rhoorl - Tumblr blog

[rhoorl]

I was getting ready to reblog and this happened to my phone 😆

This was so good, Joel is just next level perfect 🥵

I had to snort at this line:

“Look like you saw an infected zombie or somethin’. Everything okay, Baby?” You want to kiss the devilish smirk right off of his handsome face.

look at us | joel miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2748 warnings: 18+ blog; Smut, maybe even smut with no real plot, Nipple play, orgasm through nipple stimulation, praise, multiple orgasms, using arousal as lube, mutual masterbastion (f & m), cum eating/sharing, mirror watching, my horrible attempt at keeping a conversation flowing during sexy time, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself, fluff, established relationship, mentioned that reader is wearing a dress & bra but has zero descriptive features, can be read as no outbreak or prior to outbreak Joel, there’s no Sarah in this universe notes: this is a reimagined version of an older fic i posted and didn’t really like for some reason. Switched the characters and reworked it a bit. Smut is so hard to write for me, I just question the whole thing in its entirety and never want to do it again. But I love this storyline so much more now as Joel that I honestly don’t even care if the smut is wonky— I just want joel now. This writer supports Palestine and does not share or support the views of tlou creator.

It’s a heady sensation.

Visceral. Demanding. Gratifying.

His touch. A grounding force that burns through you, igniting every nerve ending in its wake.

Plaint and warm, your body blooms with a carnal appetency.

He’s emboldened by every sound he plucks from you. The softest whimpers that fall from your lips, kiss every single inch of his dewy skin. He’s forever addicted to your willingness to take what he has to give you— always wanting more.

Generous. Attentive. Steadfast.

Earnestness bleeds into a lustrous selfishness. The anticipation palpable, watching as you come apart in his arms, your pleasure is his forevermore.

It’s intuitive, the way he’s drawn to you. Most mornings, taking advantage of what little time he has with you, before work is pulling you both in different directions. Then you’re reunited for the evening and he’s making up for lost time, devouring and satisfying, well into the next day.

An endless cycle of being connected and reconnecting.

When weekends come around, he’s selfish. Overindulging beyond his means. Knowing he has ample time to relish in the closeness. Met with endless opportunities to have you near in any capacity as the hours of the day tick on, time he doesn’t take for granted.

Today is no different. From the moment the truck backs out of the driveway, beginning the several mile drive across town in the direction of Tommy’s home, he’s reaching for your hand.

Palm to palm, fingers perfectly intertwined as your hands stay connected over the center console of his pickup. The afternoon sun streaming through the window, adding to the already budding warmth that’s building between you. The conversation is light. Joel listening intently as you share details from your week, his thumb working over your knuckles as you move through the highlights of your story.

The remainder of the drive has a comfortable lull as the miles roll by. Music streaming through the cab, the lyrics provoking a wave of affection. Joel’s lips find the top of your hand periodically, his gaze never breaking from the road ahead. Your heart racing instantly at his instinctual gesture.

The gathering of friends— barbecuing, music and laughter, doesn't deter him from keeping you within arms reach.

Joel’s hand settles on the small of your back, fingers lightly dragging back and forth over your tingling spine, as you both exchange hello’s and hugs to the group friends in attendance scattered around the backyard

While Tommy is busy tending to the food on the barbecue, Joel and you are caught up listening to Paul, Tommy’s old army buddy and the newest hire at Joel’s construction company, share stories from his and Tommy’s time together in the military. Both of you enthralled by the recounts of close calls and embarrassing moments for the younger Miller brother, only to be interrupted by a flustered Tommy calling for Paul to grab plates and napkins from inside.

The minute you’re alone his hand is wandering south, grabbing at the meat of your ass and pulling you flush against him. It’s the first moment you’ve been alone since arriving and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to take advantage of it.

You smile into his kiss, fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt as he leans in close, his hushed words fanning across your ear.

“You look so damn pretty in that dress. Can’t wait to get my hands on you later.” The husk in his voice nearly makes you melt further into him, not even surprised by the cool dampness coating the silk panties you chose today, just for him.

“Hmmm— your hands haven’t left me since we got here.” You muse.

“I like havin’ you close.”

“You’ve made that quite obvious, Miller.” You joke, before he’s silencing you with another less than chaste kiss.

Dinner is served as the sun begins its descent. The air dropping a few degrees cooler, has goosebumps pricking at your skin. But it’s nothing compared to the shiver Joel is causing you, his hand nestled between your legs under the table.

You find it hard to focus between all the lively conversations being volleyed across the table, dishes being passed around and laughter cutting through friendly onslaughts of fuck you’s.

Joel mindlessly massaging at your thigh as he talks. Filling everyone in on the projects he’s started around the house, while your brain is muddled with thoughts of Joel’s hands and only Joel’s hands.

You can’t be positive it’s a deliberate move— or is it? You’ve been with him long enough to know what a calculated man Joel is.

He leans forward to reach for the ketchup bottle, his other hand shifting further up your thighs, his demeanor is cool and even as his fingers brush over your clothed mound. His fingers slowly gliding over the very drenched fabric. You swallow a thick gasp as your hips cant forward on instinct, chasing his retreating hand, your cunt aching and desperate for more of his teasing.

The wink he shoots you as he settles back in his chair is all the evidence you need to know his plan worked.

“Look like you saw an infected zombie or somethin’. Everything okay, Baby?” You want to kiss the devilish smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Y-yeah.” Horny and desperate for you, but fine.

“Y’sure about that? Those perked nipples of yours are tellin’ a different story, Sweetheart.” He quietly calls you out. You glance down to see the thin fabric of your summer dress and lace bra are no match to conceal the hardened peaks— your body so easily betraying you is nothing new.

“We should head out soon.” You say softly, Joel nods immediately, the silent agreement has you eager for what’s in store when you arrive home.

The ongoing conversation among the others is now muted background noise as you stare into his needy eyes, your hand cupping the side of his face as your thumb traces over his plush lower lip.

“We’re headin’ out. Thanks for havin’ us, Tommy. Hope to see y’all again sometime soon. ‘Night.” Joel rushes through announcing your departure, pulling you from your seat, his body crowding behind you as he ushers you towards his truck.

“You’re not even gonna stay and help clean up?” Tommy pouts from his chair.

“You’re a big boy Tommy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Joel yells over his shoulder with a two finger wave as the gate clicks shut, home and you are the only thing cares about for the remainder of the evening.

“Fuuuuuuuck— Joel!” Your mind slowly seeping into a deep pleasured state.

There’s little recollection of leaving Tommy’s house and the drive home, other than Joel’s unrelenting need to have you close at all times— no complaints from you whatsoever.

Joel’s firm grip on your hand when he all but drags you to the bedroom of your shared home, clothes stripped at the foot of your bed in a hasty fashion.

The accumulation of Joel’s fiery touches throughout the day were merely effortless foreplay, all considered and aiding in his profound efforts that have been unfolding since arriving home.

“You look so fuckin’ good. Look at us, Baby.” The low gravel of his voice is overwhelming, but laced with pure authenticity. You lift your head just enough as your eyes slowly flutter open, trying to catch a glimpse of what he sees in the full length mirror positioned on the wall across from where you both are in bed— a mere coincidence that it was placed in there when you moved in.

“‘M l-looking, J-joel.”

It’s exquisitely striking how your cunt flutters madly against the cool air of the bedroom. The sight alone is better than any pornography you’ve consumed together.

Joel sitting up against the headboard holding your body close to his. Your back firm and tacky against his chest, breathing in rhythmic unity.

His feet hooked around your ankles, keeping your legs spread out as he hones in on the two luring forms glaring back in the mirror, a view that will forever edge out his own fantasies of you.

His large hands hold the weight of your breasts with pleasing dexterity, whispering the most beautiful obscene things into your ear.

I love your body. I love the way you moan. Missed your pussy all day. God, you’re always on my mind. Fuck, you’re makin’ me so hard. Louder. Fuck. Look at me.

Your gaze finally catches Joel’s in the reflection. It’s direct and overwhelming, his warm brown eyes flickering with a bold desire igniting a ripple of goosebumps over your body.

You’re both possessed by the new wave of arousal, glistening in the afternoon light, as it ardently drips from your pussy down to the bed sheets. Desperately craving to be devastated by this handsome man.

Joel’s thumbs swipe over your hard sensitive nipples, pulling a breathy gasp from your lips. Your head falling back into his shoulder as you let the sensation fully consume you.

“You like that don’t you?” You can only manage to hum in response, which encourages him to continue his work over the pebbled skin.

“Y-yes. You know how much I d-do.”

Joel knows this. Well enough too. It’s a normal occurrence that you find yourself in this identic state. Your body buzzing and exhausted, molded against Joel’s. His cock weeping and begging for relief, snuggly nestled between your roaring bodies. His skilled hands reducing you to putty.

Rolling. Pinching. Pulling. Flicking.

Each thorough caress sends an intense and deep feeling of delirium surging through you. Building and building the delicate structure for an elaborate release.

“So perfect all laid out for me. You gonna come for me?. I think you’re almost there, Baby. Just need a little more, huh?”

“Joel— I-I don’t think I can this time. N-need— oh fuck Joel! I need a little m-more.”

You’re cut off when you feel Joel’s fingers faintly slide over your throbbing clit and bypassing it completely. He swipes through your wet folds. You think he might finally give in. Plunge one, maybe two of his thick fingers into your aching heat, caress your velvet walls until you’re coming undone. Your body jolts as he gathers your arousal on his fingers, then abandons the ache and returns to his previous ministrations.

His arousal slick digits glide over each of your perked nipples. The wet eager strokes have your back arching as you moan into the room, your body tense and vibrating.

“Joel— yes! That feels so good! fuckfuckfuck! I— I’m so close Joel! D-don’t stop!” You let out a sharp moan.

“I ain’t stoppin’, Sweetheart. So fuckin’ beautiful. Can’t wait to see you come, Baby— just let go.” His hushed words paired with the way he rolls your stiff nubs between his fingers is just the push you needed, your climax vibrant and beautiful as it erupts, spreading through you faster than you can announce its existence.

Joel watches you fall apart in the mirror. Your breathless state has his hips grinding against your lower back as he continues to clutch your breasts. The glimmering beads of sweat rolling down your throat and chest, joining the layer pooling between your bodies.

It’s the view of your cunt that nearly takes him out, empty and pulsating, he’s never been so proud of a sight. He adds the mental snapshot to his backlog of imagery he’ll store of you until the end of his days.

“God, Joel. That— that was amazing!.” You say, peeling your satiated body from his.

Turning to face him, you sit in the space between where his legs are sprawled open, your hands massaging at his calves. You take in how enticing he looks, laid back on the stack of pillows, a slack grin on his handsome face as he slowly pumps his hardened cock.

You’re completely entranced by the sight, all thick and tempting. Biting at your lip teasingly, a hand all but subtly slips between your legs and your fingers begin delicately tracing circles over your clit.

Husked gasps falling from Joel’s parted lips as he alternates his movements. Long languid strokes over the length of his shaft then pausing briefly, his grip stilled and tight around the base as the reddened tip slowly leaks.

You gasp as the warmth of your sex engulfs your fingers triggering another gush of arousal to trickle down your thighs. Your other hand still connected to Joel’s leg, grounding your floating form to him.

Joel's eyes scan you, absorbing your blissed-out state, his hand matching your own steady movements, rhythmically moving over himself, his breaths now emerging as heavy pants.

Your fingers enthusiastically moving in and out with ease as your hips writhe keenly in search of the perfect position. The remnants of your previous orgasm are still lingering, beautifully aiding in the build up of the next. Your brows pinched in pleasure.

The room is dense with sexual humidity. Doused in a mixture of the ambered vanilla candle you burn frequently and a sweet ambrosial musk.

“Fuck— how’d I get so fuckin’ lucky with a woman like you? fuck!.” His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, neck taut and nose flared as he tries to breathe through how good he’s making himself feel. “Why don’t you— shit —c’mere.”

“Mmm-ah! T-tempting, Baby. ohgod! Think I’ll stay put. I’m actually enjoying the view quite nicely from here. You look so good like this, Joel.” Seeing him accept your praise is a vision you’ll never get tired of, allowing himself to give in and take what he needs.

Your fingers graze over that delicious little spot with success, a cresting wave set in motion, the sensation causing your walls to convulse. A moan escapes your lips, paralleling with Joel’s own sounds. Your head involuntarily tilts back, as you ride out the euphoric moment.

“Shit! Sweetheart, I’m— I’m gonna— Hnng!Fuuuck!”

Joel’s fist erratically pumps over his length, his eyes locked on your naked form, ragged breaths and eager moans. Your eyes struggle to stay focused through the hazy chaos, drawn to his flushed body, paralyzed with an ample dose of desire as he nears his finish.

“Come for me, Joel.” You’ve shifted yourself a little closer to where he’s eagerly working himself over, encouraging him to let go.

He does— white hot ropes of cum paint his stomach, his actions slowing as the last few drops spill over his hand. He breathes out a deep sigh, giving you a lopsided grin as his arms fall to his sides. Eyes heavy with a mixture of lust and love.

“Fuck— now will you c’mere?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth, now hovering over where his now softening dick rests against his stomach. You don’t break eye contact as you lean down and lick at the sticky mess.

“Goddamn— Ah!” Joel hisses, the warmth of your tongue dragging up the length of his cock. Lapping at the dappled layer of silky brininess covering his lower abdomen, purring with satisfaction as you swallow it.

“God.Damn.” You echo his words back to him, your lips move over his— he groans at the taste of himself still on your tongue.

A slow, content smile forms on your face as you tenderly kiss his neck, followed by a series of soft kisses down his chest and stomach.

“Gimme a minute— just need to regroup and then I’ll be ready to go again.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” Joel’s arms wrap a you and you melt into him. “Or I can draw us a hot bath and we can soak until we’re prunes.” A yawn perfectly placed at the end of your suggestion.

“Sounds like a plan. How ‘bout we nap then soak?” You sleepily hum in response.

"Love you, Sweetheart," Joel whispers, before pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Mmm— love you, Joel.”

[rhoorl]

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

[rhoorl]

[rhoorl]

Joel Miller

[rhoorl]

Thanks for the tag @artsy-girl-76 💜

This song has been on my brain the last couple of days and is the reason I may have skipped ahead to write some smut 😬

Open tags!!

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

[rhoorl]

Ah I love the prize! How cute!

Looking forward to filling in some more squares, thanks for putting this together! 💜

Pedro Pascal Fandom Bingo

Earlier this month @burntheedges put out this awesome Pedro Pascal Fandom Bingo Game. I organized myself a bit, got some reading done, and I got a bingo! I’m not the most competitive person in the world, but I’m motivated now to fill out the rest of my board - which means I’ll have to be brave and start popping into some inboxes (you’ve been warned 😆). 

I wanted to shout out the fics and writers I've read so far this month. I’ve gotten a chance to read some characters I don’t normally read which has been really fun (and of course I still have my old standbys well represented 😉)! This goes without saying, but be sure to read the warnings - just because I liked something doesn't mean you will. xoxo

Dave York - Strangers by @wildemaven

Lucien Flores - Apartment by @suzdin // What I Want From You & What Do I Tell You by @nerdieforpedro

Max Phillips - Screwed Up and Brilliant by @psychedelic-ink

Marcus Moreno - Afterword by @secretelephanttattoo

Marcus Pike - Netflix & Chill by @mountainsandmayhem // Caught in the Rain by @burntheedges

Joel Miller - Muscle Memory by @frenchiereading

Oberyn Martell - Delicate by @janaispunk

Frankie Morales - Do Me Yourself and Up Sky, Low High by @undercoverpena // Adrift With You by @morallyinept // Date Night by @artsy-girl-76 // Frankie’s Version by @julesonrecord // Fix You by @astoryisaloveaffair

Din Djarin - You Done? by @beskarandblasters

Zach Wellison - Movie Night by @munsonownsmyass

Javier Peña - Sun to Me by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Dieter Bravo - Closed Position by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings // Late Night Talking by @all-the-things-2020 // I Carry Your Heart With Me by @morallyinept // Secret Sparkler by @yxtkiwiyxt

[rhoorl]

@laughing-in-th3-purple-rain I will never be over that look

PEDRO PASCAL via cocoullrich's Instagram

[rhoorl]

I'm going to be annoying. Is there another "Are You Quiet..." one-shot coming our way any time soon? You have single handedly made me fall for Garret Hedlund / Ben.

I've always said I don't have a type for the men I date. I just like what I like... and well... he's on the like list.

-Kiwi <3

Oh my goodness, Kiwi this was so sweet!! This is not annoying in any way shape or form, thank you so much for the note and the kind words! I've really fallen into the deep end with Benny and just love him so much - and Garrett too. 😍

I also like what I like and I very much like him. There is more planned, I'll leave it below the cut since it's long and kind of spoiler-ish.

I've been working on Delta Landscaping since last summer and Benny and his girl (Vanessa) were one of the first things I plotted out. I kept having all of these thots about them, but it wasn't time for them to be in the main storyline yet, so that's when Are You on Mute was born. And then I made a part two. And then I got a couple of other ideas. They can all be read as standalones, but they're technically all part of that larger fic (just at different points in their relationship).

Vanessa was introduced a couple of chapters ago in DL and I've done a couple of extras with her and Benny. Strike a Pose is their first date and then I posted this little extra after their first kiss (which happened when he walked her home after a party). Benny's Instagram has come up in the story too, so I added a little something about that ... for visual purposes!

Currently, I'm writing the next chapter of DL and Benny and Vanessa are taking up a large part of it, so I will mostly likely pull it out as its own thing again - we'll see. I just love those two together but also am trying to balance the other storylines in that fic.

TLDR: Yes, there's more planned because I just love Benny so much. Thank you so much for the ask!

[rhoorl]

Pedro Pascal Fandom Bingo

Earlier this month @burntheedges put out this awesome Pedro Pascal Fandom Bingo Game. I organized myself a bit, got some reading done, and I got a bingo! I’m not the most competitive person in the world, but I’m motivated now to fill out the rest of my board - which means I’ll have to be brave and start popping into some inboxes (you’ve been warned 😆). 

I wanted to shout out the fics and writers I've read so far this month. I’ve gotten a chance to read some characters I don’t normally read which has been really fun (and of course I still have my old standbys well represented 😉)! This goes without saying, but be sure to read the warnings - just because I liked something doesn't mean you will. xoxo

Dave York - Strangers by @wildemaven

Lucien Flores - Apartment by @suzdin // What I Want From You & What Do I Tell You by @nerdieforpedro

Max Phillips - Screwed Up and Brilliant by @psychedelic-ink

Marcus Moreno - Afterword by @secretelephanttattoo

Marcus Pike - Netflix & Chill by @mountainsandmayhem // Caught in the Rain by @burntheedges

Joel Miller - Muscle Memory by @frenchiereading

Oberyn Martell - Delicate by @janaispunk

Frankie Morales - Do Me Yourself and Up Sky, Low High by @undercoverpena // Adrift With You by @morallyinept // Date Night by @artsy-girl-76 // Frankie’s Version by @julesonrecord // Fix You by @astoryisaloveaffair

Din Djarin - You Done? by @beskarandblasters

Zach Wellison - Movie Night by @munsonownsmyass

Javier Peña - Sun to Me by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Dieter Bravo - Closed Position by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings // Late Night Talking by @all-the-things-2020 // I Carry Your Heart With Me by @morallyinept // Secret Sparkler by @yxtkiwiyxt

[rhoorl]

This whole thing was so 🔥

“Do better,” he commands. 

You done?

Brat Tamer!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Inspired by the gif below 🥵🫠 (I couldn’t find who is the gif creator is, so if that person is you or someone you know please let me know and I’ll happily give credit where it’s due🤍)

Summary: You’re being a brat and bitching at Din. He decides to punish you.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), brat taming, blindfolds, helmet comes off, spitting, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, praising, pet names (pretty girl, cyar’ika), sir kink, no use of y/n

“You done?” Din asks, sitting and watching you pace back and forth in the storage area of the Crest. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. He’s enjoying watching you bitch at him. You don’t even know what you’re bitching about anymore, probably something about what Din did or didn’t do. Something about tripping over his blaster he left on the floor and laughing when you stubbed your toe…

“Not even close.”

“Mhm,” he says, stifling a chuckle. He’s sitting with his thighs spread wide open in a full man-spread, leaning back against the wall of the Crest. He would be so attractive if he wasn’t so irritating right now. 

“What’s so funny?” you ask, stopping dead in your tracks and folding your arms. 

“Nothing,” he says. He’s definitely smirking under that helmet.

“No, tell me,” you press.

“Just waiting for you to shut up,” he chuckles. 

“Make me,” you reply. It’s your turn to wear a sly grin now. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, rising from the crate he was sitting on and sauntering over to you. 

He pushes you up against the wall, grabbing your hands and pinning them above your head. He brings his helmet beside your ear, talking to you in a low, gravelly tone. 

“What happens when you act like a brat?”

“…I get punished.”

“That’s right, cyar’ika.”

You gulp and he chuckles, moving one of his hands on your inner thigh and feeling you shudder at his touch. 

“Strip and wait for me in the bunk,” he commands.

He releases your hands and you do as you’re told, removing your clothes and sitting on the cot's edge. You hear him rifling through one of the shelves. You know exactly what he’s looking for; the blindfold. 

Din doesn’t normally use the blindfold. He understands all too well having some sort of barrier on your head, depriving you of your senses. He only busts out the blindfold when you’re being a bad girl. 

He returns with the silky black fabric in his hands, leaning against the doorframe in the bunk. 

“Time for your punishment,” he says, walking towards you and crouching down in front of the cot to meet your eye level. 

You let out a groan as he begins to wrap the blindfold around your head, prompting him to stop and ask, “Are you complaining?”

“No!” you say quickly. 

“That’s what I thought.”

The blindfold is secured around your head. You can’t see a thing, relying on your other senses. Goosebumps prick your skin in anticipation of his touch. You hear his gloves hitting the floor and his hands pressing you down lightly onto the cot. His warm skin against you sets your nerves aflame, already shuddering in desire and need for him. 

“Patience, cyar’ika,” he reminds you. 

You hear the hiss of his modulator and kriff, he’s taking his helmet off. This is so unfair. 

Another groan escapes your lips and all of a sudden his face is hovering over yours. 

“What did I say?”

You don’t respond, only uttering a bratty wine. 

“I think you need to be punished even more now,” he tuts, pulling back and sitting on the edge of the cot by your thighs. 

“What?? No, I’ll be good. I swear!”

“Too late,” he teases. 

He spreads your thighs apart, his face inches away from your cunt. His breath sends a shiver up your spine as he watches how wet you’re getting already. 

“So wet. So ready for me,” he says, swiping two fingers up and down your entrance. 

You whine again, aching for more of his touch, more stimulation. 

“You don’t get to cum without my permission. Got it?”

“Fine,” you pout. 

“Do better,” he commands. 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” you whine. 

“Good girl,” he praises. 

His words make you melt. He moistens his fingers with his mouth, sliding one inside you slowly. He takes his time curling his singular digit against your walls, feeling how wet you are for him; how bad you want him already. He pushes up against your g-spot, eliciting a moan from you. 

“You want more, don’t you, pretty girl?”

“Please, sir,” you whine. 

“Beg.”

“Please, sir, I can’t take it anymore. I’ll be a good girl, I swear!”

“Fine,” he sighs, faux annoyance in his voice, “Since you asked nicely.”

He inserts another finger, working your cunt closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. He’s talented with his fingers and it makes sense, being that he could never really eat a girl out, until you. 

Just when you think you can’t hold on any longer you ask, “Can I cum please?”

“Not yet.”

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you whine. 

“I said not yet,” he reminds you. 

But it’s a good thing he made you wait, because he brings his tongue to your clit, making swirls around it as he fingers you. 

“Sir, please. I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a hum of approval against your clit. Your hands reach down between your legs and grasp his hair, tugging on his curls while you cum against his face. Your cunt flutters around his fingers as the pleasure built up in your core spreads outwards, infecting your limbs with waves of euphoria. 

He pulls away once you’re done, wasting no time to be inside you already. He pulls his cock out of his flight suit and gives it a few strokes, before settling in between your thighs and entering you in one clean motion, without any warning. 

“Din… Ah!” you gasp in surprise. 

“You can take it,” he commands in a husky voice, drawing his hips back and slamming into you. 

You nod and that’s when he grabs your chin, keeping your face steady and fixed on him. You’d give anything in the galaxy to rip this blindfold off already. 

“Open,” he says with a squeeze on your chin. 

You open your mouth and he leans down, his mouth hovering over yours. He spits in your mouth, closing it shut with his hand. 

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing you passionately while picking up the pace and slamming into you unforgivingly. 

You moan against his lips and he pulls back to ask, “Pretty girl gonna cum already?”

“C-Can I?” you ask with a shaky breath. 

“Are you gonna keep acting like a brat?”

“No, sir.”

“Cum on my cock,” he commands again, finishing his command with a slam of his hips. 

You cum around his cock, walls fluttering and pulsating around him. Your orgasm pulls his own from him, painting your insides with his cum. He lets out a mangled, unmodulated groan as he finishes, a rare sound for you but nevertheless a treat every time. 

He pulls out of you and lays down next to you on the cot. You hear his modulator hiss as his helmet is replaced on his head followed by his hands undoing your blindfold. 

“I really am sorry about your toe,” he says with a chuckle. 

“It’s okay,” you laugh, looking over at him, “But I am gonna act like a brat again.”

“That was always a given.”

Follow @beskarandblastersfics and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post a new fic!

[rhoorl]

This was one of the first series I ever read when I got into reading fanfic last year, so I was so incredibly excited when I heard there was an update. I'm so sorry to hear about everything you've been dealing with 🫂💜

My heart went out to her throughout this whole chapter. The fear, the heartbreak, what she had to see/endure. And then this ending, ah I can't wait to see where you take this story!

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

[rhoorl]

Omigosh look at them 🥹🥹 thank you @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain 💜

Doggy tumble

(via)

[rhoorl]

👀

[rhoorl]

Am I...am I a Max girl now?!

I love how you balanced his character, he's a cock prick, but also cares and has a sweet side. And then he's 🔥 and commanding but a little mischievous too. I loved this!

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐓

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

genre: smut, office romance

word count: 5k

summary: a week after walking in on your boyfriend fucking someone else, Max gives you the day off. You leave, unaware that you dropped your watch. Much to your surprise, he brings it to you. Your relationship with him escalates in the following days.

warnings: office sex, rough sex, praise kink, dirty talk, use of 'sir' & 'good girl', piv, dom/sub dynamics, very mild degradation (he calls you his cocksleeve like once), dumbification if you squint, soft!max at times

a/n: I drafted this months ago and only now I finally finished the fic, I have no idea why I waited this long especially since I'd written most of it back then but other wips got in the way--sorry Max lmaodvdf this is my first time writing for you and I hope I did you justice 🖤 I rewatched his scenes and I'm still so horny for this man it's making me look stupid

Max’s office is the nicest one of everyone who works in this building, albeit a bit darker. There’s a succulent on his desk that reminds you of a translucent star and you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from it. His voice is smooth and melodic but you aren’t really listening. Your hand moves over to your watch, feeling the coolness of metal underneath your fingertips. It’s nice. 

It’s safe to say that you’re not really paying attention to anything. 

Your eyes are wet still, a sting every time you dare to blink. It’s been a week since you found your boyfriend screwing someone else on the couch in the living room. The image still lingers in your head, taunting you. 

While you stared, unblinking as they scrambled for their clothes, all you could think of how happy you were that they didn’t use the bedroom. 

Now that the relationship is over it’s easier to see the red flags. The way he belittled you, your passions, the things that you enjoyed. Your body, your cooking, anything you did was never enough for him. It was an open invitation to mock you for who you were. And that was the least of it, he never touched you, and you had to beg him for sex— not in the fun kind if you might add. You feel so fucking stupid for trying to make him happy.

“You’re not listening are you?” 

You flinch upon hearing the question, eyes finally snapping away from the succulent and turning to Max. You didn’t mean to be so obvious about it. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. . . Great, another person you couldn’t make happy no matter what you did. 

“You’ve been like this all week. Is there something going on? You can take leave if you need to, you’re not really much use like this anyway” 

His words sting but you can’t really blame him for it. Though you did find it funny that as an immortal he was so pressed for time. 

“Sorry,” you say and he looks at you, really looks at you. Brown eyes move from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his own. “I’ll do better just some... personal stuff going on,”

“Family?” 

“Shitty breakup.” 

“Oh.”

Max appreciates bluntness. You figured that one out on your first day here. He isn’t a fan of keeping anything that might affect your work bottled up. He doesn't like the guessing game either. If there’s something wrong he wants to know and if he can he’ll fix it. Not that he can really fix a broken heart. 

He suddenly stands up, making his way around the desk. He lends against the edge, hands on his lap. Instictecly you curl your fingers around the armrests. Max is pretty docile for the most part, unless he’s hungry. But the way he’s looking down at you, brows relaxed and a faint smile tugging at his lips, it makes your heart drop. He’s a walking corpse but his eyes are more alive compared to most people you’ve met. 

“I’m sure you’ll be happier without commitment wearing you down,” he says, voice dropping, barely above a whisper. You shudder and fail to see the way his fingers twitch. “Don’t think about it, relax, sweetheart.” 

And you do. It’s like warm water dancing over your skin. Your shoulders slump, your body limply sinking into the chair. A lazy smile spreads across your lips and he smiles back, teeth winking at you between his plush lips. “That’s it. You’re not feeling anything  now, are you?” 

You giggle, shaking your head. Even your heartbeat slows, the tips of your fingers tingling with pleasure—

You blink, pinching your brows, you slowly roll your shoulders and hear your bones crack. Max is gazing at you with utmost curiosity, thumbs drumming silently.

Then it hits you. The fucker is using his powers. Fucking vampires. 

“Stop it,” you hiss, your body relaxed but mind racing. He rolls his eyes and waves his hand as a sign of dismissal. The tension that had disappeared from your muscles return at full force, and you jolt. “You shouldn’t do that,” 

“I was trying to help,” he answers without a care in his tone. He buttons his vest and gestures with his head to the door. “Take the rest of the day off. Sort yourself. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” 

“But—” 

“Just go. It’s fine,” when you fail to look convinced, he pouts and draws a cross over his chest. Ironic. “I swear. Now go, take the day off, collect your thoughts or whatever you need to do,” 

You leave without pointing out the irony of him making a cross over his non-beating heart. You’ve worked long enough to know that if the boss wants you to take the time off, you take the time off. 

Max drags his palm over his face, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he hops off the desk and turns to look at the empty seat you left behind. He’s not sure if he should be condoning this kind of behavior. He doesn’t want people barging in here asking to leave with the most minuscule of problems. But it isn’t typical of you to be distracted so he decided that you earned it. 

He’s curious about what kind of man would be stupid enough to leave you, let alone make you look that sad. Not that it’s any of his business. 

Max is amidst turning on his heel when he sees it. A small sparkle on the carpeted floor. Cocking an eyebrow, he leans over with his hands in his pockets. A watch? 

That’s right you had a watch when you came in, you were playing with it while he was going over the weekly sales. You must’ve dropped it. Looking almost bored, he scoops it off the floor and stares at it. He sees your initials written on the back, a pretty, delicate little accessory. 

Surely you would miss it. He knows your address due to dragging your drunk self back home after an office party— so maybe he should bring it to you. Max sighs and flips the watch over. He has time to make a quick stop. 

He leaves the office with the watch snug in his pocket. It really isn’t his style to be nice, or remorseful, but he does feel a tad guilty using his powers on you. He genuinely did think he was doing some good. It did look like you were feeling better until you broke out of the trance. 

Max steps into the elevator. The tedious music loud and scratching his ears as always. 

Taking a day off isn’t going as smoothly as you had hoped. 

Initially, you thought you would binge your favorite shows and eat a bucket of ice cream. Instead, you ended up staring blankly at the ceiling, arm dangling out from the side of the bed. It’s a shitty feeling. Your heart feels heavy and uncomfortable. Maybe Max taking away the pain wasn’t so bad after all? 

There’s a loud knock on the door and you jump. Every bone in your body aches, your heart beating fast as you head to the living room. You’re praying to every god you know that it’s not your ex. You don’t want to deal with him. Especially not today. 

You take a deep, calming, breath. It’s okay. He wouldn’t just show up now, would he? Stupidly enough you don’t look through the peephole before yanking the door open, the person that lurks on the other side takes you by surprise completely. 

It’s Max. 

What the hell? 

“Hiii,” he says with a smug grin. He lifts something to your line of vision and it takes you a moment to recognize your watch. “Found this, thought you might miss it.” 

Blinking, you open your palms and he drops it. It feels like a dream. “Uh…thanks,” 

“You’re welcome,” he peers over your shoulder, looking into the dimly lit apartment. “So how’s your day off going?” 

“Not as fun as I hoped,” you give him a bittersweet smile. His eyes meet yours, and you see your reflection in them, so bright. “Do you want to come inside?” 

A shudder climbs your spine when something dark crosses his face, eyes becoming sharper. Your stomach churns and you swallow, fingers tightening around the watch. 

“Would love to” he chirps, practically jumping over the threshold. “Thank you for the invite, much obliged.” 

“You really can’t come in without being invited?” you ask, closing the door with a push of your heel. 

“Nope,” he answers, emphasizing on the p. “Why do you think I left you at the door after the party? You were too drunk to say ‘come in’ I basically had to push you through the door just so you could crawl the rest of the way to your bedroom,” 

“I honestly thought you were just being an asshole,” 

He scoffs, “I am an asshole. Just not to the people I like,” 

He drops down to the couch, which in return makes your stomach sink. You really need to burn it, you don’t think you can have it in your apartment anymore. You sit across from him, placing the watch neatly on top of the coffee table. “I wasn’t aware you liked me,” 

“Let’s say tolerate. I like your work ethic.” 

“Thank you?” you answer, unsure.

“You’re very much welcome.” 

You’re not sure why you invited him inside. He doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s morning, and he doesn’t really like to eat as far as you could tell. The silence is deafening and uncomfortable. You part your lips to ask if he would like tea or anything else but he beats you to it, gaze fixated on you. 

“So, how did it happen?” 

Your throat goes dry, “What?” 

“The break-up,” he shrugs and leans back into the couch, you internally cringe. “Do you want me to break his neck or something?” 

“What—No!” you’re horrified but can’t ignore the way warmth blossoms in your chest. You’re highly aware that he’s joking, however, it’s still a nice thought that someone actually cares enough to get pissed about it. “Where did that even come from?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I like seeing you so sad. It’s unnerving.” 

“Sorry that my misfortune is bothering you,” you answer, crossing your arms. “He cheated on me, and I’m only now realizing how shitty he was.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Yeah,” 

“So I do need to break his neck then?” 

You laugh. 

You aren’t expecting it, but here you are rubbing tears from your eyes as you laugh with your whole body. There’s just something about the way he said it; as if it was the most normal thing to do. He seems to enjoy the way you laugh. Smiling wide and bright, watching you with fond eyes. 

After minutes, your laughter starts to die down, softening into breathless giggles. You’re surprised to find that Max is still smiling at you, no smugness, no cockiness, just an earnest smile. 

“Thank I really needed that,” you say, heat building at the base of your spine. “Sorry if I worried you. It’s been a bit rough lately.” 

“We can’t all be perfect every second,” he grins, he flattens his palms over his thighs, moving them up and down. Your breath hitches, eyes involuntarily dropping to his crotch. You’re flustered all of a sudden. He tilts his head, tongue poking out of his cheek as he gives you an open-mouthed smirk. “See something you like, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks burning, “Nope. Not—Not at all,” 

He leans forward, placing his elbows on his thighs. There’s a table in between but you feel as if he’s a breath away. You swallow, goosebumps rousing over your skin. 

“You know I can smell it right?” he purrs. “I can smell the arousal gathering between your legs. I can hear the way your heart is beating… That asshole had no idea how to fuck you properly did he?” 

Your pussy bottoms out at his words. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s right, you don’t want him to know how badly you want him inside. For him to whisper praises into your ear as you squirm around his cock. You lick your lips. He’s not using his powers, you can tell. Yet you still want to blame it on the fact that he’s doing something to make you feel so hot and bothered. But it’s not him, just you. 

You’re not sure when you started to have the hots for your boss, but clearly, there was something there. Lurking in the darkness of your mind.

“Look at you,” he coos, eyes raking over your body. “So sweet and afraid. Let me be the first one to say that he didn’t deserve you. Not in the slightest,” 

“Max…” you warn. 

“Yeah…?” he mimics your tone, smile somehow wider. “Would you want to get coffee before work tomorrow morning?” 

The question catches you by surprise. You observe him for a brief moment, he seems dead serious—at least the amount of serious Max Phillips can be. 

You nod.

Your first early morning coffee date with Max goes exactly how you expect it to go. You pay for both coffees as a thank you. He found it unnecessary but grumbled a thanks anyway. He talks a lot about work; about sales, about his time in Romania. But mostly work. You do appreciate the distraction though so you don’t complain. You pitch in, telling him ways the company could improve but also adding that you want to quit one day and do something better with your life. 

The following mornings follow the same pattern. Mostly conversations about work, and sipping coffee. That is until Tuesday rolls around. It’s an especially cold morning and you find yourself huddling closer to him as the two of you sat on the bench. He doesn’t really seem bothered by the cold, which makes sense since he’s cold-blooded. 

Max’s eyes drop to your trembling fingers that were curled helplessly around the coffee cup. You notice his frown, his gaze lifts back up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to go inside?” 

“No, I’m good. Besides it’s too early to start working.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “We do get here early don’t we.” 

“I mean…we don’t have to. But I have been enjoying our mornings.” 

“So have I,” he chews on his bottom lip, instinctively moving closer to you when he feels a shudder crawling up your spine. “It sucks that I can’t really warm you up—being undead and all— This would be the perfect moment to hold your hands.” 

Funnily enough, he does manage to warm you up. You look down at your hands, the cup only half full, you place it to the side. Max truly had been a balm to your broken heart these past couple of days. He never got overly flirtatious again as he did in your apartment, some part of you is disappointed that he didn’t. 

“You can—” you lick your lips, the wetness furthering the chill. “You can still do that. If you want to.” 

“Yeah?” he moves his jaw, eyes dropping to your lips. “You’ll be colder.” 

“I think it might be worth the risk.” 

Max brings your hands to his lips, brushing your knuckles and kissing each finger individually. You shudder. He wasn’t wrong, he was awfully cold. But you weren’t wrong either, it’s worth it. Hundred percent. His mouth moves over the back of your hand in the shape of waves, the pit in your stomach rolling, and butterflies fluttering in your chest. His eyes meet yours and you’re mesmerized by him. His eyebrows raise, lips kissing the curve of your wrist, laying a path to the inside, he drags his teeth over the skin right above the vein. 

A sudden fear spikes from your feet to your neck. He wouldn’t, would he? 

“Are you afraid of me?” the question is whispered with a breath into your skin. Everywhere except the tip of your nose is warm. He looks at you with heavy eyelids, lashes kissing his cheeks every time he blinks. 

You don’t have an answer, but you know what he needs to hear. 

“I’m not.” 

Before you can blink his lips mold into yours. He traces the seam of your mouth with his tongue eagerly, and you part your lips, allowing him to taste and dominate. With both hands he holds your wrists firmly, pulling you close until you’re basically flush against him. Max inhales as he presses deeper, licking the inside of your mouth and swallowing your whines. 

He breaks away from you with a smile, you see the flash of fangs.

You gently knock on the already open door. Max is positively exhausted. His eyes snap from his computer to you, he sighs and signals you to enter with two fingers. You close the door when you enter. 

“Are we still good for dinner?” you ask, feeling slightly foolish now that you were standing in the middle of his office. 

“Sorry baby, not today. These assholes managed to mix everything up, need to fix all that so I’m going to be here late,” 

You try very hard not to look disappointed. You already know you failed when you feel your bottom lip starting to quiver. You ball your hands into weak fists, pushing your nails into your skin. He notices, a moment of worry crosses his face. 

Tonight wasn’t really a date, or anything important. It was just dinner. 

Then why are you so upset?

You neither move away nor lean in as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, and you exhale at the way you can feel his chest move underneath you. 

“Nothing, just—Don’t worry about it. I’m just being clingy. I know you’re busy,” 

“Clingy? Oh, sweetheart,” he rolls his chair back and slaps his thigh. “Come, sit on my lap.” 

“Uh…” your eyes flit between his spread legs and his face. “Excuse me?” 

“Just get your gorgeous self over here.” 

Swallowing, your legs move on their own. Your heart does somersaults in your chest. His smile never falters as you slowly lower yourself down, feeling his frame under you. Your insides clench. Your arms shake. You feel his breath on your neck when he guides your arms around his neck. He presses his lips where your neck and chest meet, heat coils in your stomach. 

“Max…” 

“You could never be too clingy,” he murmurs. “And even if you were I would love it. I’m actually really happy you came over, I was starting to think this thing between us was going nowhere.” 

“You want it…to go somewhere?” 

“Of course, I fucking do,” he snaps, looking up, glaring at you. “Do you think I come here that early just to drink coffee—I like spending time with you.” 

You feel yourself start to tremble as his hands move up your thighs and cup your ass. He squeezes gently and you gasp, your skin prickling under his touch. His lips move away from your neck, pressing soft kisses up your jaw until he reaches your ear.

"I want to take this further," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Bend you over this table and make you scream my name because I’m sure haven’t been screaming anything for a while."

His hands move around your body, tracing the line of your spine and the curves of your hips. His touch is gentle and yet rough at the same time, your heart beats faster with each passing second. You melt into him, wanting more, wanting him.

“I want to feel your wet cunt around my cock,” he groans, dragging his teeth down the column of your neck. His voice drops an octave. “Let me fuck you sweet thing.”

You pause for a moment, and then you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whisper. "Yes, I want this too."

Max smiles, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips, and he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. He nips at your bottom lip before pulling it and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Pulling you closer—inhaling you—he cups your head from both sides, and groans into your mouth. You feel the growing wetness between your legs, your body having a mind of its own, you grind down on him, shuddering as you feel the hard length under his pants. 

“Needy,” he tuts, gripping you by the neck. You hiss when he yanks you back, the rest of your body falling still. “You’ll take what I give you. Is that clear?” 

“Yes—” you bite the inside of your cheek. “Yes, sir.” 

Your cheeks burn as his eyes widen momentarily. Then he closes them, taking a steady breath, he cocks his head to the side. A soft hum echoes in his throat. 

“I like that,” he purrs, opening his eyes. “Say that again.” 

“Please, sir.” you choke out.

Max's grip tightens as he bends you over the office table. You gasp, your skin hot as he shoves your pants down to your knees. While you kick them off, you hear a zipper, feel the weight of his cock on the top of your ass. Your face is directly staring at the door— If someone were to waltz in, the first sight to greet them would see you taking your boss’s cock. However, you can hardly care when his warm breath fans your neck, his breathing uneven and rushed. 

He slips his hands down and cups your ass, kneading and squeezing as he shoves you further against the cold desk. 

"You look so sexy like this," he growls, his cock pushing against your ass as he presses himself against you. His hands move up your body, and he starts tugging at the buttons of your shirt, loosening them one by one. His lips brush against your ear and you shiver in anticipation as his hot breath tickles your skin.

"Say. It." 

It’s a threat and some wicked part of you is tempted to exhaust his patience. His hands move down your body, and his fingers start to tease your nipples as he traces circles around them. Then, when you don’t answer, he pinches them harshly. 

Your body jerks at the sharp pain, an acute moan rips from your throat. 

“Fuck me, sir. Please.” 

“You sound so good like this, begging for my cock,” he purrs. “I’m going to go easy on you today sweetheart, but don’t expect me to always be so nice.” 

He slides his hands lower, and his fingers slip between your legs, teasing and caressing your wetness. Your eyes roll back as his fingers start to penetrate you, and you grind downs in search of more. Wanting him deeper, wanting more of him. 

“So fucking wet,” he coos, he pulls out his fingers, smearing wet streaks across your hips. He nudges his cock between your folds and rocks his hips, the catches against your clit and a loud moan rips from your throat. “That’s my girl, and you thought I didn’t want this. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want this pretty cunt? Hmm?” 

“Max, please. . .” 

You hear the growl that rattles his chest. Closing his eyes, he cocks his head to the side, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs. “I really love hearing you beg,” he groans. “And the blood rush in your veins.” 

Your breath catches in your throat—and in one smooth thrust, he slips inside of you. You clutch the edges of the desk, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Suddenly the rest of the world blurs and it’s just you and him. He stretches you perfectly, his length deep enough to hit all the right spots. His hands smooth a path up your spine. You practically purr at the feeling. You whimper, and when you do, his lips are on your neck in an instant. His body a cool, yet comfortable, blanket on top of you. 

“Good girl. Look at you, being so obedient,” he licks the salt off your skin. “You feel so good, baby. The perfect cocksleeve for the boss.” 

“Oh god—” you choke out. You have no idea how to respond to that, but your body sure does. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tight. His breath hitches. You feel him straighten behind you, his hands press you down from the waist and you can’t help the small squeal that parts your lips. 

He’s restraining himself. You can tell by the way his hips twitches, eager to bury more of himself into you. His nails bite into your skin and instinctively you raise your hips. “Maaax,” you moan. “Fuck me, please. I can take it.” 

“You can, can’t you?” he mutters, sounding almost impressed. “My perfect girl. You’ll take everything I’ll give you?” 

You breathe out, “Yes—” 

And he gives you everything. 

Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs. Somewhere on the desk your arm hits a stack of papers and they fly everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Max doesn’t stop. He jackhammers into you, splitting you into two. It never felt this intense before. Never. You struggle to breathe and with every snap of his hips, you feel slick dripping down your thighs. Max groans as he wraps his fingers around your neck, pulling you up. Your breasts sway with every stroke, your nipples aching from how hard they are. His one hand remains on your throat as the other moves to your chest, kneading the soft mound in his palm. 

“Wouldn’t be fun if someone walked in right now?” he teases, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Seeing you getting absolutely railed—kinda wish I had a mirror so I could see how cock drunk you look, sweetheart.” 

Fuck, is all you can think and you desperately want to voice it out, tell him how good it feels. His voice, his breath, his teeth, his cock— But all you can do is whimper helplessly, hoping that the sound is enough to convey how much you’re enjoying this. 

“So stupid for me, I love it. You want me to make you come?” 

Another whimper. You nod helplessly, forcing yourself back to meet the movement of his hips. He hums as his hand slides between your legs, he draws wet circles around your clit, and your entire body clenches. You can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears but you think he mumbles ‘oh shit’. Max continues to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves, with fast strokes he mumbles profanities against your skin. 

You come with his name on your lips. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and unclenching over and over as you gush all around his cock. It feels never-ending. He grinds his hips, burying himself deeper, throbbing inside. You hiss as your second orgasm washes over you, fluttering and twitching, your body goes limp. You're fairly certain if Max wasn’t holding you up, you’d collapse. 

Much to your surprise, Max slowly lays you on top of the desk and the office ceiling comes into view. He’s still pulsing between your legs. He smiles down at you, slides his fingers between your lips—the same fingers he made you come with—and leans in to shove his tongue alongside them. You part your lips wide, the taste of yourself and him making your head spin. You moan around his tongue and fingers. He pulls back with a smile.

“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping your face with the same hand. 

“You can come inside,” you answer in a daze, then quickly add. “You can’t get me pregnant right?” 

He shakes his head and you smile, “Go ahead then.” 

It doesn’t take him long. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep inhales of your scent as he spills inside of you. You thread your fingers through his soft locks and gently tug on them. He groans. 

“That’s nice,” he hums, pressing his lips over your clavicle. “I wanna spend an eternity between your legs.” 

“Should I be scared that you actually can do that?” you say with a soft chuckle, he looks down at you, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He wiggles his brows. 

“Maybe.” 

Max slowly pulls out, and when he stands, he watches the mess pour between your legs. His pupils eat away the color of his eyes and you shudder at how hungry he looks. 

Suddenly shy, you avert your gaze as you try to collect yourself, “Sorry about messing up your schedule. I’ll see you later.” 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

He grabs your wrists and pulls you into an embrace. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until you feel yourself melting into him. 

“Fuck work,” he says, his hand resting over the small of your back. “I’ll get it done later. Let’s go home so I can at least spend tonight between your legs.” 

You grin into his chest, happy that he can’t see how ecstatic you look. He probably knows how excited you are anyway. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

[rhoorl]

This was so sweet! I felt so giddy for both of them reading this 🥹

Movie night

Zach Wellison x reader

Warnings: none, really. Just some fluff and some pining idiots.

Notes: This is my first time writing for Zach, so I'm not sure if I've nailed his character. But I do really love him, so I'm really happy that @boliv-jenta asked for a Zach fic 😁

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Words: 936

”Are you sure you want to do this?” Zach asks, his voice laced with concern. Always so worried, but your mind is made up. You really wanted this and there was nothing he could do to change your mind.

“I’m sure.” you give him a determined nod.

“Alright. You set the movie up, I’ll get the snacks and drinks.” Zach gives you a sweet smile, shaking his head as he walks away. He had a hard time understanding why you’d want to purposely make yourself scared.

Maybe it was silly, but there just was something about horror movies that drew you in. Not that you had watched many in the past, but after Zach became your roommate, it happened more frequently. Knowing he was there made it easier to watch them.

In the living room is a pull-out couch which always comes in handy on movie nights. You guys would make a little bed full of pillows and blankets, turn of the lights and of course get snacks. You have just finished setting it up, when Zach comes back and put the stuff on the little tray table you brought just for nights like this.

“Which one is it today?” He asks softly, eyeing your little setup with a smile.

“The Conjuring. I’ve heard it’s good. Apparently based on real events, which just makes it more scary.” You chuckle, putting on a brave face, but Zach looks right through it. So he just smiles softly and sit down, patting the couch beside him.

It doesn't take much more than 15 minutes before you slowly inch closer to Zach. He puts his arm on the backrest, just waiting for the first real jumpscare and like he predicted, you scream and nuzzle into his side.

“That didn’t take long.” Zach chuckles, gaining a slap on the gut from you.

“I hate you.” You mumble with a grin, focusing on the screen again.

“No, you don’t.” Zach smiles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. And he’s right. You could never hate Zach. Quite the opposite, actually. Not that you’d ever tell him, though.

For now, you just settle for snuggling closer to him, letting his arm fall around you, his hand landing on your midsection.

“Oh shit!” You squeal and quickly bury your face in Zach’s chest. He just chuckles and squeeze you a little tighter, knowing this would happen again. “Don’t laugh. Aren’t you scared?”

“No, sweetheart. I’ve seen worse.” Zach grins and take a sip of his beer. While pulling you a little closer to him, Zach looks down. He’d never admit it if you asked, but he loved whenever you wanted to watch horror movies, because you always ended up like this. Snuggled into his side, needing him to protect you.

Ever since the day you met, you offering a struggling guy a meal, Zach had liked you. Too sweet for your own good, kinder than most and funny. You never once saw him as a homeless guy, just someone you had things in common with.

And now you were here, a year later, roommates and he was madly in love with you. He wouldn’t risk saying anything, afraid you wouldn’t feel the same and things would turn awkward, so he settled for this. Horror nights with you hiding in his nook.

When the end credits finally roll over the screen, you breathe a sigh of relief. It was finally over. But it really hadn’t been too bad, since Zach was there.

“It’s getting late. Maybe we should-”

“No!” You interrupt Zach, giving him a pleading look. “I... I need to see something fun before I can sleep. Please?”

How could he resist your puppy eyes? Zach just chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “Alright, sweetheart. But only if I can choose what to see now.”

You don’t remember much more after that. Zach put on a Disney movie, but which one didn’t matter. What mattered was you in Zach’s arms, the place where you always felt safe.

You wake up sometime during the night, needing to pee. But as you try to get up, Zach squeeze you tighter, mumbling for you not to go. “Got to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You grin and make it quick.

Returning to the pullout bed, Zach instantly pull you into his embrace again. Night like these were gold to him too, having close always made him calmer, would keep the nightmares at bay.

“This is nice.” He mumbles as you settle in close, not fully awake. 

“No other place I'd rather be.” You reply, feeling flustered as his hand comes to rest on top of yours. Daring to look up, you meet his gaze. Those beautiful chocolate eyes finding yours in the dim light.

For what seems like an eternity, you just look softly at each other, no words needed. Zach is the first to break the silence.

“I like you.” He says with a hint of worry in his voice, worried you won't say it back.

“I like you too, Zach.” And then, you do something you never thought you'd be brave enough to do. Cupping his cheek, you lean in closer and kiss him softly. Just a quick, sweet kiss, but it still manages to set your body on fire.

Zach’s heart beats so fast he fears it might burst through his chest. Happiness isn't a strong enough word to describe what he's feeling right now, finally having kissed you.

For the first time in a long time, you've made him feel peace. Finally, he feels at home.

I'm not really sure who to tag in this. So I'm sorry for the unsolicited tags. Please feel free to ignore 😅❤️

@absurdthirst @wardenparker @pascalslittlebrat @littlemisspascal @nicolethered @musings-of-a-rose @thirstworldproblemss @storiesofthefandomlovers @pedrito-friskito @scorpio-marionette

[rhoorl]

Melly, this story was so incredibly sweet 🥹

I related to this mom so much, I'm so happy she had Joel next door to help her. My heart broke for him as he remembered Sarah but it was so sweet how willing he was to help.

“...I’m just gonna sit, okay?...No?...All right, no sittin’, you the boss. You’ve got places to go, uh?... Hey, now, no, not the hair, ow!”

Pretty sure we had this exact conversation with Baby Rhoorl 😆

The ending with the rocking chair and the little toys Joel made... ugh such a beautiful story!

Summary: It's not easy being a single mom in Jackson but help can come from the most unlikely of places.

Word count: 4.7k

Story warnings: 18+ MDNI, Jackson!Joel, soft!Joel, platonic relationship, fluff, references to loss of a parent and loss of a child, no use of y/n, no description of Reader she's a blank state (she's in her 20s but there's nothing remotely romantic between her and Joel so it's pretty much irrelevant to the plot), Ellie and Joel are all right.

A/N: This is written as part of @mothandpidgeon and @ezrasbirdie 's Mother's Day challenge and beta'd by the wonderful @nerdieforpedro because I never know if I'm doing a good job with Joel's accent. Thank you, babe. I had this idea while drying my hair on Monday and it has been everything I've been able to think about this week. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do. I'm not a native speaker, I've never watched nor played TLOU but I have a wonderful specialist, love you @avastrasposts

Baby cries float through the open window. A breeze of sorts as there is no wind at all tonight. How long has it been since they've awoken Joel from his light slumber, he has no idea. Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight on the corner of his bedroom in what would otherwise be a silent, dark night.

Hours or long, long minutes, he can't tell, except that they don't stop, the cries. Sometimes they quieten to the point he can almost hear his own breathing, eyelids relaxing. Before they pick up again.

And sure, he could try to muffle them. He's tried already. To sleep on his good ear but those cries, they've stirred ghost feelings in his old bones. Faded memories from decades ago that make it impossible to ignore them.

He could close the window but it's so humid. So hot this summer night –this whole summer actually– and doing so would make the air inside even more unbreathable. Oppressive. And there's not much more he can do about that, except hope some breeze will indeed pick up, gently move through the curtains.

He's already lying on top of the sheets in nothing but his underwear. Back clammy with perspiration and hair matted on the pillow and somehow he supposes that's what's keeping the baby awake.

Upset and not understanding why, despite being tired, Joel can recognize the cries for what they are, his fist gripping the sheet at the jostling memory. Hot and bothered that the little boy must be and probably not wearing much more than Joel is.

Poor baby, he can't help but think, head turning towards the window. So tiny and new in the world and no other way to express his discontent to the town. To his mother.

Poor mother, too, Joel realizes, much more awake than he'd like to be. Alone that she is to take care of her son. Trying to soothe and settle him and obviously failing.

Another piercing cry erupts in the dark and Joel sighs, naked chest rising against the rugged yet sweaty palm he's pressed there. Even more when he drags it down his face, collects beads of sweat from his forehead to his cheeks.

One longer sigh and then a grunt at how his entire body cracks and aches as he sits up and swings his legs to the side. Springs in the mattress do nothing for his back and creaks once he stands up.

The same clothes as yesterday on his back, his boots pulled on and left unlaced and he's so careful going down the stairs and out of the house so he doesn't wake Ellie up. Blessed actually that the racket doesn't seem to bother her.

A short walk to her house next door, long strides through the gate and up the wooden steps. Towards the front porch, the windows as opened as his and some lights on inside. The shadow of someone pacing and among the cries, the shushing sounds he couldn't make out earlier.

How it all stops once he knocks on the front door. Softly. He thinks.

This, you weren't expecting. Or maybe you were. That it was only a matter of time.

It feels like it's been a couple of hours since Byron woke up with a soiled diaper and you haven't been able to put him back to sleep. It's too hot and teeth are starting to appear and your baby is hurting. Nothing seems to comfort him, less your soft singing, and it's no wonder the neighbors are upset. With all the work that has to be done in Jackson, they need all the sleep they can get. They don't deserve to be kept up all night.

So your shoulders tense more than they already were at the nightly visitor. Your hand stills on Byron's back, your mouth closes in his hair as you ready yourself for a confrontation you wish you could solve with the flick of a hand.

“Joel.” Your voice shakes when you pull the door open and he's standing there, shirt untucked and hardly buttoned up, hands on his hips and forever scowling. “He woke you up, didn't he? I'm so sorry, I've been trying to make him stop but I can't? I know you're mad but please I –”

“Oh, hey, now, sweetheart, I ain't mad.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender, takes in your wild, dreadful state. The crusted milk by the hollow of your throat and some on your black top. The tremors in your voice. The scared and rapid blinking, eyes red and bags under them. The death grip on the upset little boy which seems to even tighten as you brace yourself for his reprimand and how Byron's wiggles in your arms, little fists balled all over the place and you're too tired to avoid the one that hits your chin.

“I ain't here to yell at ya or anythin’. I was wonderin’ if ya might want some help actually.”

“Help?”

“Yeah. To give ya a break?”

Arms outstretched towards your son, the scowl gone from his face and replaced by as kind a look as Joel Miller can muster, you suppose. One step inside your house even if you haven't invited him in yet but you could actually cry yourself from his unexpected blessing dropped on your doorstep. The last thing you imagined but truly a gift from above.

Spikes of ache flash down your arms when you pass Byron to Joel, sharp pain from having him held close to you for so long. You shake them down a couple of times, catch Joel surveying your small living room. 

“No luck rockin’ him?”

“Rocking him?” 

“Give your feet some rest.” He jerks his chin down to your bare feet and it takes your exhausted brain a handful of seconds to understand what he means.

“I don't –I don't have a rocking chair, Joel.”

“What d'ya mean–” He frowns, rubs and soothes and mutters a it ain't right under his breath before he shakes his head. Resumes the pacing you were doing before he showed up.

Top sticking to your skin, dirty and smelly but it doesn't matter right now and you rub your forehead once you see the expert way Joel is holding your son. No need to worry about that apparently.

Muscle memory. How to bounce and rub a hand on a clammy little back. Baby hair soft against Joel's palm when he cradles the back of his head and tiny fingers that grasp his shirt and refuse to let go. A lip that still quivers but with each soothing whisper and humming, each step that Joel takes, back and forth, back and forth on a different rhythm than yours, angry cries seem to lessen.

Fat, ugly tears still roll down tiny cheeks, there's one that Joel collects on the pad of his thumb. The smoothest skin he's touched in ages. Different skin color than the last time he's done this and a shot of electricity straight through his chest at the recollection.

Foreign arms and foreign voice and foreign smell, a person Byron doesn't recognize but rumbling reassurances and a steady heartbeat against the baby's head and you gape, properly gape at Joel when after some time, it is indeed quiet in your house.

“There ya go, big guy, that feels nice, right? Give those lungs a break. And your Mama, will ya?”

“I don't believe it,” you mumble, sagging on the couch, body heaving from relief and yet almost upset that he's managed to accomplish what you, as his mother, couldn't. “I've been at it for hours and it took you what? Five minutes? I–I–”

Your words wobble from frustration, hands thrown into the air and Joel feels a bit at a loss now that he's accomplished his first intended mission. He would sit down but that might upset Byron again and his ears may still be ringing with the baby's cries, the silence which settles around him, around you three, it's nice.

Except now it's you who's on the verge of crying.

“It's nothin' against ya, Mama. You're doin' a great job with him but it ain't easy, doin' this on your own.”

You can’t be much older than what he was when he became a dad himself, so he should know. He remembers. Long nights worrying, juggling everything. Easier and easier as she grew up but when she was so small, the hours when he could actually sleep weren't even resting. Mind restless and anxious and he wasn't even completely alone, thank God, Tommy was around most of the time to help.

“Ya know sometimes they pick up on our stress and it's impossible to settle ‘em then. Always nice to have some help, ain't it? But you're doin' great. You're a good mom,” he repeats, watching your shoulders heave, your tiny nod. Before he’s distracted by drool on his fingers, the one the little boy is now munching on. “Hey now, that ain't clean, darlin’, don't…don't do that.”

“It's all right, he does it all the time.”

“Teethin’, uh? How old are ya, big guy?”

“7 months old last week,” you sniffle.

“Look at ya!” A brighter tone of voice you would have never matched with what you know about your next door neighbor and Byron looks at him with big eyes. “Ya'll be crawlin’ all over the place soon enough. Make your Mama jog.”

You catch the surprising twinkle on Joel's eye and you can't help but chuckle, tears rolling down your face when you blink.

There's been a gaping hole in your heart for longer than your son has been alive that you're having all the pains in the world to fill. Even with how precious Byron is, how thankful you are to have found Jackson. To both be healthy. To have a roof and food and running water. A fridge and a bed and even a crib.

But not his father. The missing piece of the family you never would have dreamed of having but the one you'd dared start to imagine when you got pregnant. Unplanned and dangerous. But that settlement you'd heard of, that could be your chance to bring this child to life in a somewhat decent and safe place.

Only for Emmett to be snatched from you on the road and it's been so hard since he's died, to go through the motions of life without him by your side. Holding your hand and making jokes, even in the apocalypse. Laughing and smiling. There's some of him in his son and you do try to find peace and hope in how his legacy will go through Byron.

That little boy working his gums on Joel Miller's index and it suddenly hits you that you may not care if he munches on your fingers, your neighbor probably does.

He remembers the toys he used, three decades or so ago, to alleviate the pain. The plastic ones he used to stick in the fridge before they made their way into tiny hands and a tiny mouth. There’s probably none of these around for your son so really, Joel doesn’t quite mind. 

Too busy scanning his surroundings, completely awake now, the bundle in his arms much quieter, breathing evenly by the hollow of his throat, almost tickling scarred skin. 

“I hope ya won’t take offense, Mama, but ya look tired as heck,” he mutters, gaze snapping back to you and the honesty, the apologetic tone nonetheless, it makes you chuckle. 

“Can hardly be offended by the truth.”

“I’ll watch him a while for ya,” Joel decides, his mouth and his heart making the decision before his brain has fully processed it but when he hears the words ring in the silence, he doesn’t even want to try to take them back. Doesn’t regret them. “Let ya get some rest too.”

“What about you? You must be tired too.”

“When ya get to my age, there’s not that much need for sleep, ya’ll see.” 

He shrugs in the face of your disbelief and you can hardly believe your luck this time either. The turn that a terrible night is taking. How the prospect of a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep makes you yearn for your bed all of a sudden. 

“If ya trust me with him, that is.”

It’s the foundation the community is built on, to try and create a better life for all its inhabitants and there can be no going forward without it. The safe haven you were looking for when you set out on the road a year or so ago, weeks and days tend to blend, on the other side of the end of the world, you truly believe you’ve finally found it in Jackson. 

And sure, this is probably the longest conversation you’ve ever had with Joel Miller since he’s come back with the teenager in his care and Tommy introduced them to you as your new neighbors. Polite whenever he sees you in town or when he’s sitting on his porch and you happen to come back home. Helpful, even in the little time he’s been living next door. 

Besides, even with how little you do know about him, there’s no mistaking how at ease your baby is in his arms and that’s pretty much all that your maternal instincts need. 

“Even if I didn’t already, after what I’ve just witnessed, I’d be a fool not to. But, uh, are you sure?”

“Positive. Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. Go on. We’ll be ok.”

“I – I don’t know what to say, Joel. I – thank you.”

“Anytime, Mama.”

Your eyes stay on Byron, walking backwards to your bedroom, making sure he’s okay. Bumping into the wall and the doorknob digging into side, painful for a second and when you catch Joel’s eye once more, there’s a flash of him meaning business, silently urging you to think about yourself for a little while. 

But it’s hard. Easier, though, when you hear his voice float through the door you can’t help but leave open. A crack in it and there’s the rumbling sound of his words and nothing more than babbles which sometimes answer him, the evidence that your son doesn’t quite mind that you’re not with him anymore and rather quite enjoys his newfound babysitter. 

“Just us, men, for now, what d’ya say, big guy?... Feel like takin’ a nap of your own?.... Nah?.... We’ll turn that light off, yeah?...”

A click and less light flooding the floor of your bedroom, the pillow soaked with sweat still but eyelids heavy when you sigh into worn-out cotton, pushing your dirty feet under the quilt at the bottom of the bed. Only the little light on what you use as a coffee table on, you suppose. Those vintage lampshades that Joel remembers from when he was a kid and that he found horrendous. Still does. 

“...Where are your toys, darlin’? Ya got any book we could read? But quietly, so we don’t wake your mom. She needs all her strength and wits to take care of ya…”

His voice turns into a whisper, making it hard for you to hear everything, or maybe it’s just because you can feel your body relaxing at the babbles and slowly drifting back to the sleep you were denied earlier. For so long.

Joel can’t find any book, though. Only wooden cubes. Nothing soft like what he remembers. A makeshift doll, bright colors, probably sewn from someone in town. Nothing with little bells or those toys making music, those tunes that used to drive him mad but right now, he wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t think he would. 

No book but it’s all right, he keeps on walking, hoping, in his delusions, that the motions will tire the little boy. Wide awake that he is now, hanging on to his every word and making his heart clench fondly. 

“...What’s that?...Ah, that’s a deer. They live in the forest. When you’re older, we’ll get your mom to take ya there…Got any more of those photos?...Ah, see, that’s a bear. There’s a story with three bears, I think but I – I don’t remember it right now, my bad. Maybe it’ll come back…”

You don’t know the story he’s talking about, you make a mental note to go check at the school if they have it, or maybe you should ask people in town what stories they used to read when they were younger. And you hope you’ll remember to do that when you wake up. 

“...I’m just gonna sit, okay?...No?...All right, no sittin’, you the boss. You’ve got places to go, uh?... Hey, now, no, not the hair, ow!”

A hiss and more babbles followed by more mumbling, urging Byron to maybe try to sleep and you can’t say if it’s a figment of your imagination or if you’ve been truly blessed by the gods, when the talking seems to stop to be replaced by gentle humming. A melody to it and maybe actual words that you can’t make out but a soothing lullaby nonetheless to carry you to calm dreams of your own. 

You wake up to a different tune. Slowly. Bird songs from the window left open and a little bit of a breeze which finally makes the curtains flutter and cool off how hot it’s been inside. Bright sunshine in your face, your cheek warm when you purse your lips and try to cling to the last drops of peaceful sleep you’d been enjoying. Wiggling your toes, free from the quilt which has slid off the bed. 

Flipping on your back and stretching. Relishing in the silence cocooning you. Only nature wishing you a good morning. No human activity, no human interference for now. 

And that’s this realization which makes your blood freeze, your heart seize and your stomach clench painfully. At the same time, you feel an ache in your breasts, the need to nurse your son soon. 

But where is he? 

No sound at all in the house except your groan at how quick you stand up. Brain awake and in override. Survival mode already kicking in and looking for the closest weapon, the most efficient one. Also shoes. 

Heart thudding in your chest and in your ears, blood pumping with adrenaline, yanking the bedroom door wide open to face an empty living room. No sign of your son, no sign of your visitor and you feel it rise with a force you haven’t experienced in long, long months, those hints of panic that could threaten to overwhelm you and crunch your spirit. 

But no. Not now. Not until you’ve found him and rescued him. 

Frantic in how you try to assess what you know, you have to do a double-take to notice the piece of paper on the chair, right in the middle of your house. On the path to the front door. Impossible to miss. 

Words scribbled on pencil and black spots obstructing your vision as you scan it quickly. You gasp for air and hold on to the chair, hearing the paper crinkle as you clutch it. Exhaling loudly. Hand shaking and then against your heart, willing it to calm down. Replaying Joel’s words that everyone is okay. Everyone is next door. 

It’d almost feel ridiculous, how fast you’ve assumed the worst but he’s the apple of your eye and somehow, you don’t think you’ll ever shake off how dangerous it was, living in the wild before settling down here. Especially now with someone so precious depending on you. 

So you replace the note with your shotgun, no need for it now, shaky legs leading you out of your house, out the front yard which could use some tending, maybe next year. To the smells of summer that settle you even more. The life around you, pretty late in the morning, judging by the position of the sun. 

Out the gate and through your neighbor’s. To the activity on Joel’s front porch and the ecstatic squeals once he’s noticed you and points to you with a There’s your mama. Your cheeks ache with relief and joy at the sight of the happy little boy he finally hands back to you. 

“Hi, baby! Hi, how are you?” Kisses on his cheeks and his forehead and he laughs, the brightest sound in the world. “Thank you so much, Joel. And sorry.”

“For?” He frowns, looks up at you from the rocking chair he slowly lets come to a stop. 

“Probably taking up all your morning? I’ve got no idea what time it is but I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long.”

“Looks like ya needed the sleep. It’s all right. He slept some too.”

Not much but really, rocking chairs are marvelous things and once Byron started fussing again, and there was no way Joel was going to wake you up so soon, that’s when he decided to relocate to his own house. To watch the colors of the sky change in the dawn. To doze off a bit himself as well. A warm little body pressed up close to his skin. The smell of innocence he’d actually forgotten. 

To the chair he’s still sitting on. After he’d had to trek back to your house because the diaper had leaked all over his shirt and that makes you bite your cheek to hide your grin at how he scowls, looks down at himself and the tee-shirt on his back now. The little one he’s found dried on the line by your stairs and that Byron is wearing now, even if it’s gearing up to be a warm summer day again. 

Joel’s aware, as you inspect your son, that he hasn’t done a really good job putting a new diaper on him. Cleaning was easy. Securing the pins on the cloth, not so much. He remembers elastic bands and fastening straps and those were sometimes tricky already with a wiggling baby. So sharp pins so close to baby skin? He may have been ruthless to survive in the past, he was not about to face a motherly wrath if he scratched your baby. So it’s a bit loose, you do notice, but you’re so grateful. For everything. 

“I thought we’d wake ya up, getting changed.”

“Didn’t hear a thing.” You shake your head, kiss baby hair, and bounce him a little against your chest. You can’t see the smile he gives Joel, but you hear the giggle. 

“Out cold, ya were. I got him somethin’ to eat too. Had to go through your fridge.”

There’s a little bowl set on the railing, a dirty spoon and the remains of the puréed apple you were going to feed Byron for lunch. Some below his chin right now and even behind his ear and just like the diaper, you don’t care. You’re more curious to find out how food may have made its way to these particular parts. 

Because in spite of the bath he’ll need before the evening, he got fed and changed and looked after and he got some sleep and now he’s back with you and they’re not from exhaustion anymore, the tears that well up in your eyes. 

They’re from gratitude and appreciation for the man squinting from the sun shining bright before a cloud rolls in front of it.

“Thank you so much, Joel.”

He nods to acknowledge you. 

“Any time, like I said. May feel like you’re on your own but you ain’t, Mama. I mean that.” Then a second of hesitation, of chewing on his lip and of avoiding your gaze. “I know how hard it can be. Just you and him. I’ve been through it so I do, mean it. Truly.”

“Oh, with Ellie?”

He clears his throat. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Point is, if ya ever need help, ya know where to find me. Matter of fact, we’re gonna haul that chair to your place once someone will decide they’re done with breakfast!” 

He speaks up louder, neck stretched towards the house and the open front door, glad for something else to think about, someone to scold rather than reminisce about tragic times. They never leave him alone anyway and somehow, he’s rather grateful your son kept him up last night. It’s brought back better memories. Bittersweet perhaps, but better. 

“Or we can just wait for Tommy to come back and do it instead! Hi!” Your name gets butchered in the piece of apple Ellie is chewing on, a loud interruption in the doorway she leans against, swallowing loudly. “He came by earlier coz Joel here didn’t show up at the house they’re building,” she goes on, explaining what you’ve missed. “Joel just told him he had a bigger job to do today.”

“Will you get in trouble?”

“With my brother?” Joel scoffs. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Ok, good. What do you mean, though, getting that chair to my house?”

“Every mom should’ve a rockin’ chair.” Every parent, really. He spent some long nights in his. Him and Sarah. “It ain’t right you don’t. Go on, Mama, try it out.”

The wood creaks as he stands up from a cushion which has seen better days. Chipped white paint but it does the job. A soothing rhythm that has Byron’s eyelids drop when you settle in the warm spot Joel offers you. Hot breaths. Surprise choking you up, wide eyes as he leans against the railing, arms crossed on his chest. 

There’s something that digs into your back and chubby fingers reach for the little figurine of the animal after you’ve retrieved it. Carved dark wood. A dog you think. Maybe a wolf. Not some smooth work but in the baby’s eyes, that’s irrelevant. He’s reaching for it regardless, bringing it to his mouth. 

“He can have that too. I’ll make others.” 

“You made that?”

“Yeah. Tell me what he’d like and I’ll make it. I noticed he didn’t have that many toys and that – that ain’t right either. Kids should’ve toys.”

Bright ones everywhere in the house. With wheels and flashing lights and some to play house and cartoons on TV. Fat luck finding any of these in Jackson. He’s been to Tommy and Maria’s house quite often and he hasn’t seen any of those for their kid either. So his little figurines, they may not be state of the art, they get him out of his head and the little boy, he seems to appreciate them. 

“Grandpa Miller.”

Ellie sniggers behind you and Joel clicks his tongue, scowls but his dark look doesn’t make her budge. 

“I told ya to quit that already.”

She chortles even more, chewing her apple, not deterred by the scolding at all. 

It was annoying the first time, but the more Joel has been thinking about it, while taking care of the little boy, the more he’s starting to think that there might be some truth to it. Maybe. 

The role that was snatched from him in the dark and dirt and blood, all those years ago, that maybe, in some way, he could get a taste of. And as he catches how you try not to join in Ellie’s laughter, out of respect or perhaps because you’re not there yet with them, there’s a glint in your eye. Fresher cheeks somehow, less weight on your shoulder, and a lightness to the morning Joel didn’t believe could happen for him anymore. A reminder of easier times. Chaos and kids and a family of sorts. A bigger one. A sense of community. 

And you know, deep in your bones, rested and feeling safe again and with more wind picking up between the blades of grass and the leaves up high, more clouds, bigger even, the promise of rain perhaps, you know that you’ll welcome it all. Joel Miller being that for your son. The found family you never imagined you could have and you think, on this summer morning, with your son dozing off with his mouth open, drooling on your clothes, that life really might be worth living in Jackson. 

Thank you @saradika-graphics for the divider!

I hope you enjoyed this slice of soft and happy Joel, I'm always very nervous writing for him so I'd truly love to hear what you think about this story

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