#but he deserves to be rated for his work. he has been in so many cool things and is well respected in Hollywood

[novaursa]

I have way to many idea so sorry for everything I’m going to send you 👉🏼👈🏼

Aemond x Niece (maybe a Nyra x daemon before her wedding!?)

He’s obsessed with her, she represents everything he want, she’s a perfect Targaryen white hair, purple eyes, huge dragon vermithor or cannibal?

But she’s engaged to Jace and he hate the fact that she is “given” to a bastard. So he tried by all things to make her his, he wish so hard to be found with her in a bad position that they obliged them to get married.

He make sure that Larys Steong see them, he even say to the maester to give her moon tee or medicinal herb for morning sickness ?! Otto find that about the maester and decided to marry them ( daemon and nyra are not ok they say It not real) and aemond took that personally and decided that they will have a child right now 🫣

The Dragon's Mark

- Summary: When Aemond found out about your betrothal to Jacaerys, he knew how all seven hells could not hold him back from taking what was rightfully his.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: Reader is the firstborn child of Rhaenyra. She had a reader with Daemon before she involved herself with Harwin Strong. Daemon legitimized the reader. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've changed the thing with a Maester to make it more believable. I hope you don't mind.

Aemond sat across from his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, and his grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower, in the great hall of the Red Keep. The torchlight cast shadows over their faces, making their expressions harder to read, not that Aemond was paying much attention. Their voices drifted to him as if through a thick fog, muffled and distant. He stared at the tapestry on the wall opposite, its intricate designs of dragons entwined in battle barely registering in his mind. His thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the image of you.

You, to him, were the embodiment of Valyrian perfection, a true daughter of Old Valyria. Your silver hair fell in soft waves, catching the light like molten silver, and your violet eyes held the depth of the ancient Targaryen bloodline. You are more than a princess; you are power personified, a dragonrider of Vermithor, the mighty bronze beast who had bonded with you when you were but a girl. Aemond could still remember the first time he had seen you astride Vermithor, your small form commanding the great dragon with ease, your expression fierce and unyielding.

Now, you are a woman grown, and in Aemond's eyes, you are perfect. You are the one he deserves, a match that would not only strengthen the bloodline but would also solidify his place in their shared history. He could see it so clearly in his mind: you by his side, the two of you ruling as a power unmatched, with dragons and fire at your command. 

The thought of you set a slow burn within him, a mix of admiration and desire. He had always been captivated by your strength, your beauty, and the fire in your spirit that matched his own. You are everything he had ever wanted, everything he needed. A true Targaryen, unmarred by the weaknesses of others. Aemond clenched his jaw, pushing down the surge of emotions that threatened to spill over.

His attention snapped back to the present as his mother's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and clear. 

"...Rhaenyra has decided to marry her daughter to Jacaerys," Alicent said, her tone carefully neutral, but there was a hint of distaste in her eyes. 

Aemond's world tilted on its axis, the words crashing over him like a wave. His blood ran cold as the realization settled in. Rhaenyra intended to wed her daughter, you, the one Aemond desired above all others, to that bastard Jacaerys. His hands curled into fists on the table, the knuckles white as the force of his anger rose within him, threatening to consume him whole.

"A match to solidify her claim, no doubt," Otto added, his voice dry and calculated as always. "She seeks to ensure her line continues to hold power, binding her daughter to her eldest son."

Aemond could barely hear them now over the roaring in his ears. The thought of you, bound to Jacaerys, of the union of your bloodlines through a marriage that had nothing to do with honor or strength but everything to do with Rhaenyra's desperate attempt to secure her position—it was unbearable. 

His mind raced with images of Jacaerys, the boy who had always stood in his way, who had always been favored despite the question of his parentage, despite his weaknesses. And now, to think that he would have you, the woman Aemond had longed for, the woman who should have been his—!

"Aemond." Alicent's voice broke through his fury, pulling his gaze to her. She looked at him with concern, as if sensing the turmoil within him. "What are you thinking?"

Aemond blinked, his breath coming in sharp, controlled breaths as he forced himself to calm. He could not reveal the depth of his feelings here, not now. He met his mother's gaze, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference.

"Nothing, mother," he said, his voice low and measured. "Only that Rhaenyra's choices will bring about her own downfall."

Alicent frowned slightly, but before she could press further, Otto interjected, his eyes narrowing as he studied his grandson. "This marriage will complicate things, Aemond. We must be cautious in how we respond. Rhaenyra seeks to bind the loyalty of her supporters through this match."

Aemond nodded stiffly, though his thoughts were still far from the politics of it all. He would not let this happen. He would not allow Jacaerys to take what should be his. 

"Perhaps," Aemond began slowly, "we should consider our own alliances more carefully. There are other ways to weaken Rhaenyra's position."

Otto raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the shift in Aemond's tone. "What do you suggest?"

Aemond met his grandsire's gaze, a plan already forming in his mind, a way to ensure that you would not be lost to him, that Jacaerys would not win. His lips curled into a small, cold smile.

"There are always ways to turn the tide," he said softly. "We need only find the right pressure points."

Alicent looked between them, her unease growing, but Aemond paid her no mind. His thoughts were solely on you, on the woman who had unknowingly claimed his heart. He would have you, no matter the cost. You will be his, and nothing, not even Rhaenyra’s schemes, would stand in his way.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly as you sat at your vanity, the brush gliding through your long, silver hair. Each stroke was methodical, a ritual you found soothing as the day's events faded into the quiet of the evening. You took a deep breath, savoring the calm, but beneath the surface, your thoughts were a swirling current of unspoken feelings, thoughts that often turned to him—Aemond.

The quiet attraction you felt for him had always been there, lurking in the periphery of your mind, but never voiced, never acted upon. There was something in the way he carried himself, the intensity of his gaze, that made your heart quicken whenever he was near. Yet, the distance between you had always remained, unbridgeable, or so you had thought.

You placed the brush down, your hair now smooth and shining in the firelight, ready to retire for the night. But just as you were about to stand, a knock echoed through the chamber, pulling you from your reverie. You frowned, surprised by the interruption at this hour. Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and there he was, Aemond, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Aemond," you whispered, your voice betraying a hint of the surprise you felt.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His presence filled the space, commanding yet silent, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His eye, that piercing violet eye, locked onto yours, and you felt your breath catch. There was something different about him tonight, an intensity that set your heart racing.

"I... wasn't expecting you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "I needed to see you," he said quietly, his tone carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of leather and smoke clinging to his clothes.

You swallowed, your mind racing as he reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in his eye, a hunger, a longing that mirrored the unspoken desires you had kept locked away for so long.

"I've thought about you," you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But I never—"

He silenced you with a look, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before tilting your chin up, his gaze darkening. "No more words," he murmured, and then his lips were on yours, claiming them with a fervor that took your breath away.

The kiss was everything you had imagined and more, a rush of heat and need that left you dizzy. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you felt the world narrow down to just the two of you, the fire, and the beating of your hearts.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. But before you could speak, before you could mention the name that had been on your mind earlier, he shook his head.

"Don't," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I don't want to hear his name tonight."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken plea, and let the thought of Jacaerys fade away, replaced by the man before you, the man who had captured your heart without either of you realizing it.

Aemond's hands moved to the ties of your gown, his fingers deftly undoing the knots, and you felt your pulse quicken as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze as he took in the sight of you, bared before him. There was a reverence in his eyes, a deep appreciation that made your cheeks flush with heat.

He shed his own tunic, revealing the lean, strong lines of his body, the scars that marked him only adding to the allure. You reached out, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was all so surreal, so perfect, that you almost feared it was a dream.

Aemond's hands were gentle as he led you to the bed, laying you down with a care that made your heart ache. He moved over you, his gaze softening as he positioned himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that felt both new and familiar, as if you were made to fit together.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, his eye searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the smooth skin just beneath his patch. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want this, Aemond. I want you."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss as he entered you slowly, the sensation both sharp and sweet, a mingling of pleasure and pain as he took your maidenhead. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, but the discomfort quickly faded, replaced by a sense of fullness, of completeness, as he buried himself deep within you.

Aemond stilled for a moment, his breathing ragged as he took in the sight of you beneath him, your hair spread out like a silver halo on the pillow, your eyes wide with trust and desire. The knowledge that you were his, that you had given yourself to him, filled him with a satisfaction that went beyond mere conquest. It was everything he had ever imagined, and more.

Tomorrow, he knew, the servants who served Larys Strong would change the sheets, and the evidence of your union would be seen by those who needed to know. But for now, all that mattered was the here and now, the way you felt beneath him, the way your body responded to his.

You urged him to move, your hips shifting beneath him, and he obliged, setting a slow, steady rhythm that had you both gasping for breath. The pleasure built between you, a slow burn that grew hotter with every thrust, every kiss, until it was all-consuming.

Aemond was lost in the sensation, the feel of you, the sound of your breathless moans, the way your bodies moved together in perfect harmony. It was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. He could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting as you both neared the edge.

As you reached the pinnacle, your release washing over you in a wave of pleasure, he buried his face in your neck, his voice rough with emotion as he urged you to call his name, to let the world know who you belonged to. "Say my name," he breathed, his words a plea and a command all at once.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your release. "Aemond, please..."

And then he was there, the last threads of his control snapping as he spilled himself inside you, his own release ripping through him with a force that left him trembling. Your name was on his lips, a whispered prayer, a declaration of everything he felt, everything he could never put into words.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the lingering echoes of pleasure that pulsed through your veins. Aemond held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both came down from the heights of your passion.

In that moment, there were no words, no need for them. Everything you had ever wanted, everything you had ever felt, was conveyed in the way you held each other, in the way your bodies fit together so perfectly, so naturally.

As you drifted into sleep, Aemond's arms wrapped around you, you knew that everything had changed, and there was no going back.

The morning arrived as Aemond moved with purposeful strides. His mind was sharp, focused, each step a calculated part of the plan he had set into motion. The events of the previous night played over in his mind, not with regret, but with satisfaction. Everything was unfolding exactly as he had intended.

He turned a corner and spotted Grand Maester Mellos in the distance, the elderly man’s stooped figure moving slowly down the hall. Aemond quickened his pace, his boots echoing against the stone floor, and within moments, he was at the Maester’s side.

“Grand Maester Mellos,” Aemond greeted, his voice measured and calm, though there was an undercurrent of urgency that could not be missed.

The Maester looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of the prince. “Prince Aemond,” he replied, bowing his head slightly in respect. “How may I assist you this morning?”

Aemond’s expression was inscrutable as he spoke, his voice low, as if to ensure their conversation remained private. “I require your expertise, Maester. There is a matter concerning Princess Y/N—my niece—that needs your immediate attention.”

Mellos frowned, his brow furrowing in concern. “Of course, Your Grace. What seems to be the issue? Is Princess Y/N unwell?”

Aemond shook his head, his gaze intense as he met the Maester’s eyes. “No, she is not unwell. However, I wish for her to be examined… to ensure that she has not been harmed.”

Mellos’ confusion deepened, and he tilted his head slightly, trying to understand. “Harmed, Your Grace? I do not follow. What examination, exactly, do you require?”

Aemond hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he continued, his voice steady and deliberate. “Last night, she and I... shared an intimate moment. I want to ensure that she was not hurt during our union, that she was not harmed in any way.”

The Maester’s face went pale, the full implication of Aemond’s words sinking in. His eyes widened slightly, and he took an involuntary step back, his hand trembling as he clutched the folds of his robes.

“Your Grace…” Mellos began, his voice shaky as he tried to comprehend the gravity of what had been revealed to him. “You… you wish for me to confirm that Princess Y/N was… that she…?”

Aemond’s gaze remained fixed on the Maester, his expression unwavering. “Yes,” he said simply, allowing the full weight of his words to settle between them. “I want you to ensure that she was not harmed. And if any trace of injury is found, I want you to inform me immediately.”

Mellos looked as though he might faint, the color draining from his face entirely. His mind raced, trying to grasp the enormity of what Aemond was asking, and the consequences that would follow. The bloodied sheets, the confirmation from the Grand Maester—these were not just symbols of a consummated union; they were a declaration of intent, a claim that could not be ignored by either Otto Hightower or Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“I… I understand, Your Grace,” Mellos stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But, Prince Aemond, surely you realize that such news… it will reach the ears of the Queen, and Prince Daemon…”

Aemond’s lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “That is precisely what I intend, Maester. The sheets will speak for themselves, and your examination will confirm what is already known. My niece is now mine, and any plans to wed her to Jacaerys must be reconsidered.”

Mellos swallowed hard, the implications of Aemond’s words weighing heavily on him. The Prince’s plan was clear now, as was the role he had unwittingly been drawn into. The Maester nodded slowly, realizing that there was no turning back from what had been set in motion.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mellos finally said, his voice hoarse. “I shall see to it immediately.”

Aemond inclined his head, satisfied that his instructions would be carried out. He could see the fear in the Maester’s eyes, the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he turned to leave. But that fear was necessary, a tool to ensure that the plan would proceed without a hitch.

“Thank you, Grand Maester,” Aemond said, his voice as smooth as silk. “I trust that you will handle this matter with the utmost discretion.”

Mellos nodded quickly, his face still ashen as he hurried away, his steps faltering as though the weight of what he now carried was too much to bear.

Aemond watched him go, a sense of triumph settling over him. The seeds had been sown, and soon enough, they would bear the fruit he desired. His grandsire would be forced to recognize the union, and Rhaenyra would have no choice but to break the engagement to Jacaerys. There would be no way to deny him now.

As he turned and walked back down the corridor, a sense of satisfaction filled him. Everything was falling into place, just as he had envisioned. And as for the flushed and worried Grand Maester, he was merely the first to feel the ripple effects of the plan Aemond had so carefully crafted. Soon, everyone would understand that you belonged to him, and no one—not Jacaerys, not Rhaenyra, not even Daemon—could take you away from him now.

Aemond entered the chamber, summoned by his grandsire. The usual sense of foreboding that accompanied meetings in the Tower of the Hand was magnified tenfold by the figures waiting inside. Otto Hightower stood near the center of the room, his expression grave, while beside him stood Rhaenyra, her face a mask of barely concealed fury. But it was Daemon, pacing like a caged beast, whose presence dominated the space, his anger felt in the air.

Aemond, however, was unperturbed. He walked with measured steps, his posture erect, his face a picture of calm satisfaction. His eye met Daemon’s, and he could see the rage simmering there, a wildfire barely restrained. Aemond’s lips curled into a slight smile, knowing full well that it would only infuriate Daemon further.

“You summoned me, grandsire?” Aemond’s voice was even, respectful, but with an edge of smugness that did not go unnoticed.

Otto cleared his throat, his gaze flicking between the furious Targaryens and his grandson. “Aemond, it has come to my attention—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It has come to my attention, through certain… whispers, that Grand Maester Orwyle was called upon this morning to examine Princess Y/N. An examination that has confirmed… certain truths.”

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched at her sides, her violet eyes blazing with a fury that matched the fire of the dragons themselves. “How dare you,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “How dare you lay a hand on her!”

Before Aemond could respond, Daemon stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister. His face was a mask of barely restrained violence, and for a moment, it seemed he might strike Aemond down where he stood.

“Daemon,” Otto warned, his voice firm, though there was a thread of unease beneath it. “Violence will solve nothing here.”

“Violence is all I see fit to deal with this insolent whelp!” Daemon barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “He dares to defile my daughter, and you expect me to stand idly by?”

Aemond, unflinching, met Daemon’s gaze head-on, his own expression hardening. “I have done what was necessary, uncle,” he said coolly. “She is mine now, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

Rhaenyra’s voice broke through the tension, sharp and cold. “Her betrothal to Jacaerys has been agreed upon for years. You cannot simply cast that aside as if it means nothing.”

Otto interjected, his voice measured, though the urgency was clear. “In light of these recent events, the betrothal to Prince Jacaerys must be reconsidered. It is in the best interest of both houses that Princess Y/N and Prince Aemond are wed, to avoid any… further complications.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with a deadly light as he turned on Otto. “You would sell my daughter to this boy after what he has done? You forget yourself, Hightower. She will not be tangled into your schemes!”

Aemond stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “This is not a matter of scheming, uncle. It is done. She is mine now, and there is nothing that can undo it. You cannot deny what has been consummated.”

Daemon’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it. Aemond’s words, as blunt and provocative as they were, held the weight of truth, and that was what infuriated Daemon most of all.

“The marriage must happen,” Otto pressed, sensing the shift in the room. “And it should happen soon, before word spreads and this matter becomes a scandal that neither house can afford.”

Aemond did not miss the opportunity to twist the knife deeper. “Indeed,” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with a satisfaction that only inflamed Daemon’s ire further. “The ceremony should be conducted in the traditions of old Valyria, where fire and blood bind us as one. And it should be done with haste.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room before delivering the final blow. “For I hope that soon, another dragon will be born of our union.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and Rhaenyra’s face turned ashen, her fury giving way to something colder, more calculating. Daemon, however, looked ready to strike again, his entire body tensed with the desire to lash out, to wipe that smug look off Aemond’s face.

But Aemond stood tall, his gaze steady, unflinching in the face of Daemon’s rage. He knew he had won. The plan had worked flawlessly. The whispers from Larys Strong, the bloodied sheets, the Maester’s examination—all had been carefully orchestrated to force this very outcome.

A tense silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive, until finally, it was Rhaenyra who spoke, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. “If this is to be done,” she said, “it will be done according to our customs, and with the respect due to our house. But know this, Aemond—should you ever bring harm to my daughter, not even your dragon will save you from my wrath.”

Aemond inclined his head slightly, accepting her warning with the same unyielding calm he had maintained throughout. “As you wish, sister. I will see to it that Y/N is treated with the honor she deserves.”

Daemon said nothing, but the look he leveled at Aemond spoke volumes. It was a promise, a vow that if Aemond ever crossed a line, there would be a reckoning, and it would be brutal.

But for now, Aemond had what he wanted. He had claimed you, and soon, the two of you will be bound in marriage. The thought of it sent a thrill of triumph through him, and though he kept his expression carefully neutral, inside, he reveled in his victory.

Otto, sensing that the matter was settled, nodded gravely. “Then it is decided. The preparations will begin at once.”

Without another word, Aemond turned and left the chamber, leaving behind a flushed, furious Daemon and a conflicted Rhaenyra. He knew that the days ahead would be tense, that there would be fallout from his actions, but none of it mattered now. You were his, and soon the world would see it, would understand that he was not to be trifled with.

And as he walked away, his thoughts were already on the future, on the life he would build with you, a future forged in fire and blood, just as the old ways dictated.

[arbor-tristis]

He is such a beautiful soul and has an amazing work history like honestly wish nothing but the best for this man I hope he wins so many awards. And I wish a very fuck you to every single person (straight white women) who get him on TV only to openly objectify him with their whole chests. Leave him and his sex scenes alone.

Matt Bomer is just a neurodivergent theater gay from Texas who is accidentally extremely hot but would rather be known for literally anything else

It's kind of interesting to see a guy be sick of questions about his appearance instead of his accomplishments. Actresses get that shit constantly, and he handles it pretty much the same way. "Hahah yes I am very pretty, now can we talk about the intense multi-decade love story I was in, or perhaps the history of queer persecution?"

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Failing

Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

part one of invisible string

He knew he should have stayed home tonight.

He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.

He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.

He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.

Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?

He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.

Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere. 

He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.

Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.

But somehow he felt like time was running out. 

Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.

But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.

He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.

And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.

Angry at the world.

Angry at the people.

But most of all angry at himself.

The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?

He had no one but himself to blame for it.

It was moments like these that you came to his mind.

You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.

Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.

The broken man that was desperate for… something.

That something seemed to be you.

But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end. 

And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.

That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.

But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.

Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.

He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.

He did so anyway.

He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.

But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.

I don’t love you.

Get rid of it.

Get out of my life.

I never loved you anyway. 

He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks. 

He broke you that night. And he broke himself. 

He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.

He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you. 

Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.

If you were alive.

If you kept the baby.

Would it have your eyes and his hair?

A boy or a girl?

Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?

Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?

Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.

Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.

Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.

A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him. 

Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.

“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.

He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body. 

Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.

Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there. 

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.

You were here.

You were here.

And you were alive.

And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….

His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.

His chest felt heavy.

Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.

This was too much.

This hurt too much.

This was the happiest he ever was.

“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.

This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.

He was having a panic attack.

But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.

Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.

“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.

“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.

“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.

Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.

[solarmorrigan]

Written for Day 3 of @steddie-week

Prompt: Mutual Pining | Rated: E | Additional Tags: Modern AU, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Hypothetical Top!Eddie/Bottom!Steve

-

Need more trope reversal with gay!Steve and still-thinks-he's-straight!Eddie obliviously pining after each other

Like, Eddie isn't into guys, but it's fine that Steve is. It's cool! Eddie is super supportive! He even helps vet Steve's dates. And whatever anyone (coughRobincough) says, he is not overly invested in Steve's love life. Sure, he might judge potential partners a little harshly, but it's for one of his best friends! Steve is great, and he deserves the best; it's not Eddie's fault so many guys fail to live up to standards.

Meanwhile, Steve is quietly dying, because he's been into Eddie since forever, but Eddie is straight, and he has to sit there and listen to Eddie extol his virtues and talk about how he deserves someone great while not being romantically interested in him whatsoever. But Steve also never claimed he isn't pathetic, so he'll take what he can get; maybe dating a guy who Eddie deems worthy will be almost as good as getting to be with Eddie himself?

Anyway, that train wreck is happening, and it all sort of comes to a head one night when Steve comes home to their shared apartment from yet another date, visibly frustrated and a bit disappointed, and Eddie isn't one to say I Told You So (much), but he had told Steve so. He'd said he hadn't liked the look of the guy's profile picture; Eddie has a sense about these things.

But still, he asks, "Bad date?"

Steve shrugs. "It wasn't- terrible."

"Oh, high praise."

"Well, it wasn't!" Steve gives a little laugh. "I mean, he was... nice."

"He bored you, didn't he?" Eddie can't help himself. "I told you he would be boring, who uses a picture of themselves in a suit for their profile on a dating app?"

"He wasn't boring, he was just- nice," Steve hedges. "A little too nice."

Eddie raises his brows. "Like... suspiciously nice?"

"No, not- we just weren't compatible," Steve says, still frustratingly vague.

Eddie is silent, staring at Steve, willing him to go on.

"In bed," Steve finally elaborates with a sigh. "The sex sucked, man."

"Ah." Eddie nods sagely. And then, because - okay, not because he's overly invested in Steve's love life, thank you very much, but because he's a good friend, right? And a good ally. And - yes, fine, he's also a little curious, sue him, but because of all of that, he asks, "You don't like 'em nice?"

Steve snorts. "I'm not saying I like people to be mean, it's just - I mean, it's kinda hot, you know? Having a guy who can push me around a little - take over so I don't have to think. Like, people just kind of assume I want to be in charge, that I'm gonna take over and-" Steve shakes his head, "I dunno, that's just not really what I'm into."

Eddie nods; this is definitely important information that he needs to have, obviously, if he's going to help Steve find The Perfect Guy. And he can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to give Steve exactly what he wants - he would be so pretty, pressed into the mattress, clutching at the sheets, scrambling for purchase, for a way to channel the pleasure as he gets fucked. Who wouldn't want that?

Like, objectively. Objectively, Steve is an attractive guy, anyone can see that, so objectively he'd probably look hot while getting railed within an inch of his life. That's just science. Surely any guy who also likes guys would be into that.

Eddie realizes he's maybe been silent for too long. "So you're a pillow princess, huh?" he teases, trying to will away the image he's got in his head of Steve begging for some guy's cock, faster, harder-

"Fuck off." Steve gives Eddie a shove, but he's laughing a little. "I am not. I'm definitely not opposed to doing some work to get what I want."

The Steve in Eddie's head that for some reason won't go away shifts from arching his back while on his hands and knees to sitting in some probably undeserving guy's lap, riding him like a fucking pro, head thrown back in ecstasy, and Eddie very much needs to go now, needs to go address the completely unavoidable boner that's come up because they're talking about sex. That's just what happens sometimes. Unavoidably. Totally normal.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind. While we're hunting for your dream guy, I mean," Eddie says quickly, levering himself up off the couch and making for his bedroom as quickly as he can without being suspicious. "Sorry the date was a dud. We'll find your man, though, Stevie, despair not!"

He barely catches a glimpse of the odd look Steve is shooting him before he shuts his bedroom door. He can't think too much on it, because his brain is busy with other things - things like initiating the most confusing jerk-off session of Eddie's life.

But they were just talking about Steve and his preferences in bed, alright? It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie's suddenly imagining it's his lap that Steve could be bouncing in, whining and crying out as Eddie thrusts up into him, hitting him just right. It doesn't have to mean anything that he imagines putting Steve on his back, imagines Steve's legs wrapped around his waist, imagines holding Steve's hips so hard he leaves finger-shaped bruises, imagines fucking Steve until he's sobbing and still begging for more, because Eddie understands what Steve needs, Eddie can give him what he wants--

It doesn't have to mean anything that Eddie comes harder into the slick clutch of his fist, imagining it's Steve's tight ass, than he has in ages.

It doesn't have to mean anything, but Eddie gets the feeling that maybe it does.

And shit, he may have to do some self reflection.

(Meanwhile, if Steve retires to his own room to have some private time with his favorite toy, fucking himself like he wishes Eddie would, shoving his own fingers in his mouth to keep from calling out his name, that's his business. And if he didn't admit to Eddie that the biggest reason the date had sucked had simply been because the date wasn't him, well - that's Steve's business, too.)

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Hangman Trying To Convince You To Go Out With Him

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Beer, flirtations, and teasing

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) Wow! Look at me having a Top Gun idea in what seems like forever! I always love going back to movies I wrote so much for! But sometimes it takes a hot minute to get imagine ideas, but I had this idea a few weeks ago and it's been a little bit of a pain to get it from my brain into a post. But I finally succeeded and hopefully this makes the Hangman/ Glen Powell fangirlies happy! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Taglist: @chaoticcassidy, @the-marshals-wife, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

The Hard Deck was more rowdy than it had been in awhile. With the Top Gun pilots celebrating a hard won victory, them and everyone on base had came in to celebrate. It was busy enough that Penny called in backup to help serve the rambunctious pilots who deserved every drink they ordered. It wasn't often that she called you in, but when Penny did you knew that the night was going to be a crazy one. You had a reputation amongst the pilots, as being no nonsense and out right refusing any advances towards you before the navy men even finished a sentence. While the rumors kept the majority of would be suitors away, it only made the top pilots in Top Gun more bold.

With drink orders coming in so fast that you were barely able to keep up with them. Penny stayed close by picking up the orders you couldn't handle and ringing up tabs. You didn't pay much attention to the people that came to the counter until a familiar uniform caught your eye.

"Give me just a second and I'll be right with you," you handed off two beer bottles before setting into opening several more.

"I'll wait all night for you if that's what it takes," the pilot replied.

You stiffened, recognizing that voice. He was a notorious flirt and never knew when to take no for an answer. It wasn't your first time dealing with him and this moment would not be the last either. No matter how many times you shot him down he always kept coming back, always cocky and sure of himself.

A few moments ago...

Hangman didn't know the definition of the word defeat and he had his eye on the prize. And that was taking out the most difficult female bartender in the Hard Deck's lineup.

"Dude," Coyote tugged on Hangman's arm stopping the pilot in his tracks. "When are you going to give up? She's shot down more pilots than Maverick has and Rooster crashed and burned just last night with her."

"That's Rooster," Hangman scoffed. "I'm different."

"No you're not. What is this the third time you've tried?"

"Fourth."

Coyote rolled his eyes but watched Hangman walk away.

Now....

"Oh great," you sighed, "it's you again."

Hangman chuckled leaning against the counter, trying to get as close as possible. You took a step back, removing the last bottle cap a little violently and passing the drinks out. Grabbing more you glared at him sending a cap flying in his direction.

"Aren't you glad to see me," Hangman asked.

"Not particularly. I don't have time for you."

"And here I thought that the whole world had time for me," he smirked.

Rolling your eyes you turned away, another group of people calling for your attention. But still though you had walked away, Hangman stayed. His eyes never leaving you, watching you closely. You tried ignoring him, but when that didn't work, you glared. That only made his grin widen and he gave you a little wave. You slammed glasses down a little harder than necessary as your patience was wearing thin.

"Why do we have to do this every time?"

"Because," Hangman purred, "I don't like taking no for an answer."

"I noticed."

Watching you intensely while you grabbed another bottle of beer, you removed the cap and took Hangman's hand. His fingers immediately curled around yours and you slapped them back open, causing him to jolt before you placed the cold glass bottle in his palm, then wrapped his fingers around it and waved your hand in a 'shoo' motion. Digging some money from your tip jar, you put the cash into the register, 'Shoo. It's on me. Have a nice life Bagman."

Hangman laughed, defeated once more but not done in the slightest as he made his way back to the pilots crowding into one corner of the bar. Laughing at him and pointing fingers in his direction. What they didn't know was he was wounded, but not crashing and burning just yet. He saw that glint in your eyes and he had to sink the hook in a little more and he would have you.

Hours later and Penny flipped the sign and locked the door. You were finishing cleaning up the last bit of the bar when a check was waved in front of your face.

"Thank you so much for coming in and helping out," she said taking a seat.

"No problem," you replied putting the check in your pocket.

"I see Hangman has taken quite a liking to you," she grinned mischeviously.

"Ugh," you rolled your eyes, "don't remind me."

"He's not a bad guy."

"Sure if you like egotistical pilot maniacs. He's very obnoxious."

"Isn't that what makes him charming?"

"Absolutely not!"

Penny laughed before taking the rag from your hands, "Go on and go home. It's getting late."

"Let me know whenever you need help again."

Penny waved and you made sure to lock the door behind you. She wasn't lying that it was getting late as the sun had long ago set and quiet had settled over the beach. It was always a little creepy, especially the walk to your car. Normally you weren't scared but it was just a little off putting when no one was around and anything could happen.

"Leaving already?"

A voice sounded close by your shoulder causing you to jump and spin around. Hangman started to laugh at your startled expression, causing you to start punching him in the shoulder.

"Don't do that to me!"

"I was hoping you'd jump into my arms instead, I wasn't taking into account that you're a fighter. Can you please stop hitting me now?"

"Depends," you were fuming, "are you ready to stop being a jerk?!"

"Not particularly."

"Then I'm not done beating you yet!"

He let you get in a few more whacks before grabbing your fist and keeping a firm grip on it. You sucked in a breath, gaze flickering from his face to your joined hands back again to his face. He never stopped smiling.

"C'mon let me walk you to your car," Hangman cut the silence. The tension eased from your body and you tried yanking your hand away, only for him to tighten his grip. You huffed but relented, though you did start to protest when he intertwined your fingers together.

You could admit to yourself, that you did feel better that you weren't walking alone in the dark. Hangman had been waiting, not wanting to give up just yet as he really did like you. He just enjoyed aggravating you because you were so easily riled up.

"If you felt uncomfortable walking alone you could have said something to me," he mumbled rubbing at his neck.

"I appreciate it," you looked away squeezing his hand. "Maybe you aren't that major of an egotistical jerk."

Hangman laughed, releasing your hand so you can grab your car keys. "That makes me feel better then."

You unlocked the door and he opened the driver side door before you could even reach for the handle. Ushering you in he closed the door, letting you get buckled before leaning against the door. You rolled the window down and he stuck his head in.

"Thank you," you picked at the threads on the steering wheel.

"You're welcome," he tapped his fingers against your arm. "Does this mean that I'm growing on you?"

"Possibly."

"Think you could stomach a date with me?"

"I'll think about it."

"A kiss for your knight in a pilot uniform," he pointed to his lips.

"Absolutely not," you laughed rolling the window up causing him to hurry up and yank his head out. You backed up leaving Hangman in the headlights as he waved at you. For such a smug Top Gun pilot he could actually be really sweet. He wouldn't give up and you could respect that so for the first time you broke down.

Quickly rolling the window back down as you drove away you yelled out the window.

"Hey Bagman! Pick me up here tomorrow evening and buy me dinner!"

He laughed loudly, "It's a date!"

"Sure it is!"

You drove off, leaving an extremely happy pilot behind.

[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Seams

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part II: Threads }

Rating: M

Summary: Joel has a problem. Having settled into some semblance of a 'normal' life in Jackson that no longer involves running for his life and living off scraps, his clothes are getting a little… tight. Self-conscious, he deals with it the way he does most things - he ignores it.

That is until one day, the zipper on his jeans finally gives up after one too many desperate tugs, leaving him stuck. With neither Tommy nor Ellie anywhere to be found to get him out of the tight spot, Joel begrudgingly heads to the clothing store he’s seen in town for help - and a new pair of jeans.

There, he meets you.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, body insecurity, some language, Joel being unkind to himself, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6k

Notes: I haven't written anything this fast for a hot minute. It's both exciting and terrifying, especially as Joel is so new to the fandom. So this is a one-shot as it stands, but I'll be lying if I say I haven't thought about where this story can go. Please be gentle with me, Joel is easily the most intimidating Pedro boy I've written for so far. I hope this doesn't disappoint 🥺

‘TommmMMMMMYYYY!’

His voice echoes in the empty street, gruff with irritation. He can feel eyes on him - he always does, wherever he goes in this damn place - covert stares from behind curtains, peeking out of windows from the neighbouring houses.

The polished wood thumps hollowly under his fist. Head bowed in surrender, his forehead makes contact with the surface of the door with a dull thud.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath.

Trudging back to the house that’s been allocated to him - he still struggles to think of it as his - he slams the door shut behind him so hard that the sound rings in his ears. Well, more in his left than his right.

Tossing the keys onto a chest of drawers in the hallway, he yells in a last-ditch attempt, ‘Ellieeee!’

The house is silent.

The one time he needs either of them, neither can be found anywhere. Even Maria has made herself scarce - not that he’d ask her for help for this.

This being these stupid fucking jeans. 

His trusty jeans that he’s worn for years, other than on laundry days, which were few and far in between. They’ve literally seen him through thick and thin - the knees are so worn he can almost see the web of white thread beneath the denim.

Tess had gotten him these jeans. Stole them, if he remembers correctly. Once upon a time, he needed a belt to hold them up, or they’d hang down to his ass crack. By the time Ellie came into the picture, they fit well enough to render the belt redundant. He could still easily fit things into his pockets though, like a map or a switchblade.

But now - 

Now he’s stuck, and he can’t get them off.

If he’s being honest with himself, the jeans haven’t fit for months. The jobs in Jackson don’t come anywhere close to the backbreaking work in the QZ or being on the road with Ellie. The food is plentiful even during the harsh winter, and as much as he looks down his ideological nose at it, Maria deserves credit for the thriving commune.

He had a late start this morning. Ellie had already vacated the house by the time he came to. He was on autopilot, distracted by his thoughts about the porch steps that have rotted and need to be replaced. 

He was making plans in his head to nip down to the workshop to get the wooden planks when he started getting dressed. Stepping into the legs of the jeans, he pulled them up, hopping to stretch them over his thighs. Out of habit, he sucked in his belly to button them up, the waistband seemingly even tighter than usual. 

He relegated that to the back of his mind, the same way he’s ignored the fact that the jeans have been uncomfortably tight for months - to the point of hindering his movement when he lays bricks, or cuts off his breathing when he sits down. But he’s gotten used to it, like he does everything else. He’s Joel Miller with the stiff upper lip, after all.

The zipper was next. As usual, he met resistance about halfway up. Baring his teeth, he gripped the tongue of the zipper and yanked upwards. 

Except this time, it didn’t budge. Grumbling, he pulled harder, feeling the burn in his biceps -

It happened so quickly that he wasn’t even aware until he was wheeling backwards from the force, his arm flying up in an arc - and a metallic clink behind him registered faintly in his good ear. 

Disoriented, he glanced down at the zipper. The slider had come clean off.

‘Fuck,’ he swore and turned to the full-length mirror on the wall to inspect the damage. Running an experimental finger along the seam, it was clear that the zipper had somehow snagged on the denim. It was stuck. Dead stuck.

Turning the house inside out, he couldn’t find a single pair of scissors, and there isn’t enough space to fit a knife in without slicing himself open, at which point he left on his ultimately fruitless search for reinforcement.

Joel scrubs a tired hand down his face. He’s never been a vain guy - Tommy is that sibling. But he’s never needed to stress about his looks either, with contracting keeping him in shape before the outbreak, and the fight for survival after - until now.

Grabbing his jacket, he shrugs it on, hyper-conscious of whether it’s a tighter squeeze than usual (fortunately not) - and heads into town.

Main Street Outfitters, the only clothing store in Jackson, sits in the middle of the high street, sandwiched between the pub on one side and the welder’s on the other. For the most part, residents come in to trade in old clothes for new ones, but there’s also a nicer selection for the occasional party that one can barter for.

You’re in the workshop at the back, the afternoon sun filling the room through the skylight. 

With your skill in thread and needle, you were the obvious candidate for the job when you arrived in Jackson. Over the years, it has become your sanctuary. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, where neat - though mismatched - boxes of buttons, trimmings, thread and trinkets slot perfectly into place.

You spend the days checking over incoming clothes after they come back from the laundry, making sure they are in reasonable condition and mending those that are not. The shop also charges for adjustments and repairs, and the tasks easily fill your working hours.

It’s a Tuesday, and it’s usually quiet this time of the afternoon. If you’re lucky, you can be undisturbed until you clock off at five - which is why you’re surprised when you hear the tinkle of the doorbell.

The footfall is heavy, it sounds like a strong work boot. You hold your breath and your fingers hover mid-air as the door shuts with a slam. You hear the customer clear his throat - definitely a man - as you wait in vain for the front of house to greet him.

But of course Lucy has sneaked out again. She’s a sweet girl, but manning the counter has always been too dull for her.

‘Hello?’

The voice is deep and gravelly, and despite your reluctance, it doesn’t sit well with your work ethic to keep a customer waiting. Sticking the needle into a pin cushion, you noiselessly rise from your seat and make your way to the front of the shop.

Your first glimpse of him is his back. Standing in front of a rack of jeans, the grays in his hair catch the light streaming through the shop front windows. You study him for a minute, curious eyes running over the width of broad shoulders under a beat-up, khaki jacket. Lower, his jeans are… well-worn, to put it kindly. And from sight, a sitting a bit tight on his hips -

You must have shifted your feet without you noticing. At the minutest creak of wood, the man whips around, one hand reaching behind him in search of the butt of a loaded gun or the hilt of a knife. It’s your good fortune that you see neither on him. The intensity of his gaze is just as effective as a blade on your neck to pin you to your spot.

There’s no question that he’s a newcomer. You’ve seen the same kind of intensity in everyone who’s braved what’s out there to get here.

But even if that didn’t give him away, you already know who he is. He’s Tommy’s brother. Joel, if you remember correctly. Maria approached you for some clothes a few months back when he arrived with his kid for the second time. They’ve been the talk of town since - not that you listen. In fact, you try not to, but you can’t help it if someone talks loudly enough at the next table in the canteen to interrupt your lunchtime reading.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles as the tension in his body recedes. ‘You’re very quiet.’

You duck your head. ‘Sorry.’

‘You work here?’

Wringing your fingers nervously, you nod and take two timid steps towards him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremour in your voice. ‘How can I help?’

You’ve heard things about Joel Miller. The words most frequently whispered as he ambles by in town include ruthless, cold-blooded and steer clear.

You can’t exactly reconcile the man in front of you with those particular words right now.

There’s nothing that speaks to ruthlessness in the way he averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, the blunt tip of his shoes catching the wooden floor. You also find it hard to believe that a truly cold-blooded person would willingly cross the country and all its horrors in search of his brother, or take a teenager under his wing.

You might not think much of yourself, but you know that your judgement of character has kept you alive so far. And your instinct isn’t telling you to steer clear of this man - quite the opposite, in fact.

But that’s neither here nor there.

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with your scrutiny. ‘Just lookin’ for some new jeans.’

‘Alright,’ you reply, taking the remaining five steps to the other end of the jeans rack, a safe distance away from him. ‘What’s your size?’

To your surprise, he huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘At least one up from whatever I have on right now.’

Sucking in a breath, you gesture vaguely at him. ‘Um, do you mind if I take a look at uh - you? So I can guess what size will fit you?’

You’re used to being the most awkward person in the room wherever you go, but this man is  giving you a pretty good run for your money right now. While you divert your gaze as he unbuttons the front of his jacket, he fixes his somewhere over your shoulder to the right, grinding his teeth, as if he wishes he was anywhere but here.

Dragging your eyes back to him, you take stock of your customer as he sweeps the lapels of the jacket to the side. Underneath, the green flannel cuts off at the top of the jeans, and you see the soft pouch of his abdomen beneath the fabric. While the shirt is well-fitted, the jeans are obviously too small. The waistband bites into his sides, you can see the subtle overhang of his love handles. Even by the way he’s standing you can tell he’s uncomfortable, packed in way too tight in the denim.

And then… you really shouldn’t, but you stare at the front of the jeans. Now, you know for a fact that the fit will be just as snug there even if he goes a size up…

‘Sorry, not much to look at,’ he grunts, breaking the silence.

Taken aback by the self-derision in his voice, the words leave your mouth before they register, sharper than you mean them to be. ‘Don’t say that.’

He blinks at you. ‘What?’

You gape at him. Does he really not see? His tall, solid frame? The strong columns of his thighs? Is this man blind on top of being frustratingly attractive -?

But of course you can never say that. Instead, you pull out three different pairs of jeans in quick succession and all but throw them at him, heat prickling the tips of your ears as the disbelief that you spoke to a customer like that sinks in.

‘The dressing room is there,’ you squeak, pointing at the far corner. ‘I’ll be at the back if you need any help -’

You turn on your heels, in a hurry to get back to your workshop, but you only get halfway through the spin. It takes you three seconds to realise why - his calloused palm is on your wrist, holding you in place.

‘Actually, I do need help - I broke the zipper, and I’m stuck in these damn jeans.’

You ignore the clench of your stomach at the way he spits out the word damn. You’re not big on swearing, but the cuss word sounds good rolling off his tongue in his Southern twang.

To your horror, a giggle bubbles up your throat before you can slap a palm over your mouth.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you apologise profusely, heat flooding your cheeks. 

You stare in consternation when those broad shoulders of his quake, a half-smile on his lips as they part in a scratchy chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’m glad I found you first. My brother or my kid would have given me a much harder time. Probably would’ve pissed their pants laughin’.’

Despite yourself, you smile back with a weak attempt at a joke. ‘I mean, I’ll try not to -’

He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s all I can ask for.’

You lead the way to the back of the shop and Joel follows three polite steps behind, pausing by the doorway. Running practised eyes over the space, the contractor in him appreciates the well-built skylight and the sturdy furniture in the room, pieces that were clearly built to last. He places the jeans you picked out for him on the big work table, made of strong timber and aged with time. 

He picked up a change in your demeanour the moment you crossed the threshold into the workshop. There’s a quiet confidence in your measured steps, the way you move speaking volumes - this is clearly your place, and you’re so much more comfortable in your skin here.

You point at the spot marked by a round, cosy rug directly beneath the skylight. ‘Could you stand there for me?’

Doing as he’s told, he startles when you march straight up to him, sliding your palms under the shoulders of his jacket to push it off. Your front brushes his chest briefly when you reach around to catch it, but not brief enough for him to ignore the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against him.

Joel is all too aware of his pulse going from zero to a hundred at the fleeting touch, the collar of his shirt suddenly a bit too tight. For fuck’s sake, Miller. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since his head has gone anywhere near there, but of course it has to happen at the most inconvenient moment.

At least you don’t seem to notice, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before retrieving a pair of tailor’s scissors from one meticulously organised drawer.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten a handle on himself, you hit him with a non-sequitur. ‘Are you wearing underwear?’

Only when Joel splutters wordlessly does the full weight of the question seem to hit you. You stutter, ‘Oh god, I didn’t - I mean - I only asked because if push comes to shove, and I have to cut through the jeans, I don’t want to ruin any underwear you’re wearing -’

You trail off, and it’s his turn to stammer, scratching an invisible itch on his elbow as he struggles to remember what he usually does with his hands.

‘No, no, I get it. I’m ahem -,’ he pauses with a cough. ‘I’m not actually wearin’ any underwear right now. Not out of habit, it’s just that I’ve been barely squeezin’ into the stupid jeans even without it.’

His honest answer seems to put you at ease, and you purse your lips. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

He shrugs. ‘Have been for months.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He arches an eyebrow. ‘What for?’

‘That you’ve been uncomfortable. That’s one thing clothes shouldn’t be.’

Not quite knowing how to answer you, he watches you grab a velvet cushioned footstool from under the work table and place it squarely at his feet. Then, without further preamble, you sink onto your knees in front of him, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.

As he stares down at the crown of your head, your nose at the level of his waistband, he muses that he hasn’t seen this view for a long time, a very long time. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he closes his eyes, fighting the base instinct to cup the back of your head in his palm and to pull you close -

He breathes out hard through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, casting his gaze heavenwards through the skylight as he actually prays for the first time in years.

Don’t you fucking dare get hard, Miller.

You chew on the inside of your mouth as you consider what’s before you. It’s tricky. The jeans are unbuttoned and zipped up most of the way, but the denim has been caught tight in the metallic teeth, and the handle of the zipper yanked clean off.

Cocking your head to one side, you think out loud. ‘I think we should at least try and unsnag the zipper before cutting. But we’re going to need some lubrication, and we’ll need to give it a really good, firm tug -’

The man chokes on nothing above you, and you frown up at him in a question.

Clearing his throat loudly, he asks through gritted teeth, ‘Do we have to?’

‘I mean, I can just cut open the jeans, but then you’ll definitely have to trade in something extra to cover the costs of the repairs -’

He interrupts, ‘That. Let’s do that.’

‘Alright, your call,’ you say with a nod. ‘Can you hold up your shirt?’

You try not to gawk when he draws up the tails of his flannel, revealing his soft stomach underneath. The mid-rise jeans cut off beneath his belly button, and you eye the trail that sneaks full and dark under the waistband. He’s obviously sucking his tummy in, and you catch yourself wishing he doesn’t feel like he has to.

You bite your bottom lip. ‘Do you think you can fit a couple of fingers into the waistband so I can slide the scissors in? They’re sharp, I don’t want to cut you.’

You watch as he tries, first his index finger, then his middle, but he can barely squeeze in beyond the nail, which turns completely colourless from the pressure. He sighs in surrender. ‘Mfraid you’ll have to, sweetheart.’

You have to close your eyes for a moment, your head swimming. You’re not sure whether it’s from the sweetheart, or the fact that he wants you to stick your hand down the front of his pants. 

Well, not exactly that he wants you to. And not your hand. But still.

You squeak. ‘Do I have to?’

He pins you a sarcastic arch of his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you won’t cut my dick off -’

Your face heats up at his blunt words, falling back onto your haunches. ‘Great, now you’ve got me worried -’

Palms up in apology, he shrugs. ‘Sorry -’

‘No, no, you’re right. I don’t want to accidentally castrate you,’ you sigh. ‘Are you - um - well adjusted in there?’

‘I’d go down the right side of the zipper,’ he answers diplomatically.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, ‘Ready?’

‘Whenever you are, sweetheart.’

The first contact is the brush of your knuckles against his stomach, the skin warm and soft on the back of your fingers. You don’t dare look up, but you can feel his eyes on you as you burrow your index finger under the waistband. Though it’s a squeeze, you manage to wriggle in nail side down, creating a small gap - still not quite enough to get the scissors in without nicking him.

Talking more to yourself, you mumble, ‘Better safe than sorry. Let me just get one more finger in -’

Joel chokes so hard that you almost jump back in fright, frowning at him as he catches his breath. ‘Are you okay? Do you need some water?’

His voice tight, he shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

You wait a beat to make sure he doesn’t go into another coughing fit. When the coast is clear, you gesture at his jeans. ‘Can I just -’ 

‘Get one more finger in?’ he finishes your sentence in his raspy baritone. 

You finally hear it when he says it like that. And oh god, your ears burn as you stare up at him, lips parted, torn between outrage and a very disorienting arousal. ‘You - you -’

A wicked smirk tugs unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth. ‘I already tried, sweetheart. My fingers are too big to fit inside.’

The touch of playful condescension in his tone has your jaw going slack, and your brain practically short-circuits at the thoughts of where else they are too big to fit inside of -

So as it turns out, you��re brave, or just downright stupid, when you’re turned on. Next thing you know, you hear yourself telling him off. ‘I could just leave you in those jeans you know.’

Joel smiles wider, and retorts, ‘I don’t think you would.’

‘Just because I’m shy doesn’t mean I don’t have a mean streak,’ you shoot back.

He seems pleased to have lured you out of your shell, grinning down at you. ‘Believe me, I’m shakin’ in my boots, sweetheart.’

It’s really unfair that he looks this good from where you are on your knees. His eyes are hooded, curls flecked with grays sweeping his forehead. Even though the apocalypse has left its marks on him in wrinkles, frown lines, and smudged bags under his eyes, it has clearly not taken away from that proud nose or plush lips -

Steadying yourself with a deep inhale, you shake yourself out of it. With an in, it’s slightly easier to push in your middle finger into the waistband to widen the gap. Happy with the quarter inch of space, you hold up the scissors. ‘I’m ready to cut if you are.’

He nods his acquiesce. ‘Do your worst.’

Opening up the scissors and carefully fitting the blade beneath the denim, you carefully begin snipping away. They are sharp, but the fabric is tough and you’re conscious of the very tight fit, so you take it slow.

You pause when you’re a couple of inches in, when Joel lets out a groan of relief. Absent-mindedly, you run a soothing thumb over the angry, red indents the waistband dug into the soft pouch of his tummy, sending a shudder through him. 

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, snatching back your hand as if he burns you. 

Too preoccupied with the relief of being able to breathe, Joel shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. Just keep going. Please.’ 

Why is that one word - six letters - making your breath hitch?

Gripping the top of the now open fly and pinning it against his body so you don’t accidentally see anything you’re not meant to see - whether you want to deliberately is a completely different matter - you hunker down and keep cutting along the zipper. 

Each snip gets easier as the jeans release their death grip on him. The right side of the fly falls away as you cut, the denim peeling back slowly to expose the skin underneath. Your eyes drift to the curve of the pubic bone that’s now completely in view, and it’s taking everything you have to not lean over and run the broad of your tongue along it -

How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you had someone stand before you, pants unzipped and hanging open -

With tremendous fortitude, you tear your eyes away to check on him, ‘All good?’

The grunt of respite that he lets out is almost guttural, going straight between your legs. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good to breathe.’

‘Before I keep going, do you want to - uh - rearrange yourself?’

You expect him to turn around, or at least give you a second to turn around to give him some privacy, but he’s obviously been too deprived of oxygen to think straight. One big palm snakes down his front, right in your face, and he cups himself through the denim.

You stop breathing, eyes wide as he adjusts himself. 

Holy fuck.

When he’s done, he gives you a thumbs up. ‘All good.’

This is it. You’re not making it out of this alive.

You can barely get the words out, your throat suddenly drier than sandpaper. ‘Can you, um, hold up the other side of the fly?’

When he does, you stare at his hand next to yours. How is it so big? The veins are prominent on the back, leading down to thick fingers, the nails neatly trimmed and clean - but you bet there’s residue gunpowder underneath.

There’s still a slither of skin peeking through the V of the fly as the scissors slice through the denim, following his happy trail. The lower you go, the thicker and darker the curls, and goddamnit - what is wrong with you - all you can think about is burying your nose right in there, nudging through the hair, lower and lower and lower still -

A sharp pain on your left finger makes you yelp, the scissors falling from your other hand to the floor with a loud clang. A small bead of blood wells up on the tip where the sharp blade nicked it, and in a panic, you let go of his jeans.

‘Shit,’ Joel curses and covers himself up quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘You okay?’

You nod in embarrassment while you get on your feet. ‘I - my hand just slipped. It’s nothing, the smallest cut, I’m fine -’

Well, to be fair, you were fine - until he grabs your left wrist, brings your hand up to his face and sucks your bleeding fingertip into his mouth. 

As if it’s the logical thing to do.

Your knees buckle, and you collapse into his front, but he doesn’t even budge, as if you weigh nothing. Taking a deep breath - wood smoke, simple soap and man fill your lungs. Peering up at him through your lashes, you spot the silver flanking the hinge of his jaw, leading down to a peculiar bare patch on the left side of his beard.

He watches you back as he releases your finger with a wet pop. Tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, he pronounces, ‘Just a small cut. You’ll live.’

Will you though? Because it feels like you’re on the verge of expiring from breathlessness. 

He glances down at his front, which he’s still holding up. ‘I guess I can get out of these now.’

It takes you three seconds to catch up before you stumble backwards. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Thank you for freeing me,’ he says with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden - hypocrite, you had no problem perving on him a minute ago - and nod at the jeans on the table. ‘Why don’t you try those on?’

He clears his throat. ‘I, uh, should probably put on some underwear first.’

You barely manage to hold back from smacking yourself on the forehead. ‘Of course. We do have some in stock. Boxers or briefs?’

He looks amused. ‘What do you think, sweetheart?’

You hesitate, but you force yourself to be brave and venture a guess. ‘Boxers.’

He winks, and you grin back.

Joel hovers uncertainly in front of the mirror in the fitting room, having exhausted all the angles he can see twice, and wonders if he’s been dithering for too long. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at anymore, so he bites the bullet and draws back the curtain.

‘How do they feel?’ you ask.

He was counting on some hint from you, but you give nothing away. So he shrugs, hands on hips. ‘I honestly can’t tell you.’

‘May I?’

At his nod, you step into his space, and he watches as you hook your fingers into the belt loops on either side of the jeans and pull them up, as if gauging the size. He holds his breath as your hair grazes the front of his chest.

‘They’re a bit loose, to be honest,’ you tell him.

He scoffs self-decrepatingly. ‘Probably not for long at the rate I’m going.’

You take a step back and level him with a glare. ‘Stop it.’

He frowns, hackles rising. ‘What?’

‘Stop putting yourself down.’

That he didn’t expect. He protests, ‘I’m not putting myself down -’

‘Yes, yes, you are,’ you interrupt him with a boldness that has his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. With fire in your eyes, you go toe to toe with him, poking him in the chest with a firm finger. ‘You’re alive, you’re safe here, and you’re fit as hell. If you’re going to make fun of yourself for putting on a bit of healthy weight, you can go ahead and get out of my shop.’

Warmth blooms in his chest as Joel stares down at you, breathing heavily after your little speech but showing no intention of backing down. You don’t know him, but for some reason, you’re fighting his corner.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Pursing his lips, he towers over you as he teases, ‘You think I’m fit as hell, sweetheart?’

With a roll of your eyes, you walk backwards to the shelves, rummaging through the sizes before returning with a pair of dark wash jeans. You quip, ‘Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.’

You snap the curtain shut in his face with a flick of your wrist before he can answer, and he chuckles to himself as pulls on the jeans you picked out for him.

When he pushes open the curtain again, Joel doesn’t miss the way you pause as you stare.

The waistband sits on his hips without cutting into his stomach, and he’s pleased that he can comfortably slide his hands into the pockets. The denim wraps firmly, but not tightly, against his backside, holding his thighs comfortably and falling straight down to the ankles. The wash is dark and flattering, smarter than his old ones.

When the silence has stretched on long enough, Joel shifts on his feet and asks, ‘Well?’

You turn the question back at him. ‘What do you think?’

He shrugs. ‘They’re alright, I guess.’

With a tilt of your head, you prompt, ‘You can say it, you know.’

‘Say what?’

‘You can say that you look good.’

Joel huffs, shaking his head and catching his reflection in the mirror as he does. At your look of insistence, he reluctantly parrots back, ‘Alright. I look good. Happy, sweetheart?’

Then you smile, really smile, and he feels himself soften - his eyes, his face, his mouth, his fucking old, rickety knees -

Suddenly, the bell over the door rings and a woman bustles in. ‘I’m so sorry, Pin! I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I got your favourite tea to make it up to you -’

She stops abruptly when she spots him. ‘Hey! You’re Joel Miller, aren’t you?’

Before he can answer, she crosses the shop in a bundle of energy, sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Lucy, I’m a friend of Tommy and Maria’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

He lets her shake his hand, then she continues without skipping a beat. ‘How are you settling in? You got that house in the street near the stables right? It’s great, it’s quiet but not too far from everything -’

Since she doesn’t seem interested in his participation in this conversation, he doesn’t. But he notices, with regret, the way you start to retreat, the shyness making a return in the shadow of her clearly more outgoing friend - like a bad habit.

He’s suddenly aware of a lull, and that Lucy is looking at him expectantly, like she’s just asked a question that he didn’t hear.

‘Yeah sure,’ he replies dismissively, stopping you with a hand on your wrist just as you try to slink away unnoticed. ‘Hey, wait a second -’

To Lucy’s credit, she picks up on the snub and the energy between the two of you at the same time. Instead of taking offence, she gives you a knowing look and points towards the back diplomatically. ‘You know what Pin, I just bumped into Maria and she asked me something about our fabric inventory, so I better go check it out. I’ll see you around, Joel.’

With a wink in your direction, Lucy makes herself scarce, leaving the tea on the counter for you.

Joel’s quiet for a beat when you’re left alone again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off your friend, but I just wanted to uh - thank you. For all this.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Like she said, I’m Joel. Probably should’ve introduced myself before I asked you to cut me out of my jeans.’

You quip, ‘There’s always next time.’

He chuckles, and asks, ‘Did your friend just call you - Pin?’

‘It’s just a silly nickname,’ you explain. ‘As in pins and needles, for obvious reasons.’

Then you give him your real name and your hand, his palm warm and calloused against yours as he shakes it firmly. When he lets you go, you notice the watch on his wrist, the veins of broken glass on the face catching the light. 

Nodding at it, you ask, ‘Do you need that fixed? There’s a repair guy down the road who can fix anything.’

Confused for a moment about what you’re referring to, Joel pauses before realisation dawns on him. His answer is suddenly polite, a stark contrast to the light-hearted conversation just now. ‘No, I - I like it this way. But thanks.’

You don’t miss the emotional weight behind his words, and the air thickens with unspoken meaning, but you know better than to ask. 

‘I understand,’ you say simply.

Everyone has something like the watch is to him. God knows you do. A moment of quiet understanding passes between you, one that needs no words.

Breaking the silence, he says, ‘So, you mentioned I’ll need to trade in something else for these jeans -’

You dismiss that notion with a wave of your hand. ‘Oh no, it’s ok. I got it.’

‘You don’t have to -’

You shut him down. ‘It’s not a big deal, it will take me two minutes to replace the zipper.’

He hesitates. ‘And the boxers -’

Passing him his jacket, you insist, ‘Seriously, Joel, don’t worry about it.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes it from you and shrugs it on. You try not to look too conspicuously when the bottom of his shirt draws up, flashing a bit of tummy, but it’s gone too quickly. With a nod, he concedes reluctantly, ‘You really shouldn’t, but thank you. I owe you one.’

You roll your eyes with no real exasperation as you walk him towards the exit. ‘I know you haven’t been here for long - that’s just how things work around these parts. We do things for each other, you don’t owe me anything.’ Pulling the door open, you give him one last grin. ‘Welcome to Jackson, Joel.’

‘Thanks, Pin,’ he says as he crosses the threshold. He pauses on the porch and looks around the high street slowly, as if he’s taking it in for the first time. He then turns to you with a parting wink that is charged with easy confidence. ‘I think I’ll like it here.’

You linger by the door, leaning against the frame as he jogs down the front steps with a swagger, watching in appreciation at the way his new jeans frame his backside. You smile when he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks away, the afternoon breeze ruffling his curls and the sun warming his broad shoulders.

You think you’ll like him here as well.

Notes: As I was writing this, I couldn't help thinking that it reminded me of Grays 🙈 What can I say? I want to give middle-aged men in need of self-love all the reassurance that they need. I hope you enjoyed Pin and Joel's meet-cute, I'm honestly so nervous about this fic I had to stop myself from compulsively over-editing.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated as always 🥰

P.S. Apparently, there is a Main Street Outfitter in the game, so I ran with it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part three

firefighter!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: joel miller au, firefighter!joel, reader feels anxious for a bit, feelings, fluff, the miller brothers line dancing (that deserves its own warning bc whew... anyway), the cowboy hat rule!!!, slight smut (joel and reader get touchy and rub up on each other, making out, fingering), no use of y/n.

word count: 5.6k

synopsis: joel invites you over for a barbecue, and you end up unexpectedly meeting sarah while also rekindling with someone from your past. it isn’t until you talk about joel aloud to someone who isn’t your sister that you realize how deeply you feel for him.

a/n: thank u to @endlessthxxghts for letting me brainstorm about this chapter, and giving me the cowboy hat rule idea... ;)

You were nervous. 

Nervous as hell. 

The slightly anxious part of you wanted so desperately to back out of today’s plans, but you promised Joel you’d be at his place. 

He was throwing a barbecue at his house and had invited you, and originally, Sarah wasn’t supposed to be there. Her friend got sick, so she ended up staying home. 

You hadn’t known Joel for more than a month at this point, and the prospect of meeting his daughter and being introduced as the “woman he’s been dating but not quite his girlfriend” terrified you. 

The last thing you wanted was for Sarah to dislike you, because you couldn’t bear the thought of the one person in Joel’s life who’s opinion mattered most to him not being very fond of you. 

Joel said she’d been okay with him dating and only wanted to see him happy, but wasn’t it too soon? The last thing you wanted was to wedge yourself between the father-daughter duo. 

Then again, your feelings for Joel had hit you full-force, and you were in it with him—for him. You’d cried to your sister over the phone about being scared of feeling things too fast, but she reassured you: if you know, you know. 

Nobody has ever made you feel the way Joel makes you feel. Your thoughts may’ve been repetitive with what you felt, but that’s how you knew you were so sure about him. He was a breath of fresh air in a place full of smoke (no pun intended). 

You were just worried what Sarah would think. Some might think it’s ridiculous to let a fourteen-year-old’s opinion matter so much in this circumstance, but that girl was Joel’s whole world. Her opinion of you mattered and could quite literally make or break your relationship with Joel. 

You’d be devastated if it didn’t work out. 

You nervously tapped on the steering wheel as you stopped at the last stop sign before turning onto Joel’s street. 

The quaint neighborhood just outside of the city was chalk-full of cookie cutter homes, looking like it belonged in a friendly neighborhood magazine. 

Several cars were parked in front of his house, but he’d texted you to park in his driveway beside his truck. It was sweet that he saved that spot for you. Another truck was parked in the driveway as well, and you assumed by default that it was Tommy’s. 

You grabbed the tray of cookies out of the passenger seat after you’d gotten out and smoothed your sundress to straighten it out. Joel said everyone at the firehouse loved your cookies, especially him and Tommy, so you made them as a surprise to bring for a dessert option today. 

Nerves coursed through your veins as you made your way up the front steps of his porch, ringing the doorbell. The chime went off in the house with a muffled “I’ll get it!” coming from the other side of the door. 

A few seconds later, the door opened and you were met with a smiling Tommy. 

“Hey there sweetheart, c’mon in.” He stepped aside and you thanked him as you entered the house. It was your first time over, so you took a second to take in your surroundings. 

Many family photos clung neatly to the walls, the leather couches in the living room adorned with quilted blankets, an array of DVD’s scattered around the entertainment center, a well-worn but gorgeous coffee table that sat atop the huge area rug, and the mantle above the fireplace full of trinkets from past trips and a few of Sarah’s soccer trophies. 

You smiled as you took in the scene before you, really admiring how cozy the home looked. It looked lived in and well loved, and it was all very much Joel. Simple, yet homey and functional. 

“Ooh, are those the same cookies you made for us back at the firehouse?” Tommy motions to the tray in your hand, bringing you back to present time. 

“They are. Thought I’d surprise you and Joel with these again.” You laugh as Tommy’s eyes light up, leading you to the kitchen. 

“Don’t blame me if these are all gone by the end of the night. You should give your recipe to Sarah. She loves to bake.” He groans as he takes a cookie from the tray, biting into it. 

You have to stifle a laugh at his genuine reaction. You knew your cookies were decent, but not as good as the Miller brothers made them out to be. 

“Speaking of, where’s your counterpart?” You teasingly ask, too shy to go into the backyard and introduce yourself to the array of people chatting and having a good time. 

You didn’t do too well in new settings, so it would take you a little while to warm up. 

“Ah, he’s cookin’ on the grill.” Tommy jerks his head toward the sliding glass door that leads out the backyard, and you follow in his footsteps as you walk up to the main man of the gathering. 

“Oh Jooooeeellll,” Tommy calls out with you in tow, “Found your girlfriend for ya.” He teases, and your heart skips a beat at that. You’re just dating the man. It wasn’t anything official yet, and somehow it just seemed so fitting. 

Joel didn’t correct Tommy either, which you took note of as his gaze averted to yours. A smile immediately spread onto his lips and he pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead. You took a second to study the contrast of his tan skin against the white linen shirt he was wearing with the first few buttons undone, and the Raybans that sat comfortably on his face. You held in a groan, because fuck he looked so good, once again. Does this man ever look bad? 

“Hey baby.” 

Your face heats at the public display of affection, but it dawned on you that he was never trying to hide you or keep you a mystery like you were doing to him. 

Well, your sister knew about him of course, but everyone else in your family didn’t have the faintest idea. They were too overbearing sometimes, and you wanted to be official with Joel before you even said a word to anyone about him. 

“Hi handsome. I brought some cookies but left them inside. Thought I could surprise you again with them.” You grin at him, and he smiles as he pulls you into his side. 

“I’m gonna let you two lovebirds have a moment to yourselves. Gonna go find my lady and introduce you to her.” Tommy pretends to tip an invisible cowboy hat and sends a wink your way. You huff a laugh and shake your head at his wit. 

“He always that charismatic?” You question, and Joel laughs. 

“It’s even worse when he’s drunk.” He rolls his eyes, and you bury your smile in his bicep. You wrap your arm around his back as you watch him work the grill, flipping hamburgers and chicken that are seasoned to perfection. 

“‘M glad you could make it today, darlin’. Was startin’ to miss ya real bad. Those twenty four hour shifts kick my ass, I tell ya.” He sighs and gives your body a light, playful shake. 

“Of course, Joel. I missed you too.” You gave his shoulder a kiss before Tommy called your name to avert your attention to him. Your eyes flit to the woman he has his arm wrapped around, and your eyes widen in shock. 

“This is my girl–”

“Maria?” You interrupt Tommy, and her smile spreads wide. 

“Oh my god! Hey you! How long has it been?” She’s laughing as you two embrace each other while the Miller brothers give each other a confused glance. 

“Four years I think? How are you?” You grin, separating from her, holding onto her forearms. 

“Wow I can’t believe it’s been that long. I’m great! Just dealing with this guy over here,” She juts her chin over to Tommy, and his eyes flicker between you two. 

“Sooo you two know each other?” He asks, and you both laugh in unison. 

“We used to work together at the same company. Our cubicles were across from each other.” Maria explains, and you nod along. 

“Well I’ll be damned. Small world!” Tommy grins, patting Joel on the back harshly. Joel glares at his brother and rolls his eyes, turning back to the grill to take the food off and place it into the foil pans next to him. 

“Dad, is the food done yet? You hear a voice call, and you stiffen up immediately. Maria notices your change in demeanor and gives your arm a squeeze of reassurance, which you exchange for a weak smile. 

A curly-haired girl with bright green eyes comes into view. He turns to look at her and nods, motioning to the foil pans. 

“Lemme fix you up a plate. But first, I want you to meet someone.” He says, and he holds his hand out to you. Maria releases your arm so you can step forward and grab Joel’s hand, and Sarah’s bright green eyes meet your gaze. 

“This is the woman I’ve been datin’. Darlin’, this is my daughter Sarah.” 

You extend your hand to her with a sincere smile, hoping she didn’t pick up on your nerves. 

“Ah, so you’re the woman my dad can’t stop talking about!” She laughs, flashing you her gorgeous smile. 

“Oh really?” You quirk an eyebrow up and look at Joel, nudging him playfully. 

He raises his hands in defense, “Guilty as charged.” You huff a laugh at Joel and shift your gaze back to Sarah. 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you as well.” 

“Do you mind if I steal her for a second, dad?” Sarah asks, and you can’t help but feel extremely anxious. You genuinely don’t think a fourteen year old has ever made you so frazzled with nerves like this before. 

You follow her to the lounge chairs by the pool, taking a seat across the one she sat in. 

She slaps her thighs with her hands, a small smile evading her lips. 

“So,” She starts, seemingly collecting her thoughts. “This isn’t some ‘what are your intentions with my dad’ intervention, I promise. But, like, I really hope you’re serious about him.” She looks at you with apprehension in her eyes, and you’re a bit taken aback by her words. 

You could’ve guessed this was coming. Judging from what Joel has told you about their relationship, it was only fitting that she’d be so protective of him.

“I’ve seen him get hurt before. Not just by what my mother did, but with other women, too. I honestly think you’re the first woman who didn’t skip out on him after finding out he has a kid.” 

“That would never make me run. Your bond with your father is something that’s so strong, and I would never want to come between that. I can promise you that your dad has a better chance at breaking my heart than I do breaking his.” 

“He won’t. He’s a good man and he deserves someone kindhearted like you. I can tell you are. I’m glad you two found each other. I haven’t seen him this happy and relaxed in… a long time.” Sarah laughs, and you can’t help but smile at her admission.

“I pinky promise I’ll treat him great. He’s a real special guy, and I like him a lot.” You hold your pinky out to her, and with a beaming smile, she hooks her pinky with yours and gives it a little shake. 

“I know. It’s just nice to finally see him getting his feelings reciprocated back to him. Most women only romanticize the uniform he wears and not the person he actually is.” 

“Well, I gotta say, they all definitely missed out on an amazing man.” And part of you was thankful for that, which is something you didn’t want to admit aloud. 

Because if it weren’t for those women in his past that didn’t work out with him, you would’ve never had a chance with him. You glance over at Joel, and he was chatting with some other guests. You couldn’t help admire him and his calm, happy demeanor. 

As if he senses you looking, he turns his head in your direction to meet your gaze and winks. You offer him a soft smile before turning back to Sarah. 

“They are, but something tells me you’re here to stay. Not saying that to like, I don’t know, scare you off or anything, but you and him really do make a nice couple.” 

“Actually,” You huff a laugh and glance over at him once more, “He hasn’t asked me to be official or anything yet. I am here for the long haul, though, and I want you to know that I respect you and your relationship with your dad. I wouldn’t ever want to overstep any boundaries.” 

Sarah groans and huffs, rolling her eyes as she looks over at Joel. “This man, I swear. Want me to yell at him for you?” The mischievous glint in her eye tells you she would actually do so. 

You shake your head with a laugh, and she puts her hand on your shoulder as she leans forward. 

“Also, you don’t need to worry about overstepping. It’s… nice having someone else around. I appreciate you saying you respect our relationship, though. Dad was always apprehensive about bringing women over because my opinion means so much to him. You’ve got my approval in the bag, though.” 

“I appreciate that, Sarah. I’m sorry if meeting me was too soon or awkward for you. I wasn’t expecting to exchange pleasantries today.” She grins and waves her hand between your bodies at your words. 

“Nonsense. I’ve been pretty excited to meet you, seeing as you have my dad crushing like a teenage boy again. I just want him to be happy, and I know he is with you.” She throws her arm over your shoulders, and you immediately reciprocate the hug. 

Admitting to Sarah that you were in this for the long haul even shocked you. It’s not that you didn’t want to be, but your love life in the past hasn’t exactly been to your liking. Joel is different, though, and seeing that he has people in his corner who love and care about him tells you that they’d go to great lengths to protect him. 

It was crystal clear that both of you wanted whatever was going on between you two. You were apprehensive to put your all into it. 

You’ve been known to pull back when things got serious. It was a defense mechanism to protect your heart and peace. 

You knew you were falling, but the million dollar question still remained: would Joel catch you? 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Sarah separated herself from you. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She says, and she coaxes you to follow her back to the grill where Joel and Tommy stood. 

“Everythin’ good?” Joel asks, slinging his arm around your shoulder. You nod and offer him a smile. 

You were about to go after you plated your food, but Joel shook his head and gently pulled you back to him. 

“Uh uh, where you goin’?” He has a goofy grin on his lips as he pulls you in, giving you a kiss. You can’t help but laugh against his lips and gently push him away. 

“There’s people here, Joel!” You playfully tsk, and he squints his eyes. 

“What, I can’t kiss my girl?” 

My girl. The phrase made butterflies swirl in your stomach and heat to rise to your face. 

“Never said that, but technically, I’m not your girl yet.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

Tommy laughs and nudges Joel, “Damn brother, you haven’t asked her to be official yet? Hell’s wrong with ya? Hop to it!” 

“Coming from someone who didn’t settle down until like a year ago. Shut up you little shit.” Joel huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Was watin’ for the right one! Then this beauty changed my life in the best way possible and put me in my place,” Tommy pulls Maria into his side, kissing her cheek. She rolls her eyes and nudges him playfully, walking back into the house before Tommy points at you. “‘N this missy right here is gonna do the exact same for ya. Don’t be ‘fraid to put him in his place, sweetheart, he needs it.” Tommy howls with laughter as Joel glares at him.

“So fuckin’ dramatic.” Joel mumbles under his breath.

“So what, you don’t want me to put you in your place?” You’re enjoying seeing him squirm a little as your hand traces circles over the white linen that clings to his back. 

“Nah, it ain’t that. You can put me in my place anytime, baby.” He winks, and you immediately pick up on the innuendo behind his voice. 

“You’re fighting with fire, Mr. Miller.” You murmur to him, and his hand moves down to your ass to give it a subtle, playful squeeze. 

“‘S my job, baby.” 

“Don’t think this is one you can put out.” You wink at him before walking away to join Maria in the house.

“Okay, you have to tell me everything,” Maria situates herself on the couch with a glass of wine. You sit down next to her and tuck your legs under yourself, smoothing your dress out before leaning your head on your fist. “How in the world did you and Joel become a thing? What happened to that one guy that you used to tell me about?” 

You laugh at her enthusiasm toward your love life, inhaling a deep breath before diving into the story about your shitty ex and all the stupid trust issues he gave you. He really did a number on you, which is why you were so content with being single and thriving. You told Maria that you kept your guard up to protect yourself and your heart, because the last thing you wanted was to give your all to someone once again, only to be burned. Maria put her hand on your knee as a reassuring smile spread across her lips. 

“Honey, I can promise you that that man standing out there has it bad for you. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been seeing each other. I can see it in the way he looks at you,” Your gaze trails out to the backyard as Joel sips on a beer, talking with Tommy and a few others who you presume are the neighbors before Maria’s voice pulls your attention back to her, “Joel is a good man, and despite the way you both have been hurt in the past, you still both found each other and gave this,” She waves her hands to gesture between you and him, “A chance. Lord knows that man could use a good woman like you in his life.” 

You felt the sting behind your eyes immediately. Maria’s words were nothing short of assuring, and she smiles as you wipe your tears with a small laugh. 

“Baby, just because you finally got the flame on your candle to burn bright again, doesn’t mean he’s going to dim yours. His is finally strong on its own, too. I know that you’re so independent and you’ve been used to it for some time now, but let his flame make yours even stronger. You can be stronger together.” 

And you knew she was right. The clarity blindsided you, but you got your answer: Joel would one hundred percent, undoubtedly catch you. 

-

A few hours later, the sun had started to set and the neighbors went back to their respective homes, leaving you, Maria, Tommy, Joel and Sarah left. You and Maria insisted you help clean up even though Joel and Tommy both told you it wasn’t necessary. You both waved them off and got everything put away and washed in less than an hour. 

Maria refilled her glass of wine as you poured yourself one and both went to settle back onto the couch, Joel and Tommy in tow. Sarah came running down the stairs and up to Joel, a pleading look strewn across her features. 

“Kelly invited me over to a night swim and slumber party. Can I go? Please?” She had a hopeful look as she clasped her hands together to shake them, silently begging Joel to say yes. 

“I thought she was sick?” He asked, running his hands over the stubble on his chin. 

“No dad, Sasha is the one that’s sick.” 

You tried to stifle a laugh at her ‘duh’ tone, so you just bit your lip and stared at him. He sighed and looked at you, his demeanor changing in the slightest. 

“Sure, but please check in with me every few hours or so. Do I need to drop you off?” He asks, resting his beer bottle on his thigh. 

“Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he grunts as he returns the hug. “No, Kelly’s mom offered to pick me up. She can drop me back off tomorrow, too.” She says, and before Joel can get another word in, she rushes back upstairs. 

Joel sighs as he leans back into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Teenagers.” He grumbles, taking a swig of his beer. You pat his thigh and lean into him, giving him a smile. 

“Well now that it’s just goin’ to be adults, why don’t we get the real party started,” Tommy wiggles his brows, and all three of you look at him in confusion. “‘S a joke, people. Sheesh. How ‘bout some music, though.” He connects his phone to the speaker sitting on one of the shelves, playing a mix of late 90’s and country music. 

Joel finds himself leaning into you as one of his hands slips below the hem of your dress, drawing circles into the skin of your thigh. His touch sends a shiver down your spine and he looks at you with a quirked brow, clearly pleased with your reaction to his touch. 

You got turned on so easily now. It wasn’t fair. Just one look alone from the older Miller brother could have your panties around your ankles in milliseconds, and you truly weren’t above begging him to touch you. 

The smug smirk on his face told you he knew it, too, but you both agreed to take things slow. You couldn’t even remember why you agreed to such a thing, because the tension between you two had been through the roof since your date at the fair. You truly didn’t know how much self restraint you had. 

Maria’s laugh had ripped through your thoughts, earning your undivided attention. 

“No way. I don’t believe you.” She says, laughing at Tommy. 

“‘S true! Joel and I are a couple ‘a Austin’s finest line dancers.” Tommy shrugs, looking over at Joel. 

“Those days are long over, brother.” Joel groans, leaning his head back onto the couch. 

“Bullshit. Betcha still know how to dance to Brooks & Dunn.” 

“Even if I did—”

“C’mon cowboy, show us what you got.” You tease, and Joel shakes his head. 

“Mm mm. Won’t do it unless you ladies do it with us.” He negotiates, and your eyes flit to Maria who smiles upside down and shrugs her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t hurt to learn.” She says, and you nod in agreement. 

“It’s settled then.” Tommy slaps his thighs, standing up and offering his hand to Maria. Tommy tosses Joel his Stetson off of the coat rack which Joel catches with ease, putting it onto his head as he grins at you, offering his hand to help you stand up. 

“Hey dad! Kelly’s mom is here– oh god, are you and Uncle Tommy line dancing again?” She groans, and Joel holds his hands up in defense. 

“Uncle Tommy coaxed me into it and these lovely ladies here wanna learn. Not my fault.” 

Sarah rolls her eyes and looks between you and Maria. “Good luck with these two knuckleheads. It was nice to meet you!” She says as she heads for the door. 

“You too!” You call back. 

“Text me when you get there, please.” Joel calls out to her, and she says ‘kay!’ before the front door shuts behind her. Tommy plays the familiar tune of Boot Scootin’ Boogie, and Joel stands next to him before they start to dance in sync. They both hold on to the front of the waistbands of their pants where their belts would presumably be as their footwork syncs up perfectly. 

You and Maria watch in awe as they move together effortlessly, mentally noting the moves they’re repeating. Maria nudges you and you look at her with a shit-eating grin on your face. 

“Girl, are you seeing this? Got damn near ten degrees hotter in here just watching my man dance.” 

“Tell me about it. If Joel and I weren’t taking it slow, I’d probably jump his bones right now.” 

“More power to you. I couldn’t do that even if I tried my damndest.” 

“Trust me, it’s hard. Especially when he looks like… that.” You stare at Joel as he lets the familiar movements flow through his bones, dancing on beat to the upbeat song. He looks at you and shoots you a wink, making you bite your lip to hide your smile. 

“C’mon ladies.” Tommy waves you both over, and you both join in with them. It takes a couple of tries to sync up with Joel, but you’re eventually moving with him. He takes your hand and spins you, pulling you into him as he presses you flush against his chest. 

You smirk at him and pluck his Stetson off of his head, putting it onto yours. Joel moves his hand to the small of your back, causing you to practically grind into him while you dance. You bite your lip and bat your lashes as you can feel the tension in Joel’s body that desperately needs relief. He shakes his head with a chuckle, leaning in as his lips brush your ear. 

“Ever heard of the cowboy hat rule, baby?” His voice is raspy and low. He noses at your jawline before leaving a kiss below your ear, pulling his face back into your view. 

You shake your head no, and as the song ends, he gives Tommy a look before intertwining your hand with his to lead you upstairs. 

“Joel—” You start, but as soon as you step into his bedroom, he closes the door and locks it. He cages you in between both of his strong arms, hands resting on either side of your head as he pops his knee out. It’s dangerously close to your aching cunt, and if you moved forward just a bit, you could easily grind yourself onto him. 

The thought was tempting but your mind went blank, the close proximity between you both making your head spin. 

“The cowboy hat rule,” He starts, leaning down to kiss your neck, “Is when a lady takes a man’s cowboy hat off of his head n’ puts it on herself. Means that the lady wants to be with the man and essentially wants to do more with him.” 

“M-more?” Your breath catches in your throat as his hot tongue glides over the warmth of your neck. You’re beginning to pant harder, hands twitching at your sides, aching to touch him. 

“Mhm.” He slots his thigh between your legs, and you can’t help the soft moan that bubbles in your throat at the delicious friction. 

“Had a whole romantic thing planned in my head on how to ask you to be my girl, but fuck baby, I can’t wait no more. I know it ain’t been long, but I really want you to be mine. ‘N I sure would love to be your man.” 

Your brain starts to function a little better, so you bring your hands up to cup his face. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your lips, Joel mirroring you. 

“Don’t need fancy. Just need you, baby. I’d love to be yours, Joel.” 

And he steals a searing kiss from you, arms wrapping around you as he moves you both backwards toward his bed. He takes his hat off of your head before setting it on his dresser, sitting down on his bed as you follow suit and straddle him. His hands hold onto your thighs, teasing you as they move underneath the hemline of your dress. 

His lips separate from yours and he buries his face into your neck, kissing and licking your soft flesh as he grabs a handful of your ass. You can’t help but grind yourself into him like last time, the carnal desire for him shredding through you as your self-restraint dwindles down to nearly nothing. 

“I-I know we said slow, but baby, can I touch you?” He asks, and you fervently nod your head. Your thoughts were so jumbled that you couldn’t be bothered to form a coherent response. Your senses were all-consumed by this man under you—your boyfriend. You smile at the thought before your jaw goes slack when his hand moves your underwear to the side, fingers sliding through your slick folds. 

You bite your lip to stifle the whine that shoots through your chest, heart leaping into your throat. You knew it wouldn’t take much for you to come undone if Joel kept teasing you the way he did. 

“Shit, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet. This all for me, pretty girl?” He asks, his Southern drawl as thick as honey, darkened eyes meeting yours. 

“Yes.” You cry, rutting your hips against his fingers.

“Can I?” He asks, prodding the tip of his fingers at your entrance. You nod once again, gripping onto his shoulders as you begin to leave kisses across his neck and collarbone. He slides a finger down to the knuckle in you effortlessly, and you can’t help but nip at his neck as the sensation courses through your body. 

His one finger alone could reach places yours never could, and it made you dizzy. He slipped another finger into you, the stretch stinging in the slightest as you rocked onto his hand. 

“So fuckin’ tight, baby. There you go.” Joel guides you as he begins to move his own fingers, curling them in your warmth. He was hitting that spot that you could barely ever reach, making your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your head fell back, panting his name repeatedly as you felt the coil already tightening in your core. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, hm? My girl is so gorgeous like this, gettin’ herself off on my fingers. Look like a fuckin’ angel, darlin’. Such a good girl.” Joel praises you, and your head snaps up as your eyes meet his. He has a devilish smirk on his lips as you thread your fingers through his curls, smashing your lips to his. He groans into the kiss and picks up the pace of his fingers, your arousal now dripping down to his wrist. He felt your pussy clench around his digits, and he was coaxing you to come undone. 

“That’s it baby. Can feel ya, I know you wanna cum. Give it t’me.” He says, and he swallows your moans in a kiss as the band snaps in your core, body convulsing as you ride out your orgasm. 

You’re breathless as you slump against him, kissing his neck repeatedly as you try and catch your breath. 

He slowly slides his fingers out of you and you moan at the loss of fullness, gaze meeting his once again. He slips his fingers coated in your arousal into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you. He leans in to kiss you, and you can easily taste yourself on his tongue. 

“So fuckin’ sweet. Can I taste all of ya?” He asks, and you don’t even think twice before you nod. He flips you around onto the bed, kneeling onto the floor as he hooks both of his fingers into the waistband of your panties. You’re about to lift your hips so he can slide them off of you when a sharp knock on his door sounds. 

He groans and sits on his haunches, forehead falling onto your thigh. You giggle and sit up, running your hands through his curls. 

“What, Tommy?” Joel calls out, and Tommy laughs on the other side of the door. 

“Jus’ lettin’ ya know Maria ‘n I are gonna stay in the guest bedroom. The hell are you doin’ in there?” 

Joel gets up with a grunt and stalks toward his bedroom door, unlocking it before swinging it open.

“None of your goddamn business. That’s what.” Joel rolls his eyes, and Tommy raises his hands in defense. 

“Shit, my bad!” He looks past Joel and winks at you, and your face heats up immediately. 

“You have five seconds to get out of my face before I beat your ass. Fuckin’ cockblock.” Joel grumbles, glaring at his brother. 

“Fair. Carry on. Wrap it before you tap it!” He turns on his heel and trudges down the stairs, and Joel turns back around to look at you, face beet red. 

“Ignore him.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Noted,” You pat the spot next to you and he rejoins you on the bed. “Now where were we?”

tags: @ilovepedro ; @nostalxgic ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @pamasaur ; @clawdee ; @pascalpvnk ; @bensonispunk ; @merz-8 ; @darkblue-tennesseee ; @buckyispunk ; @untamedheart81 ; @picketniffler ; @fluffygoffpanda ; @paleidiot ; @typewriter83 ; @lizzie-cakes ; @sawymredfox ; @keylimebeag ; @nandan11 ; @pedropascalsbbg ; @pimosworld ; @yxtkiwiyxt ; @anoverwhelmingdin

divider by @saradika-graphics

[runariya]

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 6 FINALE

pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: foul language, angst, being held hostage, obsession and possessiveness, fluff, smoking, OC's parents are still shit, scorpion hybrid (sorry angel, I had it already written lol), multiple murder, mentions of bodies, semi-graphic description of beating someone to death, blood, wounds, explicit sexual content, smut, oral (m. receiving), JK whines a lot but not sub, unprotected sex, marking and bonding, knotting, love confessions <3, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 3K

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • masterlist

Three things.

There are three things you realised while living with Jungkook.

One—you’ll never, ever, under any circumstances, humiliate him again in public. Not because he doesn’t deserve it sometimes, but because it’s the dumbest and most dangerous thing you could do. Not just for him and his whole organisation, but for you too—it puts your life at risk.

Sure, him killing someone in that nightclub didn’t change much, but his friends seeing him like that, howling, has strained their relationship, and you’re not sure how he’s managed to keep them in line since. You know killing them off wouldn’t be an option to regain his control though. 

Of course, you’d apologised to Jungkook more than once, and he brushed it off like it was nothing, like even though you’d hurt him, he’d still forgive you.

Which brings you to the second thing you realised.

As much of a lunatic as Jungkook is, he’s kind and loving to you. After the branding—that was the first and last time he hurt you physically—he’s never laid a hand on you again or said anything cruel. You still don’t fully understand why he feels the way he does about you, but you’ll get the answers out of him soon, once he emerges from his study to join you by the fireplace.

Just yesterday, you’d asked Jungkook if you could call your parents. To your surprise, he let you without much thought, but stayed right beside you, insisting the phone be on speaker so he could hear.

The call didn’t last long, no. After a few rings, your dad picked up, and you couldn’t help but cry and call his name, only for him to hang up straightaway. You tried again, but no one answered after that.

That’s when you knew Jungkook had been telling the truth all along. And that’s when you finally saw him for who he really is: someone whose only goal in life is to keep you safe and loved, even if it started in a way you hated.

“Don’t think about it,” Jungkook says, sitting down next to you, his arm draped behind you on the headrest as he kisses your temple.

“About you being whipped for me?”

“That you can think about.”

He pulls you close, and you lean into him, soaking in his warmth and scent. The penthouse is still too cold for you; you only feel warm when you’re near Jungkook or the fireplace. One day, you’ll have to ask him to turn up the heating a bit more.

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

“Why me?”

There’s an ease in the way you both speak, in how comfortable he seems, and you wonder if it’ll last. Jungkook knows exactly what you’re asking, like he always does, so there’s no hesitation in his voice as his hand moves absentmindedly, tracing soothing circles on your shoulder.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

Jungkook stares off, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips as he lights a cigar.

“Beomseok’s little shop around that dodgy corner. You were sixteen, I think. Always working, every shift it seemed, just to help your shitty family when you should’ve been enjoying life.”

You sit up, startled that he knows about your past.

“One of the many times I stopped by, you cleared out the whole shelf because a bug got stuck in your fur or something.” He chuckles, as if picturing it. “And I helped you. Always did after that.”

“The scrawny boy in the black hoodie and face mask! That was you?”

“That was me.” He nods, locking eyes with you, his gaze full of adoration.

“You made my life so much better back then.” You smile, your hand moving up and down his thigh.

“Back then, I swore I wouldn’t drag you into my world, but I’d keep you safe. Neither worked out, clearly.”

“But I’m safe,” you cut in, unable to bear the sadness in his eyes.

“No, as long as you’re with me in this world, you’re not.”

“Jungkook, I am safe with you,” you insist, determined, because it’s true. You’ve never felt safer than when you’re with him. Not back then, and not now.

Jungkook just nods, as if he’s not entirely convinced but doesn’t want to argue. It’s enough for now, you reckon, and with a bit of courage, knowing you’ve never thanked him properly for all he did for you, you lean in just as he takes another puff of his cigar and kiss his cheek.

“Thanks for saving me, Jungkook.”

He smiles, pulls you against his chest, kisses the top of your head, and mumbles, “Anytime, love.”

You know Jungkook brought you catnip just yesterday when he came back from ‘work’. You also know it should be with your baking supplies, but there’s no trace of it now. You’ve been through every cabinet twice by this point, even pulled out all the tableware just to be sure. But nothing.

There’s no way you’re going out now to buy the ones you’ve been snacking on up until a few days ago, especially after learning from some TikTok that they’re unhealthy because of… well, you don’t even remember anymore. But you’ve looked up a recipe since, and you need to bake some asap before the withdrawal hits too hard.

Knowing Jungkook definitely knows where the catnip is, and that he’s currently two floors down—a floor he’s actually banned you from entering, though he did give you the passcode, your birthdate, in case of emergencies—you head straight for the lift, figuring this is the very definition of an emergency.

You’re shocked when you step out; the floor’s empty of furniture, the walls bare, like an unfinished building. Still, you make your way to the only visible door, soft grunts coming from behind it, and you reckon it’s just his gym.

You walk in without knocking—and freeze, eyes wide at the sight in front of you. It’s not a gym at all, but a floor dedicated to torture.

There are several dead, bloodied bodies off to the side, with Jimin standing nearby, his bored eyes fixed on the brutal scene unfolding before him.

A man’s tied to a chair, barely conscious, as Jungkook, his back to you, hammers down bloody fists over and over into the guy’s face.

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook to stop abruptly and turn, his eyes locking onto yours in shock, sensing your presence before he even hears you.

“Leave!”

But you can’t tear your gaze away from the scorpion hybrid slumped in the chair—the very man who sold you at the auction. Looking again at the bodies, you recognise each one of them now.

The one who kidnapped you and every single person you crossed paths with during your captivity.

“I said leave!” Jungkook barks again, but when you meet his eyes, it’s not anger you see—it’s worry.

You just shake your head, walking silently over to stand beside Jimin, who doesn’t dare say a word. Jungkook looks unsure, but when you give him a nod, something shifts in his expression, like a curtain falling over his very soul.

He turns back to his victim, fists resuming their precise rhythm, as if nothing had interrupted him in the first place.

You’d always thought watching Jungkook work would make you sick, would make you feel something. And while there’s still anger bubbling inside you at the sight of the men who wronged you, you don’t feel much of anything else. There’s not a single part of you that’s repulsed by the sight of death caused by Jungkook, not even at the blood or the life slowly draining from the man in front of you.

Jungkook’s assault isn’t anything dramatic, either—it’s like he’s training on a punching bag, nothing more. No show, no curses, no shouting—just the unrelenting, wet clap of fist meeting flesh.

With one final uppercut, it’s over. The sickening crack of the man’s neck rings out, and Jungkook stops, panting quietly, his body still as he stares at what he’s done—for you.

“Let’s go home, Jungkook,” you call softly.

“You *are* home!” he snaps.

“I am,” you reply, your voice and eyes loving as his gaze meets yours, finally registering your words.

Jungkook’s tense muscles relax at that, and with a single nod, he walks with you to the door, keeping a small distance as he instructs over his shoulder, “Take care of the rest.”

“Yes, boss.”

There’s nothing said on the way back to the penthouse, and you reckon Jungkook needs a minute to calm down, adrenaline still too prominent in his scent. His clothes are soaked in blood, the smell slightly bothering you now, but it’s the ticking of his jaw and the worry in his eyes that has you more concerned.

Sure, you can read him—his eyes and scent give him away without much thought—but you never fully know what’s going on inside. He’s the first to enter the bedroom, and before you’ve even had the chance to close the door, he’s already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

You leave him be for now, giving him space to literally wash away his sins before you need to talk, not about the catnip, but to finally tell him what he means to you, to thank him.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped low around his hips, happy trail on display, and for a second, you lose track of what you wanted to say, though you quickly recover.

“Sit down,” you say, already perched on the bed.

He’s hesitant, you can see it in the way his eyes dart around, but he still obliges.

Again, he doesn’t sit right beside you, leaving a bit of space you can’t stand. So, you shuffle closer, taking his hands and inspecting the split knuckles. There aren’t many, and the few that are split are minor, probably because he’s used to this—knows how to throw a punch without hurting himself.

“Thank you, Jungkook.”

“It’s not enough.” He shakes his head.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

You think for a moment, and then it hits you. “You are enough, Jungkook.”

His head snaps to you, searching your face for a lie that isn’t there.

“You are enough. This is enough. I want to stay. This is my home, and you’re right—I don’t hate you.”

Jungkook’s hand reaches for your face, cradling it softly, as if he needs to touch you to believe it’s real.

“I love you, Jungkook, and I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“You’re not, love, never were.”

There’s a moment for everything, and you reckon this is the moment you want to kiss him, to be kissed by him. You press your hands to his bare chest, leaning forward until your breaths mingle, barely any space left between your lips and his.

You see his eyelids flutter shut, and with that, you close the distance, capturing his soft upper lip. It feels like your life has finally clicked into place, like you’ve been waiting for this moment forever without knowing it. 

You straddle his lap as your tongue plays with his, not in a battle for dominance but as equals, moaning softly into the kiss like a song composed by only you. Occasionally, a whine escapes his throat, and you don’t mind in the slightest, knowing it’s just his genes, just as your purring is from yours.

“Please touch me, Jungkook.”

This time, he listens, his hands cupping your ass and giving it a firm squeeze, pushing your clothed cunt against his hard-on. You want him, want him to claim you, so you speed up the process of undressing, not only yourself but finally pulling off the towel around his waist while kneeling between his legs.

Looking up, your purring louder now, you meet his dilated eyes, seeing your reflection in his pupils. He wants you just as much as you want him, and the knowledge feels so damn satisfying, you can’t help but wrap your tiny hands around his thick cock.

Jerking him off is easy, his precum already slicking his shaft, making your strokes smooth.

“Yes, kitten,” Jungkook breathes, his eyes never leaving yours, too captivated by what you’re doing to close them.

The sight of him has you practically drooling, unable to swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. It’s your cue to take him properly. You stick out your tongue, licking from his balls to the tip, then taking him all the way into your mouth until you can’t breathe anymore. Your purring gets louder from the taste of him, drawing an approving moan from his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me. So fucking good, kitten.”

Spurred on by his words, you try sucking from your throat rather than your mouth, massaging his tight balls with the excess saliva as you gag slightly from his size. It’s exactly what he wants, what he needs, his abs clenching as his breathing becomes ragged in seconds. 

You feel invincible, like a goddess, taking him in like a champ, not stopping until he grabs your face and pulls you back, both hands cupping your cheeks.

“Enough,” he pants, his eyes burning into yours as he helps you up, too dazed to do it yourself.

Jungkook’s mouth is on yours in an instant when you fall onto the bed, not caring about his own taste as he devours you, his tongue tracing along your lips and neck. He pauses there, snapping out of his instincts for a second, as if he’s debating whether to mark you.

“Mark me,” you moan, your cunt grinding against his thigh, pulling his head closer by his hair.

Jungkook doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he kisses your neck, squeezing your tit, his fingers toying with your nipple.

You never tire of the sight of his back, the way his muscles flex with every movement of his head, while his touch sets every nerve ending on your body on fire.

“Let me love you right first,” he murmurs against your lips, lining up his cock with your soaked cunt and pushing inside as he kisses you.

The stretch and burn are familiar, but it’s different now, with him finally touching you, holding you. It’s not rushed or wild like it was when you fucked yourself on him before. It’s slow and loving, his thrusts deep until he’s buried fully inside you.

Jungkook doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop kneading your breasts as he picks up his pace, his cock sliding out just enough to keep you connected before thrusting back in, uniting your bodies over and over again.

You love this side of him, love every side of him, and it’s all you can manage to moan, his name like a prayer on your lips. Not knowing how long you’ll last, even though you never want it to stop, you grip his head, pushing him up slightly to meet your eyes.

His brows are furrowed, his rosey lips swollen and shiny, begging for more kisses, but you hold back for just a moment.

“Please mark me, Jungkook.”

“I won’t control you, kitten,” he pants, his thrusts not faltering.

“No, please bond with me.”

Jungkook almost collapses on top of you, his whine so loud it drowns out the wet sounds of his cock driving into you.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” you cry out as he hits just the right spot.

You expect him to go for it immediately, but instead, he kisses your neck again, taking his time, almost reverent in how he prepares to mark you.

He takes one last deep inhale of your scent before finally sinking his fangs into your neck, growling, “You’re mine.”

The added rush of arousal from his bite, combined with the way his hips move faster, has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. You hope Jungkook feels the same, wanting to share everything with him.

When he pulls back to admire the mark, he kisses you again, harder this time, the taste of your blood on his tongue not dampening the moment.

“Mark me too,” he moans against your lips, his sweat dripping down his perfect nose onto your face.

Your hand runs up his back, tangling in his hair as he exposes his neck for you, and you guide him closer to your mouth.

Taking a deep breath, his scent making you dizzier than ever, you sink your teeth into his neck—not because it’ll do anything permanent, just leaving small marks from your tiny canines—but it’s symbolic, and that’s all that matters for both of you.

“I love you,” he whines out, and it’s your bite that gives Jungkook the final push. His cock swells even more, his thrusts becoming irregular. “Where, love?”

“Inside!” You mewl, the added sensation of his cock growing inside you pushing you over the edge too, your legs wrapping tightly around his hips to keep him close.

“Fuck, ___, I love you so much,” Jungkook shudders, coming just as forcefully as he entered your life, nearly paralysing you with the sheer amount of cum filling you.

It’s the last push you need as your orgasm bursts with his, your cunt clenching around him like second nature. 

Jungkook starts to pull out, but you hold him in like a vice, wanting him to knot you and affirm again that this is final. That he is your finality.

There’s not much said but the soft love confessions whispered against your lips and skin, not much done but lying together, basking in the safety and love you’ve found in each other.

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • masterlist

a/n 2: tysm for reading and being patient with updates 🥹 lmk what you think in any way you like! Character asks and drabble requests for this fic are still open 💕

Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

taglist: @jksusawife, @kookiewithluv, @justjkkkkk, @staytinyville, @jaiuneamesolitaiire , @ericawantstoescape , @mjuser, @sp1derk0ok , @fluttershyvanilla, @lachimolalajeon , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @llallaaa , @m00njinnie , @passionandsuga , @scuzmunkie , @lerasi , @11thenightwemet11 , @bts-ruu , @metalheadfangirl2001 , @unadulteratedwitcher , @qmsvpx, @minghaosimp, @kittycatkrissa, @weareatthebadlands, @fluttershy-vanilla, @bangtannie7, @closer-to-jungkook, @dreamcatcherluvr, @blueofocean

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 47!

...plus a very special non-buddie fic!! an excellent reading week, once again. the 911 fandom has so many incredible writers!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

and i need you more than want you (and i want you for all time) | dykeries/@buddiesbian| 25.9k | E

Buck and Eddie's relationship changes over a series of phone calls. Along the way, their family finds its way back home to each other. there's something about phone calls for buddie that just hits so hard... doesn't matter if they're sex calls or emotional calls. this fic is so good, i devoured it!!

ball games | thesquinky | 8.4k | T

buck takes eddie to that lakers game, after all. buck and eddie at the lakers game!! kiss cams!! i was crossing my fingers someone would write a fic exactly like this and it did not disappoint <3

been there, done that (once or twice) | kaistinlove/@kaistinlove | 21.6k | E

the one where Buck wants to make a boudoir album and enlists Eddie's help as a photographer. i clicked on this SO FAST when i saw it!! so good so hot so perfect

DIAZ | mandolare/@confessionseddie | 3k | E

Buck wears the wrong jacket. buck needs to always wear the wrong jacket imo <3 so lovely!!

hold me like water | singomuse7 | 6.3k | T

Eddie's not the most oblivious person in the world and instantly understands what that closet joke meant, and instead of crashing out and blowing his life up about it, he gives Buck sensible advice and breaks up with Marisol. Cue 6k words of gay crisis during madney's wedding. i love love love this fic's eddie so much <3 so good!!

i belong with you, you belong with me (you're my sweetheart) | Distressed_Ladybug15/@cadiebug | 1.4k | GA

For a second they just stand there, staring into Chris’ room, then Buck tips his head back and to the side so he can meet Eddie’s eyes. “Hi,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and overused from work. i needed a little hurt/comfort like this a couple of days ago and it hit the spot perfectly <3

jee- yun's big day | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 6k | GA

“So, Jee,” Mommy says. “You remember how we visited Daddy at work before?” Jee-Yun nods. “Captain Bobby says you can come to work with me for a whole day!” Daddy looks excited, and Jee thinks about it. Daddy’s work is pretty fun, she thinks. Captain Bobby cooked some really yummy pasta, and Uncle Buck is always there, and so are Aunt Hen and Uncle Eddie. THIS FIC. this fic is the non-buddie inclusion of this week but honestly i don't even care, i need everyone to read it immediately. the loveliest cutest jee ever, and such a lovely ensemble of characters around her <3

make a spark (break the dark) | prettyunhinged | 4.9k | E

Eddie is gay. Tommy sucks. Buck and Eddie frot about it on the couch. this fic is how i realised that there's an ao3 tag especially for eddie's couch and honestly, she deserves it <3 so hot so buddie so good!!

my home is your body | coldbam/@coldbam | 16.6k | E

Buck and Eddie have vastly different nights at Pride. Then very similar summers. this was a reread and it still hits so very hard. the ultimate buddie fwb fic!!

my man says he loves me (never says he loves me not) | colonoscopys/@colonoscopys | 9.7k | GA

croakett: I don’t know what to do tubbalubb: me neither He stares at the screen. Is this the correct time to bring up Buck’s abs? buddie online friendship AND irl friendship?? sign me right up wow i love this!! they're so silly and they love each other so much <3

please, please, please | bookinit/@bookinit02 | 8.7k | E

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit. honestly eddie i'd lose it too. this fic combines pining and getting together and touch-starvation so basically if there was a venn diagram of my favourite fic tropes this would be right in the middle <3

red + white + boom | onlythemessenger | 3k | T

Unexpected fireworks catch Eddie off guard after a bad week. Buck and Bobby help him through the aftermath. bobbyeddie friendship my most beloved <3 love how this fic portrays them!!

this mortal coil (shuffle) | eirabach/@eirabach | 20.1k | M

Maddie was never supposed to be Buck’s mother. Eddie was never allowed to be his anything. But three minutes and seventeen seconds later, here they are. this fic hurt but in the best way. love maddie here in particular <3

this world turns over | dottie_weewoo/@dottie-wan-kenobi | 4.8k | T

Before Buck stands up fully, Eddie reaches out with his good hand to pet Christopher’s hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “Goodnight, mijo,” he whispers, getting only a mumble in response. A soft smile steals over his face, his eyes moving from his son to Buck. “Hey, Buck?” domestic and wonderful <3 this was a lovely morning read on the bus earlier this week!!

we are bound | EiraLloyd/@unlifeira | 7.2k | T

Every human was born with a prophecy. That was the deal, or so they taught at school. But Evan knew better. He wasn’t born with a prophecy. He’d asked and asked and asked, but his parents shrugged every time, and eventually, Evan stopped asking. Why bother when he already knew the answer he’d get? i love the style and structure of this fic so so much, it's gorgeously written!! a true treat <3

you're looking like you fell in love tonight | devirnis/@devirnis | 1.1k | GA

There’s an arm slung across his waist, a head on his shoulder, soft hairs tickling the underside of his jaw. He breathes in, the cobwebs of sleep slowly dissolving in his brain, and he smells — Eddie. i did fall in love tonight and it was with this fic <3 so so lovely!!

[appleblueberry-pie]

You Deserve More Than Me

There wasn't a time when you didn't see scars littering Miles's skin. It strikes your curiosity as much as it makes you concerned. They looks so cool on him, but why were there so many in the first place.

He never seemed to get in trouble at school, though. So it had to be sometime before or after school when he was doing...something. But he was just a closed-off scholar. At least, that's how you saw him. He always smiled at you, spoke with you often, was gentle with his words and volume when conversating, and was also gentle with his touches, too.

His hands were littered with the most scars. Little healed slits covering the backs of his hands, even though they were moisturized and beautiful looking. And his palms....you'd able to tell it was him based off of those alone. They were never too cold or too warm. They were rough. Detailed and ingrained with hard work he obviously had been putting his time into. Never catching a break, yet never wearing down. You admired how they felt, and how beautiful they still managed to look. Everything about him was a surprise to you.

When you'd see his sleeve pull up a little, or he'd stretch and the bottom of his shirt lifted to reveal scarred skin, you'd point it out. He'd say the same thing about them every time. "I'm good. It's nothing to worry about. Promise." And his smile would be enough to convince you to drop the topic.

Miles had multiple scars resting on his young skin. Yeah, his hands were hard working, but the rest of him worked harder. If he ran his hand across his chest in one slow and detailed stroke, he'd feel about 2 years worth of his second life that took what's owed. He can't recall where some scars came from what unless they were too big to ignore. His arms and forearms looked hauntingly beautiful, a silent story never to be forgotten, forever a memory of what once was and still is true about him to this day.

His back took most of the falls for him. He fell so many times on his back, it doesn't even hurt anymore when it happens. But if he thinks hard enough about those moments when it did happen, he could feel the sting as if it was still there.

But if only he could put into words why this all connects back to you. If only he could explain to you that this was done to keep your streets safe, your mind clear. He would love to confess his emotions to you, but only lord knows how much more strength he'd need to even face you before even uttering such sacred words. You deserve so much more than him, so to try and match what he thinks is best for you, he blends with the night to pretend to be someone he's not to break his skin for you.

He doesn't know how you'd feel if you found out how much of his life he'd spent just to be able to surround you in his life. So much of what's on his skin was there because he wanted to make you proud and see you smile again. And it's not like he can stop now, he's already sharing two classes with you and he'd be damned if he had to give it up. If 5 months of lurking on the streets, making deals for money, and lowering the crime rate of his city means being able to share a class with you, then so be it. He'll bleed a few more times just to be a little bit closer to you, he has no shame.

His selfishness for you runs deeper than the thoughts in his head. It shows through his actions and the skin he tears over and over again just for it to heal and turn to see your face another time.

[buddierecs]

post season 7 buddie fics

in honour of season 8 coming out in a few days, here is a list of fics that have been released over the hiatus set post season 7. all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

ice cream before dinner (my beloved) by: cloudydaisies "gerrard messes with the team's schedules and eddie 'i just drove my son to flee the state' diaz is the only option to watch mara and jee-yun after school on tuesdays, which, shouldn't be a problem at all, right?" word count: 58k important tags: girl!uncle eddie, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions, feelings realisation, minor buck/tommy, family feels take me home (to my heart) by: literalmetaphor "eddie and maddie end up in an impossible situation." word count: 20k important tags: car accidents, injury, hurt!eddie diaz, hurt!maddie han, maddie & eddie friendship, worried!evan buckley, getting together it's always on the tip of my tongue by: allyasavedtheday "eddie diaz vs the great romance paradigm." word count: 17k important tags: character study, therapy, emotional hurt/comfort, falling in love, demisexual!eddie diaz all my little words by: youbetsya "eddie: did you just send me an email?? buck: yeah lol eddie: why… i dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. just stuff to print when your printer is broken buck: did you read it? eddie: Not yet. too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me buck: just read it dude 🙄" word count: 11k important tags: texting, idiots in love, getting together, eddie diaz mustache three strikes and you're out by: eightpackdiaz "buck's soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend chooses to ignore him every time the kiss cam points in their direction. eddie does the opposite" word count: 3.1k important tags: minor buck/tommy, cheating, kiss him, jealous!eddie diaz, tommy kinard bashing, first kiss a honey shade of blue by: hattalove "one toddler, two conversations, and so many missed opportunities for buck to act like a guy not in love with his best friend." word count: 8k important tags: getting together, pining!evan buckley, first kiss catatonia by: dqstcrdly "buck and eddie get into a car accident, buck thinks eddie is dead, and goes catatonic about it." word count: 13k important tags: car accidents, near death experiences, love confessions, angst, hurt/comfort, getting together, tommy kinard bashing knowing me, knowing you by: kiwibuckley "five times eddie was the better (boy)friend, and the one time he was the boyfriend" word count: 10k important tags: 5+1 things, friends to lovers, getting together, minor buck/tommy, tommy kinard bashing, eddie diaz loves evan buckley, petty!eddie diaz, pining sweet talk by: daisies_and_briars "eddie asks to crash at the loft while christopher is gone, struggling to be on his own. only problem? there's only one bed, and no couch." word count: 6.5k important tags: there was only one bed, minor buck/tommy, healing, couch theory this postcard tells you where we've been by: daisies_and_briars "eddie finds a collection of postcards buck sent to chris over his summer in el paso." word count: 3.5k important tags: getting together, first kiss, fluff, christopher diaz has two dads glass on the pavement under my shoe by: doitgently "buck takes a great big tumble. like always, eddie is right behind him." word count: 9.4k important tags: near death experience, major character injury, love confessions, angst with happy ending you'd have to stop the world (just to stop the feeling) by: wenttoafortuneteller "the eddie diaz gay realization arc we all deserve. in which bobby puts some pieces together, chimney sees something he shouldn’t, hen gets to have a conversation she’s been waiting to have for years, and buck can’t understand why his best friend is avoiding him." word count: 23k important tags: character study, catholic guilt, pre-relationship, self-discovery, self-acceptance, feelings realisation hope it hurts, burns & you finally grieve me by: dylaesthetics "eddie spontaneously visits a church and things fall into place." word count: 4.8k important tags: character study, religious guilt, angst, friends to lovers, getting together

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan adjusting to this new timeline, becoming sober, and Wade somehow finding Logan's dog tags. ~4k words.

(Tw: Logan's a depressed recovering alcoholic with survivor guilt, unofficial proposal, canon usual implied sex jokes, Logan tries to flirt but fails)

To my wife. Who's halo lit up my dark life to see just how many doors were available to me when I couldn't see them myself<3

He offers him his to wear as a cutesie matching necklace type of thing but Logan is hesitant to take them, scared of what will come of it. He does it anyway though because he sees how happy Wade is wearing his.

What he refuses to tell him though is that just hearing the tags jingle makes him jump, flinch, his heart rate rises, and his mind floods with scenes he's worked so hard draining every bar he could find dry just so he could forget.

For me, I, too, am a man with deeply rooted animal instincts and was raised to behave like an obedient pet instead of the animal they made me.

An animal trained to take orders. A soldier without his post is miserable and constantly is either trying to find it again or defend himself from ever having to go back to a post to begin with.

You aren't good enough for them if you obey what they say and excel past the standards. But you aren't good enough if you question their authority and make choices for yourself either. Hoizer comes to mind.

Running with the bulls

Working my miracles

Holding my world together with a boot string

His night terrors are worse, more frequent, constantly a battle between wanting to protect and defend the less fortunate to saying, 'No, I'm done with that. It's none of my business, It’s someone else's problem now.'

He wakes up screaming, claws drawn, every possible sense he has to run activated, panting, gasping almost for air. He's panting, heaving deep but quick breaths, all of the hairs on his arms raised like a cat who just heard a dog barking after having gotten attacked as a kitten.

Living the dream

Benzos and gasoline

Coffee and blue light screens till the morning

He wakes to the sunlight in his face, gets up, stretches, takes his Valium. Eats some toast, calls it breakfast, gets dressed for his weekly AA meeting. The moment he steps inside it smells like Gasoline. Sweet honey scented lies that he hates to admit that he knew all too well. ‘It was only one’ ‘I asked for a virgin one but they brought me the wrong one’ ‘I'm trying, I really am..it's just.. hard’ He's heard them all before but the last one he could relate to the most.

Coming home at night, Logan puts his face into the back of his partner's neck, hugging him from behind as he offers to watch a cowboy movie marathon with him. He barely eats, only taking what Wade gives him or shoves in his mouth like the now spilled popcorn that was all over the ground, His boyfriend sprawled out on the couch while the “Dvd” bounces back and forth on the blue screen.

Wade never likes it but recently he's been drinking coffee at night, pacing back and forth as he searched online for a job. Kept himself far from the nightmares that were trying to catch up with him.

If I tell you this is drowning

You tell me I'm walking on water

I could bring fire from the mountain

You tell me it feels a little colder

Everyone was telling him how good he was doing, how well he was adjusting, how happy they were that he was here and yet.. He didn't feel like he deserved it. Any of it. Not the second chance, not the love and support of all his new family, not the affection from the man who whispered how proud of him he was each night..

It doesn't help his mental status when multiple jobs reject him either. Interviews don't exactly go that well when you have claws for hands and a reputation for having a temper.

“I'm sorry we're looking for someone with more… experience.. in this field. You need an entry level job.”

“Woah dude! You are WAY too qualified to be working here! you should try looking for something higher up, yeah?”

“I'm sorry. You're too much of a liability.”

“Oh my god- You're the Wolverine!”

“Yes.. but uhm.. No.. I'm just Logan now.”

“Wait, why are you applying here? This is a cashier position.”

“I'm aware..”

“Aren't you like… an X-men?”

“N-no… not anymore.”

“Oh… Did they fire you?”

“I quit.”

“Why?”

“Are.. these questions part of the interview?”

What kind of man was he if he couldn't even get a damn job at McDonald's? It felt useless. Like everybody wanted something different from him, but no one was happy either way. Never pleased with his resume or his reputation. You would think being an ex X-man would make it easy. Of course someone would want to hire a superhero? Right? Wrong.

I don't wanna

Choose between being a salesman or a soldier

Just let me look a little older

It seemed everyone wanted him to rejoin the X-men and as much as he missed that mansion upstate, it wasn't his. So many times he's been told stories about himself that he didn't even remember …well.. because it wasn't him. They wanted The Wolverine.

Their Wolverine.

Not Logan.

There was always that spot at the dealership with Peter. Now that Wade was back on his role with mercenary stuff and doing more “Favors” with Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio, that position was open. Part of him- No. Scratch that. All of him was happy for Wade. He seemed to be enjoying life so much more now that he felt he had purpose. But what was his purpose? Selling cars?? Definitely not. Even if it was, they were looking for something else anyway.

“It says here that you are 286 years old. Is that a typo?”

“Oh- uhm… No..”

“I see…Well we are currently looking for someone… younger.. to fill that spot. Sorry.”

But they were never actually sorry. He could smell it.

Coming home from the failed hunt, he felt like an older lion losing its pride to a younger male lion. Well- if lions could develop arthritis in their knees and hands. Once a day he'd pop out his claws, just to keep them ready though he felt like he hadn't used them in such a long time… Maybe he really was turning into an old house cat like wade said.

Sitting in their shared bedroom, he was grumbling to himself, grunting as he tried to get his claw unstuck. This wasn't the first time they locked up and he feared it wasn't the last either.

He snapped his head up at the sound of tags. Around the corner came who he expected, Wade, quickly hiding his hand under the blanket. Coming in, his eyes widened.

“Woah wolvie! Without me? Really? I would have gladly done it for you.”

At first Logan wanted to thank him for offering to help before quickly realizing that from how his hand was under the blanket, it did look suspiciously like adult alone time.

“T-that's not… no.”

“M'kaay. If you say sooo~”

“H-how uhm.. How was work?”

Watching as he began to grab shower clothes and take off his mask, He smiled.

“Oh you know! Watching the life drain from peoples eyes and what not as they beg for their life! The usual.”

“Oh.. that's.. fun?”

“Extremely liberating stuff.”

Watching as he began to strip, He swallowed, wishing he'd leave already so he could finish shoving the claw back into his skin.

Let me step a little bolder

I don't wanna

Choose between being a butcher or a pauper

“You wanna take a shower with me?” He asked, Beginning to walk around butt naked in nothing but his tags.

“U-uhm… No. No thanks, I had one this morning.”

“D'awwww what? Worried i'll see your peanuts? News flash baby, I've had those things down my throat! And I will say. They're better salty anyways~”

All this teasing changed his monotone face into a small goofy smile as he came close, crawling up into his lap, taking hold of his cheeks as he kissed his nose.

“What's wrong? Did you not get the job?”

He was so envious of how he could say such dirty things. Wade was so confident and yet so shy about his face. It made him think of when he was that confident in himself too. (Probably overly confident if we're being honest) Oh that was so many years ago… he'd never get that back. And honestly? He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Logan said nothing but it was all the answer wade needed.

“I see. Well you'll get’em next time, Right?”

He looked away. Ashamed. Here Wade was, being overly supportive, giving him everything, and still he couldn't find a single happy bone in his body.

Shifting his leg to reassure him more, His knee was placed on the claw, yipping. “Ouch!”

“Sorry! I… I can't.. i-it won't..”

And on top of all that, he just hurt him. Man he sucked at this. All of it. Every little bit of it.

Pulling his hand away, Logan's eyes looked over Wade just as quick as it happened, Trying to see if he was bleeding only to jolt.

“Hey- shh.. Calm down. You're alright.” Grabbing his wrist, he carefully moved the tags that had gotten stuck on the claw.

“What's got you all riled up, Kitty? The interview couldn't have been that bad.”

But what he didn't know is that it WAS that bad.

Instantly Logan broke down, breaking heavily as he began to sob, gritting his teeth as he put his non-stuck hand on his face, wanting to hide. He felt pathetic. Useless. Weak. All of the things he fought not to be.

“Ooh, Honey come her-” Wade reached a hand out, trying to console him only to be shoved away.

“Don't!! I-.. I'm tired of hurting people! That's not who I want to be!”

“Baby cakes, it was an accident-”

“No!! Eveyone wants the Wolverine until the fucking wolverine is actually acting like the Wolverine!” He shouted, trying not to choke on his own tears.

Tilting his head, Wade blinked as if he wasn't aware of what he was talking about, but why would he? Logan hasn't told him anything negative for the past 2 weeks. Keeping it all bottled up, trying to push it deep down but that wasn't him. He couldn't handle it anymore.

“Everyone just keeps saying I should join the X-men again and i-” Wilson put his hands on his shoulders, looking at him with the most serious he has ever been in his entire life.

“Logan, If that's what you want we'll make it work. It's only an hour drive, and i'm sure I could visi-”

“Wade!! Shut. Up! I don't…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he began to apologize, whispering he was sorry for yelling at him.

“I-it's not your fault.. I.. I don't..”

Wade was patient, Nodding, encouraging him to open up with his words. He knew when it was time to zip it and let him talk. Now was one of those times. It was his turn to listen.

“I don't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to fight to begin with but… It's the only thing I'm good at. I'm not good at anything else.. My whole life I've just been jumping team after team and they all eventually die or I just get kicked out for not understanding the power of team work or whatever. Hell, I've been through three different wars and every single time I ran away! Like a damn dog with its tail between its legs! All except the times I was TOLD to run and I didn't. Fuck, Wade! 3 fucking wars and I can't even take orders right!!”

Honey, I'm taking no orders

Gonna be nobody’s soldier

It was now Wade's turn to try to stifle a laugh, snorting as he covered his mouth.

“What's so fucking funny?! That your boyfriend is a sad pathetic loser who can't even get his hands to listen to him!?”

Now he burst out laughing, starting to giggle.

“You're over here talking about not being able to take orders and not being good enough for a team while talking to the same guy who can't even GET on a team and was kicked out of Canadian special forces because I didn't listen to a single thing they said! And you think I care if you ‘can't take orders’ ??” He said this last part in a mocking tone, trying hard to be serious but couldn't.

Logan's eyebrows scrunched with a skeptical glare, tears still dripping down his face, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

Cupping his face again, Wade smiled ear to ear, their foreheads together. “You're much dumber than the comics make you out to be if you think I'd care about anything like that. You honestly think I'd care if you don't want to be anyone's soldier? Why do you think I'm my own boss? The world isn't built for guys like us, baby. And if you wanna open a coffee shop or- pursue your dreams of photography, or hell! Even bird watching for all I care, I will still love you. We will make it work. No matter what you choose to do. Even if you don't get a job at all. Do you understand?”

The man started into his eyes, seemingly frozen as he processed all that he said.

“Logan..”

“Hm?”

“You gotta nod hon, we've talked about this.”

Slowly nodding, indicating that he understood, the tears got thicker as he pulled himself into Wade's shoulder, sobbing more.

“Oooh There there… There's my big strong man..” Wrapping his arms around him, he was careful of the single knife still out. Sitting him up, he rubbed the side of his face as he kissed the other cheek, only to gasp.

“GAASSSPP!! Peanut!”

“What!?” His grip tightened around his waist as he looked around urgently, immediately sniffling and starting to wipe his eyes.

“You're getting greys!” He coed, reaching up to pluck a single gray hair from the beast, who flinched. “Ouch..”

Leaning back, Wade held the hair in front of his face, His smile still wider than ever.

“You're turning into A silver fox, wolvie!”

“W-what?”

“Ooh I bet you're gonna be so handsome! Eehh!” Hugging him again, tight around his neck.

Blushing, He wasn't sure what had just happened. How him venting and crying out of the rage he felt to Wade fangirling over one of his single hairs.. though.. I guess it made sense for your bald boyfriend to monitor yours. Wade has even made him start using a fancy shampoo that made his hair a lot softer, curlier, and Less greasy.

“.. you..You're excited that i'm getting old..??”

“Duh! I've always wanted to be a hot silver daddy's sugar baby!”

“What does that even mean?”

“Don't worry about it- Oh hey look! Your claw went back in.”

Looking at his hand, he made a fist and opened it a couple of times, blinking, oblivious. “...How did you do that?”

But what he didn't realize is that the stress was flowing out of him, and the relief that Wade seemed to be obsessed with him no matter what had calmed him down enough for it to slide back in itself.

“I didn't do anything, sweetheart. You opened up. Let it out. All that stress isn't good for you, you know. How do you think I ended up looking like this?” He joked, giggling.

For some reason, He laughed too, finding this a bit funny.

“Do you feel better? Hm?”

“Nngh..”

“I'll take that as a yes.” The naked man whispers, kissing him with his arms lazily on his shoulders, glad that he was able to cry in front of him. Twas a very manly thing to do and there was no one more manly than the Wolverine himself.

“Alright. I'm gonna go shower. I stink worse than you do after being out in the rain.” You know, wet dog and all. Pulling away, there was a clang and a tug at both of their necks, the tags becoming stuck together, making wade smirk more. “I think these tags don't want me to go.”

Quickly frowning, Logan swallowed, moving to take his off, pulling up his hand as he held it, putting the tag inside of it, closing his fingers.

“Wha..I-... what are you doing?”

“Wade.. I..” He sighs, looking away with a nervous pout, Grunting a bit from frustration. Why did words have to be so difficult?

“Are you breaking up with me?!”

“What!? No! I-.. I don't..”

See what Logan didn't know was that Wade had viewed these as promise rings, the equivalent of engagement even but he was okay with never actually getting married. As long as he got to wear the dress in his closet and dance with him he wouldn't mind if it was legal or not. He understood fully that not everyone wanted to marry the stage 4 cancer patient whose skin looked like turkey bacon that was somehow raw and burnt at the same time.

“You don't what? Do you.. want something else? We can get rings! Do you want rings?” shifting to sit closer to him, Wade was obviously becoming upset about this, untangling the tags and looking at him with those big brown puppy eyes.

“Rings…?”

He could see the gears in his head trying their best to turn as he thought what he meant.

“How would we make them into rings?” He finally asks and to Wade, this was basically a proposal.

Sitting up more he began clapping excitedly the same way he did when seeing puppins again about 8 months ago. “Eeh!! Yes!!”

His head turns, Giggling. “I would've taken it in front of the subway like Sanda Bullock but this works too!”

Logan, like a dumb ass, looked too, knowing full well he wouldn't see anyone but still always looked anyway. “Who??”

“Oh I'll show you later! What size are you?”

“In rings?”

“No, your cock, Of course in rings!”

“Hey now- I never agreed to a cock ring, Wade. No.”

The serious tone and the way he pointed his finger at him made him laugh more, taking his hand as he kissed it. “We'll figure it out. Okay so after my shower, I'll call a guy I know. I think Forge would do a much better job but I feel like he'd say no.” He began rambling about how cute they would be and how excited he was, climbing off of his lap (finally) and started to walk off.

“W-wade!” He called, swallowing again, nervous to ask him to listen.

“What? You wanna come shower?”

“No- well.. maybe but..”

Again he waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying his best to be patient but it was hard not talking for 0.5 seconds.

“It's not that.. I don't like them. It's just.. I got those a long long time ago.. and I don't want to be the man those belonged to. Not anymore. And it's not that I don't think about rejoining all the time, it's just.. I want to live my life the way I want too. Charles always said that at the end, we'd get to live how we deserve. That's my time. My time is now. I want to sit on a porch somewhere out west and watch the horses graze. I wanna sit around doing nothing with Puppins in my arms. I want… I want to be with.. with you.”

He admitted, and for once Wade was the one speechless.

“I don't want you to visit. I want to live with you. But not here. I want to go somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can just be.. Logan..”

Putting a hand on his chest as he explained, he didn't see his smile move, not a smidge, watching as he bit his lip and covered his mouth trying to stay quiet until he was done.

“Of course I still want to help people though! Protect them from other worse people… I'm just tired of being someone's toy soldier all the time. I want to do what I think is right but.. also have time to listen to you sing when cooking and take Puppins to the dog park. I want to protect..Us.” Yeah. That felt right. Us. Both of them, all of them. Together. His family.

“B-besides.. If I became an X-men again I don't think I could do it. I could barely sleep back then thinking about all the screams.. the people I couldn't help. I don't think I would be able to get over the fact that I can't save everyone… But I definitely want to try to at least save a few people. Take care of them… all of them. Even if they don't think they need help.” He smiled a bit, taking a huge breath as the stress was relieved from his shoulders.

“Alright you can talk now because I'm never doing that ever again, that was super embarrassing.” He muttered, flushed as he looked down at his lap.

The second he gave him permission to speak, Wade screamed, a scream that made Logan's eyes widen and look at him with a slow blink. “....what was tha-”

Immediately he was pulled up from the bed, picked up and squeezed tightly as he jumped around. Grunting some, he held on tight, feeling a little nauseous. Sometimes it was easy to forget how strong he was.

Still screaming, Wade was extremely excited about all that was just said, Logan admitting that he wanted a serious future with him was a lot better news than he could have ever wished for.

“Put me down!... Wade!... I'm gonna throw up!” He said, whining that he was given uppies non consensually. Even he couldn't help but laugh though in response to his giggles. God that laugh was so annoying and yet his world would feel pointless without it.

Putting him down, Wilson grabs his cheeks, petting his beard. “Ooh Logan.. I don't need protection.. because I can't get pregnant. But if I ever find out that I can, I'll definitely hire you.” He jokes, causing more blushes as his hand comes up to Wades, nuzzling into it for a moment.

“You know what I mean…”

“I do. And while I won't stop you, how about you be your own soldier for a bit? Tell yourself how to live. Not anyone else. And i'll be behind you, wearing a shirt with your ugly mug on it, supporting you the whole way. Got it?”

“Aye! I'm not ugly!”

“No you are not! I've barely been home for 20 minutes and am already so wet. I haven't even taken a shower yet “ he mumbles casually as he begins walking away.

“Heh.. Hey…erm Wade?”

“Yes, love?” Just about to leave the room, he turns, smiling gently at how talkative his fiancé was.

Logan blushes more. “I uhm.. If I'm nobody's soldier… can your name be nobody?”

Wade looks confused at first, now it's his turn to figure out what he was saying.

“Cause.. if your name is nobody then i'd be.. nevermind.” Waving A hand, he glanced at his shoes, stuffing his hands in his pocket having just fumbled that line completely.

Within seconds, Wade was back in that room, giving him the sloppiest, deepest kiss that was available, kissing him all over.

“Oh Logie! You're so sweet! But leave the flirting to me, mkay? I don't need you throwing your back out trying too hard.” He pats his chest, grabbing his hand as Wade drug him by the wrist.

They both laugh as they enter the bathroom, closing the door with a click.

[my-castles-crumbling]

OMG Clandestine is done!

I am so so so excited to say I just posted the epilogue to Clandestine! Featuring a beautiful commission from @itslotuseater!

Ships: Jegulus, background wolfstar, dorlene, pandalily, rosekiller Rating: M Length: 142k (FINISHED! COMPLETED! AHH!)

Summary:

He was crying. “You can do that?” He repeated, feeling like he was in some sort of dream. And then, Sirius seemed to realize. Because for a twelve-year-old, he was decently smart, and knew him better than anyone. “D’you…d’you want to do that, Reggie? I thought…I thought it was just a game?” But he could only shake his head. Because it wasn't a game. He was a boy. And he could tell from Sirius's nervously resigned expression that Sirius knew it, too. "It's...not a game." --- There's not enough Trans Regulus Black, so here's a fic to help fix the problem. Rated mature for lots of references to transphobia and Walburga Black being a piece of shit. COMPLETED (I'm not crying, you are)

Ahhh, my long-winded thank-you note:

First and foremost, thank you to Arson, my amazing Alpha Reader who brainrotted with me throughout almost the entire process. I literally could not have finished this without you, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. You've helped me through so many cases of horrible Writer's Block, encouraged me whenever I needed it, and you're an amazing friend. I hope you love your "Barty and Evan's Bitch" shirt :D

Second, to my wife, who literally dealt with me talking about this fic for TEN MONTHS. You're literally the most amazing and supportive person in my life, and I love you more than words. Thank you for being the James to my Regulus.

Third, to my Beta Reader, Kat, who is still wading through the trenches of this fic finding all my mistakes. I am so glad to have you and thank you for dealing with all of my errors and answering my messages at odd hours of the night.

Fourth, to all of the people who have encouraged me: Abby, Danielle, Kelz, everyone on the discord servers who has seen me struggle, you guys are amazing and I am so thankful to you.

Fifth, to the lovely people who created fanart for this fic. You all are amazing and you brought this to life. I bow down to you, truly, you are so incredibly talented.

Sixth, to the people who I interviewed about dysphoria and being on T, so I could have a more well-rounded understanding about Regulus's experience. Though I identify as trans, I am so thankful that other trans people were willing to give their experiences in areas I wanted to describe as accurately as possible.

And last, to all of you, who read and kudosed and inboxed and recommended and commented and kept me going. You all are amazing, and you've made this such a positive experience. This fic really was for me, to work through my own gender an discover about myself, and I am so thankful you have been here along this journey.

I want to reiterate that this is one trans person's journey, but I think it's so important to have representation in all forms of media. I'm hoping that my version of Reggie has helped with that a little bit! He's my baby, and he deserves all the good things.

Keep an eye out for the B-sides of this fic! I'll add a chapter to this work linking to it, so if you're subscribed to this, you'll get an e-mail. I'll also be editing this work to fix all the errors, and I'll be doing the B-sides as I go. It probably won't be for a couple of weeks, since I am now working, and I won't have any strict posting schedule, but I'm excited for those as well!

I love you all. Thanks for being a part of this journey.

[georgiapeach30513]

With Your Touch, Part 6

Summary: Lloyd and you have to establish clear boundaries

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  explicit language, D/s dynamics, mentions of abuse, misogyny, detailed ways Lloyd wants to murder The Verb, Lyla Bee 🥺, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5K

Previous

Series Masterlist

Lloyd blows a soft breath of air over your face, and you remain asleep. Holding onto Lyla, while he clings to you both. It didn’t take long after the too serious conversation for you to nearly pass out from exhaustion, and he just holds you. His eyes move between you and Lyla, and he wonders how he ever got here. Gulping because you’ve ruined him.

He’s no longer the man that he used to be; careless, cocky, arrogant, snide, brutal, and so many other things. He’s Lloyd. He’s daddy. He’s heard you working with Lyla trying to get her to say that one word. When in reality he wishes that you would start teaching her another word. Mama.

It’s a title that you do deserve. More than he even deserves the name daddy. You spend nonstop time with her. Enjoy her. Take care of her like she is your own. And you are happy doing it. The way the two of you are curled into one another, he doesn’t have to question it. This is a mother’s love. A mother’s touch. She’s yours. And in that process of becoming a mother, you’re healing yourself of the deeply embedded wounds of your raising.

He doesn’t doubt you’ll continue to give Lyla the love and care that she deserves, but now it’s his job to make sure you have the love and care that you deserve. If you are to be giving yourself freely to him and Lyla, he has to reciprocate. He has to make changes. Tonight was too close. You could have been hurt more than you were. And you were hurt enough, and because of your upbringing, you just accept that men should be allowed to walk all over you, and use you to their every whim.

You’re to be seen not heard, and some big bad man will give you enough money for you to keep your mouth shut. Acting like money was worth it for the hell that you’re enduring. He doesn’t want you to think that what Chase did to you was okay, or that you deserved it because he was your boyfriend. That just makes it all the more worse. He was supposed to protect you. Lloyd will give you all the time that you need to process that, and he will be waiting. He’s never been more sure about something in his life. He wants you, and your worth the patience he has to have.

“Lloyd,” Ari says at the door of Lyla’s room. Lloyd rolls his eyes up to meet Ari’s, and he watches his partner sigh. It didn’t take a genius to know that Lloyd’s obsession has slowly turned into love. “He’s on his way to the warehouse,” Lloyd nods. He’ll deal with Chase slowly later.

“You guys need sleep,” Lloyd gives him a head nod, keeping his eyes on you. You and Lyla are keeping him grounded when his body is raging with the need to seek revenge. “Lloyd.”

“You’re going to wake her up. You…”

“Shh, her room is clean, and new sheets, but I think she and Lyla would sleep better in your bedroom,” he finally meets Ari’s eyes. “Yes. Not that you need my permission, but take them in your room. We need to talk,” Ari retreats quickly. He never is one to linger. He’s right. Lloyd shouldn’t hold the two of you all night, but he would.

He stands slowly, and only Lyla stirs. Her chubby cheeks smoosh more into your body, making her more adorable from her comfort being close to you. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get the baby out of the tangle of your arms without waking you, but he’ll stay there and wait for you to drift off again.

He treats your body like you’re the most delicate porcelain as he carries the two of you into his bedroom. Your body is so spent you only hum as he lays you down. Trying to untangle your arms around Lyla, and he lays her down right beside you. In the place that would be in between him and you. If he planned on sleeping tonight.

His heart feels as empty as his arms when he walks down the hall and into the living room. Staring at Ari who is distracted by something on the table, “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re not staying here,” Ari gives a nod. “I’m going to take some time off,” Ari nods again. “And I want that little prick kept alive. I need him mended, so I can torture that stye painfully slow. I want to rip his entrails out with my bare hands, and I want him to watch me finger knit with it.”

“You’re very graphic. But I don’t think you know how to knit of any kind,” Lloyd would find out. He wants the putrid stench to fade from life, knowing Lloyd Hansen took that last breath from him.

“I’ll figure it out on my time off. What more is there to discuss?”

Ari’s fingers drum on the table, contemplating how he’s going to talk to Lloyd about this. He’s a sensitive soul. Becoming more sensitive when it comes to ‘his girls’. “You’re falling,” Lloyd doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to explain himself to Ari. The only one he will discuss his feelings with is asleep.

“I’ve seen it for a while. But tonight — Lloyd, you’re in fucking deep. Chase isn’t your enemy, and you battered his face,” not his enemy? Chase defiled you. That Verb deserved more pain than he felt tonight.

“What was I supposed to do? He was,” Lloyd’s face turns from anger to deep seeded agony. The veins in his arms ripple thinking about your pitiful cries. And that man antagonizing you. Demanding you, and you wailed. Your cries will haunt him, but the pain he made you suffer is unforgivable. “You didn’t hear her.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know.”

“Then fucking say it.”

“You don’t like to get bloody. You wanted to feel his pain,” Lloyd starts to shake his head, but Ari raises a gun. “You could have shot him. Admit to me that you love the girl.”

“I don’t have to admit shit,” Ari smirks. Starting to lean back on the couch. “And even if I did, what does it fucking matter?”

“Why do you want to kill her father?” That is a bit more complicated. He didn’t see Roman physically harm you, but he knew he hurt you just by your actions alone.

“He tried killing her spirit. It seems fair. Is there a problem here?” Ari smiles, shaking his head no. “I feel you have something to say, and if you do, say it.”

“I have. You denied it. Lloyd, I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re making it a dangerous world for these two girls. They will need security detail. Or you’re going to have to scale back. I need you to know, I’ve got your back. That’s all. I’m not here to tease you, I just want you to admit to yourself how much that woman is sinking into your soul,” Lloyd breathes in deeply. Giving a nod to his friend as he turns to go down the hallway and back to his girls.

“And Lloyd. Take a bath. She’ll thank you for it. I had someone scrub the security footage. Nobody knows that the foul stench of an abscess tooth was here. That girl has been through a lot because of Roman. Maybe try talking to her about those experiences and how you can be different.”

“Are you giving me advice?”

“Yep,” Ari pops the p as he goes to stand up. “She wants to take care of you, too, buddy. She’s a good one. Don’t fuck it up.”

Lloyd watches as his most trusted friend leaves the apartment, and he collects himself, running his palm down the front of his face. He has no idea what he’s doing. He just knows that he wants to do it, and be with you. That’s all that mattered to him. Not the difficulty that could come with being with you. He’d make it work. He was already waiting on the final piece of the puzzle to make sure Lyla would be nowhere, but with him. And you.

You jump up in bed. Wiping off your arms, and face. Feeling him all over you. The creep’s smell was all over your skin, and you had to get him off. And then the panic. You weren’t in your room. You’re alone. “Lloyd! Lloyd!”

Smoke seeps beneath a door, and you know you’re dreaming. Looking down to your side, a sleepy Lyla whines, wiping at her eyes. “What are you doing? Lloyd!” You scream again, picking her up, you hold her close to you. Your skin crawls, and your chest tightens. You couldn’t breathe.

“L-L-Lloyd,” it sounds strangled as tears fall down your face. Feeling like the walls are caving in. You want to rock in place, but if that was smoke, then there’s fire. And you have to get out. “Lloyd!”

The door opens up, and Lloyd in just a towel has his eyes searching around the room. It wasn’t smoke. “Sweetheart,” he rushes over to your side, and pulls you and Lyla into his wet chest. “Are you okay?”

“Where,” you begin, and gulp. You try to calm yourself, and focus on his breathing. Lyla giggling a bit helps. Not to mention the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, “Where am I?”

“My bedroom. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. What…tonight wasn’t a nightmare?” Lloyd whispers no, and rubs a hand down your cheek. His grip never tightens, and your cheek is damp from the beads of water on his titties, and your tears. “I need to shower,” Lloyd reaches for Lyla, and she quickly looks up at you. Leaning into your body like a hug, not wanting to be away from you. “Can daddy hold you? I’ll…Lloyd can you sit in there with me?”

It’s nothing sexual, just the need to not be alone. “Yeah. Lyla, come on, baby. Let’s let Dolly take a quick shower. And we’re going to keep her safe and cozy. You want to wear one of my shirts?” You give him a nod and a smile. Words are a bit difficult now. Scooting to the edge of the bed, you give Lyla a kiss on her head before walking into the bathroom with the door open and you remove your clothes.

It doesn’t occur to you to close the door because that will create a barrier between you, and you don’t want that; fear it even. You don’t turn to see if Lloyd is watching, again, it’s not sexual. It just feels right.

Lloyd softly sings to Lyla while he sits on the edge of the sink, and you shower. His bathroom is so much nicer than yours. Shower heads in every direction and you let the water and soap wash the night down the drain. Breathing in the steam, and using his lullabies as a way to set you at ease.

“Did you kill him?”

Lloyd waits too long to respond, so you assume he did, but just doesn’t want to tell you. You aren’t new to death, “Do you want me to answer truthfully?”

“I’d prefer that,” closing your eyes, you stand in the warmth. Turning the water up as high as you can stand, you let the heat sanitize you from Chase’s touch, and your skin prickles and burns with the flowing fire.

“No, I didn’t,” his voice is so flat. “Why are you asking?”

“Do you plan on killing him?”

“Yes. Are you wanting me to spare him?” You peek around the edge of the shower. Your eyes lock in on his, and shake your head no. “I would if you wanted me to.”

Him saying that means more than you thought it would. You turn the water off, stepping right into his line of vision, and he fails to keep his eyes on yours. Instead his sight is roaming all over your dripping body. “I want you to do what’s necessary. One time when I was a child I begged my father to spare a man. He obliged. A week later we were thanked with a threat and the head of my mother’s cat. I won’t ask that of anyone ever again.”

He licks his lips as you grab a towel and begin to dry yourself off. Lyla already asleep again, but his hungry eyes can’t stop fucking you. It’s sick with the conversation at hand, but you love it. Love that he can boldly ogle you with no shame or care. And still not touch you. “The Verb isn’t a threat to me past a good beating. He’s not an enemy to my organization. But he is an enemy of mine, and he will pay for his sins against you.”

“I trust you,” you answer, leaving too many buttons undone as you walk in front of him. “You do what you need to. What you feel is the most satisfying and best.”

“Don’t tempt me,” his eyes are hard as he stares at your hardened nipples peaking up through his shirt. The ribbons of water wettening the material, and leaving little to the imagination.

“Don’t tempt you with my body or my approval of carrying out Chase’s punishment?” He smirks as his eyes linger at your chest. His desire to rip the shirt open, and attach his mouth to your tit blinding him. You purposefully didn’t fully dry yourself off. Letting the material mold to your curves. “Lloyd?”

“Either,” he gives a final look down your chest before he meets your eyes, “You’ve been tempting me the moment you walked into my life. And if it wasn’t for what that fucker did tonight, I would really be struggling to contain myself. If you want attention, ask. You don’t have to be a tease.”

You take a slow calculated breath. Your own eyes drifting down his toned impeccable body. Each cord of muscle is tightened as he tries to contain his need to pounce on you and claim you. The way he cradles Lyla with a delicate touch, makes him so much more sexy, “Will you — hold me tonight?”

He smirks. Extending the baby towards you. “I’m going to get her bassinet. That way I can hold you all night long,” you whimper at the thought. Nothing could make you feel more secure than his arms.

“Can you put her on my side of the bed?”

“Of course,” he bows as he walks out of the bathroom. Traveling the short distance to her room, you gaze down at her perfectly smooth skin. She’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It seems silly, but the times you’ve imagined her being yours, and calling you mama are far too many. You love her. It didn't matter how much you wanted her to be yours, she couldn’t be. She had a mother elsewhere.

“Alright. I’m going to roll this here. You go ahead and put the Lyla Bee there, and we can snuggle,” with a lingering kiss to her head, you lay her into the bassinet. You get into the bed first, and place a hand on hers. Needing to feel her steady breathing, and you look over your shoulder as Lloyd lifts up the plush blankets. His boxers sit low on his waist. So low you see the sprinkling of hair right above his cock, and you wish he would just be nude.

He slides into the bed, and you release a sigh of relief as his arm wraps around your waist and pulls you tight up against his front. His mustache tickles the back on your neck, and you’ve never felt safer. Here in his arms makes sense and feels so right. Your eyes slowly close, and you feel a single kiss on your skin. But choose not to say anything, and he gives you another before inhaling your scent. And then, lightness.

A man with so much power that can strike instant fear should not be as soft as he is with you and Lyla, and yet, here you are. Wrapped in a secure safety cocoon of his arms, while you hold onto his baby. Resting in a sleepless dream. It’s the first time in years. And you love it.

Lyla shakes her head no, giggling because Lloyd tries to take her out of your arms. Her chubby little hands slap at his, until he finally relents, and quits torturing her. “Fine. Fine. I was going to show you your room, but maybe I should start with,” Lloyd gulps as he looks at you. His face flexes, and you wonder if he’s at war with himself. “Let’s look at Dolly’s room.”

“My room?” Lloyd nods, looking over you confused. “Our room,” Lloyd’s eyebrows raise as he nods his head. He may get used to you being more assertive. “I don’t want to be alone,” you haven’t wanted to be alone since that night. And now that he’s brought you out of the city, you want to be by his side, and prefer that Lyla is there as well.

“I didn’t ask for your explanation. If you’re comfortable with that, and that’s what you want. I think we’re both aware of where this relationship is going. And there’s something else I’d like to discuss,” Lyla lets out a big scream, her hand slaps your chest, and you look towards her. You’ll deal with his comment about where the relationship is going momentarily. Right now a nearly ten month old is begging for your attention.

Her mouth opens and closes, “Are you going to say dada? Go on, Lyla Bee, say dada.”

“Ahhh!” She screeches, looking up at you. A bit of frustration linked on her face, “Ma,” your eyes go wide looking towards Lloyd. “Mamamamamamama!!!” her daddy claps his hands. Laughing, smiling, and reaching towards her. Congratulating Lyla on her outburst of saying — mama.

“You did it! Oh my beautiful baby! You came in way too early, but you couldn’t help it,” your chest heaves with how hard you’re breathing. Unable to fully describe what you’re feeling, or even how you feel. She called you mama.

It’s not until you’re wiping your cheeks that you realize you’re even crying. You’ve never loved someone the way that you do Lyla, and even if you’ve imagined being her mother, and don’t correct people that call you her mom this is almost too much. Like the things you’ve been wanting are coming to fruition. Lloyd whispers your name as he pulls you into an embrace. He rests his chin on the top of your head, swaying the three of you back and forth. This would almost feel like it is going too fast had you not been watching Lyla for months.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’m not her mother though.”

“No, you’re not. You’re her mom,” Lyla repeats the syllable over and over again. Giggling, and trying to get your attention by smacking at your shoulder. “You might not have birthed her, but you’ve become her mom. It only seems fair, and if you don’t want her to call you that,” he exhales slowly, and you furrow your brows watching his face show so many emotions. “I’ll respect your wishes,” he didn’t want to respect your wishes, and still he would.

“Where does that leave us?”

“Just where we are. Me, waiting patiently for you to decide where you want this relationship to go.”

“And if I don’t want anything romantic?” This is such a lie, but you need to know. Would he force into a relationship if you said you didn’t want it.

“Then why are you asking about our room?” You didn’t realize you had been trying to backtrack the status that you had set until now. Lloyd offered for you to have a separate room from his, and you insisted that you share. Lloyd offered to sleep on the couch while you were in his room, but you pouted for him to snuggle with you, and he did.

He had given you space, ample amounts of times. Allowed you to set the tone of the relationship, and it was you every time that was pulling him back into something romantic. It wasn’t trauma bonding. While there was a traumatic experience between the two of you, you’d been feeling things for him long before that night.

You goaded him. You teased him. You felt yourself come over and over again with his name on your mouth. Pranced in front of cameras he hid in your room and put on a show for him. You wanted him to break, and he never did. You heard him stroking his cock and moaning your name, but that’s because you went looking. He didn’t cross boundaries that you had put up.

“I’ll admit that I sowed the seeds of my attraction towards you, and made it clear immediately. When I pulled you over my lap and spanked you, I did enjoy seeing your pussy leaking, dripping, and clenching around nothing. I knew that you wanted more than anything for me to fuck you right there. Have you leaned over the couch while I fucked you so deep you can’t see straight. But until you explicitly say the words, I am just your employer. But Lyla is something else entirely.”

Those filthy words oddly sound like a beautiful sonnet. Yes, Lloyd pushed, and even demanded to be a dominant role in your life, but it wasn’t a push that made you hate him. It made you desire him more. And you have spent months wishing the man would just tell you what he was going to do to and for you.

You are so tired of being what others wanted. He got it. You wanted it, despite how depraved it may be. So he made the decision from you. Letting you sink into his world of sin without compromising your morals, because he was making you. But you wanted him to.

There are ways that you are becoming exactly what was expected of you, a kept woman. Except the way that Lloyd treated you, it was like you actually had autonomy in the situation. With Chase it was what he wanted, when he wanted it. Lloyd gave you a freedom that you didn’t think you would ever get, and you hadn’t realized it. And then he made you crave his rules. Because you also wanted to break some of those rules. Wanted to see him lose control because you knew he would take you to a place where you didn’t have to think.

“Explain this to me like I’m a child.”

“I can’t explain the things I want to do to you then. Because you’re not a child.”

“Then just put it into simple terms,” his mouth quirks crookedly. As if this animalistic part of him understands the delicate dynamic of your relationship. Balance. It all relies on balance, and trust, and love, and respect. All things that you’ve never been given.

“When Lyla is awake, we are as normal a couple as our neighbors,” gone is the city life. Lloyd couldn’t take such chances with you and her. Now you’re out in the suburbs with sprawling land on the property, secluded at home and still close enough to a small town that you and Lyla can live and not have people constantly watching you.

“When she’s asleep, everything will depend on your behavior.”

“Oh?” You inquire. Your fingers softly scratch over Lloyd’s belly, and the sweetest little baby smiles her two tooth grin, looking between the two of her favorite people.

“You’re pushing it now because Lyla can’t talk. But if you misbehave, I will have to punish you. I will have to drag you over my lap, while your bare ass gets spanked. And depending on how well you take it, I just may put you on your knees, so I can fuck you like the slut you are,” he pauses, waiting to see how you respond to his degradation. Reading your visual cues. His lips press just below your ear, and he chuckles.

“You’re heating up. I bet if I put my hand between your thighs, I could feel your cunt pulsing with a need to have me buried in you. You need a safe word. And I will obey. And I will not go further if you want me to stop.”

Your mind races as his hand travels from your hip. Dipping lower and lower. Skirting over your core to the other leg. “What will it be?”

“Night — nightingale.”

“Good girl,” you preen, but his hand stops their movement. “Now, do you want to make lunch or watch the baby.”

“What?” You look at him confused. He was just…he’s a fucking tease.

“The things I want to do to you, Lyla Bee has no business being a part of. However, it is lunch time, and I’m famished. If you’re ready for me to fuck that pretty little pussy stupid, you’ll have to wait,” you glower at him, and he smiles. “That’s for all those times you put on a show for me. Exposing those pert tits. Later, if you don’t want me to touch you, you can give me a striptease. And I will keep my hands off you, and just watch, until you say go. Here, you take the baby. I’ll make us some lunch.”

“You’re mean,” you whine. It is obnoxious how pitiful you sound, but he is teasing you. Touching you everywhere that you want him, and denying you.

“Aww,” he kisses your temple softly, handing you the baby. His mouth lingers on your skin. His warm breath fans over you, and thankfully Lyla giggles to break the trance, “But I’m not cruel. If you want me, you get this, so we have to be adults and be patient. But I can promise you, I will treat you with the utmost respect, and I will never make you feel like you are a prop in our lives. Do you understand that? Teasing is fun, but I won’t push you beyond your limits. If you need me to be what I am when we’re sleeping, I need to know. If you need me to fuck you stupid, I need to know. If you want me to make sweet beautiful love with you, I need to know.”

“You’re giving me a choice?” You’ve never been given a choice as to how sex should be. You just let them decide for you.

“It was always your choice,” he answers solemnly. His head bows, and he walks away to quickly. His own head spinning as to what you could have endured, especially with that infected cut on his arm. The Verb. One day, Lloyd will enjoy ending The Verb’s life so slowly that he begs for a quick kill. It won’t happen.

“Where’s Lloyd?” Roman demands, walking into Ari’s office. He gets too close to the man, and with one finger, Ari pushes him back. Roman is a nobody in this organization. Ari could end him before Roman even blinks. But then he’d piss off Lloyd, “Levinson, where is Lloyd?”

“Not here,” he doesn't have to tell Roman anything about Lloyd’s whereabouts. That is a need to know basis.

“He hasn’t been here for over a week,” your father’s stature is pathetic. He’s a tall wide man, but he doesn’t have the control to wield fear into people. Lloyd could eat him alive. Smiling at the man while he forks out his innards. Roman may look the part, and he may be smart, but he’s a fool.

“I take it you didn’t hear about the break into his apartment?”

“That doesn’t warrant his absence,” oh, Ari may have to keep this conversation to himself. Anything involving you, sets Lloyd in a terrible mood. Ari’s eyes slowly glance down the man’s body. “What?”

“Do you even know who is living with Lloyd?”

“My daughter,” there’s a pregnant pause between the two of the men, before Ari chuckles. Roman could never understand feelings such as love. Women are lesser beings to him, and none lesser than you, “I don’t see any reason to get all upset and for him to be missing.”

“You didn’t even ask what happened,” Roman stands there, immobile. His eyes are blank. “Someone broke into your daughter’s room.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yeah,” Ari didn’t quite subscribe to the fact that Roman hated his daughter like Lloyd thinks, until this moment. His expressions never waivers. He’s completely unphased.

“Where’s Lloyd then?” Rolling his eyes, Ari sighs, and turns his chair back around. He doesn’t even flinch when Roman's hand slaps the wall. His voice growling and low, “He’s fucking her, isn’t he? Her bitch of a mother taught her well. Spread your legs for a willing participant to make you rich. Guess she learned from the best. Do I get a bonus for giving Lloyd a live in sex doll?”

Ari smirks, staring at the computer screen. Letting Roman monologue his way into a bigger pile of shit than he already was. “We’re the same. I guess you need a pretty one with good breeding to be your broodmare, and on your arm for galas. But Lloyd Hansen will always have his professionals that he can really have fun with. Women like my daughter are to be kept at home.”

Keep going, asshole. Ari gets it. He didn’t even know you like Lloyd did. But what is going on between the two of you, is nothing that Roman is describing. Roman is explaining himself, creating excuses to the way he is. His only wife, and his only child. Lloyd isn’t Roman, and that man is far from being Lloyd. No one but Ari has seen the way that Lloyd watches you curiously. Or the fact that he had a special task in finding Lyla’s egg donor. Lloyd would have her killed before she took Lyla away from you.

“I guess his next goal is to pretend the baby is my daughter’s. He’ll probably fuck her raw until she gives him a legitimate child,” Ari grits his teeth. The disdain he has for you and Lyla is appalling. “If she ends up pregnant, he owes me,” he says, spinning on his heels. “At least she’s worth something now.”

“He owes you a bullet in your fucking head, you idiotic moron,” Lloyd had mentioned it was time to prune the people in his circle. He knows the next one to go. But Lloyd wouldn’t be back until you allowed him in. And he’d almost broke down your walls now. You’d been letting him in little by little. Trusting him a bit more not to break you. And only then would Lloyd return. You are his only assignment. And the only thing that mattered to him.

His girls.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @theinheriteddutchess @rainydayandmondays @buckybarnesisdaddy @patzammit

@rebeccapineapple @slutforchrisjamalevans @marvel-wifey-86 @jesevans

@ughdontbeboring @infantasywonderland @vampy-doll @i-like-to-read-13

@missacidburn928 @charmed-asylum @superflannel @hisredheadedgoddess28 @lostinspace33

@abbyyourlocalmilf @saranghaey @rogersbarber @tas-renee @kmm-fluv

[naeverse]

Stress Relief

🌑staring: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

🌓 preview: 

Blinded to the meaning of his always tensed muscles, excessive sleep, and lack of energy. 

Your boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara was stressed and even worse…

Sexually frustrated.

You became even more saddened at the revelation, pondering how you couldn't decipher it sooner with the many red flags in front of you; but with the new knowledge, you, luckily, knew a way that could relieve him of all his stress and exhaustion. 

Knew of something that will cleanse him and make him anew whilst in the process, curing the burning ache in your core…

🌔Summary: Lately, your boyfriend Miguel has been arriving home from work with an overwhelming sense of stress and exhaustion, leaving him unable to dedicate time to your relationship or attend to the needs of either himself or you. 

Tonight, you've planned to offer the much-needed support and care he deserves. 

🌕tw/cw. Bed-Sharing, Blowjob, Cock Worship, Fingering (Slightly) Handjob, Oral sex, p in v (Slightly), Size Difference, Somnophilia,

🌖pet names: Mi amor (My love), Mami (Sweetheart/Baby/Honey)

🌗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🌘Word count: 4.4k

This request is from a lovely anon, so I hope you enjoy! 💜😊💜

(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(This oneshot contains Somnophilia, do not read, if not comfortable.) 

Somnophilia- The urge/desire to have a sexual encounter with someone who’s asleep.

**YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!**

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

Your boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara was a workaholic. 

You discovered his habit upon moving in with the large Latino and noticing his incessant late-night shifts at the Spider Society HQ. 

At first, you didn’t mind it, your boyfriend found joy in helping the multiverse through his tech and Spider-Man work, so it didn’t bother you as long as he was happy. It wasn’t until he began to come home after a long day of work with tense shoulders, half-lidded eyes, and a face full of stress wrinkles. He wouldn’t say much, only a drowsy greeting, followed by a tired peck upon your lips or cheeks before he crashes onto any soft surface he lands on first.

His intense fatigue began to build a wedge between the two of you. You missed Miguel, his cute fanged smile, comforting words, loving pet names, and the way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Now the only thing his eyes searched for upon entering home was somewhere for him to lay his head. 

Due to his absence because of exhaustion, you’ve also grown to miss intimacy with him. Even though he was tired, he used to still make sure to satisfy you, but recently, his weariness seems to be too much for him. 

Tonight, you sat in your shared bed, a book in your hands. Your eyes scanning the erotica you were reading, full of interest.

Due to your lack of intimacy from your lover, you’ve begun to search for it elsewhere, and thankfully, erotic authors were a thing. 

You didn’t know what you'd do without them. 

You bit your lip, reading the sexiest passion exchange between two lovers when the all too familiar sound of your boyfriend's arrival via his orange and red portal was heard from the living room. You looked up from your book when you saw his massive being enter your bedroom.

His dark hair was messy on his head and his muscular frame was covered in his red and blue holographic spider suit. He almost touched the top of the doorway due to his tall height. 

When his crimson eyes met yours, a tired smile spread across his exhausted face. He walked over to your side of the bed, pulling you into a deep embrace. His burly arms and massive chest engulf your being in his warmth. 

“It’s nice to see you after a long day, mi amor.” He muttered, pressing a brief kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered close, savoring the feeling of his plush lips when he pulled away. Desperately your mouth followed him, yearning for more as he was already climbing into bed beside you. The mattress creaking loudly under his heavy weight. 

You pouted, setting your steamy erotica on your bedside table and turning on your side to face him. “How was work, baby?” You asked, causing him to groan, his eyes already closed. “Tiresome, mi amor.” He said sleepily, your face saddening even more at his response. 

You pulled him to your chest, enveloping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to run your fingers through his dark hair. He sighed in contentment against you. With him in your arms, an idea came to your head— a thought that you’ve been meaning to bring to his attention. 

“Babe, I was wondering since tomorrow is Saturday, maybe we can do something different.” You proposed, continuing your soft massage on his scalp. “Like we can stay home together, snuggle up on the couch, catch up on some movies and TV shows, and just relax-” 

The sound of his soft snores instantly brought your words to a halt. You looked down to see he was asleep, a peaceful look of rest adorning his defined features. 

You sighed, a small smile spreading across your lips at his adorable deep grumbles whilst his face was buried into the dark green fabric of your nightgown. You caressed his chiseled cheekbones with your thumb, knowing his inability to fight the sleep that always sought him each night upon returning home. 

“Goodnight, Miguel.” 

You whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead and gently placing him onto the soft pillows of your bed. You then stood up, moving over to his side as you frowned at the sight of his holographic suit still covering his body. The suit seemed to be the second skin of your boyfriend as every contour of his muscles and body was hugged by its blue and red digital strands.

Despite the burning desire for him to sleep without such restrictive clothing, you didn't want to disturb his tranquil rest, so you decided to leave it on.

You took the white linen sheets in your hands and pulled them over your boyfriend, tucking him in before turning off the lamp that sat on his bedside table. His side of the room, darkening at the loss of light whilst your bedside lamp still assisted in bringing a soft glow to your space. 

After clicking off his lamp and ensuring he was comfortable, you returned to your side of the bed. You climbed under the sheets and drew back the blankets, beginning to read your erotica once more. 

As the night progressed and the deeper you got into your steamy novel, you started to become overly aroused. 

You couldn’t explain the tantalizing feeling of need and lust that felt like a feather gliding across your skin. The sensation felt just beneath the surface, spreading like wildfire and demanding your attention. You couldn't pinpoint when it started as it crept upon you so suddenly. 

With each steamy word, phrase, and action read, your body heated up and your core throbbed in desire. You clenched the novel in your hands, squeezing your thighs together under the sheets in an attempt to control yourself, but it was no use.

You closed the book and took a deep breath. 

‘What is wrong with me?’

You pondered, never before feeling a deep craving for such intense intimacy. Most of the time you were content with just your steamy novels to cure your need, but tonight, you felt like you were about to burst.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip harshly whilst sitting against the headboard of your bed. Occasionally your hands gripped the erotic book, trying to relieve yourself of lust, but it felt unshakeable. 

You needed touch…

You needed intimacy…

You needed Miguel…

‘I could…wake him.’  You thought, your mind going into a spiral of all the things Miguel would do to you upon awakening and hearing your need for him. 

How he'll grant your lips with his long, passionate kisses that you missed so much. How his large hands would roam your body, his every touch igniting a flame inside of you that only he could achieve. 

Most of all, your sex-deprived brain imagined how he'd take you. 

How despite his loving touch and kisses, sex with your boyfriend was the complete opposite. 

Miguel loved to take the lead and enjoyed watching your eyes roll in ecstasy, the trembles of your body, and how one mere thrust of his massive cock could make you come undone. 

And that’s what you imagined whilst sitting with your eyes closed shut, biting your lip, and gripping your book so tight, your knuckles turned white. 

You didn't care what position, the pace set, or of a release, being filled by your boyfriend's cock was enough.

It was all you needed at this moment. 

To feel him buried deep inside, your walls stretched to accommodate his enormity whilst you felt his warmth and massiveness. 

‘Maybe just…?’

You opened your eyes, looking over to take in your boyfriend's sleeping form. How peaceful and content he looked, the rises and falls of his chest and the sounds of his adorable deep snores that left his tanned lips. 

He was handsome even in sleep.

The thought once more resurfaced in your head, the urge to wake him and satisfy your needs when you hastily shook your head.

‘Get a grip, Y/N. It's not that important. You can wait.’

You scolded yourself, averting your eyes from your enticing lover and deciding to go to sleep. 

You closed the book, placed it on your nightstand, and turned off your lamp. Your shared bedroom instantly engulfed in darkness except for the natural glow of the moon through your window. 

You pulled the white blankets up to your chin, snuggling up against them as you closed your eyes for sleep. 

But it appeared that sleep was playing hard to get tonight.

You were restless. 

The lust was too overwhelming and made rest impossible to reach. 

You tried to clear your mind, focus only on sleep but the thought of Miguel and his massive cock would invade your mind every time, preventing you from your slumber.

You gripped the sheets tightly, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to calm your arousal and relax; but your composure only shattered when small sounds began to fill your, once silent bedroom. 

Small sounds that went straight to your core and made you wet. 

Your eyes slowly opened, eyebrows furrowing as you turned to look at your sleeping boyfriend. 

You thought you'd misheard it, that maybe the arousal was so intense that it had clouded both your mind and sense of hearing, but again, you heard another soft groan leave your lover’s lips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his face that was scrunched up in ecstasy, yet holding its peaceful look of sleep. For a moment you were confused, eyes trailing his being in search of the reasoning behind his pleasurable facial features and erotic noises. 

Upon examining your boyfriend, you shifted slightly in bed to get a better view when something hard brushed against your thigh. You gasped in surprise, springing away.

‘What was that!?’  You wondered in astonishment, clueless about what the object could be. 

Gently and cautiously, you pulled the sheets up to peer under the white blanket and your heart dropped at what you saw. 

An evident tent was sprouting from the crotch of your lover's spider suit.  

You wanted this to be a dream, that you were just seeing things, but upon drawing the blankets back fully to get a better view, you could clearly see the massive bulge under the red and blue strands of his holographic suit. 

You bit your lip, eyes trained on the alluring sight. Your core pulsated, begging to be filled as you couldn't remember the last time you were intimate with your boyfriend. Another series of very familiar deep grunts and groans were heard from him, only coaxing you to do the unthinkable. 

‘But…he's sleeping. That's not right.’ You thought, your eyes drawing back to the outline of his huge member through his suit, begging to be freed from its confines and brought to a release.

But the more you looked at his bulge and heard his occasional whimpers, you wondered if this was a regular occurrence. 

That possibly due to your boyfriend's fatigue, he tended to fall asleep despite his burning need for you.

The thought of him waking up in the middle of the night to relieve his arousal himself, without waking you, tugged at your heart. 

You sighed, looking back at your sweet boyfriend. He needed you and you've been oblivious to the signs. 

Blinded to the meaning of his always tensed muscles, excessive sleep, and lack of energy. 

Your boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara was stressed and even worse…

Sexually frustrated.

You became even more saddened at the revelation, pondering how you couldn't decipher it sooner with the many red flags in front of you; but with the new knowledge, you, luckily, knew a way that could relieve him of all his stress and exhaustion. 

Knew of something that will cleanse him and make him anew whilst in the process, curing the burning ache in your core. 

With your decision being final, you slid closer to your sleeping lover, the sheets under you rippling slightly at your movement. Your bare thigh brushed against his clothed one, making your breath hitch and instantly come to a halt.

Your eyes snapped up at him to see he was still asleep, shaky, uneven exhales passing his tanned lips. You breathed a sigh of relief, continuing with your plans of relaxing him and yourself, but you first, had to undress him. 

There was only one way that you could get Miguel out of his high-tech spider suit and it was by his technological white watch that adorned his left wrist. Like a stamp glued to an envelope, Miguel never could depart from his multiverse watch. It was one he’d worked very hard to create alongside his artificial intelligence, LYLA. If his watch went missing, he promised that all hell would break loose. 

But now, it was the center of your focus.

Your gaze was entranced by the orange screen of his white watch, emitting a small glow from his left wrist. The burning desire to just reach over and click the irresistible button was overwhelming you. 

But you had to be careful…

Frantically, your eyes glanced from the well-lit gizmo on your lover’s large wrist to up to his sleeping face. You followed the pattern of his breathing and when you were ready, you slowly rose on your knees. With a heart beating loudly against your chest, you gradually leaned over his massive, sleeping form. It felt like forever before your fingers finally touched your boyfriend’s sacred watch.

You didn’t hesitate to slide the pad of your finger along the orange screen, remembering how your boyfriend did it every night as you discovered your long-awaited button. 

With much fervor, you tapped it...

In amazement and satisfaction, you watched the sight of his holographic spider suit begin to disintegrate from his body, revealing his massive, tanned figure that was covered with muscles.

But, your triumph was short lived as upon relief of his suit, Miguel whimpered softly, shifting in his sleep. You hastily sprung away from him, not wanting him to wake up and see you hovering. 

You held your breath, waiting for his groans to die down to be replaced with soft snores and the creases of his eyebrows to settle once more before turning back to the task at hand. 

Your boyfriend Miguel wasn’t just a workaholic, but he was somewhat of a meathead. 

He enjoyed long workouts that consisted of intense and extreme exercises in an effort to keep his massive build. It was a figure that you could never get over, and despite what he wore, his muscles seemed to strain under the fabric, demanding attention. 

Even now in his peaceful state, they were enticing you. 

Begging for you to get a touch, to feel just how solid he was. 

You bit your lip, blinded by lust, you placed a hand on his right pec. You moaned softly at just how hard it was, the muscle seemed to have a life of its own as it rose under your palm with each breath he took. 

‘Gosh, how did I get so lucky?’ You wondered, unable to just get a touch and beginning to run your hand along the large expanse of his chest, relishing in the ripples, curves, and dips of his muscles. You traced your fingers along every beauty mark and scar, loving how they only seemed to add to your lover’s attractiveness. 

The more you touched him, the more your lust heightened. You felt your panties underneath your gown begin to become soaked with your arousal, and start to unbearably stick to your core, but you couldn’t help it. 

Your boyfriend’s body was calling to you…

Intoxicated by the feeling of him, you continued to feel his body, moving down his defined stomach adorned with a captivating six-pack and following the alluring brown trail of coarse hair from his navel, down to his massive length.

You were in awe at the sight, falling in love with your lover’s shaft every time you saw it.  

His well-endowed cock was now released from its confines to stand hard and completely erect before you. A patch of coarse dark hair sat upon his base; his tip was an angry brown with a tantalizing vein that bulged down the underside of his girth, leading down to his captivating balls. 

You sucked in a breath, glancing back at him to see his face momentarily contort in pleasure to soon relax once more. 

You pouted at the sight. 

Your boyfriend was secretly craving you, but due to his exhaustion, he was unable to cure his needs. The thought only urged you to continue. 

You kneeled beside his huge body, enveloping a hand around his girth and feeling just how solid he was. You gasped, a deep groan erupting from Miguel at your contact instantly made you bite your lip to silence you're surprised sound. You waited a few moments before stroking him at a slow pace and watching for any signs of discomfort to cross his tanned face, but none did. 

Breathy groans left his lips whilst his eyes remained closed, his features showing he was still asleep as you proceeded with relieving his stress. 

With each stroke, you were slowly becoming more engrossed into your erotic action. You pressed gentle kisses onto his thick, muscular thighs, running your closed fist up and down his enormous member. “Always working so hard, baby mmm~ never giving yourself a break.” You whispered, continuing to fist his cock, gradually speeding up. “But I’ll help you. Help you relieve the stress you have packed onto yourself.” You uttered through hushed moans, leaning towards your boyfriend’s sticky tip and licking it softly, finally getting a taste of his salty essence.

A deep groan left Miguel’s lips, his body jerking in his sleep causing you to halt. You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around his cock as you studied his pleasured face. It wasn’t long before deep snores filled the room once more, his body settling upon the bed. 

You smiled, continuing your work at satisfying your lover and sucking his cock passionately. Your tongue licked up and down his shaft, running only the valley of veins of his base to circle the crown of his tip. You enjoyed how even in sleep, he shuddered at your touch. 

Upon rising to his tip, you buried his member deep into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat. You gagged, eyes beginning to water up as you pulled away to catch your breath, saliva, and pre-cum soaking your chin, but you didn’t care. 

You were blinded by your lover, driven by the need to satisfy him and yourself. Hastily, you returned, savoring the feeling and taste of your lover’s shaft on your lips and tongue, a sensation you haven’t had in so long. 

You moaned softly, rambling nonsense whilst stuffing your mouth repeatedly with his length, sucking and choking on his cock. Miguel’s soft grunts and groans filled the room with every flick of your tongue and suction of your lips on his shaft, the sounds only urging you to do more. 

You stroked him with one hand, slurping and lapping at his length as your other hand slipped into your panties. Your eyes fluttered when your fingers found your sensitive bud, circling it and moaning around his cock. “So good, Miguel. Gosh~ You taste so good.” You babbled breathlessly, your wetness coating your fingers while you pleased yourself.

You whined, bobbing your head along his cock and swirling your tongue around his tip. His grunts of pleasure becoming more louder and consistent the more you pleased him.

But the longer you fingered yourself and sucked his cock, the more careless you became. 

The drunkenness of the pleasure caused the thought of not wanting to wake Miguel to rush to the back of your mind. He felt so good, tasted even better, and your fingers flicking and rubbing your throbbing bud was only the cherry on top. 

You moaned loudly, gripping his cock tightly as you wiggled a finger into your drenched entrance. You whimpered, sucking his tip once more and thrusting your finger in and out of yourself, enjoying the sweet friction you were creating inside... 

“Fuck...” 

Miguel drowsily groaned, your eyes widening at the slurred words. You hastily glanced over at him to see he was still asleep, snores soon passing his lips soon after.

You breathed a sigh of relief, mentally facepalming yourself at being so negligent but unable to resist the spell that washed over you at the sight of his very saturated cock. 

It only drew you again. 

You engulfed his member in your warm mouth, sucking his thick manhood and discarding your own pleasure to use two hands to stroke him. With closed eyes, you relished the moment, tracing every vein with your tongue once, twice, thrice until it was engraved into your head like writing upon a stone. 

“Nngh…Mierda.” 

Another whimper escaped your lover’s lips, in his state of repose, but the words only became background noises to your loud slurps and squelches of your throat. “Fuckkk, so big. I-I missed this.” You babbled, moaning and gasping for air when you felt his cock throb inside of your mouth. 

You pulled away, watching beads of pre-cum dripping down his base and his abs tightly clench. 

He was close, you could feel it. 

You caught your breath, your lips and chin still coated in your mixed essences. With hungry eyes, you took in your boyfriend, every muscle in his chest clenching and unclenching, his incessant groans that left his lips and his member that throbbed horribly. 

Blinded, you climbed into his lap, his solid thighs easily holding you. His cock brushed against your gown, smearing its thick layers of saliva and pre-cum onto the fabric. 

You bit your lip, pushing your damp panties to the side and lifting your hips. You placed a hand on his hard chest, and took his cock in your other, brushing his tip along your drenched folds. You moaned at the feeling soon lowering yourself onto him. 

Your soppy walls instantly sucked him in while the satisfying feeling of fulfillment overwhelmed your being. Tingles spread through you whilst deep whines left your lover’s lips. 

You looked up at him, his face contorted in a look of pleasure as his hand instinctively landed on your waist. You hummed at the touch, beginning to roll your hips. With each grind, his cock buried deeper inside of you, taking the air from your lungs. 

At your movements, his breathing began to quicken, his eyebrows knitting together tightly as a guttural groan left his lips. Your eyes rolled, his load shooting inside of your walls, painting and filling you up completely. The warmth and intensity making you shudder and release after him. Your body trembling horribly as you held your loud moans back with a harsh bite of your bottom lip.

Once you regained your senses, you lifted your hips, releasing his cock as his creamy essence slipped out of your entrance, eyes fluttering at the sensation.

After catching your breath, you took the blankets in your hands, covering both of your bodies. Exhaustion instantly crashed into you upon your contentment and satisfaction. The lust and need were gone and Miguel was relieved.

You couldn't be happier. 

Sleep soon overtook you as you snuggled into your lover’s chest, his breathing settling after his release and lulling you to sleep. 

The next day, Miguel’s eyes fluttered open. The Saturday morning sun shining into your window and illuminating the bedroom. Miguel oddly felt relaxed, completely refreshed like a free-flowing river after being burdened with ice.

He heaved a relieved sigh when he noticed the warmth that lay upon his chest. He glanced down to see you snuggled up against him, soft snores passing your lips. He smiled, running his thick fingers through your hair, slowly waking you. 

You looked up at him with drowsy eyes, giving him a warm smile. “Good morning.” You whispered, the night previous feeling like a dream, but the lingering sensation of being full could still be felt in your core. 

“Good morning, amor” He replied, pressing a kiss to your head, your body instantly melting at his affection. “How do you feel?” You asked him, a fanged smile spreading across his tanned lips. “Oddly, I feel rejuvenated.” He chuckled. You grinned, a small blush spreading across your cheeks at your words.

“I’m glad. My top priority is to make sure you are satisfied and most importantly…

Stress-free.” 

You said in a suggestive tone, one that your lover instantly picked up on. His crimson eyes wandered your face in thought when his bushy eyebrows rose. “Ah, did you have something to do with this?” He inquired, your boyfriend's intuition always being spot on. You bit your lip, flashing him a sly grin. “Maybe…” You trailed off. 

Miguel cocked his head at you, finally noticing his change in attire and that he was now bare, completely different from when he crashed the previous night. Along with the change, he was beginning to notice a potent scent of your shared arousals, a smell only he knew due to his heightened senses. His smirk broadened at the realization.

“I see…” He smirked, catching on to the little fun you got to have with him last night. You blushed, a little embarrassed as he shook his head. “Mami, no need to get flustered on me now.” He teased before suddenly flipping you over. 

A gasp escaped your lips followed by a laugh when you found yourself under him on your bed. He held his body over you, your being much smaller compared to his massive form. His crimson eyes held amusement in them at the sight of your laughter. Miguel looked down to your lips and back up at you, his tanned ones parting.

He didn’t say another word, only devouring your mouth with his own. His suddenness surprised you but instantly made you melt into him. You cupped his face in your hands, hungrily matching his intensity. 

Miguel overwhelmed and intoxicated you, engulfing you in his burly arms as your lips clashed in a combination of teeth and tongue. “Had some fun, huh?” He growled between the passionate exchange of kisses. You moaned against his mouth, humming in agreement. 

He smirked, continuing to messily ravage your mouth and roam his hands down your body. “I've been neglecting my baby, hm?” He groaned, squeezing your soft flesh through the fabric of your gown. “That's why you did it? You missed me, mi amor?” He inquired breathlessly in a hoarse voice through kisses and firm caresses on your body.

You moaned at his touch, nodding at his question of longing. The familiar feeling of need sprouted through your body the more he spoke, kissed, and ran his hands along your being. 

He pecked your lips one last time before pulling away, the intensity of the kiss leaving you in a daze. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, his skin seeming to be more radiate than ever. His crimson eyes met yours, blown with lust as a fanged smirk spread across his puffy tanned lips.

“You’ve had your fun, amor. Now it’s my turn…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading my oneshot! Shoutout to the wonderful anon who gave me the request, I hope you enjoyed it!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! Don't hesitate to request or message me for any ideas or if you'll just like to chat! Love talking with you guys. ❤️❤️

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