#The salt and pepper beard PLEASE

[fungateshortcakes]

No, thank YOU for existing like literally

He is so older boyfriend I can't take this anymore. My new years resolution is to date him, give him sloppy head every day and treat him right ♡♡♡

[papa-evershed]

Rob James-Collier as Daniel Watson THE INHERITANCE

[t4toro]

why are we not talking about zq on the sxsw red carpet, can we talk about him pretty please please please

[fancyzombiepuppy]

His wife must've been so lucky LIKE IMAGINE HUGH BEING IN LOVE WITH YOU

born to take these photos, forced to save them off pinterest

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

part two here

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

[slowdivinqs]

Golden

Summary: A Sunday afternoon on your farm with Joel.

WC: 4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Soft, dorky Joel. We pretend Abby and Joel chatted it out. Joel and JJ moments. Breeding ( ? ) kink. Oral sex f! receiving. PinV. In da farm house we’re in love baby! Joel doing physical labor…yeah. Can imagine Pedro or game Joel. Reader can paint!

A/N: I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you for all the love, kind words and support on Magnetism! You all melt my heart. Thank you! I’m not so happy with the smut in this but whatever :,)

The Sade record crackles before your favorite song on the album begins drifting through the air. The birthday gift Joel gave you last year that made hot tears fall out of your eyes, just like him when you gave him a painting of Sarah and Ellie for his birthday that hangs in his woodworking space. Your birthday last year ended with 8 hours spent in the sheets, passed out by the end of it, Joel with a sore back for a week - yet claims it was worth it.

You look up at him right now, peering outside the large kitchen windows and spotting him pulling out carrots, in a tight shirt and his work jeans, arms flexing at the particularly stubborn ones. Banjo following along and sniffing inside Joel’s wicker basket filled with vegetables, his tail smacking into Joel’s side. Rosie and Posie bleating in the distance, their fuzzy woolen coats glowing in the sun, seeming to also take an interest in watching Joel work, just like you.

You hear Banjo’s excited barks before Joel closes the dog's mouth shut with his hand playfully, shaking Banjo’s head side to side lightly, riling him up. The sun starts to set behind them, past the fence surrounding your ranch, behind the tall Wyoming mountains. Orange, pink, and yellow, exploding in waves. The bees returning to their hives from the flower box in front of the kitchen windows．

You laugh when Banjo manages to knock Joel over lightly, the two tumbling onto the grass. Joel laughs too, holding the border collie back with his forearm as he tries to lick Joel’s face with all his might.

You smile to yourself as you get back to work, just as Sade starts singing about ‘his hands’ and ‘the way the mountains look’. Lost in the haze of measuring out ingredients, 2 and 3 quarter cups flour, a quarter cup of sugar. Feeling the weight of the ingredients slide into the bowl. Just as you see Joel slowly walk towards the chicken coup, Banjo waiting in the grass - knowing he’s not allowed there.

Milk and salt are next, and you drift over to the fridge to grab the milk, your long white skirt, embraced with abstract flowery patterns flows against your bare ankles as your toes feel the comforting wooden floors of your warm farm home that Joel made sure to install after you mindlessly talked about your love for warm wooden accents. Sat a 20-minute walk outside the walls of Jackson, a small distance away from Ellie’s farm, closer to the lush woods atop the hills.

As you settle back by the kitchen counter, lit up by warm - almost honey-colored rays of sunlight, you try to spot Joel amongst the chickens, but he seems to have vanished, Banjo too.

You glance around surprised for a moment, your eyes flitting from the coup to the vegetable patches, to the flower beds he planted for you, the fairy garden that he denies he took part in yet carved all of the little toadstool homes for you, and Ellie to paint, and even to Old Beardy grazing in the distance, yet Joel is nowhere to be found.

You even turn to the back door, yet there’s no sign of your man. How can a big teddy bear like him disappear in less than a minute?

You jump and let out an embarrassing squeak as a sudden flash of salt and pepper pops up right on the other side of the window pane. You clutch a hand over your chest as Joel’s face comes into view, his cheeky smile and scruffy beard. Utterly pleased with himself at his success in startling you.

You glare at him half-heartedly, trying to hide the smile that’s inching up your face.

He reaches into one of the large pockets in his jeans, and your attempt at hiding your smile fails when he pulls out a little yellow chick. He lifts it to your view, the little fluff ball wiggling and chirping, looking tiny in Joel’s large, dirty palms. His smile grows wider and tender as he sees you beam at the sight through the window.

He scratches the chick’s head with one of his fingers before walking back to reunite the yellow baby with its mama.

You laugh to yourself at his antics. At a grown, grizzly man, surprising you with a baby chicken. He’s a dork and doesn’t deny the allegations when they’re thrown his way.

Banjo runs circles around the vegetable garden just as the back door opens, closing softly with a click. Joel’s heavy footfall, accentuated by his boots, sounds behind you, getting softer as he heads to the guest bathroom. The house creaks and groans as the water turns on. You’re back to baking.

“Smells real good.”

He hums, his, now soft, footfall appearing once again as he approaches from behind you, burying his face in your neck and sniffling dramatically, you feel his wet beard and hair drip onto your neck, giving you goosies. He’s splashed his face and washed his hands, probably so he can distract you without your scolding.

“Me or the food, old man?” You ask with a smile, continuing to knead the dough.

“‘Mm, both.” He hums, rubbing his facial hair against your neck like a cat. You suspect he might start purring soon. It’s not unlike him, even though he ignores you when you tell him that he basically purrs while snuggling against your chest as you read whatever novel you two have picked aloud to him in the evenings.

“Cinnamon rolls, bread’s in the often.” You hum, tilting your head to the side so he can keep giving you his beard scratches. He starts nibbling too now. You sway your hips slightly to the music, and the way his hands fall to your hips tells you all you need to know.

“Cinnamon rolls.” He repeats amused, smiling against your skin, nibbling again to make you tut at him, grinning when you do.

“Ellie and Dina are comin’ over later.” You say as you grab the jar of cinnamon on the shelf, leaving Joel to step back and watch.

“They bringin’ JJ?” Joel asks, voice loosing his husky tiredness and instead replaced with a lighter sound.

“Yes baby, they’re bringing JJ.” You say with a soft smile, looking back at him only to find he’s disappeared once more. That man is silent as a mouse usually - a habit you suppose. Although, whenever he walks into the house, he does three stomps of his boots - just to make sure you know it’s him. He may have gone soft, but there are some things time will never strip away entirely. His knack for safety is one of them.

Just as you’re finished adding all the wet ingredients to your dry ones, you hear Joel in the living room lowering a box, a few things spilling out. An obnoxious squeak of a toy - you think it’s banjo’s plastic chicken that Joel hid away after the noise drove Joel so insane he accidentally beheaded a cowboy carving he was working on for a month. You catch Banjo’s head shoot up as if he got a sense that his long-lost soulmate is near. Joel hides the chicken away again quickly.

He’s brought out the small bundle of toys you two own - JJ’s toy box - Joel calls it, even made one of those shape sorters and toy soldiers for the little boy to play with, and asked you to paint them when he was done, as he does most of his carvings.

This is the one thing Joel doesn’t try to hide his excitement about. Whenever he sees JJ, or ‘potato’ as Ellie calls him, they might as well be the only people in the world. You think it’s the sweetest thing, makes you want to beg him to have a potato of your own, your body going into overdrive imagining how he’d look at your child while putting them to sleep, how he’d kiss their forehead softly.

Joel begins to organize the toys, placing the few dinosaurs, soldiers, and stuffed animals in a battle scene. The soldiers are apparently no match for the fluffy bear, as he’s flung them around in defeat.

Never did you think you’d see the day that Joel Miller would organize a battle scene between stuffed animals and wooden soldiers, just to see JJ’s face light up in excitement - like the little boy's face doesn’t already do that when he just sees Joel as the front door opens.

You manage to pull your eyes away and start folding your dough. Smiling to yourself at your sweet sweet man. Your stomach swoops the more you think, kneading the dough mindlessly as you’re painfully reminded how badly you want it. How badly you want him to pump you full, make you swell. You don’t even notice how your eyes have gone hazy, kneading the dough harder and harder until you jump at Joel’s big hands cupping your wrists from behind, pulling them upwards slightly to relax them. His beard tickles the fly always at the back of your neck as he kisses the soft skin there.

“What’s got my lady all worked up, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, kissing down the side and inhaling, almost like he wants to brand himself with you.

“You.” You whisper shakily, squeezing the dough slightly like an anchor. You feel his cheeky, boyish smile against your skin, only for a moment before he replaces that smirk with a nibble.

“Me?” He asked softly, planting his chin over your shoulder to watch as you ‘work’, definitely not to watch the way his calloused hands cup over your tits. The dough between your palms is the only thing keeping you stable right now.

“Yes, you.” It’s a breathy whisper, and although he doesn’t see it - Joel already knows your eyes are drooping when you tip your head back slightly, able to breathe in that perfect scent of him after he’s spent the day working in the sun. The musk that is uniquely Joel, that screams man man man.

“Don’t know what you mean, honey bee.” He hums, his mouth ghosting over your earlobe just as his thumbs circle over where your nipples are unfortunately hidden away from him. He knows exactly what you mean.

“Why don’t you head South and find out then, cowboy?” You tease, expecting a playful slap and pinch of your ass before he wanders off to the shower, but instead, you find his hands, then his whole self sliding down down down until his knees plant themselves on the floor.

“Gonna let me spoil my desert?” He hums, his hands sliding slowly up from your ankles, bringing your skirt with them, until he can see the little cotton-lace panties that are hidden underneath. He bites the soft swell of your right asscheek that the cotton doesn’t cover.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip softly as you arch your back slightly, leaning your weight on the dough, squeezing harder as the soft caress of your thighs leaves you dripping - more so than before.

“You know I’d let you do anything.” You whisper to him, and it’s all he needs before you feel his calloused fingers on your lower back, sinking into your underwear before dragging them down, burying his head under your skirt.

He throws your panties somewhere, with a proper flick of his wrist. You can see them land somewhere in your periphery, the white lace discarded, very Joel-like in the most crude matter possible.

“Joel!-“ you begin to exclaim before his warm tongue parts your slick folds with an obscene sound. Slurping up the wetness he’s found as his calloused hands grip the front of your thighs. Squeezing tightly like it’ll let him get his tongue deeper into your pussy.

You almost want to laugh at what it must look like: his head buried under your long white skirt, like a ghost he probably dressed up as for Halloween. But fortunately for him, you can’t laugh when his mouth has sealed around the hood of your clit, when it’s hot hot hot and wet.

“Oh, Joel-” you moan in a breathless gasp, your head falling back and then forward as his tongue licks the underside of your clit, making you squeeze the poor dough for it’s life.

He groans into your pussy, tongue leaving your clit to lick side to side, sliding down your cunt until it’s breaching your drenched hole. His hands grip your ass-cheeks tightly, eating at you like it’s his last meal.

He pushes two of those thick fingers inside you, instantly curling forward so deliciously you think you might die. You lose your voice, moaning hoarsely as you clench around the intrusion. He starts moving his hand faster, paired with the suckling of his hot mouth on your clit, you’re not going to last much longer.

“Give it t’me baby- let me have it.” He whispers against you, and it’s his words that do it, as well as that final crook of his fingers that hit you right where you need him. You’re cumming with an intensity only he can give you. He slurps up all the wetness he can until you’re whining at him that it's ‘too much, too much’ and he stands. Gripping your chin between his thumb and pointer finger before kissing you deeply. Guiding his tongue into your mouth just as he had done your pussy.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips, and your chest blooms, blinking up at him as he looks into your eyes with a calm tenderness like you’re exactly what he always dreamed of - like he lay awake at night as a little boy getting giddy at the thought that one day you might be real, and now you are, more importantly: you’re his, and he’s yours.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, kissing him once more before he’s once again lifting your hands from the dough, which now looks positively mixed from your absent-minded squeezing.

“‘M gonna go shower, baby.” He says softly, stepping back from you just as you turn to look at him.

“You’re gonna deny a woman her fun?” You ask with a raise of your eyebrow, looking down as he re-adjusts his jeans. His hands glancing at your ass before smirking at something you don’t see yet.

“You’ll get your fun later, baby.” He says with an amused smile, before he’s turning and heading upstairs. You sigh and look around the kitchen, laughing brightly as you see your panties dangling on the hook by the back door, how he flung them so far, you’ll never know.

There’s a knock at the door at 5pm sharp, and Joel bounds down the stairs before walking to the door, the creak of it sweet before the sounds of ‘hello!’ and ‘how’s it going, old man?’ ring through the house. You move away from the kitchen to great Dina and Ellie as they walk in, JJ already cooing excitedly in Joel’s arms as he hugs Dina, then Ellie from the side. Smiling widely at the little boy.

“Hey Els, Dina.” You say softly as Ellie gives you a tight squeeze, her mullet brushed neatly, most likely done by Dina. The Ellie you know would let her hair stick in every direction like the wild child she is and always will be.

“Smells good.” Ellie says softly, a hand on the small of Dina’s back before she’s walking to the kitchen to inspect what you’ve made. You see Ollie - JJ’s favorite toy elephant that Ellie won in the Jackson Fair at 19 - hanging out of her back pocket. You smile at the similarities between Joel and Ellie, clear that he raised her in subtle ways. The most obvious being her recent taking for boots, jeans and flannels. She goes over to Joel and JJ after that, crouching behind Joel who’s sat on the carpet by his battle scene, giving him a bear hug from behind.

The afternoon is spent chatting away with Dina, Ellie occasionally chiming in, yet all three of you mainly watch Joel and JJ playing on the living room rug. Your home is filled with the delighted laughter of a child. Ellie joins in soon too, taking on the role of the toy dinosaurs which makes JJ shriek with laughter as they attack Joel’s stuffed bear, then Joel himself.

Everything is warm.

You all eat together. Roasted Venison with salad and bread, cinnamon rolls later that JJ tries to devour whole while sitting on Joel’s lap - similarly to Ellie who sneaks an extra two with Joel in the kitchen when they think their respective partners aren’t looking.

They stay in the small cottage outside which Joel made sure was perfect before their arrival. JJ and Dina fast asleep as you, Ellie and Joel find place on the couch watching some cheesy action movie that Ellie picked. Just like old times when she was a young teenager. She still leans against Joel’s shoulder all the same. Both of his girls in his arms as lights flash across the screen. You glance up at his face once, and smile when seeing he looks as happy as can be.

He deserves this, he deserves to be happy. Even if he might not believe it, you do, and you’ll let hell freeze over before you stop trying to make him happy.

Ellie bids you goodnight before going to curl up in bed with Dina and JJ. Similarly to the way Joel follows up the stairs behind you as you make your way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Smirking at the twinkle in his eye you see as you pull out his favorite night dress of yours

You’ve just finished up in the bathroom when you walk back into your shared bedroom. Joel shucking off his shirt, leaving him in his boxers. You admire his broad back in the low light of the bedroom. The shadows dusting along his muscles like rivers.

You float up behind him this time, your nose pressed to the line down his back, hands wrapped around his stomach.

“I want one.” You whisper into the quiet night, and it feels like you’re the only two people in the world. He turns to face you - you rest your chin on his chest and look up at him.

“Want what, darlin’?” He whispers softly, his thumb running over the apple of your cheek as he breaths softly. You can hear his heart beating, in sync with yours.

“A baby.” You whisper, and it’s so silent, so quiet. His eyes glimmer and brighten, his breath bated as he looks down at you.

“You want that with me, sweet girl?” He whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse and thick.

“More than anything.”

He kisses you deeply, his hand burying at the hair on the back of your head. Cupping the bowl of your skull so tenderly you can feel his love for you pulse through your veins. Your arms wrap rest on his broad shoulders.

“Me too, baby. Me too.” He whispers, and emotion wraps around your throat, as you can tell it does his when you see the shine in his sweet eyes.

You fall to the bed together, his boxers discarded as he makes quick work of your night gown. Kissing along your breasts until you’re driven so positively crazy you need him to soothe it with his mouth.

Your hand wraps around his shaft and you gaze into his eyes as they flutter slightly at the sensation of your fingers, his own meet you there, guiding him inside you until you both gasp softly at the sensation. He lets his hips push in all the way moments after. Your walls grip around him, the thick, hot - length of him, pushing its way through you until he fits into the space he’s made for himself within you. The noise of your wetness clenching around his girth as he holds himself over you on his strong forearms is nothing short of one of Joel’s favorite erotic sound.

“I love you, I love you so damn much.” He whispers, his large - paw like hand cupping your skull as he grinds his pelvis against your pulsing clit, listening to the soft shk shk shk as his cock twitches inside you, pushing up against that spot inside you that turns you stupid.

“I love you too.” You whimper, barely able to think past the way your eyes are rolling. He hasn’t even thrusted yet. You don’t catch the way he’s gazing down at you, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like you own every part of his heart and soul, like you might as well be living and breathing within his ribcage : as if you’re the sole thing causing that glow he seems to have.

He starts moving, slow, deep slaps of his hips against yours. Holding you against him as you arch your back slightly, making sure he digs against that spot that drives you wild.

Your fingers dig red lines down his broad back. His head falling forward as he groans so deep and roughly you think you might die from being overly aroused. This man does things to you that you can’t even explain with words, your cries of pleasure seem to communicate it well enough though. Everything is hot and wet and sticky as he whispers into your ear.

“You’re gon’ be such a good mama- fuck darlin’ - take it, yeah-“ he groans into your ear, and your whole body shivers. You clench tighter around him, making him gasp slightly as his hand finds your clit. “Got me achin’ f’you all day baby-“ he whines - whines - into your ear, the soft skin of his balls drags against the curve of your ass, just like his tip dragging through your walls, taking you higher and higher until you can’t even hear the noises you’re making.

He rubs your clit harder, round and round on that pulsing nub until you open your eyes and see his disheveled face. Skin flushed, hair a mess, and his gaze fluttering as he moves his hips against you- his big strong body shining with sweat.

You’re done for.

You dig your heel into the soft flesh of his ass, pulling him closer and locking your legs around him, trapping him deep inside of you.

“Please cum inside me-“ you whimper, gazing into his eyes as he fights with all his might to make sure you cum first, his hand doesn’t let up on your clit, and you clench. “Please let me have it-“

His groan breaks into a soft whine as he drops onto his forearms, face right in front of yours, his nose bumping into your own. You can feel his harsh breaths against your swollen lips.

When you feel him start to fill you up on a slamming thrust, you cum with him, clenching tighter every time you feel one of his thick, sticky ropes shoot inside you while his cock twitches wildly inside you - his moans even sweeter than the sensation.

“Oh god, I love you-“ he whimpers, his moan cracking as you push him impossibly closer with your heel, his hands gripping the sheets next to your head for dear life. He kisses you messily, tiredly as you both lie there - sweaty and catching your breaths.

“I love you.” You whisper back to him, your hand running through his messy hair as you litter kisses along his damp forehead. He nuzzles into you like a big bear still inside you as he softens.

“You need somethin’?” He asks once he’s found his thoughts again, sitting up slightly before you pull him back down with an ‘oof ’.

“Just you.” You whisper back sleepily, your eyes closing shut as you bask in the feeling and love he gives you. You feel a soft kiss to your jaw. His hand splaying over your tummy.

“You got me, baby. Always.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading ! ♡ please lmk if you enjoyed it and reblog if you did ◡̈

[rqnarok]

summary: how old man!logan deals with jealousy…

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. fem!reader. daddy kink. jealous!logan. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected p in v. pet names: kid, baby, etc. not proofread.

Imagine how Logan regrets taking you into that bar. He only wanted to take you out and let you try one of his favorite drinks. 

But he forgot the existence of those sneering boys who can’t keep their hands to themselves. He’d turn his head a little and suddenly a fuckin’ guy drapes himself in front of you. Rambling on to you his childhood story that is supposedly to be comical. 

The tips of his fingers grip the crystal clear glasses way too tightly it almost shatters. His brows furrowed and the lines on his forehead show themselves profoundly as he freezes, watching you from the counter. 

What’s bothering him the most, the plague crawling up beneath his skin, the one taunting his jealousy–is how you laugh at the guy’s jest. Because Logan knows that he can hardly make you laugh. Maybe a few sweet giggles but that’s all. 

Logan does know that there is nothing funny left in him at his old age. His much younger self would be capable of doing so—but he’s not young anymore. He could not make you cry out those sweet snickers he wishes he could. 

What he could, though, is holding you down with his arms as he laps at your slick folds. His calloused hands dug into your plush skin. His scruffy salt-and-pepper beard scratches at the sensitive core while he greedily sucks at your swollen clit—before diving into your hole. “Ah!” Humming a pleased rumble against your mound when you whine a high-pitched sound in pleasure. 

You try to cover up your face in shyness, struggling to look at him. Not when he’s looking at you in ferocity and possessiveness—as if you are his last meal. Your trembling figure is yet to be devoured by the prey inside of him.

“Pussy tastes so sweet, y'know that?” 

His deep deep voice is enough to make you tremble, but “Hmm. Daddy’s pretty cunt.” is making you writhe on the bed, begging him for more. 

“Tis’ pussy’s mine, yeah?” He’d continuously ask until your head bobbed at an erratic speed and acknowledged it with words, “Y-yeahyeahyea— All yours, Daddy.” 

When he remembers your interaction with that fuckin’d boy in the bar, he’d dip back into what he was doing, practically making out with your pussy, kissing it so passionately like he would kiss you. The squelching sound he makes between your thighs pushes you to gasp even more. 

Logan loves eye contact. Loves to see that you see who’s pleasing you: him. His mouth is on you and his eyes are also on you—peers at you with a dark lingering gaze. 

“Who gets this pussy wet, huh?” He asks as if you can answer properly when he’s got you like this, tongue fucking you. “S’ it those fuckin’ boys?” 

You’d shake your head, denials stuck in your throat as you feel the warm feeling on your stomach—how close you are reaching your high. Your head moves rapidly from side to side. No! No. It could never be them. It could never be anyone other than you, you want to cry out. 

But you’re too busy moaning out incoherently instead of saying it. Hoping Logan’d understand. 

And he does. “Or ‘s it wet for Daddy, hm?” He always does.

All you can do is nod and nod—nodding so fast not caring how your head might hit the headboard. Because it is always him, only ever for Daddy. 

He chuckles darkly against you, his tongue plunging back inside your pussy. Knowing it is the truth.

“Ya’ like me, sweet’art?” He hums after wrapping his lips on your puffy button and sucks—earning himself a mewl from you.

“Like knowin’ y’re fuckin’ an old man?” 

Your thighs tremble at how close you are and your head falls back into the pillow before looking at him again. The sight in front of you is everything: His grey beard is soaked with your slick, his eyes looking at you with both tiredness and yearning.

Logan grins as he feels you making grabby hands at him. He flicks his tongue over and over at your clit before sucking the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips again.

“Come for Daddy. Daddy’s got you.”

Your lips form a smile after you reach your orgasm—when you think he’s satisfied. 

Until he is not. Not even close.

“C’mon, kid,” Logan grunts as he squeezes the fat of your ass, “Y’ said y’r mine. ‘Said tis’ pussy’s mine. Huh?”

You’re mind empty as the older man manhandles you so his tip can reach that sensitive gummy spot inside of you that no one has ever reached. Not like this.

“Y-yeah— ‘s yours, Daddy, Ah—”

“Then fuckin’ prove it t’me.” He growls, “C’mon, let her soak on Daddy’s cock—fuckin’ prove it that y’r mine.”

The feel of his broad scarred shoulders pressing into your back makes you roll your eyes in pleasure. Your mind can only think of one thing, no, one person. 

“C’mon, baby. I ain’t got all fuckin’ day.” 

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ grinding on old man logans thigh. 18+

logan takes great pleasure in watching you grind on his jeans, his thick thigh planted between your legs as you roll your hips on top. his glasses slide down the strong bridge of his nose, but he doesn't care, he's too preoccupied with the image of you coming undone before his very eyes to give a damn about that.

he runs his hands soothingly along your thighs, almost coaxing you to completion, squeezing your plump flesh every so often. sinking his old bones back into the sofa, he enjoys the show you're so graciously presenting to him, a show he's seen so many times before but will never grow tired of.

the friction is so good, the coarse material of the denim rubbing against your wet folds, sending sparks straight to your clit with every grind. your hands are planted on the base of his thigh, gripping, dangerously close to his thick, hardening cock. said he was too tired to give you what you wanted, but you both do this same dance every night. it starts with you on top of him, mewling like crazy and dripping like a faucet - in no time he's pumping his cum deep into you like his life depends on it.

but for now, he watches.

"feels so good, baby," you whisper, exhaling shakily as you try to keep at least some composure, "love it when you let me do this. . ."

he grumbles, a low grumbling at the back of his throat as he gives your thighs a tight squeeze, "can tell you're enjoying it," his eyes drift down to between your legs, "look how soaked you got me, darlin'."

and he's right, his jeans are damp, your wetness coating it so deeply it's become a darker shade of blue. logan can even feel it beneath the denim, you're soaking his skin so perfectly. he has to suppress a hungry growl at the sensation, how wet you are for him, how easily you become a mess for him, all pretty and drenched on his lap.

snaking a strong hand between your thighs, he gently pulls back your folds with his thumb, earning a whiny gasp from your lips. "hmm," his eyes drift across your glistening pussy, a deep stirring in his groin at the smell of how aroused you are, "would you look at that, such a messy girl, just for me. . ."

you nod, of course you are. how could you not be? especially with those words, those hands.

he looks up at you over his glasses, you have to resist cumming on the spot just from that look alone. there's a silence for a moment as you lock eyes with him, ". . .want me to take care of you?"

fuck.

you throb at the thought, aching for him to fill you - with his cock, even his fingers would do, anything. "please, please, fuck, logan please," you whine desperately, shifting faster on his lap against his jeans.

logan can't help but smirk, his hand on your thigh rising to cup your chin, pulling you down to his mouth, "since you're asking like a good girl, suppose i can give you what you want. . ." his salt and pepper beard brushes against your skin before he captures you in a deep, passionate and hungry kiss.

and then, a growl, an impatient command against your lips.

"get on the fucking bed."

-

logan promptober day 7 - denim

[bunnyinvanilla]

Sugar daddy!price x fem!reader (bar owner series)

🎂 warnings: suggestive at the end, minors dni please, laaaarge age gap (price is in his 40s and reader is 21) <3

if price found out you haven’t been eating since breakfast this morning and are currently starving, he’d be mad. Not at you, but for you. so, like a sweet, good little girl that wished not to burden him with concern, you rush behind the counter, to the back storage room next to his office — a quick snack, that’s what you’re going to indulge into.

your hands carefully dig into your backpack, and as you take out the piece of strawberry shortcake you bought on the way back from college, you make a little hop on the spot — barely able to contain excitement.

your fingers work hastily to remove the paper and plastic from the box, and the scent of sweet, sugary whipped cream and strawberries fill your nose. You smile to yourself as you gather some whipped cream with your finger and bring it your lips.

you scarcely contain a silent moan when the sugar melts in your mouth like a cloud of sweetness, as if heaven itself decided to reveal its secrets.

“gosh it’s so good” you murmur, bringing another whitened finger to your lips, mouth already half filled with the previous bite.

“oh you are indeed”

you startle in your own tracks when you hear the low, deep voice from behind you, like a little bunny getting caught feasting on a farmer’s carrot land.

turning towards the door, you find john, his imposing, muscular figure looking down at you with his signature lazy, amused smirk. Your eyes fall on his flannel shirt, the first buttons are languidly left untied, allowing you a stolen glance of his hairy chest, his pectorals that make your mouth water as much as the long forgotten piece of cake in your hands.

dumbfounded, you blink up at him twice, swallowing down the remaining mushy cake you stopped chewing on upon seeing him. Your cheeks grow red, sunrise reflecting on them with how bright and warm they look.

“Sir, uhm…i was, i was-“ you struggle to compose yourself, lowering your hands as he slowly begins to strade over you, the familiar scent of cologne and tobacco mingling with your vanilla perfume.

“hungry? can see that, angel,” he whispers, clearly entertained by your shyness. A lazy, seductive smile appears on his visage like a natural decor, one you’ve never seen him not wearing since meeting you.

once he’s close enough to tower over you, his graying, dark beard catches your attention, his mustache and salt and pepper hair, the way the muscles of his hairy forearms bulge with every move, everything about him screams strong masculinity, control and dominance.

he lifts up a hand towards your face, and you hold your breath as he uses his calloused thumb to wipe some whipped cream off the corner of your glossed lips. He brings the digit to his own mouth, licking the cream off his finger — the sight makes the pit of your stomach twist, a warm knot tightens in your belly and roots all the way down between your thighs.

you have to slowly place the cake down on a nearby surface otherwise you’d make it drop.

he licks his mustache, his sharp, intense eyes fleck to you, studying silently and carefully every single reaction he could get and read off you, “it does taste good though doll, you’re right,”

his voice deepens, a baritone that sounds gruff and heavy, and you involuntarily hide your hands behind your back, gently holding onto the edge od the table. With a slow, deliberate movement, he brings his licked finger down, underneath your skirt, and presses it against your clothed clit.

as if a spark shot through you, you almost squeak, a muffled whimper leaves your lips, an unfamiliar sound that your own ears don’t recognize. He keeps his eyes on you, lid and thin, as he slowly brushes it over your panties,

“but I’m sure when I finally get a taste of you, you’ll taste even sweeter” his words sound like a growl, an impatient promise.

he knows you’re a sweet, young, inexperienced, untouched girl, and as much as he was a gentleman, as much as he wanted to handle you cautiously, like a porcelain doll that could break in a heartbeat and needed the best care and attention, he almost took you right there when you gave him those doe, shy eyes.

“I know you’re impatient, sweet girl, but daddy will make it worth the wait”, he thinks you deserve more that a stolen moment in the midst of the chaos, of a working day, and he knows you want him to be rough, to be hard on you. “let daddy take you out to dinner tonight, and then you can give this old man some sugar, mmh?”

you can only nod, words stuck in your throat unable to come out, but your eyes gleam in the softest and most innocent way, you don’t know if you want to drop to your knees, and beg him to do whatever he wanted, or to grab your piece of cake back and hide behind the counter.

bunnies were shy creatures, eager for affection, love and attention but timid when under their owners’ loving gaze. If you weren’t careful, they might just hop away and hide shyly.

..but a little bunny like you needs to be trained into being the perfect, sweetest good girl first. And he is a man of discipline, he knows how to wait.

[sexlapis]

# SALT AND PEPPER (but mostly salt)

ᝰ.ᐟ nanami x gn!reader

mini fic, fluff, suggestive, aging, reader and nanami are married, reader is a silver fox!

⤷ nanami was prepared for a lot of things when it came to getting older. what he wasn’t prepared for, was how hot his spouse would get…

a/n: thinking about how much i love grey/white/silver hair on a woman or man……..sorry….

masterlists

*

with growing up, getting old and becoming more seasoned, there came many life changes.

health scares, career adjustments, new found gratitude for the most simplest of things and for some reason, a sudden influx of more bills when you get a raise…and you are always due for an eye appointment.

but one thing that has changed is…you.

more specifically, how sexier you’ve become.

now, don’t nanami wrong, he has always found you sexy, beautiful, cute, attractive, pretty, all of the words underneath the sun.

a few years earlier is when he realised it.

the new, grey hairs peaking at your temples.

they were thin and hardly noticeable to an outsider. but nanami noticed everything about you.

he mentioned it one morning.

“do you know your greys are coming in?”

“ugh, i know.” you touch you temples, feeling where they are, like grey hairs felt different somehow. “you can’t really see them now, but i’ll have to dye them in, like, four years or something.”

“…or you could just…let them grow out…?”

you snort. “yeah, right. why don’t i bleach my eyebrows next?”

you leave it at that, and so does nanami and the discussion of your hair is put to an end.

until a few years later.

as of now, the hair of your head is a light grey colour, with slivers of silver and white that beamed, especially highlighted when you are underneath the sun.

your face has changed too.

crows feet now wrinkled the corners of your eyes, smile lines framed your lips, the dips of your jowls now replaced your streamlined jaw and darker, freckled spots were sprinkled over your cheeks and nose.

and, my gosh, did it drive nanami crazy.

the way the experience of life now appeared on your face, you body, your hands and your hair made him more attracted to you. more than he even thought he could be.

and that says a lot.

“your hair.” he starts. you both sit at the breakfast table, a newspaper in nanami’s hand and a cup in yours. “your hair is nice.”

“really?” you ask, surprised and slightly incredulous. you reach your hand up and ruffle your hair. “you know, i was thinking of dyeing it back-“”

“don’t dye it…please. never dye it.”

“oh? nanami…” you smirk at him. “do you think i’m a … fox?”

“you’re the sexiest fox i’ve ever seen, sweetheart.”

“it sounds kinda weird when you say it like that, but i’ll take it!”

nanami chuckles and shakes his head. he stares at you for a moment before speaking. “come here.” he pats his lap.

you place your cup down, strolling to where he sits and plopping yourself onto his lap.

his hands wrap around your hips and yours his neck.

“you’re growing up so wonderfully, baby.” he kisses your jaw. “being old suits you.”

you giggle. “you too, kenny.”

you don’t think he believes you based on the shake of his head, but you know that you’re correct and that’s all that matters.

after a few minutes of peaceful silence, you decide to break it.

“…so,” you sigh, resting you cheek on nanami’s shoulder, “you know how you like my new sexy silver fox hair?”

“yes?” nanami responds, grinning.

“how about we grow you a beard, nanami kento?”

“…”

a/n: short n sweet <3

[pretty-circa006]

Pie

Negan x F! Reader

summary Negan fucks you when you try to bake a pie tags slight breeding kink, unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering, pet names, pussy eating, not proofread

wc 1.4k

note just finished a little wip i had sitting around. got the idea when i was listening to stargirl interlude, so maybe you wanna listen to that while reading

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

Negan was a great cook. It wasn't a well known fact considering he was a rather busy man with leading the Saviors and all. Occasionally, he'd make dinner for his wives and those were always her favorite days. And since last night was one of those nights, she wanted to do something to return the favor. 

So here she was in the kitchen, flour dusted her classy black dress and her fingers were sticky with pie filling as she worked on rolling out the dough for the pie's crust. This pie was going to be her way of thanking Negan for being such a good husband—at least to her. 

"What's all this?" she heard him ask from the entryway. 

"I'm baking you a 'thank you' pie," she replied as she lined the pie pan with the crust. 

"Thank you pie? The hell’s a 'thank you' pie?" 

"I dunno, just my way of showing you that I lo- appreciate you." She poured some of the apple filling into the crust, hoping he didn't catch her almost mistake.

"Well aren't you a sweetheart," he said wrapping his arms around her. His salt and pepper beard tickled her neck as he pressed kisses to it, ignoring her lighthearted pleas for him to stop distracting her. As she cut the leftover dough into strips, Negan reached over and scooped some pie filling from the bowl before sucking it off his finger. 

"Mmm! This is fuckin' delicious, baby," he rasped into her ear. Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. "Glad you like it." The kisses he was leaving on her neck grew more sensual –open mouthed with nips here and there– as she did her best to lay the lattice pattern with the dough atop the pie. His hands drifted from her hips down to her upper thighs where his hands slid beneath her dress, slowly lifting it until it was bunched up at her hips. She did her best to pretend like she wasn't distracted and continue to lay the pattern on top of the pie, but really, his touches were arousing her. 

"What're you doin'?" she asked him once his fingers looped around the waistband of her panties. He was too busy kissing down her shoulder to answer, but she had the feeling he wouldn't have answered anyway. In one fell swoop he yanked her panties down before his hand wedged its way between her legs. She let out a whimper, but otherwise continued with the pie. He began rubbing tight circles over her clit as he licked and sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her breathing grew shallow as her resolve began to fade. Restrained whimpers escaped her lips, but that wasn't good enough for him. 

"I wanna hear you, doll," he ordered. Her answer came out in the form of a breathy moan once he slipped a thick finger into her soaking pussy. Her hands gripped the counter as his finger glided in and out the spongy walls of her cunt. He inserted another and the gentle stretch felt so good. His thumb rubbed quick circles on her clit as he fingered her. Her thighs squeezed his hand as her hips ground onto his hand. With his foot, he nudged her legs further apart before increasing his pace. 

“Negan, please, I’m close,” she wantonly whined between pants. He pulled away from her neck with an audible pop, leaving what she was sure would be a sizable mark. He removes his fingers from her cunt which earned a displeased pout from her. She was about to object, but was cut off when he turned her to face him. Beneath his gaze, her entire body felt like it was on fire, especially between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her lips for a kiss. His hands slid up her body, beneath her dress, feeling her body wherever his hands could reach. His tongue slid between her smooth lips and she tangled her fingers in his hair as sigs and moans crossed between their lips, merging into one sound in their kiss. He lifted her before setting her onto a free space on the countertop. In need of breath, he pulled away from the kiss. Instead of going back to her lips, he kissed down her jaw, to her neck, then her collarbones before unzipping the back of her dress and sliding the straps down her shoulders. He lowered himself to his knees, looking at her with a smirk on his face as he did so, and spread her thighs open. Her cunt was practically leaking, desperate to be filled by the man beneath her, and my god he thought it looked delicious. He kissed his way up her leg, starting from her ankle, until he got to her inner thighs, right in front of where she wanted him most. He nipped and sucked at the soft flesh until he had her whimpering. 

“Please, Negan, I need you!” She begged, desperate for some attention on her neglected cunt. Finally, his soft lips surround her clit, sucking it gently for a moment before he pulls away. His warm, wet tongue licked a stripe between her folds, tasting her arousal directly from the source. Her fingers weave through his greying hair, pulling him deeper into her pussy. She finally got what she wanted when his tongue entered her hole. She leaned back, supporting her weight on her arms from behind. She threw her head back in a pleasured haze as his tongue worked magic on her pussy. The warm muscle worked its way around her velvety walls and pressed against her g-spot as his lips were practically making out with her lower ones. Her cunt squeezed his tongue and nails scratched at the countertop as she reached her peak with a scream of his name. His beard was glistening with her juices when he pulled away, a wide dimpled smile plastered on his face.

“Doll, you’re so delicious I almost forgot about that goddamn pie.” She giggled, smiling at him as she slid off the countertop. She was about to wash her hands and resume fixing the pie, but Negan stopped her in her tracks. 

“Oh I’m not done with you,” he growled. 

“But what about the pie?” She asked feigning innocence, batting her eyelashes.  She didn’t really care about the pie and it was obvious by the way she was undoing his belt buckle. 

“Forget that goddamn pie and bend over, babydoll.” He eyed her bare, plump ass as he freed his hardened cock from his pants. He slid it up and down her slick folds before lining it up with her needy cunt. He slid in almost effortlessly, his large dick stretching her hole, but filling her up perfectly. 

“This pussy was made for me,” he moans. His large hands hold her hips as he thrusts roughly into her, desperately wanting to reach his own orgasm. The sound and smell of sex filled the kitchen as he plowed into her from behind. Her head hung low as she cried his name over and over, nothing else on her mind but the man filling her. Tears from overstimulation flowed down her face as pleasure overtook her. Negan’s cock twitched inside of her, his own orgasm rapidly approaching.

“God you feel so good, baby. Can’t wait to fill this pussy.” The next thing that fell from her mouth was just garbled gibberish and lewd moans, but he knew that meant she’s close. He leans down over her body and intertwines his hands with the backs of hers. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear and pressed gentle kisses to the side of her head as he shot his load into her abused cunt at the same time she reaches her second orgasm. 

“You did so good for me, angel. Such a good girl,” he cooed as he slowly softened inside of her. 

After he pulled out of her,  he helped her get redressed, but by then she was too spent to even care about the pie. 

thank you for reading! <3

[theplumsoldier]

sore loser

summary: the scales of your rivalry with joel miller tips in his favor as he calls out your mistake and you end up a loser. the classic "you hate your partner but fucks him anyway"

pairing: mean!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ please and thank you, hate sex, rough vaginal sex, spitting, slapping, choking, fingering, squirting, sloppy/rough blow job, degradation, age-gap, begging, biting, mean!joel, forced orgasm & multiple orgasms, tasting joel's blood?? no aftercare please let me know if i missed anything!! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

You hated everything about him. You hated the way he looked, the way he spoke, and the way he walked. You hated how he was always confident, how he was always right, and the fact that he always knew which buttons to push. You hated how he was a better shooter than you, how he was better at finding supplies than you, and how he was better at tracking than you. You hated his salt-and-pepper beard, the curls in his hair, and his sun-kissed skin. You hated his brown eyes, his deep voice, and his large hands. You hated how he treated you like a child, how he called you "kid", and how he looked after you.

Most of all, right now, you hated that he shot the clicker before you managed to put a knife to its skull, how he made it look like you couldn't save yourself. He took the win and he got the point.

It was a game and you were losing this battle for dominance, and you hated losing to Joel Miller.

You had been biting your tongue so damn hard to keep yourself from stooping down on his level and the taste of blood lingered in your mouth for about 4 minutes before the last straw had been drawn.

Joel just couldn't stop himself from being an ass and work in yet another one of his snarky remarks.

"Get over yourself, Miller. I had it handled," you grumbled.

"Sure looked like it," he retorted sarcastically, making scattering noises as he dug through a crate in the warehouse.

The way he didn't even bother looking at you only made you more furious. "How the fuck do you think I survived this long on my own, huh? I've been—"

"Ask myself that every time I save your ass," he interrupted mockingly.

Your blood was boiling in your veins. He felt so fucking superior and it was driving you insane. You knew your worth, but for some reason, you had this crippling urge to prove yourself.

"Somebody needs to knock you off your fucking horse, Miller."

Joel chuckled grimly. "S'that right, sweetheart? Wanna give it a go?"

His infuriating words made you stand to your feet, and frankly, it excited Joel to see you acting like you might just do something about it.

With a groan he got up himself, easily towering over you. You swallowed harshly, jaw clenched.

Joel's face was set in a firm expression, dark eyes analyzing your face to predict your next move. It was a face-off.

There was a subtle smirk and you wanted to wipe it off so badly. This was entertaining to him—a challenge he joined, a game he played just for the kick of it.

You couldn't win a fight against him, you were smart enough to recognize that fact (at least for now). So you breathed out, your nervousness drawing out a shaky laugh.

"I hate you," you spat and turned around, sure you'd only dig a deeper hole for yourself if you looked at him any longer.

"That what you tell yourself when you dip your little fingers down between your legs?" he wondered aloud, not even testing the waters but diving head first into the lake of all your buttons that he planned to push: "Don't think I don't hear you moaning my name when you get off in the night."

Your eyes went wide and shame colored your cheeks pink. You hoped he wouldn't notice as your eyes shot daggers, completely dumbfounded, hoped your anger had already made your face red. You were at a loss for words, completely and utterly embarrassed.

The mixture of emotions compiled a message to your brain for you, and before you had a chance to regret it, you lashed out. Your hand stopped clenching and raised to deliver a well-deserved proper bitch-slap, but Joel caught your wrist. It all happened quickly, and it felt like you were watching on rather than being forced back against the wall, arms suspended against the cool and rough cement in his grasp.

Joel's head cocked, eyes blazing down at you. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?"

The sudden close proximity made you involuntarily grind your hips forward.

"So that's what all this s'about, huh? You’ve been givin' me that bratty attitude 'cause ya got your panties in a twist?"

"Fuck you!" you snapped, the words seething through your grit teeth, leaving a bad aftertaste on your tongue.

"But that's what you want, innit sweetheart? Goin' around acting like I'm the devil's spawn, but really you just want a good fucking, yeah?"

You hated how he was always right.

Your arms strained in his grasp, writhing to get loose though the heat pooling between your legs protested. You enjoyed having him this close. You could smell him, see him.

"You're so fucking full of yourself, Miller," you snarled but had stopped trying to fight off his grip.

Joel chuckled down at you, tutting: "F’you wanna be full o' me, too, darlin', all you gotta do is ask nicely."

There was no fucking way he was actually offering to fuck you. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. But it wasn't. And he was offering exactly that, you realized as his head tilted. He was dead serious.

You knew it wasn't out of the good of his heart, so he must be wanting this, too. And if he needed it as much as you did, you were going to make him work for it.

You ground your hips into his again, this time very much on purpose.

"Tell me you don't want to bend me over right now, Miller," you leaned forward and whispered in his ear, letting your lips graze the soft flesh of his neck. His cock was hard against your cunt and he didn't do a thing to push you away. "Tell me you haven't just been dying to try out this tight pussy. An old man like you can't have had a proper fuck in ages."

He laughed. "Swallow your pride, sweetheart. You've never even been with a real man before, have ya? Always waltzin' around in your short skirts at the Byson, whoring yourself out for attention from those boys."

"Knew you'd been checking me out," you smirked, the movements of your hips now a consistent grind against him. "But you're right. And those boys can't help, they dunno how to handle me."

"I don't do charities, darlin'. F’you want me to fuck that shitty attitude out of ya, you're gonna have to prove yourself."

This time around, Joel pushed his clothed cock against your pussy and you knew what he wanted.

You wriggled your hands, inching closer to his face but never letting your skin touch. "Kinda difficult to get on my knees when you’re holding me like this, innit?"

Joel let go only to force you down on the ground, but you didn't protest. You had lost all filters, all of your arrogance as you were faced with his cock prodding at the zipper of his jeans.

Looking up as you eagerly undid his belt, you were pleased to see him inhaling deeply, proudly as he looked down on you. You pulled the zipper down, and your breath hitched as his cock saluted. He wasn't wearing underwear.

His cock was thicker than you had imagined, girthier than what you had felt while fingering yourself that night which he had so mockingly reminded you of. Long with a slight curve and a purple mushroom head unscathed. A drop of pre-cum covered the slit and you imagined it was crying for you.

"You gonna put that bratty little mouth to good use or do I gotta do that for you, too?"

Instinctively you glared up at him, giving him a look but it was washed away a second later as he took charge.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Joel forced you onto his cock, not giving you a second to wet your lips or spit on it. Harshly pushing you down on his cock, you found that it wasn't needed, there was plenty of saliva in your mouth to lubricate him. A whimper left you when his head hit the back of your mouth, your throat automatically constricting at the sudden intrusion. You felt your cunt mimic the reaction and clenched around nothing.

Joel was heavy in your mouth, the thickness making you worry the back row of your teeth would scrape him. If they did he didn't care, for when you looked up at him through teary eyes he was unconcerned.

He forcefully prodded against your throat, slipping in just enough to push further and you gagged.

Joel inhaled sharply. "S'a tight little throat you got there. Guess you haven't been whoring around as much as I thought," he chuckled, holding your face pressed firmly against him, your nose nuzzled in the patch of curls.

He held you there for a couple of seconds, allowing your throat to get adjusted despite acting seemingly careless about how you felt. A moment later he pulled you off by your hair, and you gasped hoarsely, blinking up at him through the tears slowly blurring your vision.

Hovering over you, Joel cupped your cheeks and lifted you slightly, bending down as he did. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but his fingers dug into your face, forcing your mouth open for him and he spat on your tongue, an obscene look on his face.

"Eyes on the price, sweetheart," he chuckled and landed you back on your knees.

With his hand holding you tightly by a makeshift ponytail, Joel pushed his cock back into your mouth and without warning, set a brutal pace sure to give you a headache. As slick gathered between your legs, a migraine was the least of your worries. You snaked a hand between your legs to relieve the tingling strain.

The breaths you were granted came in between the thrusts and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling dizzy, prompting him to yank at your hair.

"Look at me," he grunted coarsely, voice going straight to your sex and you ground down hard on your hand, gasping for air. Joel admired your puffy lips, smeared with saliva, strings of drool connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock. "You look like a fuckin' mess, sweetheart. This what you been thinkin' about, hm? Been thinking 'bout acting like a little slut f'me, huh?"

His degrading words fueled your fire, both making you want to bite back at him and make him come down your throat. Opting for the latter, you tried to take him back in your mouth, wanting to put your adjusted throat to good use, but he yanked you back. A whimper left your lips and he slapped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

"F'you know what's good for you, you'll answer when I ask you a question."

Wet and needy, you didn't hesitate. "Yes! Yes, Joel," you cried, one hand on his hip for purchase, the other hid between your legs, fervently toying with your clit. "Wanted you to treat me like a whore! Wa—wanted you to fuck me stupid!"

That's when he noticed your hand between your legs, eagerly seeking out friction. His brows connected in a crease of anger, and he had you on your wobbly legs one moment and hurled you onto a dirty surface the next.

"The fuck you think you're doin', huh? Touching yourself without permission?" Joel growled and for the first time his disappointment got to you.

He held you by your throat and you could feel the calluses in his palm scrape your skin.

"M'sorry—couldn't help myself," you babbled feverishly as he shoved a hand down your undone pants, feeling just what you had been so disrespectful to touch.

A guttural moan escaped him and you could have died just then, knowing you did that to him.

"Christ, sweetheart. You got this wet from chokin' on my cock, huh?" he mused absent-minded and you couldn't decide which you liked more; Joel calling you "sweetheart" or— "such a fuckin' slut.”

You were startled but thankful when he pulled down your jeans in one swift movement, exposing you to the cold air in the warehouse.

He didn't give you a warning before he plunged two fingers into your cunt, curling them against the velvety roof of your wet cave. Clawing onto his shoulder with a gasp of surprise, you instinctively tried to lift yourself and relieve the overwhelmingly intense feeling.

"Where you goin', sweetheart? This not what you wanted?" You desperately wanted to slap the grin off of his face, but he had you completely wrapped around his finger. Literally and figuratively. "Didn't you wanna be used like a little slut, hm?"

"Please," you begged, drawing the word out with a rugged moan and clutching to his shoulders. "Ff—uck!"

He fingered you at an unforgiving pace, three fingers and his palm slapping against your cunt each time. The squelches from your pussy resonated off the bare walls and if you hadn't been so focused on the pain mixing with pleasure, you would have been ashamed Joel was the one making you this wet.

"Joel!" you cried, tugging at the front of his shirt. "Plea-please! Need your cock!"

He choked you with his unoccupied hand, forcing your face inches from his. "Quit whinin' or I'll leave you 'ere," he threatened.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, unable to comprehend your increasing lust for him from being this close. Joel's breath was hot on your face, breathing his air, you became dizzy from a mix of him and your impending orgasm.

"That's right, sweetheart, cream all o'er my fingers," he beckoned, feeling your contracting walls squeeze his fingers. Your legs were trembling, wanton moans spilling from your lips as Joel pulled an orgasm from you.

You incoherently begged him to fill you up, wanting nothing more than to milk his thick cock, but when he caught sight of your pleading eyes, he applied pressure to your clit instead. It was sore from the heel of his palm having slapped it repeatedly and it made you unable to come down from your high properly.

Your legs spasmed as his torturous fingers brutally skirted across your bundle of nerves. Before you could process what happened, a gush of pleasure sprayed from you.

Your cheeks flushed pink, realizing Joel had just made you squirt. You had never done that before, and you looked at him with an expression of surprise mixed with confusion. He looked proud.

Joel groaned as he stroked his throbbed cock, smearing the precum over the head while his other hand pushed down hard on your belly, holding you just at the edge of the table.

Stammering his name, your attempt at any sort of coherent sentence was foiled as he slid his girthy cock into your cunt.

Your eyes fluttered shut, walls clenching around him. You had never felt so full. "Joel—" you shuddered, gripping his bicep for purchase.

A string of curses left his lips, a crease knitting his brows together in concentration. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart, s'a tight lil' hole ya got 'ere."

Joel wanted to take a moment just then, revel in the sweet clench of your pussy, catch his breath but he knew you would notice. As much as he had a hidden desire to ruin every other man for you and have you tail him like a lost puppy, he refused to acknowledge how overdue this was.

He didn't give you another second to adjust before he rocked his hips back and slammed his cock back into you. If you thought his fingers hit a spot, his cock fucking destroyed that.

You couldn't even form moans properly as his hips rutted at a bruising pace, expertly molding your cunt to fit him. His face contorted and he grumbled something under his breath, but you didn't care to ponder what as he filled you up. You were still dazed from the previous orgasms and it was like he wouldn't allow you to come down. Your ragged breaths, his grunts, and the wanton sounds of skin slapping filled your head as you soared around on cloud nine.

A large hand snuck under your shirt, the calluses on his palm rough against your skin but you loved the feeling as he squeezed your breast, thumb and index pinching your nipple.

Your knuckles turned pale from clutching down hard on his shoulders, fingernails clawing indents at the exposed skin on his neck and collar.

You hoped the crescents would outlast this moment, that Joel would curse at the sight the next time he looked in a mirror. You hoped he wouldn't be able to get this moment out of his head then, not ever, thinking back to this moment whenever he would see the scars you left on him.

A hiss escaped you and tore the thought of making your mark out of your mind. His deft fingers were rubbing your sore clit once again.

There was determination on his face and animalistic hunger in his dark eyes—he looked as if there was no getting through to him, like he was stuck in a world of his own.

Whether he insisted on drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you for your pleasure or his ego, you did not know. Joel always had something to prove—to himself or the people around him, it was another thing about him you didn't know. In this moment, as he chased every high for you, you didn't care either.

You hated him for making you feel this good. Hated him for making you moan in pleasure, hated him for making your legs shake uncontrollably. You wanted to taunt him, crack a spiteful comment about his age or something, let him know he wasn't doing as well as he thought—but he was. You could lie, but your body would betray you.

There was no snide comment left in you as Joel's hips pistoned into yours. It felt too good. He felt too good.

"S'too much," you gasped and held onto his shoulder, not pushing him away but not pulling him any closer either. "I can't."

The pressure on your clit was too much. The frantic rubbing, the harsh pads of his fingers, mixing pleasure with pain in the most unforgiving way. It hurt too good to want to stop him, though.

Joel surprised you, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes were heavy, and his jaw was slack, the blissful expression ruined by a smug chuckle.

"You can. C'mon, sweetheart, I believe in you," he tutted like one would to a child riding a bike for the first time.

It spurred something inside you, the degradation. Your hooded, watery eyes caught sight of his plump lip through the blur and without a second thought, you lunged forward and bit it, your teeth piercing the soft skin.

It was the closest thing you would get to feeling them, you knew it, and you weren't about to beg for a taste.

A slap landed on your cheek, sharp and stinging, but he kept his hand there on the side of your face, cupping it in an almost endearing way.

Joel hissed at the taste of blood—surprised but not disgusted. The hand cupping your face in the sweetest way turned to force your mouth open, and you grinned bitterly when he spat on your tongue, tasting his blood.

His thrusts became more frantic, the pad of his thumb sloppily skipping over your clit as he draws your pleasure out. Forcing you to look into his eyes while you come around his cock, Joel's too far gone watching you to notice the way his balls tightened.

"Fuck—"

Slick with your juices Joel slips out of your clenching pussy, jerking his cock a few pumps as he hisses, strings of milky sperm decorating your abdomen.

Your heavy breaths hang in the room like thick syrup, bodies sticky, tension at a maximum as the lust turns back to hatred.

Joel moves from you with a grunt, a sly smirk on his lip as he moves his gaze from the mess on your stomach to your eyes. He leaves you to clean yourself up and tucks his softening cock into his pants, the zipper resounding comically loud through the silence. It reminds you of a secret between children, zipping your lips close as a solemn pledge.

It was over and it would never be brought up again. As you did your best to clean up, get back into your clothes, and comb your fingers through your hair, your eyes were trained on Joel's back—if eyes could kill and all that.

At once, you were back to hating one another. You hoped your nails had dug deep enough into his shoulder, hard enough to leave scars.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eleven

authors note: i'm telling ya'll right now. this one will probably leave you with a certain number of questions. that's expected. all will, eventually, be revealed and make sense. don't be freaking out on me, por favor. 😭

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw:  fluff, angst, language, suggestive themes, and scene of victim blaming/justifying dv (from character's pov, not the authors)

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 13k (i need help)

The moment the cotton round soaked in hydrogen peroxide makes contact with the largest cut on Roman’s face, a slash across his eyebrow bone, is the first time he visibly displays any sort of reaction. The first indication that he is in fact in pain.

And he’s immediately regretful.

Nakoa, his father, a tall man of muscular build, a thick salt and pepper beard, and dark eyes that seem almost black in dim lighting, is before him with a previously unreadable expression that has now morphed into something different.

Something Roman hates to see on his father’s face.

Disappointment. 

“Tell me what happened.”

Nakoa Reigns is a man who only needs to speak once, his deep, baritone voice emanating a level of power and authority that requires no repeating of anything. The first is the only.

Despite the sting of his cut and the bruising of his body, Roman sits up straight, all 78lbs of him and lifts his chin. “I—”

“He was trying to help us, fath—”

Nakoa lifts his hand, effectively silencing the voice of one of his older boys, Pika, Roman’s half brother. 

“I asked your brother.”

Pika recognizes his fault and shares a brief look with his other brother, Tane, before both drop their heads, rendered to silent shame.

Nakoa brings his gaze back to Roman as Viviana continues to work on heeding to her son’s wounds.

Roman swallows and answers as evenly as possible. “They were talking about you.”

“So you attacked them?”

Roman quickly debates leaving out unnecessary details then easily remembers nothing gets past his father, and honesty, while uncomfortable, is the best route. “Pika and Tane did first, and then I joined them—”

“You were defending my honor.”

Nakoa’s tone, something of almost pride, takes a young Roman by surprise. Yet, he shows nothing, recognizing that can and typically does change with his father. “Yes.”

It’s a wise decision, because Nakoa’s tone instantly shifts to something chilly. “And yet you lost.” Roman winces again, and it has nothing to do with the dabbing of the hydrogen peroxide against another cut. “Tell me, son, where is the honor in that?”

Knowing that there is no excuse, Roman’s shoulders slump a bit. “There is none, father.”

“If you are to defend this family, you will do it to completion. There is no room for failure. Ever.” It’s a tale as old as time, a lesson Nakoa has drilled into all eight of his children, but especially Roman, the youngest and smallest of the bunch compared to his other sons. “Pika. Tane.”

The older boys stand at attention as their father, The Tribal Chief, turns his disappointed gaze towards them. “You have also failed me. Your brother is small, but you are not. There is no excuse.” His gaze sharpens. “If they disrespect you, then they disrespect me, and if they disrespect me, then they disrespect our entire family. Does this sound acceptable to you?”

Pika, the older of Tane and Roman, is the one to answer. “No, father.”

“Exactly.” Nakoa’s large, intimidating frame is stepping away from them as he instructs. “Come. We will fix this. Today.”

As usual, Tane and Pika fall in line, walking in silence behind their father until only Roman and his mother, Viviana, remain in their large kitchen. 

That is when she finally speaks. Her fingers move under his chin, forcing him to look up, her icy blue eyes meeting with his light brown ones, a trait inherited from his father.

“Did you hit your head?” He shakes his head no, and she drops her fingers. “Good.” She studies him, lifting his shirt to see the purple bruises forming. A heavy sigh escapes her mouth as she moves across the kitchen, opening up the cabinet and grabbing the Children’s Tylenol. She pours the appropriate dosage into the medicinal cup and offers it to him. “Here. Take this. It will help with the pain.”

He’s immediately shaking his head, shoulder length hair brushing against his face. “I must pay for my failure.”

“You will learn nothing by suffering unnecessarily.” She again motions for him to take the medicine. Roman hesitates but obeys, downing the red liquid in a matter of seconds. She takes back the cup, rinses it, and puts it away before returning to finish tending to his wounds.

“Never pick or involve yourself in a fight you can’t win, Roman.” Viviana switches to Italian, an intentional tactic to ensure privacy as well as continue to push her eight-year-old son to better his fluency. He's advanced for his age but still not where she would like him to be. Where she needs him to be. 

“Should I have done nothing, mother?” Viviana hears it. The edge in his voice, the hint of challenge to her authority. 

Again, she grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her. “You should have been smart.”

“Pika and Tane—”

“I do not care about them.” Her dismissal is immediate and bitter. “They are not my sons. You are.” Roman is smart for his age. He’s always picked up on his mother’s dislike of his half–siblings, the five sons born to his father by his late ex-wife. No. His mother has only ever cared and focused on him and his two older sisters, Nesi and Sili. “And you are smarter than them.”

Viviana suddenly gives another sigh and places the cotton round on the counter. She crouches down in front of Roman, taking his hands in hers. “Do you know why your father and I are so hard on you?” She didn’t expect him to reply, verbally or nonverbally, and is therefore unsurprised when he does nothing. “It’s because you are not like your brothers and sisters. You are different. You come from two worlds. You are Bloodline, yes, but you are Cosa Nostra as well. That means you belong to the two biggest crime families in the world. It is your birthright to lead both of them.” Had he been looking up, he might have seen the almost sympathetic shift in her expression. “But the road ahead of you is not easy. They will challenge you. They will hate you. They will reject you, because you hail from two worlds instead of one over the other.” Any sign of sympathy quickly morphs into something determined and hardened. “That is why you must be better. You must be better than all of them. Faster. Smarter. Stronger. There is no room for you to be weak, Roman.” He lifts his head, mindful of maintaining and showing no sign of emotion, no indication of feeling. “You will show them, brutally, ruthlessly, and with no mercy who you are, and then, only then, you will rule them all.”

Roman straightens again, his posture representative of the alignment provided by his mother. By the reminder of his mother why he must always be the best and failure is never an option. He can succeed or he can succeed. There is no second option.

“Never forget, Roman.” She points to his chest, to his heart. “This is what makes you weak. It will distract you, it will deter you, and it will cost you everything.” Viviana speaks with almost sorrow to her, an almost unhealed scar from a time long ago. “But this….” She lifts her hand to his head, pointing to his brain. “This is power. This will bring and keep you on top. It is your greatest strength.”

Viviana presses a kiss to her son’s forehead and stands back up, motioning to the first aid kit. “Finish tending to your wounds, and go do your training.”

Roman is quick to hide his surprise, to hide the disappointment at still having to complete his daily combat training. He tries to be grateful though, thankful that his father, or mother, did not tack on additional training for his failure. 

But it’s when Viviana leaves and he moves to grab the gauze, a new voice interrupts.

“Boy, I thought she’d never leave.”

Instantly, Roman’s spirits are lifted in a way only his tina matua can provide.

Her warm eyes are on him, a frown falling on her face as she sees the cuts. It’s unsurprising and one of many fights he’s already been in at such a young age. But, it’s because he’s a protector. She can already see that is one of his defining traits: his strong urge and sense of duty to protect the ones he loves. 

To protect his family. 

She grabs the supplies and starts finishing the cleaning and bandaging of his wounds. “Those boys got you some good, huh?” She shakes her head, cursing in Samoan. “Don’t you worry. In a couple of years, you’ll be bigger and stronger than them, and then you can get your receipt.”

Fetu Reigns is unsurprised when her nephew says nothing. She knows his small size is a deep insecurity he struggles with, especially when all of his brothers have exceeded expected height and weight. She knows he sees it as a hindrance. 

“Did you know that your father was the smallest of our other siblings?” That is when Roman looks up and actually allows himself to show an emotion: surprise. His tina matua has always been the only person he can do as such with.

His parents would never approve, and his brothers would never let him live it down.

“It’s true,” Fetu discloses, adding. “And it bothered him too. Then one summer, he went through a growth spurt and suddenly the scrawny little boy we all teased towered over everyone.”

Fetu can see the continued struggle he has between the words she’s saying and the reality he’s living. She puts down the supplies and gently cups his face.

“Roman, I know there is pressure on you, my sweet boy. In this house and out. And you do carry a burden your brothers and sisters do not, but you also have something else, something they don’t have because your parents haven’t extinguished it out of you yet.” She lays her hand over his chest. “You have heart, Roman, and it does not make you weak. That is what makes you strong. A good leader, a great leader, leads with both his head and his heart.”

She hopes her words can penetrate the deep armor of stoicism that her brother and sister-in-law seem to want to bestow upon the child who already carries such a heavy weight at a young age.

Her heart aches for him a bit. 

She then informs him, hoping it will lift his spirits, even just a little, “Rikishi brought the twins over.”

And it pleases her to see the way his eyes light up. For a brief second, he’s just a little boy who wants to play with his cousins. But, it’s just as quickly gone, his shoulders straightening. “I have to do my training for today.”

She’s briefly disappointed but quickly reminds him of the ‘completion’ of that task. “but you did, remember? You got up early this morning to get it done. I was there watching you.” She gives him a wink, and Roman smiles. The first of the day.

“Thank you, tina matua.” He starts to run off when she calls his name, forcing him to look back at her.

“And where is my hug?”

Still smiling, he runs back over, hugging her tightly, soaking in all of the warmth she provides in his dark world.

She kisses the top of his head. “I love you, Roman.”

And his eyes shut, because at the end of the day, when all is said and done, he’s still just an eight-year-old little boy who needs the space and time to just be that innocent little boy for however long it can last.

“I love you too, tina matua.”

“Roman.”

Solana’s almost worried expression is the last and least wanted thing Roman expects to find as he’s ripped away from a memory so long ago that it almost feels unreal. There’s a moment of adjustment, a brief delay as he returns to reality. 

“Sorry.” It’s a bit gruff, a bit on the harsh side, an unintended side effect of resurfaced, previously buried memories he’d prefer to keep six feet under instead of at the forefront of his mind.

Solana steps forward, her hand on his forearm. “Are—are you okay?” Her frown deepens. “You’ve been kinda off the past few days.”

He can’t and won’t deny it, an inconvenient result of still trying to navigate just what the hell he’s supposed to do with information that feels almost too painful to sit on and do nothing about. He can’t march over and rip Xavier apart with his bare hands no matter how badly every fiber of his being wants him too. He can’t do that because he promised Solana he would let her make that call.

And now, more than ever, that’s the least he can give to her.

But the knowledge, the truth about the two events in her life he has no doubt sent her on that dark spiral, feels like something she should know.

It also, however, seems like something he feels could destroy her. And not even just the tremendous progress she’s made, but destroy her altogether.

“Just work shit.” There’s also that, but that’s nothing new nor noteworthy. It’s also insignificant compared to everything else. 

He doesn’t know if it’s her naivety or his adept skills of persuasiveness, but she seems to buy it. “Okay.” He hates this. The lying to her part. Shit fucking sucks, but he also still has no goddamn idea what he wants or even needs to do, so it’s all he has. “I know—I know there’s probably nothing I can do to help—”

“You can.” It’s an obvious surprising statement to her judging by the shocked expression on her face. Roman moves towards her, hand reaching for the small of her back as he pulls her into him. He watches as Solana bites on her bottom lip but still lays her hands against his chest. It’s a great sign of progress, as he’s always noticed the way she seems almost uncomfortable around him when he’s shirtless. “I want you to think about something for me.”

She answers almost immediately. “Okay.”

He locks his gaze with hers. “Moving into my room.”

Solana is clearly taken back by his offer, the way her eyes widen almost instantly only to settle into something that’s an almost mixture of a smile and a frown. “Really?”

He nods, fingers dancing across her back. “If you want us to eventually have a sex life, then sleeping in the same bed seems like a good place to start.”

Solana is quiet, listening to his words but also still in a bit of shock. She knows he’s indicated a desire to be with her, to want her in that way at least, but she never really imagined he’d be okay with her being in his space like that.

They’ve shared a bed on roughly two occasions now, but those were both by unplanned circumstance. Something that he was okay with because of how they came about. But now, it seems he’s okay and maybe even wants it to be a regular thing.

And when she thinks about, thinks about his offer, there’s no anxiety, no fear. There’s just…okayness.

A state of peace, almost.

“Dulce has to come with me.” She chews on her bottom lip, nervous about this being a possible dealbreaker. “She’s used to sleeping with me now.” 

He instead just shrugs. “She seems to keep finding her way in there anyway.” Dulce has also taken on the same squatter mentality of his twin cousins with her having walked her little ass into his room at various points in the middle of the night the past few days. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t stepped on her. “So, you’ll think about it?”

“No. I—” She gives a small shrug of her own, answering almost confidently. “I’ll do it. I’ll—I’ll move in.”

His eyes light with something that’s almost similar to excitement. “Good.” Her eyes shut when he dips his head, preparing for him to kiss her only for him to ghost his lips across hers, murmuring, “like you close to me.” He gestures down and adds with his gaze lingering on her chest a bit longer than what’s probably necessary. “I really like this outfit too.”

Roman’s noticed a shit ton of benefits from Solana being friends with Naomi and Bayley, which is a major reason why he didn’t rip them a new one for allowing her to get so shit faced drunk that night. Why he didn’t find a reason to justify keeping them apart. And one of the major benefits has become her change in wardrobe.

The baggy clothes have been swapped out for more form-fitting attire, outfits that accentuate her curves and showcase her beauty. He can also see the relationship between her wardrobe and self-esteem, specifically regarding her body. An increase.

And he likes it.

Happiness and confidence look good on her.

Roman kisses her, gentle at first, almost tentatively, just like most of their kisses. Like he’s always initially assessing her comfort level. And when she doesn’t push back, doesn’t tense, he deepens said kiss, tugging her close against him, their chests touching. Solana bites back a smile, giggling against his mouth, “Roman, you’re still sweaty from your workout.”

He’s unbothered, commenting suggestively with a wink, “you better get used to that, baby.”

Instead of discomfort, there’s only a strange, uncomfortable yet not feeling between her legs that’s unfamiliar but still….welcomed. It’s a hard thing to explain, and she’s thankful for the glance at the time on the microwave that provides her an out.

Still smiling, she informs him, “I’m gonna be late for work.” Solana is certain her cheeks are painted red judging by the heat that’s floating through her core. 

He’s unbothered. “And?”

Rolling her eyes, she pries herself away, asking, “are you still going to meet me when I get off?”

He taps her hip, hand close to the side of her ass. There’s a brief slice of anxiety that’s quickly pushed back by her daily reminder. Safe. “Of course.” 

Pleased, she leans up, kissing his cheek and backs away before he can pull her back for another kiss. She’ll definitely be late for work then. “Bye.”

He calls out bye after her, and by the time she’s outside, Solo is waiting expectedly by the SUV with that typical scowl. She expects the usual silence but is caught off guard when he observes as she climbs into the truck, “you’re late.”

Confused, she looks over at him, almost struggling with a reply as she reverts back to her overly apologetic state. “I’m sorry, I was—I was with Roman.”

He makes a sound and rolls his eyes. “Of course, you were.”

Her mouth dips into a frown. What’s that supposed to mean?

Before she can ask, or even consider asking a follow up question, he closes the door shut.

Literally and figuratively.

________

The work day seems to go by significantly faster when there’s something to look forward to. And for Solana, it’s being able to spend time with Roman. The more time they interact, the closer and more comfortable she feels.

There’s something so calming being around him. A strange dynamic, she recognizes, considering just who he is and the fact that his name alone strikes fear through most. 

But that’s not who he is to her. 

He’s….he’s a lot more than that, and though she still doesn’t quite know how to describe and label it accurately, she’s becoming less and less focused on the why and more focused on just allowing whatever this is between them to continue. To grow.

And that includes the intimacy portion, hence their current position, later that evening, laid out on his bed making out after being distracted in the midst of moving her items into his room.

Roman’s big hands are careful to remain in the safety zones of her body. The side of her stomach, the width of her shapely hips, the span of her back. It’s an intentional caution, she’s certain, one she’s appreciative of.

A boundary almost. 

But, it’s a boundary she’s currently in the space and range to play around with. 

Solana breaks their kiss, Roman instantly checking for her comfort level. “You okay?”

“Yes. I—” She’s not sure how exactly to word it but does the best she can, regardless. “You—you can touch me.” It sounds and even feels a bit weird leaving her mouth, maybe a tad bit uncomfortable too, but Solana knows that a lot about this whole thing will be uncomfortable at first. She just has to trust him. 

Trust herself. 

And when it dawns on her that a boundary within the exploration can be set, she stipulates, “just….just not there.” She doesn’t want to say it outright, a maybe silly sort of avoidance considering it’s what they’re eventually working up to, but for now, her comfort level is in the category of vague. “I can’t….not that. Not yet, at least.”

“Of course.” Roman looks at her with almost uncertainty. “You sure?”

She nods, fingers brushing through his hair that’s down instead of up like usual. She thinks she prefers it down. It makes him look…almost angelic. “Yes.”

His fingers dance across her back. “Can you lay down?”

Solana answers by allowing him to shift positions where he’s on top of her, hovering over her body. She closes her eyes when that nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach forms. It takes a second to redirect herself, to recenter herself to where she is and who she’s with. 

And Roman helps with that, his lips brushing over her jawline as he reassures her, “it’s just me, baby….”

She nods, moving her hands to his face, resuming their kissing as Roman carefully navigates this newfound ability to explore her. His hand moves up her stomach in a way that makes her sigh and moan into his mouth. His touch is something that does something so different to her. It’s a combination of nerves but also something else she can’t describe nor label.

But it’s when he moves his hand to her breast, kneading them almost gently, her back arches on an accord of its own. And she exhales deeply, fingers clawing the soft sheets underneath him. “You’re so sensitive to my touch….” He’s peppers kisses against her neck, mouth opening as he sucks on her soft skin, murmuring, “I fuckin’ love that shit.” 

She’s never felt this before, and while there’s a constant battle in her head to push away those dark thoughts that would rip her from this moment, there’s a growing level of almost pleasure that’s so unfamiliar. 

But she likes it. 

Solana reaches to touch him, her fingers lightly gliding across his stomach.

He hisses against her and says something she can’t make out before smashing his lips back onto hers with an elevated sense of urgency that she finds herself matching. Her arms move around his neck as she tugs him closer to her, Roman’s big hands continuing to explore her body, respecting her request that he stay away from the sensitive space between her legs. 

And it’s okay. It’s a level she’s okay with outside of some anxiety.

But then it’s over. 

Roman pulls away from her, almost suddenly, like he’d been zapped with something. Frowning, Solana sits up, panting, lips swollen. “What—what’s wrong?”

She watches with continued confusion as he lays on his back, eyes closed, chest moving up and down. “We have to stop.”

She shakes her head, hand moving to his forearm. Solana notices his jaw clenches at that interaction, a strange response. “But—I’m okay.” And she is, though this is broaching new territory, having his big hands explore more of her body, she feels a layer of protection at the fact that she’s still fully clothed. Her outfit is more revealing than what she would typically wear, but it’s another step she’s hoping continues to move her in the right direction.

If the goal is eventual sexual intimacy, then that most likely includes being naked in front of Roman. Working her way up into wearing more revealing clothes around him feels like a way for her to ease her way into developing that level of comfort. 

When he still says nothing and Solana finds herself almost wanting to continue, she urges, “really, Roman, I’m—I’m okay. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

“It’s not you,” he finally says, eyes still closed, voice almost strained. 

Now Solana is just stumped because if it’s not her, what reason would he have for stopping? Was he…..was he not enjoying it? It certainly didn’t feel like it.

She shakes her head, growing a bit self-conscious. “I don’t—I don’t under….” The trailing off of her words coincide with the way she trails his body, ceasing when she finally realizes why he stopped. “Oh.”

Solana’s cheeks are practically burning. She can only imagine how reddened she must look, and it has nothing to do with the intense makeout session from only minutes ago and everything to do with Roman’s very visible bulge.

He just makes a sound that’s equivalent to a “you get it now?”

“I’m—” She has no idea what to say, no idea how to respond. How did that happen? They weren’t even doing it. She voices her confusion. “But—but we were only kissing.”

Roman chuckles almost darkly. “You still don’t get how attracted I am to you, do you?”

She bites down on her lip, eyes briefly darting to his erection, quickly snapping back to anything but that. “I think—I think I’m starting to.” He smiles, and she asks, “do you….do you want me to leave?”

She may have no healthy sexual experience, but she knows enough to know that there are ways men tend to take care of….that kind of thing when actual sex isn’t an option. And Solana has no desire to be present for that. That’s just too much at this point.

Maybe at any point for her.

“No.” His answer surprises her. “Stay. Just….talk.”

“Talk?”

“Distract me,” he encourages. She has no idea how the hell she’s supposed to do that, how the hell her talking will help that to go away or go down. For her own mental wellbeing, she doesn’t even acknowledge the size of his bulge.

Being intimate with him is one thing, but realizing Roman is just a big human all over is something she’ll save for when that time comes. Another problem for another day. 

Suddenly feeling on the spot, she blurts out without much consideration. “I—I bought a bathing suit.” It feels so random, but she doesn't know what else to say, so she continues on this maybe not so great distraction. “I—I also want to try to get in the pool, but I didn’t have a suit, so I bought one. It’s a two piece, and I—I don’t usually like wearing those, but Bay and Naomi said it looked nice.” She thinks about the colorful two piece bikini that shows off more skin than she’s ever shown in public. She’s not sure she could ever wear something like that in public, but maybe around Roman. “The top is…it’s more revealing than I’d like, but I—”

“Solana.” 

“Yes?”

He sounds like he’s in some level of pain as he informs, almost kindly despite the suffering, “baby, that’s not helping.”

Her frown returns at hearing his tone, and another glance in his direction reveals why. “Oh. I’m—I’m sorry.” She can most definitely see why now. “I—I should just go.” 

He doesn’t protest this time around, just nods, and Solana doesn’t waste any time climbing off the bed and walking out the door, making sure to shut it all the way. She almost wishes that she could lock it too.

Solana finds herself trying to settle her own body as she makes her way down the steps and into the living room where Dulce is curled into a little ball sleeping away.

She closes her eyes and blows out a big breath, a small smile falling on her face. It’s the little things. Like being able to make out with her husband, his hands on her with only a small to medium level of anxiety being generated during the act that brings on the smile. Not even four months ago, they’d been in an eerily similar position with an entirely different outcome. She’d had a panic attack, and while he’d helped her through it, she was also left alone to navigate her big emotions on that even bigger day.

It feels almost like night and day how far they’d come. How far she’s come because this time around, Solana liked the feelings of his hands on her. There was still some uncertainty, but his gentleness with her, the way he kept reminding her that it was him and not them….it made a difference.

It makes a difference.

She finds herself reaching for her airpods, plugging them in her ears as well as the sketchbook on the coffee table.

Years. 

It’s been years since she picked up a sketchbook and pencil, years since she escaped in the form of art. Writing has been her main outlet for years, but once upon a time, she had writing and art.

Passions she shared with her mom. 

And in moving through her workbook, one of the exercises inquired about passions that died following the traumatic event, and in doing the hard work, Solana realized that the last time she drew was before she was raped.

It was a favorite hobby at one point, and she’d love to tap back into that. Even if just for the connection with her mom.

And it’s something she finds herself fully immersed in, so much so that she misses it when Roman rejoins her until she jumps a bit, pulling out one of her airpods. “Hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the sofa next to her, arm moving around her. Naturally, she moves into his side. “Are you umm—okay?��� Thinking about her outfit, she offers, "I can change."

He chuckles. “I’m not a teenage boy, Solana. Seeing you is not going to make me hard.” He dances his fingers across her upper arm as he explains, “it’s just touching you like that….it’s hard to control myself.”

She swallows. His words don’t unnerve her, just make her realize yet again just how attracted he is to her. Still a bit of a hard pill to swallow given that she’s never seen a man as beautiful as Roman. And yet he wants her. It still blows her mind. “Can I—can I do something to help?”

His eyes take in her body. “Not a damn thing.” She smiles as he then focuses on the book on her lap. “Did you do that?”

She looks down, realizing just how far she got in her drawing. A lot farther than she realized, that’s for sure. She looks up, nodding. “Fuck, you’re good.”

It seems like Roman is full of compliments when it comes to her, and it feels good. The more they come, the more she’s starting to believe it. Believe that she’s beautiful and talented and the exact opposite of everything her father and brother ever tried to make her believe about herself.

“Thank you,” she then goes on to explain. “I—I haven’t done it in years, but—but I used to love it.”

He nods as well, facial expression indicating he’s storing this information for later use. “Do you do any other kind of artwork?”

She has to think about it for a second. “I used to paint too. My….mother taught me.” The ending portion quiet, her pencil dragging along the eyes of the unidentified woman.

Roman notices though, asking, “is that her?”

With one glance, without even needing to think about it, she answers, “yes.” 

Her mom.

“You know the part I hate the most?” Her voice is still quiet, low and weighed with emotion. “I can’t—I can’t remember what her speaking voice sounded like. I’ve tried—tried to remember, but I can’t.” Her tone shifts to something else, something more of a bitter and remorseful nature. “But I still remember the sound of her screams every time he beat her.” Solana remembers more than that, feels more than that. But revisiting those painful memories to that extent is something she doesn’t feel mentally equipped for. “I used to be so scared. Praying because…because I thought he was gonna kill her.” Had she been looking at Roman, she’d have seen the flash of guilt in his eyes at her soft admission. “And sometimes I wanted him to, so at least she didn’t have to suffer anymore.”

Wetness pooling in her eyes alerts her to pending tears. She sniffles, quickly wiping away any sign of the impact of revisiting those dark days. “I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because it’s the truth. Because it’s how you feel.” Roman’s voice is soothing, soft, a stark contrast to everything anyone else has ever seen with him. It’s a different, almost caring side. And it’s everything she needs at this moment to feel safe. 

She nods, struggling to keep the tears at bay. It’s a failed mission at this point. “I just—I miss her. So much.”

Roman tugs her closer to him, as she angles her body toward him, crying silently into his chest unintentionally creating yet another layer of complexity for the man struggling already as to whether or not the information he’s sitting on could help her finally close a chapter of suffering with the finality of truth. 

Or bring her right back to the apex of trauma and suffering. 

________

Solana shoots awake with a violent gasp and heavy panting. Immediately, she looks to her side, hoping to see Roman only to find an empty space and ruffled sheets. 

Sniffling, she wipes at the tears and tries to regulate herself. Memories are one thing, but the memories that haunt her when sleep should overcome her have always been the hardest. They weigh heavier, leaving behind an emotional stain that’s hard to scrub out.

She wipes away the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and kicks the blankets off her body. One glance at the ground, and she sees Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed. 

Solana hugs herself, ready to find Roman. For what reason, she’s not sure. It’s not like he can do anything to take the remnants of the nightmare away. She just knows that she wants to be around him. 

A swish of a cool breeze brings her attention to the ajar double doors that lead to the balcony attached to his room.

She dabs at her eyes, doing her best to hide the tears before walking out to find him. Solana doesn’t necessarily want him to know the specifics, just needs to be near him.

He’s sitting back against the chair, eyes on the full moon and stars that blanket the night sky. But his gaze quickly shifts to her the second he’s alerted of her presence. He frowns almost. “Shit, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head, doing her best to muster up a smile that doesn’t give away the truth. “No. I just….can’t sleep.”

But, she should know better than that. Better than to think that this man can’t see through any lie thrown at him.

He motions her over. “Come here.”

She makes her way to him, unsurprised as he pulls her onto his lap, keeping her face forward so she can recline back against his strong chest. Solana’s hands rest on his forearms that are almost protectively around her.

Her eyes shut briefly when he brings his lips to her temple, asking, “what’s wrong?”

“Bad dream” she murmurs only to feel a sense of regret at her answer. He’s also obviously up in the middle of the night for a reason too. It’s not just about her.

But in a surprising flip of the roles, Solana feels Roman almost tense underneath her at her answer. “Solana, if us trying is triggering you—“

Her eyes widen almost as she works to assure him. “No. No. It’s not—not that. I haven’t—I haven’t had one of those in a while.” It’s been at least a few months since she’s had a nightmare about that. A far cry from when she would have them at least a few times a week. “It was about my mom.”

He seems to settle a bit, asking, “do you wanna talk about it?”

The answer is easy but also gently supplied. “Not really.” She then angles her head to look at him, asking almost cautiously. “Do you wanna talk about what’s bothering you?”

He chuckles, fingers tapping against the side of her stomach. She tries to focus on his words and not the action, knowing she’ll get too into her head. Her stomach has always been one of her biggest sources of insecurity. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

The rejection, albeit cloaked in vagueness, is a good distraction. She gives him a small smile. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.” For all that Roman’s been for her in the past few months, she would feel remiss if she didn’t at least attempt to be a safe space for him. 

It’s the least she can do.

He looks at her, and she can tell he’s trying to navigate his words. “Solana, I’m not—I’m not used to talking about my problems. I keep that shit to myself, and I figure it out.” 

She doesn’t deny that one bit, knows that he’s a man who carries the weight of the world but makes it seem like a tennis ball. “I get that.” She doesn’t want to push him. Again, it's more to make him aware that should he ever want to, she’s here. “I just…..I know how lonely it can be not having anyone to talk to.” There’s a hesitation but eventual follow through as she offers quietly, “I don’t think I said it at the time, because everything happened so quickly, but I'm so sorry about your mom.”

He’s tense under her, replying almost stoically. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she points out gently.  “You—you never get over that kind of loss. Not—not really.”

She would know.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, and for a second, she berates herself. Chides herself for being too pushy, for bringing up memories that must be painful. Just because she’s venturing down trauma lane, doesn’t mean she has to drag him with her. 

Solana swallows. “I’m so—”

“I have to go out of town tomorrow.”

It’s deflection but almost maybe a genuine notice that’s much shorter than she likes. Regardless, her head snaps in his direction, big eyes on him with a mixture of confusion and shock. “What?”

“I have….I have something I need to handle for work.” That feels like an oversimplification, and she has no doubt it is. Knows that there’s so much about his work and what he does that there’s not enough time and space in the world for him to catch her up on. Not that she would even want to know the full truth, to be honest.

Some things are better left unknown. 

“How—how long will you be gone?”

Solana hates the way her mood has just taken yet another turn in a downward direction. She doesn’t know why it saddens her to know that he’s leaving, to have this sense of anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach at the knowledge that he’s leaving. 

He answers it so calmly, so easily. Like it’s the most simplest thing. “A couple days. No more than a week.”

A week.

The anxiety is slowly trickling into something deeper and heavier. It shows in her face and body language. 

Roman notices this and asks, “what is it?”

She feels silly even saying it, but there’s also a small desire to just be honest with him. To not hide anything. Even if she does feel a bit embarrassed saying so. “It’s just…I haven’t been away from you since the wedding.”

Solana hates that she’s making this moment about her, that she’s redirecting attention onto herself, but at the same time, she can’t ignore her anxiety at just the thought of Roman being gone. Roman is her protector. The one who has made it so nothing bad has happened to her since they exchanged vows. Even with the Theory and Waller situation. That only happened because she hadn’t made him aware. There’s no doubt in her mind now that had she told him from the beginning, he would have nipped it in the bud. 

But for the first time in months, she has to think about something unfamiliar. She has to think about being without his protection.

Her right hand moves to her pajama shorts, pulling at the cotton. Roman sees this telling action and brings his hand under her chin, lifting and making her look at him. “Talk to me.”

It’s suddenly a difficult thing, because she’s not sure she knows how to describe it exactly. So she just asks him instead, voice small, “will Solo still be here?”

And it’s in how he looks at her, how something flashes in his eyes that she knows he knows. “You’re scared.” It’s more of an assessment than anything, and she can’t deny it, no matter how badly she wants to. 

Because no matter how far she’s come, the steps and strides that she’s made, there’s still this deep down fear.

Fear of her dad and brother.

Fear of their anger and punishment for how she’s been made completely out of reach and contact with them.

Fear of their threat from what feels like so long ago.

“Either you kill Reigns, or we kill you.”

And suddenly the fear shifts from what they could do to her and entirely to what they could do to the man before her who suddenly looks like he’s engaging in his own internal dialogue. 

“I figured you would be.” She’s listening, but she’s also worrying, mind starting to race with thoughts about Roman and his safety. “Yes, Solo will still be here. And I asked Bayley to stay at the house with you till I get back.”

“Are the twins going with you?”

He looks taken back by her question, and her stomach drops when he shakes his head. “No. I….I need to handle this on my own.”

Her stomach is a resting stop for daggers. Sharp and swift slices of pain circulating. Solana sits up, angling herself so she can see him better. “You’re gonna be alone?” The scenarios could be in the millions now, her chest starting to tighten, matching the knotting in her belly. “But—but what if something happens? Who’s gonna look out for you—”

“Hey.” And he’s sitting up, one hand on her face, the other on her waist. “Solana, where is this coming from?” That only makes her anxiety spike, her eyes watering at horrible, dark thoughts that involve her losing the first person since her mom who’s ever made her feel wanted. “I’ll be fine. I won’t be alone. But even if I was, I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time. It’s nothing new.”

But that looking out for himself probably almost always involved a sense of knowing what to look out for. He can’t look out for her dad and brother if he has no idea they even have their grisly sights set on him. He doesn't know because she still hasn’t told him. Hasn’t been woman enough to be honest with this man when his literal life is at stake. 

It turns her stomach for an entirely different reason. Her sudden sense of self hatred. 

 Her internal strife must show as he gently moves his thumb across her cheek. “You worry that much about me?” It’s another statement, borderline realization, and he’s not looking for an answer.

She does. She really, truly does. Solana admits with all the emotion and vulnerability, both from his leaving and the inner turmoil at sitting on such a secret, “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

And yet, she can’t bring herself to mouth those words, all of the various, horrible ways he could respond rushing to the forefront of her mind. He’ll be angry. Angry at her. He could….he could lose his temper.

He could lose it on her.

And she couldn’t even blame him, couldn't be upset at him because she would deserve it.

She’d deserve whatever punishment he saw fit. 

“It won’t,” he says, tone promising and convincing. It briefly brings her back to the main conversation at hand vs the debate going on in her head. “I been doing this a long time, Solana. I know how to keep myself safe.”

She believes it. Knows he’s capable of unspeakable acts in the name of protection and execution. Still, it does little to abate her nerves.

She whispers, “Roman…my father…” She feels physically sick, the weight of it all making it difficult for her to properly express herself, explain to him the real reason behind her concern. “He….he’s dangerous.”

Roman’s expression is unreadable, but she can’t tell if that’s because she’s so in her head or he’s put back on that mask that the rest of the world sees. That obscured countenance that’s no doubt deeply aided in all of his success. “Solana, I told you before, I’m not a good man. I’ve hurt more, killed more, tortured more people than you can ever imagine.” He’s not trying to scare her. She knows this. Just trying to remind her of who the fuck he really is. “That son of a bitch has no idea what dangerous is.”

“I just—” She’s able to simplify it all to one basic word that carries so much more than what he probably realizes. “I’m scared.” 

Roman sighs, disposition softening a bit. “I figured you would be…” He matches her gaze, almost needing her to look at him directly as he speaks without an ounce of indecision. “Solana, I would never leave you if I thought danger was present. Nothing’s going to happen to me or you.” He brings his mouth to her shoulder, pressing a kiss. “Solo will guard you, and I asked Bayley to come stay here at the house with you until I get back.”

The last part is what gives her the most pause and a small slice of comfort. “R–really?”

He nods. “I’d have asked Naomi too, but that means Jimmy be over here, and the last time his ass was here while I was gone, I had to redo the whole damn fireplace.”

She smiles and laughs a little, a much needed respite from all of her big emotions. There’s a story there. She’d love to know, but timing is everything. Maybe another day.

His lips linger on her temple, vowing, “everything’s gonna be fine.”

Interestingly enough, even in all of the confidence of his delivery, Roman is secretly wondering the same thing as Solana.

Will it?

________

The house feels strange without Roman.

Yes, he’s typically gone the majority of the days and makes it back late in the evening, but there’s still his presence at some point or another.

The past few days, however, have not provided that.

And while Solana is deeply grateful for Bayley’s presence, it’s still not the same.

It’s not Roman. 

She sits across Bayley and Naomi in the living room, Dulce snuggled up next to her as the three women chit chat about any and everything. Solana does her best to be as deeply immersed as possible. It keeps her from checking her phone to see if Roman has replied to her text.

In the time he’s been gone, their communication has been sparse. He always replies, eventually, but she’s noticed that she’s the one who’s initiated most of it. It makes her feel like a bit of a nuisance, like she’s bothering him. 

But, it’s the only thing that keeps her anxiety grounded. To be able to maintain contact with him. To know he’s okay.

Naomi notices this, sees the way she keeps glancing at her phone as if that’ll make it light up with a certain five letter name. “Don’t take it personal, girl. Roman does this every so often.”

At that, her attention fully switches from the phone to Naomi’s statement. “What do you mean?”

“He disappears for a few days. No more than a week. Goes completely off the grid. No contact with anyone. Not even Paul. Does it every couple months, sometimes more frequently.” She says it like it’s normal, like it should make sense. “He’s done it for years.”

“Despite the Bloodline being pretty family oriented, he can be a bit of a loner.” Bayley chimes, throwing some popcorn in her mouth.

Solana frowns, confused and slightly troubled by this information. “Where—where does he go?”

Naomi shrugs. “I don't know. Only the twins do, but they’ve never said shit and never will. They all might annoy each other on a daily basis, but the loyalty among the three of them is unmatched.”

Solana’s mind is racing. She can see someone like her husband wanting and maybe even needing time to be by himself. But the fact that it’s a regular thing, not to mention such a secret thing, has her mind racing and wondering just where does he go? What does he do while he’s gone?

Something Naomi said makes Solana clarify. “We’ve been texting since he left. Not…not as much as we usually do when he’s here, but he’s communicated with me.”

Naomi’s eyes widen. “Seriously?” Solana nods, almost unsure. “Damn. That’s a first then. He never talks to anyone when he leaves like that.”

Solana is quiet. Unsure of what to make of that either. Confused as to why Roman would break ‘tradition’ for her. And then she’s embarrassed, frustrated with herself for not being respectful of him and his time.

He doesn’t have all the time in the world to deal with her and her neediness.

Grabbing her phone, she sends out two texts and puts it face down, determine to not check again until later in the evening.

Solana: I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you while you’re trying to work.

Solana: I’ll leave you alone. Just please be careful.

Bayley is looking over in Solana’s direction when her eyes land on something. “Holy shit, is that what I think it is?” Solana frowns, confused as Bayley’s mouth slips into a shit eating grin. “It is. Damn, how did I not notice that before?”

And before Solana can ask, Bayley hits Naomi on her arm, pointing to Solana’s neck. “They must be having a good ass time over here.”

That’s when Solana realizes what she’s referring to. Her cheeks start to burn a bit as she places her hand over the courtesy of a certain husband of hers hickey.

Naomi is also smiling cheekily. “A very good time.”

But, it’s this conversation that paves the way for something else. That reminds Solana that these two ladies are her friends, her confidants, and also a lot more experienced in a certain area where she most definitely is not.

“Can I ask you guys something?” Naomi and Bayley both turn to Solana at the same time with Bayley being the first to speak. 

“Come on, Solana. You already know you can ask us anything.”

“Yeah. That shouldn’t even be a question.”

That was the easy part, the harder part comes with unveiling the nature of her request. “It’s umm—it’s about sex.”

While she initially expects some type of discomfort, she only receives an increased level of intrigue. 

“You can most definitely ask then.” Bayley quips, pulling her legs up under her on the sofa. “What’s going on?”

Solana starts to ask them to keep it between the group, but it feels redundant. She’s learned to trust that their conversations remain private and confidential. “Roman and I—umm—” Yup. this is definitely the hard part. “I asked him if we could….if we could work up to eventually, umm, having….you know.”

Naomi makes an ‘o’ with her mouth and then nods, almost reassuringly. “Okay.” She seems to be thinking on how she wants to ask, “are you—would it be your first time?”

Solana shakes her head, gaze dropping to her lap. “No. I—umm—” She presses her lips together and briefly closes her eyes, sharing in a quiet tone, “I was raped when I was younger.”

There’s such a mixed, jumbled bag of emotions at saying it aloud. At acknowledging her trauma without allowing that fact to overwhelm her. It’s only the second time she’s said it to anyone other than herself, but there’s also this space that feels a sense of relief at not having to hold it all in anymore.

That part of it….it’s liberating.

Naomi, however, looks distraught. “Oh my god, Solana, I’m so sorry. I didn't know—”

“No, no, it’s okay. How could you have known?” Solana knows they mean no harm, that Naomi was asking out of genuine interest vs trying to get her to divulge her trauma. She also appreciates how neither woman looks at her with an overwhelming sense of sympathy. Like they feel bad for her. Solana doesn’t want that anymore. 

Doesn’t want to be seen as a victim anymore.

She takes a deep breath. “That’s why touch is hard for me, but I’ve been—I’ve been using this workbook for people who were assaulted, and it’s—it’s been helping a lot.” That feels like putting it lightly. Solana has felt life changing differences from working through that book. “But now, I—I want to try to have…that with him, but I don’t—there’s a lot I don’t know about….about pleasing a man.”

Bayley again exchanges looks with Naomi before taking over the conversation. “Does….does Roman know about—”

“He does.” She nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “He….he was the first person I told.”

And she doesn’t regret it. Maybe regrets that she doesn’t recall how exactly it came out, but she’s happy he was the one to be there with her in that moment of release. 

“Okay.” Bayley seems relieved at this knowledge. So does Naomi. “And I don’t mean to make you feel like you need to tell him. That’s your truth. You tell or don’t tell anyone you want, but I do think him knowing could help him be….I don’t know, patient?”

Solana nods, explaining with all the truth and sincerity, “he’s been really great with that.”

Because he has. Roman has met her every step of the way of this journey, ready and willing to give her whatever she needs. 

“Good.” Naomi also appears genuinely reassured by this piece of information. “But also, Solana, it shouldn’t be about you pleasing him. It should be about him pleasing you.”

Solana shifts in her seat, shrugging slightly as she admits, “I don’t—I don’t even know if it could be…could be pleasing for me.”

That’s the part she struggles with. Tries not to think too much about it for fear of it hindering her progress. If the trauma of what she endured permanently ruined that for her. 

Naomi, however, is quick with the rebuttal. She shakes her head. “Trust me. With the right partner who knows what he’s doing, it can definitely be pleasing.”

“I guess that’s what worries me too. He’s….he’s so experienced, and I’m—I’m not.” She frowns, sharing and unveiling a layer of vulnerability. “I don’t want it to be…..to be bad for him.” Solana has heard and learned enough by now to know that her husband is a person who likes sex, who’s tumbled in the sheets with more women than she’d probably care to know. And that part doesn’t bother her as much as the comparisons component does. It’s hard not to think about how he’s well versed and probably has high expectations that she’s almost certain she could never exceed, let alone meet.

It’s a bit discouraging, to say the least.

“Fuck him,” Bayley suddenly exclaims and then clarifies. “Not literally, but like, girl, this really is about you. This is….this has to be a big thing for you, and the fact that you’re even willing to try it makes me think Roman must be doing something to make you feel comfortable enough to try it with him.”

That’s an understatement. A small smile falls on her face, just thinking about the measures he’s taken to ensure her comfortability. “He is….he’s really good to me.”

Naomi jumps in. “And that just blows my mind because he’s never been with any woman the way he is with you. He’s never given a damn about them, but he clearly cares about you. And that also makes me think he’ll also be all about making you feel good versus you getting him off.”

That gives Solana a slice of comfort. The fact that he seems to be going against his preferred sexual nature to meet her exactly where she is. He hasn’t given off any indication this is something that bothers or frustrates him. At least none that she’s seen yet. 

Bayley suddenly shifts gears a bit, seeming a bit awkward as she struggles to get out her sentence. “I will say though, there are….rumors that….well—” She turns to Noami, advising. “Might want to cover your eyes.”

She instead rolls her eyes. “Girl, he’s family by marriage. Not blood. I’m listening.”

Bayley laughs as Solana continues to look on a bit confused. “There are a lot of rumors that Roman is….well, he’s big all over. Like….everywhere.” She gestures to her crotch area. “You get my drift?”

And though her cheeks are painted red to match the heat inside at this conversation, Solana nods. “We….we were kissing the other day. Well, maybe more making out, and he….well, he became…..he got hard, and it was….noticeable.”

Solana feels a bit mortified at sharing such intimate details of her interaction with Roman, but Bayley and Naomi seem almost vindicated. “Oh my god, so they are true. I knew it.” 

Naomi is fanning herself as she points out. “also, sis, if he’s getting hard just from kissing you, then he’s definitely gonna be all about you when you guys finally go there. His attraction to you is insane.”

Solana can’t find it in her to deny that.

Because her attraction to him is just as intense, if not more.

Bayley practically squeals but clears her throat, switching back to a more serious tone. “But back to the initial topic, because he’s well endowed, it may hurt a bit at first. It’s a matter of learning your partner, and your partner learning you. Communication is also key. If something isn’t right or doesn’t feel good, let him know.” Solana internally winces at the comment about it hurting. That’s a part that makes her nervous, that pain bringing on flashbacks of her assault. But, that’s also when she knows she has to remind herself that this isn’t that. That Roman isn’t them. 

He’s not trying to hurt her.

Naomi gives her gentle shove. “But, once you get past that pain, it really can be a wonderful thing.”

It makes Solana smile a bit. That’s what she’s hoping for.

“Especially with Roman, cause I mean this with all the respect in the world, Solana, but that man is fine as hell.” Bayley lifts her hands in a surrender motion. “Don’t worry, I don’t want him like that, but I’m not blind either.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference even if you did, cause baby, he is all about Solana.”

Solana’s blushing is on level 10 as she looks down, shrugging with one shoulder, “he’s….he’s really great. I—I’ve never had a man be so nice to me before.”

Naomi shakes her head. “That’s because you’ve never dated a real man before. Hell, you’ve never been around real men until now. Because real men don’t do what your shithole ass brother and father did to you. And probably your ex’s too. Cause I feel like you mentioned an ex.”

Solana nods, gently disclosing some details of her last relationship. “He used to…he used to talk about my weight.” One of many things, but that seemed to be his favorite talking point. “I think I tried to make it work because…well, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because he never tried to make me do anything with him. He…he used to say that I—that I was too fat for him to want to fuck me.”

Four months ago, talking about this would maybe have Solana in tears. But now, it just somewhat upsets her that someone could be so cruel, that she ever believed that. That she ever believed she was so unappealing that no man would want to be with her in that way.

Meanwhile, Naomi looks like she’s contemplating murder. “Girl, please give Roman that man’s name so he can fuck his bitch ass up.”

“Fuck that. I’ll fuck him up myself because what in the actual hell?” Bayley seems legitimately pissed off too. “Like bro, if your dick is small, just say that.”

“Solana, on a scale of 1 to 10, how attractive was your ex?”

She has to think about Naomi’s question. At the time, the score might have been higher, but now, it’s much lower due to well learned common sense. “Maybe a 4.”

“And on a scale of 1 to 10, how attractive would you rate Roman?”

That’s probably the easiest thing she’s been asked all day. “A 10.”

“Exactly, so if a fine ass man like Roman sees how equally fine you are, you do realize your ex was just an insecure prick, right?”

That’s also a surprisingly easy answer. Solana shakes her head. “I do now.” He was never good enough for her, and she never deserved to be spoken to so cruelly. These are facts she cannot and will not dispute.

“Good.” Naomi sighs with relief, leaning back into the sofa. “God, I hate the male species sometimes.” She takes a sip of her wine and is back on track, “but anyway, back to you and Roman, just make sure you stretch real good.”

“Oh my god, Naomi.”

“What? We can’t have her out here not prepared.” She defends and advises, “If you’re on top, and I don’t know, that may be better for you so you feel more in control, moving your hips as if you’re spelling your name will make any man come in under a minute. Guaranteed.”

Bayley adds on, “yeah, but you also gotta have strong legs if you’re riding. I be getting cramps and shit.”

Solana is trying to sit on this information, a strange yet pleasant feeling pooling in the small of her stomach at some of the things being said as well as a brief glimpse of those things coming to fruition.

She shifts in her seat. 

Naomi then unintentionally provides a nice detour of the conversation. “But wait, I have to ask just how well did your date go with Roman because ya’ll seem to have jumped hurdles in such a short time?”

Just thinking about their surprise date has her smiling all over again. “The date was really nice, but—but you guys didn’t have to go through all that.”

Bayley chuckles. “Not according to Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?” Her frown is back. “What are you talking about?”

Naomi is the one to answer, explaining, “he said when we went to see Roman the other day at his office, ya’ll were arguing. It’s why he rushed to have us set up that dinner. Said it was a bad fight.”

“Arguing?” Solana shakes her head. “No. No. We—we were kissing when he walked in.” And the blush is back again at the memory of his soft lips on hers for the first time. A first she’s certain she’ll never forget. “Roman was irritated because we were interrupted. Not…not at me.”

“Lord Jesus, I swear my husband is lucky he’s fine because the way this boy really had us all thinking ya’ll were about to get divorced or something.” Naomi is rubbing her temples. “So, you’re both good?”

Solana nods. She’s not sure she’s ever been more happy in her life than she has been the past couple weeks.

Not since her mom was alive. 

The women continue to chat it up, switching gears and topics when Jimmy and Jey arrive, both heading straight for the fridge to grab the containers of food she had ready and waiting for them.

It’s when the group is trying to settle on a movie or something to watch when Solana finally checks her phone to see her lock screen littered with notifications.

All from Roman.

She immediately unlocks it, reading over the messages.

Roman: Solana, you never bother me. 

Roman: Where is this coming from?

Roman: Answer the phone.

It’s only then she sees she has a missed FaceTime call from him as well. 

Solana untangles her legs and gets up from the sofa, laying Dulce in her bed so she doesn't try to jump off the sofa. 

She attempts to let the group know of her brief absence. “I’ll be right back. Roman called me.” 

Bayley sort of nods in acknowledgement, but the other three seem stuck on trying to pick between a comedy and a thriller. 

Solana taps at her phone and hits the call button as she moves through the kitchen to go out the backdoor.

Roman answers almost immediately. 

She slides the door shut behind her, opening up with a textbook apology. “I’m sorry, I was talking to Bayley and Naomi, so I wasn’t checking my phone.”

He doesn’t waste a second in jumping right to the point. “Why do you think you’ve been bothering me?”

Solana takes a minute to get situated on the sun chaise, setting up the phone so it’s propped against the back of the chaise while enjoying the excuse to not have to give him an immediate answer. 

“I don’t know.” She finally answers, gaze on her crossed legs instead of him, an intentional deflection. “I was looking over our texts, and I didn’t realize just how much I’ve been texting you.”

“Solana…”

“I just didn’t mean to be messaging you so much when you’re trying to work.”

“Solana, you should know me by now to know I don’t do anything I don’t want to fucking do. If I didn't want to respond to you, I wouldn’t have.” He says it so confidently that she almost doesn’t feel like she has the right to not believe him. “I would have left you on delivered just like everybody else. But you’re not everybody else, so I responded.”

Solana looks up, noticing that he’s sitting outside as well, on a patio of some sort. Same as her.

“I know something else triggered that for you, and I’m gonna find out what it is, but I’ll let it go for now.” She’s thankful for that too. This doesn’t seem like a FaceTime type of conversation anyway. “How you feeling?”

“Good.” It’s an accurate answer. Him being home would make things even better. “Having Bayley here has helped a ton. Thank you again for asking her to stay with me.” According to Bayley, it was less him asking and more of him telling, but Bay stressed that she was more than okay with it, hence Solana not feeling like she was inconveniencing anyone.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to be alone.” And she’s appreciative of that. That he’s seemed to learn her well enough to know that even with Dulce, it would be an uncomfortable thing for her. “You said Naomi’s there?” She nods. “Fuck, Solana tell me you didn’t.”

And it’s interesting to her how she already knows where this is going. A small smile growing on her face. “They’re your cousins.”

He ignores that, straight up asking. “Did you let them back in the house?”

Feeling a bit emboldened, she throws it back at him, asking. “Did you ban them from the house?”

Solana was wondering why the twins hadn’t been over since Roman was away, only for Naomi to inform her that they’d been getting denied entrance at the gate to Roman’s property.

A directive from Roman himself prior to him leaving. 

And he doesn't even try to deny it. “I sure fucking did.” 

Solana shakes her head, but she can’t help the smile on her face. His relationship with his cousins is so comical to her. “Roman, that’s mean.”

“Solana, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a nice person.” She starts to push back on that, push back on his belief that he’s somehow not a good person when he’s one of the best people she’s ever met. “I like you, tolerate them, and hate everyone else. Matter of fact, they asses are about to be grouped into the hate category too.”

“They’re not that—” And before she can finish her line of defense, a loud sound, a shattering of sorts cuts through that attempt. She frowns and turns toward the house.

“Man, what the hell did you do!”

“Aye, it ain’t my fault! I told you the shit couldn’t hold your weight!”

“See, now ya’ll breaking shit in Big Dog house! This why he don’t be wanting ya’ll over here!” Jimmy’s voice becomes louder and clearer followed by the sliding door opening and Dulce running out, jumping at the chaise for Solana to pick her up. 

She does as such, noticing that Dulce is shaking, most likely in fear. “Jimmy, what—”

“What the fuck did ya’ll break now?” 

Roman’s voice catches everyone off guard, even Dulce whose ears perk up and tail starts to wag as she sees him on the phone screen.

Jimmy looks a shade of anxious asking in a harsh whispered voice. “Damn, SoSo, why you ain’t tell me ya’ll was still on?”

“Fuck! I stepped on glass!”

“I told your dumbass to put shoes on!”

“Ayo, Bay, watch ya’ fucking mouth, alright?”

Jimmy chuckles almost nervously, moving near Solana to be in frame of the camera. “Whasup, cuz. Nothing. We just, uh, was watching a movie.”

Roman looks even more irritated at the obvious lie. “Ya’ll got ten minutes to get the fuck out of my house—”

“Damn, Uce, I hear Naomi calling me. I’ll see you when you get back!” And Jimmy doesn’t even wait for Roman to reply, no doubt the continuation and issuance of a threat anyway.

But it’s as he runs back into the house, bickering continuing between him and Jey that Solana rethinks her initial stance. “Maybe….maybe you have a point.”

“Do you see what I’m saying?” Roman looks at Dulce who continues to look at him through the screen, barking occasionally. She’s so excited to see him. “Look, even the damn dog don’t like em’. Ain’t that supposed to be man’s best friend or something?”

Roman’s irritation is felt through the screen, but it doesn’t scare her, doesn’t bother her. Her smile grows again as she asks, “are—are you still coming back Sunday?”

His answer comes on the end of a long sigh, his anger naturally melting away. “yes.”

An instant wave of relief washes over as she asks a follow up question. “So you got everything figured out?”

He hesitates, looking at her for a bit before answering. “For now.”

Solana wants to ask more, because she knows there’s more. He’s saying just enough to answer her questions, and while she normally would leave that alone, there’s a part of her that worries. Something was clearly bothering him before he left, and he suddenly feels or at least seems better. She can’t help but wonder what was bothering him, what helped him to feel better.

Or who.

Because she can’t stop thinking about the information she received from Naomi. It’s not uncommon for Roman to disappear every couple months, sometimes more frequently, okay. But just where does he go and why is it some big secret?

“You’re overthinking something.” Even however many miles away he is, Roman is still exceptionally adept at reading her. “What is it?”

Lying to him isn’t an option, but the full truth isn’t either. “Just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good, Solana. I promise.”

She wants to believe him, but it’s hard. She just does her best to not feed too much of the anxiety. 

Studying his face, she has to force herself to get past his attractiveness to recognize the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re probably tired.” Not to mention, she feels bad for pulling him away from whatever he was doing. “I should go help them clean up.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of talking to you.” Her stomach flutters with all the butterflies only he can seem to give her. “And no, they broke the shit. Let them clean it up.” He easily adds on, “besides, I need to run some things by you.”

This gives her pause, as she stammers a bit. “O–okay.”

“One. I need to know what you want and want to do for your birthday. Two, there’s a Gala next week I have to attend, and I want you to come with me.”

Two major things, the first of which she didn’t realize was coming, the second she doesn’t even know how to think about. 

And maybe it’s less she didn’t know her birthday was coming and more it’s been so long since she’s acknowledged her birthday. Since anyone around her acknowledged her birthday. It feels almost foreign just the idea of doing anything.

Finally, she answers more of his first question than the first. “Nothing. I don’t—I’m not big on birthdays.”

She hasn’t been since her mother’s murder. 

That was the last year anyone ever told her happy birthday.

Roman, however, doesn’t seem to find this as an acceptable answer. “No, your pussy father and brother probably barely acknowledged your birthday, but I’m not them. We’re doing something. Preferably something out of town, because if my fucking cousins interfere in any way, I’m killing them.”

Her smile returns, soft and slightly amused. “Roman, you don’t have to. I just—just come back home, and I’ll be fine.”

And it’s the truth. Just him being back will be more than enough.

Again though, enough for her, but clearly not him. “I’ll handle it then.”

She shakes her head. “Ro—”

“What about the gala?”

Something tells her his mind is made, and when that happens, there is no room for negotiation. So she redirects her focus on the next topic. A gala sounds fancy, uppity almost. It doesn’t seem like his setting, but something also tells her it’s more an appearance he has to attend as leader of the Bloodline vs a preferred outing. 

But, there’s only one main question at the front of her mind. “Will you be with me the whole night?”

“Of course.”

There’s an instant wave of relief as she agrees. “I’ll go.” As long as he’s with her, she’s okay. And if he has to be there, she’d like to at least support him in any way she can.

“Good.” He seems pleased by this, adding on coyly. “Selfishly, I just want to see your fine ass all dressed up.”

Solana giggles as Dulce barks. A comfortable silence settles over them as something flutters in her chest, a warm, almost fuzzy type of feeling. 

Happy. 

She feels happy.

But….but something else. Something both warm and cool, different but familiar, pleasing but scary. A perfect yet imperfect balance of feelings. 

Lips parting, she tries her best to ignore the thumping feeling in her chest. “Roman, I–”

“Ayo, Soso, ya’ll got a fire extinguisher?”

________

“Still nothing?”

It’s the first thing Xavier asks as soon as his son steps foot in his hospital room. It was only a few days prior that Wes was released, finally cleared and recovered enough from his injuries sustained from the Bloodline.

Xavier, however, has not been as lucky. Age and a body already riddled with health issues has prolonged his stay. However, this has only given him time to think, time to plan, time to really evaluate the actions that got him here.

His son answers with a cold, "no."

But while Xavier has schemed, Wes, however, has only stewed. Sat and become overcome with feelings of rage. All directed to one person.

Solana

Just thinking of her makes him snap as he punches his still healing fist into the closest wall. “That little bitch betrayed us!” 

Xavier is used to his son’s violent outbursts, so he has no reaction other than a knowing smirk. “Maybe not.”

Wes looks at his dad, wondering if he’s so high on morphine that he has no idea what he’s saying. “Have you spoken to her? Cause I sure fucking haven’t. She was supposed to keep in contact!”

“She was supposed to earn Reigns trust.” Xavier corrects calmly. “And it seems she has.”

Wes calms down a bit, interested in where his father is going. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it.” Xavier thinks highly of his son, recognizes his potential for greatness. But there’s still some room for growth. Wes can often be blinded by his own hubris. “That level of rage Reigns had….that wasn’t his usual. It was personal.”

Wes is still stumped, not following fully. “What do you mean? That smug bastard is always like that.”

“No. He came after us specifically for her. Because he was upset about whatever she’s told him we’ve done.” Xavier doesn’t waste the opportunity to bestow a lesson upon his son. He asks, challenging his critical thinking skills, “why do you think that is?”

Wes is quiet, thinking carefully on not only what occurred but what can be inferred between the lines of what occurred. And as realization sets in, so does his vile grin “He cares about her.”

Xavier smiles wickedly. “Exactly.” He rests against the pillow behind his back, ignoring the pain that just that slight movement causes to shoot through his still healing body. Damn morphine must be wearing off. “It seems our little beauty has enchanted the beast.”

Wes nods but then points out. “But how can we be sure? It could very well just be him being possessive. Feeling disrespected only because he sees her as an extension. What we see as personal could just be pride.” 

Another smile befalls Xavier’s still bruised, cut up face. “You’re learning.” He nods, grabbing his phone. “That’s exactly correct. We must know for certain before making any moves.” He flips his phone showing the exclusive invite to William Regal's annual gala. “But, I know exactly how we’re going to find out.”

[tightjeansjavi]

as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame

A/N: well..this was supposed to just be a fluffy little piece with a dabble of smut but uhh we took the angsty route! Don’t act so surprised ;)

~word count: 2.0k~

Summary: Joel returns home to you after patrol injured, and hiding it from you.

Pairing | post! outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, minor injuries, mentions of a knife wound, stitches, blood, brief lying, stubborn Joel, soft! Joel, protective! Joel, he turns into a whimpering mess! Joel, comfort, care, unconditional love, tending to Joel’s wounds, intimacy, handjob in the tub, praise, talking him through it, ends with a well deserved nap, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

If there’s one thing that Joel Miller loves most in this cruel, unforsaken carnage of what is left of the world that he knows, it’s the privilege of getting to come home to you. He has someone to protect outside of Ellie, who is well off in her own life with Dina by her side. Joel would still put his life out on the line for her without a second thought. He’d do the same for you because well, you’re his; and he is yours.

He comes home to you, to your arms, to your warmth everyday. He thrives in it the second his arms loop around your waist and he hugs you so tight to his chest you can hardly take in a lungful of air. You let him hug you just like so every time. You love him, and that’s all there is to know.

Your Joel sometimes returns home to you with speckled blood spattered on his cheeks, dusting his eyebrows and salt and pepper hair. Sometimes his flannel is caked in dirt and congealed blood, but it’s never his own. He always reassures you that it’s not his. He kisses the frown that appears between your brows when you’re feeling unconvinced. Maybe it’s due to the way his hands tremble at the slightest, or his breath hitches in his throat, a wheeze slides past his lips as he tries to mask it with a quick clearing of his throat.

You see right through it, and he knows you do.

“Joel,” You softly whisper through the calming domestic air. “Are you hurt?”

He tightly shakes his head, back going rigid and stiff like a plank of wood. He avoids making direct eye contact with you to try and mask the fact that he is lying.

“M’not hurt, sweet girl.” He murmurs as he slowly slides his rifle strap from his shoulder. He winces slightly from the jagged gash on his right bicep as he hangs the strap of the rifle along the rusted hook on the wall.

“Please don’t lie to me. You’re hurt. I can see it written all over your face, Joel.” You pleaded with him as your hand traveled up the expanse of his chest and finally rested along his jaw. You could feel the patches of his wiry beard lightly scratch across the soft underside of your palm.

“S’just a scratch. Ain’t deep or nothin.’ I’m alright. You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me, sweetheart.” His words rumbled like thunder from an oncoming storm. He wasn’t exactly an expert liar.

“Let me see it.” You demanded in an urgent tone, thumb gently brushing across his chapped lips.

His head dips down in defeat as he leans into your soft caress, “Honey,” He starts, almost vying to plead with you, but you don’t let him finish.

“Joel, please. Please just let me take care of you. You’re hurt, and I need to make sure it’s not infected.”

He begrudgingly agrees because he knows this is a battle he cannot win. His hand slowly reaches up towards his face as his fingers find yours and thread them together before dropping them to his side. He lets you lead him up the staircase and to your shared bathroom. He doesn't speak, only grunts as you sit him down on the edge of the closed toilet seat.

You can feel his eyes drifting across your back as you grab the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet.

You’re too good to him, he silently thinks to himself as he begins to undo the buttons of his flannel. His shoulders ache as he peels the fabric from his skin and discards it onto the faded tile floor. He’s got a makeshift bandage wrapped around the wound as you use the empty trash cash as a makeshift stool. “Just a scratch?” you question as he unties the fabric. The gash is at least an inch or so deep. Just enough that he’ll need stitches.

“S’nothin.’ Stopped bleedin’ hours ago.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Why did you want to hide this from me, Joel?” The firstaid kit is resting along your lap when he finally makes eye contact with you.

“Cus’ I don’t like seein’ you upset when I get hurt. S’my fault. M’gettin’ slower out there. Can’t keep up like I used to.” He sounded defeated as his shoulders slumped forward.

“Joel, I'm not upset, okay? I just don’t like it when you hide these things for me. I’m sure the guy that knifed you is in far worse condition than you are.” You responded softly as you pulled out what probably was 20+ year old disinfectant, but it still did the trick.

“Let’s jus’ say he’s gonna have a real long sleep. Bugs n’the critters will make good use outta his body.” Joel was never shy when it came to his duty on patrol, and what it sometimes turned out to be. He knew you were not frightened by this knowledge, and he knew you held no moral judgment over his head for it.

“This is going to sting a little.” You briefly warned him as you held the spray bottle a few inches above his wound before administering a few spritzes.

“M’favorite part.” He teased with barely a wince given.

When his wound was clean, and the needle was sterilized, Joel pressed a tender kiss to your temple in reassurance. “G’nna patch me up nice n’good now, baby?”

“Mhm.” You murmured softly.

“‘Atta girl.” He relaxed his posture, and his arm so you would have an easier time stitching his skin back together. He knew this part always made you a little apprehensive, but humming soothingly under his breath did the trick.

Once you had successfully sutured his wound, you wrapped it firmly in a bit of gauze before tilting your head in the direction of the tub. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

He didn’t argue this time, but before you could stand up, he was reaching for your face with both hands as he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle embrace. It was tender, sweet, ignited by his devotion for you. The kiss lasted all of a few seconds before he was reluctantly pulling away. You heard the familiar crack of his knees as he slowly stood up.

You silently started the water for the tub. Checking the temperature every few seconds to make sure it was adequately warm enough for the two of you.

You listened to the faint clink of his belt, followed by the denim of his jeans sliding down his strong thighs. You watched from your peripheral as his broad form slowly sunk down into the soothing water. He made sure to keep his bandaged arm resting along the rim of the tub so that it wouldn’t accidentally get wet.

“S’nice.” He softly grunted as he stretched his legs out. “Y’gnna join me?” He tilted his chin to the side, watching you with a soft expression etched across his weathered face.

“Of course I am, baby.” You saw a hint of a smirk tug on his lips. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in watching you undress. You were beautiful, and he was a man after all.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t make yourself comfortable between the expanse of his thighs. Instead, you sank down behind him, with your arms wrapping around his middle, breasts pressed firmly to his back as you hugged him tightly.

“What’re y’doin’ back there, honey?” He asked, words vibrating through your body as he craned his head over his shoulder to try and look at you.

“Just want to hold you.” Was your response as you began to press soft kisses between his shoulder blades.

“You’re a sweetheart, y’know that? M’so lucky to have ya.” He nearly whispered as he settled further back into the warm water, and your gentle grasp around him.

Your hands traveled upwards from the soft swell of his tummy, and up to his shoulders where you gently began to knead the sore muscle tissue with your fingers. You worked your way through a stubborn knot just below his right shoulder blade. He melted into your touch like warm butter on a pan. He didn’t realize just how tense he was until you started working your way through his sore spots.

“Y’don’t gotta be doin’ all of this f’me, sweet girl.” His eyes fluttered shut as he let a breathy sigh escape past his lips.

“I want to, Joel. I want to take care of you. You’re always taking care of me..you deserve the same kind of treatment. You do so much to keep me, Ellie, and the rest of the town safe from harm. Most importantly, I love you. You’re my partner, and you deserve all the care and attention from me right now.”

Fuck.

“I love you too, sweet girl. Love you s’fuckin’ much. You’re always s’good t’me. Luckiest man in town, gettin’ to be loved by you.” He hummed appreciatively.

He could feel you smiling against his damp skin as your hands slowly drifted back down to rest along his tummy as a comfortable silence washed over the two of you. The water had begun to turn a slightly diluted pink color from the dried blood naturally being washed away on his skin. The tub faucet dripped a few droplets that landed on the tub's surface leaving delicate ripples in their wake.

He could stay like this forever; here with you.

When your fingers lightly brushed across the expanse of coarse, dark hair along his pelvic area, words were already tumbling from his lips before you could even ask him.

“Please.” He murmured as he desperately tried to grasp at his rational straws. So many times he had denied himself of his own pleasure, simply because he’d much rather take care of you.

His hand that wasn’t resting along the edge of the tub slipped under the water and guided your hand to where his softened cock laid between his thighs.

“Please,” He asked again, voice nearly cracking from the desperation to feel your touch.

“I’ll take care of you.” You whispered as your fingers slowly wrapped around the base of his shaft, thumb reaching up to paint across his weeping tip.

His head fell back to rest upon your shoulder as he gripped the side of the tub with knuckles turning stark white. A whimper escaped past his lips as you slowly began to twist and pump your wrist. You worked him in expert, slow strokes as he praised you shamelessly.

“S’good.” He uttered with a soft grunt. “S’good to me. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop, sweet girl.” He’d beg you if necessary, but based off the way you were softly shushing him with delicate kisses laid upon his cheekbones, he knew you had all the intentions of taking care of him.

His thighs began to quiver underwater, toes curling, hips bucking upwards against your hand as profanity mixed with praise tumbled from his parted lips like an avalanche along a steep mountain pass. He turned into a whimpering mess just from your hand alone.

“Shh. I got you, Joel. I got you. You’re safe..let go baby, it’s okay.” You whispered against the shell of his ear as he cried out your name. His hips stilled in the now cloudy water from his post release. He felt spent, placid, calm in your grasp as his cock went soft in your palm.

You washed away the remnants of blood that stuck to his hair and face, before you departed from the lukewarm embrace.

He was the one to wrap a fluffy towel around the both of you as he left soft kisses anywhere his lips could reach. You declined his generous offer to go down on you simply for the fact that you could sense his exhaustion from the day. You softly offered him a nap instead. His one request was to feel your skin against his, while he paid no mind to the sheets getting damp from not properly drying off. His legs tangled protectively around yours as you lazily pulled the duvet over your bare skin. His nose nuzzles the spot between your neck and collarbone as his arms wrap around your middle. One hand splays out across the soft swell of your tummy, while the other rests across your hip. You sleep for hours in this domestic intimacy that you have forged tirelessly together.

You’re his; and he is yours, and that’s all there is to know.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

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[mostly-marvel-musings]

Do you write Old Man Logan or just like regular Logan? Cause in case you do write Old Man Logan... considering his healing factor doesn't work as well as it used to, I was thinking maybe this prompt "“Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.”" with him. Maybe he's always wanted you to make him, show the world he's yours... but hickeys and scratches always disappeared in seconds. But now, with a faulty healing factor, he can most definitely be marked up. And we wants it, he begs for it.

Make me yours

A/N: Never written for old man Logan, but there’s always a first! Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed reading 🤍

Pairing: Old man! Logan x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut. I’m a softie for him 🥺

🍁🍂 Kinktober 2024 🍂🍁

.

Light warm breeze that blew in through the windows came with a promise of cooler weather as the curtains of your bedroom danced to its tunes. It wouldn't be long until winter would cast her spell upon the surroundings.

With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, you rolled over to straddle Logan's legs, letting him lie back against the pillows as you took charge. Keeping your pace slow, you rolled your hips, anchoring your hands on his chest while your eyes were fixated on look of pleasure on his face.

A firm grip on your hips signaled you not to stop as Logan sat up, arms snaking around your body to pull you impossibly closer as his breath came out in erratic pants. As if it were your favourite thing to do, which it was, you brought your hand over to trace the side of his face.

Decades of a calvary-filled yet well-lived life had settled into his wrinkles, eyes that seemed perpetually tired and yet held that kindness which you loved and the salt and pepper facial hair that did less for his age and more for his sex appeal. For you, anyways.

A faint smile appeared on your lips as he leaned into your touch, craving it as your nails dug into his back, his length reaching that spot inside your wet heat that had you grip him tighter.

“Please mark me, I want everyone to know I’m yours.” Logan's lips brushed against your ears as those words travelled down your spine, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh.

The yearning in his request was impossible to turn down, quelling the initial worry that creeped of him not healing completely. Your eyes must've held the questioned that was at the tip of your tongue because the answer was wordlessly provided to you when he sealed it with a kiss.

Your foreheads touched as you broke the kiss, letting out a soft gasp as his hips drove upwards, buried in your sopping pussy to the hilt.

Happy to oblige, you pulled him closer by his dog tags to lay open-mouthed kisses along his scraggly beard, down the warm skin of his neck before dragging your teeth along, relishing in the way his breathing hitched.

“More, please..”

Logan’s soft plea spurred you on as you expertly sucked on a spot, then another, allowing your nails to drag along his back now that he’d unlocked something primal. Your quiet murmur of ‘all mine’ pushed him past the edge as he came with a grunt, aiding you in reaching your high as well.

If you could exclaim it to world that he belonged to you and you to him, you would. Who were you to deny him what he so sweetly begged for?

A biiig thank you to the lovely anon who requested this 🌼

[pfhwrittes]

have some domestic price x gender neutral reader fluff that floated into my head.

pairing: john price x gender neutral reader

word count: 711

tags/triggers: domesticity, fluff, humour, pet names (love), mild bashing of the reader character's sister, slightly older than canon john price, long term relationship, no Y/N, 2nd person POV.

a/n: unedited as per usual. please don't interact with my writing if you're under the age of 18 despite this being a fluffy little something. also, i'm not judging people that want to get married or have kids, you do you but this is for those of us that don't want either of those things.

"john, what do you think about getting married?" you ask as casually as possible between sips of tea as your long term partner perches on the sofa next to you, his eyes focused on the liverpool game on the telly.

"i think you called it a "monument to compulsive monogamy and heterosexuality" and then you swore loudly about henry the eighth for twelve minutes on our first date." he replies before groaning loudly as his team bungle a free kick.

you smile into the rim of your mug because, yes you did say and do that when he brought it up all those years ago.

"mm, i know. one of my better rants i think."

john's hiss of triumph as one of the little red shirts on the screen peters off into discontented grumbling as half time is called and you place your mug on the coffee table.

john turns to face you when you settle back into the deep cushions and you trace the salt-and-pepper in his beard with loving eyes. if there's one thing you can say about retired captain john price it's that he's only got better with age, much like the whiskey he has stashed in the spare room/office. forty six is a damned good look on this man.

"what's got you asking about marriage, love?" john questions you with a raised eyebrow and you grumble, curse your overly observant partner. even when he's distracted his mind is still turning over every interaction and sniffing out a motive.

you sigh.

"my sister is having a baby."

"christ, really?" he looks so scandalised that you laugh at his expression. it's a familiar one when the topic of your younger sister is brought up, a combination of bafflement and mild disgust that pulls his mouth down into a frown even as his eyebrows reach up towards his hairline.

"mm." you make a noise of agreement.

"with the estate agent?"

"yep." you pop the 'p' obnoxiously.

"christ. she's only known him for five minutes," he shakes his head disapprovingly before reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze, "but what does this have to do with us getting married, hm?"

you shrug a little helplessly as he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

"i don't know, i just started thinking when she sent me a copy of her scan and -"

"of course she did." john interrupts you with a weary sigh. "your sister is nothing but a self centred cow and i'm positive she sent it to you to get you to feel bad."

he looks at you, pinning you in place with a fond sort of sternness that you had seen a few times before when kyle had been over for dinner espousing his worries about being the right man for the job.

"listen to me when i say this, yeah?" he taps your knuckles with his thumb gently to make sure you're fully focused on him, "i'm happy exactly as we are, love. i don't need a bit of paper telling me that we're bound together for the rest of eternity. god knows we already are, what with the mortgage and the bloody cat."

"be nice john, she's a sweetheart." you chide as you glance over at your middle aged tortoiseshell moggy curled up on the armchair.

"she's a bloody demon and you know it." john snorts good-naturedly as the cat in question makes a noise similar to a creaky gate at the sound of his voice.

he releases your hand so that he can reel you into his side to press a kiss to your temple.

"stop trying to distract me with the cat and stop focusing on your bloody sister. you've never wanted to get married and that's one of the reasons i love you, you silly arse."

the small knot of worry you'd been carrying since the start of the conversation unwinds and you release a long breath, taking the opportunity to snuggle into his side more comfortably.

"i love you too."

john simply presses another kiss your temple in response as the football match starts again and you settle in to enjoy an evening with your not-husband.

(tomorrow you'll threaten him with a rolled up tea towel after you find that he texted your sister off your phone calling her baby scan a "badly made lasagne".)