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wayward-dreamer · 6 days ago

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Gosh. Honestly I’m a fucking mess after reading this in more ways than one.

I’m a feral mess from all the extremely hot smut sure of course, but I’m also an emotional mess from all of it. This was so unbelievably touching because I just love the way you’re progressing things between them. For Joel to know and realize exactly what she did to keep him alive and take care of him was so important and I just loved the way Tommy phrased it by saying she’s important to him as well for saving his brother. Add in all the sweet and loving ways Joel took care of her in return (seriously where do I get a man like this?!) and then her being so good with Benji, THIS WAS SO JUST GOOD.

I just know when you finally have them embrace their feelings completely it’s going to absolutely wreck me and I can’t wait for that day. I’m so in love with them 🥹

I’m loving this series so much, and I just thank you Mallory, because yes you named it Healed because of Joel, but it’s healing me too and I’m just so glad it exists ❤️

Chapter 7: Care

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: It’s nice to be taken care of. To have your sore feet rubbed, your tired back massaged, and breakfast made for you. You can’t remember the last time you were able to be taken care of by somebody else. Chapter Warnings: domesticity in the apocalypse, pining and yearning, talk of death, mentions of nightmares, pancakes, oh my god can they just tell each other how they feel?!, smut, oral (f & m receiving), 69, face sitting, cum eating Words: 6,500

A/N: Another chapter of me going "do I... do I include this?" and the horny gremlin inside of me telling me "YES."

Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

In, out.

Gentle breaths.

You’re asleep, wrapped in his arms, his hand trailing up and down your spine. It amazes him how soft your skin is, how sweet you smell, how perfect you fit next to him.

The vulnerability of wanting someone so completely has scared him for years. And yet, he allows himself to savor you, the peace you bring him, and the feel of the rise and fall of your chest against his.

It feels right.

When you’re with him, he doesn’t have the nightmares, he doesn’t feel the pull of despair, he doesn’t wake up trying to remind himself he’s still alive.

But he still thinks about it. All of the time. The gaps in his memory of New Year’s Day, the pain, and the all-encompassing black void. He knows there’s more. He needs to know.

He lies awake most of the night, the unanswered questions and the overwhelming desire for you flowing through his body with every beat of his heart.

He can feel the changes. The more you’re here in his home, the more it feels like you're never supposed to leave, and now as he holds you tight… he thinks he’d like to spend every morning like this.

—-

It’s only you and Steven running the clinic today, an unexpected surgery has taken Dr. V and Wendy away from seeing patients, while Linda is sick. You’re thankful for the busy day, you hardly have the time to think about last night and waking up in Joel’s arms this morning.

Steven is updating you on the chart of a pregnant woman who’s close to her due date. You're trying to focus, but all you can think of is opening your eyes and seeing Joel’s bare, golden chest first thing this morning.

“If we need to help induce labor, we can try red raspberry leaf tea. I’ll show you how to dry and make it, if you’d like,” Steven offers, but you barely hear him. The sound of Joel moaning your name last night still plays in your head.

Steven calls your name. “Hey, you there? I know today’s been long.”

“S-sorry, yeah. That works,” you say, trying to shake the thoughts of Joel out of your mind.

“What exactly works?” he quirks an eyebrow up with a smirk.

“Oh, uh… the tea.”

Steven chuckles. “You alright? You seem distracted.”

“Just tired,” you answer quickly. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Ah. Need anything for that? We have chamomile and valerian root.”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure. “Just need to get through the day.”

“Well, only a few hours left,” he says, squeezing your shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

—-

By the time Joel made his way down to the kitchen this morning, you were already gone. No chance to ask you how you feel, no chance to look at your beautiful face, no chance to kiss you again. He’d be worried he went too far if it wasn’t for the way you leaned up to kiss him before you nuzzled closer against his chest and fell asleep last night. You’d left his coffee cup near the coffeemaker, two slices of bread in the toaster, and a bowl filled with muesli on the kitchen table. He hasn’t had someone look out for him like this in years. Hell, he hardly ever let Tess care for him in a way that he now thinks he could have learned to appreciate.

He's been restless all day, moving from one room to another. Something, anything to do to distract himself from last night and how much he wants it to happen again.

He’s sitting at the dining room table with his guitar, figuring out the bridge of a song he’s been trying to learn. It keeps his mind busy for a little while, but even then, his thoughts always drift back to you.

He thanks his lucky stars when he hears Tommy’s familiar succession of knocks before he walks in through the front door.

Thank god, another distraction.

“Afternoon,” Tommy greets as he takes a seat on your usual chair across from Joel at the table. “Been a helluva week…”

Tommy drones on and on about the Jackson happenings. The Member House’s roof is finally repaired, patrollers on the Hoback run found a box full of prescription glasses, and there’s an abundance of tomatoes growing in the greenhouse. Joel just nods along, pretending like he’s fully listening as he gently plucks his guitar strings.

“Maria heard a rumor you’ve been out walking.”

“Just a little yesterday,” Joel answers, setting his guitar to the side. “To the end of the road.”

“Well, my house is just a little farther than that. Think you’re up for coming over tomorrow for dinner? Benji would love to see you. Bring your girl.”

“My girl?” he asks, his eyebrow arching.

“Testing, brother,” Tommy chuckles. “You seem distracted.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “A lot on my mind.”

“Yeah?”

"Been having nightmares," he admits. "About what happened. They feel real."

Tommy’s smile falters, and his face loses color. "What do you remember?"

“Too much, but there’s this, feeling I don’t understand. Feel like I’m missing something. It still don't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember parts. The lodge, the group, the golf club, the gunshot. But then, nothing. Just waking up here, with her."

Tommy shifts uncomfortably. "She said there might be gaps. Trauma does that."

"It's more than gaps," Joel insists. “I want to know what happened. Everything.”

Tommy straightens and swallows. "You sure about that?"

"I am."

"Let's take this outside," Tommy says, standing abruptly. "Think we both could use some fresh air. I’ll get the whiskey."

Joel breathes deeply, steeling himself as he sits in his rocking chair. His heart begins to race when the front door opens and Tommy’s boot steps fall against the porch.

"To health," Tommy offers, taking a seat and raising his glass of whiskey.

Joel grunts, clinking his glass against his brother's before taking a small sip. "Now talk. From the beginning.”

Tommy nods, staring out at the yard. "It was bad, Joel. Worse than you know." He takes another sip. "By the time we got there, you, Dina, and Ellie were down."

Joel's hand tightens around his glass as the shattered memories begin to surface—the freezing cold, Ellie's pleas, pain, and the darkness.

"Ellie was screaming your name. Me ‘n Jesse came in guns blazing. It was chaos. I don’t know how we did it, but we killed every last one of 'em. When I finally got to you..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "Christ, Joel. There was so much blood. Your head, your chest. That leg. I thought for sure..."

He trails off and takes another drink. Joel waits, every muscle in his body tense.

"We got you out, back to Jackson. Ellie was hurt but conscious, Dina wasn’t hurt but barely conscious. You were–" Tommy's voice breaks. "You were gone, Joel. Cold. You were... dead."

Joel feels a chill run through him.

Dead.

Not just injured. Not just close to death.

Dead.

"What the hell are you telling me?" His voice comes out harsher than intended, disbelief edging into anger.

“I’m telling you what you asked me to tell you,” Tommy replies. “No pulse. No breathing. Nothing. All I could think was you'd be back with Sarah. Nothing else, just that finally, you were with her again."

Joel shakes his head. He was so close to being back with his baby girl, he can't believe it. “No,” silently escapes his lips.

"The storm had subsided enough, I was able to radio Maria ahead, she ran ‘n found her. She remembered she was a doctor from when she arrived the day before," Tommy continues. "She wouldn't give up. She just kept working on you. CPR, right in the middle of the street ‘n then when she got you back, we ran you to the clinic ‘n she… she saved your leg. She saved all of you.”

Joel drains his glass, needing the burn of alcohol to ground him. All these months, he thought you were just his doctor, his caretaker. But you're more than that. You're the reason he's still breathing.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

Tommy shrugs. "At first, you were too weak. Then... I don't know. Seemed like something you'd want to hear from her, not us. And she never brought it up, so..."

Joel nods slowly, and he understands. Your constant presence, your dedication to his recovery, the way you look at him sometimes, like you're still checking to make sure he's really there. It all makes sense now.

"She never told me," Joel whispers, more to himself than to Tommy.

"Maybe she didn't want to scare you. Or maybe..." Tommy shrugs. "Maybe she didn't want you feeling like you owed her something."

"I died," he says, testing the words.

"And she brought you back," Tommy confirms. "Some folks in town call it a miracle."

Joel doesn't believe in miracles. He hasn't for a long, long time.

But, then, when he can just make out the shape of you approaching, the rays of the bright, afternoon sun beaming off of you, he knows he believes in you, his own miracle, with your skills, your determination, and your healing ways.

"She's important to all of us," Tommy says quietly as he looks over at Joel, focusing only on you. "Saved one of our own. But..." he pauses. "She's important to me because I know how much she means to you."

Joel doesn’t say anything to deny it. He can’t deny it anymore, not now knowing all that you've done for him. Not when just the mere sight of you approaching makes the heart you brought back to life beat faster in his chest. And then, when you spot him and smile, all he can do is stare, like it’s the first time he’s really seeing you. Someone who refused to let him die. Someone who's spent half a year bringing him back to life.

Tommy stands, taking one last drink before he asks, “Alright?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Well then, brother, I’ll leave you with your girl.”

Joel nods, still reeling from the news. “Yeah, thanks.”

Tommy smirks before he makes his way home, greeting you as he leaves.

Last night, he had you in his bed, touched you, kissed you, and heard you moan his name, and now, today, he finds out you saved his life.

He can’t look away from you as you step onto the porch.

“Hey,” he says, his back straightening at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you answer, your voice a little hoarse.

“Long day?” he asks.

“Quite. My feet are killing me,” you sigh.

He doesn’t want you to feel any type of discomfort; he wants to care for you like you’ve cared for him for all these months. It’s the least he can do for you.

“Let’s head inside, the seats are softer in there,” he suggests, rising and leading you into the house with his hand against your back.

You sink into the cushions of your usual spot on the sofa with a tired sigh and begin unlacing your boots. Joel watches you, wanting to help in any way he can. Instead of sitting in his usual recliner, he joins you on the couch. You don’t question him, you just take your shoes and socks off and start to rub your tired feet.

“You’ve been on your feet all day?” he asks.

“Yeah, they’re killing me,” you sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

He hates watching you like this, knowing how much you sacrifice not only for him, but for everyone else in Jackson. He reaches forward and picks up the jar of salve from the coffee table.

“Gimme your foot,” he says, holding out his broad palm.

"Joel, what—”

“Your foot,” he repeats. “You said it hurts. Let me.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you…”

He shakes his head.

“After everything you’ve done for me? It’s only fair. S’not gonna kill my pride, I promise.”

You hesitate, watching him, then reluctantly turn and place your feet in his lap.

He scoops out a dab of salve, rubs it between his palms to warm it, then begins to knead it into your arch, your heel, and across your toes.

The salve turns slick under his touch. You sink back against the couch, your head tipping back, a long, happy sigh escaping your lips as you close your eyes.

Something sparks in his chest as he watches you relax under his touch.

“You work hard,” he says low. “I see it. You oughta take care of yourself too, not just everyone else.”

“That’s the plan,” you say quietly, your eyes still closed with a smile across your face.

—-

There’s no mention of what happened last night, but there is tension. So much tension. Tension in the way he touched you, massaging your feet, taking care of you in the gentle way you’ve been taking care of him. Tension in the way his eyes watched your every move from the table as you made dinner. Tension in how close he stood as you both washed the dishes.

The tension carries over on the porch as you sit next to Joel, watching the night sky overtake the sunset.

You’ve been yawning nonstop, between last night and the busy day at the clinic, you haven’t been this tired since the beginning of Joel’s recovery.

"Rough day?" he asks.

"Mmm," you nod, trying to stifle another yawn and failing.

Joel looks over at you. The way he's been watching you seems so different today.

“Tommy asked us if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Figured it might be good practice for me to get out more,” he says.

“I’d like that,” you smile.

You’re savoring this time with Joel, but your eyes are beginning to burn, and your body feels heavy with exhaustion. You just want something soft to rest your head on. Without thinking, you scoot your chair closer to Joel’s and lean over, resting your head on his shoulder.

His body tenses for a moment before he relaxes, his shoulder softening beneath your cheek. After what happened between you last night, something like this should feel so simple, but it still feels like you might be overstepping a line.

"Is this okay?" you ask, too tired to lift your head.

"Course it is," he whispers.

Another invisible line crossed by your need to be closer to him. Joel’s porch might just be your favorite place now. Jackson is quiet as everyone settles into the evening. Your eyes grow heavier as the silence stretches between you and Joel… until he speaks.

"I remember the cherry blossom petals,” he says lowly.

You angle your head up to look at him, confused by his musing. "Hmm?"

"When I... when I woke up, I remember the cherry blossoms blooming, ‘n I remember first seeing you..."

Your heart quickens when his head angles down and his brown eyes meet yours.

You remember those first few weeks, the uncertainty and fear that he wouldn't survive, that everything you were doing would be in vain—that you’d lose the man you didn’t even know.

"Those days were so scary," you admit.

"I know,” he breathes out. “I'll never be able to thank you for what you've done for me, ‘n I'm happy you're now able to help others."

You smile softly. "I'm also happy to help you—" you say, another yawn interrupting your words, “—still.”

Joel's lips twitch in a small smile. "Tired," he observes.

You nod against his shoulder.

"Should head in," he suggests. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s your day off, right?"

"Mmm," you hum an affirmative, but don’t move to get up.

Joel chuckles before he gently shakes his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he says as he stands and offers you his hand. You take it, and let him pull you to your feet.

You sway slightly from exhaustion, before you follow him inside and up the steps.

You stop at your bedroom door, turning to face him. Joel stands closer than expected, his brown eyes roaming your face.

"Night," you say softly.

Joel places his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin.

"Night," he whispers back, but neither of you make a move to leave.

He pulls away and clears his throat. "I suppose it'd be easier if you just...” he says, his hand moving to the back of his neck, “sleep in my bed instead of me waking you up… just in case."

"It would," you reply almost too quickly. "Let me just get changed."

He tries to hide his smile, but a small one slips. "I'll be there," he says.

—-

The revelation Tommy shared with him earlier echoes in his head. He had lost his life, and you gave him a new one. And now, after months of you healing him, you’re still here, about to get into bed next to him.

He struggles to calm the heart that you restarted when he hears your footsteps approach his door. His back straightens against the headboard, and then, you’re there, in his doorway. God, you’re beautiful, in your simple sleep shirt and sleep shorts. Everything about you looks so soft.

"I brought you water," you say, placing a glass of water on the bedside table.

You’re standing in the same spot you were last night, before he reached out and pulled you into his arms, but tonight he resists the temptation. Tonight, he just wants to be near you, to sleep next to you, to wake up, open his eyes, and see you.

"Thanks,” he says lowly.

You nod, your eyes fixed on the copy of Lonesome Dove sitting on his table. "Do you want me to read more tonight? We're getting close to the end."

Joel shakes his head. "No, you're tired enough," he says. "Maybe tomorrow."

“Okay,” you respond, yawning.

It all feels right, watching you pull down the sheets and climb into his bed. You gift him a shy smile before you turn onto your side, facing away from him.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

"Night,” he says before he turns the lamp off and lies on his back. He stares at the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach, listening to your breathing.

He turns to look at you, watching your back rise and lower. Last night, you'd fallen asleep with your head on his chest. Tonight, all he’d have to do is scoot over and reach for you to bridge the gap between your bodies.

Carefully, he rolls onto his side and faces you. He reaches out, his hand hovers above your back before he gently lowers it and begins rubbing slow, lazy circles. He doesn't know if this is okay or if this crosses an invisible line, but you don't flinch or pull away at his touch.

"Feels nice," you drowsily whisper.

He massages his way across your shoulder blades, down your spine, and back up to your shoulders.

You let out a small moan that heats him from within. He reminds himself that this isn't about wanting you. This is about your comfort and caring for you.

He rubs away the tenseness that sits tight underneath your skin. It’s the least he can do.

Soon, you’re asleep, and he stops, leaving his hand to rest on your hip as he very carefully scoots closer to you.

That night, there are no nightmares that lurk. No fears or regrets that chase him. There's just you beside him, the person who saved his life, in more ways than one.

—-

This should feel strange—waking up again in Joel’s bed, but it’s beginning to feel like this is where you were always meant to be. In Joel's room, in his bed, with all of him surrounding you—it almost feels more like home than your own room across the hall feels.

Joel isn’t in bed, and the robe that’s usually hanging on the hook near his door is absent.

You stretch and yawn. This might just be the first time you’ve slept late into the morning since you arrived in Jackson.

You don’t even bother changing from your pajamas before you head downstairs, lazily shuffling along the hardwood floor into the kitchen.

Joel is standing at the stove with his back to you, holding a spatula.

"You make pancakes?" you ask.

"I do," he says, turning and smiling at you. "Actually think I'm pretty good at making them."

You lean against the counter beside him, looking into the pan. “They look good. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You've been working so much. Figured it'd be nice for you to sleep in. It's your day off.”

"Well, thank you,” you say, giving him a smile before grabbing the placemats. “I’ll set the table.”

With a mug of coffee that Joel insisted you have, you sit at the table, selfishly stealing as many glances of Joel as you can while he finishes cooking breakfast. His gray shirt hugs his broad shoulders, his wavy hair is a bit mussed from sleep, and his golden skin gleams in the soft light filtering in through the curtains. You like how he looks when he walks over to the table and places your plate in front of you with a smile; you could easily get used to this.

Your first bite of fluffy pancakes confirms what Joel told you: he really is good at making pancakes.

"These are so delicious," you tell him between bites.

"Glad you like 'em,” he says.

It’s nice to be taken care of. To have your sore feet rubbed, your tired back massaged, and breakfast made for you. You can’t remember the last time you were able to be taken care of by somebody else.

“Figured we’d head to Tommy’s before sunset,” Joel says.

"Are you sure you’re good to walk? It's quite a distance. Your leg—"

"M’leg's fine," he interrupts.

“I just don't want you pushing yourself too hard."

"I know my limits," Joel says, his eyes meeting yours. "And I know when something's worth the effort."

“Right,” you nod, feeling as if his words have more meaning beyond just a discussion of a walk to Tommy’s house.

"We can also talk to him about your trip outside Jackson," Joel adds, surprising you. “I understand it's important to you. I’ll make sure Tommy will have good people with you."

"Thank you," you say, meaning it. "That means a lot to me, Joel."

“I’d take you if I could,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on the table. “But my leg.”

“I know Joel, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

"I just want you to be happy here. In Jackson."

What he doesn't say, but what you hear anyway: With me.

—-

The walk to Tommy and Maria’s was easier than expected—his leg only mildly hurt toward the end. Now, he’s comfortable, sitting in a wooden rocking chair, with a glass of whiskey, watching you and Benji play on the front lawn. You're beautiful like this—carefree and laughing, a big smile lighting your face as Benji animatedly talks to you.

"She's good with him," Tommy says. "He normally takes forever to warm up to new people."

Joel nods, unable to take his eyes off you.

"People are already talking about how great she is," Tommy says.

There’s a sense of pride in Joel's chest. He's not surprised—he knows all too well how good you are.

"She belongs here," Joel says quietly.

"Yeah, she does,” Tommy says, holding up his glass to cheers Joel. He takes a drink before he turns to his older brother. “How's it been?" he asks. Since I told you?"

"Still processing," he answers.

Tommy nods. "Makes sense. You tell her you know?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Benji races toward the porch with his favorite giraffe stuffed animal clutched in his arms. You follow behind, slower with a soft smile.

"Uncle Grumpy! Look!" Benji exclaims, thrusting his giraffe toward Joel. "We fixed him! Just like how she fixed you!"

“He looks good,” Joel says, smiling at his nephew. Benji’s wide smile, bright brown eyes, and springy curls remind him so much of his Sarah.

"Come on!" Benji says, grabbing your hand. "I want to show you my room. I have more animals that need doctor help."

"Lead the way,” you say. “Uncle Grumpy, huh?" you ask, with a wink as you’re led into the house.

Tommy chuckles as he stands. “I’ll head in… check on the chili and make sure he’s not overwhelming her. She’s been through enough with your ornery ass."

“Shush,” Joel says.

He likes seeing you here with his family, making his nephew smile, and talking to his brother and sister in law like they’re friends. It’s something he never thought he’d have.

Maria joins him on the porch, leaning against the railing with her arms folded.

“Looks like you’re no longer Benji’s favorite,” she says, nodding toward the house.

“Guess she’s good with kids,” he says. “Reckon she’s good with everyone.”

“Seems it. Tommy said he told you," she says without preamble. "About what happened."

Joel nods, still looking at the door. "Yeah."

"You were dead, Joel," Maria says, her voice matter-of-fact. "When they brought you in, I thought—we all thought—but she wouldn't give up.” She takes a deep breath. “Not bad for a refugee, huh?" she adds with a faint smile.

Joel nods.

"I remember when she arrived on that transport the day before. She was exhausted, half-starved, but still offering to help. Said she was a surgeon.”

Joel listens, wanting to hear the details about you that he's never heard.

“She was the first person I thought of when Tommy’s call came in. She wasn’t even here for 24 hours, and she was thrust into an almost impossible situation, but she proved her worth to Jackson—and to you.”

Joel swallows.

“Like I said,” she continues, “you're allowed to want things that make you happy."

The screen door creaks open, and Benji appears, holding your hand, leading you back outside, animatedly chattering away to you. The sight makes his chest ache in a way he thought it never could again.

Maybe Maria is right. Maybe he is allowed to have this happiness.

—-

It’s well after midnight by the time you and Joel get back to his house. Whatever lines that existed between you and him have blurred beyond recognition. From how he rubbed your back until you fell asleep last night, to how he casually draped his arm behind your chair at Tommy and Maria’s, to the way his hand would slightly brush against yours as he walked home beside you.

Now, you’re back in his bedroom, clad in your sleep shirt and shorts. Joel’s already filled a glass of water for himself and you, another small way he’s beginning to care for you.

You run your hand along the cover of Lonesome Dove, tracing the embossing of the cover. “Do you want me to read more tonight?”

“Can I read it to you instead?” he asks.

Your breath catches at his offer. You nod, your heart feels like it’s going to flutter out of your chest when you climb into bed beside him, sitting up with your back against the headboard just like him. He reaches for the book and opens it, picking up where you stopped those few nights ago, when everything changed.

“Newt, the Rainey Boys and Pea Eye got to go into town the next afternoon. The fact that the first group drug back in ones and twos, looking horrible, in no way discouraged them…”

You love seeing Joel like this—soft and unguarded. The lamp backlights him in aureate tones, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Your eyes roam his handsome face from the plush of his lips, to the sharp point of his nose, and up to the soft waves of his hair.

You’ve been trying to resist him for so long, this invisible pull, this slow step to touching him more, to wanting him more, to needing him. You scoot closer, pushing those boundaries again, you’re so close now, your arm touches his.

“As they were talking, a party of some half-dozen soldiers came riding up the street, led by the big scout, Dixon.”

His voice comforts you, deep and slow, his accent drawling as your feelings for him and the ways he’s been caring for you draw you closer to him. It’s beginning to feel almost impossible to stay away from him.

You slink farther down, and before you can even realize what you’re doing, you rest your head on his lap, softly sighing a contented sound.

Joel pauses, looking down at you before he begins reading again, his hand resting on your shoulder, moving back and forth against your skin in a soothing pattern.

“Call walked down the street and picked up his hat, which had fallen off. The soldiers rode slowly past him. Two dismounted and began to try to load Dixon on his horse. Finally all six dismounted—the man was so heavy it took all of them to get him up and draped over his horse. Call watched. At the sight of Dixon, his anger threatened to rise again. If the man moved, Call was ready to go for him again. But Dixon didn’t move. He hung over his horse, blood dripping off his head and face into the dust…”

Joel stops reading… folding the top of the page down to bookmark it before setting the book on the table.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he says. “This damn book hits too close to home sometimes.”

You nod, rising from resting on his lap, settling beside him. “I understand.”

Joel turns the lamp off and lies down. There’s an air of tenseness now, but it’s not the same crackling feeling of desire between you; this one sits heavier and deeper.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming your face, before he answers. “I am, because of you.”

He rolls to his side, pulling you close to his chest. He gazes into your eyes, an almost panicked look in them before he kisses you. He rolls you beneath him, his solid weight lying heavily on top of you. But then, he groans and you can recognize it’s one of pain, not of pleasure.

You pull away. “Joel,” you say breathlessly, “your leg. You need to be careful.”

He rolls off you with a frustrated sigh. “Damnit. Sorry.”

“No,” you say, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him. “I like it… but your leg is still not okay. I want you but—”

“Fuck it,” he growls, reaching for you again. “I don’t care. Come here.”

He wraps you in his arms, his hands roaming your body, his mouth covering yours before his lips travel down your neck, nuzzling and licking your sensitive skin there.

You let out a moan when the bristle of his beard rasps against your skin. He bunches your sleep shirt up as he kisses his way further down your body, when he reaches your chest, he nuzzles his face between your breasts before he kisses his way over to your nipple, licking and sucking it into his mouth while his large hand cups your other breast.

He groans against your skin, his eyes looking into yours as he kisses his way across your chest, drawing the other nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling around it.

“Joel,” you moan, threading your fingers through the soft waves of his hair.

He pulls back, his breathing ragged. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “Keep going,” you implore, reaching down to pull your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.

His lips trail further down your body. You’re desperate for him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your heart pounding as you part your legs for him. Joel moves, shifting himself down to settle between your thighs, but as he adjusts, you see the flash of pain that crosses his face. He tries to hide the grimace, but you catch it.

“Joel,” you say. “Your leg. We should stop.” God, the words hurt to say. You want to feel his mouth against you all over your body, but the two of you have worked too hard and cared too much to let tonight undo his months of healing.

He sighs heavily and moves to lie beside you. Frustration radiates from his side of the bed.

You turn to him, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry, you’ve come too far, and the last thing I want to do is have you reinj—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I just… god, I want to taste you.”

Your pussy pulses at his words, your slick soaking your sleep shorts at his confession.

You kiss him again, then pull away to look into his eyes, seeing the desire for you sitting deep inside them. That desire causes you to move your hands to your shorts, pulling them down and off, leaving you naked for him.

“Fuck,” he grits, pushing himself up to yank his shirt up and over his head. He reaches for you, pulling you on top of him. You can feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against you through his pants. You rock against him, his deep groan echoing into the quiet night.

He plants his hands on your back, pushing you forward to fold over on top of him, your chest meeting his, his mouth chasing your lips, desperate to kiss you. Joel’s hand glides down your body, his fingers leaving a trail of heat as he reaches your pussy, wet and pulsing for his touch. You’re moaning into his mouth, your tongue licking against his.

“Christ,” he groans. “You’re so wet f’me,” he marvels.

You whimper in response as he explores you, running a thick finger up and down, painting your slick arousal across your pussy.

“Tell me what feels good,” he whispers. You can feel the rumble of his desire to please you vibrating through your chest.

“That,” you breathe, grinding against his hand. “All of it.”

He dips a finger inside, gently fucking into you while his thumb swipes back and forth against your clit. Your head falls forward, nuzzling into Joel’s neck, your eyes closed as he draws the pleasure out of you.

“Look at me,” Joel commands. “Need to see you.”

You force your head up and your eyes open. His gaze is intense, his lips parted as his hand savors you.

“Joel,” you whisper as you begin to feel your orgasm crest, almost unbelieving you’re moaning his name out again. “I’m close.”

He pulls his hand away.

“Baby, listen to me,” he lowly commands.

Fuck. Baby. You almost feel dizzy at the way his deep voice sounds calling you baby. You pull away, your lips parted, panting for air.

“I want you to sit on my face. Need to taste you proper.”

You nod frantically and lean in, kissing him before you move up his body, turning to face his feet and stretching your legs wide for your knees to bracket his shoulders.

You lean forward, resting your hands on his thick thighs. You can feel his hot breath against your cunt as he takes in the sight of you wet and ready for his mouth.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he growls before he grips your ass, pushing you down against his mouth.

You gasp, almost losing your balance at the first feel of his tongue licking a long path across you. You can feel the scratch of his beard against your thighs as he pushes his face further against your cunt, devouring your pussy like it’s never been ate before. His tongue circles your clit, flicking at the sensitive bud. You feel set alight by him, by his care, by the way his nose presses against your clit when he fucks you with his tongue. You don’t know how long it’s been since Joel has done this, but fuck, he knows how to make you feel good.

His hips buck in the air as he eats you, his cock straining under his pajama pants. You reach your hand over, rubbing your palm against him through the soft fabric. You want to see him, to taste him, to feel the heat of him against your tongue.

His moan reverberates against your pussy when you tug his pants down and his cock springs free. He’s so thick and hard, precum glistening on his tip. You marvel at the sight of him, wide with a prominent vein nestled in a thatch of dark curls. He really is golden-skinned all over. Joel Miller is all man, all rugged, all beautiful.

When you lower your head and get your first taste of him, his hips jerk up, a long “fuck” is grunted against your cunt. He tastes like Joel… earthy, sweet, and salty.

He doesn’t stop groaning as his tongue pumps in and out of you, his grip on your ass matching your grip on his thighs. Your lips stretch around his thickness when you take him deeper into your mouth. His hips begin to pace along with the rhythm of your mouth bobbing up and down on his length. When you take all of him into your mouth he hisses, squeezing your ass hard as his whole body tenses.

It doesn’t take long for him. A low growl of your name is muffled against your cunt when he cums, his cock pulsing between your lips, spilling hot and thick across your tongue. You swallow him down, moaning along his length as you feel your orgasm ripple through you. His tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, his hands pulling you apart so that he can press you farther down against his mouth. You let go of Joel’s cock as you scream his name, your pussy clenching and flooding against his mouth. He drinks you down, groaning with satisfaction just as you collapse against him, your cheek on his leg as you catch your breath.

When you feel like you have the strength, you move off his body and lie down, turning to face him. You can see your wet glistening across his beard when he smiles, his eyes half-lidded.

“Come here,” he says, pulling you close. You tuck your head against his chest as he pulls the blanket over your naked bodies.

“Thank you,” you quietly say.

“Hmm?”

“For taking care of me today and last night.”

He holds you tighter, pressing you closer against him. “It’s the least I can do,” he whispers.

That night, you fall asleep in Joel’s arms, the last thing you hear is Joel softly whispering, “Good night, baby.”

—-

A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!

My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

#wayward-dreamer reads #joel miller fanfiction #fic rec

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wayward-dreamer · 6 days ago

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Welp. Safe to say I’ll be thinking about nothing but Clint for the rest of the day 😩

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⠀ ⠀ GOT MUSCLE? ⠀ ⠀ CLINT FLOOD / F ! READER⠀⠀

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summary · clint looks good in his old t - shirt , too good . tags · 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N / chokehold , chokehold , chokehold / fingering / slight overstimulation / clint loves her / gestures to a size gap but not rly / if there's spelling errors no there's not !! ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⓘ poc friendly . word count · 2 . 08 k notes · immm a lil rusty w linear smut so if this sucks , keep it to urself !! </3 ( jk pls tell me what u think ) ty to @almostempty for feeding this idea more && @stellamarielu for proofreading cuz i almost cried while finishing this .

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Friday night is movie night.

One year ago, Clint and his girlfriend moved house. Three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, grimly unfurnished and requiring more than just love to mold it into a home. New wallpapers, new flooring, new fixtures, all which he took upon himself to install, too headstrong to accept help. One evening, as he crashed atop the newly assembled couch, his girlfriend flitted through the door, plastic bag at her hip, eyes bright as the streetlights outside.

“Look what I got! The video store down the block just opened, and they had so many new things. Can you believe it?”

He could. It didn’t carry disbelief, not in the slightest. A new store with new things, who would’ve thought? Yet, Clint never denied her a single thing, not even a second of excitement. The honest route was left untaken because a shake of his head earned him kisses, brought the silkiness of her thighs within his grasp while he chased her lips. Hours later, with her weight on his chest, voices shrunken to a murmur with frame after frame flicking away on TV, Clint unearthed true bliss.

He would make it a ritual. Thursdays, he dropped a pretty penny on VHS tapes. Friday evenings, he scribbled the titles of his selections on slips of paper, shuffled them into a ceramic bowl. It was on clearance — white trim, botanical embellishments, an olive green inner base with an off-center heart. They can’t sell it full price ‘cause the heart ain’t in the middle, he said, grinning, gleaming, presenting his purchase pridefully. Just like that, the most extravagant item in the kitchen became a prop for their film selection fishbowl.

“I got one extra, since it’s our Friday movie anniversary and all,” Clint mumbles, lips to her jaw, kissing up from her cheek to her temple, remaining there as she sifts through the stack. The Untouchables, The Goonies, Fatal Attraction, and Heathers. His girlfriend lingers on Heathers, the corners of her mouth twitching up, feeling his nose crinkle against her hair. The glimmer in her eyes is distinct, unmistakable. Clint treasures their decompression period — her affinity for horror, mayhem disrupts that often. They couldn’t be more different. Her, an agent of chaos, one to smother her giggles when the scenes got bloody, or a character took a fall. In stark contrast, Clint is the sort to startle, shrink toward the sofa, casting judgement only once the gore runs its course. All in vain, the luminescence of her smile abates him as milk does to a pastry, yielding a sugary, gooey mess.

Heathers wins the draw.

Jiffy pop, caramel sodas — whipped cream, moschino cherry — on the coffee table, the couple tangles themselves atop suede cushions, twenty minutes trek by quietly. Veronica has yet to become an accomplice to Jason’s evil antics when Clint unfurls his arm from his girlfriend’s shoulder, tilting away to grab a sip of his drink. His eyes stay plastered to the screen. Behind him, her gaze wanders. Clint replaced his flannel with a t-shirt hours ago. His favorite one, plain black aside from the small, chipping logo at the center of his chest. Subdued by time, the cotton was delightfully soft, the sleeves wrinkled against his biceps, struggling to encircle the brawn one can only acquire from ages of hard work. She had always liked it — loved it, found it mouthwatering.

The dim light is the culprit, the humming glow of the TV accentuating the contours of his flesh — like the gloss of lotion under the sun. When he drags his fingertips over his sweatpants to wipe condensation away, every muscle in his arm ripples, visibly. An array of urges arises; to bite, lick, imprint her teeth on the skin — wrap the limb around her throat, press until she’s woozy. Clint’s spine meshes with the backrest. She seizes the opportunity. As his arm returns to encircle her, she twists, just enough for her to tilt her head and shape her cheek to the curve of his bicep. True to form, he draws her closer, his large hand winding down her chest to her rib, thumb dimpling the underside of her breast. His palm is heavy, warm, and if he notices the hitch in her breath, he doesn't bare it.

Minutes flow by, her cheek squished against muscle, his hand stroking absently at her side. His scent clouds her senses, heat enveloping her, disarming — leaving her malleable, putty in his palm. The worst part? He couldn’t be more oblivious, fascinated by the onscreen havoc. For her, it serves as white noise, a backtrack for her aberrant thoughts. She readjusts his arm, her chin resting within the crook of his elbow. If he wouldn’t tease her halfway to hell, she would ask him to squeeze, indulge that tiny fantasy and keep it from decaying her mind further. Her restlessness is evident, for Clint’s lips come to settle against the crown of her head, “You okay?” The flutter of her body is his answer, she feels his mouth bend into a grin above her head. “Not okay?”

“No, I’m okay—”

He flexes — tugs scantily, forcing her chin to recline, delicate neck lengthening to accommodate the breadth of his arm, her eyes twirling back to meet his. Espresso brown, glinting with mischief. His lips are bent in a sneer, and she draws her brows together, her hands on his forearm — small, voluntarily powerless. He knows. Of course, he does. Years spent enlightening himself to the patterns of her desires, he’s learned a thing or two.

“Yeah? Enjoying the movie?” He rasps, his breath fanning the shell of her ear. Another shiver rattles her frame. No, but I’m glad you are, her lips part to quip. His arm constricts, locking the words in her throat, heaving the wind from her lungs. A whine threads past the force of his arm, coupling with the soles of her feet driving into the cushion below her. Her thighs rub together. “Fuck, baby, look at you.” He contracts more, reducing the residue of her thoughts to a pile of a mush, her brain airy, wispy. “Why didn’t you just ask, honey? What am I here for if not to keep this sweet little body satisfied?” His answer is a shift of her hips, one set of fingers fumbling for his unoccupied wrist, until his hand rests upon her belly. “Somethin’ else you want?”

The first of his questions that wasn’t rhetorical, for his hold slackens just enough for her to gasp, and choke out, “Make — me cum…”

So pitiable, so desperate — a sight he can’t resist. He wastes no time refastening his arm. His other slinks around her waist, raising her body, rotating his own, placing her between his legs. The bulge in his sweatpants sits comfortable below the curve of her spine. His thumb plunges under her waistband, remaining digits grappling below her hip. He tilts back, hikes up her figure by her throat — her back to his chest so he doesn't outright break her — and glides her shorts down her legs. To Clint’s amusement, the gusset is soaked through. The girl in his clutch knocks the fabric from his hand, ruffled, pouting for he doesn’t mask it. He chuckles, urges her thighs apart, one leg dangling over his off the edge of the couch, hooking his fingers under her opposite knee, exposing the sweetness at her center. When he peers down at the glistening, pulpy flesh of her folds, he moans into her hair.

“This pussy’s so pretty, baby… Never gets old.” The warmth of her cheeks, the faint grunts spur him on, dotting each of his movements. He scatters sloppy kisses along the side of her face, his fingertips brushing over her pelvis, descending between her thighs. He doesn’t delve into her, not at once, using his pointer and ring finger to spread her instead, divulging the precious bundle of nerves, deliberately catching it with the pad of his middle. The last of her air is used up in a delirious whine. Her hips stir up, a pathetic attempt at placing herself into his hand, and he chuckles, low, amused against her ear. “Okay… Okay, fine.”

Clint seeks to savor — toy with her until she begs, cries for him to indulge her. This time, the poor angel couldn't come close, hardly able to fill her lungs, much less speak. Generously, he obliges, doing so while nipping at her cheek, his thick center digits coming together to slip inside her, pausing at the first knuckle, letting her squirm eagerly, then sinking in until he’s nearly buried to the third joint. The fullness is sudden. She warbles a honeyed noise, her back arching. With a simper, he mumbles against her ear. “Ready, baby?”

Her thighs jolt, and he groans, dragging his fingers out, driving them in harder, burrowing his nose in the hinge of her jaw. His pace builds gradually, little by little, mirrored by the volume of her sap-like noises, lashes fluttering above her cheekbones as her eyes roll back, perfect, manicured nails scoring crescent marks into his forearm. The sounds her pussy makes are obscene, overshadowing the movie even as utter mayhem ensues amongst the characters.Too far removed, lost to the pleasure, modesty has become foreign, each mewl, each cry echoing in the living room. Clint, captivated, wishes nothing more than to brand his brain with the image of her. He’s let go, relinquished his hold, finding space within the lust to worry that his darling girl might truly faint. Though, in her euphoric state, he’s disposed to believe she wouldn’t mind. Her gummy walls pulse around his digits. She bucks her hips up, pursuing her high faster than he’s willing to give it.

“Easy, sweetheart, I got you.” Conflicting his words, he eases his movements to a lazy crawl, and she all but sobs, one hand blundering to capture his wrist, tugging, as though she would take charge of her own ecstasy. Clint laughs, much to her lovable irritation, earning him a huff. Cruel as it was, her tears were precious, and it simply wouldn’t have been characteristic of him to not impel them. He sucks a mark behind her ear, brings his thumb to her clit in slow, firm circles, in apology for his oh so horrible taunting. Soothed, pacified, her figure softens, head tips back against his shoulder. As she calms, he pauses for a heartbeat, then two, abruptly curling his fingers up to massage the starry spot that would bring her ruin. His palm beats against her clit with unrelenting swiftness.

“C’mon, baby,” he rumbles. Panting, she grips his arm again, scrapes her nails over his skin. Clint reads that as a sign, tightens his arm around her throat, intense, steady. Her breath jerks, silky insides clench his digits, signaling her oncoming climax. He slows the drag of his fingers to lower his thumb over her clit, no movement, just pressure. The knot snaps, harsh and wet, a buzz lighting up every nerve in her being, her frame going rigid as she cums, thighs twitching. Her moans jolt from her mouth, strangled by struggle. “There you go… There you go, sweet girl.” One hand still nestled between her legs, the other snakes her waist, lips showering her neck and jaw with kisses. He continues to slowly circle her sensitive clit, subduing her high. “Look so pretty when you cum, could spend my Friday nights doing this instead.” He noses at her cheek, and she cants her head sideways to meet his gaze, reaching to wrap her fingers around his thumb. He sighs out, molding his lips to hers while withdrawing his fingers from her syrupy wetness, swallowing the sound she makes when his fingertips graze that perfect spot one last time.

Fucked out is an understatement. Clint would use the word sinful. Her eyes are droopy, a dewyness to her lashes, justified by the onslaught of sensation. Clint dips his head down to flatten the tip of his nose against hers. “Good?” He murmurs, delicately pivoting her legs to hang over his thigh, his palm leisurely stroking her back. A part of their usual journey in coming back to earth. Well pleased, she gazes moonily at him. Clint hardly notices, raises his digits to his mouth, his tongue curling out to lick her essence off his flesh. Her chest lifts with a puff of air, tilting towards him, tongue darting out to sweep over the back of his fingers.

“Good.”

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#wayward-dreamer reads #clint freaky tales #fic rec

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wayward-dreamer · 6 days ago

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ALEX 😭 I swore you’re gonna make me cry 😭

I’m so glad you loved this! And trust me - that’s everything I want for myself too, that’s why I had to put it in there 🥰

I just loved the aesthetic of the “morning after” scene so I really wanted to emulate it in some way, so I’m glad it worked lol

I’m definitely thinking of doing more for Harry (I may have thought about a series idea and I’m just like why brain why too many wips lol) because I agree he deserves his happy ending! 🥰

Thank you so much for reading and your continued support of me. It truly means a lot! Love ya, girl!!! ❤️

What You Mean To Me

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Harry thought he was incapable of love before you, but one morning with you in his shirt, taking you on the dining table and seeing the way you looked at him, has him confessing exactly how he feels about you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, *NO SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE*, the middle photo is just for the vibes. Swearing, smut: brief dirty talk, dry humping, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), sex on the dining table, hair pulling, biting, I think that's it. Lots of fluff. Reader described with female anatomy, no use of y/n. Just the smallest hint of plot here, but it's mostly just smutty, fluffy (smuffy?) times.

A/N: I'm jumping on the Harry Castillo train and honestly I don't wanna get off (unless he's getting me off *clears throat* what?) This was just something I thought of when I was thinking back on the film, so I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading everyone! <3

Main Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Characters Masterlist

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how comfortable you were.

As you cracked an eye open and looked around the room from your position on the bed, you almost didn’t want to leave it. You had practically sunk into the mattress, the sheets were silky soft compared to the ones you had at your own apartment, and the pillows were as light as air as you snuggled further into them. You turned onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, your hands running over the smooth fabric as you frowned, missing the person who had been there all night next to you. You sat up slowly, bringing your legs up as you held the sheet close to your body, a smile instantly spreading across your face when you saw a light blue shirt your boyfriend had left on the chair across from his bed for you. It had become more and more rare for him not to wake up next to you, a feeling you had gotten used to and which added to that comfort you had always craved, something that neither of you had really had before you started seeing each other.

Clearly there was something important to do with work that he had to take care of, but you also knew he could never resist you in his clothes.

Stretching your limbs, you dropped the sheet and got up from the bed, crossing the room and picking up the shirt. You brought the material up to your nose, humming softly as you could still smell a hint of his cologne under the detergent. You placed your arms through the sleeves and slipped your panties on underneath, buttoning the shirt as you walked out of the bedroom. The warm morning light greeted you as you walked down the hallway, blinking against the brightness as you reached the open plan living area. You heard Harry’s voice echo from the kitchen and through the hall, before he was behind you at the dining table, already set with breakfast for you. It was a sight you had gotten used to, but you did wish there was another place set next to yours which had become more of a regular occurrence in your relationship.

You bit your lip as he winked at you while on the phone, the steel coffee pot in hand as he poured some out in a glass mug for you. He placed the pot down and slowly made his way to you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. Your hands slid up the front of his perfectly tailored navy blue suit, tugging at his tie as you stared up into his brown eyes. You gave him a pointed look, one that made him raise an eyebrow in question as he muttered something about some new partnership with a company. You slowly pushed yourself into him, lightly nipping along his jaw with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips as you saw his eyes flutter slightly.

He tried to give you his best stern look, a hint of annoyance behind his arousal as he shook his head in warning but he couldn’t hold it for long as you pecked his lips once, twice. Your fingers played with the knot of his tie, giving him a suggestive nod as you moved back towards the opposite end of the table, pushing yourself up onto it. You pulled him in by his tie, your other hand roaming down and unbuttoning his suit, going straight for his crisp, white shirt before you saw him close his eyes, throwing his head back in frustration.

“Let me call you back,” he groaned, hanging up on whoever he was talking to. He dropped the phone on the table, pulling your thighs around him and making you squeal as your arms wrapped around his neck. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You just look really sexy when you’re all serious,” you replied, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders and untucking his shirt, an urgency to your actions now that he was so close to you.

“And you…” he breathed, cupping your face in his large hands, his plump lips hovering over yours. “Look far too tempting like this, right before I have to leave.”

“I guess you’ll just have to stay,” you muttered before pulling him in for a searing kiss.

He growled into your mouth as you moaned softly, both of you slowly grinding against each other and feeling the bulge of his pants shift over your covered mound. You made quick work of pulling his tie free, opening the buttons of his shirt and pushing it off to join his jacket on the floor. You felt the familiar tug in your core, one that wrapped around your spine and radiated through your whole body as he pulled you close, his hips rocking against yours and making you gasp as you felt how hard he already was. He flicked open the first few buttons of the shirt you were wearing, his head instantly dipping down to kiss along the exposed skin of your chest. His touch ignited a fire through every cell of your being, your hand combing into his dark but greying curls and softly tugging him further into you. You moaned softly as his plush lips sealed around your nipple, licking and gently sucking before releasing with a wet pop.

“You’re going to have to explain to my mother why I’m late,” he stated, as he lifted each of your calves around his hips.

“Well, if we move this along then maybe I won’t have to,” you jested, wiggling your eyebrows.

You squealed with a giggle as he bit a little harder into your neck, a deep chuckle escaping him before he shifted closer and pressed up against you, thrusting down as your own hips lifted up to meet his. You could feel your wetness growing along the seam of your sex, with no doubt in your mind that it would seep through your panties and onto his slacks. Neither of you seemed to care however as you continued to grind against each other, your lips fused together in a fervent kiss.

“Harry, please,” you pleaded as you pulled away, your breathy timbre close to his ear.

“I know, gorgeous, I know,” he reassured you, kissing you once more.

His hands slid up your smooth thighs as he reached for your black, lace panties and pulled them aside to expose your glistening heat. He wasted no time with the belt, unbuckling it before unzipping his pants and freeing his hard shaft from the confines of his boxers. He took hold of it and tapped the head against your swollen nub a few times, eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you gripped his shoulders tight and waited for that inevitable, pleasurable breach. He lined himself to your entrance, your mouth falling open in a choked moan as he pressed into you, completely sheathed by your walls. A husky groan left him as he felt you stretch around him, almost as if you had become accustomed to the girth of him, like he was always meant to be there. He rolled his hips back and forth slowly, knowing that you were still getting used to his size, however, but you had to admit you enjoyed the slight twinge that came with taking all of him. With a press of your foot into the back of his thigh and a whine into his mouth, it spurred him on to pick up the pace. His pelvis undulated in long, hard thrusts which were enough to satisfy how deep you wanted him, while still keeping you on the edge from the leisured rhythm.

You moaned wantonly, your fingernails biting into his skin as you shifted up to meet his hips, but as one hand landed on your left and the other wrapped around your back to hold you close, you gave into him. He kissed along your jaw, your neck, your exposed shoulder from where his shirt had drooped down, before coming back up to your lips, kissing you roughly. The table shook beneath you, the part of your mind that wasn’t being clouded by him took in the sound of rattling cutlery, and you hoped that nothing was about to fly off the surface, but you couldn’t even really care, either. Not when this man, this man who you were head over heels for, was making you feel things no other man ever had.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he husked against your mouth. “Taking me so deep, fuck…”

“Harry, oh god you-” you whimpered, fingers slipping into his hair once again and pulling him even closer. “You feel so good inside me, shit…”

You threw your head back, offering him the column of your neck and letting out a loud, almost guttural moan as he bit down on your throat. Between the sounds pouring out of both of you and the slap of his skin against yours with each thrust, he invaded every one of your senses as your eyes futtered closed, relishing in the feel of him and the pleasure he was giving you. Before you could completely lose yourself, however, his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled at the strands of your hair, lifting your gaze up to meet his.

“Look at me,” he groaned, staring deep into your eyes. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He rested his forehead against yours, keeping the same rhythm of his hips pounding into you, wanting you to be teetering on the edge of bliss. You couldn’t form words, your mouth hanging open as a string of breathless whimpers escaped you. His brown eyes peered into yours, but as you stayed pressed tight into each other, it was as if he was looking deeper, reaching the furthest depths of your soul in a way no one ever had before.

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he grunted, his lips ghosting against yours.

A hard thrust had you humming, shaking your head frantically. “I-I t-think I have a feeling.”

“No,” his forehead creased as he pulled back slightly, wanting to see every one of your features. “No, you have no clue what you do to me, what you mean to me…”

“Then tell me,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his curls, staring back at him. “Tell me, Harry.”

You knew that opening up and exposing parts of himself was difficult for a man like him. Someone who was so used to being closed off because of his lifestyle, committing himself to his work and unable to give himself to someone completely because of it. His vulnerabilities and insecurities had kept him from living a life he truly desired, his inability to see past them and let people in without the fear of judgement was something he couldn’t do… before you. Before you, he had thought love to be the hardest thing in the world, finding that treating a relationship or the prospect of marriage as a business deal was much easier. Before you, he had believed himself to be incapable of love, incapable of feeling it because that meant he was letting something unfamiliar into his life and that was terrifying. Before you, he was so sure he knew who he was and how the world worked, but he didn’t.

He had never been more glad to be so wrong.

He had learnt everything he needed to know about investments, joined his family in business and made a whole career out of it. It wasn’t until meeting you at a random charity dinner, asking you out and spending every spare moment with you since, that he realized love was the greatest investment of all. And luckily, he had found the courage to trade in it with you, rather than against you.

If everything in his Tribeca apartment disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t care. Now with you in his arms looking back at him with a flicker of something new and thrilling in your eye, something that could only be described as love, that was all that mattered to him.

“You changed me… you changed everything,” he whispered back, his gaze unwavering. “You’re my world now.”

“Harry,” you gasped, completely overwhelmed by not only how he was making you feel, but his words too.

He uttered your name in a hushed breath, following with the three words you had heard so many times by many lovers, but never from someone who truly understood the weight of them.

“I love you.”

A raspy giggle fell from your lips as your eyes blurred from the tears collecting at your waterline, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face into the crook of his neck and breathed him in, consumed by him completely. He pulled you flush against his body as his lips rested against your temple, whispering the words over and over as his hips slammed into you faster, taking everything from you that you would happily give to him for as long as you could. A loud moan from you muffled against the skin of his neck as you clenched tight around him, the familiar sign that told him how close you were to that blissful release.

His lips captured yours once more as he felt your walls grip around his length like a vice, the last few harsh thrusts being both your undoing as well as his. WIth a shuddered groan from him and a sharp cry from you, you contracted around him and felt waves of the euphoria only he could bring crashing over you. His cock throbbed deep inside you before spurts of his seed spilled into you, mingling with your arousal as it coated his shaft.

You both breathed heavily as you came down from the rapturous high you had just experienced, a shiver running down your spine as he found your lips and pressed a passionate, searing kiss against them. You blinked away the tears that were on the brink of rolling down your cheeks, pulling away to look up at him.

“All that before I even took a sip of coffee,” you beamed, giving his hair a playful tug.

“You started it,” he teased, chuckling.

“I know,” you shrugged, fine with taking the blame.

With another peck to your lips, Harry separated himself from you, a hiss leaving you at the loss of him inside you. You smiled softly as you could see a hint of pride in his eye from your reaction as he pulled his boxers and pants back into place. You fixed your panties and buttoned your shirt, well his shirt, back up. He had disappeared into the bedroom with his clothes, coming back a few minutes later in a fresh shirt and suit, still navy blue but with his collar popped up. He fiddled around with his tie, rolling his eyes as he was about to step up to the mirror in the hallway before you approached him.

You took both sides in your hands, twisting it around and briefly looking up into his eyes as they met yours. You couldn’t help but think that putting a man’s tie on was sexier than taking it off, as you created the perfect knot and tightened it, turning his collar down.

“Perfect,” you breathed, beaming up at him.

He shook his head, leaning down and running his curved nose along yours. “That’s you, baby.”

“I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, peering up at him through your lashes.

“You really can’t just let me leave for work, can you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’ playfully.

He sighed dramatically as he dropped his head to your shoulder. “I guess they’ll just have to handle things without me.”

You cackled as he pulled you close and dragged you towards the bedroom, his plump lips kissing along the length of your neck, your laughter echoing down the halls where your breakfast grew cold, but neither of you cared.

You could eat later.

Together.

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