#charlie hunnam fanfic

[author-morgan]

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead. 

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him. 

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...  

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow. 

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you. 

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?” 

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck. 

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal. 

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence. 

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been. 

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly.  “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles, 

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.  

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief. 

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.  

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.  

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch. 

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart. 

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine. 

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms. 

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[steakpieisnice]

Headlines & Heartstrings - Chapter 1

It's here! Super excited to share this with you guys! Also there is no Ray in this chapter (sorry) but he's coming next chapter. Any and all feedback is appreciated, this is my first work so I need all the help I can get <3

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of sex work and men being generally a bit creepy

Eleanor was startled to hear a knock at the door at this hour. She was usually the only one in the office who stayed for overtime, let alone overtime that carried on for this long.

“Come in.” She called out, without looking up from her desk.

“Hey Nora.” a voice timidly said.

Eleanor froze in her seat at the voice. “Get out.” She said coldly, still not looking up from her work.

“I just need to talk to you-“

“I said. Get. Out.”

“Nora please.”

She finally looked up at him, acknowledging the man that stood in front of her.

“Don’t call me that.” She snapped.

“I just need to ask you a favour Eleanor.”

“You don’t get to ask for favours.” She stared at him icily.

“Please, it’s just one thing.” He was near begging now.

“Like I said, you don’t get to ask for favours.” She turned away from him, starting to pack up. It was getting late anyway.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Coach.” She paused at the mention of the name of the man who basically raised her.

She turned, regarding Ernie with disdain. “Then why isn’t he here? Why are you the one knocking on my door at,” she checked her watch, “near midnight? Why isn’t Coach the one asking for my help if he needs it? Because I know damn well he hasn’t sent you here, so why are you fucking here Ernie?”

“He wouldn’t ask for your help, he’s too proud. He wants to deal with this on his own, but he can’t and he needs your help. Its bad.”

She stood still for a moment, contemplating it. “What did you do?” She sighed.

“What?” Ernie looked confused. “How do you know I did something?”

“Because you’re stupid Ernie.” Ernie began to protest, but she continued anyway. “And Coach is not stupid. And if you’re coming here asking for my help that means it is really bad. So you’re going to take me to that 24 hour ice cream shop down the road, buy me a vanilla fudge sundae, and you’re going to explain what you did and how you think I can possibly help get you out of the mess you’ve made.” She said, picking up her bag from under her desk and putting her coat on.

“Yes boss.” Ernie muttered, before following her out of the door. He was going to have to do a lot of grovelling.

----------

“So you’re telling me you filmed yourself breaking into one of Micheal Pearsons farms, stealing thousands of pounds worth of bush and then posted it online for millions of people to see?” Eleanor stared at Ernie, dumbfounded. “Look, I knew you were stupid, but this is actually impressive.”

Ernie looked offended for a second, but then seemed to remember that this whole thing was actually his fault, so didn’t say anything.

“And Coach is taking the fall for you?”

Ernie nodded earnestly.

“God that man is too good for this world.” She muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She leaned forward, lacing her fingers together, staring at Ernie so intently he thought her eyes would burn holes through his head. “How can I help?” She smiled, never breaking eye contact.

“Erm,” Ernie stalled, looking away and scratching his head nervously. “I was hoping, erm, you would figure that out?” He asked cautiously.

Her smile dropped. “Ernie, are you kidding me? You showed up to my office, begged for my help and now I’m here you really want me to do the rest of the work on my own? You are unbelievable.”

“Erm… Sorry?”

“You owe me. Big time.” ----------

It didn’t take much time to find Phuc, the guy who gave the Toddlers the location of the farm. You’d think these criminal types would be better at hiding where they lived, but clearly not. Phuc lived in a grimy flat above a takeaway in a backstreet in the posh part of Croydon. She leaned against the wall of an alleyway in Phuc’s street, taking one final drag of her cigarette before readjusting her outfit, pulling her top down to reveal more cleavage. She tried not to let the disgust on her face show as yet another man leered at her. Ernie better be prepared to go to hell and back to pay her back for this.

Eleanor spotted Phuc coming down the road and took a deep breath in, retousling her hair.

“Hey Hun.” She leaned towards him as he neared her. “You look like you’ve had a long day, looks like you could do with relieving some tension.” Eleanor reached towards him, running one finger down his chest.

 “How much?” He asked her. She panicked. She wasn’t expecting him to ask her that now.

“Fifty.” She purred. Shit. That was too low. He’s never going to believe she’s real with prices like that.

His eyes widened in excitement. Nevermind.

“My apartment is just down the road, let’s take this there.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards his door.

She pulled him back into the alley, whispering into his ear, “What’s wrong with right here right now?”

He seemed to have no complaints with that proposal as he pushed her against the wall, beginning to kiss down her neck. She held his head in place allowing a plaid clad arm to reach around and cover his nose and mouth with a rag. He struggled against the hand, but Eleanor held him in place, until he eventually stopped struggling and slumped forwards onto her.

She pushed him away, his body hitting the ground in front of her to reveal Primetime stood with a rag in hand.

“That was a sight I never wish to see again.” He said, still looking at her disturbed.

“How do you think I feel?” She muttered, righting her clothing, and trying to make herself look generally more presentable. “Right boys, let’s get him tied up and in the van.”

The rest of the Toddlers emerged from out of the shadows, before binding his arms and wrists with duct tape and throwing him into the van.

---------

“Fuck me.” A thick Irish accent groaned. “Do I need to bring you back to the gym to teach you some fucking self-respect?” Coach regarded Eleanor in disdain as she walked through the doors to his gym.

“I have self-respect I’ll have you know!” Eleanor said indignantly.

“Sure looks like it.” Coach said, giving her an incredibly pointed look as she yanked her skirt down to try and cover more than it was.

She turned and walked towards the office, rolling her eyes at him.

“I saw that, 20 press ups.” Coach said.

She threw her head back in a groan as she dropped to the floor in press up position.

“And ten more for the attitude.” Coach smirked. Ernie started to snicker before a glare from Eleanor shut him up.

She began her press-ups counting them under her breath.

“..and that’s 30. Right can we go now?” Eleanor panted as she got up from the ground and dusted her hands off. “Christ, I’m so unfit.”

“Go where?” asked Coach.

“The Princess Victoria of course. We have some grovelling to do.”

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

Hope you enjoyed <3

[sunnysidekit]

All the Time in the World

Summary: It's half past eight on a Sunday morning, and you're not the only one awake.

Pairing: Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller x f!Reader (no y/n)

Warnings: Sexual content. Minors, please skip this one!

Word count: 1.4 k

A/N: So, this is a (sad) attempt of mine to write some filth. Might write a part two someday. Tell me what you think!

My masterlist

You’re not sure what woke you up this morning, but whatever it was happened at half past eight on a Sunday, so your glass wasn’t exactly very full at the moment. You stretched out an arm beside you only to notice that Benny had already gone to the gym. Maybe he’d closed the door a little louder than usual and that was wat had done it.

After some fruitless tossing and turning you finally gave up trying to fall asleep again. It simply wasn’t going to happen. You pushed away the warm, nice, comfortable covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. When you looked up, you saw your terrible bed head in Benny’s full-length mirror. Instantly, your half empty glass cracked.

You looked thoroughly fucked. As in, someone could have fucked you till your legs gave out and this would be what you would look like afterwards. Not Benny. While you two routinely slept in the same bed, he’d never even think of touching you. The two of you were friends, nothing more. So, you blamed the short night you’d had as you shuffled off to freshen up a bit in Benny’s bathroom.

It never occurred to you that Will could have been the cause of your early morning. And why would it? At the moment, you were a sleep drunk mess of a woman who would have killed Benny if it meant you’d get to sleep in a little longer. Yet your mind did flit to memories of last night as you stepped into the shower.

The first thing you saw when you closed your eyes was Will almost dropping the crate of beer he was carrying to the kitchen. You’d climbed over the back of the couch to wrap him up in a hug since you hadn’t seen him in a while. You distinctly remember pressing your face into his hoodie right between his shoulder blades, and feeling his muscles move while he set the crate down on the table. He smelt like he’d stepped right out of a bonfire – which was probably because he’d just come from some guy’s housewarming barbecue. Benny had told you that when you arrived.

You let the hot water cascade down your body and sighed. While you’d only ever thought of Benny as a friend or perhaps even a brother, Will was another thing entirely. That rumble in his chest you felt when he greeted you last night, along with the stout curve of his hips against yours made you weak in the knees, even if you didn’t like to admit it. Even now, as you stood in the shower, you felt your face flush with warmth from just thinking about that moment.

You shook your head and opened your eyes. No need to stay in never-never land. You turned the knob and toweled off in silence, thinking only of what to have for breakfast. Maybe you’d be able to find a wayward slice of bread you could toast between all of Benny’s protein shakes. He probably had some eggs you could scramble, as well. Did Will still like scrambled eggs on toast? If he hadn’t gone with Benny, and if he was also already awake, the two of you could, perhaps, have breakfast together.

You plucked a pair of sweats and a hoodie from Benny’s closet, put them on and finally checked your phone. As expected, Benny had already texted you multiple times to tell you about some new gym equipment. Your mother asked if you were going to be coming over anytime soon. One of your friends had tagged you in a picture of a Certified Good Boy. Then you opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway – and heard it.

It was soft, yet still very much recognizable as a moan. For some reason you looked back into Benny’s bedroom. Then, when you heard it again, your gaze wandered uncertainly to the front door. You were prepared to look anywhere but the obvious source of the sound, which you very cleverly figured out was none other than Will’s bedroom. Did he have someone over?

You turned on your heel and started towards the living room when you realized that no, he did not have someone over. The next grunt that reached your ears was accompanied by your name. Your eyes shot towards his bedroom door, which you now noticed was slightly ajar. And then you lost control of your own body.

Drawn in by the sounds of his pleasure, you stepped forward towards their origin. Within moments, your hand had pushed the door open a bit further, giving you a full, unobstructed view of Will’s naked form slouched comfortably on his bed. He had headphones on and his eyes were closed, his expression consumed by a lust so raw as you’d never seen before. Yes, there he lay, the man you’d secretly desired for so long, pumping his cock to the tune of your name.

You were so transfixed by the sight you didn’t even notice your phone slipping out of your hand. The dull thud it made as it hit the floor didn’t reach your ears – the only sounds you heard were the ones Will made, along with a shitload of blood rushing from your head to your nether regions – but it did disturb Will. He opened his eyes, his expression changing quickly into one of shock and embarrassment, and instantly covered himself up with his comforter. You said nothing. Did nothing, either. You just watched Will pull off his headphones while an angry red flush spread across his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry! That wasn’t – I never would have...“ The words spilled from his lips like a waterfall, but the rush you felt drowned it all out.

“You often think of me when you, eh, do that to yourself?”

Will shook his head violently and put up one hand up to reassure you. “No. It’s just – I had – last night you-”

“I do,” you blurted out. Will’s eyes shot up to yours for the second time this morning. His flush didn’t fade, but his expression softened a bit.

“You do,” he said quietly. It seemed as if he didn’t quite know what to think of that. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yes, Will, I do. All the damn time.”

Will stood up now, tucking the comforter around his hips. Your breath hitched in your throat as he slowly walked up to where you stood still as a statue in the doorway. You glanced down to the bulge that protruded from the comforter, then let your gaze rake slowly back to his face. Not for the first time you came to the conclusion that Will was very, very well built.

He stopped right in front of you, tentatively reached out and dragged a knuckle across your throat all the way to your chin. You let him guide you closer to him until your lips almost touched. His one hand came up to cup your cheek while his other found purchase near the small of your back, and without another word he pulled you flush against him and into an exhilarating kiss.

Pure bliss was the only way to describe it. You moaned when he swiped his tongue across your lips and gladly let him in. Will’s hands traveled to the hem of your hoodie and pulled it up, dragging himself away from you for a moment.

“Not going to fuck you in Benny’s clothes,” he said with a grin you eagerly returned. The hoodie found a new home in the hallway, already forgotten. Will’s hands roamed free over your torso, eventually finding and staying near your bare breasts. He chuckled and pulled away from the kiss again. “No bra? I’m such a lucky guy.”

“Not just you,” you said. Your hands had been sliding down his sides, your fingers now fiddling with his comforter. He made no attempt to stop you from throwing it to the side. As you palmed his cock you added, “What were you thinking of doing to me just then, I wonder?”

“Do you want me to tell you,” he said hoarsely, “or should I just show you?”

You gently kicked the door closed and turned the lock behind your back. “Show me, please.”

“Oh, you don’t need to beg for it.” A wicked grin spread across Will’s cheeks as he took you by the hands and pulled you towards the bed. “Going to take my sweet time with you, though.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Because it’s nine o’clock on a Sunday, and we have all the time in the world.”

[secretlysamcro]

Female reader x Jax Teller Explicit Language & Possible spoilers. If you're under the age of 18, haven't finished the show, or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

Request: "Hey hey, I saw your post and wanted to req a jax x reader where there's no Tara and he's pined for reader since high school? Maybe he's asked her out a few times and been rejected bc she's nervous to get involved with the club but finally he wares her down for a date and she's surprised with how damn romantic he is with her?"

Back story: Jax and y/n go way back, high school years to be specific. Despite y/n’s consistent rejection, it never changed his affection for her. Jax understood that her reluctance to get involved with him may have stemmed from her nervousness about his affiliation with the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. Although she knew they helped the town out a lot… she had also heard rumours of the darker aspects that took place behind the closed doors of their clubhouse.

[7 years ago - the last time you saw Jax]

“So this is how it ends, huh?” Jax says, his muscular frame towering over you as he leant against the lockers. “Not even one date?” He questions, puzzled by your lack of interest.

Jax’s words hang in the air, as you feel a slight heat rising to your cheeks. Despite the undeniable attraction to him, the life that you know he’s associated with seems somewhat overwhelming and intimidating.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as you looked him up and down. “Good luck prospecting Jax” you genuinely wish him well. You’d heard the whispers that Jax was officially going to be joining the motorcycle club that held significant pride for both him, and his late father.

Jax called out to you as you turned to walk away, his voice stopping you in your tracks. “Wait…y/n” he says, sounding curious. “Is that the reason you’ve never gone out with me…you got a problem with the patch or something?”

You scrambled to find the right words, feeling a mixture of concern and unease. “No…I just… I didn’t say that… I…” you manage to stutter out, not wanting to give Jax the impression that you thought badly of the patch.

Jax eyes you up and down, with that familiar Teller smirk on his face. It confirmed his skepticism. Your fumbled words hadn’t convinced him and he could tell there was more to your hesitation than what you were admitting.

“I’ve…heard things” you say softly, not wanting to offend.

“What sorts of things?” He raises an eyebrow, as he places his cap on his head - backwards of course - the words ‘reaper crew’ displayed proudly.

“Just things” you snap back, trying to avoid the conversation all together.

Jax chuckled slightly, entertained by the fact that others were talking about the club behind his back. He knew the rumours floating around held some sort of weight but no one would be able to prove anything.

“Well y/n” Jax said almost possessively, “you could’ve just said from the get go that you don’t fuck with the biker life, I would’ve left you alone” Jax delivered a playful and gentle punch to your shoulder before turning to walk away, his movements showing a hint of hurt and annoyance. It was clear that your words had struck a nerve and he was upset by your response.

[Present Day]

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath as you heard the sound of air escaping from some part of your car. Frustration boiled inside of you as you realized the cause of the sound - a popped tyre. You gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, aware of a nearby garage that was just a few minutes away.

Pulling into the Teller-Morrow garage, you couldn't help but chuckle slightly as memories of your high school days flooded your mind. You had spent most of your time dodging the Prince of Anarchy, and now, seven years later, here you were - in his very domain - needing something from him and his club.

As you navigate the lot, you park your car in an empty space just in front of the garage. You give a courteous smile to the two older men working on different vehicles inside the garage as you make your way up to the main office door. As you push through, entering the world of SAMCRO for the first time, you hear the gentle jingle of the overhead bell.

Sitting behind the desk is a short and cheerful man. His presence peculiar yet inviting. As he waves a friendly greeting you mentally question the unconventional digits on his hands. One real finger on each hand whilst the others seem strangely unfamiliar, you realise after getting a closer look that they are prosthetics.

“Bonjour Madame!” he says, perfecting his French accent. You laugh slightly, not expecting the foreign greeting. Once he learns about your flat tyre, he assures you that it will be taken care of right away. He invites you to take a seat in the waiting area as he works on getting things sorted for you.

As you cautiously settle onto the worn leather sofa, you scan your surroundings in the office. Half naked women grace the walls, Harley Davidson memorabilia, skulls and grim reapers placed around wherever there was space. Small, crumpled ‘to do:’ notes thrown about, adding to the slightly chaotic atmosphere.

Your attention was interrupted abruptly by the deafening roar of motorcycles entering the parking lot. One by one riding in and parking with practiced ease. You maintain a watchful eye as you watch each of them dismount their bikes, all rocking the same attire - a leather vest with the bold words ‘SONS OF ANARCHY’ stretched across their backs accompanied by a menacing reaper emblem. One biker in particular, standing out to you.

You watch as the familiar man in question walks towards the office door with a nostalgic stride - one you’d notice anywhere. However, when he entered he remained absorbed in his phone, oblivious to his surroundings, oblivious to you. “Chuckie, have you heard from my mom?” He questions, his voice shattering the silence. His voice has grown matured and slightly rougher since the last time you had heard it.

“Non, désolé” the man you now know is called Chuckie responds.

“You know, I preferred it when you spoke in riddles” Jax says, a hint of frustration in his tone. He seemed somewhat agitated by the apparent change in Chuckie’s communication style.

Chuckies shoulders sagged slightly, and his tone softened as he spoke… “I accept that” he replies as he acknowledges Jax’s frustration.

“He said he hasn’t seen your mom” you declare, suddenly making Jax aware of your presence. He looks up from his phone, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in his eyes as he lay them on you.

Upon realising your identity, his eyes widen in a sense of delight “y/n… as I live and breath” he exclaims, the unexpected reunion seems to overshadow any other thoughts or concerns he previously had.

“In the flesh” you say matching his sarcastic tone. Jax extends his hand, offering a helping grip to guide you up from the sofa. In a gesture, he pulls you into an embrace, pulling you in a surprising but comforting warmth. You feel the distinct texture of the patch on the back of his kutte, each thread carefully holding in to place the emblem of the reaper that marks his club.

As you both pull away, you take note of the ‘President’ patch that jax wears proudly.

“President huh?” You say with slight shock, but jax is able to detect the proudness in your voice.

Jax responds with a cocky remark, his tone laced with playfulness though. “Yeah… I guess you could say your luck helped me get here” he shoots back, referring to the last words you had spoken to each other all those years ago.

You open your mouth to rectify those words you spoke to Jax, but before you can, he cuts you off.

“I’m just messin’ with you y/n. What brings you here anyway?” He peers out of the office door, noticing a unfamiliar car. “That yours?” He questions.

Before you can respond, Chuckie, who had been silently observing your exchange from behind the desk, pipes up.

“sa voiture a un…” Chuckie stops abruptly as Jax shoots daggers with his eyes, another attempt at asking him to stop with the French bullshit. “Sorry boss… flat tyre” he says, back to his usual voice.

“Find someone and get it sorted, now” Jax says, excluding absolute authority. Chuckie rushes off from behind the desk and makes his way into the garage.

“I accept that” he says once more.

Jax notices the unspoken questions etched onto your face, the curiosity obvious in your expression. “Don’t ask” he laughs lightly, moving even closer to you.

“You know, y/n your tyre popping so close to the clubhouse might just be fate trying to bring us back together” he smirks his tone light but teasing.

In the short moment that it takes for Jax’s words to leave his lips, your mind is already racing through the different types of men you had dated in the last seven years. Polished, corporate types, the stereotypical ‘good guys’. The realisation that neither of these types ended in the relationships that you desired. Perhaps, just maybe, it was time for something riskier something more tempting. Maybe it was time to choose a different path.

“Not you still tryna get a date out of me after all these years” you respond, attempting to mirror his confidence. Jax can hear the playfulness in your tone, and it only helps to boost his ego further.

He shrugs his shoulders, at you with a playful glimmer in his eye. A glimmer you were used to except it’s aged slightly. His once smooth skin now bears a few delicate lines at the corner of either eyes, a telling tale to the amount of time passed. A slight touch of maturity and wisdom, making him even more attractive.

"I don't know your current situation, but if you're down, I'm down," he says, with anticipation, silently hoping for you to still be single.

You extend your hand in front of Jax, showing no sign of a ring. Indicating that you are currently unattached. His lips then curve into a subtle smirk and he nods in understanding.

“Well, your car might take an hour or two” he says, thoughtfully but casual. “You wanna go grab something to eat?” He locks onto your gaze, as he asks you. The suggestion hangs in the air waiting to become more so.

“What now? Like… right now?” You splutter out.

Jax finds amusement in your mild awkwardness, and he playfully mimics your earlier words, teasing, "Not you still trying to get out of it." His smile growing wider.

Hastily you respond, not wanting to give the wrong impression. “No! I’m not… I want to it’s just…” Your eyes wander down your casual attire “I’m not exactly dressed for a date” you laugh slightly embarrassed.

Jax takes a moment to consider, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible. "Alright," he says thoughtfully, his tone genuine. "Let's call it a pre-date, a date before a real date. For now, just two old friends grabbing a bite to eat. No pressure."

You nod in agreement, a soft smile breaking across your face. "Okay," you respond, accepting the terms of the 'pre-date.'

“Okay” he smiles, repeating his words, as if he can’t actually believe you’ve finally agreed. “Wait here a second? I’ve just got to let my VP know I’ll be gone for a few hours” Jax says, his presidency shining through again.

“VP?” You question.

“Vice president” he laughed, finding your lack of biker knowledge cute. “Second in command” he winks before walking out the office door.

“Right” you say, laughing to yourself, stealing a quick glance in the office mirror making sure you look at least somewhat presentable.

Outside, Jax bumps into Chuckie. “How longs that tyre gonna take chuck?” He questions lifting his head towards the car.

“Guys said about 30 minutes” Chuckie says, rushing over to Jax’s side.

Jax looks around making sure he’s unable to be heard. “Tell them to make it an hour…maybe two”

Chuckie is clearly confused, but knows better than to question jax.

“j'accepte ça” he mutters quietly under his breath. [At Franks Restaurant]

Deep in conversation, you both walk towards the doors of Franks restaurant. Jax quickens his pace, he does a swift jog to reach the doors before you. “After you, my lady” a glint of mischief in his eyes as he mimics a more sophisticated tone.

As you both enter, you notice the curious glances from the other customers. All taking in the proud statement of affiliation to the Sons of Anarchy club that Jax wears loudly on display. Some looking with admiration whilst others avoid eye contact all together.

You observe Jax exchanging friendly greetings with the waitress, a sign that this establishment is a familiar one.

As you settle into your seats opposite each other, you can’t help but notice how intensely Jax is studying you. Feeling slightly self conscious you question him, wondering why he’s being so precise.

“What is it?” You laugh lightly, trying to brush away the self doubt.

“Just thinking” he says, nonchalantly.

“Thinking about…” you drag your words out as you circle two fingers around each other encouraging him to finish his sentence.

“Why it took you so long to finally give me a chance” his answer filled with curiousity and longing.

You take a moment before you finally answer, conflicting thoughts rushing through your mind. When you think back now you wonder to yourself ‘why was I so scared to give him a chance?’ It boils down to the rumours you had heard about Jax - his family, the motorcycle club, which at the time he wasn’t even a part of - but now that you had grown and lived life yourself, you realised just how insignificant those things really were. You realise that maybe, just maybe if you had agreed to even one of those dates back then, you could have had the relationship you always desired.

You sigh softly, the memories of being young and easily influenced. “I was young, Jax…the stories and things I’d hear about your world I just… I don’t know it was all new to me”

Jax smiles at your honest response, his expression showing understanding rather than offence. The waitress brings over your food orders, and you find yourselves engaged in heartfelt conversation. You talk about the highs and lows of your lives, laughing about past relationships that never worked out, remembering your high school days and learning more about eachother’s lives.

When you’re both finished eating, Jax’s eyes linger on a small bit of food beneath your lip. His voice takes on a tone of gentle authority. “Come here” he says, as he reaches out with his thumb to gently wipe it away. His touch delicate - a contrast to the aura he gives off. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shiver down your spine leaving you wanting to feel his touch again.

As you attempt to conceal the pleasurable shiver that courses through your body, you try your best to maintain composure, but Jax as observant as he is takes note of your reaction.

"Why thank you" you respond, your voice laced with a subtle undertone of growing desire and longing.

The waitress glides over to your table with a charming smile, placing a fresh piece of cherry pie in front of you and Jax. The dessert, a complimentary treat, arrives accompanied by a single fork. She gracefully clears away the empty plates, leaving you and Jax facing the l slice of cherry pie and one lonely fork.

Jax smoothly slides the plate towards him and claims the fork, carefully selecting a piece of the pie. He does something unexpected. He leans towards you with the fork balancing a piece of pie in one and, and his other hovering just below to catch any rogue crumbs. He brings the piece of pie to your lips, maintaining strict eye contact and creating an intimate moment between the both of you as he feeds you a bite of the pie.

Jax locks eyes with you, the intensity of your stare causing him to react immediately. His slight shift in his seat betrays the growing struggle that he’s trying to hide. The air is suddenly thick with unspoken tension.

With a seductive gaze, you mirror the gesture from earlier. Taking the fork from Jax’s hand you also select a piece of pie. Balancing the fork in the air waiting for his approval. He glances around discreetly to ensure there are no prying eyes. “Can’t let people think I’m soft now” he laughs slightly, knowing in this moment he definitely is not ‘soft’ - before giving you the green light to proceed. Your heart beats with anticipation as you carefully feed him the next piece of pie.

As Jax munches on the pie, a small nod of approval follows. “That’s some good pie” clearly satisfied with his dessert.

You exchange a look across the table, a silent communication between you both that needs no words. The look between your eyes speaks volumes. It’s as if the entire world fades away in that moment, leaving only the two of you aware of something special currently unfolding.

You clear your throat a little, trying to downplay your eagerness. Glancing at the time on your phone, with a hint of reluctance you ask “So… do you think my car will be done now?” trying to shift the conversation back to reality.

Jax confidently nods his head in agreement, already having the knowledge that your tyre would have been sorted out long ago but he wanted the opportunity to spend a good amount of time with you. “Yeah, I’d say so” he replies, his eye contact still strong, as if he’s taking in all of you before he has to say goodbye.

As you both reach the cash register, you move to grab your purse from your bag. Jax takes note of your intention, his laugh soft but affectionate. He steps forward positioning himself between you and the register. “I got this, y/n it’s on me” he asserts. His gesture is both romantic and thoughtful.

Jax confidently strides out of the restaurant, as you follow with a playful remark escaping your lips. “Well aren’t you a gentleman” you tease, as you both walk back towards his bike.

He smirks in response, his words spoken with a hint of challenge. "Well, you would have found that out years ago if you weren't so scared of me," he jokes waiting for your response.

“I was not scared of you!” You say, attempting to push him playfully. Instead he counters by grabbing you mid-push lifting you off the ground before setting you back down again. Laughter spills from your lips as you feel the butterflies ignite in your stomach. “I wasn’t scared of you” you say again, making sure Jax understands.

“I’m messin’ darlin” he says, as he takes a seat on his bike. Once again, taking in all of you.

You lean against the wall, a heartfelt “Thank you” slipping from your lips. Jax can tell that you’re being sincere and you definitely were. You really did appreciate the thoughtfulness of Jax taking you out on this ‘pre-date’ and you also both acknowledged the deeper connection that has sparked between you both.

You make eye contact with him once more, a twinkle in your eye which teases him slightly. “You know Teller… I never knew you could be so…romantic”. It’s a playful acknowledgment of the unexpected side of Jax, that you have only just discovered these past hours together. A side that shows more depth, more emotions than you thought possible. A side that made you think, the tempting road ahead, was worth taking.

Jax takes in your compliment. He is very aware that he doesn’t radiate the conventional romantic aura, but hearing that from you, especially given your past rejections adds a special significance.

Jax, feeling the weight of your words and the sincerity behind them, is somewhat unsure of how to respond. He runs his fingers through his hair before putting on his helmet, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts and compose himself before responding. It’s clear that your comment has touched a deeper part of him, a part that hasn’t been touched before.

“I’m all about the fairytale, baby” he smirks, as he starts his bike up, waiting for you to join him.

Thank you so fucking much for this request! Honestly! I know it took forever but I was getting so carried away & trying to find a good place to end haha! I promise you that whatever you’ve imagined, I have too! So send in those requests I am down for writing about whatever! [I’m also rewatching again I’ve just started season 6 and I’m already crying about reaching season 7] but yes thank you thank you thank you. I hope you love it! Gifs, Photos & Music do not belong to me.

CHERRY PIE PT 2: A SLICE OF LIFE Jax Teller Masterlist

xoxo secretly samcro

[wetpussyju1ce]

for @theeternaloptimistt

original post

Jax Teller x Pregnant!fem reader

suggestive content. +18 mdni

the moment jax finds out reader is pregnant, he'll get his shit together for her n the baby, quickly books doctor appointments, gets her vitamins and anything pregnant women need to stay healthy during the pregnancy. he also gets extra protective and some chemicals in his brain shifts where his sense of danger and threat is heightened, or maybe he's just paranoid, but whatever it is, it makes him lowkey dangerous to be around when it has to do anything with his pregnant wife.

he doesn't tolerate mistakes or slip ups when it comes to her, if she's served a beer or something with raw fish in it. and he made sure everyone in the club knew she was pregnant and to be extra careful around her, is that so hard to understand? 

His behaviour gets worse the more she starts to show, he won't even let her walk in the bar anymore because he doesn't want her to inhale the tobacco in the air, or be around stinky sailor-cursing bikers, no offense or anything. But also he really doesn't like how some men look at his wife while she's round and carrying his baby, he knows she's beautiful, a ray of sunshine, and worst of all, even in pregnancy she glows and looks so adorable, and he's a selfish bastard, so he doesn't want to share her with others. 

The only person who can really pry his pretty wife off his hands is his mum, Gemma, and she's so excited to be a grandma. The moment they broke the news to her, she was over the moon, so excited and happy for her son to become a dad. So, at the earliest convenience, she kidnaps Jax’s wife literally out of their bed, while Jax is all groggy and pissed off, hair sticking in all directions, shirtless and georgous. Gemma is literally dancing in their bedroom, with a glass or orange juice in her hand, “Come on, rise and shine, I'm taking you shopping today!”

Jax’s prettiest girl is confused as she sits up in the bed, “How did you get in?”

“Mum, get out,” Jax is not happy at all, glaring at his mum while sitting up in the bed, making sure the sheets stay above his belly button while his wife accepts the glass of orange juice and drinks the whole thing, “Thanks, Gemma, I was thirsty,”

“You were?” Jax rasps, voice deep from sleep, holding his wife's hand in his, trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes. 

“Hm, I was,” His wife nods and he hums, “I'll get you water bottles to keep in the bedroom at night,”

“Thank you,” She smiles and stretches, he watches her stretch her arms above her bed, arching her back and rolling her neck, he suddenly gets the urge to kiss her silly but remembers his mother was still in their bedroom, “Get out!”

“I will! I'll make breakfast, your favourite, so don't go back to sleep,” Gemma says, holding her hands in the air in surrender and slowly backs out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

“How did she even get in? I locked the door yesterday,” Jax asked, running his hands through his hair. 

“You gave her a spare key in case of emergencies, remember?” She says, getting out of the bed and going over to the windows, cracking one of them open to let in fresh air. 

“Does it look like we're having an emergency?” Jax grumbles, annoyed at being woken up before he wakes up on his own, he was planning to sleep in, spend time with his wife and do some planning for the next months but that's all thrown out of the window now because his mum was too excited to call. 

Jax sighs, his shoulders slumping, then he looks up at his pretty wife, wearing one of his old ratty t-shirts and underwear, the fabric hiding the small bump he knew was there. She stood barefoot on the carpet, the sun shining behind her, looking so soft and cute he wanted nothing more than to drag her back in bed and bury himself inside her until they're satisfied. And with that, he feels tingling in his groin and he's reminded of his morning wood, great.

“Do you want to shower together? I'll take care of you,” She smiles and he wants to scream out of the window about how he's the luckiest bastard in the world. So he quickly gets out of the bed, almost tripping on the sheets making his wife giggle. Then he grabs her by the waist and pinches at her sides, making her squeal and laugh, “Stop! Your mum will hear!” 

Jax sighs, right, they had a guest. 

She immediately notices the change of his demeanour and cups his face, “I know you'll talk to her, set boundaries, she knows better than to do that again.”

Jax covers her hands in his, then turns his head, kissing her palm, “Okay, darling,”

“Okay,” She says and he grabs her hands, takes them down from his face and pulls her in the bathroom.

. 

. 

. 

Jax gets cute aggression the bigger his wife gets, and he's shameless with it too, squeezes her tight in his arms, keeps kissing and squishing her cheeks in his hands, bites her thighs when they're at home and coos at her, talks to her like a baby when they're alone, because he enjoys her annoyed reaction to them, but also because he can't help it! When he especially annoys her, she tells him that she's a grown woman who's pregnant because his dick was inside her, and all he does is laugh loudly. 

He's also sweet and patient when she starts to get quickly tired, when her muscles ache and when her feet get sore, also when she's constantly hot and sweating, and all Jax does is buy her more and more of her favourite soaps, shower gels, lotions and shampoos in her favourite scents to make her feel better about the changes in her body. He still loves her either way, and his dick always gets hard when he looks at her, even if she's sweaty and smelly as she claims, but something primal in his brain only understands that she's pregnant, healthy, and his, and that, he really likes. 

As much as her mood swings give her a hard time, with the changes in her hormones and all, Jax finds himself secretly enjoying them, not in a twisted sick way, but in a “my wife cries and I'm the only one who can comfort her” way.

This happens a few times, where he's busy with club activities while she's hanging out with his mum and the other old ladies, then he gets a call from his mum, saying that his wife is crying, sobbing and is on her way to the club, that they tried to stop her but she left anyways. And the first things Jax asks is; is she alone? how is she coming to the club? is she driving??? 

Before any of his questions are answered, he hears her ask for him and he but leaps out of his chair, leaving the meeting they were having and she's right there, dressed like the prettiest thing in the world, her cheeks tender, her nose runny and her eyes glassy and a bit red from crying. As soon as her eyes land on him, she sobs and he quickly goes to her, gathers her in his arms, making sure not to squeeze her bump between them and shushes her, stroking her back, kissing her wet cheeks and letting her burrow in the crook of his neck. 

He ends up sitting somewhere private with her in his lap, sniffling and hiccuping, and Jax doesn't like to see his baby cry, but then he's not too bothered because she's pregnant and if anything bad happened, Gemma would have told him at least.

So he finally asks when she's less frantic, “Why are you crying, babe?”

She freezes and he frowns, squeezing her thigh once, “Are you alright? You can tell me,”

“You'll think it's stupid,” She whispered and he immediately hugged her to his chest, “I'll never, baby, I promise.”

“It's– I read in a magazine about these orphan baby monkeys-” Her voice catches in her throat and she starts crying again, Jax coos, patting her back through her devastated sobs, “There's so much pollution– The poor babies, they're– They're so tiny-” 

“Here, here, I'm sure they'll get rescued and put in a zoo or something,” He says, a small smile on his lips. 

[musings-of-a-rose]

Weighted Blanket

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 860+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Chatting about what a great weighted blanket this man would make and so I dedicate this to @laurfilijames. This was not beta read.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

Today had been the day from hell. You knew it would be, especially since you’d been out for several days being sick. Morning meetings ran long, everyone scrambling to prepare to open, and then the patients? Don’t even get me started. 

When I finally get into my car at the end of the day, I turn on the ac and rest my head against the headrest taking several deep breaths, just listening to the vents pumping cool air into my hot car. I just have to make it home. A shower is waiting for me and Will should be home today.

Will. 

My amazing boyfriend of a year and a half. Will had to go away for work for a few days and was finally coming home. I know a few days isn’t that long but it killed him to leave me when I was sick. And to be honest, I hated not having him there, sick or not. 

His truck is in the parking lot when I pull in and I smile knowing he’s upstairs. I hurry to our apartment and push my key in the lock, quickly shedding my shoes and tossing my bag down on the little side table before heading towards the kitchen, where sounds and a delicious, heavenly smell were emanating from. I lean against the door frame, just taking in the sight of him. Will, standing at the stove with his back to me, casually making my favorite food, his hair still wet from a shower, navy blue shirt stretched thin over his broad back and thick arms, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. He clicks off the burner and divvy’s the food onto 2 plates before turning, his face lighting up when he sees me.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was work?” When I don’t answer right away, he let’s out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

I nod, pushing off the door frame. “Nothing I didn’t anticipate. Still sucked though.”

“You hungry?”

“Starving. But first I need to shower. I feel so gross.”

Will sets the plates down and takes a few large steps towards me. He moves for a hug and damn do I want one, but I’m gross. People actually spit up on me today. So I sigh, stepping back and Will puts his hands up, freezing in place. 

“Must have been really bad.”

“You don’t even want to know.”

He winks and blows a kiss at me, turning back to finish up dinner. The shower was glorious, the hot water and bubbles relaxing me somewhat, and washing away all of the gross from my skin and hair. I don’t linger, my stomach grumbling as I pull on some pajamas and head straight for the kitchen table, where Will had just set down drinks for us. Before I sit, he pulls me to him, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his hands cradling my face. 

“I missed you, sweetheart.”

“I really missed you too, Will.” He starts to deepen the kiss, but is interrupted by the loudest grumble yet from my traitor of a stomach. He laughs, placing a hand on my tummy. 

“Let’s get some food in you.”

—----

Dinner was delicious, as usual when Will cooks. It’s not just that he follows the recipe to a t, but he has his own personal flair to it. Will’s cooking can make any sour mood turn sweet. Or maybe that’s just me. 

After our bellies are full, we sit on the couch and I curl my body against his, feeling his large arm wrap around me, the warmth from him seeping into my bones. He kisses the top of my head and rests his own there, both of us content to just be with the other. But my day was hard and before long, I feel my eyelids drooping. Will must have noticed because I swear I blinked and somehow ended up in bed, Will pulling the blankets up around me before crawling in next to me. He tries to pull me to him, but it’s not what I need. He crooks his finger under my chin, lifting my head to look at him through sleepy eyes. 

“Do you need Will blanket?” I nod, my eyes barely open. 

Will helps me lay down on my back, making sure my pillow is adjusted before he drapes half his body over mine, linking one of his muscular legs with mine as he tucks himself over me. His arm drapes over my body, rubbing small circles into my opposite arm. I turn my head and realize my nose is in the perfect spot to nuzzle into his hair, so I do it, inhaling the scent of him. The weight of him on me settles my nerves, the last bit of overstimulation and wired emotions leeching from my body the longer I feel his breathing, his body pressing into mine. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

It’s so tender and loving, full of care and I think about how much I love this man as he gently lulls me to sleep.

In the morning, he has different plans for me and I’m so glad I got the rest I needed.

—----

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[hes-the-muse]

Author's note: This is a reblog of my old fics to @hes-the-muse from when I didn't have my writing blogs figured out and when I first started writing. I might be reposting my own fics to @hes-the-muse from @thexhostess.

The Evening | PART 1

Synopsis:  Ray has never exerted this kind of influence over you before. He has been gentlemanly, restrained, respectful. You had watched Ray from a distance and wanted to get loser to him. When you were both introduced, he wasn’t one to sleep around and neither were you. You needed him to know you were serious about him, which meant playing it cool for some time. You’ve been having a great time with Raymond, but you were getting past the point of playing innocence personified.

Notes: Inspired by this iconic AW 2011 Louis Vuitton fashion show. Sexy concierges. Posh establishments. Questionable characters. 

The models are not meant to replace reader. These LV images are for the vibe.

RAYMOND SMITH X F READER

Rating : T (mention of sex)

Words: 397

Tags: @pomegranatearildreams (Tagging you for this as you have been waiting for the other Ray fic for a while. Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged.)

Credits: GIF by uuuhshiny  Images via Vogue.com. Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ : X | X

You stroll into the office while Ray is at work, dressed and ready. Matching yourself to Ray’s palette of grey wool waistcoat and shirt, you were looking forward to the event you were attending together. 

Friend and acquaintance, the ‘Cockney Cleopatra’ had hyped you up for tonight and convinced you to go bold with your style. She, in her signature sky high ‘So Kate’ Louboutin’s and an LBD, while you went for sexy concierge. Glossy black cap with chin strap, oversized but tailored lapel jacket in grey wool hugging your waist but falling short over the top of your thighs. Arms covered and slithers of skin peeking, you added silky grey stockings with a glossy midnight black stiletto. Nothing else. The blazer wearing like a minidress made you feel cheeky as fuck and you didn’t care. It was meant to be a fun night to dress up and unwind, and at a closed invitation party, why not?

Cockney Cleopatra assured you that Ray would be inspired by your choices. She said she strengthens her marriage by always keeping Mickey on his toes. Always giving him something to strive for. A trophy wife, she keeps an eye on him by letting other men keep an eye on her, but never anything more. But trophies are awarded for many different talents, and she’s not a single trophy kind of gal. Dressing to impress is only part of her game. 

You don’t need to knock, your confident footsteps are enough to catch the ever perceptive Ray’s attention as he swiftly looks up to see you walk in in your full glory. He’s never seen you like this before. As he raises his chin, Ray’s eyes show a quiet bewilderment, just a glimpse to be subtly perceived. 

You’ve been seeing Ray for a bit of time, a few weeks  of dates, dinners out, evenings around Ray’s house but you’ve never stayed the night. He’s always taken you home or had a driver return you home safety. You and Ray have never had sex.

His eyes harden and chin lowers, intense eyes hold you in your place. As he’s looking down towards you and before Mickey can see you, his index finger shoots up to signify an unspoken ‘Wait’. He has you restrained with a stare and controls you with a single gesture. You look at him silently, and leave the room.

[ofcourseiwillmydarling]

❗I accidentally deleted the draft where I answered to the ask so I'm reposting it like this. Anyway, TYSM anon ! Means a lot to me ! I always feel like what I'm writing makes absolute no sense LOL. I hope you enjoy! 🫡🩵

a/n: Tomorrow I go back to class but we're up to a slow start, so I'll try to post as much as I can during these months ! If you guys have any other requests - about any soa character (both male and female) - dont be shy to send them, I have so much fun doing these & I looove hearing your thoughts ! ♡

! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

TW: mean !Jax & rough sex.

"Aw fuck - darlin' - what'd he do?" Your eyes are puffy and red - lashes clumping together from your tears - lips swollen from biting them. Jax makes a soft mouth sound as he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone, rubbing slow, soft circles meant to soothe you.

"Clay," you sob. "He said I was jus' a cheap lay to you," your voice cracks and more tears fall across your pathetic, broken expression. "Jesus Christ," He hisses between clenched teeth. He's seething. "Where is he?"

You shake your head, digging your fingers into the lapels of his vest. "He left," you murmur. "Jus' leave it alone." The words hitched in your throat - blathering something incoherent.

"Baby," he urges. He can hear your heart beginning to thump - pounding too hard and too fast against your chest. "You're with me. You're okay." He rubs his cheek firmly against your own - skin sheathed in cool sweat - his nose probing your hairline.

It ends like it always does. He threads his fingers through your hair - tugging the strands gently - before he crashes his mouth against yours. "I love you."

**

He wraps his fingers around the bends of your knees - forcing them apart. He is hard between your legs; tip leaking and heavy as it presses against your belly. Fisting his cock, he sinks into you in one brutal stroke. He's meaner today. He had hurt you with his words, even when he'd slam the thick of him inside your cunt till you'd bruise, but it never mattered. You were too in love for it to ever matter. This was for him. Not you.

You don't know the specifics about his 'jobs' - he couldn't tell you - but you do know the state that he comes home in. You let him use you as he needs.

"Jackie," You mewl - brow wrinkling in discomfort - as you reach for him. You're full of him. You wonder if you could feel him if you placed your hand on your belly. You cradle the hinge of his jaw and you're blathering against the slope of his cheekbone. You hiccup and sniff - you couldn't help it - he's stretching you apart and it aches something fierce. "Quit whinin'." he bits out as he hits balls deep - cock hitting something deep and sensitive inside of you.

You meet each thrust - even though your cunt is raw - lifting your hips to take his cock again and again. "Don't stop - fuck - m'close." He rolls his hips into you - grinding his pelvic bone against against the peak of your sex - knocking a sharp cry from your kiss-swollen lips. Rough and sharp. It's aggressive and a little ugly - still, you kiss him like you're dying.

He tightens his grip on your waist as you writhe against his hold. He ducks his head - rubbing his cheek firmly against yours - as he presses deeper. He can feel you tighten up - muscles clamping down his length - and fucks you through it. "That's it," he exhales against your teeth - you feel his cock pulse inside you - hips stuttering against your own. "Fuck - I love you."

Still — he leaves. But oh - it feels just like love.

[dallianceangel]

I’m Not Proud Of It

Writing this has given me another idea for a fic 💗

🫦 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🫦

You slip out of the clubhouse wearing the same clothes you wore last night, grinning as your mind plays back the wild night you had with Chibs. As you head toward the exit, Jax catches you as he works on fixing a motorcycle in Teller-Morrow. His gaze follows you, and he grows suspicious as he notices Chibs licking his lips, a subtle sign of the recent encounter he had with his girlfriend’s daughter.

Jax lowers his voice. “You and her...?”

Chibs sighs, nodding his head. “Aye, but you know, I’m not proud of it.”

Jax chuckles, not believing a single word. “Yeah, right. I bet you felt proud last night.”

Chibs smiles, but it soon fades when his girlfriend’s face flashes in his mind and the guilt resurfaces. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

Jax goes back to fixing what he is working on, but continues the conversation. “Was it just the once?”

Chibs’ silence gives Jax the answer he suspected, it’s happened more than once. “Fuck.”

Chibs sighs, the guilt eating away at him. A little while later, during lunchtime, your mom arrives outside Teller-Morrow, cheerful and unaware of the situation. She heads into the office and greets Chibs with a warm smile, holding a bag of delicious goodies.

“Hey, love,” she says, giving Chibs a kiss on the cheek. “I brought us some lunch.”

Chibs forces a smile. “Hey, doll. I’m so hungry.”

As she talks to Chibs over lunch, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Chibs discreetly checks it—it’s a text from you. He fights back a smile as he reads the message.

"Last night was hot. Round two later? 😏"

Chibs quickly types back, his heart racing: “You’re trouble, lass. We’ll need to be careful.”

[charliehoennam]

feral love

a/n: @sizzlingcloudmentality had me in a chokehold with this idea.

prompt: Being all up in your face, pissed and horny, hands all over you? Not a single fuck given due to the fact that they are in a bar or something "look at your face while I fuck some sense into you." And he grips her neck from behind and makes her look into the mirror above the sink

pairing: will miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v, jealous will, mentions of breaking up (sorta)

SHARING IS CARING, REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

It’s the first date you’ve been on since the rough break-up with Will. You had decided to take a break when the arguments started to become a constant in your daily life.

Technically, you didn’t even know it was a date. You thought you were just getting drinks with your friend. You hadn’t realized she had set you up on a blind date until you arrived at the bar and saw her boyfriend sitting at a table along with his friend.

You didn’t want to be rude, so you figured you’d stay and enjoy the drinks she had promised. Might as well now that you’re already here.

The friend isn’t too bad. Although you keep mistaking the name Louis for Luke, he’s rather cute and seems nice. He keeps asking you questions about your job, where you’re from, your hometown.

He’s trying to make enough small talk to get you comfortable, which you kindly appreciate.

Your answers are slightly short, but kind and enough to keep the small talk going, despite the fact that Louis keeps getting the sense that you don’t want to be there. He’s not wrong about that.

The bar is pretty packed with people excited to see a band play live as they ready their instruments. When the music starts, everyone instantly makes their way to crowd around the elevated stage.

Sitting by yourself at the table to wallow in your fourth – or is the fifth now? –  gin and tonic. Pushing the ice and slice of lime around with your straw, you scan the bar fidgeting uncomfortable in your seat.

Most of the guests are dancing and singing to the music, a few are scattered here and there sitting at the bar or tables to continue their talk. Some are hanging around the pool tables, taking turns. No one really catches your eyes – not that you were even looking for one who might – until your eyes land on a familiar face staring at you from the bar.

Your chest rises heavily but quickly as you stare at Will. His short blonde hair is slightly unkempt along with his beard. He’s wearing the black hoodie that used to swallow you when you’d put it on to get the take-out after a round of good fucking when he’d come home from deployment.

It still smells like your perfume which is why he hardly wears it now, but this night was an exception. He missed you and he wanted to feel like you were still somehow close.

When he saw you in the bar, he couldn’t believe his own eyes. He had to go over to talk to you, but when he noticed you weren’t alone, the courage he had was shot to shit.

Will became quietly furious and told the guys that he was just gonna drink by the bar, that they should go ahead and shoot pool without him because he wanted to be alone.

They kept an eye on him from the distance while he kept his eye on you. With every smile and laugh Louis managed to pull out of you, Will took a shot of whisky along with his beer to keep him from flipping tables. He was ready to drag the man out of there by his collar.

But instead, he sat back and watched you. Watched how you played with your hair like you used to play with it around him, how you rubbed your lips together to even out your lipstick.

Louis’s glance at them didn’t go unnoticed by Will. He remembered how he used to watch your lips because he simply couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

You can tell from the flaring nostrils that he is livid. It’s not out of fear; you know he would never do anything to hurt you.

You can’t stop feeling like a bug on a microscope, so you quickly avert your eyes and look at your drink. Taking a last long gulp of it, you push the glass aside and grab your purse.

You make for the bathroom seeking shelter from Will’s penetrating gaze, but before you can reach the door, you feel a hand grabbing your arm in the empty hallway that leads toward it.

“I just wanna talk.”

“It’s never just a talk between us, Will” you argue trying to avoid the large silhouette of him cast by the dim dive bar light.

“You’re out with someone else? You haven’t even moved your things out.”

“I’m not out with him. I came here with Natalie and she didn’t tell me we’d be meeting them.”

“Are you fucking him?”

You frown at how quick he is to dismiss your entire explanation. All he can think about is that?

“Are you serious? That’s what you wanna ask?”

“Are you fucking him or not?”

“Yes, I am. What’s it to you?”

Lying to Will is stupid. The man interrogates terrorists from for a living. He knows a lie – especially coming from you – when he hears one. But you just can’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that you are still madly in love with him and that it’s why you haven’t moved your things out of his place yet. Inside, you still hope to go back home to him.

He doesn’t reply to you because he knows you’re lying, but it doesn’t stop from getting angry at the thought of you with someone else. You, kissing and touching and fucking someone that’s not him. Their hands holding you and stroking your hair and other parts of your that are meant just for him. That someone else gets to see you come undone, with your hair a perfect mess and lips swollen from his kisses.

That is meant for him. And him only. He can’t understand why you haven’t come home yet, but he does understand why you haven’t come for your things. You can try to hide it as best as you can, but he can see right through your façade.

“You’re fucking him huh?”

His towering frame steps closer, intimidatingly cornering you against the wall. His hand doesn’t leave your arm. The stare he casts down at you has goosebumps travelling over your skin. Like a bunny caught in a trap, you know you’re done for.

“Does he fuck you Iike I do?” he questions nudging his nose at the hair on the crown of your head

“Even better” you snap, trying to resist the trance he holds you under.

He scoffs with a false smile.

“Let’s fucking see about that,” he snarls pulling you into the bathroom.

You frown at the way he shoves you inside, holding your arm where the indents of his fingers are still printed into your skin as you question what his problem is.

“My problem is you.”

Locking the bathroom door, he quickly closes the space between you. His lips crash hungrily against yours. His hand balls the hair on the back of your head, keeping you close and unable to pull away from him. Not that you would either way.

You’ve missed this, you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his kiss. You’ve missed his touch. You’ve missed everything about him.

The way your tongues dance with one another makes you forget why you had even left the house in the first place. As he pushes you back towards the sink, your hands reach for his thick neck to keep yourself from falling over with his eagerness.

Although the music echoes into the bathroom, all you can hear is the heavy breathing and desperate moans coming from the pair of you as eager hands grope clumsily at each other.

The drinks you had only add to the intoxication of his kiss, whisky lingering on his lips. The room spins around you as his mouth reaches that one spot on your neck that he knows drives you insane.

Your head lulls back in a daze and your eyes close to savor the touch of his hand under the top you have on. He groans massaging your flesh and works his way down to your ass, shoving itself past your jeans to push them down as the loose fabric slides down easily.

His large hands grope your cheeks spreading them with a slight burn that only soaks your pussy even more. Will watches his hands knead and massage your flesh the reflection of the mirror like you’re his favorite personal playdough, fingers invading under the fabric of your panties.

With his throbbing dick grinding against you, he closes his eyes and lets himself melt back into the kiss. Keeping a firm grip on your ass, he moves his other hand to your front to shove it down your panties.

You moan his name, pulling away from his kiss desperate for air when he circles around and over your hardened clit.

“Jesus Fuck, Will,” you gasp gripping at his hoodie with your nails. “Fuck, that feels s-so good. Right there…”

With his other hand balled into the back of your hair, he forces your mouth back onto his to continue his selfish prodding with his tongue.

“he touch you like this?” he breathes, mouth opening against your cheek.

“N-no,” you mumble into him.

He smirks watching your face pinch at the pleasure he wants to remind you only he can offer. Gathering the slick from your folds, he hisses at the dampness.

“He get you wet like this too huh? Ain’t even fucked you yet and you’re fucking drenched, baby.”

You shake your head as if he didn’t already know the answer. He just likes hearing that no one makes you feel as good as he can.

Drunk on his touch, the scent of him fills your lungs and goes straight to your head coursing through your veins like a drug. You palm the hard outline of his cock through his jeans and quickly work to unbutton them, high on him as his fingers push into your dripping entrance.

You quickly fumble your hand into his pants and briefs desperate to feel his hard dick. The touch of your hand on his cock shatters the hard front he tries to hold onto.

“Shit, baby,” he whimpers biting into your shoulder when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip.

His fingers cease their movement for a quick moment as you tug on his cock, driving him insane with every stroke. Addicted to you, he turns you around to face the mirror on the wall.

As he quickly pushes his pants and briefs down, you mimic him by quickly pushing your panties down your thighs and spread your legs, angling your hips and arching your ass out to welcome him.

His mouth hungrily latches onto your neck as his cock glides roughly against you drench folds, gathering your slick to mingle with his pre-cum. Licking a glob of his spit onto the fingers that were inside you, he savors the sweet familiar taste he’s longed for as he coats the saliva over the tip of his cock.

“Look at me.” His command has your eyes shooting up to obey, taking in the sight your stained lipstick. “Feel me.”

Staring at your reflection, he watches you to make sure your eyes never leave his as he slowly pushes his cock into your cunt.

“Take it. Take it like a good girl.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the slow delicious burn you feel as his cock slowly spears itself in between your clenching walls.

“You’re my girl,” he whispers wrapping a hand on your neck. The wetness of his spit and your pussy feels cold against your skin.

You nod in agreement gazing hopeless into his dark eyes.

“Say it” he orders bottoming out, balls deep in you.

“I-I’m your girl” you nod, eyes and hips pleading for movement at the fullness of his cock.

“Only my girl?” he questions shoving a hand down to again toy with your clit.

“Only your girl.”

He smiles and finally starts moving his hips, fucking you hard and slow.

“Show me your tits, baby girl.”

Without hesitation, your hands excitedly push your bra and tops up bunching them together over your chest. Will kisses the back of your head praising your obedience, whispering how much he loves you as his hips pick up the pace.

The ungodly sounds of your damp and hot cheeks clapping against his relentless hips fill the bathroom along with your panting. Growing closer and closer to your orgasm, you grip the edge of the countertop and bite down on your bottom lip, taking him raw and rough as best as you can, trying to last longer but the fingers rubbing your clit force your orgasm to come soon than you hoped.

“Look, baby” he orders with a hand under your jaw as he pounds into you, fingertips squeezing into your warm cheeks.

Your teary eyes struggle to fix clearly on the mirror but you obey regardless. You’ll always obey him; a slave to his love.

His hips stutter in their movements as he finally cums into you, filling your walls with warmth.

“Look at you. This is where you belong. With me.” He breathes against your ear.

“Where do you belong hm?” he asks slowly pushing his load deeper and deeper in you with gentle thrusts.

“W-with you.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles and places a tender kiss to your cheek. “Go say goodbye to your friends and tell ‘em you’re coming home.”

[illusivelle]

shake the frost / 2

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 3,044 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, cursing, bruises/cuts, tending to wounds (my jam) summary: you don't expect to find will waiting for you so late at night, and especially not for these reasons. a/n: just a sucker for one person taking care of another while they're hurt. really just feeding into my own agenda here. and also a sucker for some idiots who think their pining is unrequited. read part one link to ao3 here!

Next time.

Two words that had been ringing in Will’s ears, bouncing around his head. Words he’d been repeating to himself because he wasn’t sure you meant it, wasn’t sure what spurred it. Wasn’t sure why it awakened something in him that had been dormant for so long. Two words that felt like a promise of more – more time, more you.

It wasn’t as if it was something novel considering the way he’d looked at you, and caught you looking at him, too. All those fleeting glances you’d both share when he thought the other guys weren’t looking, tiny smiles and faint touches in passing. But this was something different, wasn’t it? A step in a direction he wasn’t certain either of you would make a move toward, or maybe he’d been overthinking the entire thing and it was just something polite you’d offered.

Either way, Will Miller couldn’t seem to get his mind off – nor wrap it around – the idea of ‘next time.’

If only said next time wasn’t under these circumstances, knocking on your front door in the state he was in, hoping that you were actually home. 

You’d just pulled into your parking spot, locking your car door three times as you walked up to your apartment. The silhouette that’s slumped over your door is enough to have all the hairs rising at the back of your neck, one hand digging into your purse to clutch for something you could potentially use as a weapon. Shit, if only you’d listened to Frankie all those years ago, you might’ve been better prepared for moments like this. The only thing you could feel as you rummage in your bag is the dull handle of a switchblade, the one thing you did accept from Frankie if only to appease him and make him feel better about your safety.

And now you were kicking yourself in the fucking ass for not listening.

Tentative steps bring you closer to your door, your fingers grasping the knife tightly as wary eyes assess every inch you can see. In the darkness, you can only make out the fact that the person is a) much, much larger than you and b) hunched over like they might be sleeping. At your door, though? It doesn’t tell you much, save for the fact that you had to be very fucking careful about what might happen next. One more step brings you only a few feet away but the rustling of your clothes is enough to have the other’s head snapping up, and you whip out the knife from where it’d been hiding. “You should–”

“It’s me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in your haziest dreams, you could pick out that deep timbre and husky rasp that belonged to the one man that had no business occupying so much of your thoughts, especially as of late. “Will?” His name is a hushed whisper as you toss the switchblade back into your bag and quickly close the distance between you two. You’re crouching down as he’s pushing himself up, clumsily meeting halfway, your hands rising to settle on his shoulders. Not that he needed you to steady him, but you needed something to steady yourself, the sight of Will Miller sitting at your door something you’d never in a million years think would happen. “What’re you– is everything okay?” Immediately, your thoughts fly to all sorts of scenarios, a wary and assessing gaze raking over him as your palms work in a similar fashion, running up and down his arms like you might find a broken bone or a gaping wound. 

It’s only when your eyes finally land on his face that you notice, in the small sliver of moonlight peeking through a break in the sky, how dark red has matted along his hairline and paired nicely with the cut slicing his brow. Icy blue eyes dance as they search yours and Will remains quiet while you continue your inspection, finding more surface wounds on his lip and jaw, one that clenches when you linger too long. “Come in,” are the only two words you can think to say, reaching past him to shove your key in and unlock your door.

Maybe it’s your imagination, or maybe there really is only just a few inches between you and Will, his heat seeping through your clothes and prickling your skin. You swear you can feel his ragged and warm breath fanning out across your nape, a subtle roll of your neck like that might alleviate some of the tension thickening in the air when you push open the door to let both of you in. “Thank you,” his hoarse voice cuts in before he immediately tacks on an apology, “I’m sorry. I can go if you–”

“No.” You interrupt him before he can spiral. “Stay.”

His reaction is physical. His shoulders sag like that one simple word washed away all of his worries, the divot between his brows smoothing as he takes one step further into your place and then another. You’ve already dropped your bags and shrugged off your sweater, shuffling to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and wet a towel with warm water. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Calling out to him, half expecting Will to remain planted where he stood because if there’s one thing about the stoic blonde man standing in your home, he always knew boundaries.

But when you close the medicine cabinet and turn on a heel, you nearly smack into a solid wall of carved muscle, one palm flying up to meet his firm chest to keep yourself upright. “Oh– Will–” blurting out his name while colour steals across your cheeks, “um, you can just have a seat there, then.” He takes orders so well, almost as well as he gives them. The only reason you know what that might sound like is because you’ve heard him bark them out to his brother Benny, even to Frankie and Santi. There’s no way it was anywhere near how he sounded when he’s on the field and you’re not delusional enough to think so, but it’s always been enough to strike a match in your gut. To spark that flame that burned for William Miller.

That same fire is ignited the second you lock your gaze with his pool of blues, tipping your head to the side with a cocked brow. Imploring him with your expression alone, hoping that he’d take the bait or feel comfortable enough to say something – anything – as you slowly and gently bring the edge of the warm towel up to wipe away the dried blood on his temple. “Benny got into somethin’ stupid after his fight tonight,” Will grumbled, those bright arctic irides breaking away from yours for a beat, “they didn’t like how he mouthed off too much in the ring. I told him one day it’d come to bite him in the ass, but you know Benny.” He huffs out a breath, one that tickles the sliver of skin peeking from your shirt, a lick of your lips to hide the way you noticed and zeroed in on the sensation so quickly. 

“Mmhm. In one ear–” “Out the other,” he finishes with a dry chuckle. 

Will barely flinches as you start to clean out his wounds, pressing damp alcohol-soaked pads to open cuts. It’s a testament to all that he’s endured out in the field, things far worse than you can ever imagine. Things far worse than what you’ve seen with your own two eyes at the hospital. You remember Frankie talking about a gunshot wound on their last ‘mission’ that Will simply patched up with a few pads of gauze, and even remembering the way Frankie told the story has your brows pinching together with distaste. “Is it bad?” Will murmurs, bringing your eyes down to his again.

“No, it’s not bad.” Were you really that easy to read, or maybe this close Will can just see right through you? “Are you feeling okay? Need a painkiller or something?”

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

A hint of a smile teases the edges of your lips, wanting to lighten the sullen mood that’s fallen between you two. “I’ll make it quick, then.”

And you do, as much as you could. All of the open wounds were small enough that Will didn’t need any stitches; a few slips of the skin glue enough to close them, followed by pressing the thin adhesive strip bandages on top to make sure everything held. You lean in close when you get to the cut along his cheek, not wanting to mess up something that could’ve otherwise turned into a scar. Not that you thought Will would mind or didn’t have plenty of those, but you’d always been cautious about the face for any of your patients and he was no different. So focused on your work, steady fingers brushing back the small bandage, you don’t notice just how close your mouths are until you start to speak, the bristles of his beard tickling the edges of your pout. “Good as new,” you chime and without thinking, continue to say, “handsome as ever.”

If the ground could open you up and swallow you whole, you’d thank all your lucky stars and maybe even become religious. Had you really just said that? Heart hammering a bruise behind your ribs, you dare to steal a glance at Will’s face, hoping and praying and wishing you’d find something akin to indifference written over it. An indicator that he didn’t hear what you just said or maybe that he’d spare you and ignore it. Instead, you find a slick shine on his lower lip, a flirt of his tongue before he pulls it in while those thick, blonde lashes bat against his cheek. It’s silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words hanging over you like a blanket, and as soon as you open your mouth to say something, Will’s hand finds a home on your hip.

“It’s okay.” His tone stuns you, softer than you’ve ever heard it, swallowing thickly as you give him a shallow nod. “I didn’t mean to come here so late. Thank you for helping me. I was going to drive myself to the emergency, but Benny thought it’d be better to come see you directly. He all but followed me to make sure I actually didn’t go anywhere else.” All the while his thumb starts an absent sweeping motion, snagging on the hem of your shirt and sending goosebumps spreading fast on your skin.

“I’m glad you did, Will. You’d have been sitting in the waiting room for hours, you know.” Your fingers trail down until they brush over his knuckles, the same ones still holding you steady. “A heads up would’ve been nice, though, I guess.”

You’re not sure where this drop of courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the fact that Will took the lead here, the fact that his palm seems to press in more firmly where it lay. But as you search his eyes for a response, you can see the very second the moment splits into two. The moment where reality rears its ugly head and presents the staggering truth: too much. This is too much, too soon. There’s a faint quiver to Will’s lower lip, a muscle feathering in his jaw, and a few blinks is all it takes for those arctic blues to gloss over with something colder. Something you’ve seen in his eyes before, usually at the start of the night when he’s still had all his guards up and the others were around keeping a watchful and protective stance around you. Or when you’d overhear him and the guys talking about their pasts, especially their old friend. Or even the times you listened to Will’s speeches, recounting the eventful situation he found himself in at the grocery store when he all but lost his grip and sense.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His hands drop as low as his voice, the words leaking of shame.

You won’t pretend to ever know what happened between Will and his ex, or even Will on the last mission, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the wheels turning behind those wary eyes. His entire face twists like he’s trying to hide the visceral need to run, and the warning signs flood the forefront of your mind as Frankie’s booming voice echoes between your ears: it’s a bad idea, he’s not ready, he’ll hurt you, you’ll hurt each other.

“It’s okay, Will.” Barely above a whisper, you say the three words you hope will settle in his bones the same time you step back to put a small gap between your aching bodies. His aching undoubtedly from the fight he’d put up for Benny and yours for different reasons entirely, emphasized by the fact that every fibre of your being is reaching out to return to his orbit. 

His hands clasp together in front of him, another sharp breath slipping past those lips before he rises to his full height. It takes you too long to point out that his knuckles still have dried blood on them, but it’s clear he has no intent on staying any longer than necessary. Hiding the hurt from your face was easy enough but the way it stings the corner of your eyes is something that’s more challenging to tamp down. Twisting your body away from him and ducking your chin into your chest, you try to stride out of the bathroom, but his words have you faltering right at the threshold. “Do I owe you something for this?”

“What?” Brows bunching together into a frown, you peer at him over your shoulder. “No, Will. You don’t owe me anything.”

Is it relief you see as tension uncoils from his body? Like maybe the fact that he didn’t owe you anything meant he didn’t have to talk about this night, relive it, or see you again? Your mind is racing a mile a minute, your steps faster as you make it to your living room and leave him following behind. “Hey,” Will’s voice is strained and again, it has your resolve wavering, leaning against the back of the couch as you slowly turn to face him, “thank you. I’m not sure what else to say. I know seeing a man sitting at your door late at night probably wasn’t the most welcoming thing, and out of the blue, too. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You don’t mean to snap, the words falling out with a bite, but it’s too late to take them back. The only thing you can do is cast your eyes up at Will with a hint of regret flashing across your face. Because you did want him to stop saying sorry, to stop feeling bad for leaning on you when he needed help. Because you’re hit with the realization that refusing and turning him away at the door was never even an option. “It’s okay. Really, Will. I mean it. I’m happy to help you.” You admit softly, sucking in a breath to keep the momentum going, pivoting at the last second to turn the conversation into something less daunting as you murmur, “though I guess I thought the next time would’ve been under different circumstances.”

This seems to do the trick, lifting the veil of tension even for a brief moment, allowing you to catch a ghost of a smile when the lines on Will’s cheek deepen. “Mmhm, yeah. Would’ve been nicer if it were, I imagine.”

Fidgeting with your fingers yet unable to keep your attention away from him for too long, your eyes dance between your own hands and his. “Do you want me to take care of that, or…?” A little matted blood only needed a good wash, but you’d take the opportunity to tend to him if he allowed it.

Blue eyes dart down to meet where you’re looking, a quiet hum sounding in your apartment that feels like a ticking time bomb minutes before the inevitable crash. It comes far too quickly, and far too quietly, hitting you harder than you’re prepared for. “No, it’s okay. I should go.”

Whatever bubble you’d convinced yourself you were in pops, the moment once again splitting into pieces. This time, more than two, dropping around you helplessly and all you can do is agree with him as it slips like water between your fingers. “Okay.” After all, you'd have no right to ask him to stay. He’d already done that, and now Will’s decided it’s his time to leave. Palms slicking with sweat, you find yourself nervous. Find yourself wondering, not for the first time since you’ve known Will, why you were so nervous around him. It’s just Will, you remind yourself, something that’s becoming more of a mantra these days. “You drove here? You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

But would you be alright? It’s hard to tell because the longer Will lingers in front of you, the longer your mind strays. Is he second guessing himself? Is this all in your head? Is he going to shrug his jacket off and change his mind? Through the corner of your eye and in the dim light of your living room, you see the way his fingers twitch as it slowly rises. Inches before they can touch any part of you, it fades, your heart sinking into your stomach.

Only for it to crawl back up to lodge in your throat when the scent of Will threatens to overwhelm you as he steps in to press a kiss to the crown of your head, another muffled “next time, then,” before he’s skirting past you, opening your door, and leaving.

Leaving you with even more conflicted thoughts about Will Miller, ones that replay over and over again the entire night. Ones that blend into a flurry of emotions as you clean up and ready yourself for bed, ones that have you picking up your phone in the dark to type out a hurried text

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

[mermaidxatxheart]

These Moments

I’m posting on mobile so if it’s a little weird looking, that’s why.

Pairing: Will Miller x Reader

Word count: 3752

Warnings: swearing, smut(Minors DNI), Charlie Hunnam being a menace. Fwb, unprotected p in v.

A/N: this is the first thing I’ve written and completed in… waaaaay too long. I hope you like it. Yeet.

Everyone is always going on and on about Benny Miller and what a fighter that kid is. But your gaze is firmly set on his big brother, Will. The guy who trains Benny, who gets into the ring and is just as capable. You can’t help but watch him across the gym from your position behind your desk, pressing your thighs together harder and harder with every passing moment.

It’s not as though you’ve never seen a man before, and you’re some blushing virgin school girl. You’ve had sex, and lots of it. And you know Will Miller can fuck. Why, just last week, he fucked your brains out on the floor of the ring after the gym closed. Then he walked you to your car like a gentleman.

It’s not that Will doesn’t care about you, or vise versa. But he has commitment issues from his time in the army, and you just can’t trust people. So how can you be in a relationship with someone if you can’t trust them?

Will catches your eye and a small grin tugs at his soft lips. Those lips have you sweating. Remembering the way those lips pull every sound imaginable from your sweat-slicked body; the way those lips find magical spots that make your toes curl.

Your face starts to heat at the memory and his grin widens as you flip him off and drop your gaze. Jerk.

The front door opens, stealing your attention as two regulars come in. One is tall and muscular, definitely imposing, but you know he’s just a big teddy bear who’s crazy about his wife. That’s Jim. The other is a prankster and he always manages to scare you around the gym. That’s Teddy.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Teddy says, setting his membership card on the counter. His open grin is infectious and you can’t help but smile back.

“Howdy.” You reply, scanning his card.

“It’s Friday.” He continues as you scan Jim’s card.

“All day long.” You reply sarcastically. Jim collects his card and with a wink, he heads for the locker room. Teddy doesn’t walk right off. He has been asking you out every Friday for the last six months. It doesn’t matter that you never say yes, or that you act completely uninterested-he asks without fail.

And, to be fair to him, he’s not rude or obnoxious about it. It feels more like a teasing inside joke now. He still respects your boundaries, and treats you like a lady.

“You busy tonight?” He asks, leaning over the counter to look at you closer.

“Probably not.” You reply dryly.

“Do you want to be?”

“Probably not.” You answer in the same tone. He tips his head back and laughs. “Teddy, aren’t you tired of flirting with me? It doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“Tired of flirting with such a beautiful woman?” He places a gentle finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Never.”

Your eyes inadvertently darts over his shoulder, landing squarely on Will, glaring at Teddy. “You’re such a hopeless flirt.” You shoo his hand away.

“Only for you, doll.” He grins. He backs away, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I’ll pick you up tonight.” He calls loud enough for the whole gym to hear

You roll your eyes, flipping him off. “You’re a filthy bastard.” You reply, leaning back in your chair. You’re not worried about Teddy, he’s harmless. He’s come to your defense on more than one occasion both inside and outside of the gym. His flirting is good natured, never pushy or demanding.

But with the way Will is glaring at him, one would think Teddy just kicked his dog or something. You could go out with Teddy-you and Will aren’t serious, you have no doubt that he’s seeing other women and that doesn’t bother you. He’s an amazing guy and he should find someone who makes him happy. You’re just aware that it’s not you. But, Jesus Christ, you’ll have some fun with him until then.

Will

Will, for the majority of his life, has been pretty even-keeled. Benny, his impulsive kid brother, has him saved as ‘Steady Eddie’ in his phone. That’s what his parents always called him and Benny, that little shit, is carrying on that tradition.

And aside from the few heated PTSD moments he’s not exactly proud of, he still keeps a cool head; he’s pretty logical and there isn’t a lot he can’t handle.

That being said, seeing that jackass with a god damn man-bun touch you? Seeing him tilt your chin up to meet his gaze the way Will has done so many times? It makes his blood boil. Hearing him say he’ll pick you up for a date? He might have punched his brother harder than he should have. It’s a good thing Benny has a hard fucking head.

But what’s really got him fucked? The way you drop your gaze to the desk, laughing. He didn’t even know you liked guys like that: man-bun pretty boys who work out for the aesthetic of it.

While he’s busy paying attention to you, Benny gets his revenge and punches Will back squarely on the jaw. It rocks him back against the ropes and he can’t even be pissed-it’s a good hit.

Determined to not lose focus again, he turns his back on you, planning on discussing this with you later. Do you want to stop sleeping together? Are you finally ready to find someone?

You’ve always been crystal clear about not wanting a partner. You claim you value your independence too much, but Will likes to think he knows you a little better than that. Someone hurt you. He doesn’t know who-your family and past is a complete mystery to him. And if you two are just fucking, Will supposes he doesn’t need to know more.

Benny finally calls it quits. Will has gotten out of the ring after the punch so he could comment and critique his younger brother. Ben is exhausted, he can tell that much just by looking at him. He should have called it earlier, but he was lost in his head.

“Go home, kid. Get some rest.” Will says, holding open the ropes for him to crawl out.

“Want me to give Teddy a solid thump on my way out for you?” Ben teases.

Will, caught off guard, can barely respond. “What are you talking about?”

“Him taking your girl out.”

Will squints at him. “Do you have a concussion? Do I need to drive you home?” Will reaches for his head, but Benny swats him away with a roll of his eyes.

“That’s not the point. I’m not blind, y’know. But fine. Hide things from me.” Benny heads for the locker room and WIll glances over at reception, halfway through the first step toward you. But you’re not there anymore, someone else is manning the desk. “She’s up in her office, you dingus.”

Will follows the gesture and sees the light on up there. Even better. He heads up there, hoping to at least catch you for a chat.

He pauses in the doorway, watching you read over something on your tablet. You’re entirely focused, a little pinch between your eyebrows that he loves has to smooth out occasionally. He must make a sound or maybe you can just feel him staring at you, because you look up.

***

You can feel the bluest pair of eyes on you, boring through your skull. Finally, unable to stand it, you look up from the article in front of you, entirely unsurprised to see Will taking up the whole doorway.

“Headed out for the day?” You ask, closing your tablet and setting it down.

“Benny is.” He says evenly, and you nod.

“He looks good. You’ll have him ready in no time.”

“Yup.” He agrees simply and you frown.

“That’s all I get? What’s with you? Normally, you’re happy to talk strategy until my ears fall off. And all I get today is ‘yup’?” You make a face.

He doesn’t answer, at least, not right away. He steps into your office, looking at all the pictures on the wall. There are a couple of you and him together, Benny’s fights, fooling around with your new camera after fooling around that one time. He’s seen them all a million times, so why is he studying them now.

Abruptly, he turns to you. “Are you bored of me?” He asks and you can’t smother the absurd chuckle that bubbles out of you. When he doesn’t laugh in return, you frown.

“Oh-you’re serious.” You realize. “Miller, what in the world makes you think I’m bored of you?” You ask with a huff.

“I dunno. I was standing right there and you were flirting with… what’s his name? Man-Bun.” He waves his hand.

Your forehead wrinkles as you try to comprehend. “You mean Teddy?” You ask.

“Sure.” He shrugs and you grin. Will isn’t the type of guy to wallow in self pity. But here he is, in your office, looking for all the world like a lost little bunny.

You push yourself to your feet, taking the two steps to be directly in front of him. “You jealous, Miller?” You grin wider.

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” He snaps, but he won’t’ meet your eyes.

You place your whole hand dead center of his chest, your grin spreading so much your cheeks hurt. “Let me tell you about Man-Bun-Teddy.” You offer, guiding him backward to your couch slowly.

“Don’t really care.” He pretends. It’s cute.

“Every Friday, Teddy comes in here and asks me out.” You say, your voice soft, a whisper in the silence of your office. His knees buckle and then give out against the low edge of your couch.

The softest groan escapes him as he lands. “I don’t-“

“And every Friday, I tell him no.” You straddle his muscular thighs, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

“And every Friday, he says ‘I’ll pick you up tonight.’” You lean in close, fingernails scraping at the nape of his neck. “I don’t fuck him.” You whisper. “Not the way I fuck you.” Your hand slips down between your bodies and into the band of his sweatpants. He’s got you all dizzy, light headed, desperate to feel him inside you.

“Never?” He manages to rasp out. Your hand wraps around his hardening cock. Christ, that beautiful cock.

“Never. He’s never tasted me,” you nip at his neck gently. “He’s never been inside me,” you continue, kissing down his neck. “He’s never felt me cumming around his cock,” you tease, gripping and stroking his shaft lazily; a soft little twist on the return, just the way he craves it. His lip catches between his teeth as you nip at his collarbone.

Your breath comes out as a desperate rush as you feel him stiffen in your hand. “Love the way you feel under me, Miller.” You moan quietly.

“Darlin’,” He groans, gripping your hips, trying to regain control of himself. But that isn’t what you want. You want him to lose some of that carefully constructed control. You want him to be a little rough and leave bruises on you in the shape of his fingerprints on your thighs. You crave the way he clings to you in these secret, stolen moments.

He twists his head, capturing your lips against his, cupping your face and kissing you harshly. His lips, his tongue, god, that fucking mouth making you weak. It steals the air from your lungs and you feel weightless and heavy all at the same time. He rasps out your name roughly against your lips before delving back into a frenzied kiss.

His hands pull at the hem of your shirt, tugging it off, the only second he’s willing to break away from your mouth. His fingers trace up your spine, sending goosebumps across your exposed, heated flesh. With experienced deft fingers, he unclasps your bra, breaking away to watch as he slides the straps down your bare shoulders. One shoulder at a time followed by soft kisses to your skin following the path.

His touches are different from his kisses today. Kissing him is frenzied and urgent, but his touches are slow, savoring. He’s enjoying watching the effect he’s having on you right now.

He removes your hand from his pants and you miss the feel of him, heavy and hard in your palm. Tossing your bra to the side, his fingers blaze trails down your arms to your wrists. His eyes are roaming over your skin, an appreciative smile on his handsome face.

He guides your hands up to the wall behind his head. “Hands on the wall, sweetheart.” His voice is rough, raspy; deeper than usual. “That’s a good girl. Keep them there for me.” He praises and you fucking melt. He guides your chest closer to his face and you arch your back, rolling your hips teasing yourself, but also desperate for any kind of friction on your cunt.

His tongue darts out to flick against your nipple, his big hands hot on your bare back. He wraps his lips around it, teasing it with the tip of his tongue as you continue to roll your hips but you’re not getting anything you need.

He slides a hand up into your hair, gripping the elastic holder and tugs on it, pulling it from your hair so your locks fall forward. You look down at him, his blue eyes twinkling as he bites down lightly on your nipple. Keeping eye contact, he bites a little harder, stopping only when you gasp, lips parting, and he soothes it with the flat of his tongue. He gathers your hair into one fist and pulls it back so you’re arched even more against his mouth. He slips two fingers around the crotch of your little shorts and panties, pulling it up through your folds and against your clit.

“Come on, darlin’. Use me to get yourself off.” He encourages, letting your nipple go for just a second to encourage you. He presses his thumb against where your clit will be and you start grinding your hips faster, chasing that perfect friction. His mouth returns to your nipple, sucking and nibbling it, adding to your mounting pleasure. You can’t see him, your head forced backward to stare at the ceiling as he torments your body.

“Come on, pretty girl. Show me how much you wanna cum. Show me how wet this pretty cunt can get.” He urges, pulling a little harder on your shorts. You whine, riding faster and faster, you’re so close, Christ, having him under you is so heady. He leaves hickies across your chest, teasing between your nipples, letting you grind yourself against his hand. He bites your nipple again, catching your clit just right and your body locks up, cumming, clenching around nothing, eyes squeezing shut as you ride out your release. Your hips slow and he lets go of your hair, sliding them back to your waist.

It isn’t until you look back down at him, panting slightly, that he speaks again. “There’s my pretty girl.” He praises. You surge forward, kissing him eagerly, pulling at his shirt. He wraps his arms around you, leaning forward for you to pull it free of the couch. Peppering kisses along your skin until he can sit back and you pull it off completely.

His body is a work of art, muscles moving and sliding under tan skin. You shift backward, dragging your fingertips down his abs as you slide off his lap. You kneel between his thighs, pulling on his sweat pants until he relents and lifts his hips. You pull them down to reveal his throbbing, beautiful cock, hard and waiting for you to take it into your mouth.

Will’s beautiful blue eyes are blown wide, watching as you lift his cock, kissing the tip before stroking your tongue slowly along the underside and back up. He moans softly at your teasing. You wrap your lips around the head, sealing it inside and a quiet hiss escapes him and then you start to slide it deeper into your mouth, creating an impossible suction along the sensitive skin.

“Hands up here.” He instructs. “Want to be the one giving you pleasure today.” He orders, trapping your hands flat on his strong thighs. He watches as you bob your head deeper and deeper on his shaft. Your tongue dances along it, stroking and massaging as you suck his cock. Another moan escapes him and you double your efforts. His hips lift to meet you and you roll your hips, wishing you had something between your thighs to grind on.

“So good, darlin’. So good.” He bucks his hips up repeatedly and the quick succession makes you gag but you love it.

You pull off, drool stringing from your mouth to his beautiful, glistening cock. He tugs on your wrists, urging you to your feet.

“Need you wrapped around me.” He mumbles. You start to slide off your shorts but he shakes his head. “Leave them on. Like the way they look.” He adjusts his lap and helps you straddle him. He holds his cock up right and guides you down onto it.

God, the stretch. The burn. You crave it every time. The way he fills you to the brim. You tip your head back, swiveling your hips to sink lower. He utters a low curse, gripping your thighs as you work him inside you. You hold onto his shoulders as you start to lift yourself off him and then drop back down.

You moan deeply, needing more. You pick up the pace and before you can even think it, you’re riding him fast and deep. Each downstroke sees a roll of your hips, tugging on his cock, gripping him inside you.

“H-hands on the wall.” He instructs and you lean forward, bracing against the wall, and that changes the angle of him inside you. You’re close to seeing stars and you ride him faster and faster. “Christ.” He groans, lifting your hips when he feels you slowing down. He lifts you slightly and then fucks up into you faster than you could move. You whine and gasp, trying to keep your noises down because of the open gym below you. “J-just like that.” He moans, licking a stripe up between your breasts.

It pushes you over the edge and you drop down, muscles tensing as you cum hard. He supports your body, fucking you through it.

When you can move again, he lifts you off him. “Bend over your desk.” He orders and there’s something about his tone that makes your pussy drool. It’s authoritative, possessive.

On shaky legs, you walk over behind your desk and bend over it, gripping the edge and spreading your legs. He kneels behind you, burying his face in your cunt hungrily. Your clit is his main focus, sucking, licking, flicking, biting until you’re trembling and cumming on his face, clinging to your desk for support as he eats you to a wild orgasm.

“Bet Man-Bun never did that.” He mutters, standing back up and lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Who?” You mumble, breathing hard.

He grabs your hips as an anchor spot and thrusts deep. You cry out, clenching around him desperately. He starts a deep, harsh pace, fucking you harder and faster. His fingers dig into your hips as he palms your ass, his breathing just as ragged. “That’s it. Good girl. Let the whole fucking gym know I’m fucking this sweet cunt in your office.” He grunts, leaning down over you and pressing you into the surface off your desk. He’s impossibly deep inside you, driving you crazy as he rocks deeper and deeper. Each thrust sends his balls slapping against your clit as he steadily fucks you.

Tears slip out of your eyes as he makes you delirious with sheer pleasure. You can’t breathe, but if it means he stays just like this; on top of you, fucking you stupid, then you don’t need to breathe. He presses his mouth against your cheek, a hand around your throat, holding your back against his big broad chest. He’s whispering something, it takes you a long second to process it.

“Just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel amazing. Make me wanna fuck you every time I see you. Gotta have my cock in this sweet cunt every day.” He slips a hand between your body and the desk, finding your clit and strumming it furiously under your shorts. Your legs give out as you cum again, squeezing his cock as you try and fail to support your body. It’s all being held up by the desk now.

“That’s it. Cum on my cock. Gonna make me fill you up today.” He growls and Jesus Christ, you cling to the desk, cumming again, legs shaking, crying all out now. “One more, be a good girl for me. One more and then I’ll be nice to you.” He pants. You whimper under him, only able to take what he’s giving you. He nudges your ankles further, strumming your clit as he fucks you into the desk. You reach back, clinging to his hand and he squeezes it tightly, thrusting completely inside you, cumming up against your tunnel’s end, fingering your clit to one final orgasm. He presses his lips to your temple as he rocks back inside once, twice, thrice, four more times as you start to come down, lying boneless on your desk. He stays there until he softens and slips out of you.

He takes a long second to compose himself, looking at you on your desk, unwilling to move even a little bit. He lifts you gently and carries you over to your couch.

“Did you fall asleep on me?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not.” You look over at him, naked in all his glory in the middle of your office.

“Wanna order Chinese?” He asks, settling himself between your thighs.

“Yeah. I’m starving.”

“Can’t imagine why.” He grins, ordering food first before lying himself between your thighs and tracing your clit with his nose.

“What are you doing?” You ask warily.

“Eating this pussy until our food gets here. And then probably again afterward.” He says, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “I haven’t made you cum nearly enough.”

Shit.

Part Two

[secretlysamcro]

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝! 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐱

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐲/𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐭𝐜 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧.

𝒞𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑅𝒴 𝒫𝐼𝐸 Explicit language

𝒞𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑅𝒴 𝒫𝐼𝐸 𝒫𝒯 𝟤 Absolute smut & explicit language

𝒦𝒰𝒯𝒯𝐸𝒮 & 𝐵𝑅𝒰𝐼𝒮𝐸𝒮 Absolute smut, explicit language & domestic violence

𝒩𝐸𝒱𝐸𝑅 𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸 No trigger warnings 𝒯𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐼𝒯𝒮 𝒢𝒪𝒩𝐸 Slight smut, adultery & explicit language 𝒮𝐻𝐸'𝒮 𝐻𝐼𝒮 𝒪𝐿𝒟 𝐿𝒜𝒟𝒴 black!reader PLOT SPOILERS!!! absolute smut, explicit language & violence 𝒰𝒩𝒮𝒫𝒪𝒦𝐸𝒩 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 Explicit and threatening language & drug use 𝒯𝐻𝒜𝒯 𝒮𝒪𝐹𝒯 𝒮𝐼𝒟𝐸 MAJOR SPOILERS!!!, smut & explicit language 𝒢𝒜𝒩𝒢𝒮𝒯𝒜 𝒪𝐹 𝒞𝐻𝑅𝐼𝒮𝒯 MAJOR SPOILERS!!!, violence (involving pregnancy) & explicit language 𝑀𝒴 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝒮𝒯 𝐹𝒜𝒱𝒪𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸 Absolute smut, violence & explicit language 𝒯𝐸𝐿𝐿 𝑀𝐸 black!reader Absolute smut, violence & explicit language

𝐵𝐸𝒢𝐼𝒩𝒩𝐸𝑅𝒮 𝐿𝒰𝒞𝒦 𝒜𝒯 𝐹𝒰𝒩 𝒯𝒪𝒲𝒩 black!reader PLOT SPOILERS!!!, explicit & offensive language

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞! 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐧𝐨 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐚𝐱 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫? 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭.

[wetpussyju1ce]

Mr. & Mrs Smith pt. 2

Assassin!Ray Smith x Assassin!fem reader

+18. mdni

assassin ray who goes ballistic if anyone puts their hands on his wife, she can handle herself, can send her own husband to the hospital but he still can't help it. so when he ends up gunning down the assassins trying to kill them just for being together, he goes to the other room, looking for his wife and finds her on the floor, clawing at a man choking her out, trying to kill her, and Ray sees red, “Hands off my fucking wife!”

The man looks up and is greeted by Ray's gunpoint, “I said; Hands. off.”

the man slowly lets go and she starts coughing, crawling away from under him and gets up as Ray points his gun straight at him. she stands by his side, a hand holding her neck as Ray asks, “What do they want?”

“They want you dead.” The man answered. 

“Obviously, you fucking twat, why?” Ray hissed.

“They're scared you'll trade firm secrets; double agent stuff.” The man answered and Ray looked at his woman, then back at the man, and without another second thought, pulled the trigger, giving him a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. 

“Firm secrets, what a joke.” His wife muttered and he agreed.

Ray, who even though they're technically on the run, still manages to look for his wife's favourite snacks when they quickly stop for gas and he goes to buy some fags cuz he KNOWS he'll be needing a couple after tonight's shitshow. and when they're back on the road, he hands them to her, w a hand sanitiser and tissues, of course. She thanks him with a big kiss to his cheek and starts munching away as he drives them to the other side of the country. 

Ray who at the first opportunity buys his wife a pair of sweats to wear, because she's still in her panties and it's getting brighter outside, the world is waking up and she's bound to catch attention w a pair of legs and ass like hers. and when she slips them on, they fit absolutely perfect because he knows all her sizes by heart, and knows to get her a size up so they're baggy and extra comfy around the waist. 

Ray who gets a special kind of twinkle in his eye when he gets his hands on any type of big firearms. he loves them big w lots of buttons to mess with. after all, he's just a boy w a special love for tinkering n messing w machines. His wife notices and her heart grows twice as big at the sight. because he's so freaking cute, getting giddy over using big guns. she cant help the smile that pulls at her lips while watching her husband light up an alley w his machine gun, putting multiple holes in each assassin coming after them.

Ray who's concerned the second his wife groans and clutches at her arm, looking in pain and Ray immediately asks, “Who hurt you?” 

She points out a bleeding corpse, and he shoots it once, “Here, you'll be okay, darling,” And she smiles at him, as he kisses his thumb and middle finger together and presses it to where it hurts, and they leave a sea of broken and bloody bodies behind, hand in hand. 

Ray who finds out Fletcher was the one who ratted them out to their firms for money. who managed to get photographic evidence of them both together. a mundane picture really, them coming out of the big Tesco, Ray pushing their trolley while his wife is opening a pack of Maltesers. 

But Ray doesn't care. he hates it when people feel privy to his private life. he doesn't appreciate that kind of disrespect, at all. especially when there's a possibility that Fletcher could've taken a photograph of his lovely wife doing literally anything, like painting in their garden in nothing but a bikini under the sun. 

His wife quickly learned how protective Ray actually was. Before she knew his real occupation, she just appreciated it when he used his whole body as a shield to protect her from unwanted touches or attention. Or when that one time a tipsy man, at the pub, accidentally dropped his wallet on her lap and reached to grab it just for Ray to grab his wrist in a flash. The man winced and Ray relaxed his hold, but dragged the man's hand up on the counter instead, grabbed the wallet on his own and slapped it on the man's hand with a tight smile. She only watched and didn't move an inch, smiling big when Ray asked her to switch seats w him.

It wasn't anything big, but it was enough for her to praise and lean her whole body against him, giving him tiny kisses on his beard once in a while, dying at how adorable he was, and that was just when she thought her sweet and attentive civilian husband was just an accountant with a smidge of OCD.

But now that he could freely express what he could and would do for his wife, was the most thrilling and addicting feeling.

When she wasn't slicing her way through skin and guts, or shooting men dead until her hand burned around the gun handle, she would stand there and watch her Ray absolutely terrorise the other assassins. She would watch with her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes now practically hearts, toying w her fingers like a lovestruck teenager. It was so exciting. 

And when Ray would meet her eyes, he would grin and she would giggle, skipping to where he was, standing over a now cooling body and giving him a cheeky kiss to the corner of his mouth. then they would leave on a stolen car, breaking every road law and rule. 

And when she finds them a way to get out of the country, Ray realises he has to change his appearance, so he sits on the dingy motel room bed, abt to shave his beard off, he'll do it, but he's just saying goodbye to his facial hair before he has to get rid of it all and cut his hair shorter. At least his wife will only need to dye her hair. 

When she realises he's abt to get rid of one of her favourite things abt him, she whines and already mourns the loss. but then realises that actually, he showed her a picture of him when he was much younger and he looked incredibly handsome under the facial hair, so really, there won't be much of a loss. 

So before he shaves it all off, she asks him if he'd be up to eating her out one last time as a farewell ritual to his beard lmao. 

And Ray would never say no to her, so just to be extra safe, he goes ahead and washes his face, soaps his beard and rinses it, just so all that he gives his pretty wife is redness from the friction. and they go to town, oh they do that the next door guests bang on the wall and shout at them but Ray doesn't give a rats ass and his wife is in another planet as he pounds her to Sunday.

When that's all said and done. Ray finally shaves all of his beard off and she helps him, tilting his head this and that way, even using scissors and a blade when needed. then it was his hair. he thought abt buzzing it all off but she just asked him to hand her to scissors and brush. So she cut almost all of his beautiful prince charming hair, left a little at the top then shaved the sides shorter, giving him a fade of some sort. and at the end when he looks at himself in the mirror he feels so naked. so different. 

“Wow, you look like my boyfriend, not my husband.” She says while standing behind him, looking at the bathroom mirror, a towel wrapped around her chest, hair wrapped in clingfilm. 

Ray frowns in confusion, a hand on his cheek, “Excuse me?”

“You look like my bad boy boyfriend who scares my parents, not my mature dilfy husband,” She says and Ray is still confused, “Do you like it?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like my face? Without the beard?” He asks, turning around to face her. 

She places a hand on his big shoulder, and squeezes the muscle, “I'd let you do unspeakable things to me with or without the beard, love.”

He smiles and rubs his eyes, “I need my glasses…”

“They're on the bed, I need to wash my hair,” She says, kissing him on the cheek and he hums, walking out of the bathroom with his hands on his hips, dad style.

[hes-the-muse]

Author's note: This is a reblog of my old fics to @hes-the-muse from when I didn't have my writing blogs figured out and when I first started writing. I might be reposting my own fics to @hes-the-muse from @thexhostess.

Ray’s Garden | Part 1 

Scent Series | Penhaligon’s Scent Library | Luna ☾ Endymion

‘The Moon Goddess’ bath is as soothing as it is seductive, much like her eau de toilette. It shines with orange, jasmine, soft rose and fir balsam. Relax. Sink in. Surrender has never felt so sweet.’ - Luna

‘Classical elegance befitting of Zeus’s most handsome son. A sparkle of bergamot dances off suede, coffee and geranium. An eau de cologne for the ages. Who can resist a man such as this?’ - Endymion

Notes: In a scent series I wear a perfume and think about the imagery it creates for me. I then use this inspiration and build up on the imagery I get. Here I am using the two perfumes described above. I also found the image of this beautiful expensive lingerie. I wanted the accompanying image to do justice to the type of lingerie a woman worthy of Ray would wear. Sexy and completely upmarket classy. The peekaboo feel of the plants and the rattan looks so dreamy and I can see her sitting on Ray’s patio. The cool lavender blue hues of the satin and the petals really fit with Luna the perfume. It has the scent of lavender coloured haze about it, something you might think the colour lavender/lilac smells like. I also love to have a soundtrack. I’ve used this one that plays with the colour motifs I’m using in the story. The lyrics included are in italics.

Raymond Smith x F Reader

Rating: ☑☐☐ = fluff

Song: Lana Del Rey - Cinnamon Girl

Words: 712

Tags: @rayslittlekitten and @hotdamnhunnam (I finally wrote something, I hope you don’t mind being tagged.)

Flowers sit on a malachite console table in Ray’s kitchen. Dark blooms of sumptuous plum, cool and melancholy lilac. Soft yellows contrast with the rich royal blue painted walls. An arrangement full and harmonious beginning to falter, stems bending under their own weighted beauty. Pollen falls onto the glossy green surface. 

‘Violet, blue, green, red to keep me at arm’s length don’t work ‘

Harmonious earth, the scent of the cool night breeze slips past your skin. You’ve been here for hours. The air is mixed with balsam fir and your ethereal veil of hazy violet and cold florals in Ray’s garden. You’re kneeling by the flower beds just out of view of the tented patio gathering flowers for the bouquet. You look through the shrubs and see the lamps just switched on in the evening light. Ray is at work late tonight. He told you you can stay as late as you like. And you decided to stay late.  

‘There’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live ‘

Keep reading

[musings-of-a-rose]

Camping Trip

Pairing: Will Miller x f!reader (nickname Autumn)

Word Count: 3400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. I don’t know. I just saw the picture in the upper right of my moodboard and came up with this. Ok fine I wrote the first 3 paragraphs in May and the rest now. Will and I are complicated, ok? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for reading and listening to my ramblings as always!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

It had been a rough few months, no doubt about that. Somehow, I survived. Made it to the solo camping trip I had been thinking about for months. It's nothing I haven't done before. Even the trails and campsite are familiar. Still, it had been a few years and I was itching to get away from the city and all the noises it pounds into my head.

I head down the backroads, the pine trees growing thicker the further out I get from the city. At first I pass a lot of cars, mostly traveling into the city. But after a while, when the trees are so tall I can't see over them, so thick I can barely see through them, I'm the only car on the road.

I see the sign for the campsite and turn, heading down the dirt path to the small parking lot about a half mile in from the road. There are a couple of other jeeps and trucks here, one of them belonging to the park ranger who sits inside the small welcome center/general store. I head inside to use the bathroom, the last little "luxury" I give myself before spending a week away from everyone.

"Hi mis- Autumn! Haven't seen you for what...3 years?"

I smile at the man behind the counter, giving him a little wave. "Hey Jay! You're still working here? I thought you'd have retired by now." I grab a couple of bags of the beef jerky they have on sale. It's made by a local farmer and I can only get it here.

Jay chuckles. "Next year. Maybe."

"Don't push yourself too hard, Jay."

"Oh! Mary had her baby! Course she's 3 now."

"Oh really? Damn, 3 already?”

Jay looks at me pointedly. “Well that’s what you get for taking so long to come back and visit.”

Before I can answer, the bell on the entrance door jingles out and Jay glances over my shoulder. “Afternoon, sir! Can I help you with anything?”

“Just a trail map, thanks.” His voice is a little raspy, like he hadn’t used it for a while. I turn to point to the map stand but am momentarily frozen. 

This man is gorgeous.

Tall, short blonde hair, slightly longer up top. Military or ex military judging by the cut and the way he holds himself. But his eyes meet mine, slate blue and what was I saying? 

Jay pinches my arm. “Show him the maps, Autumn.”

I force a small chuckle to Jay, quickly pulling my arm from his pinching fingers and walk towards the blonde man and am hit with the scent of pine, leather, and old spice. Normally I would not be into the latter on a man but the way it mixes with his natural scent is going straight to my head. And other places.

“Here,” I somehow manage to walk past him and grab a map from the spinning holder, turning to hand it to him. The man takes it, his eyes twinkling before he gives me a quick wink.

“Thanks, darlin’.” His eyes quickly flick down my body, or maybe I’m imagining it? 

“You check the weather before coming, sir?”

His eyes are on mine still for another moment before he turns to address Jay. “Yeah I did. This isn’t my first time camping.”

Jay nods. “Military?”

The man chuckles. “Vet. Am I that obvious?”

Jay shrugs. “Not exactly. I just know people. Well, as long as you know what you’re in for. Shouldn’t be too bad but just make sure to stay warm. Not sure how long you’ll be here but if ever a blizzard alert comes up, you come right back here, ok? There’s a small cabin out back that’s open to campers 24/7.”

“Thanks.” The man takes his map, declining Jay’s offer of a bag. He glances back over at me. “See you later, darlin’.”

Fuck. Me. “See you!”

It takes me the usual couple of days to make it to my favorite spot, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I break through the trees, the breathtaking view of the mountains and lake spread out before me. It feels like coming home. 

I get to work setting up my camp, fire and tent good to go, my food hanging from a bag in a tree. I managed to find a place with a good fallen log, perfect for sitting on or against and close enough to the fire so I can keep warm. The wind blows through the nettles of the tall pines around me, the cool, misty breeze coating the exposed skin on my face. I take a deep breath in and out. I really missed being here. 

I do turn on my high powered radio to listen to the weather report twice a day, making sure nothing unexpected is coming. There’s something the weathermen are looking at, but they don’t think it’ll be anything. Still, the temps are sure to drop in a couple of days and there may be a bit of snow. I’m prepared for it, but it’s still good to know. 

A couple days later, I’m about a half mile from camp, walking along the trail near the lake. So far, I’ve seen a couple of deer and a ton of birds. I’m stopped, leaning against a tree trunk to take a quick break when I hear the sound of footsteps on the path ahead. I know I’m not the only one camping, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t instantly on alert. Another couple of seconds of hearing the sound and I know it’s human. From around the curve of the path emerges the man from Jay’s, his pack full and looking heavy. He sounds a little winded and had obviously been walking for a bit. I straighten myself and wave to him.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you here!”

The man glances at me and smiles, the same one from the shop. “Hey…Autumn?”

I nod. I tell him my real name. “But Jay’s been calling me Autumn since I first came to this trail.”

“Let me guess. It was during Autumn?”

I chuckle. “Jay is original.”

He comes closer, but stops several feet away, breathing heavier. “I’m Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will.”

He nods to me. “Same.”

He still doesn’t move. “I don’t bite, you know.”

He cocks his head, confused, but then seems to piece it together. “Oh. Well, I didn’t want to freak you out by invading your space.”

I’m fairly positive if this man wanted to take me down, he could’ve done that, several feet away with a pack on or no. “Thank you. That’s…unexpected. And kind.”

“Don’t other people do that?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Oh. Well they should.”

I shrug. “Maybe….but Will, you can come closer. It’s alright.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

He remains rooted to the spot. “You don’t think I’ll take advantage of you?”

I snort. “I’m fairly positive you could’ve done that already, Mr. Military. Don’t threaten me with a good time.” What the fuck did I just say?

I swear I see the tips of his ears turn pink as he chuckles, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. “A good time it would be.”

He comes closer and I gesture towards my bag which is resting against a log. He takes his own off and sets it beside mine, shrugging and stretching his shoulders a bit. “I really should’ve taken a break before now. Gettin’ old sucks.”

I chuckle, my eyes roaming down his arms, the flannel on his shirt hugging his biceps in all the right ways. 

“You look in great shape to me.” 

His eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for several moments before I blink, shaking my head a little to rid myself of the not at all PG thoughts I was having.

“So…are you trying to make it back to that cabin before the weather moves in?”

Will clears his throat, giving his own head a little shake before crossing his arms across his broad chest. “That was the plan.”

“Have you listened to the weather station today?”

He furrows his brows and I melt. “No, why?”

“The uh..storm? Is moving a little faster than they thought. No way you’ll make it back to Jay’s cabin before it starts to pick up.”

“Shit.” Will sighs, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I really thought I’d be able to make it but my leg was acting up.” 

I can tell he’s not used to this, needing breaks. He seems like the kind of guy that just pushes through the pain. Until it pushes back.

“Come on. You can stay with me.” I push back from the tree and lean down to get my pack, swinging it up on my back. When I look back up at Will, he’s staring at me, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Did you just invite me to your camp?”

I adjust the straps on my shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s get going so that way we aren’t stuck.”

“You trust me?”

I click the last strap into place across my chest before I look at him. “I thought we established that I do.”

He studies me for a long moment, his eyes moving between mine and I swear he glances down at my lips. “You sure you have the space?”

I shrug. “May be a little bit of a squeeze but temps are dropping anyway. We can always find a way to get warm.” What did I just say?

A small smirk spreads across his beautiful face. “I’m sure we can, darlin’.” He leans down and grabs his own pack, situating it on his back before he gestures to me. “Lead the way.”

Talking to Will is easy, comforting almost. He tells me about his time in the army, Delta Force, and his brothers, including his real life brother Benny. A golden retriever of a man if I ever heard of one. He asks me questions about my life and listens intently, actually interested in what I have to say. Before I know it, we’re back at my camp. Will stops for a moment, staring out over the lake at the mountain behind it and whistles. “You found a hell of a view.”

“Thanks. It took me a couple years to find but now it’s like home.”

Will helps me start a fire and get food cooking, laughter and conversation flows just as easily as before and I find myself gravitating towards him, physically. But he also seems to be scooting closer and closer until our legs are nearly touching. Snowflakes start to fall, coming in faster and thicker.

“We should probably get the sleeping bags set up before it gets hard to see,” Will suggests, his breath puffing out in tendrils in front of him. 

“Good idea.”

Will gets the outside of our little camp ready as the sun starts to dip and night comes. We manage to get in the tent before the snow really starts to come down. It’s a little bigger than a one room tent, but we’re still pretty snug in here now that there’s two of us. And he’s so fucking broad. I shift my sleeping bag over a bit more and Will slides his down next to mine. He looks between our bags and then up at me, his eyebrows pulled together in slight concern.

“What is it?” I ask nervously.

“It’s…nevermind.”

I punch his arm and have to choke back a scream at how firm it is. “Just tell me.”

He chuckles while he dramatically rubs his arm. “Ouch,” he smirks as I roll my eyes. “But we should zip our bags together. For warmth. It’s about to get pretty cold.”

“William Miller. Are you asking to get in my sleeping bag with me?”

He shifts nervously, his ear tips turning red. “No! I uh, that’s not… I mean, it’s basic survival. I didn’t mean.. I don’t want you to think-”

I laugh then, cutting him off. “Chill out, Will. I know how you meant it. You’re a nice guy. I just like watching you blush.”

He rubs at his face. “You’re dangerous.”

“How dare you, good sir. I am a lady.”

He snorts and I swear under his breath he says “I bet you are.”

We get the bags zipped together and slide down in them, trying to leave as much space as we could between us. After several minutes of us shuffling around awkwardly, Will chuckles.

“You wanna be the big spoon or the little one?”

My laughter rings out in the tent joining his, tears streaming down my face at this brilliant tension breaker. “I’ll be little,” I choke out. I turn around, facing my back towards him. I feel him scoot closer and heat instantly rushes through my body, pooling between my thighs. Can he hear how my heart is about to beat from my chest?

“Is this ok?” Will’s breath fans out over my neck, goosebumps erupting in it’s wake. 

“Uh..I uh…y-yeah. All good. Is it uh, close enough? For survival, I mean.”

Will clears his throat. “Uh, well I mean. We should probably be, uh, closer. To stay warm. For survival, of course.”

“Well if it’s for survival, scoot as close as you want.”

He makes a choking sound but shifts closer, his body molding to mine. I can feel his hand hovering, unsure of where to place it. I reach back and take it, gently placing it on my hip, trying to ignore the heat that immediately ignites, flowing down between my legs. The wind blows outside, the tent rustling with it. I shift my hips a little and Will’s grip on my hip tightens, his fingers digging into my skin. And I can feel something else pressing against my ass and I swallow hard.

“You’re going to have to stop moving around, darlin’. Please.” He chokes out the last word, sounding restrained. 

I take a deep breath. “What if I don’t want to?”

His grip tightens even more and I know I’ll bruise if he keeps it up. And I don’t care if I do. 

“I’m trying really hard to be respectful, Autumn.”

I glance over my shoulder at him. “Don’t be respectful then.”

A quiet growl emanates from him. “What are you saying?”

I make sure I have his gaze. “Be disrespectful. If it’s permission you want, you have it.” 

He watches me for a long moment before I feel him shift, his arm that’s not gripping my hip sliding under my neck. He twists his wrist, sliding it down to unbutton my shirt, his hand finding it’s way down my shirt and under my bra, gently swiping his fingers over my nipple. But at the same time, his other hand slowly moves from my hip, pulling my leg up and over his own, his hand gently teasing my skin as he pushes it under my pantline and between my legs, another groan when he feels how wet I am. I gasp as he nips at my shoulder. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, Autumn.”

I try to respond, but instead a moan escapes me as his fingers start to play with me, gentle circles with alternating pressure as all my blood rushes between my legs, that fire igniting rather quickly. 

“Will, I’m gonna…” I’m not entirely sure what I say as I come, my leg twitching as my body soars, pleasure radiating out from between my thighs, spreading throughout me.

“Feeling warm?” Will speaks deeply in my ear, nibbling a little on my ear lobe.

I nod, my head flying already. “You didn’t even take my clothes off.”

He chuckles against my neck. “I told you I was respectful.”

Surprising even myself, I reach behind me and grab him over his pants. He grunts but pushes against my hand, no doubt relieving some of the pressure. I turn my head towards him, my lips barely brushing his. “Please, Will.”

His eyes are like a storm at sea, blue and wild, darkening. “Tell me.”

I take his hand and push it between my legs where I was growing wetter by the second as I push my hips back, grinding on him. He grunts in my ear. “You gotta stop doing that or I won’t be able to hold myself.”

My hand, still over his, pushes his fingers towards my entrance, his thick fingers circling me, heat and anticipation swirling around me. “D-don’t hold yourself back. Fuck me, Will. Please,” I’m not above begging at this point, his finger continuing to edge me along. But then he’s pulling his hand out of my pants, trying to sit up but struggling because we’re in a sleeping bag. 

“Take off your clothes before I rip them off.”

That command went straight through me, my fingers moving quickly to take off all my clothes, tossing them out of the sleeping bag. Will does the same on his own, starting his own neater pile outside of the sleeping bag. I lay back down, assuming he’ll want the same position. His fingers skim across my side, watching the goosebumps pimple up. But then he pushes my hip down, turning me on my back as he slides over my body, my legs opening as wide as I can to give him space. He’s heavy, fuck he’s so much bigger than I thought as he presses against my clit, hot and pulsing. His eyes find mine, a dark twinkle in them as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. I part them and he slides his tongue inside, the kiss quickly heating up as he starts to move his hips. He slides himself over me, back and forth across my clit, swallowing my moans. My fingers dig at his back, silently begging him for more. The pressure is so intense, so much, that if he doesn’t fuck me now, I may just pop. Or go insane. 

Then Will gently takes my wrists, pinning them on either side of my head. His hips shift and with a confident stride, he pushes into me, my head pressing back into the pillow as I feel the pleasant burn, my body stretching to accept him, all of him. He pulls his hips back and pushes in, this time with a little more force and I feel a jolt through my body as he hits some spot at the back of me. I whine as Will continues to fuck me, slowly but forcefully, heat coursing through me. And then, I snap, crying out his name as I squeeze around him, my entire body lighting up and carrying me away from myself, my release made more intense by being pinned under him, unable to move away from the intense pleasure. 

Will’s breaths are heavy, panting out with restraint, like he’s holding himself back. He kisses me again, hard, nipping at my bottom lip before pulling back and out, but before I have a chance to feel too empty, he somehow flips me on my belly, my boobs pressing into the sleeping bag as he arcs my hips up just enough for him to slide in easily, my body greedily taking him in. He lays on top of me, his arms over mine as he laces his fingers with my hands. The weight of him both on and in me sends heat right back between my legs. He bites at my neck and shoulder as he fucks into me, deeper and harder with every thrust until I’m coming again, screaming his name into my pillow as I feel his hips sputter, Will whining in my ear as he spills inside of me. His body slumps against mine, both of us trying to catch our breath. Eventually, he slides off of me and to my side, turning me and pulling me to his chest. He nuzzles in my hair, wrapping his arms around me again, one massive hand holding a boob.

“Warm enough?” Will whispers in my ear.

“Mmm..” I respond. “You didn’t tell me you could fuck, Will.”

He chuckles and kisses my neck. “I’m restricted by this sleeping bag, darlin’. I did the best I could.”

The whine that escapes me is loud. “I’d love to see that.��

“Well when I’m done with you after this camping trip darlin’, you’re going to need some time to recover. And then I plan on showing you exactly how my fucking is.”

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