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ro-sa-le-en · 2 months ago

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This was so cute and adorable, i loved it so much!💗

night's so blue

clark kent x fem reader / 4.5k

it's rare for two reporters to be assigned to the same movie. how convenient that you already have a good relationship with clark. or, this is too good to be true. it isn't a set-up, right?

— co-workers to loves, stupid cute movie night, hint of everyone knows

— title from somethin stupid by the sinatras. clark kent u are so dear to me...

Your side grows cold when Clark shuffles forward to the counter.

“Ready?” he asks, smile sweet and kind of sheepish as he clutches a large bucket of popcorn to his chest. Your face warms at the sight of his broad hand covering half of the bucket’s tacky design.

“Yeah,” you say, returning the favor with a grin of your own. Something in Clark’s face shifts, goes soft. “I’m great.”

Moving in unison, steps synchronized, you and Clark make your way down the hall of the theater. The carpet masks the sound of your footsteps, but it does nothing to quell the sudden leap of your heartbeat.

Clark clicks his tongue absently, speaking slowly to avoid a stutter. “‘Descender’ is actually the movie I wanted to see the most this year.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So, I think it’ll be a hundred times better seeing it today with you.”

—

Here is the thing: you and Clark Kent are co-workers. It’s as simple as that, a three-syllable word that describes your entire relationship in the most perfectly inaccurate way.

Autumn is beginning to chase the tail-end of summer in Metropolis, which means that all the interns are gone, and now work needs to be picked back up by the actual staff, most of which have been slacking.

(To clear any allegation: no, you are not a slacker, but a hardworking journalist for the Daily Planet who is a shining example of diligence. Your eyes are always glued to your monitor, unless... Well, unless a certain tall man stumbles into the office, spewing excuses for his tardiness or sudden disappearance. What—is people-watching not a valid hobby anymore?

If anything, point fingers at Steve Lombard.)

It just so happens that you and Clark were the only two without assignments at the time.

Naturally, the Chief (don’t tell him you said that) lumped you together on this movie review article. Truth be told, you were already saying yes before he even mentioned that all expenses would be paid for by the Planet.

So yeah, you might be a little desperate, and you definitely have an unnoticeable, tiny crush on your co-worker.

Who knows what the Chief would say about that, but everyone else at the Planet can agree that if there was one guy who could exceed a woman’s standards, it would be Clark Kent, and he’d do it with flying colors.

Exhibit A: when he stopped by your apartment thirty minutes ago, sweet in a way that felt too good to be true. Too good to be just co-workers for any other person, but Clark Kent isn’t any other person, and it’s just in his nature to do so.

“Hi.” Clark’s voice is breathy, pitched just above his typical baritone, like he just ran up five flights of stairs or got flown in via Superman Airlines. He almost calls you Miss, good manners kicking in before you remind him with an eyebrow raise.

You take him in, the rumpled sweater he fills in nicely and dark brown slacks that hug his thighs and all. His hair is messy, windswept; there’s only a slim ring of blue in his eyes, obscured behind his thick glasses.

Secretly, you wish he would show up to work like this every day. Hell, if Steve can clock in with that stupid polo and khaki combo, then Clark can wear something other than the outstandingly polite grey suit.

Not that you hate it, but...it just hides so much of him. You wind your fingers a little tighter around the strap of your bag, just now realizing how big he truly is—a revelation that hadn’t come until you opened that door.

He holds out a small bouquet of tulips. They’re a little ruffled like he is. Clark says something about running into a florist on the way, how he thought about you.

And then he smiles with hope filling the pockets of his dimples.

Swallow. Your pathetic heart starts doing somersaults. His cheeks blush with the same pink that blooms in the tulips.

“Are you—” you take the flowers, lay them on the table in your foyer, and think better about teasing him for showing up like he’s about to take you out on a date “—uh, that’s so sweet of you.”

He shrugs, speaking a little fast, “It’s nothing. I just thought you should have something nice.”

“Still...” you trail off, looping a finger into the ring holding your keys together.

“Oh, I could carry your bag for you while you do that.”

“Clark, you're going to give me cavities for being spoiled like that.”

Still, you’re so endeared by how earnest he is as you lock the door and make your way down the hall.

Clark walks one step behind you and holds the elevator even though it’s just opened. He’s so polite; offering to hold your things, standing a respectable distance away with his hands clasped together.

You don’t realize that you’re staring, lost in your daydreams, until you blink and woah—his eyes are inches away, wide pupils ringed with the sea. Your throat gutters into the grey area between desert dry and choking on spit.

“Sorry if I scared you.” His apology is soft, gentle, like the touch he’s pressing to your cheek. “You had something on your face.”

He pulls away to show you his thumb. There’s eyeshadow powder smudged over the strange, not-quite-typical swirls of his fingerprint.

Clark says, “It’s a nice color. Suits you.”

And then you think you might have blacked out, because you only remember walking past the doorman and the metro ride in little fragments. Must have been the way your brain started shorting like livewire when Clark’s warm knuckles brushed against the back of your hand.

Then there’s Exhibit B, five minutes before the previews started (Clark hates to be late, you learn, and he loves the trailers so he can add more movies to his watchlist).

You’re standing in the line for popcorn, the warm smell of an oven and butter soaking the air. The carpet is stained, stiff beneath your soles in the way only old movie theaters can be. You wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

Clark is next to you, still slouched as ever, except he has a slightly different energy about him tonight. It’s hard to place your finger on it, but if you had to pick a word, it would be ‘unguarded.’

Making small talk while you wait, you ask him about his previous assignments. All of which you have read—he’s brilliantly well-written that you’re kind of jealous—but you needed something to talk about before you exploded into a million pieces on the floor. At least you’d die to the sound of Clark’s voice.

“The last time I wrote for Entertainment, I reviewed an Italian restaurant on Olive and Jefferson,” he says, nodding to himself. Eyes trained just past your temple, Clark lets a small, shy smile dawn on his face. “It’s the best I’ve had in the city.”

That’s debatable, because you’re pretty sure the nice restaurant on Fifth and Main is better. Clark argues, though it’s weak, that the taste could be an atmosphere thing.

You shake your head. “No, really—their linguine is to die for. Like, it would make Batman smile.”

He laughs softly. “Well, there’s always next time.”

Flip-flop in your heart again—next time.

The moviegoers before you peel away to the pick-up counter. Clark looks at you, you look at him. Your hand starts creeping toward your bag.

It’s a mad rush to the cashier. His card is wrestled out of his pocket; you’ve got your phone ready to tap.

“One bucket of popcorn, please,” you blurt, tapping your foot as you eye the way Clark’s credit card is held in his right hand, poised to strike. Firmly, you decide that you will fight before you let your chivalrous, hot co-worker pay and further cement himself in your heart.

The ring-up is slow, almost excruciating. In slow motion, you watch as one of the workers scoops white-golden blooms into the bucket and crosses the floor. Each footstep takes a lifetime.

Just as the cashier finishes typing your order, Clark has his card sliding into the reader—lightning-quick, blink and gone. Transaction complete. You’re stunned as he quickly signs off with his index finger. Your phone barely had the fighting chance to even move an inch.

You scowl, lightly nudging his arm. Usually, something like that would set his clumsy curse off, but he doesn’t even budge. Weird. “Clark, you do know that all this is paid for, right?”

He hums. “I don’t mind filling out the reimbursement forms.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. “That’s…weirdly cute of you.”

With a shrug, the left corner of his mouth lifts. The action makes a muscle in his cheek scrunch up, and suddenly all that fills your mind is the image of his dimples. Deep-set, and pretty, too.

“I…don’t know what you mean.”

And then he moves to grab the bucket off the counter.

—

You aren’t a stranger to being in proximity to Clark.

Your desks share a short cubicle wall. Lois drags you to dinner night with Jimmy and Clark, and for some reason, she loves to sit next to the former and join him in giving you weird, expectant looks across the table. Mr. White always puts you on the same byline, like now—you already share a desk, he had grunted, staring down a front-page draft, so you should be a good team already.

On a less professional note, he’s always been the guy you can rely on. He operates like clockwork. Every day—in the office by nine; late after lunch break; taking a few days every month to see his parents; clocking out with you.

He told you, once, that his mom would love you. It hadn’t meant much then, other than three days straight of dreaming about seeing his hometown and waking up tangled in your sheets, frazzled.

But now, things are kind of different.

This isn’t like awkwardly bumping elbows at the table in that midscale restaurant Lois frequents when she’s short on cash and needs a place to think and talk out a new lede to her friends. It’s not standing up and crashing into each other because Clark always forgets to go the other way, and this isn’t routine either.

This...feels like a date. A looming in the back of your mind, handholding across the armrest, fireworks in your stomach date.

The theater is still bright when you enter, hardly populated by spectators. There’s a teenaged couple of girls sitting in the far-right corner, one of them having her legs thrown over the other.

You don’t know how that works. Looks uncomfortable, crammed into a little boxy space.

They giggle over something on their phones, and the girl with her legs on the bottom of the stack puts her hand on her partner’s knee, rubbing her thumb in a circle as they grin at each other.

Is there some sort of love virus in the air or something? Because that would be a great explanation as to why you want so much more than you usually do with Clark. Want to hold his hand. Want him to put his hand on your knee and—

Clark taps your shoulder, breaking your miles-long stare.

“Are…you okay?”

“Yeah,” you stumble, fingers coming up to touch your neck. Self-conscious, you give him a crooked grin. “I’m excited too.”

“Oh,” he says. You decidedly hate him and his stupid big build and stupid soft sweater and stupid little ‘oh’ that makes your stupid heart start tap-dancing. “That’s great to hear.”

Awesome. Like all times, Clark is oblivious to the world—that being the rat-tat of your stomach doing a sharp kick.

It’s a true blessing that he doesn’t have the power of super-hearing. Who knows what you’ll do if he did…embarrass yourself, probably. You want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Which row?” you ask, already beginning to scale the steps.

“J12 and 13,” he responds, trailing behind.

You didn’t know it was possible for a person to have a five-foot radius of body heat, but you suppose that it’s one of the quirks he always seems to be surprising you with. It also isn’t helping when a flicker of warmth lights in your stomach at the sight of his slacks straining against his thighs.

Another unwarranted thought about Clark Kent. You really need to get a grip on yourself.

Row J. Sliding between the seats, you search for number 12 and 13.

You clear your throat to soften the sudden dryness that’s come to it. “So, tell me about the movie.”

Clark shuffles in like he’s walking on stilts, nearly falling into the wrong seat twice before righting himself. You’re surprised he hasn’t spilled a single piece of popcorn.

“It’s—think of Star Wars, but with a robot kid who’s—well, his entire existence is looked down on,” he manages, bucket clutched flush to his chest. He stalls for a second, eyebrows tilting the slightest bit inward. “And everyone wants to kill him, but he’s just a kid who feels too much.”

A little stunned, you hold Clark in your stare. “Wow. That kind of sounds like Superman.”

You think to slap yourself for saying that. Fuck, that’s stupid.

He laughs then, a half-scoff with the corners of his mouth turned up. Left side higher than the right, you note—as usual. “Yeah. Just like Superman.”

You don’t go deeper into the nuances of Superman’s existence, despite having an expert in getting interviews with the hero standing right next to you. Instead, you sit down in a silence broken only by sparse fits of giggles from the girl couple in the back and the occasional boom from an adjacent theater.

People filter in slowly as the previews start. You train your eyes on your hands like Clark as the trailers play, not sure what to do with the conversation being left at that, and the bucketful of still-hot popcorn between you doesn’t help.

He coughs first. You look up, and he’s already standing, washed with the colors of a movie screen. “I just realized. We don’t have napkins.”

“Oh,” you say, stupidly. A flash of pink—Clark's tongue comes darting out to wet his lips, and it’s gone just as quickly. He fiddles with the cuff of his sweater, antsy, thumb and index rubbing the soft material. “You’re right.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he tells you.

“And I promise I won’t finish the popcorn.”

A small, awkward smile. You feel the nails of endearment drive deeper into your heart.

Then he slinks back out of the row, knocking into the back of a seat as per usual, nearly stumbling down the stairs.

You hide a grin behind the back of your hand. He’s so cute runs circles in the back of your head, and then you catch yourself.

Co-workers, remember that.

—

He tells the truth, so you keep your promise. The popcorn remains untouched.

Retrieving napkins only takes a minute (and a half), which is enough time for your phone to buzz with a notification that Superman has just beat the shit out of an asteroid and still had the time to rescue a classic cat-in-a-tree. He also flew over Meteor Stadium and signed baseballs for three kids.

Naturally, the staff group chat blows up.

You’re halfway through a quiet, incredulous laugh at Jimmy’s message—just saying, Bruce Wayne kind of looks like Superman—and Lois’ response—hell no, he’s from Jersey—when he returns. Clark looks a little more puzzled than he was a minute ago, hair messier and glasses sitting crooked on his nose.

Clutched in his hand are five or six napkins as he sits back down. His slacks—those damn slacks—hug his skin like a secret he’s only showing you now. You want to bite something. You might have something that comes first to mind too, and if anyone suggests that it’s Clark, you’re going to silence them.

Back to the real world…now would be nice.

In the time it took you to give him a once-over and stare, Clark has taken to lightly bouncing his knee and rubbing the cuff of his sweater. You think to hold his hand, just so he doesn’t ruin the knit.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks, words hesitant. His right hand reaches up to touch his jaw, feather-light.

“No,” you say, too quickly. “I zoned out thinking about Jimmy’s text.”

Clark frowns. “Jimmy?”

Turning your phone to him, you scroll through the huge wall of heated debate between the photographer and Lois. His face is lit by the screen, a square of light that makes his eyes shine ever brighter.

Somersault in your stomach. Ba-dump. Heart crashing into your ribs.

He lets out the same quiet, incredulous laugh you did, lashes fluttering. “Bruce Wayne can’t be Superman.”

“I know, right? He’s just…I can’t see it.”

Shaking his head, Clark smiles and shifts to relax in his chair. “Yeah. Can’t see it.”

The theater is fuller now. You can’t even see the couple from earlier, already lost to a sea of people sitting down. Premiere night effect, you suppose.

What’s surprising is that the seats next to you and Clark are empty, on both sides. No one is sitting behind you either, or in front. It’s just a little bubble for the two of you here.

The chatter rises a little louder, then stops as the lights dim, and the PSA about distractions begins.

You think it’s kind of funny. To have your phone on silent and tucked into your pocket and still have something to watch.

Clark is mesmerized by the opening credits. The camera pans out to a sun peeking out from behind the curve of a globe, a tiny flash of white-yellow before the music swells. Then, cut to a shot of clouds parting to reveal a sprawling city of pure tech, and his mouth stays open for a whole minute at the opening credit sequence.

You watch the first five minutes through the reflection in his wide gaze, a rush of adrenaline flickering in your chest at every dart of his eyes as they chase details across the screen. Clark doesn’t reach for popcorn until the pace starts picking up.

“I think we’re getting close to my favorite scene.” Clark’s voice, deep and quiet, is closer than you expected it to be. You turn your head to him, and even in the dark of the theater you can see his eyelashes fluttering inches away from your ear.

“Yeah?” you whisper, an uncontrollable grin rising on your face. You reach for him and gently nudge his chin with your knuckles, turning it back to the screen. He complies, easy.

Sometime between a corny one-liner and a roar of laughter in the audience, you bump hands with Clark’s at the bottom of the popcorn bucket. He chuckles a little louder then, and you tear your eyes off the screen to look at him.

He’s sneaking a glance at you from the corner of his vision, face uncrinkling with the tail end of his laugh. Your heart flares, ribs scorched. You feel a little struck, warm under the collar.

Fingers smearing at the corner of your mouth, “Something on my face?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, eyes strikingly blue and—you just noticed—somewhat alien. “This movie’s just surpassing my expectations.”

—

The sky is settling into a deep blue by the time you step out into the night.

(Clark spent an extra five minutes taking pictures of every poster he found interesting, muttering to himself as he noted them down for future reference.)

It’s unexpectedly chilly at this time. Though you’re wearing a sweater, you can’t help but rub lightly at your upper arms. Without a word, Clark shuffles a little closer, body heat radiating off him like a furnace.

Bubbles are still fizzling in your stomach at the memory of the accidental touches you shared with him. You bite your cheek, a grin already urging at your face.

“You were right,” you tell him, shoe soles scuffing on the pavement. “His story really reminded me of Superman.”

He exhales through his nose—a pleased sound. You train your eyes away from his face, of course. How else would you get home safe without exploding on the street?

Cars rush past the sidewalk, sending slipstreams of wind that cut through the knit of your sweater. Fighting a shiver again, you pick up the pace to the nearest crossing light—about ten paces down, blinking with that red hand in the distance.

Clark says your name then. Quiet and gentle, like he always is, but now there’s the slightest inkling of something more solid lying beneath it in a weirdly familiar way. This is of utmost importance, says a voice in your head.

“Yeah?”

A car horn blares right past you, but the sound is lost to a watery filter that rushes into your ears. Only Clark’s voice is clear when he says, “I have something to tell you.”

Your stomach does a somersault as you turn.

He’s looking at you with a softness to his eyes, the same one he had when you were sneaking glances at each other. He’s also standing up straighter, the barrel of his chest swelling. You want to bridge the distance and shake him by his freakishly broad shoulders. You also kind of want to kiss him.

You shrug, a small smile coming to your face. “What?”

Clark swallows. Gulps, really, so hard that you can see the outline of his Adam’s apple bob. Then he steps forward with a breeze that comes downwind—smells like clean, sweet hay, archived newsprint, and sun-dried linen washed in citrus detergent—and pats your shoulder.

“I’m...” he starts, chewing his cheek like he’s doubling back. You blink, and his shoulders are closing back up, neck slumping forward. “I liked spending time with you tonight,” he decides, holding your eyes earnestly.

“Me too,” you say, nodding too fast. Something still bugs you, the question of why his attitude seemed so familiar poking at the back of your mind.

His mouth warbles into a semi-straight, relieved smile; the habit of tilting his lips has never really been kicked, and you don’t want it to. Your stupid insides flip at the sight, heads over heels, and you try not to swoon at the quick glimpse of the tip of his tongue as he wets his lip.

“Is it weird that I want this to happen again?” Clark’s warm hand, still on your shoulder, squeezes lightly. Not hard, but just enough to ground you.

You reach up for it, sliding your fingers around his big palm. He’s a lot warmer when you’re skin to skin. His nails are short, healthy; there are faded calluses on the side of his finger from holding a pen for too long. You wonder about the rest of him, and then you wonder about him around you. That sets off a whole different tangent in your mind, one you won’t work through until you’re alone in your apartment and have a wall to vent at.

Holding his hand, you decide to throw caution into the wind. “Are you free next weekend?”

“Yes.” It’s thunderclap-quick.

“That’s—great,” you stutter, face blooming with heat at the fact that you’re basically asking him out. Holy shit, you’re going on a company-sponsored date. “We could try that Italian place I was talking about.”

“Of course.”

“But I get to fill out the reimbursement form this time.”

“Sounds good.”

Just to tease, “And you’re Superman.”

“Sure!” he blurts, circuits practically bursting and sparking out of his ears. “I mean—I couldn’t possibly be...him.”

You laugh, a course of giddiness rushing through your veins. He’s ridiculously endearing, shaking his head with ears dyed pink, pupils blown wide, and glasses slowly sliding down his nose as he stumbles over his words.

“I’m kidding, Clark.”

A long exhale from him, hissed through the teeth as embarrassment flickers over his features. “I knew that...”

—

It’s hard not to start kicking your feet the moment you crash onto your bed.

Ever the gentleman, Clark had walked you up to your apartment. Your knuckles brushed in the elevator. He giggled—giggled!—at a shitty joke you stole from the internet.

Then he stared at you from the other side of the door with sick puppy eyes as he said goodnight. His face was still red.

“Holy shit.” Your whisper echoes in your empty apartment. This might just be your new favorite phrase. “Holy shit.”

Fragments start coming back to you at full strength. The smell of buttered popcorn at the theater. How his eyes glinted with that weird, otherworldly blue when the movie’s colors splashed all over his glasses. The feeling of his hand in yours—warm, and right. The scary, exhilarating way your head spun when you discovered that he was already looking at you.

The loud buzz of your phone cuts through your schoolgirl-giddy daze. You fumble around your bag for it, pulling it out to reveal PERRY WHITE branded on the pixels in bright white.

Holy shit.

“Hi, Mr. White,” you rush, phone clutched tight in your fingers. You can just see his stern face in front of you, beard bristling as the embers of his lit cigar flare. “If you’re calling about what I think you’re calling about, I am starting my first draft right now and I will share it with Clark in a second—”

Someone snorts on the other end of the line.

...That’s not your editor-in-chief. The impersonator speaks with their hand over the receiver, and you can hear the muffled back-and-forth with another person in the background. It sounds like a young man, voice still kind of pitched, and a woman with a serious tone.

Oh, they can’t be serious. You squeeze your eyes shut until spots start dancing in your vision.

Come on, you always get the phone.

Hissed: Do you wanna be an accomplice?

Yes, actually, I do!

Fine.

Rough scratch—a sound that only comes when a phone gets passed around. The two culprits mutter to each other for another second or so; you catch something like ‘or else I’m gonna do it’ before the man’s voice comes blaring through your speaker.

Jimmy’s voice is shit-eating as he sings, “So, how was your date?”

You roll your eyes, flopping back down onto your bed with a groan. “Of course, it had to be you two. I’m going to tell the Chief this time, I swear.”

Now it’s Lois’ turn to pitch in. “Oh, he’s in on it too.”

The wide grin that splits your face can’t be helped. Despite the meddling of your co-workers, who must feel like masterminds at this point, you’re kind of thankful. You just cling to the infinitesimal sliver of hope that they won’t sidle up to you at the coffee machine with suggestive looks.

“You three are so lucky I don’t have a lawyer.”

—

notes. im spilling my guts rn i saw the prime premiere. yea my broke ass stole someone's amazon account and dropped real money to get a jumpstart on clark brainrot LOL ૮◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

++ if u enjoyed please let me know!! i love feedback ;)))

#clark kent x reader

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ro-sa-le-en · 2 months ago

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Summary: When Tyler's baby sister joins him and his team for a season she seems to catch the eye of a certain StormPar member much to her brothers dismay... will she listen listen to her big brother or follow her heart?

Pairing: Scott Miller X fem!reader, Tyler Owens x sister!reader

Warnings: Sneaking around, Pissed off Tyler, Love Struck Scott, ALOTS of kissing, A little age gap, Cussing, Drinking, Storms(duh), Falling in love, Slow burn

Word Count:1,545

A/N: This is my first series so any feedback would be amazing! There isn't much Scott in this chapter but there will be plenty of him in future chapters. I'm writing this with the help of @nikkicloudie she save me the idea for it! Go check out her stories there are amazing!!!

You loved storms just as much if not more then your older brother Tyler. You were 10 years younger then him but you were one in the same. You even followed in his foot steps and majored in Meteorology but, you took it a step further and got your PhD in it at UT Austin. You had just graduated early and your brother was proud so as your graduation gift your brother invited you to join him and the wranglers for the season. It took you all of .5 seconds to say yes.

You still weren't sure what you were gonna do with your degree you had a few job offers from different places but joining your brother could hopefully help you figure it all out. Hey you may even follow in your brothers foot steps even more and become a storm chaser who's knows your life was just starting and anything was a possibility!

It was early evening when your plane landed. After getting your suitcases from baggage claim you're off to find your brother. While looking around you all of a sudden feel 2 arms from behind left you in the air.

"Baby sister" you hear from behind you. You turn around and see your brother's big smiling face. You wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze as hard as you can. "I'm so happy you're here" "I am too I miss you big brother" he hugs you back and give you a kiss on your temple "I've missed you too sis, come one let's get your stuff in the truck the rest of the crew are waiting for you they can't wait to see you"

You couldn't wait to see the crew you loved them almost as much as your brother.

The ride to the hotel was 45 minutes away from the airport and the ride was filled with stories about about chases the crew have done and some new research they have and things you've been up to since graduation. You haven't seen your brother since Thanksgiving so it was nice to be spending time with him for the next few months.

Once you pull into the hotel parking lot you saw a lot of other storm chasing teams and of course you see the wranglers. When Tyler parks the truck you barley have time to get out before you have a pair of arms around your waist and your feet lifted off the ground. "Dr.Owens you're finally here"

"Boone oh my God put me down before you drop me" you say as you kick your feet

"Boone don't break my sister she just got here" Tyler says shaking his head making his way around the truck.

"I'd never drop my favorite Owens" Boone says with a big smile.

Boone finally puts you back on your feet so you can hug and greet the others. You all decide to hang around, have a few beers and catch up. Everyone is just how you remembered and you know its gonna be a great time. You are about 3 beers in and laughing at some story Boone was telling but unbeknownst to you your laughter had got the attention of another storm chaser and he couldn't take his eyes off you.

Across the parking lot Scott is standing by one of StormPars trucks uploading data to his laptop when he hears a beautiful laugh. His head shots up and sees not only is the laugh beautiful but it's coming from the more beautiful girl he's ever seen and he can't help but stare.

"Hey man you get that data in the system yet" Javi asks as he walks up to the truck. Scott snaps out of the trance he's in and looks to Javi "oh just about done" he says looking back at his laptop.

"Hey who's the new girl over there with Owens" Scott ask eyes still looking down tapping away "she a new hillbilly member?" Javi looks over to Tyler and and his crew to see who Scott is talking about.

"Nah dude that's Y/N Owens Tyler's little sister, she just graduated from UT Austin with her PhD in Meteorology. She's hella smart not to mention drop dead gorgeous don't ya think" Javi says "She's ok i guess". Scott says with a shug, he couldn't let Javi think he had a thing for Tyler's sister could he it would ruin his hard ass imagine.

Back over across the lot the wranglers are still having their reunion with Y/N. "As much fun as this all has been we gotta get to bed got a long day of chasing tomorrow ahead of us radar looking really promising" Tyler says to his crew and sister.

"Hopefully I get to get up close and inside a tornado tomorrow" you say beaming with the biggest smile. "More like your big brother everyday" Tyler says with a laugh pulling you into a hug.

As the crew is putting all their equipment away you and Tyler grab your bags from the bed of his truck. "You think you packed enough stuff Y/N, you know we are chasing tornados not trying out for that modeling show" Tyler says as he grabs 2 of your bags and looking at the other 2 smaller ones still laying in the back of the truck.

"One that show is Americas next top model and 2 I came straight from school so I had to bring everything that was in my dorm, I'll sort it all out and send the rest to mom and dads" you say rolling your eyes. "Plus you there are some pretty cute storm chasers in this lot never know when ill need a sexy outfit" you say throwing a wink to the crew who bust out laughing knowing how protective Tyler is of you.

"No that's not happening " Tyler says looking at you while handing you one of your smaller bags. You look at him and rolls your eyes while taking the bag from him " Yeah ok" is the only thing you say with a smirk.

"You ok with sharing a room with your big brother tonight? They only had 3 rooms left when we got here" Tyler ask while making you way to the stairs. "Yeah that's fine use to do it when we were kids". You make your way up the stairs to the room you and your brother were sharing carrying the 2 smaller bags. When you got to the door Tyler is looking for the key, he finally finds the card and goes to unlock the door but instead of a green light on the handle its red. "Shit stay here I need to go get a new card".

Tyler leaves you on the second floor while he goes to get a new key. You walk over to the railing cross your arms over it and look out at all the other storm chasing teams. As you're looking over the rail you spot a group of chasers looking way more professional then anyone else in the parking lot. Along with the group you a tall muscular guy in a ballcap catches you eye and all you can think of is how insanely good looking he is. Your focus on the cute guy is broken by your brothers voice.

"Got a new key" Tyler says. "Bless you big brother I'm so ready for a shower, food, and sleep in that order". As Tyler opens the door you peak over your shoulder and you swear you see the cute guy looking at you with a smirk.

Tyler orders pizza for the 2 of you while you get in the shower. It was nice to wash away your day of travel. You stayed in the shower longer then you normally would have but the hot water felt amazing you couldn't help it. You get out and start to dry yourself off when your brother yells to you the pizza was delivered.

The rest of the night spent eating pizza, watching tv, and doing more catching up with your brother. "Thank you for inviting me Ty it means a lot. I still don't know what I'm gonna do my new fancy degree I'm hoping being here and chasing will help me figure it out" you say looking at your brother. "I'm happy to help you figure it out sis" Tyler says with a smile.

When the pizza is on gone and you have cleaned up the mess you crawl into your bed with a loud sigh. Tyler laughs and shakes his head. "I've stayed in this hotel before the beds are not that good" "They so when you've been traveling all day and had a 3 hour delay in Austin" You say as you close your eyes. "Ok well I'm going to take a shower you need to get some sleep got a long day of storm chasing ahead, and with any luck you will be inside your first tornado" your brother says while grabbing his shower things and clothes.

"Can't wait" you mumble not able to keep your eyes open any longer. You couldn't wait for your first real chase and with any luck you would see the cute tall guy with the ballcap.

#scott miller x reader

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ro-sa-le-en · 2 months ago

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The beauty and all the details of this story are really indescribable for how wonderful they are!🥹💖

“After that night you two first met, after you two had drinks at the same bar he had just left before rescuing you from that asshole of a date, he had already known that there was something special about you. Conversation was easy with you. You had listened to him as intently as he had listened to you. Whenever you smiled, the world felt brighter and more hopeful. Every light touch of your hand to his or brush of your knee had his nerves sparking with the need for even more of you.”

“It already felt natural for him to take your hand as you left the bar at closing time. His heart stammered when he felt you slip your fingers between his, giving the tiniest squeeze. When he walked you to your car, you had leaned back against it to look up at him with that smile again that weakened his knees. He’ll forever be grateful for you to have taken the lead in that moment and gently pull him closer into a kiss that still steals his breath away when he thinks about it.”

Aww I love that it was all so natural for them from the beginning. They were always meant to meet but most importantly be together and love each other!🥹

“Why do you call abuela ‘Violeta’ when that’s not her name?” a young pre-teen Frankie asked his abuelo one afternoon while sitting with him at their kitchen table playing Crazy Eights.”

The fact that Girasol and Frankie then named their daughter Violeta is a detail that filled my heart with joy, to say that I loved it would be an understatement, it was so beautiful and emotional!

“Nonsense, mijo,” The man calmly shakes his head, “Every person, boy or girl, has a favorite flower. One that makes them purely joyful at just the mere sight of it. Makes them smile and feel that hope of all the beautiful things life has to offer,” he smiles and gestures widely with his arm.”

So he thinks and feels all these wonderful things when he sees Girasol? Ooh as if Frankie couldn't become even more perfect than he already is!🥹

“It was then, when his eyes took in your dress, that the memory with his abuelo slammed to the forefront of his mind. On your body was a beautiful white sundress, with sunflowers all over it.”

“With heated cheeks, you smile under his gaze, “Thank you, babe. Sunflowers are my favorite.”

“The smile that forms on his face has you weak in the knees, “Mine too,” he replies.”

Aww it was definitely fate!😭💖

“His large hands skim your sides before wrapping around you, “I could look at them all day. They’ve always made me really happy,” with a gentle brush of his nose against yours, lips almost touching, “Same way I could look at you all day. Same way I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

“The warmth of his breath hits your lips as he whispers, “Eres mi girasol.”

“I’m falling in love with you,” his eyes searching yours for any indication of your reaction, hoping it’s not too soon to say since he’s actually fairly certain he’s already in love with you.”

“He swears your eyes sparkle as your lips curve into the cutest smile, “Frankie…,” you sweetly exhale, “... I’m falling for you too. Hard.”

Aww the fact that they both found their person in each other and were sure about it from the beginning shows how their love was already so special!🥹

“Can we save today’s date plans for another day? I have something else in mind,” you quickly question.”

“Frankie gives your ass a squeeze then slides his hand along your cheek, “Tell me.”

“You already know,” you kiss him again before taking his hand in yours and moving away from the truck, back towards your building.”

“He can’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried, “Your neighbor?” he weakly asks as he lets you pull him with you. Turning to face him, you just shrug, “She can turn her TV louder. Or you could always just kiss me more to keep me quieter,” throwing him a wink.”

“I’ll kiss you forever, mi Girasol.”

P-E-R-F-E-C-T-I-O-N!

Woow that was sooo great to read, I love always discovering new things and details about their story and relationship. The detail of the grandfather telling him why he calls his wife Violeta was so sweet. The same goes for the fact that Frankie and Girasol will then call their daughter Violeta, it is something that makes the story so complex and full of precise, unique, sweet and special details, and I love it for this too! Reading about Frankie and Girasol being so in love from the beginning is always so beautiful, because then thinking and knowing (thanks to the other stories you wrote) about everything they have been through, how despite everything they have always been close to each other and how their love has strengthened even more over the years is something I think about so often and that literally makes me dream, this story and family has literally entered my heart and I am so happy about it, it is always a pleasure and a huge joy to read about them!💗💗💗

Frankie’s Girasol

(Frankie’s Sunflower)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Girasol (F!Reader) - (Because of You Universe)

**FLASHBACK FIC**

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: How Frankie came to give you the pet name ‘Girasol’.

Warnings: FLUFF, Cheesy fluff, childhood memory

A/N: When you read it - Yes, that’s little Violeta’s name origin :)

Because of You - Series Masterlist

The conversation that Frankie had with his abuelo when he was 12 years old had been a memory that always stayed with him throughout his life. At times it was buried deep in his subconscious, but it was there.

After that night you two first met, after you two had drinks at the same bar he had just left before rescuing you from that asshole of a date, he had already known that there was something special about you. Conversation was easy with you. You had listened to him as intently as he had listened to you. Whenever you smiled, the world felt brighter and more hopeful. Every light touch of your hand to his or brush of your knee had his nerves sparking with the need for even more of you.

It already felt natural for him to take your hand as you left the bar at closing time. His heart stammered when he felt you slip your fingers between his, giving the tiniest squeeze. When he walked you to your car, you had leaned back against it to look up at him with that smile again that weakened his knees. He’ll forever be grateful for you to have taken the lead in that moment and gently pull him closer into a kiss that still steals his breath away when he thinks about it.

Continua a leggere

#frankie morales x reader

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ro-sa-le-en · 2 months ago

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Wooooow this was the perfect mix of romantic/sweet and hot/sensual, literally perfect!💖

“Your teeth sink into his skin, lightly, making him squirm and there is something in the way you can handle him so well, the way he’s older than you, physically bigger than you and yet he’s the one tied up and squirming under your touch, unable to stand still such is the want and the desire to have more, knowing that you can make a mess of him in no time.”

“That is what Joel likes more than anything, that he’s yours, and that he can trust you with his whole life, letting you in control, even though in everything in his life he would never give up that control.”

Ooh I love this version of Joel, the fact that he trusts blindly and lets himself go completely when he's in her company drives me crazy with how much I like it!

“Would you eat your girl out, while still being tied up?” His breath itching for a moment at the question, his lips parted like he’s already imagining having you over his mouth, ready to take you, and you know you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“You’ve been so good,” you kiss him, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, feeling a tear under your fingertip, your heart dropping for a moment. “It’s okay,” you soothe him, his chest still rising up and falling quickly, still taking his breath back, “You’re okay, Joel, I’m gonna take this off, baby, just breathe.” You let your voice calm him as you reach his wrists.”

“He nods at your words, closing his eyes, and you quickly undo the tie around his wrists, thumbs passing over them to ease any pain that he might feel there and lowering his arms slowly to not hurt him in any way, those signs on his biceps pretty visible.”

“You press a kiss on his forehead, shiny in sweat, “It’s all good, just breathe, my love.”

Aww the way she reassured him and took care of him filled my heart with joy, I loved how you described her sweet and loving gestures towards Joel.

“And once you’re out and he’s just wearing a pair of clean boxers, you drape a clean shirt of him on your shoulders, now hanging on your body. You lead him back to the room, letting him lay on the bed, taking the soothing cream for the bruises.”

“Let me see, love.” You utter, him widening a bit his legs and your ring finger spreads the cold cream over his skin, having learnt that this is the finger with the less pressure and so the one that will hurt him way less while doing this.”

I loved both the detail of her putting the cream on him but most of all the fact that she uses her ring finger to be as delicate as possible with him, it's such a small gesture but at the same time so full of love.

“And you keep holding him, keep holding in your arms that man that trusts you with his whole life and that you would always give all the care that he needs, feeling like you have the whole world in your arms.”

I'm speechless with the sweetness, I loved this and them so much!🥹

I loved reading this and this version of Joel, the way you wrote it and made it so perfect was truly a MASTERPIECE!! I loved every little gesture, every word, every speech, it was truly beautiful! As usual your works are a certainty!💗💗💗

Made your mark on me

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel loves to let his guard down when he’s with you, and you find all the ways to please him, making him forget everything else

Warnings: +18 smut, MDNI, sub!Joel , Joel has a biting kink/pain kink, Joel has his wrists tied to the headboard, oral (f!receiving - m!receiving), face riding, handjob, edging, begging, praising (everything that the store has to offer), aftercare, use of pet names (baby, good boy, honey, babe, big boy, my love, angel), age gap

Word count: 4k

Notes: thanks @walkinginsunflowers for listening to my ideas and actually endorsing them <3 lyrics in the title are from “Dress” by Taylor Swift

Divider credits: @anitalenia

|| MY FICS ||

You’ve been kissing him on the inside of his bicep, teeth sinking in the soft skin, Joel squirming for the pain but also for the pleasure that just sparkled through his veins.

You lap your tongue over the bitten part, a finger drawing a heart around it, “Want more?”

Joel quickly nods, his eyes closed, exhaling a ragged breath.

“Uh-uh, need the words baby.”

“Yes, please.” His hands holding for dear life onto the satin tie around his wrists, tied to the headboard.

“Good boy.”

You blow cold air over the bite, the reddish sign appearing on his skin, before kissing it and diving onto the next inch of skin, gracing it with another bite. He squirms at that contact, the pain running in his bloodstream, feeling his skin becoming hotter and hotter.

You leave his arms only to reach his neck, kissing him there; your kisses trail until his chest, where you toy with his nipples and a low moan makes his chest vibrate under your lips, as you’re sucking his skin, keeping the nipple between your fingers.

There is something in the way he complies, the way he melts under that touch and completely lets go of anything else, abandoning himself to you, to your only devotion and adoration.

It wasn’t easy for Joel to admit that at the beginning, but he found himself more and more wanting to let someone else have control of him, wanting to let his guard down at least when he’s with you. The world outside might not be gentle with him, but he knows that instead you are, and so he feels safe to let you be in control, to guide him through the pleasure.

And he would never trade this for anything else, not when he feels your hands trailing on his waist, before your lips close on his skin, that soft skin soon becoming marked.

You nuzzle on his happy trail, avoiding though his boxers and going for the inside of his thigh, looking so inviting and so lonely, and especially looking like it could be decorated with your making.

You dig your thumb in it, making him widen his legs a bit for you, and you have to keep him still as you’re starting to kiss him, going until the knee and then back up, a series of “please, please,” leaving his lips, tugging at the tie around his wrists.

“What do you need? Tell me, honey.” You let out, breathing over his skin, your fingertips dancing on it, wondering where you’re gonna kiss him and his chest rises and falls as he opens his eyes to look at you again.

“Please, just…” you caress him, placing a kiss over his knee, “Just bite me. And touch me, please.” Joel’s voice is shaky, needy, and full of desire.

“You’ve used all the right words, baby.” You compliment him, fingers skimming over his hips, before diving on his inner thigh again, going from kissing to sucking the tender skin, Joel letting out a moan, and you couldn’t be happier than that.

Your teeth sink into his skin, lightly, making him squirm and there is something in the way you can handle him so well, the way he’s older than you, physically bigger than you and yet he’s the one tied up and squirming under your touch, unable to stand still such is the want and the desire to have more, knowing that you can make a mess of him in no time.

But instead, you’re gonna take your time, you don’t want to rush anything.

“You know that you’re so gorgeous?” You breathe on his skin, looking at the mark that you just left him, marking him, making him yours.

That is what Joel likes more than anything, that he’s yours, and that he can trust you with his whole life, letting you in control, even though in everything in his life he would never give up that control.

His hands tug the tie, “Thank you,” he utters, his voice raspy and already high in pleasure.

And his relaxed expression makes you eager to give him more, to see that expression turn into pleasure and into something that he somewhat enjoys: pain.

You nuzzle higher on his thigh, the soft plush looking inviting, keeping the other hand on his other thigh, just to keep his legs apart, “Gonna give you another bite here, babe.”, Joel moving in trepidation, thrusting involuntarily his hips towards you.

“Easy, big boy, or I’m gonna have to tie your legs too.” It lets a giggle out of him, because he wouldn’t be totally against it.

When he goes still again, breathing deeply and trying to control his desire, you can finally go back to your making, closing your lips on his inner thigh; he moans loudly and you know you just hit a sensitive spot, that’s all it takes to give him a shoot of pleasure.

Joel feels the pain, but it gets substituted by the pleasure, his body not even able to tell the difference between them, as you suck on his skin and leave a kiss there right after.

A cry leaves his lips, rubbing your hand on his upper thigh, “It’s okay, baby, you’ve taken them all so well.”

Those slightly purplish stains starts appearing on his soft skin, and you caress the outline of them, knowing that they probably hurt. “You look like a work of art.”

The ones on his thigh and the ones on his arm are small decorations on him, little gifts that he wanted so bad, that he yearned for.

You couldn’t understand why he wanted to get bitten, you understood the whole wanting to let go of the control, of course, but the biting was something you were not familiar with. You wouldn’t even dare to do it at the beginning, thinking that it would have hurt him too much, but every time Joel would tell you that it wouldn’t hurt and that it was what he wanted. So you started once with his neck, a small bite, that made you scared of hurting him, and at the same time feeling like a vampire, letting a giggle out of your lips.

“What?” He had asked, with a smile, “Nothing, it’s just- did it hurt?” You asked and all you could see though was how he was blissfully looking at you, knowing that you could have done it again.

“Want more, Joel?” Your hands smoothing now over his thighs, fingers curling on the way back, making him sigh, Joel controlling the urge to move at your touch.

“Yes, yes, please.” His plea coming out of his lips, but it is not enough for you.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.” He pledges with urgency, his voice so weak, but that’s not the answer you want from him, clicking your tongue.

“Be more specific, use all your words.” You taunt, tapping your fingers on top of his thigh.

Joel tugs his tie, grabbing it with his fingers, staying still though, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to put one word after other, “I want you to- to-” but he doesn’t finish his phrase, the words are all mushed up in his mind and they are messed on his tongue. And well… not delivering an answer is not allowed.

A firm slap ends on his inner thigh, the one not bitten, the hit making him tug even more, moaning with pleasure and pain, and his moans are really the only thing you could ever hear, especially if they are caused by the pain that he yearns for.

“I want more on my thighs, and-” he whimpers, stopping again for a moment to catch his breath, as your fingers are trailing over the outline of his boxers, eyes following your movement, “I want you to touch me, I want to come for you.” He finishes in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut at the way you took your touch away, having nothing on him and even the lack of that drives him crazy.

You place a kiss over his hip, then leaning on his side and kissing his cheek, brushing your hand on his soft peppered beard, “Can you take it, Joel? Or do you need a break?”

He blinks his eyes open at you, as you press a kiss on his forehead, your thumb going over one of his wrists, “You know you can tell me when it’s too much, baby.” And your voice eases his want and his heat for a moment, it makes him relax his shoulders, releasing his fingers and not holding that tie in fists anymore.

“I know, but I can take it right now,” he babbles, and you kiss his lips, cupping his cheek with one hand, the other on his chest, his beating heart under your palm, “Please.” He adds over your lips, and you would be damned if you ever didn’t give him what he’s asking so desperately.

“You’re being so good.” You praise him, now lowering to his hips again, and going for his right inner thigh, so lonely without a single sign on it, like a beautiful canvas waiting to be painted.

His skin is so velvety under your lips, fingers digging in it before you grace it with you teeth, just a small bite, sucking a little his skin and the moan he lets out is all you need to know to keep going.

Another bite, followed by another one, building his desire once again, and that is when you decide to bring your attention to something else.

You cup him through his boxers, him whimpering at the sudden contact, arching a bit his back and tugging at that tie, holding onto it for dear life, “Oh you’re already wet, honey.” Your thumb passing over the tissue, over the little darker stain, and you can’t help but thrusting a little against the mattress, trying to give yourself some ease too.

He nods at your words, compliant, as he knows that he can’t clearly lie about that: he got all aroused just at your biting, the pain is what is almost making him come, what is bringing him metaphorically to his knees. You don’t lose the chance to hold him properly through the tissue, pressing your palm over him, Joel having to recall all his strengths to keep a little quiet.

“You’re so big, baby, so big.” Other praises leave your lips, him at this point moving and squirming under your touch, as you’re trying to tame him and keeping him still with a hand grabbing his hip, his mind completely under your spell.

You soon start touching him again with only the back of your fingers, that sending him over the edge, aching for more.

That is when you bow on it, kissing all the outline, a wet trail being left over the tissue; hands go teasing his waistband but not pulling it off, his panting telling you how much he’s enjoying that, and the wetness is becoming more and more evident.

“Should I take them off? Do you deserve that?” You lavishly ask, him nodding quickly, “Yes, I would do everything for that.” A shaky breath leaving his lips.

“Oh I bet that you would, babe, and would you let me ride you?” You coo, still massaging him through the boxers, another nod and a moan at the thought of that leaving his lips.

You’ve been working up yourself for the whole time, keeping thrusting the mattress while being laid down between his thighs, so you’re definitely wet too but still you ask for one more thing.

“Yes, I can’t wait.”

“You deserve the world, baby.” You whisper on his lips, kissing him, breathing in all his desire; you take off your panties right after, rubbing a bit your fingers over your clit and not losing the chance to ride him a moment, while he’s still clothed with his boxers on.

He almost cries out when you land on him, feeling his length pressing against the tissue and you can imagine that it might be painful, and so that he’s enjoying that.

You cup your breasts as you ride him a little more, thrusting over the tissue and it shouldn’t feel this good, “Don’t come baby, not yet.” You remind him, Joel sighing but nodding and you feel his hips thrusting against you, knowing that it is time to leave him otherwise it will be too difficult to contain himself.

“Alright, alright, enough of this.” You stop yourself from continuing, having felt that tissue becoming wet in you too after that bit of riding.

You move and soon your knees are pressed on each side of Joel’s head, looking down at him now, not moving yet, waiting for him to raise a bit his head to then feel the shape of his nose under you and his tongue lapping on you for a moment, but still not able to eat you out properly.

“Okay,” you say, balancing your hands over the headboard of the bed, “Gonna give you your treat now.”

And one second after you have his mouth under you, his lips kissing your folds and making love to them already; he kisses your clit, and the sounds are surely obscene but that’s how it really should be.

You can’t suppress the moans, and you have to recall all your strengths to not fall completely onto him when he presses his tongue into you, so fucking wet that you know that he might have his whole mouth and nose covered in you.

You reach your clit as he keeps diving in you, Joel’s eyebrows furrowed to concentrate on giving you all you want, and fuck, it’s even more than what you imagined, it’s addicting to have him like that and having the power to now ride him a little, moving over his tongue and him just taking and taking, not uttering a word, only moans reverberating around you, breathing deeply.

Your other hand reaches his hair, falling through the soft curls, thumb brushing over his forehead to reassure him too, to let him know that he’s doing a hell of a job and that he’s surely appreciated.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re being so good to me, Joel, so good.” You moan out loud, as you keep moving over him, that friction that his beard and moustache give you driving you even more crazy and you know for sure that you will have to pull away, otherwise you’re gonna come with this already.

But you can’t, your body keeps wanting more and Joel gives it all to you, no questions asked; it’s when he wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking it that you know that you can’t contain it anymore, your legs shaking and grabbing his hair as you tremble over him, the spasm of the orgasm so strong that you have to raise your hips from him, Joel though still managing to raise his head and keeping on licking you, lapping his tongue over you during the aftermath too.

You pant, heart exploding in your chest and you didn’t think it would have been so intense and so sudden, but you should never underestimate him.

You keep panting as you step away from his head, feeling all your wetness between your legs and when you lay next to him, on your tummy, you let your fingers trail over his nose and lips, seeing how he’s covered in you, and he’s never looked so hot.

You lean in for a kiss, feeling his smile on your lips and then smoothing your fingers over his eyebrows, “Did you come, babe?” You ask, him shaking his head, “But I am close,” his voice so fucking husky as he has to clear it a bit, “I don’t know if could take you riding me.” He communicates, and you love him for doing that. You have established from the beginning that communication is the key during these moments and that it is important to let the other know when it’s too much and what they can take and what they cannot.

He’s starting to apologise though, you shushing him with a kiss, “It’s okay, angel, it’s okay,” your voice gentle and soft like a cloud to him, “no need to apologise, you just made me come and you’ve been so fucking good to me.” You praise, since the praising is never too much with him.

You trace a path of wet kisses on his chest, fingers trailing the same path, drawing imaginary hearts on his skin, until you reach the waistband and you finally pull them off, his length aching for your touch, and already leaking when you take him in your hand, your palm sliding easily over him. And he looks too inviting to not start licking his tip, his deep moan following your gesture.

Joel tugs at the tie when you wrap your lips around him, still keeping the fingers around his base, starting to work up your head over him, feeling his wetness in your mouth and having to keep your other hand over his hip, a bruise now appearing there for the way you’ve been holding him. You can feel him leaking over your tongue, pushing him inside your mouth a little more, wobbling your head, until you release him all together, him whining immediately, as he’s so fucking hard in your hand and you know that he is so close, his vein pulsating under your palm.

“Shh you can come, baby, you can come whenever you want to.” You make sure to say, his length sliding even better in your hand now, thumb indulging over his aching tip, and his chest rises and falls so fast when he finally furrows his eyebrows and with a pitched moan releases all over your hand, as you cover him in praises.

“There you go, there you go, Joel, give it all to me.”

He moves his hips, his body shaking for the orgasm slamming his body and shaking his system, still his wrists wrapped in that tie, just like your hand is still wrapped around him, guiding him through the orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Joel moves until he’s given everything to you, then releasing his body against the mattress, spent and sweaty, as you leave him and you clean your hand over the bedsheets.

You let him breathe a moment, quickly taking his plaid shirt and wearing it over you, ready then to take care of him after all of that intense session.

He nods at your words, closing his eyes, and you quickly undo the tie around his wrists, thumbs passing over them to ease any pain that he might feel there and lowering his arms slowly to not hurt him in any way, those signs on his biceps pretty visible.

You press a kiss on his forehead, shiny in sweat, “It’s all good, just breathe, my love.”

You sit up in bed, letting him curl over your lap and letting his head over your thighs, the soft curls brushing over your partially covered skin, and you can’t resist the urge to tangle your fingers through his peppered hair, brushing it gently. And that is all he needs actually, just to feel safe, as you wrap an arm around his waist, his hand reaching yours and you brush your thumb over his knuckles, keeping on comforting him.

Even if it’s uncomfortable given the position, you still bow on him to land a kiss on his hair, him brushing his face over your thighs.

“There you go, angel, keep on breathing.” You whisper, Joel just cuddling on you at this point, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling safer than ever.

You let him stay like that as long as he needs to, until he moves from your lap getting up and you keep his hand into yours, “Everything good?” You check in, him nodding, a relaxed look on his face now.

You offer him a glass of water, knowing that he definitely needs it, then placing the glass back on the nightstand.

Your look wanders over his thighs and on the inside of his arms, noticing the little bruises, “We’re gonna put something on those after the shower.” You comfort, glancing at them.

The shower is a shared shower, sharing stolen kisses and breathing him in under the warm water, letting him relax even more when you spread your hands over his chest and then over his shoulders and back, fingertips dancing on his freckles as you do so.

And once you’re out and he’s just wearing a pair of clean boxers, you drape a clean shirt of him on your shoulders, now hanging on your body. You lead him back to the room, letting him lay on the bed, taking the soothing cream for the bruises.

He would often tell you that he could definitely do that by himself, but you’re the one who made them, so you always want to take care of them personally.

“Shh, it’s alright,” you whisper, kissing his hip when he just squirmed a little at the cold contact, “Is it okay if I keep going?” You ask, the other hand rubbing on the outside of the thigh, away from the bruises.

He stays quiet for a moment, before leaving out a small “Yes,” searching for your other hand as you spread the cream, you squeezing it back.

You take care of the other thigh too, then going on the purplish stain over his hip, having the mark of your grip.

“Almost finished,” you soothe, taking both of his hands in yours and pressing a kiss on each wrist, so lightly to not hurt him. The signs are not too visible here, but better be safe than sorry, so you give your attention to them too, some cream being applied there too.

He hisses with the pain though when you let him move his left arm to take a look at the inside of his bicep, the purplish signs being very stark.

“I know, baby, I know,” pressing a kiss over his shoulder, “It’ll be over in a second.”

You give it the same treatment of all the other bruised parts, being extra careful here as it seems to be the part where he’s more sensitive to the pain. You thought it could be the thighs, but every time it turns out that it’s his arms, feeling the pain more there.

You rub the cream with a feather touch on his skin, then leaving the cream on the nightstand, “All done, my love, you’ve kept being so good to me, I’m so proud of you.” Him smiling all content and brushing his cheek over the pillow.

And even though the sun is just starting to set right now, his eyes blink slowly, noticing how he is very tired at the moment and knowing that this is it for the day.

You lay down in bed, “Come here, baby.” You whisper, him cocooning with his head over your chest and hugging your waist, once again him being bigger than you but feeling so much smaller when he does that.

His soft breathing is so relaxing, dancing your fingers on his shoulders, “I love you so much, Joel, so much.”

“Love you too.” He utters, sinking more on your chest.

You rub your hand on his arm a little more, until you feel him breathing slowly, his eyes closed, having drifted off.

And you keep holding him, keep holding in your arms that man that trusts you with his whole life and that you would always give all the care that he needs, feeling like you have the whole world in your arms.

#joel miller x reader

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