget it. I’ll—”

“Where are you?”

“What?”

“Where are you?” Levi repeated, insistent. “I only answered because I figured it was an emergency. Looks like I was right. So where are you?”

Your heart flipped at the notion that, even if it was a small part of him, he still cared.

After fifteen more minutes of shivering in your freezing car, you ended up back at Levi’s house. The same house he’d lived in for ten years, and probably would live in until he died.

Levi wasn’t a homebody — in fact, he liked to spend more time outside of the house than he probably spent in it. He traveled a lot, sometimes for work, sometimes for fun. But it was a home that had belonged to his mother, until she passed away when he was freshly eighteen.

Even if he hated living in this suburban town, you didn’t think he could stomach to part with the home he’d been raised in. One of the only things he had left of his mom.

It was almost heartbreaking, that you knew such intimate details about a person that had faded out of your life.

Levi’s house looked about the same, but Levi… Well, he looked incredible. As far as breakups went, he must have gotten the better end of it.

His black hair was lightly dusted with snow when he helped you out of his car, red cheeks a bright contrast against his pale skin. Time may have dulled your memory of him, but you could have sworn his eyes had gotten even more blue in the time you’d been apart.

God, he was gorgeous. How had you ever been with someone like him?

“Would you like any tea?” Levi asked, taking you to the kitchen. Not like you’d forgotten how to get there. You’d spent enough time in his house to know the layout, right down to the foundation.

“Sure,” you said, still shivering, even with the heat blasting in the house. “Thank you, Levi. Not just for the tea, but for helping me. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

Levi was rummaging through his cabinet, and looked over his shoulder, back at you. Something rest on the edge of his tongue, but he said nothing, busying himself once more.

The kitchen was the same as you’d remembered. None of the furniture had changed, but he’d added new appliances, changed out some of the cookware. Poinsettias were in the middle of the table, the only festive thing in the room.

You stared at them, and frowned, the tension between the two of you palpable. While you’d met each other once again like you’d never been parted, there still an underlying current of mistrust and uncertainty. A feeling that was expected to linger.

The break-up between you hadn’t been nasty, but you hadn’t parted on the best of terms, either. You and Levi had always argued… a lot. Half the time, it didn’t mean anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself from spitting something mean when you got angry.

It was your similarities that drove you apart, not your differences. You were both so neat, you fought over where things were meant to go. You were both independent, you grew frustrated with sharing space and compromises.

You were both stubborn, and never admitted to being wrong, even when it caused a rift between you and split you apart for good.

Of course, the worst issue was your tendency to bottle up your feelings, rather than talk through them. A problem that Levi shared — meaning that every little thing between you was brushed under the rug, only to trip you up later.

Levi brought the steaming mug over, pushing it to you across the table. You took a small sip of it, blinking at him over the edge of ceramic.

“My favorite tea?” you asked, recognizing the taste of it immediately. “You remembered.”

“I wasn’t sure if you still liked it, but I’ve kept it around anyway,” Levi said, and, as if realizing what he’d admitted, continued, “It grew on me. I drink it now.”

You smiled. It was small and sad, mourning all the things you’d lost, but the sentiment warmed you all the same. You remembered Levi loved earl grey in the mornings, and chamomile before bed. In the fall, he preferred rooibos, the color and flavor reminded him of the autumn leaves.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like any of those things, anymore.

“I’m glad you like it now,” you said, humming. “You never did, before.”

It sounded like a jab, even if you didn’t mean it as one. Levi stiffened, only slightly, before he released the tension and snorted, tightening his grip around the mug.

You glanced at his hands, slender and pale, veins purple under his skin. Hands that had once roamed all over your body, slipped inside you, pulling you apart from the seams.

That wasn’t a path you wanted to go down. You blinked, pushing away that line of thought as your stomach flipped, and prayed he hadn’t noticed your staring.

“Anyway,” Levi coughed, clearing his throat.

You nearly shrunk from embarrassment, certain that he had discerned your thoughts, but Levi wasn’t looking at you at all. His eyes were fixed on the clock across the room, watching the hand rotate around the frame.

“You were visiting your family. How have they been?”

Safe conversation, easy conversation. The kind that you could have had with any stranger, even if Levi knew all your family by name, knew your Christmas traditions. You repeated old history anyway, like you were meeting him for the first time, sharing weekend plans with an acquaintance before going your separate ways.

The two of you chatted for a while, sipping on your teas, all the while, avoiding the topic of his holiday plans — if only to sidestep the discomfort that came with hearing he had none. Not that that was shameful, of course. Plenty of people did nothing for the holidays, didn’t want to.

But, Levi had always come home with you for Christmas, for five years. Everyone loved him. Although you’d been nervous, at first, Levi fit right in, made himself comfortable with those that you cherished. He was polite, even though his sarcasm often bled through. But, that only made him funnier, in the eyes of everyone you held dear. They’d always given him two sets of gifts — for Christmas and his birthday — excited to watch him open them.

Levi had always been so stoic when he responded with a stiff thank you, but you could see how touched he was, how pleased to be integrating himself so easily into your life.

He’d made your holidays better than they’d ever been.

Now, he spent them alone.

You couldn’t help but feel like your breakup had taken something special away from him, something he should’ve gotten to keep, even whilst you were separated. Maybe you could invite him home with you, just so your cousins could play one more round of cards with him and lose.

Melancholia flowered in your chest, and you, then, yearned for those moments, the ones you’d kept so dear.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Your conversation stalled. You looked at each other, unsure what to say next.

Shifting anxiously in your seat, you stood, as if for the first time realizing that you were in Levi Ackerman’s house, and you shouldn’t have been. That you were having cordial conversation with a man you swore to never speak to again, and it was like falling back into a routine, it was normal.

And that was the worst thing about it — you knew why’d you’d broken up, but right now, you could hardly recall a good reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said for the millionth time that evening, eyes flashing towards the clock. It had only been thirty minutes, but the snow was getting worse and your tea was cold. “I should call my parents and let them know I won’t be home tonight. Hopefully the roads will be—”

“Wait.” Levi reached out, grabbing your hand before you could stand and make your exit.

Your eyes flashed down to where you touched, at the same time his did, before you uncomfortably broke away. Levi blinked, then chewed the inside of his cheek, his mouth still drawn into that unexpressive, thin line.

“What?” you asked, after too many seconds of silence.

Levi inhaled, then dropped his head, jaw working as he looked away. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, over the past two years.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “About?”

You already knew the answer.

“When we—” He licked his lips, eyes narrowing at the microwave, before they met your own. “Decided to end it.”

Decided to end it. What a harsh way of putting it, but you supposed it was true. A final round in the passionate romance you’d had. A break-up seemed too simple for what you’d been, when it had ripped your heart out of your chest.

“Oh,” you said, swallowing.

“I know you might not want to have this conversation,” he said, nodding to himself. “But I need to say what I should’ve a long time ago. That I’m sorry.” Levi’s eyes were on you then, a more intense shade than you’d ever seen before. You froze, feeling unable to move, locked in the storminess of his gaze. “So many things were my fault. All the times I was dismissive, the times I was angry. All the times I didn’t communicate when I should’ve.” He released a breath, and despite his bravado, you realized he was just as nervous as you were. “I didn’t know how to love you like you wanted, and I’m sorry that I did such a bad job of it.”

You blinked, watching him shift in his chair. “Levi…” you said slowly, softly, the word agonizing as it left his lips.

“I know that doesn’t make it right, but I need you to know. I am sorry. You deserved better.”

That, alone, brought you close to tears, that he seemed to be taking the blame for all the things that went wrong. Putting it on himself, when it was both of you, incapable of working together. “Levi, I’m sorry too,” you blinked back your tears, setting aside your pride. You’d already lost enough dignity, what was a little more? “You loved me just fine. Maybe I just couldn’t appreciate what I had. I never tried hard enough to make it work.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” Levi huffed, “it’s—” But then he stopped, gathering himself, catching the fall, right back into the same old routine. You looked down at your hands, embarrassed. “We weren’t bad for each other. Nothing we ever did was bad for each other.” It sounded like a question, even if it wasn’t.

“It must have been,” you said, in a small voice. “Otherwise…”

Otherwise, you’d still be together.

Levi smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the table. “I should’ve called you, when you left. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.”

“But you did.”

“I did,” he breathed. “And I regret it every day of my life.”

You looked up at him, eyes shining at the realization. He still wanted you, maybe even still loved you.

And as much as you cared for him, as much as your heart still bloomed in your chest at the sight of him, you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“Levi—” you began, hoping to dispel the conversation. But he didn’t let it get that far, voice cracking at the start of his sentence.

“I mean it. I think about it all the time. About you. You were my friend as much as you were my partner, and I wanted you forever. I miss you. I—” Levi cut himself off, there, at the growing look of fear on your face, the knowledge that he was going to let something slip he shouldn’t.

It tugged at your heartstrings all the same, and you looked away, wrapping yourself up in your arms.

Silence fell across the room, the only sound the howling wind outside, a flurry of snow crashing against the window. Levi waited, patiently, for you to be the one to break the silence — and you summoned up all your courage, all your honesty, for a response.

“I would be lying, if I said I didn’t think about it too… What it would be like to try again.”

Levi looked up, blue eyes narrow, but sharp with anticipation. “You—”

“I miss you too, Levi.” It felt like carving your heart out of your chest and handing it to him on a platter. “But it couldn’t be like it was before. Where we talked to each other about everything except for what really mattered. We can’t.” you swallowed, shaking your head. “I can’t do that again.”

“I know.” Levi licked his lips. “Is that something… You would want?”

Was it? Was Levi truly what you wanted, or were you not thinking clearly, only remembering the good times amongst all the bad. Were you just yearning for an idealization of love, a feeling that you’d been missing since splitting with Levi? Was it him you really wanted, or just someone to call your own?

But you knew the answer. It was obvious.

“Yes,” you answered, so quiet you weren’t sure he could hear it. “I would… I do want that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hesitate to call you tonight.”

Levi didn’t smile, but his eyes brightened, the storminess fading away so they looked like the sky. The cloud of grey above him melted away, and he seemed even younger than he had before, caught in the promises of adoration, akin to a boy in a schoolyard.

“You can spend Christmas with me. Your birthday,” you said, hesitantly, not knowing if you’d even make it home, if you’d be stuck here. If that kind of invitation was not yours to give. “If that’s something you’d want.”

“It is,” Levi answered softly, without questioning it, gripping your hand across the table. “I would’t want to spend it any other way.”

You smiled at each other, then, caught up in the glow of Christmas lights and the snow outside, a shaky vow holding between you. Maybe things wouldn’t change — maybe they would go back to how it’d been before, neither of you ever saying what you really meant. Maybe you’d hurt each other worse than you ever had before.

But you loved him — you loved each other. And that could be enough.

thank you for reading! ❤︎ reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! i might write a pt 2 if there is enough interest, but i wanted to finish this before christmas ◡̈

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boreal-sea · 6 months ago

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Who is Tim Walz?

Kamala Harris has apparently picked Tim Walz as her running mate. He seems good, based on his record. He's also responsible for the widely spreading "Republicans are weird" meme I've seen quite a lot of.

He has a good record. Just like I did for Kamala Harris in a post that has become quite popular, I will do a simple review of things I like from Tim Walz' political history. Again, as with Harris, this is just from his Wikipedia page. Let's go!

House of Representatives

Opposed increasing troop numbers in Iraq

Co-sponsored a bill to raise Minnesota's minimum wage

Voted for stem cell research

Voted to allow Medicare to negotiate pharmaceutical prices

Voted against the act to Prohibit Federally Funded Abortion Services

Voted to advance the ACA

Has received a 100% rating from many progressive organizations like Planned Parenthood and the ACLU

Was a member of several caucuses, including the LGBT Equality Caucus

Governor of Minnesota

Signed into law police reforms after the murder of George Floyd

Had Minnesota join the National Popular Vote Interstate Compact, meaning that all of the state's electors will vote for whichever candidate wins the popular vote nation-wide.

Under his governance, Minnesota passed laws for requiring paid leave, banning non-compete agreements, cannabis legalization, abortion rights, universal free school meals,

Political stances

Pro cannabis

Against bailout bills that loan taxpayer money to large banks and auto manufacturers

Was a former teacher for many years, and is very pro-education and supporting public schools. He is against merit pay for teachers (this is a good thing), and supports lowering tuition costs

Used to be pro-gun, but after Parkland he changed his mind, and as Governor he signed a bill mandating universal background checks

Pro-LGBT - has voted for LGBT rights many times, including as Governor, where he signed bills banning conversion therapy and protecting gender-affirming care

Supports veterans rights and support

Supports abortion rights and women's rights

I am going to copy-paste the entire section for his views on the Israel-Hamas war, because I don't want people claiming I am taking anything out of context. Overall, he has views that echo my own in many ways:

Walz condemned Hamas's October 7 attacks in Israel and ordered flags to be lowered to half mast in the following days. After the 2024 Minnesota Democratic presidential primary, in which 19% of voters cast "uncommitted" ballots, Walz took a sympathetic view toward those doing so to protest President Biden's handling of the war in Gaza, calling them "civically engaged". Of the protests against U.S. funding of the war in Gaza, Walz said: "This issue is a humanitarian crisis. They have every right to be heard... These folks are asking for a change in course, they're asking for more pressure to be put on… You can hold competing things: that Israel has the right to defend itself, and the atrocities of October 7 are unacceptable, but Palestinian civilians being caught in this… has got to end." Walz also said he supports a ceasefire in Gaza.[100]

#tim walz #election 2024 #USPol

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softpascalito · 2 months ago

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Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter IV

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we are back! i really love where this is going, i hope you guys do too! feedback is very welcome as always (just don't be mean, i cry easily in case you can't tell from my writing). i have been to (the ruins) of the temple and the house of the vestals and have learned a lot about them so i hope i can strike the balance between making the fic intersting and adding some historic context, please let me know if this is working! also if you read this the day i post (december 3rd) happy bona dea hehe ♡

Mola Salsa – Ointment used during religious sacrifices Vale – Goodbye Salve – Hello Sacrosant – Untouchable (by law)

Chapter IV

“Have they assigned you for Bona Dea yet?” Severa is walking beside you, carrying a jug filled with fresh water from the sacred spring. Her step is light, even after the many hours she has spent at the temple today. The upcoming festival has been the talk of all of Rome, as it frequently is during the season where the air becomes colder and the occasional summer breeze turns into full-on storms. On the third of the last month, women in Rome celebrate the night of Bona Dea, the goddess that symbolizes chastity and fertility. A rare occasion where attendance is forbidden to men rather than women.

You nod softly in response to her question, turning the last corner before you reach the round temple of Vesta. “Yes. I am to help prepare the mola salsa. And I have been allowed to aid in carrying–” You pause, recalling that you are still in public. “Carrying the items to the place.”

Severa gives a nod, understanding the almost cryptic words. No one outside the circle, especially no man, is allowed to know which rituals you and the other priestesses undertake during the December night. At the mention of the assigned tasks, she falls into a one-sided but comfortable conversation, telling you her plans of preparation, though always being careful not to get too detailed. When you reach the steps that lead up toward the temple, she hands you the jug of water and bids you goodbye before heading the other direction. With her shift ended, she may retire to her quarters or spend her time however she likes. For you, the day has just begun–despite the sun already being halfway across the sky.

The smell of smoke and herbs greets you as you slip into the building, the only temple in the entire empire that holds no statue of its god or goddess. The flame is the only representation Vesta requires.

You start by collecting the rags you keep in a small cupboard off to the side of the large room, soaking them with the sacred water before kneeling down to begin cleansing the floor. Purity is more important for Vesta than anything, meaning that every day, the temple is cleaned, usually towards the evening when there aren't as many citizens coming to pray.

You work in silence, ignoring the way the cold stone hurts under your knees. It is a shift that requires much physical labor, but you are content to have the room to yourself today, the only company the shadows dancing on the stone walls beside you. You watch as they change, creating pictures and silhouettes that are gone before you can quite figure out what they resemble.

Your drifting thoughts are interrupted by the gentle thud of the oak door, followed by a small gust of air blowing through the room. You look up from where you are kneeling beside the flame, expecting one of the women that frequently come to pray with you. Instead, you feel your breath hitch in your throat.

Acacius looks a little lost, his broad frame dressed in his shiny golden armour, one that does not quite fit the space. He gives no indication of recognizing you, instead heading straight for one of the benches set out for the citizens. With an almost quiet grunt, he lowers himself into a sitting position and bows his head, his lips moving without producing any sound. He is praying.

You're not sure why you are so surprised. Maybe because you cannot recall ever seeing a General in the temple of Vesta or because his comments a few weeks ago did not make him sound like someone who prays much.

I prefer to put my trust in people.

You don't quite realize how openly you are staring at him until he raises his head just enough to glance your way. You bow your head so fast that you feel your muscles protest, the noises of the cackling fire joined by the one of you hurriedly wiping the floor.

You do not allow yourself another second of looking at him. Not a single one. Even when you stand and return the rag and jug to their respective places. Even when you gather a few pieces of wood in your arms and carefully add them to the flame.

It is not until you are standing with your back to the hearth, sorting some of the smaller twigs, that you hear him move. His voice is low when he speaks, like he is trying not to disturb the place around you and what it holds inside its walls. “Am I disturbing you?”

You are almost tempted to keep your back to him and give your response to the firewood below rather than him. But even the high status of a Vestal Virgin will not save you from punishment for disrespecting the General of the Roman army.

“No, of course not,” you respond politely as you turn around. “But I am afraid I do not have your will here. If you'd like to make further adjustments, I can locate it tomorrow and–”

“I did not come for the will,” Acacius says quietly, his brown eyes flying over your face. Once again, you feel like he can read you, like there is an inscription carved into your features the way it is below statues or over doors. Names, places, entire stories told in stone. It’s like yours is spelled out in a language only he can understand.

You pause, a moment of near silence passing between you. You are close enough to see the shadows dancing on his face now, the flame reflecting in his eyes.

“Then what did you come for, my General?” Addressing him sends a shiver through you again, the same way it did the last time you said goodbye. Calling him yours when he is so far from it.

“To pray.” A tiny smirk appears on his face and he looks almost … satisfied with himself. “It is what one does in a temple, is it not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly, despite the fact that you try and will them not to. “It is.” The next sentence tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “You took my advice then.”

Acacius raises a brow and you involuntarily hold your breath, awaiting what you expect to be a rather unfavorable reaction–when he laughs. Filling the temple that holds the most important hearth of the roman empire with a soft and gentle laugh. It feels wrong. It feels shameful and unfitting and yet, you feel like something stir inside of you at the sound. Slowly, his laugh dies down until you are left with a mere, gentle smile on his face as he looks down at you. “You are not as timid as you seem, are you now?”

Your blush deepens at that but a shy smile creeps onto your face nevertheless. “I was just–observing.”

“Yes. And do you do that often?” At your confused face, he adds: “Do you observe people often?”

“I did not say I observed people,” you half-whisper, suddenly realizing where this conversation is heading.

Does he know?

You have never considered that the conveniently short distance between your homes works both ways. Mainly because you can't imagine a man as important as Acacius interested in what the Vestals do. Maybe because you also can't imagine him as a man who simply observes–no doubt he finds what he longs for and demands for it. He is well known for his conquering of the southern areas.

“It is an imposing atrium,” he mutters quietly, his eyes carefully tracing your face. Waiting for a reaction. He’s about to speak again when you feel it.

The movement in your chest that felt comfortable until a moment ago, turns to ice. A shiver runs over your body and you step back so violently that your back hits the wooden cupboard and the jug that Severa had carried earlier, begins to sway. You feel Acacius brush past you, attempting to catch it but he is too late. His empty hand closes around air as the jug hits the floor and bursts into small pieces.

For a moment, you stay exactly where you are, your heart thumping as you fight against the cold dread that still fills your body. Acacius shifts beside you and you can feel his brown eyes on you. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Let me help–”

But you do not let him finish the offer. Instead, you whip around and lean down, beginning to gather the shards off the floor. “It is late,” you press out without looking up at him.

Now it’s the Generals turn to look confused. He pauses, blinking a few times. Before he can ask the question already forming in his throat, you motion toward the oak doors. “The sun will go down soon. Men are not allowed in the temple at night.”

It takes a few moments before Acacius nods, sending you a polite smile that feels very different from the one that decorated his face mere moments ago. “Of course. I do not wish to keep you.”

He turns swiftly, his uniform moving gracefully around him as he crosses the small room and slips out of the temple. The door falls shut with a thud, signifying once more how very alone you are.

You try to hold back tears as you fold your dress in your lap and begin to collect the shards in it. The salt water so dangerously close to high tide. It blurs your vision enough to grasp one of the larger shards the wrong way, a sharp pain searing through your hand as it cuts into your skin.

He probably only meant to pray.

He has a wife, a home. An army, soldiers and their families. A responsibility like that could make anyone turn to the gods, that much you know. And you scared him off, simply because your body had started acting of its own accord.

Almost as if in a trance, you fully sink to your knees in front of the flame, bowing your head so low that you can feel the coolness of the tiles below. Whispered words fall from your lips. But they are not merely just prayers. They are pleas for forgiveness. You cannot name what it is Vesta shall forgive you. You have done your duty, have not acted in any way that would not honor your vows. And yet, you feel that there is something you should seek forgiveness for.

When you stand again, you tread quietly, almost like you are tiptoeing around something. Balancing your weight on the edge of a bridge, trying desperately to stay still. The wind may not carry you away, no matter how tempting. You do not have wings. You will not fly. The only way off the ledge is the fall. One that you would not survive.

You shudder at the thought as you finish your duties as quietly and quickly as you can. You finish gathering the broken jug, wipe the floor once more and replace the wood. A small sigh of relief leaves your throat when you finally hear the door being opened again–and the eldest of the Vestals steps inside. She surveys the room, pausing as she spots the cupboard. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you answer quickly. “The water jug broke, I was carrying it. My apologies.” You bow your head, sending another silent prayer to Vesta to forgive you the lie. “I will arrange for a new one.”

She looks at you for a moment before nodding her head. “Very well. You may head back to the house. Walk by the potter and give word that we are in need of a new jug. I will stay until morning and have one of the girls pick it up in a few days time.”

“Of course. Vale.” Leaving a small bow and more whispered apologies at her feet, you step out of the temple, glad to put distance between you and the hearth.

It is by no means a far walk to the house of the potter that you task with everything the Vestals need. And yet, you'd much prefer to tread it while it is light. The city changes during the night, even in these safer parts of town. The streets are filled with those who wander the night and despite the fact that your palla demands immediate respect from those that cross your way, it is not a comfortable journey.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a few soldiers that seem to tail you and exhale a small breath, thanking the gods for sending men to protect you. You lose sight of them when you slip into the small alley that opens to the workshop of the potter. But the light inside is extinguished.

“Salve?” You give the door a gentle knock, waiting for a reaction from inside. But none comes.

With a resigned shrug, you turn to make your way back to the main road. It isn't until you have taken a few steps that you look up–and find your way blocked. The three soldiers have their eyes trained on you, their bodies wide enough that they cut off any chance of escape.

You feel your heart beginning to pound again but you force yourself to stay calm, giving a polite nod. They are soldiers. They are here to protect you. Then, the one in the middle opens his mouth.

“What business does a priestess have to be out at night all by herself?” He asks, cocking his head as his gaze shamelessly wanders over your body. The soldier to his right laughs in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Even standing feet away, you can smell the strong aroma of wine on his breath. There has not been any battle. Nothing has been won.

There is no reason for soldiers to celebrate.

“Why do they always pick pretty girls for Vesta?” The one with the foul breath complains. “True shame no one can touch them.” The other one laughs at the comment, taking a step toward you. You feel your back hit the wall. “Oh, you can touch them. You just have to demand for them to keep their mouth shut about it. I would really like to–”

You are spared the details of what this drunk man would like to do to you. Because in that moment, a voice booms out behind the soldiers, echoing slightly in the small alley.

“Soldiers. Step back.”

They whirl around and you think you see one of them ready himself to fight–that is, until the man the voice belongs to steps into the light. They may not respect a priestess. But they will respect Rome's General.

Yet, when they don’t move immediately, he barks out: “That is an order!” Their reactions are surprisingly fast for the state they’re in, the one on the right practically crashing into the wall in his hurry to obey.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asks, his voice so much lower and demanding than it was earlier at the temple. Any hint of the gentle, soft man you talked to is gone.

“We were worried for her safety,” one of the soldiers blurts out. What a way to spin it, you think to yourself. The only threat of your safety tonight has been them.

Acacius's eyes briefly meet yours and his face hardens slightly. He continues moving toward you, forcing the man next to you to step away hurriedly. “Move. And get back to your barracks, straight away.” They are halfway across the alley when he yells after them. “If I catch you bothering her again, I will make the battlefield seem merciful!”

Your knees quiver as you watch the soldiers turn the corner and a choked sound leaves your throat as you stumble. Being sacrosanct does not save you from being a woman. Nothing does.

“Hey, careful now.”

Acacius is by your side in an instant, his voice back to the gentle one you have gotten so used to. He bows down slightly and, without thinking and at seeing you sway, he gently places his arm around your waist, steadying you.

You do not move away this time. Heat radiates from his bare arms through the linen of your dress, igniting your skin below in a way that makes you feel like you are burning. But it is not uncomfortable. In fact, you find yourself leaning into the touch slightly as you catch your breath.

“Did they hurt you?” He asks quietly, a hint of anger still present in his voice.

You respond with a small shake of your head while Acacius carefully watches your every move. “No. No, they did not get a chance to.”

“They are damn fools,” he breathes, shaking his head in disbelief, rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb. “To even think about bothering you like that. A priestess doing her duty–” He turns enough to let his gaze wander over the abandoned street around you again. “This is not a way you should be walking alone at night.”

“The jug,” you whisper quietly. “I was to ask the potter to provide a new jug.”

A sigh leaves the General's lips at that, his grip tightening absent-mindedly. “A piece of clay is certainly not worth risking your safety, my lady.”

You bow your head, unsure how to respond. His fingers are still placed on your waist, still drawing invisible shapes into your stola. “I am sorry about–”

“You do not have anything to apologize for.” He mumbles, soft eyes gazing down at you. “If anything, I owe you an apology. Clearly, the gods are more trustworthy than men.”

Except, the gods did not save you. For the second time, you have a feeling that the person answering your silent prayers is not an ethereal being but rather a man made of flesh and bone. You shift slightly at the thought–and feel Acacius tense beside you.

“They did hurt you,” he whispers, not once hesitating as he lets go of your waist to kneel down and reache for your hand, his gaze focused on the red line that runs across your palm. “Let me see, please.”

“Oh–” You hold your hand up for him but you shake your head. “It was not them. I cut myself on one of the shards earlier, in the temple.” But his focus rests entirely on your hand. You feel a blush creep up your neck as he turns your palm slightly, running his index finger over the freshly scabbed line.

“You should have wrapped it. It may get infected,” he adds quietly and before you can so much as protest, he has reached down and ripped a shred of fabric from his undercloth. His calloused hands are careful and gentle as he begins to wrap it around your palm, tightening it slightly. “Does this hurt?”

You feel like your entire body is vibrating under his touch. His skin on yours, no matter how little, no matter how briefly. It has a fire burning in your chest, threatening to spill out from between your ribs or travel through your throat. The smoke of it blocks your airways and your attempt to speak fails. Instead, you just shake your head and watch as Acacius, at your signal, continues.

“There. Much better.” Your hand is still resting in his palms and he bows down slightly, as if to kiss your fingers. But just before he does, he stiffens slightly and quickly pulls back.

One does not kiss a Vestal's hand. One does not even touch a Vestal. And yet, you can so clearly feel the fire burn on every inch of your skin where his body has met yours.

Acacius clears his throat and nods toward the main road. “I will escort you home. I may not offer the protection of the gods but I can offer that of my sword.”

“Thank you, General Acacius,” you whisper, bringing your freshly bandaged hand back down. You walk beside him as you slowly make your way through the night air, avoiding the busy roads slightly more than you have on the way here. He knows his way around.

You have already reached the Forum when you finally speak, watching as the smoke from the temple rises to your left as you turn onto Via Nova. “I would like to apologize, for before.”

Acacius cocks a brow. “Before?”

“Before. When I sent you out of the temple. You are welcome to come and pray of course. I was–” You shake your head softly. “I was merely surprised.”

You watch as his face twists into a small smile at that and he nods. However, you both stay silent as he leads you toward the house of the Vestals. When you reach the columns that line the front of it, he stills, leaning forward in a hint of a bow. “Thank you for allowing me to see you back safely.”

“I have to thank you.” You respond quietly, turning to face him. You feel like you want to add something else but the words get stuck in your throat. His hand hovers again, the same way it did the time he welcomed you at his home. Always careful to keep a small, appropriate distance between the two of you. What happened in a dark, secluded alley suddenly seems miles and miles away.

“Good night, my lady.”

With that, Acacius turns and continues up the road.

“Good night, my General,” you whisper only for the cicadas to hear.

notes: thank you for reading. feedback, reblog and comments all very, very welcome ♡

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valandrawrites · 1 month ago

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2024 Recommended Fics - Incomplete List

Here's my start at an end of year round up. If you're looking for a specific kind of fic or trope, let me know, and I'll try to find something for you! I have many, many more I could add, and what I've included is in no particular order.

I didn't list the rating or warnings with this because it just got too long, and honestly, I'm lazy. Read at your own risk.

A. fragilis by eachainn @eachainn

This is quite simply the best fic I've ever read. Do not continue until you read this one!

150 million years ago, an Allosaurus finds a stranger had wandered into his territory and he wants the intruder out.

1878, the middle of what will become known as the Bone Wars between O.C. Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope. Castiel Novak is transporting fossils from the latest dig in South Dakota back to Yale. He has to be careful, because there are people who work for Professor Cope who would gladly take the fossils off of his hands.

Those Who Get in the Way of Peace by ladyofthelake17 @ladyofthe-lake

“Don’t make me an optimist. You will ruin my life.”

Dean Winchester finally has his shit together: business is booming at his auto repair shop, he's eating healthy (okay, he's eating salad with bacon bits), he's exercising (in a cemetery). He's single, but he's claiming it as a good thing. And so what if Sam's not talking to him? So what if his dad is marrying an insane artist? And so what if the priest marrying them is hot as hell with a name that sounds like a sin just to say it — Castiel?

AKA: another Fleabag fic, but maybe it'll have a happy ending. Maybe.

Illicit Ink by allmystars @allmystars-i

Dean Winchester has a secret. He does this thing maybe two or three times a week, and he loves it, don’t get him wrong, but… He’s a camboy, and that’s not exactly something he wants shared around the breakfast table. When Dean decides he needs a change, it’s nothing too drastic, just a tattoo. But the hot-as-sin tattoo artist he gets to do the job might just change everything.

Ground Control to Major Tom by MrsShinigamiDaiko @mrs-shinigami-daiko

Dean Winchester dreamed of being a mechanic all his life, but he never thought he would end up working as a mechanic for NASA and going into space. He is thrust into his first ever space mission after a strange lunar body, dubbed Luna-b I, mysteriously appears in Earth’s sky. Teams of astronauts scramble up to the permanent lunar base and begin analysis to determine if the blue orb is any threat to mankind. Most of the first team is sent home after a few months, nearly all of them having fallen ill with devastating cases of space sickness. As time goes on, it becomes clear that something altogether unnatural is going on here. Dean feels like he’s losing his mind as he and his crewmates also begin to succumb to sickness. He races to figure out what could possibly be the root cause. Is Luna-b I really just some weird, deep space rock that got caught in the Moon’s orbit by chance? Or is it something much more sinister, watching and waiting for the opportune moment?

Pinfall by crowleyo @crowleyo

Cas runs the family diner with his adopted son, Jack. His old high school flame rolls into town and he thinks he can just step back into Castiel's life. Well... He's kind of right.

This Impossible Happiness by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta

In one universe, Dean Winchester is pushing thirty. He’s just danced at his little brother’s wedding, he likes his job at the garage, and he goes on the occasional hunt with friends and family. He’s also desperately lonely for someone to share his life with. One day, he finds a mysterious package outside his door. It contains a news clipping about an urban legend that just might be real, and a book by Professor Castiel Novak, who happens to specialize in that same urban legend.

In another universe, Castiel Novak’s roadside motel is slowly dying, its business hollowed out by the interstate system. Dean Winchester, the man who asked him to run away together years ago, is only a painful regret these days. Until the day a mysterious letter Castiel doesn’t remember writing brings Dean back to his doorstep.

Out there in the multiverse, a man and an angel look for each other in all the wrong places. In the meantime, they might as well help a few other versions of themselves figure things out.

Then Comes the Rain by someonetoanyone @someonetoanyone-blog - a three part series

“I’m not looking forward to it,” Rowena tells him, as though that will absolve her of anything, “he may have a better solution for this, but the spell requires a smidge of spilled Grace. He’ll need to be hurt for this to work, and — Dean, all joking aside, you may be the only person fit to do this.”

“Oh, this’ll be great — go ahead, tell me why I’m the only one that can get butt-fucked to save the world.”

Mind Your Own Business by BunnyHunter

While the ability to overhear the secret thoughts of the people around him was distracting at best and anxiety-inducing at worst, Castiel had found ways to cope that included a pair of noise-canceling headphones and burying himself in his PhD research. After hearing inner thoughts for his entire life, there were very few things he overheard that surprised him anymore. So imagine his shock when his roommate Sam's brother, Dean, came to stay with them. While Dean may have been able to keep a straight face on the outside, his inner thoughts told a much different story.

Survivalism by bleuzombie @bleuzombie

Genetic engineers Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are on the verge of a breakthrough in cancer treatment and possibly even a cure, using genetic manipulation and incredibly, shark DNA.

Following a devastating diagnosis of brain cancer, and amid growing pressure from his boss, Dick Roman, for results, Castiel is pushed to an act of desperation. He tests the cure on himself with disastrous and violent results.

He has never been so hungry.

Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans) by foolondahill17 @foolondahill17

What if Dean just kept every kid he’s ever interacted with?

A re-write of season 6 onwards in which Dean slowly collects every conceivable stray that crosses his path.

The eyes of a lamb by naughtystiel @naughtystiel for Shedar

The year is '98 and Spring is approaching fast. For most, the season is a symbol of new beginnings with Mother Nature’s chaste kiss that breathes life into everything once more. It's inspiring, peaceful and beautiful. So, the fact that this is exactly when a certain serial killer loves to strike makes Detective Winchester's blood boil. Two years in a row now, the guy has slipped through his fingers, not leaving a single trace behind. No clues, no leads, just murdered women in the most picturesque places imaginable. And the worst thing of all? Sometimes Dean catches himself admiring the killer's work.

where there is darkness by quiettewandering @quiettewandering @wanderingcas

When Castiel Milton takes a job to be the new assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse in Kittery, Maine, he expects to live out his new life in quiet isolation. What he gets instead is Dean Winchester: bitter, brash, and, like Castiel, harboring a dark secret. As the spark of attraction between them grows into a flame, the lighthouse walls start closing in—as do the ghosts of Dean and Castiel's checkered pasts.

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ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 9 months ago

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EVERY DOG HAS ITS DAY

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - You’re house sitting your friend’s whilst her family vacates. Her dog manages to get you into a dangerous situation.

Warnings - Noncon, dubcon, stalking, groping, humping, f! touching, animal abuse?

Word count - 2.2k

Notes - Jackson, oh Jackson. How your toxic soul has my weak heart. @paradiseprincesss hope you’re hungry !!

“Calm down Spike!” You exclaimed as you were yanked down the pavements with an overstimulated boxer charging on the other end of the leash.

What was meant to be a simple daily walk had turned into an endless brutal game of tug and war which you were pathetically losing. The rope around your wrist will leave a permanent mark if this animal doesn’t lead you to a fatal encounter by how dangerously you were crossing the roads.

Firstly Spike’s eyes were set on a pigeon, then when the harmless bird flew off into the clouds, Spike’s mind and impulses were full steam ahead. How long had it been, a mere few minutes or almost a third of an hour? If you knew he’d be such a nuisance you would have convinced your father to walk him, or even stretched beforehand.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, and you believe it almost did. It all happened so quickly, you yanked back the leash with all of your strength which made Spike halt at the intersection of two suburbian streets as you fell onto your behind. The black Mercedes Benz slammed on the brakes, the tyres screeched as the bumper stopped shorter a footlong to your face.

All sound was muffled to your eyes as all you could hear were your thoughts. The driver kept his hand on the horn, his jaw clenched as his blue eyes bore into your soul. Spike barked at him viciously, his paws locked into place as if he was prepared for battle. When you realized the man had no intention of releasing his heavy palm, your eyes darted around the empty streets and you hobbled up and had to beg Spike to calm down whilst tugging him away. Awkwardly you waved your hand in apologies as you tried to steer Spike back to his home.

However, you quickly noticed that the same car rolled behind you, he was tailing you and it made your heart pound in your chest. Every time you looked back, his eyes were locked onto you, his brunette hair parted to either side of his forehead. Spike took no notice in this, his attention elsewhere now.

When you ended up having to cut through a small field in between to homes to get to the opposing side of the suburb, you desperately tried to get Spike to run again to force you to run as fast as you could. But he strolled away gradually, breathing heavily with his mouth hung.

Every few seconds, your head shot back to ease your anxieties of the Benz finding you again. For a moment, you feared you had lost your way. You were housesitting your best friend’s house whilst her family was vacating interstate.

When you noticed the familiar double story home, you hurried inside, giving one last look before you shut the door. Spike plotted down the hall and you breathed out deeply, your back pressed against the wooden door. Just to ease your anxieties, you poked your head out of the window, confirming the empty road.

As the sun slowly set, you sat in the guest bedroom, your coursebooks in hand as you had Mozart gently playing on your laptop. You breathed out, your pen tapped on the paper as you read through your essay draft.

Spike started barking again and you grunted out as you slammed your laptop shut. This dog will be the death of you. As you jumped up from your seat, you headed towards the alfresco when your movements paused after you heard Spike cry out.

Within a snap, his noises had silenced. It was too quickly to be considered normal and you felt your heart rate begin to pick up again as the fear washed over you. In nothing but your pajama shorts and tank, you slowly tiptoed towards the massive window sliding doors. The back light was turned off, which you remember keeping on. You could hardly see out there, as your finger rested on the switch you gulped as you flicked it on.

Spike laid unconscious on the deck. A heavy gasp left your lips as you lunged towards the sliding door but you froze in your steps as you saw him in the corner of your eye. He sat at the outdoor dining table, a cigarette in between his lips. Quickly you recognised him, the driver from earlier today. He looked to be in the same suit as earlier today, he leant back in the chair as he casually waved towards you.

Just when you were going to bolt for the home phone, he pulled out a clean knife from his jacket as if he already knew your next move. It almost sparkled and the stranger pointed it at Spike, a mere few meters away from him. Frozen in your feet, your body wobbling like jelly as you looked back at Spike. Your eyes searched for a pool of blood, a slight sensation of relief as you couldn’t spot it.

When you dared to look at him again, he stood from the chair and inhaled deeply before flicking the dart towards Spike. The man approached the door and tapped on the glass with the tip of the blade. Naturally, you sobbed out as he tilted his head towards you.

“I’m not going to hurt you” he assured, the blade vanishing back into his jacket as if to ease your distress. “Unless you don’t unlock the fucking door” he grinned to you, his hand propped against the glass over his head.

Your eyes were darting from him to Spike like a table hockey puck in play. As you cried, you begged for Spike to get up and run away. But to your stress, he continued to lay still.

“Come on baby doll, it’s cold out here” he said smugly as he rubbed his shoulders dramatically.

As your hand rested on the lock you tried to make sense of the situation. Were you really going to let this dog be the death of you? Or was this frightening stranger true to his word about not hurting you. An unrealistic idea came to mind as you forced yourself to unlock the door.

He wasted no time in pushing open the door and stepped inside. Typically you took three steps back. As he closed the door and locked it, he slowly looked back over to you.

“You know, your parents should have taught you better about road safety” he grinned as he took a step towards you.

In a flash, you bolted for the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife in the block. He laughed as he approached you and pulled his much smaller yet much sharper knife back out of his jacket. You pointed your knife at him sternly as he backed you into a corner. Whilst staring at you blankly, the blade spun and flipped in his hand elegantly. It made your hold shake, there’s no way you’d win this.

“What do you want from me!” You mewled out as you found your body slowly slipping back against the cupboard doors. He didn’t answer you as he intimately stepped to you. “Please don’t hurt me!” You begged for mercy.

The knife slipped from your hold and it clanked onto the floor. Quickly, your body curled up into a ball as you rocked yourself. You sobbed viciously as your heart pounded all the way up to your head.

“Don’t give me a reason to baby doll” he cooed as he squatted in front of you after kicking the kitchen knife away. You buried your face into your forearm and his cold hand petted your soft hair. “Look at me” he ordered kindly.

Fearfully you peaked back up to him. He held his hand out, his knife had vanished once more. You blinked as you stared at him up close. You didn’t realize how charming on the eye he was, it made you gulp harshly. “Please… My parents are going to be home any minute” you lied pathetically, sniffling heavily.

“Baby doll” he tutted as he gently shook his head towards you. “This isn’t even your fucking house” he laughed, casually pointing his finger to one of your friend’s family portrait on the wall. “Now come on, no more tears… Only little girls cry, I want you to be a big girl for me tonight” he condescended as he gestured for you to grab ahold of his hand.

“What do you want?” you asked weakly as you grabbed ahold of his hand.

“To talk” he nodded as he lifted you up. He petted your hair to the side and smiled softly to you. “Well, for a little bit anyways” he added, a gentle shrug of the shoulders.

Your eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t question him as he led you to the lounge room. Your gaze landed back on Spike, who was perfectly still just as before and you found yourself weeping again. He wrapped his arms around you from behind as he shushed into your ear.

“Relax, relax, a simple sedative… I hope I got the dosage right, I usually sedate people, not dogs” he whispered into your ear, smirking to himself as you weakly resisted against him as you whimpered out.

Your head shot down, the guilt of Spike being too much for your conscience. He guided you to the couch and pulled you onto his lap. Your body squirmed on top of his, but he kept you locked in.

“What are you doing?” you whined.

But he only hushed you and thrusted his hips up. Instantly, you felt his growing erection underneath you and you froze on him.

“You gave me a massive fright today, you know that?” He sighed, his hands on your hips as he rotated them in a circular motion.

Your body shivered as you felt your teeth chatter. “I’m sorry… I tried to control him” you explained through heavy breathing.

“Yeah I know. A little too strong for you, aye?” He chuckled, his hands squeezing your hips harshly. You nodded your head quickly as you tried to focus your mind elsewhere, but it was pointless by the way he was rubbing his cock against your core. “But then, you know… You just looked so sweet and fragile that I just wanted to make sure you got home safe…” he admitted as one hand ran up your spine.

“You took an interesting short cut. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to find you. But then, I saw you in the distance, running up the driveway” he laughed softly as he hand slid to your breasts.

You gasped out as both hands kneaded them before they slipped underneath your thin tank. His fingers rubbed circles over your nipples and your head fell back next to his and you tried to silence your clear as daylight arousal.

“No bra? Naughty girl” he groaned by your ear, his tongue slithered around your earlobe.

After a moment of groping you, his hands slipped down from your torso as you trembled on him, based on a horrific mixture of fear and desire.

“I want to apologize” he suddenly professed.

“What?” You panted.

“For scaring you. I’ll admit, I lost my temper a little bit… You just scared me so bad, baby doll. How would I have felt if I didn’t brake in time?” He explained himself, his smooth jaw nuzzled against yours.

But during this confession, his hand slipped into your shorts, right into your panties as he stroked your wet pussy.

“I’m sorry for scaring you too!” You cried out, your heart thudding against your ribs as you found yourself rocking your hips.

“No, no… You don’t have to tell me how sorry you are, you just have to show it” he moaned, a smug look on his face as a digit easily slipped inside of you. “We can do it wherever you want to, baby doll… Here, in the kitchen, we can get into my car if you really want and I can take you for a ride. It’s an expensive car” he grinned as he forcefully flexed his hips up making you cry out. “But if you want me to make it special for you, take me a bed, any bed. I’m not picky…” he exhaled as his free hand moved back up to your tits.

“No, please!” You objected, logic dripping out of your aroused state. You were willingly grinding yourself on a stranger, an intruder, a man much older than you. You were in your senior year of high school for crying out loud. It forced you to try to free yourself from him. It only made him laugh and he wrapped his arm around your waist as he pressed his nose to the side of your heated face.

“Baby doll… Look at yourself, you’re trying to fuck my hand right now” he pointed out.

All you could do was sob out in humiliation as his fingers pumped inside of you. Your ass rubbed against his hard on whilst he kissed your bare neck.

“My name is Jackson by the way” he introduced himself, a satisfied grin on his lips. You told him your name through a heavy gasp as his fingers went knuckle deep inside of you. “I already knew that” he whispered into your ear as he felt your walls clench tightly around his hand

Every dog has its day, but unfortunately for you, today was not that day.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #smut #dark smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner #red eye 2005

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