#if you've been on the fence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mickandmusings · 10 months ago

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third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #twisters #glen powell #Tyler Owens x you #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you

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monstersholygrail · 11 months ago

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Dinner is served

Pairing: Minotaur husband x fem!reader — oral (f! receiving), horn stimulation, cum eating, aftercare

You always figured yourself to be a traditional person. You know, you wanted the husband, the house, the white picket fence. The whole nine yards.

You had also always gone for the traditional man. Big muscles, tough and strong, a protector and a provider. It was the type you always tended to gravitate toward.

Your ex had been that kind of person. The kind of man who expected dinner and a stiff drink waiting for him as soon as he got home. For a while you enjoyed it, taking care of someone. But eventually you realized that while you took care of him, he never took care of you.

Now you still prefer a nice traditional guy. Your new husband is just as traditional, preferring dinner to be ready and waiting as soon as he comes home.

Only now the meal is you.

Minotaur husband comes to walking into your shared home, hooves booming against the wood floors due to his size. He lifts his nose and breathes in a long whiff. A heavenly mixture of your scent and his comes rolling into his nose and he shudders.

Walking into the dining room he's disgruntled to find you not where he expected you to be. With his impatience simmering he calls out your name.

"Why isn't dinner on the table?" He adds, his voice rising in order for you to hear him, wherever you were off too. You come prancing in a moment later, the dress you're wearing providing him easy access.

"Sorry! It was a nightmare getting this thing on," you tease, falling into their waiting arms and rising onto your toes for a kiss. Your husband responds immediately with a fierce determination to consume you. His claws squeezing at your soft hips and pulling your small body into his ginormous stature. You shiver at the way he so easily surrounds you. How he could so easily crush you yet you've never felt safer than when you're in his arms. A smirk plays on his lips as you two break away.

"Well, get on up there," he says through gritted teeth in attempts to hide how eager he is to devour his meal. His hand slides down, giving your ass an appreciative slap. A small yelp leaves you as you fall to your feet.

Tossing him a scolding look, you head deeper into the dining room. Hopping up on the table and reclining. You watch your husband walk past you, his gaze very much intent on one thing. As he sits down at the head of the table, your legs automatically widen for him, resulting in a gruff snort of praise.

With his claws digging gently into your thighs, your husband dives right in, his long thick tongue splitting your folds open with ease. You cry out, gripping the table as he feasts on your cunt. His slobbering tongue lapping up your essence before delving deeply in your walls.

A short gasp of pleasure breaks through you and your hands shoot out, gripping the base of your husband's horns. Your Minotaur husband moans, hips jolting, and causing his bulge to nudge the underside of the table. You tighten your hold on his horns, shrieking as the table rattles below you.

"That's it. Hold on tight," your husband growls against your pussy, sending vibrations through your clit. You whimper loudly as he continues his feast with a feral vigor, tongue fucking you that he's been counting down the minutes till he could get between your legs. And you're sure he was.

His broad tongue reaches deep inside you, caressing your g-spot with every thrust. Your moans rise in frequency, another ripping out of you with every swipe of his tongue that consumes you.

Before you know it you're gushing on his tongue, using your grip on his horns to burry him in your pussy so you can grind on his face. Your husband grunts out his pleasure, making sure to swallow every bit of your release and lick up every drop he might've missed.

You shake against the table, your high still moving through you in waves. But your hands slide down to cup his dampened cheeks as he raises his head to look at you, gaze still sparking with lust.

His hands massage as your legs in attempts to calm the tremors. He looks over your weakened state and knows he should wait. Besides, he can't fuck you on a dining room table again. This is the tenth one he's bought in three months, the salespeople practically know him by name at this point.

"How about I start on the rest of dinner while you calm down, love?" He asks, the rumble in his voice filled to the brim with restrained need. He goes to stand up when he sees your pouting face.

"Take me with you?" You ask gently, your voice croaking slightly. Your husband's heart melts and there's no way he can deny you. Not that he'd ever decide to spend time away from you anyway when given the choice.

He scoops up your pliant body in his arms with ease. Your weight absolutely nothing to a man of his size. He keeps you huddled against the short fur of his body as he heads into the kitchen where he'll cook you both dinner as you sit all pretty on the counter. Only helping when you want.

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sourpeachsayshi · 11 months ago

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minors / ageless/ blank blogs dni

I have this very, very specific domestic/smutty hc regarding toji (late 30s-early 40s) and reader (late 20's-early 30s) in which his sex drive is lower than yours:

he knows that he can't keep up with you in the bedroom. the man gives it his all when he fucks you - you are practically on the fence of passing out from how many orgasms he draws out of you. but it takes him a while to get that motor back up and running afterward. sure, he'll give you a helping hand sometimes, but he doesn't have sex as often as he used to nor is he in the mood for it either. you've both had conversations about it, and you've been together long enough to understand the other person's needs.

but, but - this specific idea just sits in my head because he thinks it's extremely hot that he can hear you in your shared bedroom, door slightly ajar whenever you're masturbating. hear you whimper, moan and whine loudly. the buzz of your sex toys or the bed creaking with however which way you choose to pleasure yourself. the sound of your favorite porn videos in the background. your lewd behavior on full display to the man you trust the most.

you can barely walk when you stumble out. his shirt unevenly buttoned and concealing your naked body as you try to lead your trembling legs towards him while he's in the living room watching tv. he welcomes you with open arms as you crawl onto his lap.

the smell of sex clings to your skin like the sweetest perfume. he kisses your cheek, a devilish grin on his face as he takes you in. "out of your system?" he asks smugly, and you nod your head a little breathless as you wrap your arms around his neck.

sometimes you'll make a demand - ask him to use one of your toys or replicate something you watched in a porn video. he just chuckles and kisses the top of your head. says he'll take note for next time.

"had fun?" he asks as he switches the channel, "need me to get you any water?"

you hum out a no, your eyes falling heavy as you slowly fall asleep in his arms.

he may not be able to keep up with pleasing you in the physical sense, but that man is always there for the aftercare regardless of the circumstances.

bonus: it also makes his ego FLARE when he hears you moaning out his name over and over and over again...

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fluff #toji smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro fluff

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thinkinonsense · 8 months ago

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PAST LIFE⋆

dofp!logan howlett x mutant fem!reader

cw:fingering, cursing, dirty talk, mentions of motherhood, fluff

masterlist

logan should've known when he accepted the mission to come go back in time to stop the sentinels that you would still be here.

"is there an issue here, hank?"

the sound of your voice made logan's heart flutter. you were barely peaking out from behind the door but logan could see you just fine. he couldn't stop staring.

"no, everything's fine." hank assured you. just as you turned to return to charles's office, you heard the door burst open. this handsome stranger hits hank right in the nose before continuing up the stairs to you.

logan had to take you in for a second. his beautiful future wife stood in front of him and had absolutely no clue that they were married because she was only twenty-five years old.

had you always been this gorgeous? was that even fair? all of these were questions that floated around in his mind.

"who are you and what do you want?" you asked as he reached out to touch you.

"so you've always been this beautiful, huh, princess?" he purred, tucking away a piece of your hair behind your ear.

sure, he was attractive in his brown leather jacket and sunglasses but this man looked in his mid-forties. logan was too busy staring down at your frilly yellow babydoll dress to notice where you were looking at him. his left hand; more specifically the gold band on his ring finger.

"i don't mess with married men." you glare at him. he can't help but chuckle darkly down at your innocence.

"oh, my wife wouldn't mind."

god, logan felt like such a pervert for coming on to you but he couldn't help it. your ethereal beauty was unreal. not that you have aged much since the present day, as you two have the slow aging processes in common. older hank would always tell logan that he should be lucky that you agreed to date him because there were plenty of people who would love to take his place. sure, logan believed him but now, he really understood what hank meant.

"where's charles at, sweetheart?" logan asks, inhaling your floral sent.

before you can respond, charles comes barreling down the stairs drunkenly calling after you.

"where've you been?" he asked you then turned to logan. "who the hell are you?"

this should be good.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"how do we know that you're actually from the future?" you asked, sitting atop charles desks, swinging your legs. hank and charles stood outside in the hallway discussing whether or not to trust logan.

"you've always been this stubborn?" logan says under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"how do we even know each other in the future?" you finally asked.

for the past hour, this man has tried to sell this absurd story about how future charles and magneto sent him here together to save mutants from sentinels. so far he's managed to convince charles but hank and you were still on the fence.

"we're married, sweetheart." logan smirks wickedly.

there was absolutely no way that you two were married. this man is grumpy, mean-looking, and wears dark brown leather. you are an academic scholar who adores pastels and helping other mutants. he had to have you mistaken.

you squint up at him and laugh, "we are married?"

logan nods, walking over to you until he's standing between your legs.

"tell me something only i would know then."

"your favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry, you hate the cold and winter, anytime you drink coffee you get nightmares, your favorite color is green, but your favorite shade is the color my eyes get when i look at you." logan could see the way your eyes widen, slowly starting to believe him more and more. he couldn't help but feel cocky. "would you like me to continue?"

"im not sure... think you're gonna have to prove it. another way." you challenge him. logan's hand trails up your thigh, playing with the soft yellow material.

"c'mon sweetheart, this is too easy." he mutters against your neck, placing soft kisses and nibbling on the skin.

logan knew you like the back of his hand. he knew exactly what you liked and disliked. sometimes you would even tell him that he knew you better than you knew yourself.

"you like when i pull your bottom lip when we kiss. you blush every time i offer for you to sit on my face. one of your favorite ways to fuck is pressed up against a wall or bent over a table..." logan could go on and on.

"we do that...?" you whisper embarrassed by this version of yourself, trying to avoid his burning gaze.

"oh, all the time. sometimes you pull me down on the floor when i come home, begging to ride me right then and there." logan says, once he captures your attention again. you chew on your bottom lip adorably.

a small whimper passes your lips before you remember that hank and charles aren't that far away from the room. one of your hands comes up to logan's chest, slightly pushing him back despite not wanting to.

"w-we should stop." you warn him. "they can hear us."

this was when logan knew that you hadn't discovered part of your mutation yet. he had already assumed that you hadn't but this confirmed it.

"need you to relax, princess," he says, moving higher up to your jaw. your body betrays everything your mouth says, eating out of the palm of his hand. "i promise once you relax, it'll feel like time has stopped."

logan's lips taunt yours; not quite giving you what you want. fed up, you overpower him and push his lips into yours. the only word floating around in your head was 'relax'.

carefully, logan lays you back on the desk. something about being held in the stranger's arms set you at ease; maybe he was your husband?

"you don't know this yet..." logan huffs. "but you can stop time."

you scoff, thinking that you caught him in a lie. "no, i can't."

"if you relax like i said, then you can." logan mutters against your collarbone.

one of his hands slides up your thigh while the other rubs circles on your hip bone. was this wrong of you? if he is telling the truth –and it seems like he is– then technically he is your husband and it's not wrong to mess around with your husband.

"open up for me, babydoll." logan mumbled against your collarbones, placing wet kisses and nibbling on the delicate skin.

your legs spread with ease as his callused fingers rub over your cotton panties. the soft material of your dress is bunched at your tummy as he tugs your panties off, pocketing them for himself. his thumb returns to rub your button.

"p-please..." you whimper, looking up at logan with bambi eyes. "need more."

"anything for you, princess." he groans, slipping two fingers inside of you as gently as he can. this earned a loud moan from you when he nudged that spot deep in your gummy walls with ease.

"see how well i know my wife?" logan gloats, pressing soft kisses to your lips but never letting you catch him. "you usually prefer it rougher than this but i'm not cruel."

"y-you can go... can go faster." you pant, never having anything quite his size yet.

"i don't want to hurt you, baby." he says in a condescending tone. "wanna know something 'bout the future?"

it was difficult but you managed to nod your head despite how clearly fucked out you were at this point.

"a couple weeks ago, you came home telling me how much you want to be a mom; how you've always wanted to be a mom." he pulls back to look at your pretty face, lust darkening your eyes and slick pouring out of you, practically dripping down his palm onto the desk. "so, every chance we get alone you've been begging for me to go raw inside of you."

logan loved how even as you're all spread out for him, you're still blushing at his filthy words.

"look at you, blushing while you soak my hand." he mocks with a smirk.

"i'm s-so close, please!" you beg so politely.

his thick fingers pick up the pace as you clench down on them; jaw dropped and head thrown back. logan's other hand supports your back while your cute painted blue nails dig into his wrist as your climax starts to wash over you.

"hey sweetheart, look out the window." he chuckles, moving your chin to stare hazily out the glass window.

you couldn't believe it. every car, bird, street light, everything was stopped. everything but you and logan.

"how did you know that i could...?"

"you can't always control it but when you calm your mind, it's easier for you to do it."

"does it always happen when we...?"

"when we have sex...?" logan chuckles as you hide yourself in his chest. you nod. "no. over time you've found ways to control it. sometimes if we need more time, you might manipulate it."

"future me sounds cool." you giggle, lifting up to look at him. "how do we meet?"

"i can't tell you that." he smiles.

"well, then where are you in this timeline? how can i meet you sooner?"

"i'm not a very good man during this time, baby. you'll meet me when the time is right."

"what if you don't want me then? how do you know we will still get together?"

logan looks down at your pouty lips, swiping his thumb across it.

"i'll always come back for you. no matter the timeline or where we are in life; i'll find you again."

"promise?"

"i promise you, sweetheart. don't worry that beautiful mind of yours." he assures, kissing the tear strolling down your cheek.

logan reaches down and kisses you tenderly, pulling you out of the time freeze. suddenly the door swings open on the two of you. thank god, logan had quick reflexes, pulling your dress back down to cover you.

charles calls your name and then asks, "what are you doing?"

"it's okay, he's my husband."

a loud laugh escapes logan at your lovey-dovey tone, almost making hank and charles eyes fall out of their heads. you couldn't wait to meet logan again in the future.

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dilf-docs · 4 months ago

Text

To The Devil I Know

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing, dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love, dad!bod joel bc i say so (yummy), no angst (wtf dilf-docs? the angst gods are so pissed off rn)

word count: 7,195 words

side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"

It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.

When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.

"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"

You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.

"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"

You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.

"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"

In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.

"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"

"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.

"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"

"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."

"Did you just call me fat?"

You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.

"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"

He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"

Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.

"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"

"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"

You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.

"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"

"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"

Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.

"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"

Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.

"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"

"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.

"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"

Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And we're taking my truck"

"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?

He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.

"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"

You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.

He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:

Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.

Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.

You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.

If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.

"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.

You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:

"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"

As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.

"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"

You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.

You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"

"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"

Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"

He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.

A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.

"Damn right you don't"

You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.

"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"

"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.

He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:

"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"

But you hear.

You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.

"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."

"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.

The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.

"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"

"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.

Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.

"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"

"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.

"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.

"You'll have to prove that"

You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.

"Prove that?"

You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.

"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"

But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.

"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.

You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.

On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.

"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"

"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"

"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"

You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.

"It's... not here"

"You might have left it in the car" she tries to help.

"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"

You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.

"Lost somethin'?"

You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.

"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car"

"Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.

You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.

"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault. He may feel it too, by the way he takes a step back, putting some distance.

"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.

"No" you mentally slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"

You look back one last time, despite it all. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car.

"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.

Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.

"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"

She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop you from feeling sick.

That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses, as if something is holding him back.

Anytime.

You can't help but wonder what stopped him.

Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.

Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.

Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.

The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.

Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.

The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gnaws your chest.

He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.

You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.

"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"

"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.

"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.

Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.

But you won't let him win.

"Mr. Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you married?"

He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"

"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.

He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.

"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"

"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"

He scoffs. "Still hella young"

"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.

"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"

You loose your patience.

"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"

Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.

"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"

"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.

When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.

"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"

You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.

"I think I know what you want"

"How? You don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.

Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trail. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, peppering the skin with fluttering kisses to entertain your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. Joel whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his lips.

You haven't even started yet.

"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"

You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.

"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.

"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.

It was all so fucked up.

But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.

"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"

The praise gets to you, even if not needed.

Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.

"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.

He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.

You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.

"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.

You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.

"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.

And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:

"Y/n"

You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.

Joel said your name.

Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.

Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.

"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"

He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.

"But do you?"

Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.

He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.

But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.

Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.

He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.

But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.

He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.

"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.

"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.

"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"

Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.

"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.

"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.

"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.

"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"

So you do.

You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.

But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.

You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.

"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.

Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"

If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.

"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.

"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"

So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.

Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.

And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you like a kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.

"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"

Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:

"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"

He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"

"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.

"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"

You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.

"Do you think I'd risk me and my best friend's safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.

The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.

"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"

"I won't tell you shit" you spit.

"You little minx, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for'er daddy's cock?"

The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.

Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.

"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.

"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"

You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.

"What are you-"

"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"

As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.

"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.

"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"

You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.

"Good girl"

He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"

The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.

"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"

You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.

"Yes, I'll be"

"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"

"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"

"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"

You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.

"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"

You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.

"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"

The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.

"Joel" you breathe out.

He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.

"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"

He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller"

"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.

But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.

"Who gave you permission to do that?" but his voice sounds more amused than nagging. "That imagination of yours is somethin' else. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time, hmh, greedy dirty slut?"

The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits. He pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.

"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"

You laugh breathless, trying to recover.

"Wanna taste?"

So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you. You've never wanted anything, hell, anyone more. The kiss leaves you hanging, heart racing at the closeness of his face and the warmhearted feeling of his lips on yours, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"

He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.

You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, round as it pushes above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch.

"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk under your stare.

"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.

Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.

Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin.

He positions himself between your legs again.

"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"

He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.

Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.

"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.

The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.

"I will, Mr. Miller"

He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.

"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.

You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.

"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"

His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.

"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"

The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.

"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.

This is real.

You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.

"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"

His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.

"Take it all, like the good girl you are"

Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.

He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in and out by him. No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.

"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.

But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs / tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #bfd!joel miller #bfd!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction #to the devil i know series

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josephquinnswhore · 5 months ago

Text

somewhere only we know - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts.

word count: 3.3k

content warning: emotionally unavailable reader, depiction of readers ptsd, public sex, being caught, raw p in v, tension!!! Age gap implied but unspecified, creampie, exhibitionism, choking, breath play, f orgasm, m orgasm, dom! Joel. Not proof read lol.

an: inspired by the song ‘somewhere only we know,’ by Keane. good to listen to while reading :) @sunshineispunk 🫶🏼

More often than not you’d find yourself in this position, stuck in thought, eyes in an emotionless glare off into the distance as you attempt to escape the reality around you. All of the noise, chattering, even the wind whipping your hair around your face all seemed unnoticed by you.

So much had changed from the previous years, where you struggled to find canned food, living off of very little from foraging. With the group you’d been caught up in, all of the slaughtering, merciless killing of men and women, families. All for a torn up jacket, or a can of two decade old beans.

There was blood on your hands, so much of it, even if you werent the one to pull the trigger, or plunge the knife deep into someone's flesh and bone. The blood and bodies accumulated, so did the guilt.

Being in Jackson felt wrong for many reasons, you were a deplorable human, yet you were living now–lavishly. Electricity, hot showers, warm clothes and a full stomach. Hell, even a giant christmas tree in the centre of the civilised town.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

What about those people that died? Their children, the women, the men. Good people.

Jackson winters are harsher than any you’d ever endured, the wind swirls around the snow jacket and penetrates your skin, landing on your skin and spreading like an infection. Your hands are freezing, fingertips red from being exposed.

He always knew where to find you, how much you torture yourself with guilt. He offered the hand that wiped your tears, the ear that listened to you as you sobbed into his chest. The heart that offered a home for you. Somewhere only you knew. Offering you a haven within him that he had opened for you alone. It was simple, really.

That was the worst part, that he had willingly opened his door, his arms, given you his heart on a silver platter. Falling for a man that tried, that gave you all he had. He could just as easily pull it all out from underneath you.

His multitude attempts of courting you, asking you to be his girl–all gone unanswered or denied. So he stopped asking, knowing that when the time was right you’d come to him.

Joel was aging, he would take any minute he could to spend with you unknowing of what day would end everything. The risk climbs with each patrol.

He knows where you’ll be, by the back of the stables, watching the horses as they play in the snow that had fallen on the ground over the past week. The snow surrenders under his feet, walking the pathway to you he knew like the back of his hand.

With the softest voice he could muster, he attempts not to startle you. “Hey.” He leans on the fence beside you, his elbow barely grazes your own. “Everythin’ okay? You've been here a while, ain’cha?”

It stings, to turn and look at him. The muscles in your neck seem frozen as you manage a small smile, realising that you've been leaning against the wooden fence for a while, the sky is thick and dark with snowcloud. Snowflakes fall around the two of you.

“Just thinkin’,” you clear your throat and manage to choke out. Inhaling sharply, you wiggle your nose in an attempt to clear the mucus from your cold nose.

Turning to face you, he knows what's going on within you, although the two of you weren't exclusive, he knew what the two of you shared. Something that felt so fragile in moments like this. He hums, gravelly noise cuts through the wind.

In a swift pivot, he's turning to face you, his gloved hands delicately brush the hair from your vision. “What is it?”

“Everything,” You're barely able to look at him, managing a quick sideways glance. The last thing you wanted right now was to start breaking down. Moments of you opening up were sparse, and Joel knew now was not one of those times.

He had to treat carefully, nursing your emotions delicately so you wouldn’t back away, start rebuilding your walls he had carefully and pliantly plucked one by one. To get here, where the two of you were, had taken months.

Dropping his hand to cradle your stiff neck, with gentle encouragement manages to coax you to face him, a gloved thumb caresses your cold cheeks. “Everything’s a lot to be thinkin’ about.” He utters in thought, “wanna tell me about it?”

Conflicting, the ache in your chest. Guilt. The urge to blurt it all out in one ugly, uttering cry, as if it were some dirty confession. “Not particularly.”

His brows furrowing were a response of disappointment, knowing that if he weren't careful you would brazenly resort back to isolating yourself. “You know how much I care about you.” Preferring a statement, a confession, it left no room for you to start questioning yourself.

“I know.” Part of you cracks a tight lipped smile.

The forced smile doesn't appease Joel, his own lips tight, hand curling around your jaw to look at him. Things seemed particularly bad today, he recognised. “Stop lyin’ to yourself an’ me, tell me the truth.” the attempt to coax you failed, with you pulling away from the gentle grasp on your cheek.

As you pull away from Joel's touch, your skin feels cold. All of you feel cold. It felt so wrong to pull away from him, but to confront the fiery flames of truth–you would bear the cold.

His hand falls to his side, the ever tugging frown on his features deepens as you pull away from him. Refusing any comfort he offers, a noticeable feat between you. The exhausted expression on your face, eyes weary, and now defeated silence.

But Joel had questions, something he desperately needed an answer to. “Are you happy?”

It was a loaded question, confronting. Are you happy here. With him. With your life. You can’t manage to decipher which one of those probabilities he wants answered. So it seems impossible to come up with an answer that was acceptable. “What do you want me to say Joel, that I’m thriving?”

Of course you resort to lashing out. “I want the truth,” his eyes take you in, the way you stiffen as he refused to be spooked by your natural act of stoicism. He shifts on his feet, you bet the cold is starting to take a toll on his aching joints.

The silence had become unbearable. “I'm miserable, Joel.”

“What is it that’s makin’ you miserable–”

With a stern warning, you interrupt him. “Don't go there.”

Each emotion you felt in this moment, guarded but vulnerable to him. He knew what was causing this turmoil. Him. your feelings for him.

“It’s me.” He utters matter of factly between you, looking over the fence as the horses whine and run inside the stable as the snowflakes start to fall faster. His hand contemplates holding your hand, realising that they are bare. Deciding against it, he pulls off his own gloves, sliding them onto your own.

“You ain’t happy because of me.” his bare fingers run through the hair at the back of his head and rub his neck as he exhales deeply.

Fixing the warm gloves on your fingers, it feels like you’re getting some much needed circulation. “It ain't like that.”

He was trying to give you the flexibility to open up to him at your own accord, but he's beginning to hurt, wondering if his love will be unacquainted until he’s buried beneath the soil, if your hand would be the one to push him in with an unwelcome gaze.”Then tell me what it’s like..” he pushes again.

All he wanted was for you to drop the veil, to reach forward and bring you to his chest and remind you that he was here, always had been.

“I need to learn to live without you.”

You can't swallow the shocked expression on his face, now bare fingers clutching onto the fence, the warmth of his palm melting the snowflakes that had fallen there. “You think I wouldn't miss you if you just walked away from this?”

“Don’t,” you plead, he was breaking your guard down.

Vulnerability and desperation roll of his tongue in a firm utterance. “I would.”

Deciding against what your reaction might be, he reaches out and takes a hold of your hands, thumb rubbing against the leather in an attempt to soothe you, to calm you before you could flee.

“I go on missin’ you as it is. You go on days without lettin’ me in. I can't stand it, everyday i don't see you is hell knowing you’re right there an’ dont wanna see me. Knowin’ you don't wanna be mine.”

Pulling away from his grip again, you step away from the fence, fleeing. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do this to me.”

With one long stride forward he's snatching your wrist, turning you back around to face him. God dammit, he was trying. He wanted to be everything you need. If you would just let him in.

He growls at the realisation. “Don’t what, huh? Say how I feel because you won't.”

“I’m fucked up!” You shout, emotion thick in your throat, unable to pull away from his vice like grip.

There's a tremble in his voice, a swirling mix of despair and desperation. “I’m tryin’ to be here.”

A bitter scoff rolls off your tongue, “that doesn’t fix anything!”

His chest heaves, up and down repeatedly until he finds the words to say. All of the pent up emotions he has toward you all rising to the surface. “Then what will?”

“You can't fix me.”

He drops your hand, “bullshit.” That was something he couldn't handle hearing, he was good at fixing things, repairing, protecting. The thought that you were a lost cause was as good as enough for his chest to begin constricting.

His fingers are succumbing to the exposed cold, tips of his fingers are cold on your cheeks, cradling your delicately compared to the ruthless things he had done with them.

Taken lives, stolen, abused substances, relieved himself, all with anger, all without meaning. But you–holding you was something he wanted to do right. He would do right. There was no room for mistakes. “I need to fix this..” the whisper is so quiet it's almost swept away in the wind.

It felt like a slap to the face when you pull away from his hands, the shared warmth from skin to skin was ripped away as you step backward.

That's all you knew how to do, retreat.

“You’re still pushin’ me away. Tell me when you’re gonna let me in,” the bitter edge was a clear indicator of the pain and disappointment he was feeling.

“The last thing I need is to trust you! Then what? You turn around with my heart in your hands and stomp over it?”

There it was, whether you realised what had slipped past your lips. Your greatest fear. Abandonment.

For a brief moment Joel hates that you distrust him after all he has done for you, proving time and time again that he would do anything for you. But it's quickly swept away by the realisation that you’d unclogged the blockage that kept him at arm's length. “How..” he pauses, realising he has one shot at this.

“What can I do, to prove that I ain’t ever gonna hurt you?” Of course, of course he looked absolutely torn, his throat bobs up and down as he swallows nervously.

The fact that you were still standing before him was a good sign. “How can I trust this is real?”

“Because I love you. I’m gettin’ old an’ I need somethin’ to rely on.” his hazel eyes softened with the admission, searching your face for any sign that you felt the same way. That you wouldn’t tear his heart open here and toss it to the snow, letting it freeze over once again as it had been before he met you.

He couldn't bear to go back to that, the loneliness, lack of heart and purpose.

There's a million thoughts running through your head, begging for your tongue and voice to cooperate, to blurt out somehow that you love him too.

His eyes continue searching your face at your silence, hoping to find any glimpse that you felt the same way. “Nothin’ to say then?” His heart ached, tone bitter.

This could be the end of everything.

In this moment of utter vulnerability, there are no words you can find to pluck from your throat, barely registering that you’re reaching up to grasp his face with both hands, pulling his head down to meet your own cracked, wind burnt in a soft kiss, lips brushing against each other.

For the short moment they are pressed together, you feel them warm against his, your heart races in reaction to the bold display.

“I.. I love you too,” you whisper thickly once you part from his lips, praying it wasn't too late. Foreheads pressed together, this is what Joel had been dreaming of, a simple act that had made his heart race, relief sparking each vein in his body.

“Oh.. baby..” he whispers, his own hands grasp your hips, grounding himself. Holding onto something to convince him this was real.

But at this innocent gesture, a small breathless moan rattles through his brain.

God.. the thoughts he had about you.

He stutters, “baby.. d-don't do that. You have no idea what it does to me. Tryin’ to be good to ya.”

Running the risk of taking things too far, you kiss him again, this time more desperately, seeking the validation and love Joel had always devoted to you, a newcome hunger growing within you. Your lips clash against his own, and you moan into the kiss, your hands roaming through his hair as you grasp onto the soft, overgrown follicles.

The both of you get carried away, both touch starved and seeking physical affection after having tension brewing thickly for months. Your hands find solace in the softness of joel's hair.

He cannot keep his hands on your hips, greedily giving in to your willingness to reciprocate his affections. Tracing the curve of your ribs to your hips, memorising each curve and dip. The way your body squirms closer into his chest as his revenant exploration of your body makes you whine into his mouth.

Deepening the kiss, his tongue wrestles with your own. Finding a rhythm that the two of you manage for a desperate long minute. His hands are groping the curve of your ass desperately through your jeans, whinging when he pulls you closer to him, the hard bulge in his jeans rub against your mound.

“Joel..” you whine, breaking away from him, his own hazel eyes blown out from the fiery kiss. Your lips are moist with a mix of his and your own saliva. Chests heaving in sync as the tension between you expands into something that cannot be contained another moment.

Without another word your gloved hands are attempting to unbutton his jeans, with much difficulty. Frustration wears your short fuse and you tear them off your hands, unbuttoning and yanking down Joel's zipper.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, baby.” He utters as his hands work quick to tear your own jeans, pulling them down until they reveal your ass, getting stuck mid-thigh. He lets out a deep grumble at the sight of you, bare ass and pussy all for him.

“We’re in the middle of town, dirty fuckin’ girl.” He scolds breathlessly against your neck, his hands commanding you flush against his chest, holding your wrists together with one hand.

Bending yourself forward a fraction, you whine, feeling his hard cock spring against your bare ass. “Let them see.”

Closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to ground himself, convince himself this was a bad idea, the rational part of him loses the internal battle. “Fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, you and this pretty pussy,” his voice husk with need.

With his free hand, he positions himself at your hole, damp and warm. A wonderful contrast to the rest of him that's freezing as you stand in the mild snowfall. Your hole opens up for him with no protest, his thick tip pushes into you with carnal need.

His hand frees your wrists, grabbing onto your waist, his thick fingers curling around the skin of your hips. “Made f’me baby.. fuckin’ hell.”

There's a slight sting as you adjust to his girth, but he can't hold himself back, bottoming out in your warmth, grunting into the nape of your neck, leaving an opened mouth kiss.

The pace he sets is relentless, ploughing into your willing hole that slicks more with each thrust. His cock is coated in your arousal, nevermind how loud you are as he pumps into you. Not bothering to try and be subtle, uncaring of the straggling townsfolk of Jackson on the other side of the barn that are entering the hall for lunch.

“You’re gonna.... get us caught baby..” he ruts into you desperately as he utters his concern. Pressing his chest against your back, unable to pull away from you.

“Don’t care,” you manage to choke out incoherently, your hole clenched around him. Theres a warmth in your stomach, feeling the pressure build as he fucks into you like his life depended on it.

With one hand, he forces his hand under your chin, grasping onto your throat, fingers squeezing the sides lightly. Applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll, a soft moan of surprise and lightheadedness equals the raw pleasure of the pad of his pointer finger rolling around on your swollen clit.

“You wanna get caught like this hm? Sweet girl getting fucked by an old man, what would they think of you, hm?”

The thought makes your stomach twist, attempting to close your thighs to stop his hand from swirling softly against the wet bundle of nerves.

He tuts, “uh uh, this is what you wanted, wasn't it? You’re gonna cum for me, baby.”

Throwing your head back, he applies a fraction more pressure to your neck and you cry out with a crack in your voice, spiralling as your hips rut against his hand. Legs and hips unwillingly jerk as you orgasm. His muffled voice is runging in your ear as Joel continues to fuck you through your intense climax.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

He releases the grip on your neck and snakes his hands underneath your jacket, the warmth of your skin underneath his desperate fingers.

There’s some distant muttering you don't understand, too overstimulated and crying from still taking Joel’s cock as deep as he can bury himself inside of you.

He gropes your tits harshly, crossing his arms around you as he forces you down onto him, taking his thick cock as he bottoms out, his cock twitching as he fills you with his warm load. Turning your head to kiss him as he cums, you moan into his mouth.

“Oh my god–that is them, Joel and–” the voices utter your name and you tune in as you hear your name being spoken from a distance, hearing slowly returning. Your cheeks warm as you realise that someone has indeed caught the two of you in the middle of town.

Joel slides his hands from underneath your shirt, covering you the best he can. “You gonna stand there creepin’ or y’all gonna move the fuck along?” He snaps in irritation at the invasive eyes.

With a whimper, he pulls out of you. Both of you slide your jeans up. He turns you to look at him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

There’s an expression of vulnerability plastered on his face. “No more runnin’.”

Hopelessly, you nod. “Can we go back to yours?”

With a possessive swat of your ass, he hums. “Our place.” He corrects.

Is this the place you’ve been dreaming of?

#joel miller #game joel miller #game joel #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller angst

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lovelytsunoda · 6 months ago

Text

you've got me under your spell | eddie brock and venom

summary: the then's and now's of halloween in the brock household

pairing: eddie brock x wife!reader (and their son!) x venom

warnings: i've turned eddie brock from a swagless loser to a dilf, venom is loaned to a child as a halloween costume, venom is almost like a second child tbh, implied smut, brief mentions of mental illness and pregnancy-related mental health issues. not to spoil anything at the end but the final section is pretty fucking funny if i do say so myself.

author's note: i have a very delayed last minute addition to my halloween fics for 2024! after flying through all three venom movies in about two days (as someone who doesn't watch marvel movies, might i add), i am pleased (and a little concerned) to annoucne that eddie brock is now my favourite marvel character.

yes, dylan brock is a canon character in the venom comics (or so i have been told) but all this dylan had in common with the canon version is his name.

2010.

she watched fondly from the doorway as eddie picked up the infant, who was currently trying to crawl towards the white pumpkin in the bay window. dylan laughed in his father's arms as eddie spun around before cradling the infant against his chest. he caught his wife's eyes from the doorway, a cheeky grin on his face as he looked down at dylan.

"hey kiddo, i think mommy's looking at us."

dylan smiled, wide and toothless, letting out the baby equivalent of a cheer as he looked over at his mother.

"are you guys ready to make the rounds? i promised mrs. chen some baby time." y/n laughed, reaching out to hold her son's small hand in hers.

the streets outside were lit up with fog machines and smiling skeletons, filled with the sounds of kids milling about. it was baby brock's first halloween, and he was dressed appropriately for it in his little pumpkin costume. after attempting to suck on y/n's finger, dylan dropped her hand and busied himself with attempting to trace the tattoos visible on eddie's forearm.

eddie beamed, kissing his wife softly before answering. "we're ready if you are. lead the way, mamas."

y/n had never pictured herself as a mother. in her twenties, when it seemed like settling down was the only thing people her age wanted to do, she was paralyzed with fear, insecurity and a little bit of self-loathing. being inside of her head was a nightmare, and she wasn't even sure she'd make it to thirty.

things had started to change when she met eddie brock.

slowly, she came alive again. she started to want things that she had thought were out of reach. she wanted to get married, have that house and that family and the white picket fence. to know that everything she had done had added up to this moment, and that everything had been worth it.

but she hated being pregnant. for her, growing another human being had been an arduous, terrifying experience. the eight hours of labour she had gone through on the day dylan was born was enough for her to decide that she didn't want more kids, and that she could still have the family she dreamed of with only one child.

she kissed dylan's forehead softly, brushing back his thin baby hair before tucking the small pumpkin hat onto his little head, and over his small ears.

the couple walked down the front steps of their bungalow, one of eddies arms around his wife, and the other holding his son (which was quite the feat, considering that the infant so desperately wanted out of his father's arms. dylan was an active baby, but he was allowed to crawl down the residential street, he would do so at such a pace that the brocks would never get him back.)

at every house they went to there was someone to coo over the littlest brock. eventually, eddie had to drop that arm around his wife so that he could use both hands to hold his son. dylan smiled that wide, gummy smile and laughed and babbled at all of the people that they passed, y/n clutching an almost-full orange bag of candy (she was convinced that some of their neighbours gave out extra candy to the couple, simply to reward them with the hit of caffeine found in chocolate that the new parents would so crave).

as they walked towards mrs. chen's house, dylan finally settled in his fathers arms, eddie looked over at his wife with nothing but reverence and love in his eyes. even carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips and stomach, her breasts a little fuller and her arms a little chubbier, she was as radiant as she was the day that they got married. he would do anything for her, for his son. his little family.

"eddie, darling." she laughed, turning to face him. "you're staring."

eddie blushed, the rose in his cheeks barely visible in the dark. "uh, no i'm not."

"yes you are." she giggled. "i love you, eddie brock."

"i love you more." eddie beamed, leaning over to kiss her. "i think the little guy is worn out." he spoke softly, nodding towards the baby in his arms. "he's asleep."

"awe." y/n cooed, gently stroking her son's arm with her pointer finger. the sight of eddie holding their son in his arms would never grow old. she was starting a folder of pictures on her laptop of this very thing, as she knew dylan would soon be too big for his father to hold. "he's just like his father. he can go to sleep any time, any where and in any condition."

eddie laughed. "i feel like there was an insult buried in there somewhere."

"i still married you, didn't i?"

2024.

"dylan, if you want to get to eric's on time, you've gotta get going now! his mom's on the way!"

y/n knocked on her son's door, waiting until she heard the disgruntled teenage groan from the other side. satisfied that dylan had been served enough warning, she headed back out into the living room.

she had put eddie in charge of moving the halloween candy from the massive carboard costco boxes to the festive plastic bowls, and he was doing a surprisingly okay job at it.

their life had changed drastically in the years since her husband had begun to share his body with a symbiote. the symbiote had once given dylan nightmares, and she had fielded one too many concerned calls from the school after he had gone around and told all of the other kids that his father was an alien and would eat anybody who was mean to him (although, once eddie and venom had bonded, venom was steadfast in his commitment to eating any bullies that dylan may face) it had taken time, and a lot of home repairs to get used to, but alas, venom now felt like one of the family.

well, more like the cousin you don't want any of your friends to meet. or the alien that your husband is in a strangely homeorotic relationship with.

"i thought venom would have eaten half of those by now." she remarked, leaning over the back of the sofa to rest her head on her husband's shoulder, hands on his chest.

"i made him promise to behave today. i don't want him scaring the little kids." eddie shrugged, turning his had to kiss his wife softly.

"what did you have to give him?"

eddie paused, waiting a beat in order to formulate an answer that wouldn't send his wife into a spiral. in the distance, he heard dylan's bedroom door open and close, and then the fourteen-year-old came bounding into the living room.

"eric's mom is like five minutes away. is it okay if i wait outside?"

keeping her hands on eddie shoulders, y/n straightened, looking over at her son. "no costume?'

she didn't miss the way that eddie's muscles tensed up under her hands, or the way dylan's pinkie finger twitched. neither of them said a word, and when her eyes zeroed in on the full boxes of nestle chocolates, she got her answer.

"edward brock, please tell me that you did not lend your symbiote to our son as a halloween costume!"

dylan's shoulder rippled black over the top of his hunter-green sweatshirt, venom's inky head materializing next to a defeated looking dylan.

"okay, we won't tell you." the symbiote said , turning to face eddie. "you told me that this was okay with mrs. b."

eddie got up from the couch, pointing a finger at the symbiote. "i said no such thing. i said we were never supposed to tell y/n under any circumstances."

"mom, it's only for the night. you let dad have venom year-round!" dylan protested, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets. "how is this any different?"

y/n stopped and counted to twenty, eyes closed before she breathed deeply and opened them again.

"that's because your father is the one who brought venom into this house in the first place, and i didn't get a say in the matter. also, your father is an adult, and venom actually listens to him."

"i listen to nobody!"

eddie coughed. "actually, he doesn't listen to me at all. he does what he wants half of the time."

"not the point, eddie! hosting venom almost killed you."

"actually- "

"not now vee!" eddie and y/n shouted together.

eddie reached for his wife's hand, knowing that she needed something to ground her, something tangible that she could hold on to. his hand was warm and calloused, comforting. she ran her thumb over eddie's knuckles as he stepped closer, dropping his voice in the hopes that dylan and venom wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.

"y/n, you know that i wouldn't let dylan take venom out if i didn't think he could handle it. its just one night."

"eddie, venom eats people. i don't want to get calls from parents stating that their sons hung out with my son, and then they came back headless."

"he has sworn to be on his best behavior tonight." eddie insisted. "and besides, when was the last time we had a night that was just the two of us? no dylan, no venom."

she paused, trying to think, the calm was starting to ease back into her body, the initial panic subsiding. her husband was right, she knew. while nights without dylan had become more common the older he got, with the boy staying over at friend's houses or going out late with his buddies, having a husband who hosted an alien sometimes put a damper on date night.

for the past five years, she had felt like she was in a never-ending threesome. don't get her wrong, the sex was absolutely phenomenal, but she missed her husband. she missed the days when it was just the two of them, curled up in bed on a sunday afternoon, with reruns of a bad sitcom playing in the background as they made love without a care in the world.

she realized that she was excited at the idea of having sex with her husband without an alien tentacle trying to slip into her ass (which felt absolutely incredible, by the way. after the first time venom did that, she downloaded all the monsterfucking books she could find on kindle unlimited. trying to explain the plot of ice planet barbarians to eddie had been quite the spectacle).

a honk in the front driveway snapped her out of her thoughts. dylan was looking at her expectantly, venom's head still hovering in the air next to him. if it were possible for symbiotes to give puppy dog eyes, she was sure that venom would be doing so. she looked at eddie, and then back at dylan, weighing her options.

"fine. dylan, you can take venom with you."

venom and dylan gave a cheer, the teen high-fiving one of venom's slinky tentacles.

"i promise not to eat any of the children, mrs. b. only gourmet chocolate. dylan says tonight is the best night for it."

"go on." y/n laughed. "don't keep eric waiting. and be careful!"

eddie and y/n stood by the front window, eddie's hand in her back pocket as they watched dylan run down the driveway and jump into the back of eric's mom's nissan. he had grown up so fast. it felt like just yesterday he was an infant in a pumpkin costume, cradled in eddie's strong arms. now he was almost as tall as his father.

y/n let out a small yelp as she felt herself become weightless, her husband's strong, beefy arms wrapped around her thighs.

"baby, be careful! you aren't as strong without venom! i don't want you to hurt your back!"

"i'll be fine! we have a heating pad for a reason!"

the headed down the hallway in a cloud of giggles, eddie kicking the bedroom door closed behind them with a cheeky grin on his face.

oh yeah, they were going to enjoy every second of having the house to themselves.

____

it was nearing midnight when dylan brock came home, shocked to find his father in the living room, sitting on the sofa in the dark and wincing every time he moved.

"dad? what are you doing? where's mom?"

eddie groaned, trying not to move too much. the heating pad rested against his lower back, and any movement sent a sharp pain up his spine. "she's asleep. tired out."

dylan made a face, dropping his backpack next to the couch. "god damn it, dad! i don't need to know that!"

eddie chuckled. "not like that." well, sort of like that. "this week has been hard on her. between you, me and venom, she's got her hands full."

"what's the heating pad for?" dylan crossed his arms over his chest, staring his father down.

"i hurt my back. it's nothing, not important."

"oh my god! you hurt your back banging mom!"

"dylan, keep your voice down! your mother is sleeping!" eddie scolded, screwing his eyes shut. "and she doesn't know. there is nothing less sexy than pinching something in your back while-"

"stop. please. i don't want to know."

"anyways, i waited until she fell asleep to put some muscle spray on it, and that didn't help, so here i am with the heating pad. how was your night?"

"it was good. venom's fun. we went trick-or-treating around eric's neigbourhood, where all the fancy houses are. also, i think i know what possum brain tastes like." dylan scrunched up his face. "venom decided he'd eaten enough snickers bars."

"snickers are for the weak." venom grunted. "real men eat brains."

eddie laughed. "now you know what the inside of my head is like. at least venom didn't try to eat any people. i wish i never knew what grey matter tasted like."

dylan extended his hand. "it's been fun, but i think he wants his host back."

eddie took dylan's hand in his, inhaling as he felt venom fill his veins once more, the familiar voice he'd come to tolerate returning to the back of his mind. slowly, the stinging pain in his lower back started to subside, the symbiote healing him from the inside out.

"thanks buddy. i needed that." he sighed. "and thanks for looking after dylan."

"no problem, eddie. you know, you'd get hurt less around the house if you stopped doing silly things when i'm not here."

"hey dylan, do you want the symbiote back?"

dylan laughed, heading to his room. "not a chance, dad. you're the only person in the world who could handle him."

#the cozy collection 2024 #eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #mcu fanfiction #venom fanfiction #venom imagine #eddie brock imagine #tom hardy x reader

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marvelsswansong · 1 year ago

Text

melting snow

summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)

☆ word count: 4.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

one: subtle praise

At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.

"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.

But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.

"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.

"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.

So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.

Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.

"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.

"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."

He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.

"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."

Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."

It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.

A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.

"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.

"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."

He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.

"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.

"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.

The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.

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

two: soft touches

Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.

After all, what is love if not vulnerability?

And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?

So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.

He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.

He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.

He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."

Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.

Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.

It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.

"I owe you, Coriolanus."

Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.

Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.

Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.

"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.

"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.

Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.

"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.

"O-okay."

The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."

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

three: nicknames

Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.

Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -

He almost never calls you by your name.

Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.

"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"

Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.

Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.

"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.

"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."

"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.

"Come on you silly man."

He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.

Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.

"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."

"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.

"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"

When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.

"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.

"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."

That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.

"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.

"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.

My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.

Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.

As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.

You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.

Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.

And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.

But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.

It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.

"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.

"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.

"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."

Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.

His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.

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

four: lavish gifts and deep marks

Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.

Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.

"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.

His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.

"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.

You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.

"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."

Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...

He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.

So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.

You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.

You scrunch your face at the odd question.

"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"

Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.

"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."

And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.

Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.

"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.

"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."

You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.

After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.

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

five: killing for you

Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).

At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.

No mercy, no hesitation.

After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.

The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.

He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.

Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.

The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.

The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.

The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.

And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.

"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.

"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.

"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."

Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.

Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.

"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.

"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"

And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.

It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.

"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.

"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.

"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"

He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.

But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.

"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."

No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.

"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.

"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"

"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"

"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"

The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.

"Corio? Love?"

The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.

Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.

"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.

You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.

"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"

"Hm?"

It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.

"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"

He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.

"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.

"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.

Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.

"I suppose."

The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.

"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.

The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.

"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"

He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.

a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.

please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!

ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #thg x reader #the hunger games #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k

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