#Pushin Forward Back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedgito · 2 months ago

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𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 | Cowboy!Joel Miller x reader

summary | Through all of his supposed wrong-doing, Joel has never failed you. Alternatively, falling in love with your dad's enemy while he shows you your full potential.

author's note | this is for @kedsandtubesocks's wild ride writing challenge! i struggled with this for a while, but ultimately erika and @hauntedhowlett helped me settle on something after sitting on the struggle bus for longer than i liked. this is all unbeta'd so please go easy on me dsjhkg

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, rodeo cowboy!joel, dbf but they're rivals now, forbidden love, hefty age gap (early 20s, late 40s), daddy issues, switches between present/flashbacks (all titled to differentiate), joel strolling around shirtless in a cowboy hat, mentions of injuries from riding, angst/internal conflict, fluff, smut (inappropriate use of a barstool), joel's such a loverboy

word count — 7.5k

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The energy in the stadium is inconceivable.

Austin always had amazing crowds during rodeo season, especially with such a close-knit community of people supporting a passion many have attempted to pursue. For you, it was in your blood, riding on the coattails of your father, you were saddled on a horse before you could even speak full sentences.

You can hear the deep, roaring chants as you stand steadily in the waiting pen, eyes locked on the television as the words echo in your ear, a faint smile growing on your face as you feel the solid press of his hand against your back.

Joel.

It was a year of tireless dedication to get you back on a horse, somehow managing to entangle yourself in his grasp in more ways than you can explain—he wasn’t just a partner, he was your lover, a confidant, and the only person that could ease the quickly growing nerves.

“Like ridin’ a bike,” He says with an ease that comes natural to his voice, hand climbing up to settle against the back of your neck with a reassuring squeeze, “what’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“What if she gets startled?” You ask absently, the accident flashing through your mind in snapshots, the subtle twinge of pain in your knee that came and went when it felt like it.

“All she needs is you,” Joel reminds you, “s’never been a time I’ve seen her freak out when she’s got you on her back and you know it.”

Honey had been with you since you were a young girl, a trust built through years of connection and care, having practiced the art of non-verbal communication, you knew there was nothing to worry about, but the fear still lingered.

Joel’s Ranch, One Year Ago — Flashback:

Joel can see the way your hands shake, attempting to grasp the reins a few times with a clammy grip, over-adjusting yourself on the horse he’s ridden for many years, even into retirement. Buttercup was docile but strong and he’s attentive to Joel’s instruction, a rub over his snout as he attempted to reassure you.

It was your first time back on a horse since your accident, months of recuperating on Joel’s ranch with the help of him and his brother Tommy, working through doctor’s visits and physical therapy alongside two men who weren’t your father, but had filled the hole enough that you didn’t have to suffer through your injury alone.

“We’re just doing a few laps and getting a feel on things,” Joel reminds you, “I’m not pushin’ you and I’m not gonna let you push it too soon—what’s your number today?”

You bend and stretch your leg hesitantly, a subtle movement as Joel’s hand rests just above the thick band of your jeans, your face contorting in slight discomfort.

“Five…six,” You say indecisively, looking down at Joel.

“So, an eight,” He surmises with a smile, “alright—just a few laps and we’ll work from there.”

It was a step forward, fearful that you might never ride again.

But, Joel follows you around the ring from start to finish.

He promised in the beginning that he wouldn’t leave your side and he hasn’t lied once.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

While dressage started their run, you and Joel slipped off into a dressing room to watch the show and deal with the insistence from Joel that you shouldn’t ride on an empty stomach.

You picked at the food sparingly though, still feeling rattled by the energy in the arena.

Joel’s presence comes from behind, palms spread over the arms of your chair as he leans his chest into your back, lips brushing against your ear in an endearing manner, a ghost of his breath against the side of your face as he presses a gentle kiss against your neck.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "You're going to be amazing out there, baby. I believe in you."

You lean back into his warmth, letting out a shaky breath. His arms encircle you, strong and comforting. "I'm just so nervous," you whisper.

Joel turns your face with his fingers at your chin. His eyes, filled with tenderness, meet yours.

"Remember why you started riding in the first place? That freedom? The connection?"

You nod and his hand flattens against the side of your neck and you tilt your chin up expectantly, eager for a kiss that never comes, instead he chuckles and placates you with another kiss to your cheek.

“No distractions,” He chastises, “I meant that.”

You pout for a brief moment but relent, knowing that you needed a clear head and Joel would give you anything but with how easily he’s clouded your thoughts in the past several months.

Joel’s Ranch, Six Months Ago — Flashback:

When it happens, you aren’t expecting it.

Neither is Joel, which makes the entire situation unfold faster than you’re capable of processing.

The storm rolled in without warning, the wind picking up like someone had flipped a switch.

But, the lighting strikes unexpectedly from the right and downfield with not a drop of rain in sight.

It startles everyone, but especially Buttercup, Joel’s horse. It was quick buck, with Joel’s hands on your waist luckily, so the decent is smooth but the impact isn’t as graceful as you would have liked while Joel’s horses thrashes wildly until he can calm him down, moving you a safe distance away before he can eventually get Buttercup tucked away in the stables and return to you, jogging toward you as the rain began to mist.

As Joel approaches, his eyes lock with yours, concern etched across his features.

The misting rain clings to his cheeks, making them glisten in the fading light. He reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping your face. Thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with worry.

You nod, unable to speak as you realize how close he is.

It’s never been like this, even in the moments of physical therapy and joint dinners with him and his brother—Joel had always been careful about being respectful and keeping his distance.

Joel was prominent in your childhood, weekend dinners with him and his daughters after the death of your mother—it was all a blur now, most of it buried away and forgotten. But, there was an eventual blow-up with your father and then he was gone.

You’d see him on television and around town when shows were happening and he had a break from his extensive tour through different states, having turned his professional career into entertainment both out of a need for change and necessity.

He constantly remained out of reach, but with your injury and his willingness to yield to you when you needed someone in your life the most, he had stepped in. It made you feel like that little girl again, scraping your knee on the ground and crying for help, but instead of your dad it was Joel and the floating feeling in your stomach wasn’t because he was comforting you, but because he was touching you and neither of you had the courage to speak on it.

He’s never touched you like this. He wouldn’t.

Joel’s always been careful—too careful.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice trembles slightly. Joel kneels closer, his warmth enveloping you despite the cool rain. His hands find your shoulders, steadying you, “Joel—I swear, I’m okay.”

“M’so sorry, sweetheart,” He apologises despite no wrongdoing, “I should’ve checked the weather or at least held on a little tighter,”

You look up into his eyes, seeing the genuine worry there, and something else – something that makes your heart flutter in your chest. "It's not your fault," You insist, blinking away the rain from your lashes before Joel is helping you to your feet, his touch never once leaving your body.

The rain is falling harder now, but neither of you can find the urgency to move.

Joel's hands slide down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your breath catches in your throat, coming out in a desperate attempt to clear the swell as you make a small, weak noise that seems to break him from his trance.

“Let’s get you dry,” He nods toward the house, grateful for the deflection as you turn, but his hand is still pressed firmly against your back as you both walk toward the door, like he’s too scared to let go - like you were too fragile to leave on your own.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Honey nuzzles into your chest before nibbling at the apple in your palm, always rigid about the time you spent with her before your shows, a moment of quiet and connection that strengthens the bond.

She was full of personality, leaning into the gentle touch you apply to her snout as you rub your hand up and into her mane, a small push into your ribs as she hears Joel approach.

Your heart swells with affection as you lean into Honey's warmth, savoring the sweet moment.

Joel's footsteps draw near, but you're reluctant to break the spell.

You press a soft kiss to Honey's velvety nose, whispering words of love and gratitude. As Joel appears, his eyes meet yours and a tender smile spreads across his face. He understands the depth of your connection with Honey, having witnessed your bond grow over countless shows and quiet moments like this. Even when you were much younger and Honey was twice the size she is now.

Your father had purchased her when Joel was meeting Buttercup, how the girls had hounded him over the responsibility to name his horse. He wouldn’t admit how much he liked it, either.

"You two are inseparable," he murmurs, stepping closer. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers as you both stroke Honey's mane, "I swear, sometimes I think you love that horse more than me."

You laugh, giving your horse one last pat before turning to Joel. "Are you jealous?"

Your head tilts, eyes as wide and vulnerable as they always were with him.

“Not when you look at me like that,” Joel explains, his hand cupping your chin as his thumb rubs against the point of it, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards as Joel mirrors that same admiration, a playful glint in his eyes as you pucker your lips and kiss his thumb, keeping your eyes on him, “boy, you are really pushin’ it today.”

It was silly to think about now, but a few months prior Joel wouldn’t even allow himself to touch you like this, despite the clear indication of how you felt and how he had ultimately fallen first, too scared to admit that he’d fallen for his old friend’s daughter, knowing your father despised everything that Joel was, it was a maze he didn’t know how to navigate.

He still felt lost on most days.

Joel’s Ranch, Five Months Ago — Flashback:

Mornings were sacred on Joel’s ranch - a beautiful sunrise etched out over the hills and through the trees, animals rousing from their sleep, and a silence that reminded you of a simpler time.

Usually you found Joel up this early, nursing a mug of coffee in his hands as rocked in the old chair on his porch, eventually finding the courage to join him after a while, when it didn’t hurt to bend down to his level, taking a seat on the deck near his legs and sipping at your own drink of choice, talking through your pain level on whatever particular day it was.

Your fondness has grown over shared meals and proximity; seclusion, too.

It was you and him, months alone aside from Tommy’s occasional visit.

Maybe it was inevitable—that your injury served a purpose.

You always tried to find a reason to excuse your own mistake, a moment of hesitation that cost you an entire year of your newfound career, excitedly filling in for Joel in his departure.

It couldn’t have been for nothing.

You felt her heart skip a beat as his footsteps approached, his gaze warm as it descended upon you, peering over your shoulder to be met with a tired smile.

The morning sunlight caught the silver in his hair, and you found herself admiring the lines around his eyes - evidence of a life filled with both laughter and hardship.

"Good mornin’," Joel's voice was a low rumble, softened by the early hour, “something botherin’ you?”

“Why do you ask?” You chirp with a soft laugh, narrowing your gaze in a manner to intimidate.

Joel smirks half-heartedly, “It’s a good place to think,” He notes, “so—what is it?”

“Can I ask about my dad?” You start hesitantly, not sure how sore of a subject it was for him.

“Whaddya wanna know, sugar?”

“I want your side,” You wanted honesty, not half-truths, “did you cut him out of the deal?”

“He cut himself out,” Joel explains without skipping a beat, “we were partners for a long time, couldn’t have imagined doin’ all I did without him before he turned on me, but it was good money, security—it put Ellie and Sarah through college.

“He’s a sell-out,” If there was any time for your father to disparage Joel Miller, he would, “runnin’ off to Florida and taking some big deal, that shit ain’t right—it’s selfish.”

Joel had never meant to turn his career into entertainment, competing in circuits at a professional level before his body started to take a toll, eventually earning the Old Timer moniker and booking shows around the surrounding cities of Texas before touring the country.

If you were involved in rodeo, or even caught a whiff of it in the media, you knew who the Old Timer was. And even with him gone, you can feel your father looming.

The echoing mantra of his words in your head as you remember watching Joel perform with Buttercup, a long-established Bronc with his own exuberant personality to match Joel’s more subdued one, a perfect balance.

Ain’t nothing out there you won’t experience here in Austin.

You weren’t sure where the animosity stemmed from until now—it was a clear path he had pictured for himself and you, riding out the rest of your career in Texas, even as you were starting to climb the ladder as one of the more notorious female riders, still just a whisper for most people, living in the shadow of your father for so long.

“He’s stuck in his ways and that’s not sayin’ I’m any different, but I don’t regret signing that deal for a better way of livin’—a easier way, it got me all of this,” He throws his arms out lazily, property that stretched for miles, a place where he’s come to offer a camp for young riders to learn the ropes and get comfortable around the animals in a safe environment.

But, it was also home.

It was a surprise waking up one morning to a yard full of kids, a handful no older than ten or eleven, showing how easily Joel molded into the teaching role in such a relaxed environment.

You weren’t sure if that was when your feelings for him had evolved or if it was during the early weeks of being injured when Joel would sit with you bedside almost every night, either reading or working on his crosswords like it was religion, glasses perched on his nose as he moved with every subtle twitch you would make, worry etched on his face.

It was a mix of both and more, countless times you’ve found yourself at a loss for words.

“If he knew,” You pause, chewing at your bottom lip with worry, “if he knew—that I was here, that I turned down his help to come to you, Joel, I don’t know how he would react,”

“There ain’t a single reason he needs to know,” Joel assures you, “I’m sure he’s said a lot about me and some of it is probably true, but you deserve a place you feel safe.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

Joel's words sink in, and you realize just how much you needed to hear them. The weight of your father's expectations, his dreams for your future, had been suffocating you for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft whinnying of horses in the nearby stables, and your words linger, like you’re holding back, “I do—I do feel safe…”

Joel hums, turning his body toward you more, his elbow meeting the railing of the ring.

“But?”

“You have to know,” You begin, heart constricting with nerves, a surge of adrenaline rushing through your veins as Joel looks at you, all of you, that familiar full body glance that you’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing, “it’s more than just safety, Joel.”

"I reckon I do know," he says, his voice low and gravelly, still thick from sleep. "Been knowin' for a while now."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning and possibility. Uncertainty.

“I feel stupid,” You laugh away the sudden embarrassment, face heating as the silence grows, “fuck I’m—I’m only a couple years older than the girls and you were helping me with my math homework while trying to teach them how to tie their shoes. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Seems to me like you’re an adult capable of making her own choices,” Joel decides.

You feel a flutter in your chest at Joel's words, at the implicit acceptance in them.

Your eyes meet his, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but you find only warmth and a hint of something deeper, enticingly haunting.

"I've been making my own choices for a while now," you say softly, not realizing the instinctual gravitation toward him until his chest is pressing into your shoulder. "Some good, some...not so good. But, coming here? It was the first choice I’ve made for myself that felt right."

“It always needs to feel like that, sweetheart.”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

Joel tightens the belt at your waist, the leather stiff from lack of wear. You’ve only worn the uniform a few times for fittings, a brightly colored shirt and riding pants to match, which were still hung on the rack behind Joel.

He takes a moment to tug at the leather to assure it was secure before he drops down to his knees, catching you by surprise with a bubble of laughter slipping past your lips.

“Joel, what are you doing?”

He shrugs, pressing featherlight kisses along the top of your thigh while his hand drags along the back, hooking behind your right leg as he brings your knee to his mouth, his lips pressing over the jagged but healed scar.

You find yourself overcome with unexpected emotion, throat burning with the threat of impending tears, the moment holding still as Joel looks up at you.

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

It was intended to be a simple task, filling the troughs with water as you both lugged the buckets to each individual pen, narrowly escaping Joel’s increasingly boyish behavior as he fills the trough up halfway before he’s tossing the rest of the water at you, gasping at the cold, frigid temperature of it.

“You ain’t smiled today,” Joel reminds you, suddenly sheepish as you realize how big the grin on your face has grown, wasting the rest of the water to return the wet favor, tossing the bucket on the floor before you decide to make a run for the house nearly at the door before you slip on a slick spot of mud.

Squealing, your arms flail out—you accept your fate, arms bracing behind you as you wait for the impact, but instead you’re caught by two thick arms wrapping under and around you and your breath catches as you find yourself pressed against Joel's broad chest, his strong arms holding you securely.

Your heart races with an anxious stir of emotions, interlaced with excitement, suddenly very aware of how close your bodies are. Joel aids you back to your feet, shoving him away playfully as you snake your way out of his arms, trying your hardest to seem upset even though you weren’t.

“Careful,” Joel warns, “can’t have you injuring yourself any worse, you’ll be takin’ up a permanent residence here.

“Would it be so bad?” You ask curiously, a hint of teasing to your tone, “I think you like the idea of keeping me here, all to yourself.”

His eyes echo his earlier words. Careful.

The restraint he shows day by day amazes himself with how hard you’ve tried to break him down, some guilt surrounding his own growing feelings, ashamed with how strong they’ve become.

“Where’s your manners, anyways?” You ask, “You get a girl all wet and you can’t even invite her to dinner or kiss her first? And I thought you were a gentleman.”

Joel wasn’t intimidated by much in his life, but the way you see straight through him with ease—he’s helpless under your gaze, the grin on your face that follows is tortuous to his psyche.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, Joel,” You tease, poking at the damp fabric stuck to his chest, his eyes following the movement as you pull away and turn toward the house, “I’m just fucking with you.”

Joel snaps then, pulling at your wrist with a gentle tug, “Now, you ain’t gotta be so crude all the time, mouth like that’ll get you in trouble,”

Like this?

Joel sees the smug expression as it sneaks onto your features, his grip climbing higher until you’re at the lip of his front door and he’s got you crowded, pressing into the flimsy screen as he noses at your cheek like a wolf sniffing out prey, violently aware of how your hand squeezes into his wet shirt and pulls him closer.

“Just kiss me,” You plead, “fuck—please. Just do it.”

It was a craving so unnatural you ache, in your gut and chest, lips parting as your chin lifts in an effort to chase his hesitance. You’ve both been dancing around this for weeks.

Joel's resolve crumbles, his self-control shattering like glass.

With a low growl, he captures your lips in a hurried kiss, weeks of pent-up desire pouring out in a single, passionate moment. His calloused hands frame your face, holding you steady as he deepens the kiss, tongue seeking entrance between your lips.

And you melt instantly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt. It was everything you needed.

Rough but tender, his soft lips against your own with the satisfying scratch of his overgrown beard that tickled your cheeks and nose, hiccuping a breath into the kiss as he tilts your head up to meet his hungry mouth, each press more insatiable than the last.

When you finally part, both panting for air, Joel rests his forehead against your own and allows his eyes to fall shut for a moment as you giggle, shaking slightly in his hold.

“Now, was that so hard?”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s got you imprisoned this way—body and soul, your hand shifting to rest at the crown of his head, curling into his hair, another gentle kiss before he’s leaning his cheek against the inside of your thigh and offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“You plan on stayin’ down there, cowboy?”

Joel chuckles, shifting to hide his face into your thigh.

It’s a gentle tickle, his mouth against your skin, but it brings you immense comfort.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” You remind him, eyeing the clock overhead, “I think we can manage.”

He shakes his head with relaxed defiance, groaning quietly as he pushes to his feet again.

“Right—right, later. No distractions,” You repeat his earlier words, followed by a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re not making it easy, you know?”

Joel’s Ranch, Four Months Ago — Flashback:

Joel’s got you on a strict schedule lately once you’re cleared for training—breakfast, a workout, practice, lunch, repeat, only a few months out until your inevitable return and he’s hammering the routine into your brain, which you appreciate, but a break would be nice.

The run-through was flawless this evening and you retired earlier, savoring the burning heat of water as it melted over your skin, dressed in a loose shirt and panties as you searched through your messy suitcase of clothes and the pile that has grown over time with your extensive stay, down on your knees.

It wasn’t always this easy, depending on Joel for nearly everything in the beginning of your stay.

He was showering in his room simultaneously, or so you thought.

Joel spotted your hat about halfway through the living room, resting on a post outside.

His chest is still wet, jeans unbuttoned but snug on his hips as he strolled barefoot outside and retrieved the item, knowing that you hardly parted with it, it was a strange sight.

You pause in your rummaging, sensing a presence behind you moments later.

Turning, your breath catches at the sight of Joel standing in your doorway, hat balanced on his head as he leaned against the frame and smiled, the muscles in his arms conforming to the stretch and pull as he crossed them, tanned skin glistening with the few droplets of water still lingering.

“Found your hat,” Well, one could only suspect.

You stand slowly, acutely aware of how little you're wearing. "Thanks," you murmur as you make your way toward him, reaching for the hat. Your fingers brush as he hands it over, his own molding around the crown of the hat, bottom side up.

Joel doesn’t let go immediately like you’re anticipating, “I think you deserve a weekend off,”

“No,” You argue instantly, “I’m finally getting comfortable with the routine, I don’t need a day off.”

Joel’s face scrunches up in with a lack of belief in you words, tilting his head with narrowing gaze, “Now, that’s something only a person who needs a day off would say,”

“Joel, no,” You put your foot down, finally prying his fingers away from the hat, seeking a few inches of space from his bare chest and the unbearable heat that radiates from his frame.

While your admission of feelings had led him to be less reserved with the way he approached your or talked, more touchy during practice and at night while you both cuddled up on the couch and watched some old western you could care less about—Joel really loved them, though, so that had to count for something.

He makes you nervous, anticipatory of his next move, waiting for him to put your misery and break the metaphorical seal over your relationship—if you could even call it that, but it never happened. It would have to be you, a choice you made entirely on your own.

Your heart races as you take a step back, clutching the hat to your chest like a shield.

Joel's eyes follow your movement, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his face before he schools his expression back to that easy, warm smile. It’s subtle, but there.

"I get it," Joel levels, "You're afraid of losing momentum.”

You shrug, unsure if that was fully true.

“C’mon,” Joel beckons, uncrossing his arms to offer his hand, your eyes following it with hesitance.

Joel chuckles to himself and pulls the hat from your grip before placing it on your head, fingers circling your wrist before they trail toward your hand and lead you toward the kitchen, through his expansive living room until he’s guiding you toward one of the few barstool, silently ordering you to sit down.

Almost immediately, he squats behind the island to rummage through the liquor collection he kept stored away for the occasional celebration or nightcap, avoiding it mostly out of preference while you trained, but he’s sliding a glass of whiskey over before you can fully piece together what he’s doing, rounding the counter with his own glass in hand.

“Happy early birthday to me, I guess,” You joke before taking a small sip of the whiskey, knowing your 22nd birthday was on the horizon but enjoying the reaction as Joel’s face contorts through phases—first confusion, then fear, before he’s attempting to pull the glass from your grip as he realizes his mistake

You giggle and stretch the glass out of reach, “Oh, calm down—I’m old enough to drink, Joel. Old age is really getting to you, isn’t it? I didn’t celebrate last year because I was so focused on the show, but we all know how that turned out,”

“You’re tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?” Joel asks, downing the rest of the liquid in one go.

He’s drifted closer now, palm pressed into the counter beside your arm, his free hand rising up to tip the brim of your hat up, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth with an impish gaze.

“I’m just so young and impressionable,” You feign innocence, “I blame you.”

Joel's eyes darken, a mix of amusement and something more intense swirling in the depths of brown. Holding his eyes, you slide the glass against the counter and reach for your hat before placing it back on his head, a little on the snug side but still wearable.

“Kinda like it on you better,” You decide, adjusting the brim before your fingers trail toward his shoulders and settle there, feeling the muscle underneath twitch as he laughs, though you find yourself deadly serious and sincere, no longer meeting his eyes as yours trail toward the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, a solid wall of muscle follow—Joel wasn’t defined, but he was large, intimidatingly so. When he wasn’t riding, he was building, working with his hands, lifting and moving things around the ranch, it was mouthwatering to watch.

“Eyes up, sugar,” He warns, not realizing how dangerously low your hands had trailed before your fingers were folding over the open seam of his jeans and how blatantly obvious it was that Joel wasn’t wearing anything underneath and how his cock had swelled slightly with your proximity and innocent touches.

You feel a rush of excitement as your fingers brush against the warm skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans. Joel's breath hitches, his hand moving to grip your wrist firmly.

“But, you’re—”

Joel shakes his head dismissively, “Can’t help that part—bein’ around you ain’t easy lately.”

In any other circumstance you would take those words harshly, but you can see the pain on his face, the self-restraint he’s holding himself to.

“I can—we can,” You offer, legs spreading on their own as you turn toward him, fitting him between your thighs as you lean into him, “I mean—it isn’t like you’ll be stealing my virtue. I’m not that innocent, Joel.”

Joel's grip on your wrist tightens, his jaw clenching as he struggles to maintain control.

You can see the conflict in his eyes—desire warring with his sense of propriety.

Impatient, you surge upwards, pressing your lips against his with a hunger he hasn’t seen from you before, taking advantage of his parted mouth and dragging your tongue across his top lip, feeling the restrain in the way he kisses you back subdued with his hesitant touch.

“Think about—what you’re—askin’ for,” Joel interrupts through hurried kisses, his hand curling around the side of your neck to push you back, “What this’ll mean for you.”

“I think you should fuck me,” You respond crudely, “besides—you kissed me first.”

His resolve wavers, and you seize the opportunity.

Your free hand slides up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Joel's eyes flutter closed for a moment, a soft groan escaping his lips at the indecent sight of you looking up at him, lips parted on a breath and eyes wide with desire.

Joel never made great choices, only what felt right in the moment.

And somehow, it has led him here.

“We shouldn’t,” He says softly, “s’just another distraction.”

“My mind has never been more clear, Joel,” You argue.

Joel’s resistance is weakening quickly and with a low growl, he’s capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand leaving your wrist to grip your hip with a natural possessiveness, the same touch he lends while you’re riding, not an entirely different circumstance, but the intention is loud. You moan into his mouth, arching against him as his fingers dig into your flesh.

“Slow down, cowboy,” You tease, flicking at the hat, your laugh breaking through the tension as Joel parts for a brief second, watching your fingers fold around the hem of your shirt, “help me?”

It’s devious, you know, he knows it.

But, he listens.

The moment your shirt is thrown to the floor, Joel’s jaw slackens.

Instinctually, his thumb drifts over your nipples, circling the areola before he’s using the full expanse of his grip to cup your breasts, maneuvering the barstool until you’re leaning against the marble top, his lips latching onto your skin, tongue alternate as they circle the sensitive buds.

He’ll repent later, much later.

A gasp escapes you when he grazes his teeth against your nipple, sending a spark of pleasure through your body.

"Joel," you breathe, arching into his touch. He hums against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He knew exactly what he was doing, hesitance out the window and replaced with newfound confidence.

His hands slide down your sides, rough calluses catching on your soft skin as he explores every inch of you. When his fingers reach the waistband of underwear, he pauses, looking up at you for guidance and surety.

You nod eagerly, lifting your hips in time with his tug, pulling the damp fabric down your legs and leaving you bare. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Joel's eyes rake over your naked form, hunger evident in his eyes.

And you learn quickly that his skilled hands and fingers aren’t entirely for show, two fingers to start as they push inside of your cunt, head tilted back into his empty hand as he watches you carefully - the quickened breath as he curls his fingers, eyes fluttering shut when he reaches a sensitive spot deep inside of you, gasping for air while he brushes it once, twice, until you’re nothing but a sobbing mess, crying out his name until you come over his fingers, the butt of his palm pressed against your clit for added measure.

“She loves me, don’t she?” Joel teases, the gall of that man.

You offer a pathetic sound of acknowledgement, Joel's eyes never leaving your face as you come undone, drinking in every gasp and shudder. As your climax subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darts out, cleaning up the mess you’ve made, his chest rumbling with a deep groan.

You’ve had enough.

You reach for his jeans, fumbling weakly as you push them down, desperate for as much of him as you could consume—all of him, preferably.

His arousal is evident as you rid him of his jeans, watching as he kicks away the tangled mess to fit himself between your spread legs, his cock bobbing freely against his stomach, thick and heavy against your thigh as you pull him closer. You wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his hips buck involuntarily.

"I’m good," You assure him without elaborating, guiding him towards your entrance—you could talk later, too desperate to feel him inside of you.

Joel hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes. Whatever he sees seems to convince him, both of your breaths holding as he presses inside with slow, hesitant thrusts.

The sensation steals your words, knowing just by the sight of him that it would be pushing what you were used to, and no fumbling hands either, sure in every touch he laid upon you.

The way he squeezed at your hip and curled his other hand around the back of your neck, protecting you from the hard edge of the counter before he’s slinging your arms over his neck and nearly knocking the barstool to the floor as he leans into you, his hips picking up in their intensity as he listens to your body and your voice, distant and soft but there, floating in some ethereal plane of pleasure.

Your fingers dig into Joel’s shoulders, moaning at how he fills you in the most satisfying way, amiss to the bite of the counter in your back as the chair creaks and rocks with Joel’s hurried movement, breath hot against your neck where he’s buried himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” He sighs, mouthing his way to your ear, hissing at the sting of your grip and with that his thrusts become deeper, more forceful— each one pushing you further over the edge. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting more.

Joel’s lips find yours frantically, in desperation as he groans, a low rumble that seeps into your own mouth, “Gonna gimme one more,” He tells you,

You nod fervently, barely able to form words as Joel's movements grow more insistent.

His hand slips between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a precision that leaves you breathless. The dual sensations of his thick length filling you and his skilled touch on your clit quickly push you towards the precipice.

“Good, good,” He coos, soothing your weak cries with his mouth as your voice muffles under his guise, kissing you soundly, “go on—let go for me,”

His words push you over the edge and you come undone while Joel follows, burying himself deep inside you with a guttural moan, coming forceful and deep, fucking his spend deeper inside of you as reality resurfaces too soon.

“You alright?” Joel asks almost immediately, slipping out of you with a soft grunt.

The barstool creaks ominously as you adjust yourself and Joel chuckles.

“Probably not the sturdiest spot for that,” He jokes, thankful for the levity as he helps you stand, unsteady on your legs and held up by his firm grip, “I’m blamin’ you for that one.”

The grin it brings out of you is worth the slight discomfort you feel.

You shrug, nonchalant and admit defeat, “Guilty,”

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

He’s not supposed to be here.

There was always a plan, something tucked away in his back pocket.

This time it was the element of surprise and a mix of fear, eyes landing on him for the first time since he rushed onto Joel’s property, half-cocked and throwing out demands where he had no position or right.

He knows what he’s doing, eyes locked with yours from several feet away.

“Guest speaker?” Joel asks, the words biting as they leave his mouth, “Seriously?”

“It’s okay,” It was a mantra to yourself mostly, but Joel hears you, “I know what he’s trying to do—it won’t work.”

“You say the word, I’ll take care of it,” Joel promises.

You smirk slightly, rubbing your hand against his cheek and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“Easy, cowboy,” You offer lightheartedly, “I can handle myself.”

Joel’s Ranch, Two Months Ago — Flashback:

You knew he’d figure it out eventually.

For a while he believed the lie—that you had been transferred to a beautiful place in Florida that dealt with injury and rehabilitation for your line of work and he accepted that, kept his distance.

He almost followed through on his reconciliation with Joel, that is, until he sees you at his side.

It was such a natural moment for the both of you now, Joel’s arm slung around your waist as he pulled you in, lips pressing against your temple before you both called it for the day, Honey’s head slipping between your hands as she noses at your head, suddenly whining at the shadowed intruder as he grew close.

At the sound of his voice, you fade away.

You’re still here, standing, but Joel’s protectiveness jumps out instantly.

The words were loud and harsh, but the moment you snap back is as your father’s hand squeezes at your bicep and yanks you forward, immediately met with resistance.

“I forbid it,” He shouts, “whatever brainwashin’ you’ve done to my kid, it’s over.”

“Forbid it?” You counter, “Do you hear yourself?”

“Always liked makin’ a show of things,” He sounds bitter, he is, “come on, we’re leaving.”

“No,” You tell him, voice unrecognizably strong, “I’m finally doing something for myself.”

Your father's face contorts, a mix of anger and betrayal etched into every wrinkle. He takes a step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "For yourself? You think leaving everything behind and letting him influence you is for yourself?"

Joel shifts behind you, a ghosting of his fingers against your back but you don’t waver.

"Yes, for myself," you say, shocked at the steadiness in your voice. “I deserve a chance to figure things out my own way, I don’t have to follow the same path you did.”

Your father scoffs, shaking his head. "Your own way? You don't even know what that means, honey. All we built together, you’re ready to throw that away for him—”

"We?" you interrupt, feeling a surge of frustration. "You built that, Dad. I was a kid, I did what I was told.” It was clear he still saw you as a young girl, his protege, destined to take over after he was gone and carry on the legacy.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your father's eyes narrow, searching your face as if seeing you for the first time. You weren’t the same young girl who stared at him wide-eyed, amazed by his ability to wow the crowd and commit to everything he did. The disappointment in his gaze morphs into something else—hurt.

“I’m not gonna sit and wait around if he breaks your heart,” Your father tells you, “let alone how inappropriate it is—you try justifyin’ that to the public. I see what this is and what you did.”

His eyes land on Joel.

Fortunately, he couldn’t be more wrong.

Austin, Texas — Present Day:

The truth was, no one cared.

You and Joel had created an amazing partnership with natural chemistry and it seared the crowds, grabbed their attention, all eyes on you when you finally took your run out in the arena.

It was weeks that had built to this, following through your routine almost masterfully and without missing a beat, ending with a flourish trick as you stood on Honey’s back for the hundredth time it felt like now, not a single waver in your movement and lasso’d the cowboy hat from the middle of the ring and yanked it in, placing it on your head before the crowd erupted in a loud cheer.

It was the feeling you had searched for since you were younger, fulfillment like no other.

Your father’s appearance couldn’t be further from your mind and as you dismounted Honey and took your bow, your eyes searched the side for the one face that mattered most. Joel's proud grin beamed at you from across the arena, his eyes locked on yours.

In that moment, the roar of the crowd faded away and it was him.

Joel’s Ranch, One Month Ago — Flashback:

You feel guilty for the way your eyes linger on his back as Buttercup trots around the ring, distracted and smiling to yourself as you step onto the railing and lean over with your forearms.

“Focus,” Joel chirps, “c’mon—put on your best voice.”

You clear your throat dramatically and lower your tone a bit, fighting through the giggles.

“You know him, you love him,” You bellow from deep in your chest, “It’s Old Timer!”

Joel chuckles, “That was horrible, baby.”

“So what?” You shrug, “I know him, I love him—point proven.”

It was rare to get a glimpse of Joel like this, back in his element as you watched him run-through your routine without all the flair, offering a slightly different view—though, he knows it won’t help.

You were barely focused on the routine, preoccupied with how easily Joel could capture a room like this, noticing your glossed over gaze as he finishes and hops off his horse, walking over with a knowing smirk.

"You weren't paying attention at all, were you?" Joel teases, his voice low and intimate.

You feel a heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze.

"I was... distracted," You admit sheepishly.

His smirk softens into a tender smile. "By what, exactly?"

“Not Joel,” You clarify, grabbing hold of his collar as you pull him close, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “I like it when you ride, Old Timer.”

“All I gotta do is hop on a horse to make you swoon?” Joel asks, the skin around his eyes crinkling with the emotion as he blushes at the affection.

“Among other things.”

“Done and done, sweetheart.”

divider graphics: @saradika-graphics <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #kedsandtubesocks wild ride #my writing

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maskedbyghost · 4 months ago

Text

Recovery

Summary: When Simon Riley is injured in combat and left temporarily paralyzed, his world is turned upside down. Forced to take time away from Task Force, he struggles with the loss of his independence and his own demons. His live-in nurse, hired to help him through his recovery, quickly becomes a point of frustration and comfort. Will Simon let himself heal not just physically, but emotionally—and open his heart to the one person determined to stay by his side? A big thank you to @daydreamerwoah for this idea <3 TW: Contains themes of physical injury, emotional distress, and recovery, as well as potentially explicit content. Reader discretion is advised. Word count: 3.5 k

The first thing Simon felt when he woke up was nothing.

A deep, awful nothing stretching from the waist down. A void that seemed to scream louder than any pain. He couldn’t lift his legs. Couldn’t feel them beneath the scratchy hospital sheets.

His throat was dry as sand when he tried to speak, and his hand instinctively went to tug the oxygen mask off. It didn’t take long for the rustle of movement beside him to sound—a chair scraping the floor, boots tapping forward. Familiar boots.

“Don’t do that, mate.”

John’s voice reached him before his blurred vision cleared. When it did, Simon wished it hadn’t.

Price sat at his bedside in that worn field jacket, arms folded, concern etched into every hard line of his face. It was worse, somehow, seeing the worry in a man who always had a plan, who never cracked when the odds were against them. Soap and Gaz hovered by the foot of the bed, not looking at Simon.

“Where…” Simon’s voice rought, catching in his throat. He managed one more word. “How?”

He meant the mission. The fire. The explosion—the light that cut across his vision before black. He remembered dragging Soap to cover while fire broke like thunder. After that... there was nothing.

“Doesn’t matter.” Price shook his head. “Mission got done. You’re here, and that’s the bloody miracle.”

Simon’s gaze cut toward his legs—or where his legs were supposed to be, covered now with too-crisp white sheets. He wiggled his fingers, feeling them clench around the fabric, rough against his palms. The hope flickered for only a second before it hollowed out completely.

He couldn’t feel his legs.

“Don’t pull that stoic shite right now,” Soap muttered suddenly. Gaz gave him a warning glance, but the words were already out there.

Simon stayed silent.

Pathetic.

The word stuck to his ribs like rust. The Ghost himself—useless. For a while, no one said anything. They couldn’t. What the hell was there to say?

By the time Price spoke up again, Simon had memorized every whir of the IV drip and every beep of the monitor at his bedside.

“Simon, listen to me.” Price straightened in his chair. “Doctors say the paralysis might be temporary. Not permanent. It’s the spinal cord—they think with physical therapy, you’ve got a chance.”

“A chance,” Simon echoed. He shifted the blanket over his lap, arms tense at his sides.

“Time and effort, that’s all,” Price replied. “We’re gonna get you back to yourself, alright?”

Simon wanted to scoff, to point out how that chair practically laughed at him from across the room. Back to himself? It sounded like a joke. The Ghost doesn’t limp into a mission—he damn well doesn’t roll.

Soap, who hadn’t spoken since earlier, scratched awkwardly at his buzzed scalp and managed a small grin. “We’ll chip in, mate. You’ll get tired of us pushin’ you around. Gaz already called dibs on who gets to drop you off curbs.”

Gaz sighed in irritation, shaking his head. “Jesus, Soap.”

And for a moment, Simon wanted to laugh. He didn’t, of course, but the heaviness settled just enough for him to reach for the water glass that had been set by the bed. Price moved faster, though, nudging Simon’s shaky arm out of the way before handing him the glass himself.

It pissed him off more than he could admit.

“Enough,” Simon muttered. He took one swig of water before practically shoving it back at Price. “Go.”

Price frowned. “Simon—”

“I’m fine.” Simon cut him off flatly, voice sharp. “Don’t you lot have a mission to fuck off to?”

There it was—thinly veiled venom that couldn’t hide what was really festering beneath it: shame, isolation. 141 still had their legs under them, the freedom to walk away without that mocking squeak of metal.

The silence dragged until Price finally stood. He stared hard at Simon like he wanted to argue but knew better. Simon was still Simon, and orders wouldn’t change how he felt.

“We’ll be back,” Price said as he tugged on his cap. “Behave.”

Soap hesitated before walking off, his hand landing briefly on Simon’s shoulder as he passed. Simon didn’t move. Gaz offered one more lingering look from the doorway before he shut it behind him.

Hours passed. Or minutes. Maybe days.

The doctors tried to explain his recovery timeline when they checked in, though Simon absorbed none of it. Words like spinal impact, therapy, and patience didn’t mean a damn thing when you had to stare at your own traitorous legs refusing to move.

By the time you, his nurse, arrived, Simon already had a bitter response loaded on his tongue.

“No.”

You raised an unimpressed brow at him, clipboard in hand.

“You don’t get to fire me,” you said, ticking something off the chart. “Captain Price hired me himself.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“And yet here I am.” You tucked the clipboard under your arm, looking down at him like he wasn’t the intimidating Ghost that made entire platoons piss themselves. It was jarring—annoyingly so.

“Let me make something very clear.” Simon glared at you, before continuing. “I don’t need a fucking nurse.”

You stared him down like it wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a man who thought himself stronger than he was. “That’s the pride talking.”

The conversation ended on that note—his glare, your silence.

Alone again, Simon sank lower into the bed, feeling rage crawl under his skin. No legs, no control. And now a bloody nurse babysitting him?

It wouldn’t last, he told himself. Nothing did.

But he had no idea then, not even a clue, that you would be the person who stayed.

Simon Riley hated you.

Well, not you, exactly. It wasn’t personal—not in the beginning. It was the idea of you that grated on him like nails against glass. The nurse—his nurse—represented everything he despised. His weakness. His uselessness. His loss of control.

You refused to let him sit in silence, stubborn enough to ignore the heat of his glares when you’d sweep into the room each morning, clipboard in hand and professional cheer etched onto your features.

“Morning, Riley,” you would greet him each time, and he swore you got some twisted pleasure out of pretending he wasn’t already scowling at you.

“Fuck off.” Was his only reply.

“I’ll write that on your chart—improving vocabulary.”

You always said something. Whether it was to push back, joke, or break up the air in the room.

Simon wouldn’t let you win, though—not at first. The harder you pushed, the colder he became. You tried to lift him out of bed? He did his best impression of a statue. You set up basic stretching exercises? He would be sarcastic until you folded your arms with the patience of a goddamn saint and calmly reminded him the exercises weren’t optional.

You gave him no ground. No pity. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to strangle you, or on his worst days thank you.

One day, it had been a bad morning. Worse than usual.

Simon’s exercises were taking longer to yield even the smallest progress. He was so frustrated that he could hardly breathe. The phantom weight of his legs, his inability to move without someone’s damn help—it made his teeth grind and fists clench to the point of white knuckles.

You were there again, patient in the small room they’d converted into a temporary rehab area—white walls, artificial light, and the scent of disinfectant.

“You need to lift, Simon,” you said, standing in front of his wheelchair with your hands on your hips. “You’re improving. You just need to—”

“I need fuck all.” His voice was sharp. “Jesus Christ, you deaf? You’re wasting your time.”

You froze, eyes narrowing at him with something dangerously close to disappointment.

“You’re angry,” you replied, your voice calm. “But this doesn’t go away just because you ignore it, Simon.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Oh, spare me the motivational speech, sweetheart. What? You think a few stretches and cheerleading will get me crawling back onto a mission? Gonna teach me how to live happily ever after in this fucking chair?” He hissed the word—chair—like it poisoned his mouth.

His fists ground into the arms of the wheelchair.

Something flickered in your eyes. Before he could toss another bite of venom your way, you closed the distance between you and dropped to your knees—eye level now, your faces inches apart.

Simon didn’t move. Didn’t flinch, but he stared.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I pity you.” Your voice was low. “You think I haven’t seen men like you before? Men who think anger makes the world listen?”

Simon’s jaw ticked, his breathing slow.

“You think this doesn’t scare me?” you pressed on, your gaze burning straight through him. “The weight of what I’m asking? Pushing you past what your body wants? I’m terrified every day I’ll say the wrong thing and make you stop.”

The air in the room shifted. Stopped.

Simon froze—just for a second. It wasn’t the words, exactly, but the fear beneath them. This wasn’t pity. It wasn’t shallow encouragement either. There was something real tangled up in what you’d said.

He didn’t answer you—not because he couldn’t think of one, but because no words would fit. Instead, he dropped his gaze and pressed his palms hard into the chair's wheels, turning himself away.

“Enough.” His voice was low.

You sighed but didn’t press him further. That was the first day you called a truce.

Simon didn’t realize when the fights had stopped.

The nurse—your name slipped out eventually, though he’d never say it aloud—was still there, day after day. The arguing faded into tense silences, which somehow became your routine. Sometimes, when you helped him maneuver into his chair or reposition his legs, your fingers would brush against him. Just a second of touch. A heat curled behind his ribs before he shoved it down where he buried everything else.

He hated needing your help.

But, God forgive him, it didn’t feel as awful as before.

One afternoon, after yet another stretching session, you sat on the floor next to his chair, clipboard abandoned beside you. Your head tilted back against the wall, and with a faint exhale, you rubbed at your neck.

“You don’t seem tired,” he muttered.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. You lifted a brow, looking up at him curiously.

“What?”

“You act like all this doesn’t wear you down,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward his legs. Maybe it was the post-exercise exhaustion. Or maybe it was the quiet between them now that wasn’t quite as miserable as it had been weeks ago.

“I signed up for this, Simon.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

Silence again. When you glanced up at him fully, your smile wasn’t mocking or cocky this time.

“No. But it’s worth it.”

Simon didn’t let himself think about why those words echoed behind his ribs long after you left that night.

Their fights weren’t completely gone, of course. You would snap at one another like wolves when frustrations rose too high.

But one evening, when you helped him shift in his seat after his legs had been deadweight for hours, Simon froze. Just a second. Just long enough to feel your hands at his waist—steady and strong against his scarred skin—and notice.

The way you exhaled softly when you moved him. The way you looked straight at him when he stiffened—your eyes determined, never breaking like others did.

“There. Comfortable?”

He should’ve muttered a sharp, one-word reply. Instead, his voice came quieter than he meant:

“Yeah.”

In that tiny sliver of peace after the long-fought battles between you, Simon realized something strange. He still hated your presence in his life, hated needing you… but not in the way he used to.

And it terrified him worse than any battlefield he’d ever faced.

You noticed the change in Simon the moment the doors of the small house closed behind you. He might’ve been the same person—quiet, short-tempered—but here, outside the clinical walls of the rehab facility, something felt different.

This was his space. A glimpse into the life he'd kept carefully walled off from everyone.

Simon had needed help transitioning from the hospital, and somehow you were the one still here. What was meant to be a few nights stretched into weeks, your things tucked into a guest bedroom that was clean but cold, untouched like the rest of the house.

He didn’t stop you from unpacking or making meals or gently steering him through his day. But he didn’t make it easy either.

It had been a difficult day for him. You’d noticed it early—his shoulders tighter than usual, his movements stiff. Every attempt you made to coax him into his routine was met with an edge. You gave him as much room as you could until he made it impossible to leave things be.

Simon was in the living room, positioned near the window as rain slid down the glass in slow, uneven lines. You stood behind him for a moment, hesitant to interrupt the silence. He’d barely spoken all day, but his grip on the armrests of his wheelchair told you everything you needed to know.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked quietly, stepping into the space beside him.

He didn’t turn to look at you. “What’s there to talk about?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t owe you one.” His voice was sharp.

“Maybe not,” you said evenly, “but you’re miserable. It’s not helping either of us to ignore it.”

His shoulders stiffened, and his hands tightened on the armrests even more. He let out a long, rough exhale, tilting his head back against the chair.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” His tone wasn’t angry this time; it was hollow. “Every day, it’s the same. Same exercises. Same useless questions. Same people pretending I’ve got a fucking chance.”

You frowned, pulling a chair over to sit directly across from him. “Nobody’s pretending, Simon. Least of all me.”

He laughed bitterly. “Oh, come on. What, you think if you cheer me on enough, I’ll forget I can’t even move my own fucking legs?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you said calmly. “But it’d help if you stopped biting my head off long enough to actually make some progress.”

His gaze finally snapped to yours, full of frustration. “Progress? This is it. Sitting in this bloody chair, waiting for it to magically fix itself while the rest of my life just... stops.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” You leaned forward, forcing him to hold your gaze. “It hasn’t stopped. It’s slowed, sure—but you’re the one keeping it from moving forward.”

He scoffed. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you said. “But I’m here anyway. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you bark and growl.”

Simon blinked at you, clearly taken off guard by the bluntness in your tone. He sat back slightly, running a hand over his face. “Why do you care so much?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you asked, surprised by the question.

His jaw clenched, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Because everyone else moved on. Left me behind. Doesn’t make sense why you haven’t done the same.”

“Because I’m not them,” you replied simply. “Because you don’t deserve to be left alone to rot in here like you keep convincing yourself you do.”

Simon didn’t answer right away. His expression was hard to read. Finally, he shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

You smiled faintly, relieved to see even the smallest crack in his armor. “And you’re a pain in the ass.”

That earned the barest hint of a chuckle from him, the sound low and rough but genuine. For the first time in weeks, it felt like neither of you were losing the fight.

It had been raining all day, and Simon was in his chair by the living room window again, staring out at nothing. His mood had been more tolerable after your conversation, but this—this next part—was bound to ruin that truce.

“We need to take care of your shower,” you said, keeping your voice as neutral as possible.

Simon shifted slightly, still gazing outside. “I can skip it.”

“Skipping it isn’t an option,” you replied, standing firm. You expected maybe another excuse, but he just sighed and pushed his chair backward with a sharp shove of his hands on the wheels.

He didn’t say a word as you guided him toward the bathroom, he hated needing help like this; he didn’t even bother hiding that fact. You tried not to think too hard about it, about how deeply it hurt his pride to rely on someone for this level of care.

Inside, the bathroom was small but practical. You had already set up the necessary equipment: a shower bench, towels folded neatly on the counter, and grab bars mounted on the tiles. But it didn’t change what was about to happen.

“You’ll need to take off your clothes,” you said, looking anywhere but at him.

Simon turned his head slightly toward you. “Figured that much out myself.”

You bit back the response sitting on your tongue. “I’ll help steady you once you’re ready,” you added instead, keeping the professionalism intact.

The rasp of his movements filled the room as he worked on shrugging out of his hoodie. When it got caught around his shoulders, you reached instinctively to help, freezing when he flinched.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered.

It was a slow process, his injury making even small tasks difficult. You busied yourself with adjusting the water temperature, but there was no way to avoid noticing when he finally managed to pull his hoodie and shirt off. His broad chest, riddled with scars and tattoos, caught your gaze for a second longer than it should have. You forced yourself to look away, biting down on the edge of your lower lip as your face heated.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself silently.

“Problem?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“No,” you said too quickly, busying yourself with handing him a towel to place over his lap before helping him move.

Simon caught the hesitation in your movement and raised a brow, his face shifting to faint amusement. “Haven’t you done this before?”

You refused to take the bait, stepping behind him to help support his transfer to the bench. “With far more cooperative patients, yes.”

He didn’t make a comment after that, leaning on you just enough to get himself in place. His skin was warm against yours where your hands pressed to steady him, and you found yourself hyperaware of every subtle flex of muscle beneath your touch.

Once he was settled, you adjusted the showerhead and stepped back, taking a moment to breathe while he wet his hair. But of course, the towel across his lap was already damp and clinging to the sharp angles of his thighs.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

Simon was oddly quiet, letting you rinse shampoo from his hair without protest. His usual scowl was softened by the heat of the shower, and for the first time since you’d met him, he seemed... at peace. His breathing slowed, the lines in his face easing as your hands worked through his hair.

When you reached to adjust the handheld showerhead, your elbow brushed his shoulder, and you swore you felt him stiffen just slightly. You froze, heart pounding, and quickly stepped back, pretending nothing happened.

Simon’s eyes opened then, and he looked at you for a long moment before saying anything. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Your lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Just trying to avoid you biting my head off later.”

His smirked. “You’re doing alright, nurse.”

The unexpected softness in his voice caught you off guard. You felt heat creeping up your neck and busied yourself again with rinsing his arms and chest. But the light in his eyes lingered, and you caught the faintest glimmer of... something.

Interest.

You couldn’t stay here too long—near his warmth, his edges softening just enough to draw you in. This wasn’t supposed to feel intimate, wasn’t supposed to make your chest tighten. But there you were, brushing damp hair out of his eyes, your fingertips lingering just a second too long before stepping back.

“All done,” you said quickly, grabbing a dry towel from the counter.

Simon let out a low breath and nodded, tilting his head back slightly. “Thanks,” he muttered.

You helped him move again, the warmth of his body radiating through the fabric of your shirt as he leaned on you. It wasn’t until you left him to dry off that you let yourself exhale fully, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart settle into something steadier.

You might’ve been the one helping him, but there were moments like these where it felt like Simon had all the control.

PART 2

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

There will be one more part to this story, so watch out for that :)

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod #cod mw2

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yanderelionwrites · 4 months ago

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Take a Break - Self Aware AU Leona x Reader

Very self indulgent drabble to cope with finals stress 🫠

(Type of self aware au where they can come out of the game btw)

Content Warning: None!

Word Count: 778

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A normal person would probably scream and freak out if a whole person came out of their phone, nevermind it being a character from a mobile game. But you’ve grown used to it by now, so you don’t even bat an eye when an NRC boy comes through to say hi. In fact, you welcome it.

Except for maybe today. You have a bunch of projects and assignments due for finals week and you’ve been working nonstop on them so you can get them done on time. You’re beyond tired and your hands feel like they’re gonna fall off, but at least your assignments don’t look like total shit.

You’re at your desk working, ignoring the strain in your eyes or the stiffness of your shoulders. In fact, you’re so busy, you don’t even notice your phone’s screen lighting up, glowing from across the bedroom where you left it charging. In a flash, a certain lion beastman appears, feet planting themselves on the floor before his eyes scan around the room for you.

After confirming you’re actually present, Leona makes himself comfy on your bed. You hear the creak of the mattress springs, and finally then do you realize you’re not alone. You only stare at him in mild annoyance, though.

“What did I say about napping on my bed? You can’t just use my room as one of your hideouts, you know.”

Leona closes his eyes, leaning back until his head hits the pillow. He hums, murmuring, “You say that, but I don’t see you trying very hard to kick me out.”

“Cuz I’m too busy to fight with you.” You take a minute to stretch your limbs out before going straight back to work. “I thought we agreed that you guys wouldn’t visit during this time so I could focus. Just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

A huff of a chuckle came from Leona, saying, “Nah, just wanted a quiet place to nap. It’s those freshmen that won’t stop yappin’ about seeing you.”

“Mmhm,” is all you respond with, and the room soon falls silent again.

Only a few seconds go by and Leona is out like a light. You watch as his chest heaves up and down, looking oh so comfortable on your bed. Oh, what you’d give just to lay down and nap the day away. Better yet, make it the whole week. Geez, when was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?

You swear, once finals are done and over with, you’ll take the time to relax as much as you like. But for now, you need to finish this work.

The idea of taking a nap seems to still be on your mind, however, as you nod off at your desk. Your head nearly hits the wooden surface at one point, and you have to shake yourself awake to get the drowsiness to go away.

A hand clamping down on your shoulder causes you to jump, wide-awake eyes meeting the emerald ones of the man behind you. You didn’t even notice him there until now.

“You look awful,” Leona states matter-of-factly, and you throw a scowl at him before facing back towards your laptop.

“Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what I wanna hear right now.”

“Quit pushin’ yourself and take a break already before you find yourself drooling all over your work.”

“I’m…” You take a second to yawn. “...not even tired. And I’m almost done, so–”

Leona shuts the lid to your laptop, eliciting a “Hey!” from you, but all protests die in your throat as he pulls you up by the arm. It’s not enough force to hurt, but it gets you to stand up from your chair. He tugs you away from your desk, uttering, “Don’t try to lie to me. Those eyebags are horrendous.”

He leads you over to your bed and nudges you forward, and you have no choice but to flop down onto the covers with an indignant huff. You cross your arms as Leona crawls in next to you, chuckling at your glower.

“Don’t be like that. It won’t kill ya to rest a little bit.” He props his arm up to support his head as he leans against the pillow, gazing down at you. “Seriously, you gotta learn to take it easy sometimes.”

“Hmm, good thing the expert is here to show me.” You finally crack a smile, cuddling further into the warmth and comfort your bed brings.

You fall asleep shockingly fast; you really were more tired than you thought. The stress of finals still hangs around you, but at least you can find a moment of peace in Leona’s arms.

#good luck to anyone with finals!!#make sure to take care of yourself #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst self aware au #self aware au #self aware twst #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

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vacationbimboschool · 21 days ago

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Content below: age gap, smut, riding, fingering.

Words: 3.9K

The sun hung low over Hershel’s farm, bleeding gold across the fields, stretching shadows long over the dirt. The air was thick, humid, buzzing with the sound of cicadas and the distant murmurs of the others finishing up their chores. The world was quiet, safe—for now. And you were restless.

You’d found the dress on a run a few days ago. Soft yellow, delicate, hugging just right in all the places that mattered. Too pretty for the end of the world, maybe, but you’d never cared much for what was appropriate. And Rick Grimes sure as hell didn’t seem to mind.

You caught him watching.

At dinner, when you leaned forward just a little too far, letting the fabric slide up your thighs. By the barn, when the breeze caught your skirt, lifting it just enough to show smooth, bare skin. In the yard, when you licked the juice from your fingers after biting into a fresh peach, his jaw tightening, hands clenching at his belt like he was trying to keep them busy.

Poor man didn’t stand a chance.

So when you finally caught him alone on the porch, the others inside, the night creeping slow over the farm, you didn’t waste any time.

“See somethin’ you like, ?” you teased, leaning against the railing, one hand bracing your weight, the other tracing slow along the neckline of your dress.

Rick tensed, jaw working, that sharp blue gaze dragging up your body like a man starved. He cleared his throat, looking away, but you caught the way his fingers curled tight at his sides.

“You wearin’ that for a reason?” he asked, voice low, rough.

You tilted your head, biting back a smirk. “Maybe.”

Rick exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t move away, didn’t tell you to stop. He just watched as you stepped closer, fingers trailing over the buttons of his shirt, playful, teasing.

“You work too hard,” you murmured, pressing just close enough to feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in his frame. “Always takin’ care of everyone else. When’s the last time someone took care of you?”

Rick let out a slow breath, his hands twitching at his sides like he was fighting the urge to touch you. “Ain’t that simple.”

You hummed, fingers dipping lower, grazing over his belt buckle. “Sure it is.”

His breath hitched, just slightly, but you caught it.

“You want me,” you said plainly, no hesitation, no doubt.

Rick’s jaw tightened. “Ain’t about that.”

You smiled, slow and knowing. “Ain’t it?”

He was trying so damn hard to be good. To be decent. To pretend like he wasn’t burning from the inside out every time you so much as breathed in his direction.

But you weren’t about to let him.

Reaching up, you took the brim of his hat, lifting it off his head before he could stop you. He blinked, startled, watching as you set it atop your own head, tilting it just right.

“Damn thing suits me,” you mused, running a hand down his chest. “Think I’ll keep it.”

Rick made a sound low in his throat, something between frustration and arousal. “You keep pushin’ me, girl.”

You grinned. “That’s the idea.”

And then you grabbed him by the belt, yanking him close, crashing your lips against his before he could talk himself out of it.

Rick groaned against your mouth, hands finally snapping up to grip your waist, fingers digging in like he’d been holding back for too long. You could feel it in the way he kissed you—hot, desperate, like a man on the edge.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, breathless but smug. “Now, are you gonna let me ride you, or am I gonna have to take you down myself?”

Rick exhaled sharply, hands tightening on your hips. His gaze burned as he looked at you, at the wicked little smirk on your lips, at the way his hat sat crooked on your head.

“Hell,” he muttered, shaking his head, a slow, hungry grin creeping across his face. “Ain’t never stood a chance, did I?”

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw, voice a sultry whisper.

“Not even for a second.”

Rick barely had a second to breathe before you pushed him back against the porch railing, your hands firm against his chest, pressing him down like you owned him. And maybe you did—at least in this moment, with the way his breath hitched, with the way his fingers flexed against your hips, unsure whether to grab or let you keep talking.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want this?" you murmured, trailing a teasing hand down his stomach, slow, deliberate. "Or are you finally gonna let me take what's mine?"

Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, his head tilting back for just a second, like he was weighing the last of his self-control against the pull of you.

He lost.

His hands snapped up, grabbing your waist and dragging you against him with a force that made you gasp, made you feel every inch of him, hot and hard beneath you. His breath was ragged, his grip tight, like he was still trying to convince himself this was a bad idea. But when you rocked your hips just slightly, testing, teasing—

"Christ," he muttered, fingers digging in deeper, voice low and wrecked.

You grinned, smug, triumphant. "That’s more like it."

Rick let out a short, rough chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you, like he couldn't believe himself. "You're somethin’ else."

You leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his throat, letting your teeth scrape just enough to make him grunt. "And you love it."

He didn’t argue. Didn’t say a damn word as you slid your hands back up, pushing at his shirt, urging him to let you have him, all of him. His breath hitched when your fingers grazed over bare skin, and God, you loved the way he reacted to you, loved the way his control frayed the more you touched him.

"You always this bossy?" he asked, voice rough, teasing—but there was something else underneath it, something dark and hungry.

"Only when I know what I want," you murmured, tilting his hat lower over your eyes, just for the show of it. "And right now, Rick? I want you."

His hands clenched at your waist, his breath coming out ragged, sharp.

"Then what the hell you waitin’ for?"

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With one last teasing grind of your hips, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside, through the dimly lit hallways of Hershel’s house, past the quiet of sleeping bodies and the ghost of a world that didn’t exist anymore. Rick followed without resistance, his steps heavy, his breath uneven. You could feel the heat rolling off him, the barely restrained tension in his body, like a coiled spring ready to snap the second you gave it reason.

The second the door shut behind him, you barely had time to turn before Rick grabbed you.

Strong hands gripped your waist, spun you around, and had your back against the wood before you could even think to tease him. His breath was hot against your skin, his body pressing firm into yours, caging you in.

"You got a real bad habit of runnin’ that mouth, girl," he muttered, voice thick, rough, dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Your lips curled, head tilting as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Oh? And here I thought you liked it."

Rick huffed a short, humorless chuckle, but his fingers tightened at your sides, sliding down, gripping the soft fabric of your dress like he was seconds away from tearing it clean off.

"You got no idea what you’re playin’ with," he warned, that low, gravelly drawl sending a shiver straight through you.

You smirked, dragging a single finger down his chest, slow, teasing. "Maybe I do."

Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenching. "That right?"

Before you could open your mouth to fire back, he had you turned, hands planted on the door, his body flush against yours, solid and hot. His breath was at your ear now, voice nothing but a slow, deliberate growl.

"You talk big," he murmured, sliding a hand up your thigh, just under the hem of your sundress. "Let’s see if you can back it up."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let him win that easy. "And if I don’t?"

Rick let out a low hum, like he was actually considering it, like he’d give you the chance to slip away.

His grip tightened, his free hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back just enough for his lips to brush against your ear.

"Then I’ll teach you some damn manners."

Heat pooled low in your stomach, your pulse thrumming as you bit your lip to keep from gasping. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

"You always all talk, ?" you goaded, pushing back against him just enough to make him grunt. "Or you gonna show me what you got?"

That did it.

Rick growled, spun you back around, and before you could take another breath, he was hauling you up, hands gripping the backs of your thighs, forcing you to wrap your legs around him as he carried you to the bed.

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers into his hair, tugging just to be a little shit. "Oh, look at you, finally growin’ a backbone."

Rick dropped you onto the mattress, quick and rough, knocking the wind out of you. He was on you in an instant, bracing a knee between your thighs, pressing you down, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"You keep pushin’ me, girl," he muttered, voice thick with restraint.

You grinned up at him, all teeth, all challenge. "Yeah?" You trailed your hands down his chest, slow, deliberate, nails scraping lightly against the fabric. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Rick exhaled hard, something snapping in those blue eyes before he reached up, yanked his own damn hat off his head, and settled it onto yours with slow, deliberate finality.

His smirk was sharp, wicked. "Guess I’ll just have to break you in."

The weight of his hat on your head sent a thrill straight through you, something dark and electric crackling in the air between you. Your breath came faster, heart hammering as Rick leaned in close, his body pressing you into the mattress, all heat and rough edges and barely restrained hunger.

"You wear that like you own me," he muttered, voice low, thick, dangerous. His fingers traced up your thigh, slow, teasing, like he was savoring every second of making you squirm. "But I think we both know who’s in charge here."

You let out a breathy little laugh, shifting under him just to be a brat, rolling your hips up against his thigh. "Oh yeah? Prove it."

His grip snapped tight around your jaw, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You run that mouth one more time," he warned, "and I swear, I’ll make damn sure you ain’t got another word left in you."

Your pulse thrummed, heat pooling low in your stomach at the way his voice dropped, at the promise in his tone. You should’ve been scared. But you weren’t.

You were excited.

So you did the only thing you knew how to do.

You smirked.

Rick’s eyes darkened instantly.

"That’s it," he muttered, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you, like he couldn’t believe how damn difficult you insisted on being. Then, before you could react, he grabbed the thin strap of your sundress and tore it clean off your shoulder, making you gasp, making your whole body jolt with the sharp thrill of it.

"Guess that answers that," you murmured, breathless.

Rick smirked, fingers curling around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, grounding, a silent warning. "Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me now, sweetheart."

You bit your lip, your hands sliding up his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Good. ‘Bout time you quit holdin’ back."

That was all it took.

Rick crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing the last of your smart remarks, his kiss all heat and punishment, all rough, claiming need. His hands roamed, squeezing, teasing, taking, dragging that pretty little dress up, up, up, until you had no choice but to lift your hips and let him pull it off entirely.

The second it hit the floor, you barely had time to catch your breath before he was pushing you back down, hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open beneath him.

"You been runnin’ this show long enough," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the inside of your thigh, watching as you trembled beneath his touch. "Now, you’re gonna learn what happens when you give a man like me the reins."

You swallowed hard, the fire in your belly only growing at the look in his eyes, at the slow, measured way he was taking his time with you, like he had all night to ruin you.

But you weren’t gonna make it easy for him.

You grinned up at him, reaching for the hat still sitting atop your head, tilting it just so. "Then teach me, ."

Rick let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, like you were the best kind of trouble he'd ever met.

"Oh, you’re gonna regret that."

His fingers slid between your thighs, slow and teasing, barely there, just enough to make you squirm. You let out a soft, impatient huff, shifting your hips, trying to get him to touch you where you needed him most—but Rick wasn’t in any hurry.

"See, this is what happens," he murmured, dragging a rough finger-tip along your inner thigh, just shy of where you wanted it. "Run that mouth too much, and I gotta remind you who’s really in charge."

You let out a breathless little laugh, lifting your hips again, trying to chase his touch. "Is that what you think you’re doin’?"

Rick chuckled low, dark. Then, without warning, he slid a thick finger through your folds, pressing slow and firm against your slick heat. Your breath hitched, and his smirk deepened.

"That’s what I know I’m doin’," he muttered, dipping inside you just enough to make you whimper before pulling back, teasing you, testing your patience.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to beg. That was what he wanted. You could see it in his damn eyes, the way he watched you struggle, his free hand braced against your stomach, holding you in place like you might try to run from him. Like you could.

He added another finger, pressing deep, curling just right, making you jolt with a sharp gasp. "Oh, there it is," he murmured, like he’d been waiting for that exact sound, like he was savoring the way you clenched around him.

Your nails dug into his arms, pleasure curling hot and tight in your belly as he set a slow, steady rhythm, fucking you open with those strong, calloused fingers, dragging every little sound out of you like he had all night to make you fall apart.

"You still think you’re runnin’ things, darlin’?" he asked, voice low, amused.

You wanted to snap back, to throw something sharp and bratty at him, but when he pushed his fingers deeper, curling just right, all that came out was a choked little moan.

Rick grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for more, and he let you ride his fingers, let you take what you needed—but the second you got too greedy, the second you started chasing that high, he pulled back.

You whined, glaring up at him. "Rick—"

"Uh-uh," he cut you off, smirking as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking your slick from them like it was nothing. "You wanna get off, sweetheart?" He sat back against the headboard, legs spread, looking every bit the smug bastard he was. "Then you’re gonna work for it."

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering at the challenge in his voice, at the way he leaned back, settling in, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.

He wasn’t gonna help you. Wasn’t gonna guide you.

No, Rick was gonna make you do all the work.

Your hands trembled as you straddled his lap, bracing yourself against his broad chest, your thighs burning from how wide you had to spread to take him. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of hesitation.

You grabbed his cock, lining yourself up, letting the thick head press against your entrance before sinking down, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

Rick groaned, hands gripping the sheets at his sides, his jaw tight as you took him to the hilt. But he didn’t help. Didn’t grab your hips, didn’t guide you, didn’t do a damn thing except watch as you adjusted, as you clenched around him, as you struggled to stay steady.

"Go on," he muttered, his voice all gravel and restraint. "You wanted to run that mouth, wanted to act like you had control—let’s see you fuck yourself on my cock."

Your whole body burned, your thighs already aching, but you weren’t about to let him win.

You lifted your hips, slow at first, feeling every inch of him drag against your walls before sinking back down, letting the pleasure spark hot through you.

Rick watched, his hands twitching like he wanted to grab you, like he wanted to flip you and take over—but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

This was your punishment.

You rolled your hips, faster now, grinding down, letting little gasps slip from your lips as you found your rhythm, found the angle that made your stomach tighten, your breath hitch.

Rick groaned, his fingers flexing against the sheets. "Look at you," he muttered, his voice thick, strained. "Workin’ so hard for it. You gonna make yourself come, sweetheart? Gonna ride me ‘til you fall apart?"

You glared at him, grinding down harder, trying to break him the way he was breaking you. "If you weren’t so goddamn lazy, maybe I wouldn’t have to."

That did it.

Rick’s patience snapped, his hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in bruisingly tight as he slammed you down onto him, making you cry out, making you shudder as the pleasure ripped through you.

"Lazy?" he growled, lifting his hips, fucking up into you hard and deep. "That what you think?"

You barely had time to nod before he took control, holding you down, making you take it, making you see exactly what happened when you pushed him too far.

"Let’s see how cocky you are when you can’t even walk tomorrow," he muttered, his smirk sharp, wicked. "Gonna learn real quick who’s in charge now, ain’t you?"

Rick’s grip on your hips was brutal, his fingers digging deep into your flesh, holding you in place as he thrust up into you, sharp and deliberate. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but he wasn’t giving you the chance to regain control.

"Oh, what’s the matter?" he drawled, voice dark, teasing, that lazy smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you had this all figured out."

Your thighs were burning, your body shuddering with every deep, punishing snap of his hips, but you refused to let him have the last word.

"I—" Your breath hitched as he ground up into you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur. "I still do."

Rick chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. "That so?"

Without warning, he lifted you up, nearly pulling you off his cock completely before slamming you back down, forcing a strangled moan from your lips. You clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, trying to hold on as he fucked into you without mercy, dragging you down onto him again and again, forcing you to take every inch.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?" he muttered, his breath ragged, his smirk sharp.

You clenched your jaw, determined to stay in the game, to not let him break you so easily. "I can—fuck—take whatever you dish out."

Rick growled, his grip tightening, his pace quickening, pushing you closer and closer to the edge until you were gasping, struggling to hold onto the last scraps of your defiance.

"That right?" he muttered, voice thick, rough with amusement and something darker. He slowed, just slightly, teasing, making you whimper as he pulled almost all the way out before easing back in, dragging the pleasure out until it was unbearable.

You let out a frustrated little sound, rolling your hips, trying to force him to go harder, faster—but Rick just chuckled, keeping his movements slow, controlled.

"You want it, darlin’?" he murmured, leaning up, his lips brushing your ear, his voice all sinful promise. "Then you’re gonna beg for it."

Your breath came quick and uneven, your pride warring with the aching need in your body, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, right on the verge of snapping.

Rick tilted his head, watching you struggle, his eyes dark, full of wicked amusement. "C’mon now," he coaxed, his hands gripping your waist, holding you just above where you needed him. "Say please."

You let out a ragged little whimper, your fingers gripping the brim of his hat, tilting it back as you looked down at him, still trying to hold onto the last of your defiance.

"Fuck you," you muttered, voice shaky, breathless.

Rick just smirked.

"Oh, you will," he murmured. "But not ‘til I hear you ask real nice."

Your thighs trembled, your body screaming for release, for more, for anything. Your pride only lasted a second longer before it crumbled, before you let out a soft, desperate little whine.

"Please," you breathed, barely more than a whisper.

Rick grinned. "Louder."

You clenched around him, swallowing your pride, knowing damn well you’d lost this round. "Please, Rick," you gasped, barely able to keep your voice steady. "I need it."

"That’s my girl."

And then he gave you exactly what you asked for.

His hands tightened, and he slammed you down onto him, driving up hard, fucking into you so deep, so perfect, that the pleasure shattered through you instantly, a strangled cry ripping from your throat as your body clenched around him, your climax tearing through every nerve.

Rick groaned, his grip bruising, his hips snapping up into you as he chased his own high, riding you through your orgasm until he finally stiffened beneath you, a rough, guttural moan falling from his lips as he spilled deep inside you.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged, uneven breaths between you, the weight of his hands still firm on your hips, the lazy, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Finally, Rick leaned back, eyes flicking up to meet yours, taking in the wrecked state of you—flushed, breathless, still wearing his damn hat, now crooked on your head.

"You look real good like that, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick, gravelly.

You smirked, slow and teasing, rolling your hips just slightly, making him hiss through his teeth. "Yeah? Might just keep it."

Rick huffed a breathless chuckle, shaking his head, his grip tightening on your hips. "Not if I got somethin’ to say about it."

#smut #writers on tumblr #18+ mdni #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #twd #the walking dead #rick grimes smut #rick grimes #andrew lincoln #the walking dead smut #daryl dixon

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strangererotica · 7 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Old Man!Logan x Reader | Includes daddy kink / ddlg, oral & vaginal sex, spanking, cum-eating, squirting, SoftDomBigDickLogan™

Porn begins right under the cut 🥀

“It-it hurts,” you sniffle, your whole body tensing. Logan scoffs against your ear, his hot breath raising goosebumps along your neck. “It does, huh?” he taunts. “Then how come you’re pushin’ back on Daddy like you want more?” He slams his hips forward, punching even deeper into your cunt. Your eyes widen in shock, mouth forming a pouty circle as the air is knocked out of you.

Logan is impossibly big. It’s hard to believe he could stretch you any wider and yet, his cock is somehow lodged so deeply inside you that his balls are tapping your ass. “Tell me to stop,” he grunts. “And I will.”

Logan stopping is the last thing you want. Even though it feels like your cunt’s never going to recover after the fuck he’s giving it, you’d gladly let him ruin your body as long as he doesn’t. fucking. stop.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, followed by a sharp gasp as Logan’s palm meets the fat of your ass in a hard swat. “Use your words, angel,” he scolds, his cock throbbing against your walls.

“Don’t stop,” you pant back in response. You press your ass against Logan’s belly, eyes squeezed shut as your cunt swallows the rest of his cock with a loud squelch. He curves his body around yours, murmuring “good girl,” against your neck, lips pressing a small kiss on your shoulder.

Logan wraps an arm around your upper body, pinning your back against his chest. His other hand massages and squeezes your tits, drifting over your stomach and settling between your thighs. Logan drags his heavy cock back slowly, then thrusts forward, his hand groping your cunt.

You feel like a doll in his hands, completely in Logan’s control, at his disposal to do with as he likes. He slides a hand around your throat, your pulse thrumming against his wide palm. “God you feel so good,” Logan groans, his voice wavering. Arousal drips down your thighs, the musky scent of your cum and Logan’s sweat filling the room.

He braces his feet on either side of yours, his thick thighs encasing you, the coarse hair on Logan’s stomach rubbing against your back as he humps into you. Your clit throbs under Logan’s touch, his fingers moving rapidly over the slippery bead. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, the pulsing ache in your cunt growing stronger where it rests in Logan’s huge palm.

Each drive of his hips pushes more cum out of you, gushing down your legs. You tremble around Logan’s cock, arching your back against his stomach as he pumps you, massaging every inch of his shaft between your walls. The world feels fuzzy, like a haze has descended over your awareness. Everything is too intense, in the best way. Your thighs begin to shake, lips parting in a moan.

Logan removes his fingers from your clit, bringing them to your open mouth and pressing them past your lips. “Suck,” he murmurs at your ear, his voice husky and strained. “Eat your own cum for Daddy, angel…Tell me how good you taste.”

You moan softly around Logan’s fingers, the slick texture of cum melting on your tongue. He balls your hair up in a fist, his other hand closing around your chin and tilting your face to his.

“Wider,” Logan gently commands, and you open up for him, extending your tongue, slippery with the pearly liquid he fed you. He takes your tongue between his lips, sucking your cum from it. He growls at the heady taste of you, his nostrils flaring, the flavor of your cunt awakening something primal in Logan.

He pulls out of you abruptly, your cunt puckering in his absence. A gush of liquid spills from between your thighs and spatters onto the floor, your body shaking in Logan’s arms as a climax overwhelms you without warning. Logan locks his bicep around you, forcing you in place so you don’t hurt yourself.

After letting you finish, he collects your pliant body in his arms. Seeking the nearest hard surface to fuck you on, Logan approaches the kitchen table and bends you over it. His body dwarfs yours; the shadow of his frame swallows you whole. Logan fixes his palm against the small of your back, pressing your stomach flat to the table. You lay limp and compliant for Logan, letting him take you. The afterglow of your orgasm has left you completely fucked-out and dazed; Logan could do literally anything he wants with your body right now, and you’d be unable (and unwilling) to resist.

He spreads your legs wide, his hand shoved roughly between them. “Christ you’re so fuckin’ wet,” Logan marvels, parting your lips with his fingers, playing with the slick making them glisten. He spanks your ass, lurching you out of the post-orgasm daze you’ve been in. “Stay just like that,” Logan growls, kneeling between your legs. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ move.”

He presses his face to your sex, the tip of his nose penetrating you slightly, his tongue lapping your clit in wide strokes. You grip the sides of the table, arms stretched across it. Logan’s hands latch onto the fat of your hips, his fingers digging marks into the plumpness there. Bracing yourself against the table, you hump Logan’s tongue, his nose nuzzling deeper as you rock back and forth on top of it.

The sounds in the room are beautifully filthy, throaty grunts of pleasure spilling from your lips…the creaking of the wooden table beneath you as you lean against it for support…Logan’s panted breath as he pulls air through his mouth before resuming his tongue’s assault on your clit. Your forehead presses against the table, your fingernails chewing at the wood as a second climax rips through you. Logan growls into your cunt, fucking himself with his fist as you come on his face, the muscles in your pussy fluttering around his nose.

Rising to his feet, Logan grabs your hair and whips you around to face him, pulling you onto your knees at his feet. He pumps his cock over you, aiming his tip at your sweat-sheened face. Logan locks his fingers in your hair, forcing your head back. Your mouth opens instinctively, tongue lolling out to catch Logan’s cum.

He bends slightly at his knees, tapping his tip against your tongue, groaning as he empties his release inside your mouth. You refrain from swallowing, allowing Logan to catch his breath and steady himself with one arm leaning against the table behind you. “Show me what Daddy gave you, angel,” Logan says, his voice heavy and relaxed. You stick out your tongue, curving it at the tip so Logan’s cum won’t run off of it. He nods approvingly, a lazy smile coming to his lips. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you. “Now swallow.”

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lavenderhateswritting · 13 days ago

Note

Regenerative! Reader(who can’t die) with Mohawk Mark. I feel like they’d be great for each other.

He liked to watch you pull yourself back together. The slow methodical ways in which your sinew slowly pieced itself back together. The bones snapping back together and the poping of ligaments . Anything that couldn't be reconnected was slowly built again. He watched as your heart slowly started to reform, the blood vessels and tubes forming building over each other over and over again.

"You are such an asshole." Your voice is ragged and wet from the blood flowing up your throat. Your lungs haven't even begun to reform yet so there was a light whistle everytime you breathed in.

A smile pulled at his face he was holding your heart in his hand. The organ had long since stopped pulsing. Your blood coated his body drying slowly as he marveled at the beauty of you like this. So vulnerable, weak in a way no one else could see but him.

"Aw don't be mean you said you wanted to give me something to remember you by." He looks down at your eyes. They were focused on him and only him even as your chest tried to piece itself back together.

"Yeah I was hoping I would get bent over that throne of yours and fucked so hard I couldn't walk until you came back." You've got a spark in your eyes. A hungry look to you that he has always loved. "Instead I'm laid out on the floor soaking wet with a hole in my chest." You pout a little like you're genuinely heartbroken. "And you ruined my outfit."

"I could get you millions of outfits I lot skimpier with the snap of my finger." He turns his eyes down from your eyes toward the expanse of new soft skin that has formed where a hole in your chest once was. "And as far as me bending you over the throne that can still be arranged."

He reaches his free hand down and drags his finger slowly up the expanse of fresh new skin staining it with your own blood.

"I thought you only had 10 mins and you've already wasted 5 watching me bleed out on the floor." He can watches as a smile graces your face goading. "Yeah and whats that supposed to mean." He asks as he dances his finger up your chest until he's directly above a rib bone.

"I mean I know I'm good, but coming in less than 5 minutes that's quick even for you." You're pushin him you want a reaction and god he loves giving you one. He feels a smile spread across his face.

"I don't remember you saying that last night." He's began to add pressure on the rib bone now pushing down with more and more strength. He watches as a hungry look rises to your face.

"What did you say again. 'Mark please I can't take anymore'." He's pushing the bone to its limit now he can feel it bendig underneath him trying its hardest to resist the sheer force of his strength.

"Did I say that I can't remember." Your voice is strained the pain of his force making your words are beng forced out between your teeth.

"Then maybe I should jog your memory, huh." He hears the snap of the bone underneath his finger watches as the pain hits you and morphs with pleasure to make your ead reel back.

"Yeah I guess you'll have to." You're breathing hard now breath coming out in short puffs. You looked so gorgeous like this face twisted in pain waiting for him to push you past your limits.

"Do you plan on starting me down for the next year or are you going to fuck me." You never knew when to stop you could push him to a point no one else could.

He dropped your heart on the ground and surged forward to lay completly on top of you. His lips crashed into yours like he was a man starved. He bit down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood causing you to gasp. He shoved his tongue down your throat as soon as he got the chance. His hands found themselves on your wrists pinning them to the floor beneath you. He heard the pop of your left wrist dislocating and felt you push up into him as soon as it happened.

He pulled off your lips and then foun himself kissing his way up and down the expanse of your throat. Nothing he did would leave a mark in 20 minutes it would be like he had never touched you, but god there was nothing he loved more than trying to leave a mark on you. He opened his mouth and bit down onto your shoulder with enough force to split skin and leave his mouth filled with your blood. You cried out something close to a whine.

"Mark. Fuck." You were getting more and more wound up as the time went on. He groped his way down your chest toward that aching part of you.

"Well it seems I might be interupting something." The voice was behind him and he felt himself damn near turn around to kill whoever had interrupted him from giving you what you needed.

"You never heard of a warning Angstrom you fucking dick." God he didn't want to leave yet. Not when you were laying underneath him mouth swollen, body bruised, and still wanting him.

"Yes well I can't wait any longer we'll have to leave immediately." He wanted to rip this mans head off then make it watch as he debauched you.

"Go ahead Mark I'll still be here when you're done." He felt you grind up against him. "I'll be waiting for you."

God this was so much hornier than I intended whoops

#invincible x male reader #alternate mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible x gnreader #invincible x you #mohawk invincible #mohawk mark

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bloodibambiidoll · 8 months ago

Note

please write rafe x weird! girls first time and where he's trying to make sure she feels comfortable but then she's like it's okay cause he doesn't want to hurt her and she asks for him to be rougher with her like we see in the other parts (i love this series it's amazing)

The first time Rafe and Weird!girl fucked was after their second date… Hair pulling, slapping, choking, daddy kink, degradation, unprotected sex, spit kink. 18+MDNI!!

It didn’t take long for Rafe to get you home and out of that pretty little dress that was driving him crazy all night. He has you on your back with your knees thrown over his shoulders while he thrusts into you from above. His cock is hitting you deeper than anything ever has and it feels so fucking good but you want more. You want it harder. It was almost like he was trying to be gentle with you and you know Rafe Cameron’s reputation around this island, he’s anything but gentle. It was almost sweet. But it wasn’t enough to satiate your hunger for him.

“Harder.” You whine as you reach up to run your claw tipped nails down his perfect pecs. “Fuck me harder.”

“Yeah? My girl wants it harder?” He picks up the pace, leaning down to grip the headboard so he’s practically folding you in half. But you still want more.

“Rafe.” You grab onto his face, forcing eye contact. “Make it fucking hurt.”

Rafe smirks down at you like a cat who caught the mouse. He was trying to be gentle with you because god he really didn’t want to fuck this up, he’s never wanted to be gentle with anyone and you’ve stirred something inside him that he didn’t even know was there. But now? You’re looking up at him like a little fucking succubus as your eyes twinkle with mischief and that’s it for him, he’s a fucking goner for you.

“I’m gonna fuck you like I fuckin’ own you.” Rafe pulls out of you before gripping onto your throat and leaning down into your face, his ocean blues practically swallowing you whole. “Open your mouth.”

You oblige him and Rafe spits into your mouth, his saliva coating your tongue. His free hand comes up to grip onto your jaw, forcing your mouth closed. His grip tightens on your throat and he can feel it bob as you swallow down his spit. It makes his cock twitch.

“Mmm delicious.” You give him a satisfied smile as you lick your lips, savoring his taste. “More.”

“Yeah, that’s my good little slut.” Rafe practically growls at the sight of you sticking your tongue out for him again before gathering spit in his mouth and letting it drip down in a stream into your taste buds. Then he does it again, this time all over your face. He smirks as he smears it into your skin, coating your lips and smearing the mascara under your eyes. He leans back and grips on your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach before landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Oh fuuuck, yes.” You whine into the mattress while he spanks you again and again, your pussy clenches around nothing as your clit throbs. Rafe pulls you up so your ass is in the air before lining up with your dripping entrance and fucking into you with reckless abandon.

“Where you been huh? This pussy is so fuckin’ perfect. It’s mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.” A low moan leaves the back of his throat and he leans forward to grip onto your hair, using it for leverage as he plunges into you brutally. “Say it, tell me you belong to me.”

“I belong to you, daddy, my pussy is yours. I’m just yours to use.” Rafe curses, his cock twitches inside you and he has to physically stop himself from coming in that moment. He’s never been a two pump chump but you have his balls feeling extremely tight already with your dirty mouth and your sweet, tightl, little pussy.

“Yeah, that’s fuckin’ right, my little fuck doll.” He pulls you up by your hair so your back is flush against his chest and it has his cock so deep in your guts that all it takes is a few brushes of his finger against your clit to have you coming undone in his cock. “Good girl, cum for daddy.”

“Hit me.” You whine, pushing your ass down against him to meet his erratic thrusts the best you can, already chasing your next high. “Slap me in the fuckin’ face.”

Rafe pulls out of you and flips you back over, slamming his dick back into you before his large hand raises and strikes your cheek hard enough to make your head whip to the side.

“Fuck yes, yes, hurt me daddy.” A loud moan rips through you and your eyes roll into the back of your head when he smacks you again. You look up at him and fucking giggle and Rafe swears to god he’s never going to let you escape him after this.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, fuck.” Rafe groans and grips into your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you see stars as you gush around him again. Your juices cover both of your thighs and drip onto the mattress as he fucks you through it. “Yeah, fuckin’ squirt for me, baby.”

He shoves his fingers down your throat causing you to gag while saliva gathers in your mouth.

“Good girl, get those nice n’ wet for me.” He thrusts his fingers into your throat a few times before bringing them to your clit so he can rub quick circles on it. It has your toes curling and when he slaps you again, you’re done for. You squirt for him again and it has his dick pulsing inside you. “Gonna fuck you so full it’ll be dripping out for days.”

“Give it to me, give me your cum, daddy.” That’ll fucking do it. Rafe growls as empties himself inside you, ropes of his cum painting your already slick walls. He pumps his cock into you a final time before pulling out. He leans back so he can watch it start to drip out then gathers it on his fingers and shoves it back in. “It’s gotta stay inside you where it belongs.”

When he pulls his fingers from your pussy you grip onto his wrist and suck his fingers into your mouth, lapping your shared juices from his digits.

“Mmm… delicious.” You lick your lips and smile up at him like you just ate the most exquisite desert you’ve ever tasted.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Rafe leans down and shoves his tongue in your mouth, swirling it around so he can savor your mixed tastes. “I love it.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @babygorewhore @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @rafesthroatbaby @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @starkeysprincess

All things Rafe & his weird!girl here

#weird!girl reader #Dolly writes #rafe Cameron #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe Cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe blurb #rafe concepts #rafe cameron blurb #rafe obx

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darnell-la · 2 months ago

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A SURPRISE

parings: boyfriend!wade wilson x girlfriend!reader x jealous!logan howlett

summary: Logan should’ve known that there is never a need to be jealous or upset about a girl Wade brings over or has — Wade’s always up for gifting her to fulfill his desire of watching them both get off.

warnings: y/n is very cock drunk, slow/soft sex, multiple orgasms, groping, rough sex, size kink, etc

———

“Oh, just look at you — Taking me so well,” Wade thrusted into y/n slowly, wanting to hear every dragged-out whine of her nor being able to take him anymore. “Ssh ssh — We’re not done though. Remember when I said I had a surprise?” Wade asked, making y/n nod slowly with half-opened eyes.

“Well, he’s here and I can feel his energy — He’s desperate,” Wade whispered into y/n’s ear as he felt her clench around his cock, ready to let loose. “I’ll let you get out one more before I hand you over, sweet pea,”

And that’s what Wade did. The man stopped his thumb around y/n’s bud, making sure a shock would be sent throughout her whole body as she came all over him.

Logan who stood next to the two, groaned low, even though he wasn’t sure about this at first. It was hard to back out with a sight like this in front of him.

“I-I need to break,” y/n said low as Wade pulled out of her, and moved to her side. “But, I can’t keep your present waiting — Or else he may eat me,” Wade joked as he motioned Logan to start whatever he wanted.

Y/n hadn’t noticed Logan walk in and didn’t know he was slowly hovering over her. The young girl's eyes were shut, thinking he was Wade about to go at her again since she never used the safe word.

“Needa break,” y/n breathed out, still feeling the multiple orgasms trying to calm down. For a second, Logan considered waiting until y/n was fully here to verbally consent to him, but he was too hard by now. He needed her, and Wade could see that in her eyes.

“Go ahead, big boy,” Wade said, and within seconds, Logan began pushing at her tips. “W-Wade,” y/n whined low, feeling him push into her, but she noticed he was bigger than usual.

Y/n slowly opened her eyes to see what was going on, and what she saw was unbelievable at first. “L-Logan?” Y/n asked, genuinely confused. That’s when the man slammed forward, pushing himself balls deep to watch her reaction.

The cry she let out as she threw her head back, made him want to fill her up right then. “L-Logan,” y/n lifted her hands to push at his chest, confused on why Wade wasn’t on top of her, yet, she couldn’t ask him.

Instead, her back arched and her moans got louder. “She’s tight,” Logan spoke to Wade, trying to keep back his groan, but that would soon come out unstoppable.

“I know, right? She’s perfect, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Wade asked as he rubbed y/n’s cheeks, seeing how much she struggled from the pleasure that hit her all at once.

Wade was big, but it wasn’t hard to see and feel that Logan was unbelievably big. The instant stretch was something she had never thought she’d feel in her life.

“I-I can’t,” y/n pushed at Logan’s chest again as she felt her lower stomach begin to ache. That usually never stopped Wade, but because this wasn’t him, she didn’t know what else to do.

“Oh, yes, you can — It’s just another cock, and I know you’ve taken more than just me in your life,” Wade said, still rubbing y/n’s cheeks as Logan gripped onto her waist, slightly lifting her up and pulling her into his thrust.

“N-No no — I- Fuck,” y/n could barely function. The way Logan groaned and growled only shocked y/n’s brain. It’s almost like that was all she needed to flutter around him.

“Stop pushin',” Logan said, but y/n couldn’t stop. Her nails dug into the man’s abs, trying to grab for anything as her body shook. “T-Too much,” y/n cried out, feeling a bit embarrassed that she would let another man take her over like this.

“Just tell me the safe word, and I’ll have him stop, peanut,” Wade said with an eye roll, knowing she would never do that. He knew she was loving this. Anyone would be able to tell by the way her eyes rolled and unfocused.

“S-Stop him — Please,” y/n tried seeming convincing, but ended up biting down on her lip as Logan groped one of her breasts. “You don’t want me to stop — So stop all that bitchin',” Logan growled inches from y/n’s face as he sped up his pounding.

“L-Logan,” was the last thing y/n could say before her eyes rolled back, and her cunt clamped around Logan’s cock. “That’s it,” Logan whispered in her ear, his voice only bringing her to shake.

The surprised laugh Wade had made, made y/n realize that she would never be able to lie about tonight and tell him that she did like whatever he planned. It was to obvious how much she loved it.

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nilla03 · 2 months ago

Text

𝐹𝐸𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐸 𝑅𝑂𝐵𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠： 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒，𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑠ℎ

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡： ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒

The bunker is silent, the low hum of electricity and the ragged breaths filling the space between you. The air is thick, Energy shifting quickly between the both of you.

ghost standing in front of you his massive frame tense, arms crossed over his broad chest. His balaclava doesn’t hide the dark, burning, furious look behind his eyes.

“you don’t pull that shit again,” he growls out

you swallowed hard, chest heaving from the arguement that led you in this situation in the first place “I did what I needed to.”

he steps closer infront of you “The fuck you did,” he snaps quickly “runnin’ off? ignorin orders?” he shakes his head “you could’ve been killed”

his voice was more than rough, but beneath all the anger, you sensed something. something raw. you quickly clench your fists. “ I had a shot, and I took it. I don’t need you-“

ghost moves faster than you expect. one second, you’re standinng toe to toe, your chest brushing his with a heavy breath. your back is against the cool wall of his bunker, his massive hands braced on the side of you

“you always need me,” he grits out

your breath gets caught in your lungs, he’s so close, his scent is overpowering- gunpowder, musk, and unmistakably him.

"Why do you care?” you challenge him, your voice coming out breathier

his fingers flex against the wall. his head tilting slightly, and you swear you see his thoat bob as he swallows

“I don’t,” he lies.

your lips part, heart beating like a war drumin your chest. “then step away from me ghost.”

he doesn’t budge not even a little bit. Instead, his hands move- one coming to your waist, the other brushing against your jaw tilting it up so slightly. his breath is warm against your skin, and his touch is rough but gentle.

“I can’t,” he murmurs, and for the first time, there’s something unguarded in his voice.

the tension is so suffocating, that you want to pull away from it. just so you could breathe

then his thumb comes up to trace your bottom lip, and that’s all it takes. you surge forward, crashing into him, hands fisting in the fabric of his vest as your lips meet his. Ghost makes a low gutteral sound in the back of his throat, like he’s been holding back for decades.

his hands tighten against you, one hand pulling from your waist and immediately sliding in your hair pulling you by the nape. The kiss is messy, desperate, and full of pent-up rage.

you whimper against his mouth, and that’s when he snaps.

he lifts you, spinning and dropping you onto the small cot in the corner of the bunker, his body caging you in. His gloved hand trails down your thighs fingers pressing into your delicate skin as his mouth moves to every part of your neck.

“Always fightin’ me. Always pushin’.” his teeth scrape against your pulse point. “you’re gonna learn-“

his knee presses between your thighs and a gasp leaves your lips “-I push back” your nails dig into his biceps, your body feels like it’s on fire.

you hands reach up to his balaclava, his hand quickly catches yours, pinning it above your head. his eyes dark, bore into yours.

“you want it off?” he mumbles, you nod

The way he stares at you makes you want to hide away. he slowly pulls it back enough for you to his jawline, tiny scars scattered against it. one small scar across his lip is what makes you whimper.

he lifts it.

only here.

only for you

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #ghost smut #simon riley imagine

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mainstreamangel · 2 days ago

Text

PARTY 4 U

P. Bueckers x Fem!Reader

Summary: You only threw this party for her.

Genre: Angst

Warning(s): Alcohol (legal), hallucinations, mentions of drugs

WC: 1.0k

One thousand purple balloons.

You looked around the holiday house for the birthday girl. This was supposed to be her party. You wanted to give her something special for her 21st birthday.

"Have you seen Paige?" You slurred to a nearby person.

They shook their head before being pulled by their friends.

"Sick party." Someone you didn't know said.

"Thanks, enjoy man."

You continued to stumble through the mass of people.

Dj with your favorite tunes.

You could feel the vibrations of the speakers throughout the floor. 'Pushin' P' by Gunna & Future (Feat. Young Thug) was playing. You sang softly to the words as you pushed past people.

Birthday cake in August. But you were born twentieth of October.

Sighing, you texted her again but she just left you on delivered. Her birthday cake with her favourite colour and her name written perfect cursive, sat pretty on the marble counter top.

You take a plastic fork and dig in. The cake flavour sat on your tongue, lightening your mood just a little bit. The sugar entered your system and gave you a bit of a rush.

Champagne pourin' in your mouth.

You think back to the birthday she threw for your 21st birthday. The champagne tower glistening in the chandelier light. Paige had popped open the cork and poured it in your mouth for your first drink.

Called your friends from out of town.

"Hey girl! Where's P?" Ice asked.

"Somewhere around probably." You lulled your head to the side, a minor headache coming around.

"Are you... alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Ice hesitated but walked off to find Paige. You just didn't have it in you to tell her she wasn't here.

You grabbed a new solo cup and poured yourself more of your drink. You decided to go somewhere quieter so you headed into your room and sat by the window.

Got the party bag with the purple pills. And I'm waiting for you by the window, yeah.

You picked up your phone and decided to call her since it was quieter. Maybe she just didn't get your texts. Of course you had her number memorised so you quickly punch it in and the phone starts ringing.

Called your digits, but the phone kept ringin'. Wish I knew what you were thinking.

"This is Paige Bueckers, don't bother leaving message. That's what texts are for :)"

You sighed and put your phone down.

One thousand purple balloons. Dancin' on to your favorite tunes. Hope you walk in the party, 'cause I threw the party just for you.

A knock sounded at the door. You get up and open it to Paige's friends and former teammates.

"Paige isn't here. Do you know where she is?"

"Sorry. No. Maybe try calling her."

"Alright, well we're going to head out. Thanks for having us."

"No problem."

You walk out of your room and go to get your 3rd drink of the night. Staring out of the window of your holiday house, you see people splashing around in the pool. The same pool you and Paige would skinny dip in when you were younger.

You could watch me pull up on your body. Like it's summer, take my clothes off in the water. Splash around and get you blessed like holy water.

You start to sway a bit, tilting your head to the side. Suddenly you turn around and look at the dining table. You would do your school projects there and Paige would non stop distract you.

"Paige stop!" You laughed.

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're going to get glitter everywhere."

"Whoops."

You shook your head and sighed. Paige and you were so close. What happened?

I don't know what you were waiting for. You know that I've been waiting for you.

You hear the sound of your name being called. You whip around and accidently walk backwards into someone.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled.

Then you see her.

Paige.

She's sitting on the couch, a smile beaming on her face. She manspreads, her outfit casual for the party.

"Pai..." you stumble forward but catch yourself.

Paige's face contorts to one of worry, she hurriedly gets up from the couch and walks towards you.

"This for me?" She motions to the party.

"Just for you P. Party just for you." You tuck a bit of hair behind her ears and look at her through glassy eyes.

She smiles and looks around some more.

Yeah, if you saw my tears, would you touch me?

You hadn't noticed but your eyes got watery and Paige leans forward to wipe away some stray tears.

"You're here.. I thought you wouldn't come."

"You know that's not true. I'll always be there."

Kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?. Leave a message, tell me you're sorry?

Paige leans forward and plants a kiss on your forehead. She takes one of your hands and pulls you to her. You wrap your arms around her and melt.

"You'll be okay. You're okay. I'm so extremely grateful for you."

You smile. All your hard work had led to this moment. One where she would praise you for your actions. Because she deserved it. In your eyes, she was perfect.

Hit me right back, hit me right back.

Your name gets called again and you turn around, a little less graceful than the first time.

"Left my bag. Are you okay? You're kinda just standing here. Also, you look really wack hugging yourself out in the open. I mean if that's your thing, I guess go you." Azzi walks up to you, giving you a weird look.

"What? I'm just talking to Paige.." You slur.

"Woah you're drunk as fuck. You need to sit down."

"But Paige-"

"Is not here. You're hallucinating from the alcohol, sit."

You turn your head and see no one there. Thin air takes Paige's place from warmth you had imagined. Darkness creeps up in the corners of your eyes.

"No, she was here.. Paige was..." You close your eyes and your body goes limp.

Why you treating me like someone that you never loved?

#wnba #wbb #paige x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader

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porkcutletbowl44 · 4 months ago

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The Man You Need

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Tags!: 🔞NSFW. MDNI. unprotected p in v sex(wrap it in foil before you check her oil), dirty talk, creampie, PWP, Insomnia!reader, brief mention of misogyny, semi-public sex, shower sex, reader is also kinda bratty

(Ik y'all are only here for the porn that's why the plot dies quick lmao)

A big thank you to the 200 followers and counting 🫶🏻🩷

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"Y'look knackered, 'aven't been sleepin' enough?"

Simon's voice forces you to stop staring at the stale scones under the heat lamp, yanking you out of that day dream of falling face first into the breakfast line to get real sleep.

"Just the usual insomnia," you reminded. "What plans do you have today?" You asked, gatherthering the last of your breakfast.

His long strides effortlessly keeping up with your shorter ones. He towers over you as you both approach the table where you both sat normally.

"Just the usual, trainin' new recruits." He answers in the same manner as you, he sits down opposite you. He stretches his long legs out under the table, his calves brushing yours.

His eyes fixed on you like little bugs on your skin, taking in every detail of your face.

"'ow long has it been since y'last slept through a night?" He asks gruffly.

"Saturday." You answered.

His jaw clenches momentarily behind the thin fabric of his balaclava, and his shoulders stiffen.

"Y'mean to tell me its been three days an' you're still functioning?" He retorts, skepticism written on his face. He knows you, and he knows how bad your insomnia gets.

"Yeah. Doesn't help when we have to wake up early."

Simon lets out a frustrated sigh, running a gloved hand over his face.

"You can't survive on 2 or 3 hours o' sleep a day. Y'know you're pushin' it too far. You're going to collapse soon if y'don't get your sleep under control."

He's always stern when he speaks, but with you it's like he's scolding you like a child who doesn't know any better.

You do know better; you've busted your ass to get where you are. You've had to deal with everything in the book to fight to where you are now in the military, and he knows that, he's been there the majority of the time and yet he nags you everyday about something.

"Well I'm trying, Si. Melatonin doesn't work and it gives me bad headaches." You mumbled irritably.

"Doesn't work, eh? An' I can see those bags under your eyes. Headaches too..." He rubs his chin as he looks at you, his eyes calculating. "What 'ave you tried so far, love? I've told you to keep me updated."

"The sleepy tea worked for a little bit, and then it didn't. I tried running before bed, no screen time, benadryl..."

Simon grunts and leans back in his chair, listening to you list all the things you've already tried and don't work, his frustration only seems to grow with this situation— or you?

"Bloody hell. You've tried everythin', 'aven't you? Nothin' seems to work, it's as if your body just won't shut down."

Sometimes this leads to the same thing over and over again, the 'you have to sleep' or, 'why do you do this to yourself?'. You just smile and nod, because yes, you can 100% control this.

"Well, sometimes another thing works, but it's just too much of a hassle." You shrugged, sipping some vitamin water.

Simon's brows furrow as he hears your muttered words. He leans forward, his gaze intense.

"What 'other things?'"

You sometimes keep things from him, and he won't let you get away with it this time. Or, there's the other times you are blunt, disgustingly blunt. You live with a bunch of men, who do not have a filter, that alone has killed yours out of existence.

You blink, fidgeting in place. "Ahem. Me time?"

He's not dense, he knows exactly what you mean and he's not one to back down from anything that usually makes normal people squeamish or "grossed out".

"An" 'ow is it 'too much o' a hassle exactly?" He asks, a slight raise in an eyebrow.

"My hand cramps." You rolled your eyes, it was obvious, who doesn't have that problem sometimes?

He crosses his arms over his broad chest with a humored look, your honesty can be either amusing or completely looked over.

"Your hand cramps, you say? Thas a hell o' a reason."

He chuckles softly, his eyes raking over you, taking in the sight before him. His gaze is heated. Your face can feel it, it's warm, it's like he's putting your face close to a bonfire with that look. For months you two do this... This thing that borders flirty and suggestive but at the same time it doesn't quite feel like either.

"Yeah. Thinking about going down to the store."

His eyes snap up, crossed arms going lose from his chest. He's not stupid; he knows what "going down to the store" means.

"You're talkin' about goin' to get one o' those things." His voice is low, but not quite harsh. He's almost hesitant to say it out loud, but he says it with so much disdain.

You deadpan. "A vibrator, Simon. A vibrator."

The tops of his cheeks flush red beneath his balaclava at your blunt response. You giggle a little, not expecting such a reaction from Lieutenant Ghost. What's the big deal? Did guys not talk about fleshlights? Brand recommendations?

He clears his throat before speaking, a little husky and quiet. No way, are you embarrassing him with girl stuff?

"Y-yeah. One o' those." He stutters, his usual confidence wavering. "Yes, thank you, love. I realize that. I just..." He trailed off, blinking a few times.

"Y'can't be serious. You're goin' to use a toy instead o' asking for help?"

It's like he can't believe you just said that out loud, in a busy mess hall no less. This is what it took? Talking about sex toys to make him awkward?

"Uhm...yeah? I less you have a boyfriend in your pocket waiting for me." you retort.

And yikes, he didn't seem to like that. His eyes squint, probably crinkle in his nose. He paused, leaning forward in his seat, his eyes studying your face closely.

"You don't seriously think y'need a toy instead o' just asking me, do you?"

Why does he sound hurt??

Your stomach does a backflip off your intestines and into a hot tub of oil. He did not just say that. You must be asleep, yes, you must be dreaming.

You giggled, "Good one."

Simon gives a low grumble, his jaw flexing and grinding. This apparently wasn't a laughing matter to him. Is he serious? Your tongue works over your teeth, trying your absolute hardest to be so cool, nonchalant, you don't care you don't care—

"'M not jokin', love. You don't honestly think that a toy would be better than the real thing, do you?"

Of course it's not fucking better. But what choices did you have? Sleep with one of your teammates and then get a dishonorable discharge? Make things awkward in your team?

"Oh... Considering it's illegal to have relationships, yes. A vibrator won't leave me, cheat on me, break my heart... It's perfect." You shrugged— it was for the best anyways.

He knew the rules just as much as you did. And he followed them religiously. What the hell is going on? Why would he just suggest that out of the blue?

"Y'think you'd be better off with a piece o' silicone than takin' the chance on me?"

You pinch your thigh under the table. Nope. You're still here in mess hall, in front of your now cold breakfast, and Simon is still trying to convince you to fuck him.

"Y'wouldn't be satisfied with that thing. You'd get bored, love..." He sounds so sure, and jealous when he speaks of the horrible, terrible, vibrator.

"How would you know?" You quired quickly.

Just to double check. Maybe the sleep deprivation was catching up.

"I know 'cause I know you. You'd get tired o' that thing eventually, you'd want somethin' real."

He paused for a moment, his eyes lidding, darkening, consuming.

"You'd want someone to touch you, love. Not some piece o' plastic an' silicone."

"Yeah, like I'd ever get that," you barked out a laugh out of sheer nerves.

He didn't like that anymore than your last dismissive reply, you may just be convinced about now. So, cue to you squeezing your thighs together in your seat. Acting completely normal. Because everything about this is so normal; your coworker just telling you to come to him for a good fuck to be able to sleep.

"What do y'mean by that? 'ow can you say that with a straight face? Y'don't think anyone would want to touch you? Let y'know 'ow loved you are?" He grumbled, his hands clenching on top of the table.

"Y'think you're so undesirable that nobody would want you? Bloody hell..." He shakes his head.

"Simon, take a look at me." You licked your lips to prevent a shout of frustration, yikes, you do need sleep.

Simon's eyes fly over your form, from head to toe. He took his time studying you, his eyes lingering over the curves of your body, the way your hair fell over your face. There isn't a damn thing wrong with the way you look.

"'M lookin' at ya, love. An' what I see is perfection. So tell me again... what's your damn point?"

Oh, good God. It's real. But this is better than you imagined; you want to make him work for it. All because it's hotter to get a man to work for something, get all riled up.

"What do you see? A cutesy little girly girl? A nice little housewife for a big strong man?" You asked sarcastically.

"I see a woman who's strong, capable, an' bloody beautiful." He glares, offended you'd even think about saying that, "You're not some dainty damsel in distress, you're a force to be reckoned with..."

"My point exactly. Men don't want a chick that's more man than them." You rolled your eyes at just mentioning the delicacy of fragile masculinity these days.

Simon grunted and rolled his eyes, his irritation building into something you might not want to poke at.

"Thas where you're wrong, love." He points his spoon at you. "Not all men are as narrow-minded as y'think. I know damn well I want a woman like you. Strong, feisty, sexy."

"My point, Simon! I don't want some fucking pussy, I want someone whose more man than me." You huff.

You're not entirely implying this trait about him... You just wanna see him work for it.

"You're not goin' to find that in a bloody toy, love. You're lookin' in the wrong place if y'think some plastic will make y'feel better. Y'want a man? You already 'ave a man."

He was right there, willing to give you what you needed. But how far will he go?

"Yeah but... I want something real, too." You tried to explain.

This flirting back and forth was something you enjoyed; but what would it mean in the long run?

"Exactly." He huffed a bit exasperated. "Y'want somethin' real. Somethin' I can give you."

He shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you, his eyes deep and intense.

"Y'don't need a toy, love. You 'ave me. 'M real, an' I want you. Don't settle for some piece o' plastic when y'know damn well what you really want."

Okay then, schizophrenic, game on.

"I want someone stronger than me, someone to give me a reason to act like a woman," You snorted.

You were infuriating at times.

"An' y'think I can't give ya that? Y'think I can't make y'feel like a woman? Like a fuckin' queen?" That retort comes out low, accusing. "I can definitely make y'feel like a woman. Y'don't need someone stronger than you, love. Y'just need me."

Nail on the head with that one; yet how far can you take it? You lean between your elbows, squeezing your tits together to make you look as enticing as possible.

"Do I?" You purr.

Simon freezes in time, his plastic spoon almost falling away from his thick fingers. His hand does scramble for it to his credit but he almost dumps his bowl in the process. You hear him clear his throat roughly, Adams apple bobbing at the hem of his mask before it disappears. You bite your lip with a challenging gaze, would he take it?

"Yes," He replied firmly to cover up his hesitation, "Y'need me, love. Y'just don't know it yet. I can make y'feel things no toy ever could. Think y'need a man t'make you feel like a woman? I can do that, an' I will happily."

You smirk, "You're gonna have to try harder than that,"

"Oh, I will, love. You're just askin' for a challenge, aren't you?"

"You afraid to take it?" You shot back slyly.

He was anything but afraid with that look. He was up for the challenge, and you know he's gonna prove it.

"Baby, 'm not afraid o' anythin' when it comes to you," he replied, his voice low and husky. "As long as you can take what I can give you."

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes searing into yours. There was danger in his gaze, it only made it all the more delicious.

"Y'think you can 'andle me, love? Y'think you're ready for what I can do t'you?"

"Only if you can prove it." You grin.

Ghost let out a low growl, his eyes darkening at your challenging tone. He thrived on it, it only fueling his drive to prove himself to you.

"Oh, I'll prove it, love. I'll prove it again an' again until y'can't even think straight."

"No, no, prove you're more man than me." You corrected easily.

"Y'want to know why 'm more o' a man than you? I can make y'feel things you 'aven't even imagined before. I'll 'ave you beggin' f'me, addicted t'me."

"I'll be waiting, then." You set the challenge in stone. This was it.

The bear has been poked enough. He was on a mission now.

"You'll be beggin' f'me before the night's over." He boasts smoothly, a promise and a warning all in one.

"If I get a good night's sleep I'll consider keeping you,"

You were maddening, and he both loved and hated the way you pushed his buttons. It was all in good heart; for the most part.

"You're already keepin' me, love. Y'just don't know it yet."

You bite your lip, taking a quick survey of the area before replying. This was getting too good to be true.

"Don't disappoint then, we have..." You glance at your watch, humming, "six hours until lights out."

"Thas more than enough time." He grunts, all smug and cocky behind his mask.

Step one, getting recruit work out of the way. It's boring as fuck, mostly watching the Lieutenant scare the absolute piss out of the fresh meat.

Simon was barking orders left and right, ruthless to the soldiers in training. Almost as ruthless as the sun beating down on them.

You abandoned your spot in the shade, clip board in hand. You balance two water bottles on the wooden board as you approach to offer a beverage.

"Thanks," he grumbles, his eyes darting around to ensure no one witnessed the small gesture just like you.

He took the offered water, downing half the bottle in one go and adjusting his mask back in place. You drag your pin down the clip board to check off what's already done.

"Forty laps?"

"Forty laps."

Simon confirmed with a gruff nod, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before turning back to the recruits. Despite the challenging heat, he refused to end the training drills early no matter how much you teased him about buying him a little extra on your toy run— Viagra.

You thought it was hilarious, him? Not so much.

"An' they better pick up the pace!" He barked, the deep baritone easily reaching the pirvates' ears.

You circle that box, "And the sixty pull ups?" You breathed a bored sigh.

Simon grunted in annoyance.

"Done."

He informed in a low grumble, his jaw working under the balaclava. It was an excessive amount, but many of the recruits wouldn't even make it halfway through. But he didn't care, he was in a mood. A horny one. When was the last time this guy got laid?

"Wasn't accepting any half-assed attempts, either."

"The rope climbing?" You tap your pen at the box.

Simon glances down at the list, eyeing the scribbles and doodles next to the ticked boxes.

"Done." He replies simply.

You could faintly hear the sound of the recruits groaning and grumbling in pain and exhaustion, you almost felt bad. It was minor flashbacks to your recruitment days, yet Simon didn't seem to have that same sympathy judging by the satisfaction in his eyes.

"Aaannnd... Combat." You hum, one last task left for training.

This was where things get interesting.

"Its last. Need to let 'em rest a bit first. Suppose they earned it."

"Generous," you comment blandly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep checkin' off the list. I wanna get these fuckin' recruits dismissed soon. 'M sick o' the heat."

The day dragged on painfully slowly. The heat was relentless until the rain would show up any minute, and he was more irritable than usual. Even the recruits seemed to notice his foul mood, giving him a wide berth whenever he was in their vicinity. You were starting to grow bored of his usual job of scaring the hell out of the recruits, (not so bored when sweat rolls down the thickness of his biceps and the bounce of his tits when he jogs up to the trainees to yell at them) and overall wondering when and how the fuck you're supposed to get laid at this point.

Finally, the training was over. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the compound. The recruits limped and hobbled their way to their assigned lodgings, exhausted and sore.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed like he had even more energy than usual. Despite the long, grueling day, he was somehow wired and restless. You should ask what energy drink he uses after you wrap this up. (Hint: it's the male drive to get some pussy).

As the recruits dispersed, one in particular caught your eye. He was the most arrogant and obnoxious of the bunch, strutting around like he owned the place. You and Simon had seen it countless times before, it got old fast.

"Arrogant little prick," Simon muttered irritably.

You tongue your cheek, "What? Threatened by him?"

It's a pointless taunt— Simon? Threatened? Gosh, it's so fun to get men worked up. Simon's eyes narrow at your comment, a grunt bursting out from him.

"Threatened? Me? Fuckin' hell, no." He grumbles offendedly. "I could take 'im apart within a minute. Can't stand the ones caught up in their own 'ead,"

You hum in agreement. You know for a fact you'd pay to see that one day, and Soap would be right behind you.

"You're lucky you're the most tolerable person 'ere," he adds goodnaturedly.

You backhand his shoulder lightly, "Oh, look, your best friend is coming over!"

And speak of the devil, the recruit struts over with that piece of shit arrogant smirk. Simon rolls his eyes in annoyance as he turns to face the strutting recruit.

"Great. Just what I need," The sarcasm is laid on thicker than the suspicious gravy served this morning at breakfast.

The recruit saunters over, his obnoxious confidence on full display. Simon clenches his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Sir... Do we have more extensive training available?" He asks slowly, his own ego taking a hold of his tongue.

Simon's eye twitches at the recruit's pompous tone. Extensive training, more like a request for special treatment to feed that ego.

"Extensive training?" He echos roughly, "F'you? Why?"

The recruit shrugs boredly, "I think your ways are a bit old fashioned, too easy,"

Easy, old fashioned? This cocky little bastard doesn't know the first thing about hard work. And he's about to serve himself his very own buffet of living hell from Simon. You distract yourself with the grass below your feet, taking everything you have to not laugh.

"Y'think we make things easy on you?" He sneers, taking a step closer to the recruit. "Y'think you're hot stuff, eh? Well, you're in for a rude awakening, rookie."

Your lips purse, frowning deeply to stop the smile.

"What makes y'think you deserve anythin' beyond the standard training regime, hmm? You 'aven't earned a fuckin' thing yet." He glares at the recruit, his eyes dark and intense behind his mask. "Y'get your fuckin' arse to the barracks. Your extensive training for the next month? You'll be cleanin' the bathrooms before lights out."

The recruit's smirk falters at Simon's orders. He's not used to being talked back to, much less being told what to do. But he tries to maintain his cocky attitude, not wanting to back down in front of you, maybe. Ugh, men.

"Bathroom duty? That's... a little degrading, isn't it?"

Simon chuckles darkly, his eyes dancing with amusement. This cocky bastard was really pushing his luck more than you were. You almost feel bad if it weren't so funny.

"Degrading?" he sneers. "Welcome to the military, rookie. It's not a goddamn country club. Y'think you can come 'ere, demand extra training, an' expect special treatment? This ain't a playground. You're 'ere to learn discipline, not stroke your ego."

You stifle a laugh behind your clipboard. This was too good, and all the more hot to see Simon angry.

Simon shoots a sidelong glance at you, even though he's supposed to be acting tough and intimidating, he seems to let himself crack through the lieutenant role around you.

The recruit, on the other hand, doesn't notice your amusement. He just looks sulkily at Simon, clearly not pleased with the prospect of bathroom duty.

Simon grabs the recruit roughly by the collar, the display of power and dominance making you jump in place. Simon's firm grip on the recruit's collar startles the cocky little punk, his eyes wide in surprise.

"See, this is your problem," Simon grits lowly. "Y'think you're untouchable. Y'think you're better than everyone else. But lemme tell you somethin', wanker... you're not."

The recruit stammers, eyes frozen with fear.

"Disobey your superior officer again an' I'll make sure your walls are covered in you."

He gives the recruit a rough shove, releasing his collar. The recruit stumbles back, shocked out of words.

"Consider that your final warning," Simon growls. "Now get your arse to the fuckin' barracks, rookie."

The recruit seems to shrink under Simon's intimidating aura, his cocky demeanor shattered and squashed to dust. He mumbles a half-hearted, "Yes, sir," before hurrying away.

You check your watch, "Well, today has been fun. It's too bad you only have three hours left."

Three hours left, you say? He hadn't even started yet. Because of training, of course.

"Three hours, huh?" He grumbles, eyes setting in determination. "Don't count me out yet, love. I can do a lot in three hours."

"Hurry it up, or in three hours I'll have a brand new shiny vibrator." You grin cheekily.

"You won't be needin' any damn vibrator if I 'ave anythin' to say 'bout it," he hisses. "I don't need any bloody gadgets to 'elp out."

He starts to stalk towards you, his eyes intense and focused. Your thighs squeeze together, pleased with your outcome.

"Three hours is more than enough time f'me to prove myself, love. An' you'll be beggin' before the clock strikes, guarantee ya that."

"Right," you drawl with a roll of your eyes.

He reaches up with a rough hand, grabbing your chin and lifting it so your eyes meet his.

"Y'think I can't prove myself in three hours, huh? That I need some bloody toy to 'elp me out? I promise you, love, you'll be singin' a different tune."

You giggle teasingly, biting your tongue through your smile.

"Tick tock, Simon." You singsong.

You were mocking him, challenging him, all for this purpose.

"You're playin' a dangerous game, love," he growls down at you, "Y'think you can tease an' walk away with that pretty lil smile on your face. But you're gonna find out real quick that I won't back down, even when you're being a cheeky lil minx."

You smirk dreamily, staring up at him with raw want. You kinda want him to do something extravagant, proving himself just because. When was the last time you had fun like this?

"You're pushing your luck, love," he grunts, his voice gruff with barely concealed desire. "If you keep lookin' at me like that, there ain't gonna be enough time to do everythin' I wanna do to you."

You pull from his hand, turning on your heel as you call over your shoulder,

"I'll be waiting, Si,"

You were taunting him, teasing him, with that sultry little comment and casual tone. You feel his eyes on your ass with each sway of your hips, that naked feeling let's you know he's undressing you with his eyes.

You whip out your phone to look at the time, alas, there's just no way what you want can happen. The rules, regulations, and the severe lack in privacy.

Shooting Captain a quick text for permission to leave base for an hour you head into the higher up showers for some much needed washing of the sweat collected on your body.

As you toss your towel on the bend, your phone buzzes.

'Permission granted. I'll let the team know you'll be out.'

Your heart drops to your ass as you frantically text back—

'Wait no that's not necessary!!!!!'

And then, to your horror, you get a ping in the group text.

Shit.

The team knows youre just going out, but Simon knows. Simon knows you're chickening out from the challenge.

"Fuck!" You hiss, frantically looking around the showers as if there were anything that could help you.

There's nothing. Not the gathered pubes in the moldy shower drain nobody uses, not the faded rusting lockers, not the dirty windows that nobody will ever be able to see out of no matter how much scrubbing

You're fucked.

But how fucked, do we wager? Does this mean Simon will get in his feelings and never talk to you again? Will he out you? (No, it wouldn't ever—) What if he gets revenge?... What kind of revenge?

As you stand there, panic setting in, a voice rings out from the entrance of the shower area.

"What 'appened to three hours?"

You squeak as the door slams, the deadbolt echoing through the room.

You are locked in the showers with Simon.

"What's with the sudden cold feet?" Simon grunts as he rounds the corner, closing the distance between you in slow, measured strides.

"I-I can explain—" you stammer, phone dropping on the bench next to your towel.

He stalks towards you, his steps slow and deliberate. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze that makes your heart beat even faster in your chest.

You're trapped, unable to back away, and he looms over you like a caged beast.

"Explain why you're runnin' away from the challenge you issued, love?" he drawls, stopping just a few feet away from you. "This I 'ave to 'ear."

He crosses his arms as he stands there, his eyes never leaving your face. You're in for it now, his expression seems to say.

You chuckle nervously, gesturing between the two of you, "I mean, realistically it can't ever happen—"

"Who says it can't?" He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. "I don't care 'bout the damn regulations, love. That's not gonna stop me from 'aving you."

"Y-You are all about the rules, Si. You follow them to a T— You wouldnt—" you swallow thickly. What have you done to yourself this time.

"I usually follow the rules, yes," he concedes tauntingly, "An' right now, those rules are fuck all to me anymore."

Your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth, "W-What about—"

Simon leans a forearm over your head and slouches down, his eyes darkened by lust and determination.

"What 'bout...?" he mocks, "Y'think I give a damn 'bout those old geezers with their rules right now? All I care 'bout is 'aving you, 'ere an' now."

Simon's free hand reaches up, his fingers lightly tracing your jawline. "I'll show you 'm fuckin' man enough to 'ave you."

While you are speechless, he adds for you to better understand. "It's just you an' me in 'ere."

"But—" you squeak.

Simon's hand moves quick to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"No," he growls, "We don't need to follow the rules in 'ere. We don't need anyone's permission. We could be loud, we could be rough. No one would ever know."

No one... Would know.

He leans in, his lips hovering just centimeters from your ear. "Just us in 'ere. You tellin' me you'd rather 'ave some stupid fuckin' toy over a man that can fill you up all night long?" His hand slides down to your throat, holding you tenderly but firmly, "Just say yes, love."

You whimper in delight, his eyes flickering down to your shifting thighs.

"Yeah," he purrs, his hand angling your head up against the wall. "Y'know you want it. Y'want me."

You want him more than sleep. You want him more than some real fucking food.

"Y'know you don't need anythin' else but me t' fuck you stupid."

"Yes," you moan.

Simon's eyes gleam with approval, his grip on your chin tightens slightly.

"That's good fuckin' girl," he growls.

He licks your neck through the mask, chest expanding with a deep inhale that crushes you to the wall.

"Say y'want me," he demands in a gravelly whisper.

What is thinking? Why would you have to think?

"Want you s'bad," you whine.

"Fuckin' right you do," he mutters.

His other hand drifts down, slowly tracing down your body until it lands on your waist, shoving you into the shower stall. For a moment, you thought you were going to get a little groping, made a knead here and there. But no, you're just standing like a dumbass in the empty shower stall.

"Strip." He growls.

Your skin erupts with gooseflesh in the bare shower shall, his gaze unwavering as he waits for his private show. He steps closer, his own clothes still on, thick arms folding over his chest.

"Slowly," he commands, "Show me what's gonna be mine."

You pinch the hem of your cargos, and then switch to your shirt.

What the hell do you even start with?

"Trousers first," Simon instructs roughly.

He stands there, still dressed, but his eyes devouring every inch of you as you slowly pop the button.

You slowly shimmy the waist band over the swell of each hip, pushing down to your ankles. Simon's breaths grow heavier as you flick the material off your feet his eyes transfixed on the movement.

"Thas it. Bra next," he commands, velvety smooth, "Nice n' slow. I want t'see all o' you."

Bra? Bra next? Why not your shirt?

You kick the cargos away, your shirt barely covering over your panties as you unclasp the bra through your shirt and maneuver it out from one of the sleeves to hold it in the tip of your finger.

Simon's eyes zero in on your pebbled nipples and pretty panties, the thin fabric doing little to hide your curves.

"Good girl," he purrs, "Now come 'ere."

You're... You're not even done. He motions with his fingers for you to approach him, his eyes dark with need.

"Do the thing," you manage out.

"The thing?" he grunts in an enticing voice, taking a step forward as you gesture to your mouth and nose.

He reaches up and pulls the mask to his nose, revealing his lips.

"Is this what y'want, love?" he asks, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Yeah," you breathe as you wet your lips.

Those would taste so good. You just know it.

"Y'want to see m' mouth, huh?" he asks, a smirk playing at the corners of those now revealed lips that show his canines, a chipped tooth, his lower face in general in its scarred glory, "Y'want to see what I can do, love?"

He closes the remaining space between you in a single stride, grabbing you by the back of the neck and yanking you forward.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with dark hunger that makes your pussy pulse.

His mouth descends on yours, his lips claiming yours in a fiercely possessive kiss. You moan lowly, one of your arms circling his thick waist. He's burning up, hot and sweaty under his clothes that reek of his natural musk.

One of your curious hands ventures down, squeezing at his ass. He breaks the kiss with a surprised grunt, a coy smirk.

"Naughty, that," he huffs, "But I like it. My turn,"

The world before you lunges back, his mouth descending on your neck. He sucks and bites at the sensitive skin, his teeth leaving red marks in their wake.

His hands have a rough exploration, sliding down your skin, pausing just above the waistband of your panties to slide in to the globes of your ass. You stand in your tip toes to lean into him, whimpering at his rough gropes and kneading.

His mouth continues it's path down your neck, his teeth grazing the tops of your covered tits as his hands roughly squeeze and massage your perfect ass.

"Look at you," he growls, "Squirmin' an' I haven't even started."

He pushes your ass up, looking over your shoulder to watch it bounce. His hands slide lower, pulling the elastic of your panties down slightly, "Look at this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You're fuckin' soaked through."

And he's right.

You squeeze your thighs, trying to rid that sticky mess thats unbearably uncomfortable. He tuts, delivering a slap to your ass.

"Tryin' to get yourself off, love?" he purrs, his fingers tracing along the edge of your panties.

You can't tell the difference between the onyx color from his pupils, you can hardly look at his eyes when his mouth is right there and his own tits are in your face. God, you want to nibble on those chapped lips, feel those fat biceps squeeze you as his hips snap on the backs of your thighs—

He backs you up, his hard cock pressing against you through his jeans, "Y'want it?"

"Yes!" You mewl.

"Thas what I like to 'ear, love," he husks, his fingers playing with the crotch of your panties. "Get that shirt off, wanna see those pretty tits finally."

You squirm, pulling your shirt up and off and throwing it somewhere that doesn't matter right now.

"Perfect," he rasps, his hand reaching up to cup your breast, "These are fuckin' nice,"

You arch, eyes rolling at the nice kneading to your sore flesh of being stuck in a bra all day. To your displeasure, freezing water sprays down your body and your uncomfortable groan bounces off the walls until the water warms up.

He's still fully dressed though, his clothes sticking to his muscular frame, accentuating every hard muscle and scar.

"Shower's a bit shitty," he says, his eyes raking your body. "But we don't 'ave to wait for that to get goin'."

Your panties have disappeared into his pocket, you follow the way his fingers shove it in— Your eyes divert to that large bulge behind the zipper.

"I know what y'want," he grunts, his hand moving to the belt and zipper.

Simon pulls down his zipper, the metal teeth parting revealing a black pair of boxers, which does little to hide the already impressive outline of his hard cock nudging up against the waist band.

He pushes his jeans down his thick thighs, his body still clothed in a tight black shirt and underwear drenched in water.

Your saliva glands burn at the sight of his happy trail plunging past the waist band, eyeing that nice size you only got a little feel of on your leg—

"Want a closer look?" he purrs, his hand slowly palming the base of his covered cock, precum bleeding out from the thin fabric on his thigh.

You make a face at him, your face burning with embarrassment

"What's the matter, love? You shy now?" he says with a smirk, his hand continuing to slowly palm and squeeze, "Y'were all full o' attitude today."

His head tilts mockingly, stroking himself for you, enticing you. Pinch yourself again, this might actually be a dream—

"Go on," he rasps, "Feel me."

You follow a trail of water down to his shirt clinging to his body, his drenched happy trail, and then the outline of his cock.

With one hand, you tug the waist band forward, clenching as he sucks in a breath that makes his abs tense.

He leans forward, his mouth hovering over your ear, "Go on," he husks, "Take it out, love."

He leans back, watching you intently, waiting for you to do as told. Maybe you do like to be told what to do in this context. With your other, you pull him free with your eager hand.

He moans, he fucking moans.

"Thas it, love," he husks out, his voice a little strangled. "Feel me up."

His hands rest on the wall behind you, caging you in. He hips rock into your hand, each stroke of your fist pulling the foreskin back.

"You're so big," you whimper.

Simon lets out a deep, gravelly groan as you speak. It just might be the hottest sound you've ever heard. Right next to the time he was lifting heavy dumbbells, letting all those grunts and growls loose.

He looks down at you, his gaze burning with lust and need, "You want it, baby?" he asks, his hips grinding against your hand harder, "Want this big dick?"

"Want it so bad, Si," you mumbled against his lips, your tongue darting out to lick his teeth.

his mouth claiming yours in a rough, passionate kiss. His tongue immediately tangles with yours, his teeth biting and tugging at your lower lip.

"I know you do," he grunts, his tongue slipping past your lips to slide against yours before speaking again, "You've been eye-fucking me all afternoon, love."

His hands start to wander along your body, mapping your curves with rough caresses,

"You're gonna get it," he husks.

One of his hands moves down to your hip as he moves lower, his mouth following the curve of your throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses and bites.

"Want m'cock in that pretty pussy? Or your mouth?"

Where do you fucking think, smart guy?

"In me, inside me, please," you mewl.

His massive paws squeeze your hips to spin you around, planting your hands against the wall.

"Bend over," he growls, his eyes roaming over your body, "'M gonna give you what y'want."

His hands on your hips start to maneuver your body, making you arch your back and hips out.

He runs a hand up your spine, "So pretty," he murmurs as he takes in the sight of your body bent and on display for him.

He steps up behind you, his body flush against your back, his clothes still fucking on and wet and sticking to your body.

"Gonna fill ya up nice n' good," he sucks on his teeth with a low growl, "Been thinkin' o' me all day 'aven't you?"

His hips rock against your ass slowly, his bare cock rubbing on your supple skin.

His hands massage your ass, kneading and squeezing the flesh as you lean on your forearms, moaning as the blunt head notches to your dripping slit.

"Want m'hands all over you," Simon growls against your flesh, his rough palms skimming over your curves, "Mm, relax, yeah? Nice n' easy— Yeah, thas a good girl,"

His hips do a slow, deliberate grind, rocking into you to make room for him as he moves his lips along the curve of your shoulder.

There's slow shallow thrusts, working you open until he takes a deep stroke down to the base. Fuck, he's thick all over, heavy even inside your walls. If you had the brain power, you'd reach below and hold his balls.

"You're so damn gorgeous," he husks darkly, his breath hot against your skin, "I wanted this since I first saw you."

He's so intense he's burning a hole through you with his gaze, his hands still exploring your body, worshiping every curve, every dip, every inch of you.

His hands slide down to the front of your thighs, coaxing your legs further apart, opening you up for him.

"I knew I wanted you the moment you walked in," he breathes, "I knew you'd feel amazing under my hands."

Your cheek presses into the shower wall with a strangled moan,

"S'deep,"

Simon growls at your moan and pushes into you with more force, his hands squeezing your ass to yank you back, spearing you over and over on his cock.

"Fuckin' knew you'd feel s'tight an' good,"

His hand presses on your lower tummy, mouth hot and panting against your shoulder blade. He grabs the back of your hand, his fingers threading through yours and pressing it against the wall.

"Take it, take—this—cock,"

You choke out a moan, slumping against the wall, "please, so close, so close—"

"You gonna come f'me, huh?" he asks, his voice raw and breathless.

It's a lovely sound on him.

"Yes, please, wanna come, haven't came this fast before—" you beg.

He lets out a ragged, possessive growl at your words, his hips piston roughly against your ass, full balls swinging on your clit over and over.

"Come on, pet," he snarls, deft fingers twirling tight circles around your clit.

You whimper loudly, hands sliding down the slick shower walls, hips straining for him as you come hard with a broken mewl.

"That's it, fuck—"

He breaks off in a gutteral moan, hips stilling as he spills inside you. Simon catches you as your legs buckle out from under you, scooping you up against his chest to lean you back against the wall.

You don't even know what just happened in the span of 5 minutes. He's panting hard, his heart pounding against your back.

"Fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Fuckin' perfect, love,"

You smile lazily back at him, pawing at his shoulders to pull him in a soft languid kiss, his lips claiming yours in soft, sweet caresses. He melts against your touch, the fierce need from earlier receding now that you're sated. He returns your lazy kiss, his hands gently roaming up and down your back.

"Bloody hell," he mutters against your lips, "Fuckin' perfect, woman." He nips at your neck, "'M not done yet."

Looks like he is the cure to your sleeping problem.

#Idk what this is #go easy on me #i deleted this like 4 times and im somewhat happy with this one #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x you

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

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3.6k, Joel x virgin f!reader x Uncle Tommy SUMMARY: You lose your virginity to Joel with Tommy’s emotional and physical support and his horny, reassuring presence. WARNINGS: I8+ ONE SHOT PWP, mild dubcon (coaxing) virginity loss, very soft, unsafe piv, creampie, dirty talk, light degradation, self-pleasure, daddy kink, MFM-ish but no holes for Tommy, unspecified legal age gap, innocence kink, use of she/her for vag, happy reader but not a healthy relationship w/ clear boundaries. A/N: happy valentine's day! 🖤 FIC RECS at the end.

Miller bros. sharing masterlist

Joel was out for the day, and you were taking a nap with Tommy. He was spooning you under a soft blanket on top of the bed. When you woke up, you felt it again–the hardness pressed against you, through his boxers. His massive belt buckle had been hurting you, so he took his jeans off altogether. He took yours off while he was at it.

When you began to stir awake, Tommy sighed as he pulled you back against him with a subtle push of his hips, which sent a rush of blood to your loins. When you fully woke up, Tommy’s hand was resting on your hip, and your panties were dripping wet. That’s supposed to be for Joel. You scooched your hips forward a little, and Tommy propped himself up with an elbow.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?” His fingers drew light, aimless circles on your shirt, over your tummy.

“Nothing,” you mumbled with your body tense.

“Relax, baby,” He murmured, and dipped his head. He pressed a slow kiss onto your cheek.

You tried to relax. “Sometimes, when you get really close, I feel like I feel with Daddy”

“How’s that, baby?”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whined.

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

You sighed. “Wet. Tingly. Like I want him to get home.”

“Mmm hmm,” Tommy nodded.

“That’s s’posed to be for him," you whispered.

“It’s natural, baby. Don’t you worry ‘bout that.”

He gently rested a hand on your panties. "How ya feel down here. . ." his fingers trailed up your tummy, up your sternum, between your breasts. “Got nothin’ to do with how ya feel here,” he whispered and tapped his fingers on your chest. “Just how our bodies work, sugar.” He caressed your chest, and his breath was humid on your ear. “That sweet lil pussy don’t care whose cock this is.” The stiff shape nudged your back side. “She knows it’s big, and hard, and ready for her. ‘S’all she cares about.” His hand slid up and gently cupped your breast. His crude words made you twitch.

“He’s gonna put it in soon,” you told Tommy.

“Yeah,” he whispered and rested his head, nestling your head under his chin. “Think you’re ready for it?”

“I think so,” you answered, “but I’m nervous.”

“'bout what, baby doll?”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

Tommy scooted back and nudged you so your back was flat on the bed. He propped up his head, read your face, and wet his lips. “Prolly a little, yeah.”

“What’s it gonna be like?”

“Oh, baby. You're gonna love it. You're gonna want it all the time."

"What's the hurt gonna be like?"

Tommy hesitated, then asked, "Gave ya the tip already?”

You nodded.

He lightly dangled his hand over your hip so his fingertips grazed your panties. He let his fingers wander down the cotton until you opened your thighs.

“Good girl,” he whispered with a smile as two fingers slid over your clit, making you throb. His middle finger reached the damp crotch of your panties. “Mmm, baby. You’re gonna be just fine.” He prodded at the wettest spot and inhaled sharply as the fabric dipped into you. “Well, he’s gonna put it here again.”

His two fingers slid up, pausing to ghost your clit for a few seconds, making you whimper. “Shhh, I’ll come back for ya,” he cooed, and pressed a light kiss to your temple. Then his hand continued up your mound. “But this time,” Tommy said, “He’s gonna keep pushin’.” His fingers slowly trailed up, nudging under the hem of your worn, cotton shirt, until his middle finger dipped into your belly button. “He’s gonna be all the way up here, baby.”

You squirmed under his light touch. “And it’s gonna hurt?”

“Not too bad,” he reassured you. “Know why?”

“Why.”

“Cause ya want it real bad. Makes your pussy get real wet.”

Your face burned.

“She’ll burn a little. She’s gotta stretch for Daddy Joel.”

“How much?”

“Oh, baby,” Tommy’s voice dropped, and his hard cock grazed your thigh. “She’ll stretch real good. She’s gotta.”

"How do you know I can do it?"

"Trust me, sweet girl." You looked at him skeptically.

"Tell ya what. . .if I'm wrong, you can braid my hair, how's that?"

You silently laughed and nodded.

"Don't get too excited about my hair, now," he smiled. "Cause you're gonna take that cock real good."

Tommy slid his hand down, out from under your top, and made a loose fist. “One day, she��ll prolly fit this.” Your heart skipped a beat. No way. He looked at his fist and wet his lips, then glanced at your face and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Whatcha think, baby?” he brought his fist down to your panties and began to graze your most sensitive place with his knuckles, taking slow, heavy breaths. His eyes were hazy with desire. His wouldn't even fit between your legs unless you were spread wide.

“Too big,” you answered with your heart rate picking up.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Tommy whispered. “One day. . . not yet. Daddy Joel ain’t that big. You can take him.”

“But he’s big,” you protested.

“Yeah, baby. He’s big. But you’ll be alright.” He uncurled his fist and laid his massive hand on your mound. “I’ll be right there with ya.”

“You will?” you perked up. You loved Joel, wouldn't change a thing about him. No one compared to Joel -- his presence, his touch. But Tommy had a way with words, and Joel wasn't much of a talker.

“Sure, baby. We’ll be real careful. Alright?”

“Okay,” you answered with a hint of hesitation. Tommy ghosted your clit through your panties again, then slid down and tapped the soaked fabric. “Know what this hole’s made for?”

“What?”

He brought his lips to the shell of your ear and whispered, “Takin’ dick and pushin’ out babies." You twitched and bit your lip.

You squirmed and throbbed.

“Want me to take care’a this?” He asked and ran two fingers up and down the wet cotton covering your seam, making you ache with need. “Mmm,” he thrust against your hip.

You shook your head no. But feeling like you could burst, you slid your own hand down your panties. Tommy pulled his hand out of the way, watching in wonder. He adjusted himself and you moaned softly at the push of his cotton-clad arousal.

“Fuck,” he whispered as you closed your eyes.

You felt your breast with your other hand. “Mmm,” you moaned. You squeezed your thighs together and touched yourself. It took less than a minute for your whole body to flex as you came undone, with Tommy breathing heavily and slowly rutting against your hip. You opened your eyes as you finished coming and his face was spellbound.

“Do me a favor, baby,” he breathed. “Lemme borrow some’a that juice.”

Your face burned, but you slid your hand down your panties compliantly, making Tommy groan. He took his stiff cock out, and your upper body heated up. He held his erection for you, and you wiped your slick on it as unsexy as you could.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna-”

“Don’t gotta do nothin’, baby. Don’t gotta look.”

You closed your eyes and listened to his hand squishing around his cock under his grunts and sighs until he came with a shudder. You kept your eyes closed, but you could smell his cum and it made your mouth water.

—----

In the following days, whenever Joel touched you, you wanted him inside. But when he fucked your thighs and you felt the heft of his cock sliding against your folds, the girth of him scared you. you remembered Tommy's fist, and somehow, that made you tingle and relax.

Joel told you he was going to make a special day for you to show you how much he loved you. He said Tommy would be there, too, and you knew that would be the day. Throughout the week, Tommy kept checking in and reassuring you, “You’re gonna take it so good, baby.” If you had any doubts, he’d say, “I’m gonna be right there,” affectionately stroking your cheek. You talked more about what to expect. "Prolly won't come the first few times. That's okay, that's normal."

When the day came, they woke you up with a special breakfast and a bouquet of wildflowers. Joel helped you put on a dress you didn’t have before. It was comfy, with elbow-length sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. It was a little tight on your breasts, but he and Tommy liked it that way. You could tell by the way their eyes lingered.

Tommy made dinner while Joel set the table with flowers and candles. You ate a light meal in the candlelight and took half a glass of wine. While you and Joel finished your wine, Tommy retired to the bedroom. At the table, Joel looked at you adoringly and held your hand. His eyes were soft, and his beard sparkled in the candlelight. “No one like you, baby.” He kissed your hand, your lips, and pulled you into his lap.

Tommy returned and gave Joel a nod. Joel blew out the candles.

“Ready, princess?” Joel asked. You nodded and asked to use the restroom. He took your hand and led you into the bedroom. There were candles and flowers--so much lavendar. When it filled your nostrils, you felt soothed.

When you were ready, you came out from the bathroom and sat down on the bed. Joel knelt before you and kissed his way down your body before removing your dress, leaving you in your bra and panties. Tommy propped up some pillows and took off his jeans and shirt before reclining on the pillows and spreading his legs.

“Go ‘head, baby,” Joel coaxed, caressing your thigh. “Uncle Tommy’s got ya.”

You laid back against Tommy’s bare, barrel chest, and his skin was warm against yours. “Let’s get comfortable,” Tommy murmured and put your hands on his thighs. He lightly rubbed your arms as you laid your head back against him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You leaned your temple against his jaw, and he kissed your head.

Joel undressed, and the bulge in his boxer briefs made your breath hitch. You pulled your eyes up to where the waistband dug into his soft tummy. He palmed himself, slowly rubbing the outline as he knelt on the bed and looked at you like he could swallow you whole.

“So gorgeous,” Joel whispered, eyes traveling up and down your body between Tommy’s knees. Joel started at your feet. He gently massaged your calves as he laid soft kisses onto the delicate skin of your feet, then your ankles. He gently spread your legs.

“Little more, baby,” Tommy whispered, and you spread them wider, knees up in the air. “Good girl."

Joel was on all fours between your legs. He slowly made his way up your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses up your legs until he reached your inner thighs. He sat up and palmed his growing bulge, looking at you hungrily. Joel hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and backed his way down the bed as he pulled them off. Tommy’s chest nudged you forward so he could unclasp your bra. You let it fall off, and Tommy put it aside. You relaxed back into him, and he kissed you on the crown of your head.

Joel returned between your legs, lowered his body, and gave your thighs some attention. He kissed them with tongue, lightly sucking, barely nibbling. He breathed through his nose, and you could see him growing hungrier as he approached your cunt.

“Gonna make ya come first,” Tommy whispered. He held one of your hands and stroked your other arm, which had a calming effect. "It'll help ya stretch."

Joel got down on his elbows and hooked his hands under your legs to rest atop your thighs. His pinkies rested in the creases where your thighs met your hips. “Love you, baby,” Joel’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at you.

He took a few deep breaths and lowered his hips flat against the bed. You tilted your hips, and he dragged his nose up your dripping cunt, inhaling through his nose. “Oh, baby,” he breathed. He lapped at your cunt, and you moaned. He brought one hand to your entrance and rested his other hand on your lower abdomen. He slid a thick finger inside, then, after a few, slow pumps in and out, he carefully added a second digit, making you gasp softly.

You watched Joel's ass flex, his hips pressing into the mattress as he devoured your pussy, lapping up every drop. Tommy whispered in your ear, "Feelin' good, sugar? Feel her gettin' ready?" He circled your bare nipples with his light touch while Joel’s mouth stayed on your throbbing clit with his fingers inside. Joel added a third digit, and you felt so full. "Mm," you moaned, and Tommy gave a low whistle. "Look at you takin' all those fingers. Hungry, ain't she?"

Joel groaned into you as you took his three fat fingers. This time it was easier than ever. Tommy cupped your bare breasts, and Joel worked your clit with his tongue, leaving his fingers inside. Joel's massive hand on your mound held you steady when you began to squirm.

You whimpered, and Tommy said, “Let it happen, sugar.”

Joel moaned deeper, louder into the apex of your folds, and his hips dug deeper into the mattress.

“Squeeze his fingers,” Tommy urged you.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and let the climax seize you. You whimpered, "daddy," and clenched around Joel’s fingers. As your orgasm waned, Tommy slid his hands off your breasts to lightly rub your arms again.

When your eyes fluttered open, Joel cupped your cheek, his beard shiny with your slick. “That was good, baby." He kissed you deeply, and you tasted yourself. When your lips broke apart, he whispered, “you’re gonna do so good." He kissed down your cheek, to your chin, then your neck. He dragged his lips down your chest to your breasts. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, then sucked, humming “Mmm,” as it further sharpened under his tongue. He did the same with the other nipple, then kissed you on the mouth again. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, then pulled back and asked, “You ready, baby?”

You nodded. Joel pulled down his boxer briefs, and his cock sprang free, stiff and commanding. "Look at that," Tommy whispered, his lips brushing the top of your ear. "She's gonna swallow it up, baby."

Even with Joel's boxer briefs off, a slight indentation remained where they were, just below the tanner, pudgier skin of his lower tummy. He idly ran his fingers through the trail of hair below his belly button. Then he lined himself up.

"Gonna be just fine," Tommy reassured you. Your heart was racing as Joel's leaking tip grazed your wet, needy hole. You flinched and Joel pulled back, making his cock spring up. He leaned over you and kissed you one more time. You reached for his chest and smoothed his chest hair. “Love you so much,” he whispered. "You okay?" You nodded.

Joel’s hand returned to his stiff, veiny cock. The swollen tip dragged against your clit as he brought it down to your tight, wet hole and notched it just inside. Tommy was getting hard against your back, and you had hardly noticed until it twitched at the sight of Joel ready for entry.

Joel pushed slightly forward. The stretch was already starting, with just the tip. You took a deep breath and held onto Tommy’s knees, petting his soft leg hair with your thumbs. Your breaths became shallow as Joel began to slowly push into you.

“Breathe, baby,” Tommy reminded you. You breathed in the lavender and felt yourself relax. "Yeah." Tommy shifted under you, and his erection pressed harder against your back.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured and looked you in the eyes.

“Daddy,” you whispered.

“Yeah, babydoll.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

With less than two inches inside, Joel's chest was heaving like he was holding back.

He moved his hips slightly forward. It burned, and your eyes burned a little. You pinched Tommy's knee hair and he flinched. You remembered to blink.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby. The burn ain't forever," Tommy reminded you. "She needs a second," he told Joel.

Joel paused for your body to catch up, until the burn began to fade. You relaxed against Tommy again.

“You good?” Tommy whispered in your ear. You nodded. "Look at her stretchin' 'round daddy's fat cock." You kicked your lips and braced for more. "Loves it, don't she?" Tommy whispered. "That pussy looooves cock."

Joel pushed a smidgen further, and you felt his girth dividing your soft, wet walls as he went deeper.

“She’s doin’ so good,” Tommy gushed.

“Mmmm,” you sighed as Joel pushed further, splitting you apart. The stretch burned again, and you flinched.

Joel paused, and you nodded, “It’s okay.” Tommy brought his hand between his body and yours, and when you were flush against him again, Tommy's warm, naked cock was pressed against your back.

Joel pushed forward again. He was biting his lip, and his face was getting red as he inched into you.

“Almost there,” Joel breathed. “Takin’ it so good, baby.”

Knowing you were good at taking his cock made you beam with pride.

“You gonna take all of me, baby?" Joel looked down at your stomach and muttered, "Oh, God."

"I can do it," you nodded.

“I think you’re gonna do it," Joel nodded back. He made one final push, taking up all the space you had, then his body was flush with yours. “Oh, ffuu--Oh, God." Joel pinched his eyes shut. "Ohhh,” he moaned with his cock fully sheathed in your tight little hole. Your walls twitched and you felt your core getting even wetter as it settled around his girth.

"Baby, you feel--ohh, so good, baby-" It looked like Joel was shaking with pleasure. A sweat had broken out on his brow.

"Both gotta breathe," Tommy reminded you.

Joel took a deep breath, then dipped his head to kiss you. Tommy was rock hard against your lower back.

“I love you inside me,” you whispered.

"Most beautiful place I ever been," Joel said.

Tommy stroked your arms, and you lifted a hand to tangle your fingers in Joel’s hair. Joel kissed your neck, then began to rock into you. Tommy’s hips subtly lifted in rhythm, grinding against your back. His breaths became heavy.

Joel's face bore a look you'd never seen. “Oh, God, you feel good, baby–Ohh–so good.” Joel rocked in short pulses, and each passing moment, you felt a little more relaxed. His cock was huge inside you. It felt even bigger than you thought it could be.

“So wet for me,” Joel breathed. “Such a good girl.” He kissed you again, his lips pulling on yours. His cock stayed inside, gently rocking, keeping you full. Your insides felt snug around him.

“Fu—oh, baby–oh, shit,” Joel panted, agony spreading across his face.

“You can do it,” you whispered. “I want it.”

Joel nodded. “Ok, baby.” He let his hips rock a little faster, short little pushes, all the way inside. Then he took a deep breath and so did you. Tommy held onto your sides.

“Ohh God, baby. Ohh–Unnggghhh,” Joel began to pulse inside, filling you with warmth.

You moaned and sighed, and Tommy rutted against your lower back.

As Joel finished emptying himself, he gave you one last kiss, long, deep, and slow, moaning into your mouth as the last of his seed topped off the rest.

Joel was panting, and so were you. Tommy’s hips stilled against your back.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay? Gonna make sure you're alright," Joel said. As Joel pulled out, Tommy reached between you to adjust himself, tucking his massive hard-on back into his boxers.

Joel's cock retreated, dragging between your walls, then it fell out with a heavy bob. You felt empty for a moment. "Good girl," Joel whispered as your body drew itself back together. He backed down the bed. You began to close your legs, not wanting to feel so empty, but Tommy said, "Keep'em open" and nudged your knees outward again.

Joel lowered his head to look at your cunt. "So pretty, baby. Just gorgeous." He spread you open with his thumbs. "Oh, baby, you did so good." He thumbed your clit and when you twitched, you felt some cum trickle out. "Oh, yeah," he whispered, and thumbed it back into you. "Wanna come again?" He began to lower his mouth.

"Mmm," you thought about it, and he paused. "Maybe later. I feel sticky."

"Ok, baby." He gave your cunt a kiss and let you close your legs.

---

Joel took you to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and he smiled to himself when you both heard Tommy moaning. Your face heated up, and Joel whispered, “Uncle Tommy’s gotta come, too.”

After cleaning you up, Joel sat down on the lid of the toilet seat, and you stood between his knees. He helped you onto his knee. Your gaze went down his body, over his strong chest and its salt and pepper hair, down his soft stomach, and the other hair, to his softer, but still chubby cock. Joel’s eyes sparkled as he looked at you. He kissed you again. Then Tommy groaned, and Joel broke the kiss with a chuckle.

You went to bed nestled between the two of them.

Thank you for reading and tysm for your support 🖤

This was born when I got to thinking, what if uncle tommy was a virginity loss doula?

Same trio/AU:

Stuffing

Sweet little mess

Uncle Tommy Breeding fantasy drabble

There's a virgin section on my master list.

RECS: If you like these brothers sharing, a few of my faves include

I can be your pretty girl part 4 and part 5 (but the whole series) by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Liquid Gold and its prequel Two Hands to Hold by @gasolinerainbowpuddles MY ROMAN EMPIRE

Smack my b*tch up a raider AU by @milla-frenchy.

To freeze or thaw, a raider AU by joelscruff.

Bad Blood, Step Uncle Joel and Stepdad Tommy by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

#joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader x tommy miller #female reader #loss of virginity #cw dubcon #uncle tommy #toxicanonymity ☠️#cw degradation #virginity loss doula uncle tommy #joel miller smut #miller bros x reader #tommy miller smut #daddy!joel miller

1K notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 11 months ago

Text

FABLE OF THE DOG : 2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

Series Masterlist; Chapter: 1,

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol Use; Allusions to Attempted Suicide; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Parental Neglect; Angst and Fluff; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Possessive Behavior; Brat Taming; Extremely Bossy Old Man; Past Teenage Crush; Yearning and Longing Galore; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: This is a deeply, deeply unserious chapter, and I make no apologies—I was taken away by whimsy!!!!

Apologies however, for the French people slander, I went on a truly heinous date with a oui oui baguette loser last month. I’m still working through my anger.

Word Count: 13.4K

Read on AO3

2. Sugar, Not so Sweet

They appear at the break of dawn, the young man and the boy.

“How many heads’ve you got total?”

Joel appraises him, the fresh-faced look, a boy just crossed over into the cusp of manhood—though he’s large and strong and earnest in the eyes. He’d be a good hire, if not for—

He glances over at the young boy sitting on the bunk’s couch, snickering quietly with Ellie as his brother tries to barter a place for the two of them.

“Near to thirty large about now. We’re fixin’ to breed, but we’re pushin’ our limitations.”

“So you need hands,” he says eagerly.

“We do,” Joel returns slowly, chewing on the mint he’d plucked from out front. His stomach is in knots, has been since—days and days and days ago, last night, and so much worse now. There’s a sick heat settled deep that he doesn’t know how he’ll scourge out and quick.

“Listen, I know it’s unconventional, but—”

“Where’s his parents?” He tips his chin at the boy, and Ellie peers slyly over her shoulder at him. He’ll get hell for this later, he knows, she knows.

“Our momma’s down south—by way of Odessa. She cowboys during the summer too, and—”

Joel sits up in his seat. “Texas?”

“Come on, Texas,” Tommy slinks behind him, sneaking an arm over his shoulder to thump Joel roughly on the chest. “Just say yes.” He lets out a gruff sound masking a cough, fucking Tommy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ellie rise from the sofa and leave the bunk quietly with a parting pat on the boy's head.

“You’re from Texas, too?” The young man asks brightly, that look of hope in his eyes that Joel’s about to quash.

“We’re from Austin,” Tommy says from the coffee pot, his mustache spreading wide over a shit-eating grin. “Southerners way up here, we gotta stay united amongst all these Yanks’,” his brother puts on the drawl heavy, and Joel rolls his eyes. Clown.

“Listen, Henry,” he says, trying to turn the conversation back to business. He looks at the boy again, the back of the small head bent and silent and something that could, perhaps, be thought of as guilt pulses through him, but to be honest, there’s so much of that moving about Joel’s system right about now, that it’s just one more drop of poison filling his cup. It doesn’t matter. He needs to do what’s right.

For who? He can’t very well tell yet.

“I’m sure you’re a hard worker, son, and I’d not hesitate to give you a place were we in different circumstances, but I just don’t see how this would work—”

Henry leans forward in his chair too, ready to plead his case, fight for his brother and the generously paying jobs the Kelly’s are famous for. There’s something about the boy newly turned man that reminds Joel of himself. Perhaps during that young and fragile youth of his twenties, when he’d been alone with a newborn baby, trying to figure out the whole world and himself.

“I know it’s unconventional, but he’s a good kid. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, and it’d only be for the summer, sir. We head back down for the start of the school year. It’s difficult, but it’s harder for my momma to get work with a kid than it is for me.” He trips over his words with the speed at which he’s spitting them at Joel, trying to convince him, and he knows that the fair thing would be to take them in. To give this man a chance the way Joel had been given one so many years ago, the mercy of safe harbor. But he’s got a finite amount of goodness in him now, he’s got to save it all for only one person. There’s none left for anyone else. And Joel doesn't want trouble, he’s got enough of that around here right about now. “He’s got his books and his summer worksheets, and he knows how to manage on his own while I work. I swear, he won’t be in any sort of way. You can—”

And then, amidst the young strangers' rambling plea, Joel's heart falls through his stomach. Here comes that trouble anyways.

“What’s going on here?” In that soft, lovely voice that haunted his dreams last night.

All the cowboys rise from their seats at the sound of your presence.

From over your shoulder, Joel sees Ellie’s face twisted in a grimace at him, the flash of her middle finger and then her tongue.

“Goddamnit, Ellie,” he growls low.

You look exhausted, eyes red rimmed and swollen—as if you’d been crying all night, and Joel’s tongue is a swollen, poisoned thing in his mouth—a husk of guilt is all he is. He swallows convulsively, trying to find his words, trying to not scream at the thought of being what’s made you cry, trying not to look down the length of you and failing. Silky sleep shorts end way too high up on the long length of those too pretty thighs, an oversized pullover with Yale emblazoned across the front, a little hole at the neck and a large dark stain marr the front of it. You’ve got on a too big robe, dark and plaid, draped over your shoulders with your hair all a mess. He can see Ellie’s trying to pull it into some semblance of a braid behind your back discreetly while you stare at him with those eyes that, and he’s being damn honest now, fucking terrify him. Those puffy, ridiculous tan boots women wear, the impractical ones that become a sogging mess in the snow or wet despite the fact he understands they’re supposed to be worn in winter, are on your feet, two mismatched socks peek out above the tops.

He’s pretty sure one of them has bombs with a capital ‘F’ in the tiny centers printed over it. The other, some sort of Easter bunny carrot print. Absolutely ridiculous, and he can’t help it, he notices it all.

And worst of all, in your grip is that World’s Best Dad mug you’d sent the old fucker for Christmas several years ago, a little holiday fuck you from his best daughter. It’d been one of the years he hadn’t let you come home for the winter break, forced you to spend the holiday alone at that boarding school of yours. The whole ranch had known and whispered about it, and he’d felt embarrassed and offended on your behalf, that they’d all gossiped about the girl you were behind your back when they should’ve respected you for the woman you’d become one day, the one that’d eventually pay all of their earnings.

And the jackass had the audacity to use the mug all the time afterwards. Joel was pretty sure it’d been his favorite.

“We were just wrapping up,” Joel says, clearing his throat, finally finding his voice. It’s almost physically painful to look at you directly in the eyes, and the heat of shame and regret claws its way up his throat at the hollow look he sees there. You’re so angry at him, and he deserves it.

“This is the new Kelly,” Ellie tells Henry, cutting him off, pressing you forward with her hands wrapped around your shoulders. Your shorts are way too short to be in here right now, and Joel feels something else, even hotter than shame, stirring inside him. “If you want work here, this is who you need to talk to. The big boss.”

“Miss Kelly,” Henry says reverently, pulling his cap off to press against his chest. “It’s a mighty fine honor gettin’ to meet you. I was just telling your foreman here,” he motions the cap towards Joel, and he feels like a bear who’s about to rip it out of his grip and stuff it down his throat. Fucking Ellie going and snitching on him. “How me and my brother Henry travel for the summer. I’ve got letters here, I’ve worked at the King before, and have a number your man can call if he needs more references. I’ve got lots of experience and—”

“What will you do with him?” Your gaze is on the little boy, has been the entire time. Joel steps forward and over the back of the couch he sees the kid, Sam, has a comic book in his lap he’s been reading this whole time, while adults who should have no bearing on his life decide what will and will not be for him. “While you work—”

Joel looks back at you, and he knows already what it’ll be.

Henry’s smile is wide and gleaming, putting on the charm. What he doesn’t see, what Joel does, is that bleak sadness in your gaze that he’d put there himself last night. He needs to speak with you, to explain, to make it right between the two of you.

“He’s good at entertaining himself. I promise he won’t be in the way or nothin’. He’s got books and summer work, and he’s learning to play the guitar. He won’t be in the way,” Henry says again.

“What about school?”

“We only travel during the summer. We’re back in Texas for the school year.” And at that, you finally look back at Joel, and his heart shoots from his belly to his throat, ready to be spit up at your feet.

You watch him for a long searing moment, and there's such sadness there. He doesn’t know what would have been better, what would have been the correct recourse, how to make that look go away. To give you what you want? To do what he thinks is right or what should be right? He’d never thought, never considered anything like this. It’s all too much too fast, and he feels suddenly lost and childlike in the face of you and all you stand for.

“They stay,” you say only for Joel.

Henry lets out a whoop of victory, rushing forward to thank you profusely, but Jesse, who’s standing by the door, blocks his rush forward with a hand to his chest before he can get too close to the new boss. You’re for protecting now, above all else, it’s the unspoken word they all suddenly understand keenly.

You stare solemnly at Joel for only a second longer, those sleep sloped doe eyes, before you’re turning without another word.

“He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.”

The cricket song is a symphony of sound around the two of you, and you’re suspended for a second, he sees it come on—a rose hued haze, and then blink-of-an-eye donning a look that spells nothing but disaster. He’s thrown off course by it for a single second, that girl fantasy glow, before you’re launching yourself at him, and then it’s nothing but a soft wet mouth, smoked fruit and fired oak, the slick of your tongue against his bottom lip as you kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

He’s a frozen solid husk, eyes wide open as he stares down at the look on your face—something like agony. The tiny frown between your eyebrows, concentration, and a single diamond tear caught in the web of your lashes, and he can’t help but notice the soft press of your breasts against his chest, you’re not wearing a bra, before he’s shoving you back by the shoulders, scrambling to get as far away from you as quickly as he can.

His back hits the railing before he can get far enough. “What the fuck are you doing?” He spits, but can’t help but lick his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting where you’ve just been.

His stomach is suddenly hot.

You swallow convulsively, bleary eyed look turning to hurt, pressing your palm to your belly, twisting your fingers in the fabric of your sweater there. “I don’t— I didn’t—” Your eyelashes flutter shut, closing the hurt, confused look away from him for one blessed second. You press your other palm to your forehead, gripping yourself as if you’re trying to hold your very skin together.

What do you think you’re doing? He enunciates each word like the lash of a whip, and then licks his lips again to soften those same blows for himself.

Something is about to go inexplicably wrong here. Something already has. A tragedy worse than the death of a father

“I just thought that—” You blink your eyes open and they’re wet, and he’s about to bark at you to not fucking cry or he’ll lose it completely, but he swallows it or loses the thought to madness. He feels incomprehensibly insane, inconceivably triggered.

This is like nothing he’d ever imagined, and it tilts him on his axis, skews his vision, headlights blinding you in a dead-on collision.

What are you doing—thinking?

“I— I watched you grow up. I watched you—” You take an anxious step towards him, some word on your lips he can’t even make out because his hearing has gone out, and now he’s all of a sudden deaf in both ears instead of just one. He hardens his voice further. He makes sure you understand. “This is fucking wrong, and you need to get away from me right now,” reversing his movements, taking a threatening step forward, stomping his heavy boot against the floorboards beneath so that you’re jumping, skittering backwards like a frightened little rabbit.

And Joel, the beast, crushing her beneath his foot.

You wrap both of your hands around the delicate column of your throat; he imagines you’re holding in your hurt sounds, and it makes him even angrier.

“Listen to me—” he starts again.

But you cut him off, shaking your head, the confused sleep-look being blinked away so that now it’s spitting fire that is awake and angry in your gaze. “But you didn’t,” you say. “You barely know me. We’re almost strangers.” A scoff, and then switching again to soft, to girl-like, to hurt: “And I’m all grown up now, Joel.”

“I don’t know what you reckon is happenin’ here between us. Or what you think— what you—” He looks away, can’t bear the sight of it, you, fuck, he spits, again, fuck. “If I gave you the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but—”

Then in a broken little voice grasping for straws, “But we were born on the same day,” and you say it like a question. Like it should mean more. Like, and he realizes it now, like it means the world.

He turns back to look at you, and he feels full of everything but mercy—too much regret. “And what? What do you think that means? That we’re connected—meant to be?” His voice sounds full of cruelty. “Don’t be delusional. It’s also the day my daughter died. D’you know that?”

A blink. “What?”

“She died on my thirty-fourth birthday.”

Again. “But… Wh—at?” Broken up word, and your chin does a little wobbling dance, jutting this way and that, and you have a dimple in your cheek that comes out when you’re happy, but also when you’re sad. When you’re about to cry. He sees it now, and starkly.

He’s ruining something sacred.

Joel steels himself. “Whatever it is you’ve made up in your mind about us, it’s a fantasy. Something not real that you need to let go of. Are you hearin’ me?”

“I— I think…” You won’t stop blinking, your hands look like they’re about to strangle you, and he steps forward as if to stop you or save you from yourself. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

But instead of saving, “Why would I? Why would I ever tell you that?” He does not want to hurt you, and yet he cannot help it, and Joel wonders if this is how your father felt every time he failed you—like a lesser man. “Wasn’t for you to know—it doesn’t mean the same thing to us.” That day. He makes himself clear: “Whatever child’s fantasy you’re still holding onto, you need to let it go.”

He rushes out of the bunk after you, a growled, you little shit, at Ellie as he passes her.

“Man, what’d you fuckin’ do?” She calls after him in that tone that tells him that of course she knows what’s happened. You two’ve never been able to keep a single thing from each other. Asshole! She shouts at his back as he catches up to your slowly retreating form. Your movements are sluggish, exhausted.

He calls your name and tries to moderate his tone from being as aggressive as he feels right now. “We gotta talk.” He follows after you, hot on your heels and then jumping back like a scared mut when you spin around on your ridiculous boot to face him.

“Speak.” It’s a high-handed tone, that one. One that says he’s the grunt here, and you the queen, that you’d both forgotten it last night, but the battlelines are clearly drawn now. There’ll be no more forgetting.

And it’s all his fault.

“You can’t—” His heart thumps and thumps and thumps like a pitiful thing. “You can’t undermine me in front of the boys like that. There’s a reason I was saying no.”

“Which is?”

“That the kid’ll be in the way.”

And you flinch and Joel prays for a gun to the back of the skull. Fucking Christ, but this is difficult.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffs. “You know what I mean. This is hard work we do here. I don’t want the kid gettin’ hurt, I don’t want to be responsible for that. What goes on here is on me. The people who get hurt, it’s all on me, and I take that responsibility damn serious.”

You tilt your head at him in that queer, inspecting way of yours. The one he’d watched you pull like a weapon against your father so many times. He finds he hates it now, detests it, being wielded against himself. You ignore his words, “What was your arrangement here—with him? How did this work with the ranch?”

There has been that thought always, and obviously, of you as something higher, that symbol of the family or the safe haven this place has been for Joel. The not-respect he had for your father, but surely the understanding—you've always been all wrapped up in that. He's at times felt grateful for your existence, perhaps, in ways. That something as good, as better, as you could exist in the same world Joel exists in. Perhaps he’d admired you in ways, even as a young girl, for your goodness, your sincerity. But he finds now, at this look of disdain you’re wearing against him, that he hates the feeling of being less than you, of not being good enough to even stand in your presence.

He’s done wrong, marred it all in ugliness. He’s put himself in this position somehow, by hurting you, by confusing you, by wanting—

“I do what I need to, what the ranch needs. Whatever decision I need to make, I call it and it’s on me. Monthly reports to him and that was it. He understood that what happens out here is different to what can be told and sometimes you can’t plan for certain shit. He focused on the business, I focus on the ranch.”

By wanting what?

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take a long sip, humming. It’s all a taunt. Joel realizes, suddenly, and with painful clarity, that this has all been a grave miscalculation on his part.

As uncomfortable as it is for even him to admit, you are, and undeservedly, a person used to not being wanted, used to rejection. Joel understands this with the quick fire blink of an eye. And he has, in his shock, or— or… he doesn't know—instantaneous awakening—unintentionally alienated you, made an enemy.

I see, you murmur quietly coupled with a bitter cough of laughter that doesn’t sound anything like the sweet sound he’s used to hearing from you. Yes, a very bad mistake has been made indeed. “Well, you’re practically king here, aren’t you then? Quite the partnership the two of you had.” You smile wide, all bright teeth.

The coffee sloshes in the mug held in your unsteady hand, and he worries there’s something stronger in there too.

“Not at all. I’m just good at what I do.” He shoves fisted hands into his pockets, trying to keep patient. Trying not to throttle you, check your drink for himself.

“And is this how you’d like to continue going forward? I mind my own business, and you do as you please?”

He shakes his head slow, grinds the pulverized mint between his molars, “I want whatever you think’s best. You’re the Kelly now, after all.” You get a look on your face like you don’t like the sound of that at all, and he turns to spit the greens between his teeth, coughing roughly.

“Yeah, I’m sure of that,” you say with teeth bared, and then whipping your head away from him as if you can’t bear the sight of him a second longer. The coffee sloshes the other way, splashing against your wrist. He hopes it’s not burning you. “You know, you’ve got some fucking nerve, Joel. You—”

The robe—all of a sudden, saturated by the dark liquid, it grabs his attention. It’s in a plaid print, expensive looking, like something you’d see an older man wearing. A man’s robe? He cocks his head, “Whose robe is that?” Cutting your tirade short.

What? You spit, all sass, his stomach burns, turning to look back at him as if he’s gone idiotic, grown a second head. He feels a little bit like he’s in the process of doing so—wracked with growing pains. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s. Can you focus, please? I’m trying to have a fight with you right now.” And you scrunch your nose too adorably for him to find anything besides endearing. Certainly not intimidating.

He grunts, displeased.

“I know you don’t want to hear it—”

“Then keep it to yourself.” You turn, continuing on your way up to the house, coffee flies with your spin, boyfriend’s robe whipping out in your wake as he follows like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.

A little desperately, like a dog, too. A begging for scraps imitation game he hadn’t intended to play but feels obligated to now, and by his own doing.

“But I want to say—about last night…”

You turn on your heel out of nowhere again, and he stumbles to not rush head first into you, to not touch you.

The look on your face is all heartbreak. “Do you remember—when I was away at school—and I fell off the horse? When I came home with that broken arm and couldn’t get back on and you helped me? Do you remember that, Joel? How you reminded me how I was supposed to do it—”

He coughs, uncomfortable, shifting like that same scared dog. “You remember these things different than I do.” The words feel cowardly spilling from his tongue, but he should be honest. Shouldn’t he?

This is what he should be doing, isn’t it?

“I remember that you were kind. That you cared. That’s what I remember.” Your eyes are glossed again, and now it’s Joel that has to look away.

“I didn’t care. It was my job to serve your father. To do as he’d want me to. It was a responsibility.”

It’s happening again. A tale like any other you’ve too often heard. You know he’s not lying, and yet everything he says feels precariously close to it.

“Why are you being like this?” And you ask it very practically, like you really want to know, like you’ve asked the same sort of question to the same sort of figure before, and so now you’re extremely well practiced, an expert even.

“You remember these things differently. Wrong—That’s not how I meant any of it—whatever you’re thinkin’. It was just a kindness.”

“No, but I— but you…” That’s the point, you want to say, a kindness, but the words stick. You look away again, colored in shame, can’t bear the sight of him. “Maybe you’re right,” you whisper with that very remembered kindness of your lonely childhood thrown back in your face now. “Maybe I do.”

“Listen to me—I’d like for things between us to be— I’m not… I don’t now what to fuckin’ say to you.”

“Honey—” Dina calls from the porch, your father’s assistant, now yours by inheritance, you suppose. “We gotta go soon—gotta get you ready.”

“I have things to do with Dina. I don’t have time for you—for this. Do what you want, run it how you like,” the ranch, “But the kid stays. That’s final.”

You won’t look at him again, you decide. You’ll learn to want a new thing. You’ll learn to love a new thing.

If you had it in you, you’d laugh in his face.

Have you been in love with him? Probably not in any way that could’ve been called mature, it was the girl-fantasy of a neglected child latching on to a man who’d always seemed nothing but steady and kind.

So you’ll learn to grow up now, no choice left in the matter, let the fantasy go.

Despite your desire for debauchery and the three days of bad behavior you’d promised yourself, you’ve got shit to do.

An hour after your ridiculous non-conversation with the ridiculous man, you and Dina are stepping back out into the summer sunshine when your phone rings with a call from another ridiculous man for what promises to surely be another even more ridiculous conversation.

Jacopo.

You’d met through the friend of a friend at the party of someone or another in Monaco. Come from an Italian mother and a French father, you should’ve known he was going to be an arrogant asshole from the get go, but he’d been beautiful and momentarily distracting—things you knew you didn’t really want but told yourself would suffice. Really, all he was, was boring, the same as everyone else, wanting something from you without having to truly return anything in full.

Jacopo the jockey—sounds like a goddamn cartoon.

You liked to call him Jack, like he were the same sort of plebeian he saw all Americans as, and which he absolutely loathed with the sort of passion only an uppity French man could possess.

In the distance, you can see Joel, Frank and Bill propped up against the corral watching as Jesse runs Ellie atop a gorgeous chestnut Quarter. Sometimes she likes to compete, when she can get Joel to stop complaining about it for a second.

Dina makes her way towards them, “Tell them we’ll take the Ghibli,” you call after her to which she throws a thumbs up. At the sound of your voice he peers over his shoulder, finding your eyes immediately, catching there—fish on a burning hook. And then turns full around, leaning back to rest his elbows on the iron grate as you take French boys call, settling in to watch you.

“Hi, Jack, sweetie. How’s it hangin’?”

“I do not know what this means.”

Bore. “What do you want, Jacopo? I’m busy.”

“My love, we must speak. I have heard of your father. You should have call me, I will come to be with you now. Tell me where you are.”

“Why the hell would I want you to come be with me? We broke up. Remember?”

Joel watches you as the French idiot prattles on about how he loves you and how you need him and how the two of you belong together, blah blah. Odious man, you don’t know how you ever let him inside of you.

Across the lawn, he isn’t looking away, and his gaze burns where it touches. You feel—humiliated, hurt, rejected, so angry it’s a physical ache.

Not surprised.

Perhaps in some way, his rejection was what you’d wanted, had been looking for. Perhaps, it was your subconscious search for the easy way out. Because, and really, what else had you thought would happen when you’d thrown yourself at him half drunk? That he’d suddenly stop seeing you as the child he’d known you for always, take you as a woman, want you, fuck you right there on your newly dead father’s front deck?

Ridiculous.

You can’t even think about the birthday—about her. It’s a snipped lifeline, a crushed tether.

“Cherie, I must tell you I am feeling very neglected now by you. You don’t call. You do not love me no longer, or what is the problem?” More nonsense and really, this fuckin’ guy needs a boot in his ass pronto.

And the one still watching you—something even worse. He’s got his mangy brown cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, the one for the ranch, not the lovely dark one for escorting orphans to the funerals of dead fathers, and his jaw works the mint leaves you know he’s got between his teeth, slow and steady. You should hiss at him. Instead, your tummy smolders with heat and butterflies.

Stop looking at me, you horrible man, you want to shout.

Humming and hawing at the annoying voice coming through the phone, you smooth your palm over the silk of your dress. You’d wanted to look nice today, your first Kelly meeting. You wanted to look better than you feel, which is like shit, quite frankly.

There are tiny green paisleys patterned over the deep blue of the dress, a shock of dark red maroon for the cashmere knit of the cardigan tied over your shoulders, and a little silken kerchief wrapped around your throat, something from your mother’s things you’d gone through last night after Joel had ordered you to bed with your tail tucked between your legs and tears in your throat.

Twenty four years later, and your father still had all her things preserved in their bedroom as if she’d only stepped out for the afternoon. A veritable mausoleum right there in your house-not-home.

You’d never even stood a chance.

He watches you begin to pace across the deck, but the look on your face tells him you aren’t quite listening to whatever it is the person on the phone’s saying to you.

The gold and silver bangles that slide around your fine boned wrists jingle a song of temptation. Siren song, bird song, death march, something he’d follow with blind eyes, recognize deaf. And heavy gold and jeweled rings along your fingers that shine almost as bright as the spilled silk of your hair. Swathed in shades of jewel, you’re all woman, done up and ready to go out and devastate.

He doesn’t know how any man could ever look at you and not want you.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be the same from here on out.

“Who’s she talkin’ to?” He asks Dina, tipping his chin over at you. He can hear you raising your voice, something about you fucking French moron, and he doesn’t like the hunch he’s got about who it is.

“Boyfriend,” Dina says while she watches Ellie work the horse with hearts in her eyes.

“Thought he was an ex.”

She peers up at him suspiciously at that, a queer little smile tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. “Well maybe now that he knows how much she’s worth he’ll be coming back, huh?”

Joel swears all these fuckin’ women are conspiring against him, trying to send him to an early grave. “He steps foot on this ranch, and I’ll shoot him in the goddamn ass.”

She laughs, throwing her head back which inevitably draws Ellie’s attention. “You are literally so dramatic.”

“What’s he bein’ dramatic about now?” Ellie calls from behind, trotting up to the corral edge.

“Ohhh, nothin’. Just Joel being Joel. Right, old man?” Dina bumps her hip against his and he grunts, refusing to be goaded. He’s not being dramatic, it’s his responsibility to take care of you now, to watch over you.

That’s all.

“I’m never dramatic,” he tells them very seriously.

On the porch, the spat reaches a crescendo and they all turn to watch the show.

Why don’t you shove the whole Eiffel Tower up your ass, you fucking dipshit. And don’t you ever call me again!

“Little girl’s got a mouth on her,” Bill murmurs.

Ellie lets out a long whistle. Deserved, Dina adds. On the porch, you let out a strangled little screech, stomping the high heel of your boot as if you’ve got half a mind to throw a fit.

Joel feels hypnotized, speared through the gut.

He wants to know what the ex-boyfriend said. What his name is. Where he’s from and who he is and what he does and how he is and every single thing about him and how it was between the two of you.

He is suddenly desperate to know everything there is to know about you in a way that makes his throat feel swollen with guilt. In a way he didn’t ever think he’d want from you.

All the things you keep close, all the small intimacies that make you this person you are now, that’s what he wants.

You stomp down the steps, making your way towards them, eyes directly on his, and you’re too fucking beautiful for his own good, watching you feels like a sin.

Makes him feel in danger, like prey.

“All men should die,” you yell over.

See.

“I agree,” Dina says cheerfully.

“You know you can have a baby with the junk in your bones from another woman now,” Ellie adds helpfully.

“The junk in your bones?” Joel says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Yeah, like really we don’t even need you for shit anymore.”

“They should all be put in a hole in the ground in the middle of Nebraska and only be let out when a girl wants to bone.”

“To bone—Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie.”

“I love that idea,” you say, finally coming to stand right before Joel. He swallows hard, stays silent—feels like the cat’s finally caught his tongue.

“Why Nebraska?” Franks asks, puzzled.

He’s got to stop looking at you, he’s got to get away from the sight of your eyes, feels like the colors of you seem to pulse brighter, and he feels it all like a touch against his skin. He turns to look at Ellie over his shoulder and with a huge, shit-eating grin she says, “Cause who the fuck knows where fuckin’ Nebraska is, huh?” Her eyes flash to you and then quickly back to Joel, winking, cheeky, knowing. He feels the noose tighten.

They’re definitely conspiring against him.

The three of you cackle—at his expense.

“Where’re you two headed?” Bill asks with a frown when the three little hyenas settle.

“She’s got a meeting in Jackson,” Dina tells him. “First part’ll be quick—she’s just gotta kick some pushy jackass to the curb and tell him we’re not leasing mineral rights to him no matter how hard he begs or how much money he throws at us. Then…” she trails off, throwing you a worried glance, but your eyes are on the far off mountains now, and Joel watches a shaky swallow pass through your throat.

“Then we’ve got the will reading,” you say.

A sharp ache starts up behind Joel’s left eye, all the easygoing laughter of a few moments ago sucked away with a few words and a single reminder. That you’re not the girl you used to be, laughing and playing with Ellie, that your father is dead, that you have a world of responsibility to face now.

“You shouldn’t have to go all the way into town. They should be comin’ to you here.”

“I want to get out—see his office.”

“S’only been a few days, honey,” Frank says gently. “You should take it easy.”

“Thanks, Frank,” you reach out to squeeze his arm, flush of emotion across the bridge of your nose. “I’m okay, promise.”

Joel takes you in, in full. You’ve got something shimmery swept across the highs of your cheekbones and glossy lips, the fine grain of your skin—pristine like you're made of sugar and everything good in the world. The silky wisps of baby hair at your temples that look softer than anything he’s probably ever touched in his whole life. And you’re so beautiful it almost hurts the eye to look at you, beautiful in a way that makes men cower at the sight, like you’d be the strongest thing in the whole world. But he sees all the rest too. The delicate curves of your shoulders, the fine swoop of your collarbone and the quick-fire beat of your pulse beneath the fragile skin of your throat. There’s fear all around you in a way, a desperate sort of sadness.

He wishes there was more he could do for you, that he could bear the burden of all this entirely in your stead, that he could be all you need and want him to be without having to sacrifice his soul to give it to you.

Your eyes flash back to his, and he worries for a second that you can read his mind.

Behind you, Jesse pulls up with the sleek black of your father’s favorite car. Of course you’d choose this for today, bets you’ll find a way to turn it into a pretzel before the days end.

“Take Jesse with you,” he says low at your back as you turn for the car.

You look over your shoulder at him and his spine throbs. “No.”

Following you around the front of the car, he pulls the door open for you. “You’re not moving around alone anymore. He’s going. Jesse—” he whistles, “You’re going into town with Miss Kelly.”

“Yezzir,” he smiles with the sunny easiness only he possesses.

“Excuse me,” you turn to frown up at him, stomping your foot again, and you’re a little bit of a brat, he’s realizing. “There’s no room in the car for him. He can’t come.”

“He’ll take a truck,” he says, leaving no room for discussion, but then gentles his voice again, “Things are gonna be different now. You’re the Kelly, you can’t go on all gung ho about your new reality. You need taking care of. Can you not fight me on this, please?”

“What I need—”

“Is to be protected.”

You give a delicate little huff through your nose that he finds to be just about the cutest damn thing he’s ever seen in his whole life. “Then it’ll be my choice how and who.”

“It’s easier if you just do as I say.” Grasping, grasping, praying for patience.

“You overbearing d—”

“You’ll be okay meeting this jackoff? Don’t need me to come with you?”

You glower at him.

“I’m bein’ serious with you. I know you’re capable,” he puts his hands out, palms up in a conceding gesture, “But this is new, and there’s no shame in asking for support.”

At that, you get a confused little pinch between your brows, softest rose shaped mouth he’s ever seen—felt—all pursed up, and he thinks it’s wrong now, trying to be sweet to you after last night, looking at you this way and seeing the things he’s seeing. He should stay away, go away forever, find a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere to bury himself in like you’d said, but he worries now, and quite desperately really, that he won’t ever be able to leave your side again after all this.

“I have Dina.”

“I know, but—”

“Can you please just… not. I think— I think it’s better if we just steer clear of each other. If I need something,” you look away now, hazy look from last night back in your gaze again, like you’re remembering, like you’re wanting something else he’s not willing, not capable of giving, “I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can focus on what’s important to you.”

Gut punch.

He soldiers on, can’t help it.

“You feelin’ alright?”

Your eyes flit back to him for a fleeting second and there’s honesty in your gaze now, maybe something extremely vulnerable too, and then shuttering again, looking away again. He’d demand your gaze if he had the right, insist you tell him everything there is to know with just your eyes if you were his.

But really, he’s got no right to ask anything.

So instead, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs, praying you don’t say him.

What’s wrong? A laugh and—nothing. Like your father isn’t dead, like he hadn’t hurt you as he had last night, like you’re looking for answers etched into the mountains or the sky. You bring your thumb to your right temple and his own aches in response, digging there for some unseen pain to be gouged out. “Tired—was having bad dreams.” Your voice sounds full of air, and you’ve got a huge emerald on your ring finger, an even larger turquoise stone beside it, other hand is covered in a row of opals—you’re a treasure of a girl, all the way inside and out, and it’s like he’s staring at a work of art, knowing that if he were to touch, it’d all be ruined. Your voice full of air floats in his bad ear and booms out the good one full of forlorn want.

It feels like you’re the only two people left in the whole of Wyoming, standing here together under the sweet sun, maybe the whole world, and he’s ridden in guilt, wants to tell you he’s sorry again, beg or something, and thinks that God should give you the chance to rewind time when you’ve made someone feel this bad without meaning to.

You whisper at the Tetons, and he’s all but forgotten, “I feel a little bit like I’m the real nightmare.”

“You couldn’t ever be, sweetheart,” he tells you and means it with his whole heart.

It’s all agony swimming in your eyes, and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to take you into his arms right here in front of everyone. You need more than protecting, it’s clear, you need caring for, you need loving—the sort of something he can tell you’ve never had in your whole life.

“Ready to go, honey?” Dina calls from the other side of the car, her canoodling with Ellie finally come to a pause.

You’re snapped out of your reverie, looking down at your feet, impractical boots again, these ones sexy and tall and not for his admiring, blinking away the wash of heat that’s bloomed across the bridge of your freckled little nose.

“Did she eat?” He asks Dina over your head.

“Ehhhhh, but I brought a smoothie,” she pulls out a thermos from her large bag and smiles all beaming and large.

“A smoothie ain’t food. Get something else in town.”

“You're so prepared,” Ellie sighs dreamily beside her.

“You’re annoying me,” you grouch at him, tossing your bag into the backseat, sliding into the luxuriously leathered interior as he shuts the door gently behind you, bending down to brace his palms against the open window.

“Drive careful. Call me if you need anything.”

“You’re kinda a helicopter mom. You know that, Joel?” Dina tells him with that sweet smile of hers.

“Do not entertain his nonsense,” you snap.

“She’s just grumpy because Vogue France posted a piece on her and the funeral—the heiress to watch, they’ve called her.”

“I don’t know who they think I am—Kendall fucking Roy? This isn’t HBO, it’s my goddamn life.”

“It’s fine, drink your smoothie, here,” Dina soothes.

“I don’t got a clue what any of that means,” Joel says. “And do up your belt,” frowning at you and pulling away just in time when you speed off with half the admonishment still on his tongue

The bar is loud and sweaty and crowded enough there’s room for your spite, which he knows, is all this night out is.

The day had gone from terrible to horrible to heinous, and he’s officially reached his limit now. You’d returned from your late morning in Jackson toting a gray cloud that’d settled over the entire ranch and everyone in it. All work had come to a slow and grinding halt, the mood morose, knowing that the lady of the manor was grieving and angry.

And then a few hours into the evening, you, Ellie, and Dina had spun into the bunk, already giggling on drinks he was certain were too sugary and way too strong to end in anything good. Looking to rile up the boys into heading back to Jackson and finding a bar to terrorize.

And so here he now finds himself, stepping through the door of The Mushroom, ridiculous name for a bar if anyone asked him, eyes searching for the gleam of your hair, that tiny fucking outfit you’d draped yourself in. You were hunting for trouble, to aggravate him, trying to hurt him with your, you’re not invited, Joel—no one wants you to come.

Angry, angry as a spitting fire.

He’d felt like shit about himself and your upset for a second, and then had thought: Well, are you going to cowboy up, Joel? Or just lay here and bleed?

Now, there’s something sick in him that wants more of it, to take everything you’ve got to give, to see how far you can go, to push you just a little bit further too.

A masochist, is what he reckons he might actually be.

He finds Ellie’s bent head whispering into Dina’s ear, giggling and dragging her fingertips up the other girls bare arm, and he feels a thump of fondness for the two—happier than he can say that they’ve finally worked it all out after months of their will-they-won’t-they struggle.

Making his way over to them, he catches Frank in the distance, dancing to the countryfied Abba cover of Chiquitita the local band’s currently playing while Bill stands nearby, serious and menacing, keeping anyone from getting too close to his partner.

No sign of you, and the backs of his knees itch and burn.

“Where is she?” He demands when he reaches Ellie at their place against the bar.

“Oh, dude. She’s gonna be soooo pissed.”

“Where, Ellie?”

Get you anything to drink, sugar? The bartender calls and Joel shakes her away, panic thumping in his gut the longer he doesn’t have eyes on you.

Dina knocks her head towards the end of the L-shaped bar, closest to the throng of dancing patrons, and there in the last seat and partially obscured by someone’s shoulder and ridiculously feathered hat, you sit.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Can you please just leave her alone. She needs to blow some steam off.”

“Yeah, Joel, we’re watching her,” Dina adds, always the peacekeeper.

Or blow someone, Ellie adds in a snicker, and he gives her a death glare. “You need to quit the asshole act,” she tells him, purposefully thunking her beer hard enough on the bartop that some of it sloshes over the lip of the bottle onto his hand braced against the edge.

Real mature.

“Changed my mind,” he tells the bartender when she heads back their way, “Shot of Jameson.”

Beside him, Jesse appears, beer in hand as he leans against the bar to watch you also. “That might just be the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my whole life, honest to God,” he sighs wistfully.

Joel sees red—this is just too much. “Quit fuckin’ lookin’ at her,” he snaps.

Ellie snickers knowingly, and Frank and Bill join the group, picking up on the topic of conversation.

“That little girl can drink a grown man under the goddamn table,” Bill says.

“And looks good as hell doing it too—”

“Eyes off, you little shit,” Joel sends a threatening glance at Jesse again.

Ellie ignores them both. “He’s a finance bro or some shit—from New York—here to play cowboy dress up with the group he’s with. Nothing I can’t handle, and you need to cool it and leave or have a drink and let her have fun.”

“She’s vulnerable right now, Ellie—”

“Yeah, you would know.”

Joel’s turn to do the ignoring, “And she needs someone to watch her back.”

“I’m fuckin’ watching it, man. You’re so annoying, and I’ll have you know that—” The fucker’s got a thick lock of your long hair trapped between his probably manicured fucking fingers, smoothing it between his thumb and index and then looping it around and around, drawing you in closer.

Joel’s about to start howling.

You’ve done something to him, knocked something askew inside him, and he needs you to set it back to rights. Let him out of this saw trap he’s been caught in.

The man says something that has you throwing your head back in an overly eager laugh, loud and melodic in the most hypnotizing sort of way, meant to draw the eye or seduce or send his gut to twisting and aching.

Ellie’s saying something about how you need to have fun, how you need to find yourself, and all Joel can think is that he can be the one to give you that, to help you do all that while still making sure you’re alright, taken care of.

Over the wannabe cowboy’s shoulder, he sees your eyes land on him, and you give him one of those serenely beautiful smiles he knows means he’s about to lose his fucking mind and cause a scene.

A provocation of a smile is what it is.

You cross one long leg over the other, a flash of hot pink his eyes can’t help but flash to beneath the obscene hem of your skirt and lean in to whisper something, glossy lips right at his ear, and a tick starts up below Joel’s left eye. The fuckwit pulls you in closer, and you tip into him, hand on his shoulder—your eyes never leave Joel’s, and then you’re pulling him off the barstool and leading him into the throng of dancing people. He’s desperate to know what the back of your hot pink underwear looks like—string of lace wedged between the cleft of your ass, or silk wrapping around the full cheek like a perfect present? The man pulls you into himself, spinning you around, and you’re made up of blues and purples and pinks, shimmering like something that shouldn’t exist here amongst all the rest of them. Slinky little top made of silk like water and sparkles, your cheeks, flushed with drink or heat, but he’ll tell himself it’s because of him, because you’re still angry at him, thinking of him, and it soothes the tempest that’s brewing in his gut.

He spins you towards himself, the man Joel’s about to beat senseless, shooting the Jameson without really tasting anything but the insane jealousy souring to irrational fury on his tongue, it pulses in his throat once, twice, and the fucker tugs you into himself again by a handful of your ass in that too short skirt and sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel slams the glass on the bartop, not seeing red anymore, something like dark spots now, he’s so fucking pissed off.

Ellie yelps his name, her and Jesse scrambling after him, but they’re too late and he’s there already, pulling you away, and gently because he might be feeling a little bit like a demon right now, but he knows what you are and how to handle you no matter what—and slams his fist into the fuckers nose, the satisfying crunch of broken bone and a pathetic cry sounds as he hits the sticky bar floor. The people around peer over in nothing more than mild curiosity, this is a cowboy bar after all.

He watches the man for a second, making sure he stays down, and then turns to look at you and isn’t at all surprised when he finds that look of victory on your face.

“Ready to go?” Voice all sweet innocence.

You’re going to kill him.

Spinning around on the toe of your boot, the hem of your little skirt flutters with your movements and he catches a flash of cheek, mystery of your panties still unsolved.

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?” Ellie snarks as they pass the group of them.

He chooses to ignore that observation. “Don’t stay out too late. And let Bill drive back.”

Following you out into the night, he tries to take control of himself, to lie away the heat he feels sitting heavy in his stomach.

He wishes he had a mint leaf to pulverize between his molars, he wishes he could pull you over his knee and spank your ass for being such a bad girl. And looming behind you, he knows you’re not even a little bit intimidated by his size as you dance and prance across the parking lot towards his truck.

“I know you’re ticked off because of last night and today, but you can’t lash out just because you’re angry with me.”

All he gets in response is that head-thrown-back wind chime laughter—the real one, which is something.

“You need to stop misbehaving,” he breathes down your neck.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will,” you singsong.

“Are you drunk?” Refusing to be distracted, he’s going to stand strictly on business, he promises himself.

You spin around again—always catching him off guard and pissing him off—hooking yourself on his shirtfront, pulling yourself into him like you’re trying to dance some fucked up dance he doesn’t know the steps to.

“Not at all.”

“You need to not be touching me right now,” he warns, the threads of his control dangerously close to snapping, walking you backwards without putting his hands on you. Chest to chest, he feels like he could breathe fire if he really set his mind to it.

“Yes, sir,” you say sweetly, dragging your palms down his chest and belly before letting him go, skipping ahead of him, humming an off-key rendition of whatever kitschy, poor excuse for a country song they’d been playing at the end in there.

The even poorer excuse for a skirt bounces along the curve of your ass, driving him fucking mad—he’s goig to have a heart attack, he’s middle aged, he can’t handle this shit anymore—you.

Stop that, he growls.

“God, you don’t like anything—you’re no fun,” you pout.

Coming to the truck, he yanks the door open for you. “Get in the damn truck.” And he makes sure to turn away and not ogle your ass as you hop in, his palm hovering in the vicinity of your elbow if you need him.

The prospect of an hour and a half of the dark drive and the scent of your musky sweet perfume and sweat soaked skin has his heart pounding. When he pulls his door open, you’re turned in your seat expectantly waiting for him, folded knees up on the seat and pink triangle right there to taunt him.

“Sit right—put on your seatbelt.”

“You’re so bossy.” An exaggerated sigh and your voice is so fucking sassy, a tiny bit of a needy whine threaded through it, he feels his patience snap.

Grabbing hold of your damp cheeks he squeezes hard enough to force your full mouth into a pout and giving your head a little shake he says, “And you need managing, little girl. Put your fucking belt on, or I’ll put it on for you.”

Eyes all pupil and gone blurry, you lick your lips and he can smell the sweet fruit scent of your breath. He groans, pushing you back—mistake, mistake, putting his hands on you at all—and peels out of the parking lot, and he is not hard in his jeans for you.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask after several moments of forced silence.

“No.”

“Not even for last night?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it either.”

“Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”

Jesus, he mutters. “There’s nothing to discuss—already told you what I think and how it’s going to be and that’s final. You need to let it go, you hear me?”

You give a little groaning screech through your clenched teeth, turning away from him, still not wearing your goddamn seatbelt, never doing as he says.

Toeing your boots off roughly, the little skirt hitches high enough on your thighs he catches a glimpse of the smooth glowing skin of your hip, eyes trying to watch the road and your thighs at the same time.

“You’re horrible,” you say through a grimace, but your voice cracks a little bit at the end, and you’ve still got your face turned away so that he can’t tell if he’s made you cry or not now.

“Are you cryin’?” He demands.

“No,” you sniffle, wiping your cheek on a lifted shoulder

“Yes you are, liar.” Fuck—fuck, fuck.

“Well you’re bein’ mean,” you whine, finally turning to look at him again, and you’re all rose glow, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy, lips red as a cherry.

No man should be tested like this. It’s wrong—unnatural.

He tries to gentle his voice and steady the pounding of his heart, pressing down on the gas, wishing the road would disappear from beneath the tires of the truck and that he could have you home and away from him already. “Not bein’ mean, sweetheart. Just—just…” He sighs, “Goddamnit, just don’t how how to handle you,” he curses, losing the grasp on his gentleness.

“See—you are angry with me!” A tear slips down your cheek, and Joel’s mouth waters.

His heart kicks up another notch, hypnotized, “You make me fuckin’ crazy—is that what you wanna hear?”

“Yes.” You turn full in the seat to face him, bent knees against the center console block his view of the apex of your thighs. Fucking Christ.

“Sit right. You’re flashing your bits,” he tries and fails to focus on the road.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I want you to see them, stupid.”

Jesus. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Only one High Noon.”

“The hell is that? And quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” Your knees shift against each other, and he’s gripping the steering wheel so tight he feels like he could rip it out of the dash.

“You fuckin’ know like what.”

“Well if you hadn’t been such a cock block earlier, I’d be looking at someone else like this right now.”

And the teasing is too much. The bare legs and the tiny skirt and the hair and the lips and the sound of your voice, the kiss last night replaying in his mind over and over and over again like some lovesick taunt, the look of hurt he’d put on your face and the idea of you bare and slick, taking some other man that isn’t him. It’s too much.

He jerks the truck roughly onto the road shoulder and into the grass, wheels spinning and gravel flying. Joel—you squeal, being jostled in your seat so that all he can see are soft thighs and pretty tits bouncing in his peripheral. He puts the truck in park, ripping his seat belt off, reaching over to tug you roughly forward by the nape, his fingers twisting in your hair in a hold he knows is too hard for something so delicate, his other hand grips below the bend of one knee squeezing hard.

“If you think I’m gonna let you spread your legs for anyone fucking else—” he growls.

“Anyone else?” You laugh in his face, eyes spinning with something a little maniacal.

He thought he’d been worried for his soul, that taking you would be the undoing of everything he’d tried so hard to mend back together after Sarah. And really, he had tried so hard—to be good, to be better, to atone for all he’d not done before her, all he’d done after her. He’d tried to make himself into something that was respectful of her memory and the second chance Kelly had given him.

But right here, and again because anytime he looks at you, is within a mile of your vicinity, it feels like you’re the only two people on the whole goddamn planet, he doesn’t think he really gives a fuck for being good or atoning or souls at all. Not even a little bit.

He follows your lead from last night and kisses you, is sure to take your tongue this time. Forcing his thumb and forefinger between the line of your molars, he presses down hard enough to hurt the baby soft skin, spreading your jaw open wide so that he can lick into your mouth deep and wet. He wants to scare you, cow you, intimidate you into behaving with this hunger that seems to swallow him whole—remind you that he’s let you have your fun thus far, but the both of you know who’s playing games and who’s not.

You let out a shocked little gasp onto his tongue, fingers twisting in the fabric over his shoulder, and he tightens his grip under your knee, tugging you just that little bit further forward, and when he pulls back to look at you, spit slick, swollen mouth and wide eyes, tits about to spill out of your top, you push his face away roughly, dragging your nails down the skin of his cheek with a tiny snarling growl.

Spoiled little brat.

“Don’t be fuckin’ childish,” he snarls back, and pulls you roughly over the console and into his lap.

“I can’t stand you,” you pant, settling above him, coming in to kiss him again, and he can’t deny it anymore. He’s hard as fuck for you.

You moan into his mouth, high and throaty at the same time, girlish little sigh at the end that has him gripping your hip tightly, trying to stop himself from thrusting up against you.

“Can you taste him?” You lick his tongue. “He kinda looked like you, didn’t he? That’s why I chose him.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He’s going to stop this now, at any moment. He’s going to push you away and tell you this is wrong and that the two of you can’t do this.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your tits high against his chest and grinding your lace covered little cunt against his cock.

He groans into your mouth, pushed straight over the edge and free falling, cupping your ass to lift you off of himself a little bit, he just needs a second, before he takes a breath and presses you back down harder, rolling your hips against his lap. Little animal sounds, an ah, ah, ah and an oh, coupled with his mewled name. Cupping the soft of your ass in the palms of his hands, his calluses scrape against silken skin, and you fit him as if he’d dreamt you up just for himself; perfectly lush curves he can squeeze as hard as he wants because you’re not getting away from him now that he’s caught you in his snare. He drags his fingertips up the roundness of your asscheeks, and the mystery’s solved, it’s a thong. Catching the lace between his fingers he pulls the flimsy string upwards and tight against your pussy, a pained moan when he pulls even harder, making sure the fabric digs against your skin.

He knows if he cups you there you’ll be wet for him, for him, no one else but him. Knows he could bend you face first over the console, pull the soaked lace aside and suck on your wet little clit, make you come in his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans.

Joel, Joel, Joel, you hum in a dream voice.

He can feel two little dimples at the low of your back, imagines what they’d look like with his thumbs gripped there as your ass takes his cock.

He can’t say it enough—he feels fucking insane.

“Touch me,” you beg, sliding and pressing against him, long hair like water slipping all over and against him too.

Oh my God, he whisper moans when you spread your knees as wide as the seat allows, rocking your hips in short little hitches against the ridge of his cockhead. He knows your little clit is right there, cunt a knot of indescribable heat against him, and you pull your mouth away from his, letting your head fall back, hair a tangled curtain. He drags his nails back down your ass hard enough he hopes he’s leaving marks, leaning forward to lick along the salt tracks of your tears, watching you use him.

“Do not fucking come,” he orders. He can’t—he can’t watch you do it and not be inside you when it happens, and the two of you absolutely cannot take this that far.

He pulls your hips up again, forcing your movements still and you huff at him, whining.

“We gotta stop.”

Noooo. “No, Joel. Please,” you cry, trying to pull yourself towards him—your mouth is so swollen—trying to escape his hold and get what you want for yourself.

Grasping at the last vestiges of his sanity, “Fuck— No. No more.” He lifts you off his lap and back into your seat, sitting back to press himself against the door and adjusting the throbbing erection in his jeans, so hard it’s making him a little nauseous. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to stuff his cock inside of you right here and now. He tucks the thick head up under his waistband, trying to find any sort of momentary relief.

There isn’t enough oxygen in this truck. He needs air, space, to taste you.

“Fine,” prim little nose in the air. You stretch one leg out across the console to dangle over his groin and let the other drop to the cab floor. “That’s fine—I’ll just take care of it myself then,” you tease provocatively, fingertips dragging up the inside of your thigh.

He shoots forward to stop your movement, gripping your wrist in a vice—baby bird bones beneath his fist, and you moan at his touch like the little wanton he’s coming to realize you are, writhing in your seat. “Don’t you fucking dare. I swear to God I’ll put you over my knee.”

“Jokes on you, I’d like that shit,” you sass back, ripping your wrist out of his hold, little socked foot kicking towards his face. He catches it, holding it in his grip and squeezing. “And I don’t really care if you’re not mad at me because I’m mad at you.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” and the mood changes, smolders into something more serious, more honest.

“Why didn’t you go today? The lawyer asked you to—” You’d wanted to find him as soon as you’d gotten home earlier, demand he give you an explanation. Cowardice had won over that desire, and going out to find a drink and a replacement man had seemed the easier alternative.

“Wasn’t my place.” Spreading his thighs wider in his seat to accommodate himself, he presses his hips forward, and you can make out the heft of his cock beneath his jeans—your belly twists all full of heat and bubbles.

“Did you know he was leaving you something?”

He laughs a bitter bark of a laugh. “No—never thought—” the words die in his throat and he stares out the window, lost to the memory of your father. “No, I didn’t think he was leaving me anything before I got the call.”

“It’ll make a good nest egg.”

“Don’t want it.”

He won’t turn to look at you now, and you know that this conversation in the aftermath of touching you shames him.

“You’re taking it. You don’t have a choice.” His eyes flash fire at you and then flit away. “He had all your banking information, it’s probably already there.”

Fucking Christ, he spits the murmured curse, bracing his elbow against the curve of the steering wheel, cupping his palm over his mouth as if to keep his anger and frustration in. The bulge of his bicep beneath his dark hoodie distracts you for a moment.

You’d spent enough time watching him over the years that you’d learned all the things you knew he tried to hide in plain sight. That gentleness, that patience, that heart—that he is an inconceivably good and honest man. Things that are ultimately impossible to hide.

Your eyes flash to the temple where a gristle of scar tissues is slashed across his skin. The meaning behind a scar like that, coupled with his bad ear and his green eyed photograph—it’s hard to hide. People can always tell when you’ve tried to kill yourself, you know.

Which all goes to say—and you’re quite certain of this—that yes, the two of you are strangers, in ways, but in others, or in your own way, you know this man. You understand his nature. You know he wouldn’t have ever wanted it—that he does not want it and never will. He isn’t the sort of man who’d ever look a million dollars in the eye and feel moved by them.

His humanity means more to him than his life, you’d heard Tommy say about him once to your father when you’d been an eavesdropping little girl. You hadn’t understood at the time, but now you do.

The dark pullover and jeans, incongruously boyish, the scuffed boots—he’s so himself and so fucking hot and you want him so, so badly, and looking at him sitting here now, gorgeous, hair mused by your fingers, and your slick smeared across his jeans—you look down at your own twisted fingers in your lap, a little ashamed now too—and you can’t fathom why or how he’d ever look at you and feel moved by the likes of you either.

You’re ashamed that you’re even angry at him for it at all, resentful of this gift your father has given him when really it is not only resentment, maybe not even truly that at all. More so, it’s a complicated mixing pot of feelings that these two men seem to have always been twisted up into knots together inside of you. Resentful, not because you don’t want him to have it. You want him to have everything he deserves or could ever think to want and more, but perhaps, because this was the final nail in the coffin scrap of proof that your father had cared about him in a very real way that you’d never experienced—in a way that was entirely Oswald Kelly’s own choice and not because of dead mothers or obligation or legacy.

“It’s good he left it for you,” you say gently and mean it.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, looks away, from under the cover of his palm says, “S’not fair to you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. This is about you and you deserving this, and I’m glad he gave you your due. He should’ve left more.”

His eyes flutter shut, sighing deeply and shakes his head. “You’ve made me into something I’m not. You need to see that.”

“You’re not some sort of cautionary tale, Joel.”

“You don’t know a thing about it,” voice like he could he angry but is being very careful to remain not. “You don’t know the things I’ve done, the reasons why I came here. You should look at me and see nothin’ worthwhile.”

“My father saw something,” you argue. “You let my father see that something. And I do too, no matter what you say, no matter what you do or how hard you push me away; I’m used to it, and you won’t change my mind.”

He gives you a look like you’re hurting him, like your truths hurt him. “We’re goin’ home. This is enough,” he gruffs, pulling the truck into drive again and peeling out of the grassy knoll.

Fight dying in your throat, you feel suddenly exhausted, shivering coldly, belly an ember of unsated lust, your orgasm is tight and wet between your legs and you don’t want to argue or impose yourself on him anymore. You don’t want to feel like you’re imposing yourself now when he’d never made you feel like that before.

The night is a pitch dark blur falling away behind your glazed over eyes, and huddling into yourself against the door, you hide your face away in your shoulder, belly swooping with nausea.

“You drive too fast, I’m dizzy,” you mumble, and he immediately slows, foot easing off the gas.

“You gonna puke?”

“Yes, all over your face.”

“I’m serious, darlin’. Need me to stop?”

“No. I just want to be home,” said in as small a voice as you can manage, hoping he won’t catch your words, and soon he’s turning off into the long drive to the house.

When he pulls to a stop, you scramble to grab your boots before he can say anything else, but he’s unnaturally quick for such a large man, out the door and around the nose of the truck, pulling your own door open before you can even get a single boot on. He pulls them from your grasp, and then tugs you bodily out of your seat, slinging you over his shoulder as if you were some sack of nuisance prone potatoes. You screech, flailing, trying to knee him in the gut, but he bands a strong arm across the backs of your thighs, pinning you in obedient place. “Quit.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” You howl, hitting him repeatedly on the ass, trying to wriggle and make his life as difficult as you possibly can.

This man has absolutely no consideration or respect or sense of personal space!

Technically, neither do you—but that’s neither here nor there.

You scream like a hyena, shrill and long and he pinches your ass hard, right at the inner crease of your thigh and ass cheek, too close to your still wet pussy for comfort. “I said quit.”

“Everything alright out here?” You hear Jesse’s voice call from the direction of the bunk, they must’ve beat you two here while you’d been trying to seduce Joel into making you come.

The snap of Joel’s fingers and then, “Mind your own fucking business.”

“You are so rude.”

He bumps you on his shoulder, jostling you on the soft of your belly and making your cunt go even tighter. You hate him. “Quiet, you.”

Letting himself in the dark of your house, he makes his way up the stairs while you hang quietly upside down now, a little astounded, a lot turned on by how strong he is, lugging you all the way upstairs without even a change in his breathing.

But as soon as he steps foot into your bedroom, now set to rights from yesterday’s disaster, you feel the change come on him. The shift and deepening of his breaths, the expanse of his ribs going wide and winglike as he sucks in a big gulp of air. You press your palm flat to the center of his back, feeling the whistle of his breath go in and out of him until he’s slipping you off his shoulder to bounce gently backwards onto your soft bed.

He stands above you for a quiet moment, and you take in the broad shape of him backlit by the moonlight of your open drapes. He’s huge and imposing cast in this darkness, something out of a dream.

Literally—out of your own teenage fantasy dreams.

Has anyone in all the world ever wanted someone as badly as you want him?

You can feel the press of his left knee against the inside of your right one, and you wish he’d put it between your thighs, join you on the bed.

“Can I ask you something?” You reach your fingers out and he tangles his hand with yours and it’s a small victory.

“Yeah.”

“Would you come to my funeral?”

His fingers jolt— “What?”

“If I died.”

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Tell me that you would—” You tug him forward and he lets himself come, bending over your prone form, braced on one arm and still holding onto your fingers with the other. “—That I wouldn't be alone even there.”

“You’re not alone.”

“Would you?”

“Makes me angry when you say shit like this—as if you don’t believe I’m going to take care of you.”

“Please tell me, Joel. Promise me—” and you reach up to gently touch the scar across his temple.

He goes frozen and understanding. “I’d come,” and you know it costs him something to give in to such an imagining and it makes you all the more grateful for it.

Fingers sliding back into the curls at his temple, silver speckled, you know, you pull him further towards you until he’s close enough to press a softly hot kiss to his mouth. The two of you hold there for a moment, another, another, you can feel the wash of his heavy breathing through his nose, the flutter of his long lashes tangling with yours—you hope he’s searching for you in the dark—and you lift your knee up onto the bed, bending to open yourself to him.

He pulls back, hand shooting to your jaw to grip you tightly in place, breath ragged, animal being hunted.

You smile.

“Not gonna fuck you,” he says low.

“Why not?” It’s what you want, you deserve to have what you want. He squeezes your face once, presses another hard, too quick kiss to your mouth and then flips you over onto your belly, turning your skirt up over your ass to expose you. He tugs once on the string of your thong, drawing his finger along the lace wedged between your ass cheeks and then pulls his hand away for a moment before he’s spanking you hard and quick.

Owwww, you whine, hitching your rump towards him, wanting more despite the sting. He bends his head and bites you even harder at the inner corner of your asscheek, teeth digging hard and long enough to leave a mark. You whine again, high and mewling, trying to escape his meanness and he smacks you again on the other cheek.

“Go to bed, little girl. I’ll see you in the mornin’.”

And he’s leaving you, broad shouldered form slipping out your bedroom door and leaving you aching and angry to scream into your pillow.

You’re pretty sure you hear his deep laugh before the slam of the door sounds below, and you’re slipping your greedy fingers into the ruined wet of your panties, petting away the ache he’s left.

The late May night is cool, despite the daytime heat, and Ellie shivers in her Carhartt, watching as Joel slips out the back kitchen door of the big house.

“The hell is going on with those two?” Jesse says beside her, pulling long on his beer. The litter of yellow cans around them speaks to his mullish whining that he’d not been able to pull tonight. Sometimes he annoys her, but in that sort of endearing little brother way that makes her want to kick his ass and protect him at the same time.

“Nothin’, they’re fine—just gotta fuck it out.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Naw—just smarter than you, man.”

“They like each other?”

“God, Jesse, you wouldn’t see an obvious thing if it were a tipsy bison barrelin’ towards you full speed in the middle of the day.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he says a little pathetically. Moping men—Ellie really can’t be assed to deal with them all.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to understand. I do—I see all, I know all. You mere mortals wouldn’t understand.”

“S’kinda weird, no? Them two—him bein’ so much older, her bein’…well, you know— her.”

“Nope. Makes perfect sense—they need each other, you see.”

He shrugs, I guess—“You’re fuckin’ weird, too. You know that?”

She takes a swig of her beer now also, hoping the two idiots she loves most in the world, after Dina of course, figure each other out before the whole ranch has to suffer for it too.

“Wrong again, Jesse. Wrong again.”

Chapter 3; Little Freak

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