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tremendum · 1 year

Text

Mr. Miller

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)

word count: 6.8k requested: yes. here and here :)

summary: “six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. Tommy's goddamn brother, no less.”

warnings: Jackson era, mentions of marijuana use, age gap (unspecified), sliiightly dub!con, smut (PiV, unprotected), creampie, overstimulation, pussy spanking, choking, spit kink, slight knife kink (do not look at me), dom!Joel (brat tamer!Joel if you squint), slight sir kink, so much dirty talk, lots of begging, degradation kink, dacryphilia, mean!Joel, this is just shameless smut i am horrible notes: okay i kind of modified these asks but I thought it’d be fun to write it like this!!! as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because i am INSANE! xoxo

( read the sequel other Joel fics: fever landmines )

★

to be completely honest, you never would’ve guessed you’d move to Wyoming.

of course, in this world you didn't really have much of a choice of where you end up; it was hard to travel, yes, but there was some guiding hand that invisibly pushed you upon Jackson in the middle of a really rough winter.

a girl, lost and on her own through the dangerous sprawls of what's left of the United States - of course Tommy and Maria had accepted you into the community; you were resourceful, willing, and strong-headed.

most of Jackson was nice.

the people were good, the community functioned, and you were finally safe - you found a job working partly as a patrolman if an extra hand was needed, but mostly as a gardener.

it was a beautiful basin valley with sprawling mountains that glittered in the snow even during summer.

you'd only been there for - what, maybe half a year? six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that's no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone.

Tommy's goddamn brother, no less.

you didn't particularly get off on the correct foot with Joel Miller. when he showed up in town, people were thrown off. you surely understood that - but it was Tommy's brother, and Tommy insisted he would be fine; he and the girl with him had already been 'round Jackson before, leaving just a week or so before you showed up, apparently.

you'd definitely heard about him.

coincidentally, you'd actually moved into the house that Tommy had wanted Joel to have; the house that had the spare girl's bedroom which Ellie came through to ravage once they came back into town. (apparently the towels at Joel's were too rough no matter how many times they were washed, and Ellie really liked that Tamagotchi you'd found in the bedroom she once slept in.)

maybe that'd already put him off, the short time in which Ellie had found company in you. who knows.

but unfortunately, your first impression of him was muddled by a very real lens of beer-goggles and a long week's aching exhaustion in your brain. he was large, a tall man whose disposition dripped of domineering power; he didn't trust anybody here and by the looks of it, they didn't particularly adore him. he kept to himself besides Tommy - who unfortunately along with his wife were really your closest comrades in the community.

you almost felt bad for him, because that's how many people saw you at first. but on that night, you were just drunk enough, as you greeted Maria and Tommy at the bar with smiles and a joke about your libido, that you didn't quite realize that Tommy's big brother Joel was sat there, eyes watching you with a glimmer of something lurking behind the rim of the beer bottle.

to be fair: everybody in this life is unkind in their first impressions. that's just how the world is now - 'every man for himself' is an unfortunately ugly reality and those who are too soft to see that are rarely spared the gore.

but when Tommy introduces you to Joel with a huff of a laugh and a friendly slap on your shoulder, Joel's eyes are distrusting, judging. he doesn’t say anything to you.

you try not to be offended.

"pleasure to meet ya, Mr. Miller." you nod with a grin, your cheeks hot with slight intoxication as his large, calloused palm slips into yours. his grip is tight - your wince is covered with your words as you momentarily shoot Maria a look, turning back to the man in front of you.

"I met your girl earlier. stormed into my house like she owned the damn thing. was lookin' for some stuff she'd found last time, I guess. I'm just glad she didn't find my collection of big-girl toys."

okay. okay, yeah, maybe you are too drunk. Maria laughs, at least, and Tommy lets out a chuckle, eyes flickering to Joel. but he just hums, eyes glancing over you once more before returning to nurse his dark beer with a furrow of his brows. “right.”

and pathetic as it is, he was too damn irresistible; you’d imagined that stare -that brooding scowl- one too many times in the dead of night, hands down your pants or in a stranger’s bed.

and it hadn't gotten better in the months following.

it was of circumstances most unfortunate for you that Joel and Ellie moved into a house just a few down from you - as much as you wished to just never see the man and his censorious stare, it was unavoidable. especially when Ellie showed up nearly day-to-day with questions, excuses, or even just complaints of boredom to coax you into letting her inside your house.

a week or so ago, you’d overheard Tommy in a hushed voice down at the dining hall trying to convince Joel it was a good thing, that Ellie was learning to garden, learning about woman stuff (yes, he actually fucking said that), and - god forbid- make friends.

but you love Ellie.

she in't like Joel. she’s funny, and lively, and easy-going once you warmed up to her. in fact, you actually started to collect things from around town to show her on her ceremonious visits; books, tattered board games, once you even found a trumpet in the crawlspace of your old house. it was rusty and honestly probably still had dried saliva from whichever fifth-grader played it way back before the outbreak, but it was enough to entertain you and the fifteen-year-old girl for hours even if neither of you knew how to play it.

and maybe it was after Ellie mentioned to you with a giggle that Joel complains about you calling him ‘Mr. Miller,’ or maybe it was when she said he’d always ask about you and what you’re like whenever she returned from your days together.

no matter what the catalyst really was, you just know you have it bad for that man, in the worst way - because he is a fucking asshole.

but the worst of it was when Joel and you get paired up to patrol together on the outskirts. it means hours together of breathing and awkward looks, silence from you because he was silent and clearly wanted nothing to do with you.

you suffered through hours of Joel’s rugged sageness for survival, tugging you effortlessly through boulders, lifting yourselves high through dilapidated structures in the middle of the wilderness. he was strong and capable and fucking sexy, and that made it all the more unbearable when snide comments about your youth or your inexperience or your lack of punctuality would pass his lips. it was annoying how hot it made you.

as the summer rolled around, the horde was growing ever-present at the lips of Jackson county, festering like the moss that spreads along the woodsy forests in the northwest - hence your increased activity with the others who patrol the area and keep the community safe.

he was a many of almost no words, and though you were in no way the same when you were around people you trust, the man just brings out the skeptic in you - so for weeks, it was days of the two of you walking in silence, the only noise being weak impasses and jabs at the other’s self-esteem all veiled by a smirk or an eye-roll.

and still, each day out passed with your untrustworthy gazes pinned on the horizon just as much on each other's trigger fingers.

you're at your wit's end on one Friday evening as you finally return into town from patrol with him.

Joel is a man plagued by too many unnamed illnesses; the likes of which you so fondly call in your head 'can't-accept-help-itis' and 'stubborn-old-asshole-luenza.' part of his symptoms render him unable to say full sentences to you without a judgmental look or a skeptical scoff, and sure you're not always the best judge of character, but you're confident that Joel has his eyes on your backside every single time you bend over to move your marker on the trail. he’s thought about it, too.

but right now, you’re so tense you’re about to snap.

his gaze hasn't left your profile for - you swear to god - almost thirty fucking minutes. like, nearly the whole walk from the first outpost. he’s been staring at you like you’re a ghost, or a second head sprouted from your neck.

the heat of the summer night is unsullied; though you’re high in elevation, the warm wind blows a gust over your bare knees and ruffles your hair, coaxing a damp feeling to settle between your thighs under his gaze.

"if you stare any harder at me, you'll get a fucking nose bleed." you sneer, keeping your eyes ahead as you grit your teeth. his gaze is burning into your side and with your words, they maintain their heat.

whatever he was thinking, he keeps it to himself. you glare at his own profile, thick thighs, sturdy chest, hair that blows gently in the warm air. his jaw, glinting against the lights that guide you back into town. at least he’s looked away from you. good.

your victorious smirk is wiped off of your lips with his next words, the first in several hours from him besides grunts and directives. "d'you have the logs on you?"

you look at him with revelation. "shit." you sigh shaking your head, "they're- they're at home."

his face slides into a look of disdain, deep vexation at the task of now going back with you to your own house to sign the logs and confirm your findings for this patrol. "great." he mutters, feet kicking into gear to hightail it up the street, towards your house.

the heat is swirling around your legs in the darkening evening as you finally enter your house, sighing into the empty air. the lights flicker when you switch them on, and you'd bring yourself to be more embarrassed about the disheveled state of your things if it had been anyone else with you.

it doesn’t even matter, after all; his sights are set one one incriminating little piece of evidence in the corner of the living room.

the small nub that sits on the tray by your windowsill seems to be more salient for Joel than the hurricane that threw your belongings across the space.

your hands fall onto your hips, sighing as he accusingly lifts it from its ashy grave, eyes furrowed in irritation. your flannel sticks to your sleeves in the heat as his eyes meet yours.

"is this- 's this marijuana?" he's incredulous as his fingers pinch the burnt-out roach, and you screw your brows at him; is he serious? you ignore the dwarfed look of the small old joint in his large hand, instead rolling your eyes. "yeah, some folks call it weed. you can smoke it and it makes you feel real good. you ever heard of it, Mr. Miller?" you snark, the sarcasm spilling from your lips deliciously; Joel eats it up like a man starved, his jaw ticking as he tilts his head.

you know he secretly loves when you taunt him with the honorific; yes, it gets on his nerves, but there’s a secret air about him that suggests he likes it that way. it is easier to blur the lines between hate and desire than affection and desire, after all.

"Ellie comes over here every day." he hisses, eyes sharp. you blink slowly at him, trying to fight the laugh that creeps up your throat; his gaze is dark, furious - did he think you were smoking weed with the girl? she's, like, thirteen. (fifteen, she corrects you in your mind. but still.)

"that’s correct." you confirm, turning from him to search the kitchen for the log you'd forgotten in your haste to leave. his footsteps ring angry onto the floorboards. "if you're worried about that, I’d never smoke around her. 'm not that disrespectful." you defend, avoiding eye contact as you shuffle through your drawer of junk.

"doesn’t matter. she won't be coming round much more." he threatens it - tests the waters. as if he has the authority to punish you.

you lift a brow at him, "don’t you think she should be able to make that choice?" you throw back at him, tossing your switchblade onto the table to your right as you sort through the miscellaneous items with both hands.

uh oh, that struck a nerve in the man.

his eyes sharpen as he breathes harsh at your words; "don't talk about things you know nothing about, girl." he snaps, crossing his arms, "now find the fucking log so I can leave."

you glare at him, gesturing in front of you; your eyes scream no shit, Joel, I’m looking.

it's silent as you search through the drawer, gritting your teeth in the tense silence of anger, thicker than molasses.

you click your jaw, refusing to let it go, let him think he won.

"I do have self respect, y'know." you pipe up, lifting a brow as you finally stumble upon the log, pulling a dying pen from the drawer and scribbling notes as you plop down on a wooden chair at your kitchen table.

Joel stays standing; it does not go unnoticed when his eyes take in the contours of your body, the clothes that stick to you in the heat of the summer; a pair of jean shorts, torn from years of use, and a thin tank top, covered with an unbuttoned flannel. his eyes sear into you at your words.

wow. fuck him.

(no, not like fuck him, but- fuck him.)

"never said you didn't, darlin'." he mutters condescendingly, the pet name leaving his mouth bitterly. any form of backlash you were going to unleash on his dies in your throat quickly when he leans over your shoulder to sign his own name next to yours. your eyes widen to search his face as his own skim over your account of the patrol. he's- wow, he's closer to you than you would have expected.

holy shit. smoky swirls of gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey. they fill your nostrils, dizzying your mind as you let out a stuttered breath - it's hot in here... your eyes glance as a small lick of sweat trickles down his neck. your throat is dry, heat swirling in your abdomen as he hums, "jus' think Ellie should start hangin' around with others."

"why's that?" you snap, daring him to say it. fuck, your heart is pounding in your chest. oh, if he just admits it; that he thinks he's better than you, that he thinks you're pathetic - lord, you yearn for it, you’d have a fucking field day. you want an excuse to hit him. or bite him.

fuck Joel Miller, and- okay, fine. fuck him, too.

his brows are furrowed as he glares hawkishly at your stubborn form; his gaze is serrated with disdain, jaw clenching with the words you're just begging him to admit.

"she's been cussin' and speaking...vulgar." he mutters, eyes flickering away from you. your jaw unhinges as you huff in surprise; he has the audacity to accuse you for teaching her to be foul-mouthed? hadn't she traveled with him for, what, a year? she’s a teenager - that’s what they do.

"oh, please." you snap, "that girl was far from a princess when you showed up here, you know." you mutter, tossing a look over your shoulder up at him, the buttons undone at the top of his shirt staring at you, mocking you.

"I know." he dismisses. his hand falls to stable himself on the back of your chair as he leans down towards you, "but you ain't helping. don't need her gettin' into any more trouble."

you narrow your eyes, "trouble?" you parrot, accusing.

the air is warm, thick as you cross your arms, the windows open and flowing the outside summer air into your nostrils. "how could I be trouble? you hardly know me." you snap, offended. you swirl with irritation.

"because I listen. people think you're harsh. untrustworthy." he spits, smirking down at you as if his words are poison that'll dissolve your whole being into a small puddle of regret. but no, it's gasoline; his words are enough to incite your flames, lick you alive with ardor.

he doesn't like you? oh, big fucking deal. you don't like him.

"you ever heard of the pot calling the kettle black, Mr. Miller?" you drawl, lifting an accusatory brow. “what if you’re the bad influence? it’s not like you have any more manners than I do.”

his jaw sets and his nostrils flare from his sharp exhale; you let your eyes swipe over the splattering of freckles that peek out from under the scruff beard that grows; a scar jags across his skin, frown lines creasing his scowl in a dark, terribly attractive way. you’re tip-toeing a line here, you can feel it.

he can feel it, too.

his eyes dip down, though you try hard to hold his heated gaze; they trail slowly over your shoulders and down, down to the dip of your collarbones and then over your breasts, heaving slightly with the proximity of the man. his gaze nearly melts the tank top that stretches over your torso and a flood of excitement rushes through you, pooling in the seat of your underwear. a smirk creeps onto your face at his wandering stare - resentful, loathing, heated.

something in you snaps, and you can't deal with it any longer; not with his proximity, leaning over your shoulder and staring you down, with half-rolled sleeves. his forearms, they’re thick- goddamn, he's so-

"-I can't tell if you're looking at me like that because you want to kill me, or you want to fuck me." you snap, breaking his spell as you snap his attention back to your own eyes with your bold choice of words. "either way, it'll have to wait. I got shit to do, Mr. Miller, and for some reason, you're still in my house giving me fuck-me-eyes."

"-you better watch your mouth." he snarls, chest heaving as he leans forward menacingly, his jaw clenched.

you let yourself smile up at him, "or what, Mr. Miller?" you ask kindly, voice dripping with perfidious innocence.

he sneers, eyes raking over your form, jaw ticking. your body flushes with warmth under his scrutinous gaze; one of your bare legs slides up to rest on the chair next to you, on full display snd illuminated in the light of the kitchen as you smirk at him. his dark chocolate gaze slides over the skin revealed; your skin tingles in excitement under his watch. it makes you chuckle.

"what, you don't like the way I speak?" you hiss, glaring at him. "chastising me for shit that you do, too?" you mutter snidely, pulling your leg back down as his eyes glare into yours. "I'm an adult, you can't tell me what to say. fucking hypocrite."

your hand presses into his chest, standing to your full height. his chest is firm, hot, but he lets you do it easily, moving back out of your space; giving you an out, offering you a chance to say this-isn't-what-I-want. but you won't take it. no, instead you slide up closer to him, until you're too close.

"why so quiet now, Mr. Miller?" you almost purr, your hand still toying with your switchblade, the glint of it reflecting in his eyes. slowly, you lift the blade to trace it gently, softly over his jawline, as you’d do with your fingers. he watches you like a damn hawk, breathing heavy.

the scratch of it against the facial hair is enough for him to snap; suddenly snatching the blade from between your fingers in one quick motion.

“you’re testin’ my patience.” he growls, shaking his head as he holds the handle of the knife in an iron-like grip. you shake your head, “yeah, well, you’ve taken all mine.” you counter. “so…” you start, raising a brow at the knife in his hands, the way your legs are turning to putty, “you going to kill me, Mr. Miller? or fuck me?” you whisper it into his ear, up on the tips of your toes as the peppering-gray curls at the base of his ear tickle your lips.

a sharp exhale - almost a surrender. then, a rough hand pushes you down against the table, hard. your body is pliant, willing, excited as his force brings you to thud against the wood, his hand flying down quick just to your right in a loud thud.

your head snaps to your right, eyes wide and jaw open; your switchblade pins your own flannel to the table, stabbed down and holding the material and your arm in place. christ, it barely missed nicking your skin.

“depends on if you can learn some goddamn manners.” he growls, leaning over you, his hips slotting between your thighs.

maybe it’s the look on his face, or just how damn long it’s been since you had someone, or just because it’s Joel – but your facade falls so quick and you’re soon keening up towards him, arching your back so your chest sticks out.

“I’m a fast learner.” you promise; at that, he merely hums, his hips grinding slow over yours. you let your eyes squeeze shut, groaning lightly at the bliss of his rough denim sliding against your shorts-clad cunt, throbbing with desire.

you’re breathless; shivers cascade down your spine at the press of his hips against yours, licking your lips to wet them; “fuck, Joel-“ your breath is strangled, “please. I can be good for you.” you try to convince him, blinking your eyes up at him. his smirk is downright evil as his hands fall to your top, skating over the tops of your breasts before one hand grips your jaw in his large palm, squeezing hard onto your cheeks and forcing you to stare into his eyes.

his grip is unforgiving. “y’think you can jus’ bat those pretty eyes at me?” he sneers, his breath hot and fanning over your face. you’re overheating- god, it’s so fucking hot in your house; your hand raises to grip his forearm, swallowing your pride for the sake for finally getting to feel him inside you, “’m sorry, Joel.” you mutter, cheeks squished by his hand.

his brow furrows, shaking his head. a chastising tutting noise escapes his throat as he rolls his hips, grinding sloooow and smooth against your dripping cunt, aching with desire.

“no, you’re fucking not.” he spits, pushing you harder against the table. your throat is dry, a whimper of desire escaping your throat. his lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans more of his weight on you, your legs wrapping around his hips and your own surging up, up in search for some friction, “say it. say you’re not sorry. you like it, I can tell.”

shivers spill down your spine as you bite back a moan, cheeks alight with heat at his teasing. Your eyes lull over towards the blade that holds down your shoulder, pinning you against the table. a hot rush of arousal floods your underwear as you swallow, eyes rising to meet his in a lidded gaze.

“I like it,” you admit in a shameful gasp, hand sliding up to explore his chest, “I’m- I’m not sorry. I like it, ‘m not sorry.” you mutter, voice desperate, pathetic; you’re swallowing a whimper as he grinds slowly against you again, his hardened cock straining against his jeans.

his hand snaps to pin yours down to the edge of the table; your eyes snap up to his, meeting the swirling lust within his deep eyes, searching your face with a dangerous smirk. “you aren’t sorry?” he asks, voice dripping with condescending cockiness.

you shake your head no desperately, searching his eyes to see if he’s pleased.

he smirks at your desperation. "you will be, darlin’." he mutters, his own eyes exploring your chest as it heaves, breasts barely spilling out the top of your tank top’s hem. you smile up at him despite your desperation; hunger curls in your chest as you move your hips up against him and his face falters, a groan escaping his throat. his eyes swirl with the dark shine of a man who is nothing less than dangerous.

the hand that isn’t pinned by the blade creeps up his arm, brushing the thick cords of muscle that rope his bicep and shoulders; soon, though, one of his hands is gripping your wrist and slamming it down against the edge of the table.

you gasp from the roughness, biting your lip as your fingers curls around the edge and hold tight under his grip.

“don’t move your hands,” he mutters as his lips dip low to trace over the seam of your top, breath brushing over the soft skin of your breasts. “or I’ll leave you here, pinned to this table.”

arousal floods you at his words and you nod silently, swallowing as his teeth bite roughly at your pressure point. “d’you hear me, girl?” he grunts, his hands moving to pull out one of your breasts from your top, your peaked nipple instantly tugged between his prying fingers.

you let out a yelp at the sensation and he huffs against your skin, biting again. “fuck,” you whimper loudly, bucking your hips as your hands grip tight against the edge of the table; one arm is pinned with the knife anyways, but your heart thunders as his tongue peaks out, brushing hot against your sweat-sheened skin.

A hand snakes to your throat and you can’t stop the moan you let out, air sucking through your windpipe at the light grip he keeps; you’re obsessed with how all-consuming he is.

Joel’s everywhere – his smell, his eyes, his hands, tongue – you want him to be inside you, you want him to be in you forever, ever, ever.

fuck Joel Miller. fuck him, and fuck him.

“I asked you something. answer me.” he squeezes your throat as he emphasizes, as he demands you; you buck up against him, convinced you’re soaking through your goddamn shorts, leaving disgusting proof of your sick, twisted arousal as you move against his crotch.

his dominance causes your face to flare with heat; you weren’t expecting him to seduce you into submission - you love it. “y-yes, yes, sir. I he-heard you.” you gasp, face flushing hot as the words leave you. he smirks darkly as he pulls away from you, danger lurking in his eyes deliciously as he nods, seemingly pleased.

he nods. “good.”

his hips are gone from you in an instant and your gasp is choked – but he wastes no time in popping the button on your jeans, sliding them and your underwear off of you in one long motion.

his pupils somehow blow even wider as he stands in front of you, palming his thick cock through his jeans, watching you pant hard.

you’re exposed in front of him – your pussy is swollen with need, pulsing with desire as one of your breasts rests exposed to the air as the knife pins you down by the arm of your flannel; you’re fucking exposed and you love it. he’s intoxicating.

“you’re soaked.” he says after a moment of silence so long that you barely register his gruff voice. you blink, bringing your eyes back up to his from where he’s begun to undo his belt.

you can’t help the light smirk as you stare up at him, “maybe I happen to like it when you’re vulgar with me.”

he glares at you but there’s a hint of something more that flashes through his eyes; adoration? no, it couldn’t be. Joel Miller can’t adore anything.

but then out of nowhere his fingers delve through your velvet, slippery folds in a fervor; your breath chokes yet again in your lungs as you tense with the sudden stimulation.

a low, guttural moan falls from your lips as the pads of his middle and ring fingers rub tight, slow circles on your clit, “bet you taste so good, don’t you?” he murmurs, his teeth finding purchase upon your neck, sucking a mark so hard you’re sure you’ll have it for weeks. christ. “y’want me to taste you, pretty girl?”

fuck. images flash through your mind of him on his knees, tongue unraveling you, drowning in you while your thighs close around those thick greying curls.

your moan falls from you fast, nodding quick, “yes, yes, please, please, use your mouth.“ your whines are downright embarrassing – you’re not a wide-eyed virgin teen, for fuck’s sake – but Joel’s stirring you just right, making you purr with pleasure.

but instead of his tongue, a harsh swat falls onto your aching cunt and your hips jolt at the stimulation, your clit throbbing and the sting making you groan his name. you can’t help the moan of disappointment.

“well, isn’t that too bad?” he snarls, his voice mean. you feel tears of frustration spring in your eyeline as you huff a sigh, his fingers slowly, torturously moving over your clit yet again. “bet you’d love if I ate your cunt. probably dream about it, don’t ya? d’you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Christ, you’d never expected Joel-don’t-fucking-talk-to-me-Miller to be so fucking dirty; but you learned your lesson last time, so you nod quick, eyes lidded through the euphoric, teasing pleasure from the pads of his fingers.

“all-all the time, J-Joel, fuck, think about you all the time.”

and it’s true.

“that’s right. my slut, thinkin’ about me.” he spits, mouth peppering bites over your throat. “gonna have to make y’cum fast, baby. Maria’s probably waiting for us t’turn in the logs.”

the possession in his voice brings you even further towards the edge, catapulting you, sending you frustratingly close as your body tenses, puckering hole clenching around nothing as he slowly works you.

you nod your head, unable to open your eyes as your legs close around Joel’s fingers; in anger, his hand tears your thighs apart, swatting the soft skin of your thighs in punishment. you yelp at the sting, biting your lip as a new gush of arousal leaks from your neglected hole and drips down onto the table.

fueled by frustration and adrenaline and some desperate fire of attraction that’s been burning between you since he first showed up in Jackson, you nearly scream, “please, fuck me now, Joel, please I’ll do anything-“

his hand leaves his ministrations quick, his glare sharp as his fingers glisten with your desperate arousal; they’re soaked. you feel yourself flush in embarrassment until he smirks darkly, tugging himself out of the confines of his jeans. “there, see? learnin’ some manners.”

his cock is heavy and thick as it slides through your wet, slick folds. your breath, panting out and puffing as you watch in awe. his: stuttering as the tip of his dick notches at your clenching hole, teasing.

“Jesus, you’re trying t-to swallow me, darlin’.” His hand reaches out, grabbing a palm full of your tit as he rocks his hips, once again nudging your leaking hole.

your whole body shivers in anticipation; you will your eyes to not reveal how fucking turned on you are about his size - you’re more wet than you’ve ever been in your life and his cock is - well, it’s thick, long, bigger than you’d like to admit.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy.” he grunts to himself as you hold yourself as still as possibly, one tear escaping as you your eyes clench shut in desire.

“’m ready, Joel.” you whimper, eyes opening to find his hot gaze already searing through you; he just smirks, nodding slightly. “yeah, bet you are, pretty girl.”

he can’t thrust all the way into you, not fully- his cock is too thick, your cunt slick with arousal but still so goddamn tight. the rumbling moan he lets out as he inches in slowly is fucking heavenly.

a strangled gasp leaves your lips when he starts to slide into you, inch-by-inch, stretching you open and filling you full of him. your fingers twitch at your sides as you yearn to card your fingers through his thick curls; his head falls heavy against your chest as he mutters, “s’tight, baby, fu-fuckin’ tight.”

“so much,” you whimper, fingers tight and shaking as you restrain from grabbing his arms to stabilize himself, “‘s too much.” you mumble, tears stinging. he hums, the ghost of a kiss over your cheek before he’s in your ear, whispering, “am I too big for you, baby? gonna hav’ta work you open on my fingers first next time, yeah?”

his dark grin grows as you nod your head dumbly, “fuck- yeah, yes.” you agree, nodding,

his voice is starting to slur, accent getting thicker as he soon splits you fully, speared and sheathed deep, deep into you. you’re fluttering around him as you accommodate to his size, the feeling of him nearly breaking you open as he starts to shallowly thrust.

you let out a loud moan, his thickness stretching you and sliding deeper than expected, kissing against a spot that has you keening. your toes curl and your head falls back as he pulls out, thrusting back into you slow, grinding, deep.

all you can say is his name; it falls from your lips like it’s the only word you know, his hips soon pistoning into you with fervor, chasing the feeling coiling in your abdomen.

his hands roam.

they explore every part of you they can reach, his teeth marking every inch of your throat and painting you into a beautiful piece of art. for him.

the noise of your pussy swallowing his girth in is downright filthy as it echoes through your kitchen; your head lulls to the side as you let out a languid moan, the spot he's hitting making your eyes roll back. you can feel stray tears leak down your cheeks, hot and heavy as you whimper in desire; you're so goddamn close, already, you know he can feel it.

“y’gonna-“ he grunts, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as yours leak down your cheeks, body shaking with desire, “-gonna take my cock and say thank you, ‘s that right?”

a shaking rush of arousal just slickens you even more; the sounds of his body rocking into yours wet and loud in the room as you nod frantically, the pleasure coiling dangerously fast.

but it seems you weren’t quick enough with your response: Joel’s hips slow, then stop completely.

you’re left gasping, eyes wide as you stare up at him in shock: “wh-why?” you whimper, his pulsing length half out of you, teasing you.

Joel’s eyes meet your own and he sternly swats your tits, eyes watching as the breast exposed to the air moves in recoil.

“do you want to cum?” he asks, as if he’s asking what 2 + 2 is. your face fucking burns as you nod, “yes-“

but he grunts, hips too agonizingly still as he leans forward, “then take my cock, fuck yourself on it. and use your fuckin’ manners.”

you blink at him, spurring into action only after a very brief short-circuited moment. your hips stutter and shake at the angle, unable to move in a way that stimulates yourself enough to bring you back to the edge.

you shutter, muttering, “th-thank- thank you,” but you can’t do it. you glare at him as you move your hips, hands shaking, muscles straining, but you can tell he’s not pleased: brows drawn, a swat to your exposed breast that stings and spurs your hips quicker.

“come on, this is pathetic.” he snarls, fingers gently pinching your clit. the yelp you let out is dry, starved. “why so quiet now, darlin’?” he throws your own words back at you deliciously.

he stands stationary, eyes judging you, focused on where your cunt tries to swallow his cock, your movements choppy and weak. tears spring in your eyes; he feels so good, but you just can’t get it right.

“please.” you nearly whisper it, but it’s exactly what he was looking for. he rocks his hips shallowly, your body rocking gently with the slow, deep force of him splitting you open.

“please, what?” he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping your jaw. resentment and arousal flows through your veins as you let out a strangles, “please, s-sir-“

with the words, Joel’s hips cant up into you, the slight angle making your legs coil and your throat burn.

“please fuck me, y’feel- I can’t do it, need- you feel so good, fuck me hard, please, I want it.” you let go, begging and desperate to give you what you crave.

his hips pick up a brutal pace. your back is pounded into the wood below you, the cool blade of the knife cold against your flannel as one of his large hands moves you until your legs are thrown up, over his shoulders.

the stretch is unimaginable and he doesn’t give you any time to adjust; his hips are unforgiving, fucking you open and letting your juices of arousal spill over the skin of your thighs and onto the table.

“such a foul fuckin’ mouth on you.” he spits, one hand gripping your jaw until it opens for him, your mind clouded with the chase of your highs.

he spits into your mouth, saliva warm and intoxicating as you swallow it happily, nodding in a daze. “gonna fuck you stupid, aren’t I? you won’t think about anything but me for weeks.”

he’s right, and he fucking knows it.

you nod at him, unable to form full words as he hits the spongy, delicious spot inside you that nearly makes you pass out. your hands fucking ache from the grip on the table, but you hope he’s pleased that they haven’t moved a damn inch this whole time; even as he splits you wide open and takes you apart.

you’re so close you might actually start to sob as the crest of your orgasm tingles your thighs, your toes curling and legs shaking.

he's close, too. his thrusts are getting slower, sloppier.

“whose pussy is this?” Joel grunts, his movements soon desperate and deep; his tip kisses your cervix and your body jolts up the table with each movement of his pubic bone against yours.

the pain is fucking euphoric, delicious as you grip the edge of the table so hard you’re unsure they’ll ever relax. his finger pinches your nipple and you yelp, sweat sticking to your forehead, “-y-yours, fuck, Joel- yours, a-always.” you whimper, breathless.

you feel his smile grow against your neck and the butterflies that grow in your chest seem out of place with the bruises that will soon blossom on your skin from his teeth, his fingers.

you smile, too.

"god, you're perfect- f-feel fuckin' perfect around me, baby. need you to cum." as his sentence ends, his head jerks up, one hand rising to grip your jaw tight. your eyes snap to his and the anger boils, festering with the desire and lust within his eyes, "know y'can't help it, can you?"

you shake your head fiercely as your orgasm nears. he hums deep, a rumble from his chest, “what do you say if you want me to let you cum?”

fuck. fuckfuckfuck you’re too close- your muddled mind spits a barely cohesive babble of pleads, “please, p-pleaseplease I-I’m sorry I’m sorry-“

“you’re sorry?” he presses, hips not giving up; your whole body burns as you wait for your orgasm, knowing in any second it’ll be ruined. “look at those pretty eyes. did y’learn your manners? y’gonna say thank you?”

you let out a sob of pleasure, his thrusts so deep you can feel them in your throat. “yes, Joel- please- let me cum, please-“

his hand slides to your throat. “cum now.”

you swallow around his grip and let out a near scream of his name as his other hand snakes between you; a finger brushes against your abused clit, the combined stimulation pushing you over the edge.

you see colors.

your orgasm explodes as you gush around him, pulsing, begging, unraveling around his touch. your voice is broken, mutters and whimpers of his name followed by thank you, thank you drifting through the room.

your thighs are soaked with your own spend and he feels you grip him like a vice; he can't help but kiss the tears from your cheeks as he milks you through your orgasm, muttering soft grunts in your ear.

"that's it, baby. there y'go, cum on my dick when i fuckin' tell you to." he kisses the column of your throat as his thrusts slow to deep, long thrusts. "atta girl."

you scream at his words and the overstimulation. he shushes you, thrusts slow. "'m gonna cum." he sounds almost desperate, his body so close to yours it's almost like he's trying to smother you.

he groans your name in a broken sound; his grip tugging your hair. he moves back, frantic to pull out and ride his high- but you panic.

"w-wait!" you rush, hands springing without thinking to push his hips hard against yours. you can't bear to imagine him pulling out of you so soon - you need to feel him, be full of him. "cum in me, Joel- I need it, j-just- fuck!"

his hand slams over your mouth, effectively silencing you with a loud grunt of his own, "shut the fuck up," he growls, sounding too close. “jesus, girl- gonna wake up the whole n-neighborhood-“ but even his shamefully dirty mouth falters when he chases his orgasm.

soon he thrusts shallowly into your pulsing cunt before he's moaning, spurting his seed into you.

hot, thick ropes of cum paint your walls as you flutter, whimpering as you breathe heavy, hands skittering up his back despite his earlier orders.

his lips brush over your skin as he lies on you, heavy; "jesus christ." is all he mutters, pulling out of you with a slick sound and tucking himself into his jeans.

you can only stare at the ceiling, the light above the table you’re laid upon swinging with the residual force of your bodies colliding.

a hand falls in a sharp thud to your right, pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the notch it leaves reveals the patrol log; speared in the middle with the evidence of you and Joel's digressions.

oops.

you're wrecked. you're a trembling frame of a structure after the hurricane of Joel Miller took threw you, stripping you to your bare bones. a ghost of lips over the inside skin of your knees as they fall, weak, off of his shoulders. and then he stares at you as you shakily sit up, setting your clothes right, swallowing on a raw throat.

“‘m sorry about the flannel.” he gestures to the rip in your arm where the knife had pinned you down and something about it makes you chuckle, smoothing down your hair. “are you- are you okay?” he asks suddenly, hard eyes looking almost soft under the glow of the lamplight.

he hands you your underwear and jeans and helps you slide back into them in a surprisingly sweet turn of events.

“more than okay, christ. if you make me cum like that again you can do anything you want to my clothes.” you wink with a deep breath, smiling gently at him when he helps you stand back up on shaky legs. he actually sends you a half-smirk at that, and it flutters along your chest.

the nighttime air is not so suffocating as you and Joel make your way towards Maria, his hand grazing over the small of your back as you walk on Jell-o legs, faces flushed and sweat slicking to your skin.

it’s awkward.

“I-” he starts, swallowing air as you stare up at him. sweat trickles from his brow and you itch to trace it with your tongue.

“I actually think you’re not too bad,” he finishes, turning to walk up the steps to Tommy and Maria’s. you blink, heat fluttering in your chest as he admits, but soon whirls around to ensure you hear him, “for Ellie. just- don’t do that shit around her, right?” he clarifies.

you grin at his reddened cheeks as he tucks the log into the box set near the door, filing it under the western outpost for the date.

“yes, Mr. Miller.” you mock-salute him, smirking to yourself as his flush deepens, the scowl ever-present on his face softening slightly at your smile.

“christ.” he shakes his head, “you’re gonna get me into a lot of trouble.” you don’t miss the smile that creeps on his face as he starts to walk you back home.

read part 2

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#joel miller smut #Joel Miller #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel smut #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou spoilers #the last of us (hbo)#the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us (tv)

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circe69 · 1 year

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𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭.

reader wears lingerie, simon falls on his knees for you.

fluff, suggestiveness, enjoy!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You walked down the halls of the safehouse you were staying at for the night. Snow was falling rapidly but the heated air of the cabin made everything feel like it was summer somehow.

Staying with you, sharing your small proximity space, was Ghost. Simon Riley, his true name, but he preferred the latter on the field.

You had known him for a while and decided to mess with him. You were wearing lingerie, something you had gotten a few months prior, covered with a robe. As your bare feet padded against the wood, you started to slightly regret what you were about to do.

Just walk into the office and make him fall on his knees. That's all you have to do.

The robe dropped a few steps before you got to his room, a puddle of soft cotton on the floor. You knocked on the door, your cold white knuckles against it.

"Yeah," he huffed.

He sounds angry already, maybe this is stup-

"Come in, Y/N." He said again. You turned the knob at his demand, slowly peeking only your head in to meet his eyes.

They looked tired, but almost excited to see you. You whispered,

"I just came to say goodnight."

"Oh? That's all?"

The smirk on his face seemed bigger than his ego, somehow. You knew from the minute you saw him this wasn't going to end well.

Your shoulder peeked through, letting him see the lace, or rather lack thereof.

He shut his computer slowly.

Oh no.

"Come here."

"No thanks," you breathed, starting to panic.

He stood up from his seat, "I know you put that on for me."

You gasped, "I did not! And If I did, then I would show you."

He smiled again, it was terrifying, "You will show me." He took a few steps, circling around his desk.

You closed your eyes, slowly stepping into the office. His eyes. Dark brown pools drifting over the entirety of your body, not leaving one inch unseen. Ghost took a few steps closer, mouth seemingly watering.

You stepped closer, meeting him halfway.

"You're drooling on the floor, Lieutenant."

His hand reached out to graze your shoulder, "I'll mop," he whispered.

Once he'd had his fill of you, his eyes met yours again.

"Are you walking around like that?"

You smiled, realizing how much you liked his voice when it was drenched in jealousy.

"No one's home."

His hand gripped your waist, sending unwanted shivers down your spine.

"The ghosts will see," Simon breathed, only inches away from your mouth.

You took it upon yourself to close the distance, standing on your tippy toes to kiss the side of his lips.

"The only ghost here is you, Mr. Riley."

He groaned at your words, before dropping down to his knees and gripping the backs of your legs.

"Good girl."

#ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #modern warfare #ghost imagine #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost headcanons #simon riley x you #ghost fluff #circe69scribbles

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blyth-me · 4 months

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make up: coriolanus snow

Summary: Coriolanus pushes it too far in an argument and after days of receiving the cold shoulder, he's tired of being ignored.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, arranged marriage, mentions of Sejanus, cursing, unhealthy ways of dealing with arguments, mentions of alcohol, dom!coryo, possessiveness, biting, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, young politician!coryo, praise

SMUT 18+ MDNI! IF I CANNOT SEE YOUR AGE, DO NOT INTERACT. ALL MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: This is the first thing I've written in years so please be gentle. This is unedited, sorry for any typos. based on this post.

"Never leave a fight unresolved."

It's a saying your parents drilled into you as a child. They would rarely argue in front of you, but when they did, they made sure to apologize in front of you, too. They were the perfect examples of love, forgiveness, and compromise. As a child, you followed suit, always apologizing and forgiving quickly. When you didn't want to be quick to forgive, you would replay the saying in your mind over and over until you believed it. Thankfully, you didn't get into too many arguments or conflicts and the words of your mother and father were rarely necessary. Unfortunately, not everyone grew up with your parents.

"It's the secret to a happy marriage." Your mother insisted as she adjusted your veil before you met your father to escort you down the aisle. A happy marriage, you thought, not an arranged one. Your father had risen to significant political success and popularity when you were a child and he intended on maintaining his legacy. When you turned twenty-two, he explained as though it was no big deal that you, his "precious girl" would marry Coriolanus Snow. Your face crinkled in disgust at the news, you remember it clearly, but you forgave your father. You told yourself if you forgave your father and practiced tolerance with your assigned husband, you could be happy one day.

This, however, was not the case.

Coriolanus met you for the first time a week after your father broke the news about your husband-to-be. He came to your father's summer house and was polite, a little blunt, and reserved. He seemed cold, but not necessarily towards you. There was something... inexplicable and sad about him. You decided that all the rumors you heard about his time in the districts were true as you listened to him speak about Mr. and Mrs. Plinth. He seemed to have remorse? No, suspicious guilt, as he spoke about his late friend Sejanus. Somehow, the death of his "dearest friend" turned carefully into a discussion of his heroism and kindness to the Plinth's after the death of their beloved son. His expert manipulation made your skin crawl as you watched him win your parents over that dinner. You had to forgive him for that to make your arrangement tolerable. After all, this marriage was to further his career as a young politician and cement your father's.

For the first months of your marriage, you took all of Coriolanus' distance with a grain of salt. "He's seen things out there," your mother reminded you, "be understanding." You did your best to uphold your wifely duties to a man you didn't love (or really even know) yet and he did his best to uphold his. The two of you operated more like a well-oiled machine than a newlywed couple. The capitol balls and events felt more like a chore since most of the time he discussed politics with his colleagues and you were grouped off with the other wives to gossip. At night, you often tried to get him to open up to you as you had to him, but he wouldn't. You forgave your husband. The cycle went on and every night you crawled into what felt like a strangers bed.

Coriolanus, you quickly discovered, didn't apologize. He didn't apologize for manipulating your parents. He didn't apologize for his short answers to your common and normal questions. He didn't apologize for the lack of intimacy in your marriage or the lack of friendship between the two of you. He didn't apologize for keeping you waiting at dinner when he'd promise to be there on time. He didn't apologize for keeping himself at a distance. Your only option was to forgive him, but not tonight.

You couldn't remember how the argument started, but you did know how it ended. You freed yourself from his death grip on your wrist and told him to "go to hell", promptly wandering off to your room. You locked the door and climbed into the bed (which felt emptier than you thought it would), ignoring his incessant knocks and demands. Coriolanus fell asleep outside your door that night.

You didn't know much about your husband, but you did know that he loved power. He was a powerful man already in politics despite graduating the University only two years ago. He loved having power over conversations, which you observed at capitol events and when he met your parents formally. He loved having power over his life and therefore, loved having power over you. You were usually very forgiving, but not this time. So, you decided quietly before you slept, Coriolanus would have all chances at power revoked until you dragged an apology out of him.

For Coriolanus, the next days were torture. He was forced to sleep in the guest room of the penthouse you shared since you hid the bedroom key and moved all of his necessities to his new space. Nobody kicked him out of anywhere, let alone his own wife in their house. He tried to be extra sweet with you when you left the master bedroom to make breakfast, only to be met with curt responses if any. When that didn't work, he tried to slip notes under your door only to find them crumpled in the waste bin by his desk the next day. By the third day, Coriolanus was confused and angry. How could you be so immature? He tried to sit with you at dinner, but when you calmly stood up to eat in the silence of the bedroom, his face turned red with rage.

"You're acting like a child." He snapped. You stayed silent and kept walking.

"I am your husband! Don't walk away from me when I'm speaking to you." He shouted after you, scooting his chair out to follow you down the hallway. If kindness hadn't worked, maybe intimidation would have to do.

"I regret the day I agreed to marry you if this is how you'll treat me." He spoke pointedly.

You froze in your tracks, unable to pinpoint exactly why that statement affected you so much. You took a deep breath and continued moving until: "I wish your father would have mentioned you be a bitch behind closed doors, too."

Without a second thought, you spun around and threw your wine at him, tears pricking at your eyes. You watched as Coriolanus breathed heavily and examined his stark white dress shirt. You almost opened your mouth to speak, but bit your tongue and wiped your tears. You forced your half-eaten plate at his now maroon shirt and slammed the bedroom door without another word.

Hours went by as you curled up in bed, weeping at the words of the man was supposed to love you. This was not how you envisioned getting married. It was supposed to be your choice, not your father's. It was supposed to be a union, not a business deal. You weren't supposed to welcome home a cold man every night and sleep on opposite ends of the bed. Despite all the hurt Coriolanus put you through, you still wanted to be happy with him. He was attractive, but insensitive. He knew how to speak to people, but couldn't open up. Sometimes, he even looked at you like he could love you, but never showed you a crumb of affection beyond being polite. You could not forgive him.

A knock came at your door close to midnight. Against your better judgement, you opened up. On the other side was a disheveled Coriolanus, looking relieved that you answered before quickly regaining his composure.

"Good evening." He greeted. "You don't have to talk, I just..." He took a deep breath as you eyed him. "You should know that I regret our argument the other night."

You waited expectantly for the words "I'm sorry" to leave his lips, but you simply stared at each other.

"This arrangement has been strange for me." He began again as you scoffed. "I haven't been good to you, I see that now."

You pushed the door open a little further and stepped out from behind it, wearing your sleep clothes already as Coriolanus drank in your appearance. Suddenly, in a gesture you weren't expecting he dropped to his knees.

"Can you forgive me?" It came out as a whisper as you stared in disbelief. "Please."

The sound was satisfying to your ears as you looked down at him. He seemed exhausted and distraught, his white t-shirt snug around his shoulders as he looked up at you. You almost feel like drawing this out, making him formally apologize, but you're reminded of your parent's words: "Never leave a fight unresolved". For the first time in days, you spoke.

"Okay." You whispered.

Coriolanus' head shot up and his eyes met yours. In another gesture you weren't expecting, he stood up and cautiously wrapped his arms around you to pull you into a hug. Hugs weren't foreign between the two of you. Coriolanus would often sling his arms around you at public events and would hold you close if you were dancing at a dinner, but touches like this in private were extremely rare. You gingerly wrapped your arms around him in return as you inhaled deeply. His peace offering had been accepted.

"I want to start treating you like my wife." He turned his head into your neck and mumbled against it. "Affection like this should be normal." You shivered at his words and the feeling of his lips against your neck. You nodded and whispered a shy "yes" as he held you closer.

"You should never go to bed untouched. Especially looking like this." The words went straight to your core as he stood straight to look into your eyes. "Would you like that?" Your lips parted in surprise at his sudden change in demeanor.

"Hm?" He hums, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Let me show you." He leaned down and captured your lips in an experimental kiss. You couldn't bring yourself to push him away, the smell and feel of him becoming too much. He was everywhere. Coriolanus reconnected your lips feverishly and walked you backwards into your shared room.

"Coryo..." You whimpered as he nibbled your bottom lip.

"Be quiet." He ordered. "You didn't want to speak to me for days, you can be quiet while I fuck you."

You were ashamed at how wet you were becoming. It wasn't your first time having sex, but it was your first time having sex with Coriolanus. He laid you back on the bed and began to kiss and mark your neck.

"My wife," He breathed. "Don't disrespect me like that ever again."

"I didn't-" You were cut off by a quick slap against your thigh.

"Not a sound." He growled against your shoulder, biting down onto the skin as you tried to keep quiet.

In no time, your pajamas were off and so were his. Somewhere in between the messy, passionate kisses, Coriolanus slipped inside you with no warning. You gasped against his lips and whimpered quietly as he bottomed out.

"So fucking tight." He gasped into the skin of your neck.

Coriolanus began moving slowly inside of you, giving you time to adjust before picking up the pace. His icy blue eyes met yours as he kissed you deeply, feeling the way your walls sucked him in.

"Look at my wife. You're taking me so well, aren't you?" He asked mockingly.

You nodded quietly, fighting back the moans threatening to spill past your lips.

"Good girl."

The praise caused you to flutter around him as he kissed and nibbled your neck.

"You're all mine, do you understand?" Coriolanus slowed his thrusts and buried himself deeper inside of you.

"I-I understand." You responded breathily, making your husband smile wickedly.

"That's right baby. You're not going to ignore me anymore are you?"

You felt dizzy as his thrusts began to speed up again, unable to form words. He let your silence go becoming lost in pleasure himself. As Coriolanus continued fucking you passionately, he reached down between you to rub you clit.

"I'm close, Coryo." You moaned, holding his shoulders tightly.

Your words seemed to have the desired effect as his thrusts got sloppier as he buried his head into your shoulder. He nipped and kissed at the skin, making sure to praise you along the way. He told you how good you were, how tight you felt (just for him), and how pretty you sounded moaning his name like that. As you felt yourself cumming around him, you also felt yourself forgiving him.

Coriolanus pulled you close as you both basked in the afterglow. You decided, as you drew patterns on his chest, that this arrangement wasn't so bad if it meant nights like these. You decided, as he kissed your temple and played with your hair, that maybe a life with him was exactly what you needed. Just as you fell asleep in the arms of someone who finally felt like your husband, you decided you would always forgive him especially when it meant making up like this.

#coriolanus snow #coryo snow #coriolanus snow smut #coryo snow smut #coriolanus snow imagine #coryo snow imagine #coriolanus snow fic #coryo snow fic #tbosas #tbosas smut #tbosas imagine #tbosas fic #smut #imagine #fic #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes imagine #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fic

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planetary · 11 months

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dr doofenschmirtz would have done this but for like some totally different reason he’d be like you see perry the platypus im sick of all the four-armed four-legged people buying up all the good mittens for winter. now when i have to go out and shovel the snow off the sidewalk in front of my evil building i have to use my old mittens and they’re not waterproof and my hands get wet and its very uncomfortable. now if i split these people in half they’ll be so busy looking for their other half they won’t even remember to go to the annual summer tri state area mitten sale!! and they’ll have less hands to buy mittens for too. and then perry would kick him in the face and knock the human splitter inator remote out of his hand and it would accidentally fire a beam all the way across town and candace would be like YOULL SEE MOM PHINEAS AND FERB MERGED THEMSELVES AND THEIR FRIENDS INTO A HORRIFIC HUMAN CONGLOMERATE but the inator beam would hit them and unfuse them right as candace brought her mom to the yard and her mom would be like hi kids do you want a snack and they’d all be laying in the grass like haha sure mrs flynn fletcher! and candace would be like WUH. BUT MOM O_O and then dr doofenschmirtz would be like ah well. at least i can still beat the four-armed four-legged people to the annual summer tri state area winter boots sale. but then he gets trampled by a mob of the four-armed four-legged people in big boots and theyre all like IM SO GLAD WE GOT TO THE ANNUAL SUMMER TRI STATE AREA WINTER BOOTS SALE EARLY AND BOUGHT ALL THE GOOD BOOTS! and doctor doofenschmirtz is lying on the ground all crumpled and goes CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUUUUUUUS!!!!!

#people have asked and yesss ok to rb :3 #phineas and ferb #chatter🦋

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ameliathornromance · 20 days

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“Is that him there?”

Wind blasts through the train tunnel, past you and your Orc Boyfriend. Your Orc, raised an eyebrow and followed your finger pointed.

The person you were referring to, a human male with waterfalls of black hair, curling at his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and contoured with black rings, matching his dark hair.

The phrase, ‘Love, not hate’ tattooed above his left eyebrow. His scowling at passers by, wrinkled nose and judgemental stare opposed the important sentiment he decided to ink his face with. Sitting on the bench, he jogged his knee to an invisible jig, chain around his neck swaying.

Your Orcs’ eyes flicked from the phone screen in his hand, to the suspect and back to the screen. “Yup.” He tucked the phone away in his jeans pocket. “Now, let me handle this.”

“No,” you put a hand against your Orcs shoulder, stopping him from moving towards the subject. “We talked about this, you always come on too strong. And this isn’t too dangerous is it? It’s just an escort job.”

The Orc wrinkled his nose at you, “don’t say it like that, you make it out to be that we’re some kind of prostitutes.”

You rolled your eyes, “you knew what I meant. I’ll go and make contact, you hang back behind me and step in if it gets to be too much!” And without waiting for a response, you approached the man.

“Hey, Mr Mimac.” You started gently. The last time Mr Mimac had been seen was three months ago in Monaco… Snorting some kind of white powder, surrounded by Fae show girls and gambling away all the money his… ‘law abiding’ father had given him as a 21st birthday present.

God knows if he was on anything now.

But that’s why you and your Orc had turned up. Your duo went by many names in underground spaces: Good & Bad Cop, Brains and Brawn, Summer and Snow – fitting really, considering both of your conflicting appearances & approaches.

Orcs and Humans don’t normally get together like the two of you do. But it’s good to have a balance on perspectives, isn’t it?

Even if you disliked the brashness and ruthless behaviour of your boyfriend, you couldn’t deny that it paid off to have a scary guard dog with you wherever you went. It made you feel safer, especially when dealing with things like this.

Mr Mimac Junior didn’t even spare you a glance, eyes still glancing around the stations platform in the same critical gaze. “We’re here on behalf of your dad, he’s asked me and my partner to bring you back to him. He’s very worried about you.” You explained as delicately as possible.

“Fuck off…” The Junior turned to you, his scowl deepening. “I don’t care what my father asked you to do.” His voice slurred slightly, a strong chemical smell hit you like icy water.

You opened your mouth to respond, try to ease him into coming with you. But there was no time.

“Alright,” your Orc Boyfriend spoke up from behind you. “The lady asked quite politely.” He growled.

Still, Mr Mimac did not move. He sent a glare at your Orc, “so? I don’t take orders from anyone, do you know who I am?”

Uh oh.

“This is how it’s going to play out, hm?” Within an instance, your Orc was in front of you, hands leaned on the benches arm rests, bent down to the Juniors height.

The man’s eyes widened, leaning as far as he could before hitting the tiled wall behind him.

Any trace of irritation had gone from Mr Mimac’s face as your Orc continued, “My lovely lady may be polite, but me?” Your Orc Boyfriend drew a sharp breath, air between his large tusks. “I’m not so nice. You’re going to do what the lady says, otherwise your father is going to get a bloody pulp of flesh, and when he asks why you turned up in that state, I’m going to say that you were refusing to co-operate and I had to use some light force… I might just have to even break that pretty little necklace you have,” your Orc flicked a dangling diamond chain from around the man-child's neck.

You stifle a sigh, covering your forehead and blocking your eyes from the scene.

“Now, you’re going to apologise and come with us quietly.” Drawing himself back to you his full height, your Orc looped his thumbs through his belt loop, waiting for the Human to respond.

The man’s eyes darted to you, then back to your Orc. “’m sorry.” Mr Mimac squeaked.

“Better.” Your Orc jerked the Junior standing, the three of you marching out of the train station.

Mr Mimac Senior thanked you both profusely as his son was led away by his mother. Mimac Senior handed you a briefcase and sent you both on your way.

Getting back into the car, you cracked open the briefcase. Taking a stack of bills, you examined them carefully as your Orc Boyfriend turned the ignition and turned the car around.

After checking the bills authenticity, you snapped the case closed. The clicking of the cars indicator punctuated the air.

“I told you I could handle it.” You said, quietly.

“You did. He was just behaving like a jackass.” Your Orc replied, checking the lane before pulling out of the drive way. “I’m not going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

Despite the point being lost on your Orc, you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “Thank you.” You meant it, how could you not? He was only looking out for you. “I feel bad, you’re always doing the dirty work. You should get some time to sit back and handle the easy stuff.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad. Remember what we agreed? I get my hands dirty, you keep yours clean and deal with business.” The car stopped at the traffic lights. "You’re smarter and better at negotiating.”

Engine humming, the streaking of red light illuminating his appearance, your Orc turned to you. “I love you, you know." He held his hand out to you.

You took it, intertwining your fingers with his. “I love you too.”

#monster lover #orc fiction #monster romance #orc boyfriend #monster x human #orc romance #monster x you #orc x reader #monster x female #monster x reader #bullet train inspired #love lemon and tangerine

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susanhannifordcrowley · 1 year

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New Beginnings Paranormal-Scope

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#A Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse Paranormal-Scope #A Blooming Paranormal-Scope #A Haunted Paranormal-Scope #A Hidden World Paranormal-Scope #A VAMPIRE FOR CHRISTMAS #Amazon Kindle Bestselling Author of Vampire Romance #Arnhem Knights of New York series #Don&039;t Eat the Tree! Paranormal-Scope #EverWarm #First Snow Paranormal-Scope #In Search of Warmth Paranormal-Scope #International Cat Day Paranormal-Scope #Lady Fallon&039;s Dragons #Mrs. Bright&039;s Tea Room #New Beginnings Paranormal-Scope #paranormal romance #Please #Poseidon&039;s Catch #Scottish Paranormal-Scope #Summer Sunrises Paranormal-Scope #Susan Hanniford Crowley #The Forest Paranormal-Scope #The Pumpkin Whisperer&039;s Paranormal-Scope #THE STORMY LOVE LIFE OF LAURA CORDELAIS #The Vampire with a Blanket of Stars #VAMPIRE IN THE BASEMENT #Vampire King of New York #Vampire Princess of New York #Vampires&039; Dance Paranormal-Scope #When Darkness Falls Paranormal-Scope

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littledovesnow · 5 months

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president snow, the prelude

a/n: so there were like 750 words that didn't make it into the final fic for president!coryo, here they are! i wasn't going to publish this, but it sets up a lot of the backstory for future fics i have planned :)

-----

The room was electric as Lucky Flickerman’s face popped up on the TV, ready to announce Panem’s next president.

Your husband, who was freshly twenty-five and had his name on the ballot fo the first time, stood next to you, hand laced in your own.

“You’re a shoo-in, Coryo, I don’t know what they’re even doing counting the votes. Everyone knows you’re going to come out on top. After all, Snow lands on top.”

Coriolanus smiled softly at the sound of his family’s favorite phrase. He knew he had most likely won the election as well, but he wanted to hear the final vote before celebrating anything.

“The results are in,” Lucky Flickerman’s dramatics were dialed to a hundred tonight, as he flicked open an envelope brought to him by a station worker.

“Panem’s next president is,” he trailed off, wanting to build the anticipation.

You could feel the electric in the air, squeezing your husband’s hand as Lucky opened his mouth to continue. “The Capitol’s own Coriolanus Snow!”

Cheers erupted from the Snow’s great room, Coriolanus’ closest family and friends having gathered for the momentous occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Plinth, who thought of you considered your in-laws, wasted no time in congratulating the young man, their next president. “We always knew you had it in you, Coriolanus. Ever since you and Sejanus first were mentors way back when!”

You and Coriolanus shared a look, neither of you had ever come out with the truth about what happened when Coriolanus was exiled the summer after the 10th Hunger Games.

Putting on a smile, Coriolanus hugged the older woman, and shook hands with his late classmate’s father. “You’ll do this nation proud, boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Plinth.”

Mrs. Plinth brought her attention to you, the nation’s next First Lady. “You’ll be a splendid First Lady! Oh, the Capitol will be overjoyed to have a young couple at the helm again! Especially once a child is brought up!”

You stopped yourself from frowning, instead giving the woman a soft smile.

Coriolanus watched with a careful eye, not wanting to cause a scene at the woman’s comments. He and you had been trying for a child for a few months, to no avail. One of his first tasks as president would be to find better fertility care, as he was growing worried that each failure was taking a larger toll on you than you let on.

“If you’ll excuse us, I believe I do need to go make a speech.” Coriolanus smiled, tugging you out of the room with a promise to catch up at his inauguration.

You waited until you two were in the privacy of your bedroom before letting any emotions go, inner turmoil over your husband’s victory and sadness over Mrs. Plinth’s comment.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Coriolanus murmured; voice much softer than when he is in public. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

You looked at your husband with tears on deck, stomach rolling over. “She’s true. The Capitol’s going to want us to start a family as soon as possible. I’m going to be seen as a failure if I can’t even get pregnant!”

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you as your emotions crumbled, heat growing in his heart. He wanted to immediately call for her to lose her tongue, with little regard that she was one of the two people who had helped him financially be able to make it to this point in his life.

“We’ll figure it out, my love. I vowed to help you become a mother, and it’s a vow I intend to keep.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your sleeve, earning a tsk from the president-elect. “I just wish it was as easy as It is for everyone else. I deserve this, for God’s sake!”

Coriolanus frowned, hand running up and down your spine. “I know, my love.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, so he kept his lips closed.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments more, until there was a knock at the door, an Avox opening it once Coriolanus granted permission.

Holding a phone up, the Avox gestured to Coriolanus, who begrudgingly stepped away from you to take the call, which was Lucky Flickerman himself, conducting a phone-style interview live on air.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, playing into the pizazz and cheer over the phone, stating how excited he was to have this honor as president, all while sitting on the luxurious bed you two shared, hand moving up and down your arm as you curled into his side.

-----

a/n: and there it is folks, basically why i made coriolanus want funding for a fertility clinic :)

#it's giving the lead to good angst in future fics!!!!!!#young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games x reader #hunger games tbosas #hunger games imagine

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 5 months

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You can call me babe...not just for the weekend | Conrad Fisher x Reader

Advent calendar day seven: Tis the damn season

Summary: You and Conrad explore a road you never did before when come back to your hometown for the holidays

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Bundled in your warm coat and scarf, you walked down the streets of Boston with a cup of hot coffee in your right hand, looking for last minute presents while drinking in the feeling of home. Around you, the shops were adorned with twinkling holiday lights, painting a very different picture than in Los Angeles’s December. Especially with the light layers of snow all over the city.

Although you loved living in Los Angeles, there was nothing better than a snow-y Christmas.

You missed it the past two years.

The faint scent of fresh fir and pine coming from the Christmas tree market at the end of the street brought a nostalgic smile to your lips. When you were little, your dad would let you pick a tree — which was always way too big for the living room.

You entered the bookshop, browsing around for a possible novel to read during your vacation when your eyes caught a familiar face between the aisles.

‘’Conrad?’’

Hearing his name, the brunet lifted his gaze. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. You. In Boston.

‘’Hi,’’ he said, completely struck.

You walked over to him, pausing your shopping, and Conrad put down the book he was holding.

‘’I haven’t seen you in a while. It’s good to see you.’’

He had changed — grown — since you last saw him. His hair was a bit longer at the back and his jawline was sharper, but he still had that navy sweater he wore to every Christmas party at school. It has reindeers and snowflakes on it.

‘’I just got here last night,’’ he explained, giving you a small smile that fell soon after, as if regretting it. ‘’I didn't know you were coming this Christmas.’’

‘’I was beginning to miss the snow,’’ you said, then took a sip of your coffee. ‘’How’s your mom?’’

Conrad was relieved for a conversation shifter. ‘’She’s great.’’ He smiled again. ‘’We’re hosting a massive Christmas dinner this year and, you know her, she went all out. She turned our house into a place that looks like it came straight from a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie.’’

A chuckle spilled from your lips. Susannah always loved holidays — 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas. She tended to go a bit overboard with the decorations, but she always prepared the most delicious feasts for her guests. Although she was no Martha Stewart, her dinner table was one for the magazines.

‘’Did your dad put the big star at the top of the house? I couldn’t see it from my window last night.’’

‘��Eh, no.. He didn’t…’’ You could sense that Conrad was holding something back, something he didn’t know how to tell you. ‘’Dad moved out last summer. He…’’ There was a short pause before he spilled the truth, having never said it out loud before. ‘’He cheated on my mom.’’

Your stomach sank and your heart ached for Susannah. You never would have taken Mr. Fisher for a cheater, but you can never really know someone.

‘’I’m sorry.’’

‘’Why for? You’re not the one who had an affair with his secretary,’’ Conrad said, clearly still pissed about the situation and resenting his dad. Getting a silence from you, Conrad took back his words. ‘’I should not have said that…’’

You shook your head. ‘’It’s okay,’’ you assured him. ‘’Is Jeremiah coming for the holidays? He’s in college now, right?’’

‘’Yeah. Him and Belly both go to Finch, so they are driving together tonight. Steven should get here tomorrow.’’

Steven. You hadn’t heard of him in a while. The last time you spoke to him was to congratulate him for getting into Princeton. The big news was the reason why you had changed his name for Princeton boy on your phone. It was a nod to one of your favorite movies — A Cinderella story.

A smile drew on your lips. ‘’Seems like everyone is back in town this year.’’

‘’Like the old days,’’ Conrad confirmed, his smile tighter than yours.

⁂

The second time you ran into one of the Fisher brothers, you were getting lunch by yourself at your old favorite café and typing a few lines for your next novel. Christmas chaos had started at home and writing was impossible with your mother’s holiday music blasting while she was working on tomorrow’s dinner.

You heard him before you saw him.

‘’Oh my god, am I seeing right?’’

You raised your head, recognizing the dark blond curls spilling from under his hat that just entered the café. He skipped the counter and went straight for your table, pulling you in for a hug.

‘’I can’t believe you’re here! It’s been so long,’’ Jeremiah said, his smile so big you would think he had won a trip to Cabo.

You talked for a few minutes, catching up on small things, but he unfortunately couldn’t stay long as he was meeting with Belly to go Christmas shopping. You wished them good luck, the shopping malls likely chaotic forty-eight hours before Christmas.

‘’Before I go, there’s a huge New Year party at Este’ house next week,’’ Jeremiah informed, fixing his jacket and grabbing his coffee from the table. ‘’Everyone is gonna be there. You should come.’’

It was kind of him to invite you, but you were hesitant.

‘’I haven’t spoken to anyone since moving across the country, I doubt they’ll want me there…’’

Jeremiah tilted his head, giving you a look. ‘’Don’t say that. I’m sure someone will be interested in hearing about all of your celebrity friends. If you tell anyone you’ve met Ariana Grande in a restaurant, they’ll want to be best friends.’’

You shook your head. Of course he would mention Ariana Grande. The two of you used to sing her music in the car and have midnight release parties every time a new album came out.

‘’I don’t have any celebrity friends to gossip about. And if I did, I would be a bad friend for gossiping about them at a party in my hometown.’’

⁂

A Hallmark holiday rom-com was playing on TV when you received a text from Conrad. His contact picture was a selfie of you and him at the beach in Cousins. You visited him for the 4th of July the summer before you parted ways to different colleges.

From Conrad: Do you want to drive around and look at Christmas lights together?

A smile drew across your face. It was an old tradition from when you were kids. The two of you would walk around the neighborhood on the first night of Christmas break and look at all the decorated houses. You always looked forward to that special night. Then, when Conrad got his license, you broadened your itinerary to other neighborhoods and added hot chocolates and stolen holiday desserts from your respective houses to the tradition.

You didn’t bother changing out of your pajamas, adding a sweater over your shirt and slipping on your boots before heading out.

‘’Where’s your coat?’’ Conrad asked when you opened the passenger door and got in.

‘’We’re staying in the car, I don’t need it,’’ you replied, closing the door and pulling your seatbelt.

Conrad sighed and turned the heater higher.

‘’I’m gonna be honest, I was surprised to get a text from you. I got the impression that you weren't as pleased to see me as I was yesterday.’’

‘’No. It wasn’t that,’’ he assured, taking his eyes off the road to look at you briefly. ‘’To me, it was unlikely that you would come to Boston again since your life is in Los Angeles now. I was just shocked to see you in town.’’

A teasing smile curled on your face. ‘’Aw, you were starstruck by me?’’

‘’I didn't say starstruck…’’ Conrad protested, shaking his head as you twisted his words around.

The conversation was quickly dropped, something massive and green catching your attention on your side of the street. ‘’Oh, look on my left, they dressed up their 50 feet skeleton in a Grinch costume!’’

⁂

‘’What are you doing here?’’ your mother asked, her arms crossed as swatched you in the kitchen making yourself a cup of tea on New Year’s eve, eyeing you with a mixture of disbelief and surprise.

You gave her a confused look, a teaspoon in one hand and a teabag dangling from the other. ‘’I’m on vacation… Mom, did you have too much eggnog or something?’’

‘’I mean, what are you doing at home on New Year’s eve? Don’t you have a party to go to? I’m sure your old friends missed you.’’

Letting out a sigh, you resumed preparing your tea, pouring hot water into the cup. ‘’Jeremiah invited me, but I don’t think I’m gonna be going. We can watch Ryan Seacrest’s Rockin New Year together—’’

Your mother leaned against the kitchen counter, a faint frown on her face. ‘’You should go. No twenty-year-old should stay at home on New Year’s eve,’’ she insisted, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘’Is Conrad gonna be there?’’

You shrugged, stirring the tea. ‘’I don’t know.’’

She pointed at your cup. ‘’Give me that tea and get ready for that party.’’

⁂

Leave it to you to be overdressed at a small town New Year party. Since moving to Los Angeles, you had to level up to their standards of fashion, but now you were sticking out like a sore thumb in this suburban crowd.

You walked further into the house, trying to find familiar faces, but you didn’t recognize half of them. They must have recognized you by the sour look they gave you. You couldn’t tell if it was because of your dress or because they didn’t like that you were at the party. You tried to ignore them. There was a reason you left town and it wasn’t only for bigger career opportunities.

‘’Happy new year!’’ Belly greeted over the loud music, grinning excitedly with a red cup in her hand and a pair of ‘2024’ gold glasses on her face. She pulled you in a hug, giving you a better welcome than your old classmates. She held you at arm’s length, looking you up and down. ‘’Wow, that dress looks so good. It’s like a mirrorball.’’

You smiled and thanked her for the compliment. ‘’You don’t think it’s too much?’’

She shook her head. ‘’It’s better to be overdressed than underdressed,’’ she assured you, quoting Susannah. ‘’Come. Steven has been talking about you non-stop since Jeremiah told him you were in town and coming to the party.’’ Belly gave the boys a glance on the other side of the room, both talking by the windows, then pulled you through the sea of people.

‘’There she is,’’ Steven exclaimed when seeing you approach, being the last of the group to see you.

You pulled him in a short hug. ‘’Hey, Steven.’’

Seeing your empty hands, Jeremiah offered to get you a drink. He enumerated the small selection available in Este’s kitchen, but your attention was drawn away when you caught Conrad sitting with a couple of friends on the couches with a beer in hand. Your eyes lingered on him more than necessary. You couldn’t help it, he looked so handsome in a button up and sweater.

‘’So, which one is going to be?’’ Jeremiah said, still waiting for your choice of drink.

As the night went on, you lost sight of him. You and Belly laughed while the boys did karaoke, duetting musicals and acing every song. Parties in Los Angeles were not as laid back. Everyone would have booed if someone had pulled out the karaoke machine.

Steven was in the middle of an impressive solo when you caught Conrad heading outside to the balcony. You glanced at your friends, then back at the sliding door, and excused yourself to the bathroom. You came to the party in hopes to see him, you couldn’t not talk to him.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air enveloped you, causing goosebumps to rise on your barely covered skin. Even with tights, that dress was not approved for the winter chill. Trying to ignore the high chances of catching a cold, you walked up to Conrad, who was leaning against the railing, gazing at the illuminated neighborhood by himself.

‘’I’ve been looking for you,’’ you said, your voice breaking the silence.

‘’Me?’’

You hummed, joining him in his gazing. ‘’Aren't you cold out here?’’

‘’No, not really.’’ He shifted his eyes to you, noticing the absence of a coat over your shoulders. ‘’You sure are cold.’’

You chuckled, rubbing your arms in a futile attempt to generate warmth. ‘’Maybe a little.’’

Without asking, Conrad pulled you closer, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. ‘’Better?’’

You leaned into his side, a smile gracing your lips as the woodsy undertones of his cologne enveloped your senses with every breath. ‘’Better.’’

‘’How was your Christmas?’’ he asked.

‘’Great.’’ Your answer came across as cold, but it wasn’t intentional. ‘’Did Susannah make you wear matching Christmas sweaters again?’’

Conrad groaned, confirming that she did. ‘’She got us matching pajama bottoms too, this year. It’s horrendous.’’

‘’I’m sure you looked cute— that it was cute,’’ you quickly corrected.

‘’I assure you, it was not,’’ Conrad denied, shaking his head at the memories. ‘’Mom put reindeer ears on Jeremiah’s head for the family portrait and I had a Santa hat.’’

You could totally imagine Conrad in a Santa hat and Christmas pajamas.

‘’Conrad?’’ He hummed, waiting for you to continue. ‘’Do you ever think of us? The ‘us’ before I moved to California?’’

The two of you were very close since third grade, but once you moved to California, you got radio silence from Conrad. No texts. No phone calls. Nothing.

‘’What do you mean?’’

You distanced yourself from him, preferring to be cold rather than close to someone who was playing fool. ‘’You know what I mean.’’

‘’You’re going back to L.A. in a couple of days. It doesn’t matter…’’

‘’It does!’’ you finally said, a mix of emotions coating your voice. ‘’I miss us. I miss us everyday, and after these past days, I don’t think I can go back to not speaking to you. I’m asking you one last time, Conrad, if you miss us too, please say it so we can stop acting like stupid teenagers and face what this is like adults.’’

Inside the house, you could hear people loudly counting down to midnight, meaning there wasn’t much time left.

Talking about feelings was always difficult with Conrad. He preferred to bottle them and be miserable instead of facing them.

‘’Of course I do,’’ he admitted with a rare vulnerability. ‘’No one matters more to me than you.’’

You didn’t hear the countdown reaching its end when you leaned up and pressed your lips against his, finally exploring the road untraveled by. You thought it would feel strange to cross the friendship line, but it wasn’t. It was easy and comfortable.

Conrad pulled you back to him with a hand on the small of your back, the sequins of your dress scratching his skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, as if you were scared he would break the kiss too soon or just…run.

When the kiss did break, Conrad didn’t run. He was smiling down at you as cheers roared from inside the house, the clock having struck midnight.

‘’It almost doesn’t feel real,’’ you said, looking into his beautiful eyes.

Conrad leaned down to kiss you again. ‘’How about now?’’ He had an ever present smile on his lips, the kind of smile that couldn’t be broken by anything. The kind of smile that was from pure happiness.

Starting to feel too cold, the two of you headed back inside to grab your coat and leave. As you were maneuvering through the people, Jeremiah didn’t fail to notice Conrad’s hand holding yours. He elbowed Belly, who squealed excitedly.

—

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#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #the summer i turned pretty imagine #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp

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