devilbat

[devilbat]

☞ requested by anonymous

[devilbat]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?��� 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[devilbat]

My Heart Is Yours

Joel Miller x reader (previous) Daryl Dixon x reader

The Walking Dead x The Last Of Us

Daryl Dixon x fem reader

Crossover fic

18+ only please

Warnings - angst, heartbreak, zombies, smut, fluff, Joel being a asshole, Joel being shit at feelings, loss, death, swear words, Daryl is a sweetheart, reader described as female, talk of infidelity, Daryl is a virgin, reader grows to be a badass, my terrible writing, Carl doesn’t die in this, as I can’t do that to him, he deserved better!

Not cannon at all!

This is long!

Words- 5.2K (sorry)

Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

As you walked alone through the forest, somewhere in Georgia or there abouts, you contemplated the last 6 months of your life. How you ran from the man who you thought loved you, how you snuck out while he was sleeping after he’d crushed your heart. Kicking dusty dirt under your shoes you contemplated it all, you remember how calm he'd been, when ripping it from your chest while you broke into shattered glass.

It wasn’t always like this you knew that, not so long ago you had Joel’s full attention. He was stern and grumpy, but he was also sweet and tender with you while you were alone. When the outbreak happened your dad was bit by an attacking walker, he had barricaded himself away from you and begged you to leave him, to go next door and find Joel, his best friend of 15+ years now. Joel also happened to be the man you’d been having a secret “relationship” with if you could call it that, it’s been going on about 4 months now. And even though it had no label, recently things had shifted, it had started to feel like a real relationship, not just hooking up.

When you had run over to Joel’s he and Sarah who was a five years younger than you, but you’d become like a big sister to her over the years, were frantically packing their bags to leave. When he caught hold of your distraught face he knew what had happened and he’d said “Come on sweetheart you can come with us”. He took you with them, protected you and even after Sarah’s death, he kept you close. He’d gotten you to safety a place called the QZ, you’d been given a two bedroom apartment together, they’d presumed you were Joel’s daughter and not his lover. By now Joel was a broken man, he’d barely speak and intimate moments were rough and lacking any emotion. Still you gathered he was grieving, this was temporary and your Joel would reappear at some point, if you were just patient with him.

But it never happened, as the months dragged on things between you got more and more distant, he began sleeping in the other room, coming home drunk he would crash on the spare bed or the sofa. One day you came home ready to confront him, tell him to not push those who still loved and cared for him away, to ask him to make a go of this again. But what you came home too was him animatedly talking to another woman, who appeared to be around his age. He was smiling, laughing, telling a story about something you couldn’t decipher, as all your attention was spent on watching his movements, watching the way his eyes creased with laughter for the first time in a long time. He barely acknowledged your entrance just nodded in your direction, as you quietly padded your way to the bedroom.

You later found out her name was Tess, and they had developed some sort of apparent friendship during their time working with one another. As the coming weeks went by, you noticed lingering looks between the two, subtle touches and knowing looks shared. Until one night he came home in the early hours smelling of her perfume. You’d sat there all night waiting for him, hours ticking by ready to demand to know what was going on.

When he did come home he jumped, startled seeing you sat at the dining table, waiting for him with an expectant look on your face. “Where were you all night?, and don’t lie to me because you stink of her perfume” you sneered.

He sighed “Yeah I was with Tess”.

“Did you fuck her?” You asked, trying to keep your voice stern and unwavering.

He looked at you almost remorseful, his eyes filled with a sadness “Yeah” he affirmed.

A gasp left your chest without meaning to let it slip, tears filled your eyes as you stood nodding. “Ok then” you stated, starting to leave the room. Joel grabbed your wrist trying to get you to look at him, “Darlin’” he tried to explain “Don’t!” You snapped back “Just don’t, what ….. what did I do to deserve this huh? Was I not good enough?” You questioned, tears now freely flowing. His face contorted, pain evident on his features. “No don’t say that sweetheart this is all on me, and I’m so sorry but she gets me, we are the same in age and our pasts are similar, your too young, you had your whole life ahead of you, and I was wrong to get involved with you, it was a mistake” he explained. “Right” your jeered “ A mistake” your heart was broken, you had nothing left now, you’d lost your dad, your best friend and now Joel. “Thats your best excuse huh?” You exclaim “Look I saved your ass, coz let’s face it your next to useless out there, you’d be walker food if you didn’t have me, but you are my responsibility and for your dad I will continue to look out for you, but that’s all I can give you now” he answered.

With that you stormed into your room slamming the door, before falling onto the ground as sobs wrecked through you, while Joel was left stood static in the kitchen. After your tears had all but dried on your face and you had gained some self control, you stood up and grabbed your bag aggressively shoving everything you owned into it.

Once packed you waited until you heard Joel’s soft snores, then you left quietly out of the front door, out of the apartment block and snuck through the walls of the QZ.

_______________________________________

That was two months ago now, you’d learned pretty quick how to protect yourself. You had too, your life now depended on survival skills, there was no one left to watch your back. You’d killed countless walkers by this point, Joel had taught you before to always go for the head. Your walker killing skills had most definitely improved, and when a heard came you quickly climbed a tree, where you’d wait patiently for it to pass.

It was almost dark now, a soft moon glow was casting through the trees. What did they call it ‘blue hour’ the twilight period where the sun had sunk enough that it casted a blue haze. You found a large tree with a vast amount of thick branches higher up, this would be your bunk for the night. You clambered up as high as you could, finding a suitable perch and wrapping a rope around you and the trunk, securing yourself safely in place while you slept. You pulled your tarp out of your bag, using it like a blanket covering yourself from the elements, once you were happy with your position you closed your eyes, letting sleep overcome you.

You awoke to bickering voices, getting louder the closer they came. Looking up you realised the sun was relatively high in the sky, indicating it was at least late morning. Untying yourself slowly and as quietly as you could possibly muster, you gathered up your belongings and peered over the edge of the branch. You saw two men approaching, one with short curly hair, scruffy beard and a sherif hat perched on his head. The other had shaggy brown hair that just passed his ears, face adorned with stubble. He was shorter than the man with the sherif hat, he had a crossbow attached to his back, and he appeared to be peeved by the sherif dude.

“All I’m saying is if you gave them a chance they may surprise you, just because they were part of the governor’s group, doesn’t make them bad people, just scared people” the one with the hat reasoned.

“That dun mean I gotta be their friend now does it” the archer replied.

Just as the sherif went to reply a small branch you were holding snapped, loud crack echoing through the tree’s. “Shit!” You gasp quickly grabbing another before you fell to a splattered end. Both men pull out their weapons at an impressive speed pointing them in your general direction, “Come out now! Slowly” the sherif guy shouted. “Umm that may be hard” you meekly replied. “Why!” He demanded. “I’m kinda up the tree” they both looked up, the archer spotting your form and pointing to show the sherif. “I’m only armed with a knife and I’m alone, if you promise not to fire at me I’ll come down” you reply.

“Ok” the sherif replied pointing in gun downwards towards the ground, the archer though kept his crossbow aimed at you, clearly not trusting you. Taking a deep breath you started a slow, calculated decent down the tree, before dropping to the ground and raising your hands in surrender. You let out a squeak as they were on you in an instant, patting you down searching for any weapons, finding the one machete knife you claimed you had, and a pocket knife in your bag.

“Where yer from? And why were yer up the tree?” The archer challenged. They both glared at you expectantly “Uh I’m from Texas, I’ve been travelling by myself for a couple of months now. And I sleep up trees for my own safety, I don’t fancy being mauled to death in my sleep by walkers” you sassed back. The sherif smirked at your answer, “what’s your name?” He asked. “Y/N my names y/n” you reply.

He exchanged a look with the archer who nodded back. “If you want somewhere safe to stay, we have a small community close by. But you have to answer three questions truthfully” he communicated.

You thought for a second, what alternatives did you have really? You were tired, lonely and will be close to starvation if you carry on like this much longer. “Ok, but promise your not serial killers or something” you stammered. He huffed out a laugh, “No not serial killers, but we will however stop at nothing to protect our family” he affirmed. “Ok” you noted.

“Ok then, how many walkers have you killed?” He asks

“Too many to count, over 40 at least” you ponder.

“Ok, how many people have you killed?” He continues.

You look down in shame before answering “One”

“Why?” He responded.

“He tried to …” you trail off tears filling your eyes. “He tried to force himself on me, I fought him, shoved him hard and he fell back, hit his head, I didn’t mean too! I just panicked” you stammer out, getting visibly more upset. To your surprise the archer came over and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Hey it’s ok, no one shud have ta go thru that” he voiced. “I’m Daryl, n’ this is Rick” he introduced them both. You nodded, “Did I pass?” You ask. “Yeah” Rick replied “Follow us”.

__________________🏹___________________

Six months pass in a blur, you followed them back to a prison with huge double iron walls. You settled in quickly making fast friends with Daryl, he opened up to you, told you about his past and his abusive father, about his brother Merle who he’d lost not long before finding you. You’d told him about your Dad and about Joel, eventually in great detail not leaving out any of the things he did to send you running off on your own.

He’d been so angry when you did, it was the dead of night, the prison silent. He pulled you in close on the bottom bunk of your cell, whispering into your hair how you deserved so much better, how special you were, how much of an idiot Joel was for ever letting you go. He placed a kiss to your forehead, and it was in that moment you realised how deeply you’d fallen for the archer. He was your saviour, your heart and the one thing that tethered you to the world now.

One rainy night a storm was raging outside. Everyone was holed up in the safety of the prison, trying to get some sleep as thunder rumbled through the halls. You were snuggled into Daryl’s side, his hand tracing patterns over your back.

“Your my reason now Daryl, my reason for living in this fucked up world. You make everyday worth it” you’d confessed. He’d turned to you in disbelief, where did this come from and how could someone so wonderful, so brave and amazing as you, just profess that to him. Astonished he searched your face, looking for any chance of a lie but he found nothing but sincerity.

So he swallowed any doubts he had, shuffling onto his right side, his eyes still bearing into yours, he traced your jaw so carefully with his thumb, before leaning in and placing his lips on yours. The kiss was so gentle, as if he was worried he would break you. Snaking your arms around him as you pulled him in closer, wanting to feel the weight of his body on yours and deepening the kiss. The hand cupping your jaw finds your hand, entwining your fingers and moving it down beside your head. Daryl moved his body to lay over yours resting on one forearm, his other hand still closed around yours, you open your mouth, tongue swiping over his lips asking for access, which he grants hesitantly caressing his tongue with yours. You let out a small moan starting to roll your hips against his, your spare hand sliding under the front of his shirt and tracing his chest. Daryl heaves in a breath, pulling away from your lips to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’ve not dun this before” he breathes, now hiding his face in your neck, embarrassment creeping in. “What do you mean?” You ask confused. He lifts his head again “I mean this” he gestures between the two of you, “I’ve neva had a relationship, neva been intimate like this, I mean Merle tried when we wer younger, paid sum girl to sleep with me, sum druggies sister, she was older than me, I felt uncomfortable when she tried to touch me nd I dunno I panicked n left. That’s when Merle started callin me Darylina, callin me a pussy, I neva tried again” Daryl confessed, waiting for your reaction, rejection maybe.

But it never came, you just hugged him tighter again “Oh Daryl” you whispered, kissing the side of his head. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can take this a slow as you want.” You continued, stroking the hair from his face. He looked you in the eyes again, fingertips stroking your cheeks. “I love yer” he drawled, eyes filled with emotion “I love you too”.

He kissed you again more passionately than the last, more confident with his actions now, Hands roughly cupping your face as he pulled you into him. Pulling away from your lips he starts peppering open mouthed kisses down your throat, then tugging up the bottom of your shirt. Getting the hint you pull the worn material over your head leaving your top half bare. He pauses then staring at you in awe, before gently stroking a thumb down the side of your breast, then leaning in taking your nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over the bud and gently sucking. Leaning back again he mumbles “These are amazin’” massaging both in his palms. You let out a small giggle between moans “Well they are all yours” pausing then reaffirming “I’m all yours Daryl”.

“I’m all yers too sunshine” he replies, muffled by his lips mouthing into your neck. Getting up he takes a step back, pulling his own shirt off over his head and pushing his pants down, causing you to eagerly do the same. As soon as your both bare he crawls back over you, catching your lips with his own once more.

You take his hand and gently guide it down your stomach to your wet folds, nudging him to touch you, and letting out a strangled moan when he obliges gathering your slick and rubbing your clit. It’s clumsy and miscalculated but he’s gentle and patient, and eventually he gets it right causing you to let out pleasured gasps. You stroke down his stomach grasping his hard member, sporadically moving your hand up and down watching his reactions carefully, ready to stop if he looks at all uncomfortable. But when he throws this head back and lets out a low moan, you know your good to carry on.

Wrapping your other arm around his back you pull him into you, guiding his cock to your soaked pussy “I need you” you whimper, raising you hips to rub yourself against him. “Shit” he curses “I dun know how long I’ll last” he admits, cheeks turning pink. “That’s ok baby we have the rest of our lives to practice, and I don’t think I’ll last long either” you reply. Nodding he takes himself in his hand before nudging his tip at your entrance, he places his forehead against yours and pushes in, bottoming out in one slow thrust.

“Fuck you feel soo good” he groans before pulling part way out and slamming forward again, causing you to scream out. Daryl hastily puts his hand over your mouth “Geez woman, be quiet you’ll wake everyone up”. You mumble an apology against his hand as he starts rolling his hips into you again, letting out small gasps in your ear, the hand he’s supporting his weight on lovingly cards through your hair and he nuzzles his nose against your cheek.

His pace picks up and you start feeling that familiar tingling in your core, you move your hand down and frantically start rubbing your clit, after a few more hard thrusts he has you cumming hard, core fluttering around his cock, your head thrown back in pleasure. His pace becomes sloppy, his soft pants turning into whines before he quickly pulls out, stilling with a groan as he paints your stomach with his spend.

He kisses you slow and deep, fingers carefully caressing your side. You smile up at him lovingly as he collapses on the small bed beside you, your both still panting trying to catch your breath. Daryl turns to you “That wer amazin, your amazin” he breathed, you hum “It really was, I love you” “I love you too sunshine”.

__________________🏹___________________

3 years later

………………….

You’d been through so much, the family you’d all created had been through so much. In the space of less than a year, the prison fell thanks to the governor and you were all split up, you made new family members on the road.

Then more than half of you arrived at terminus which lead to an impromptu rescue mission, together with carol you both saved them all, throwing yourself at Daryl after thinking you’d lost him forever. You later found Alexandria as well as hilltop, two communities who welcomed you in, and you all created a life again finally feeling safe.

Until you made an enemy of a man called Negan, he killed Glen and Abraham, then took Daryl as a prisoner. Those weeks were the most miserable of your life, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat and your mind haunted you of all the what if’s. When he arrived back at hilltop pulling you into his arms he asked you the most important and easiest question of your life”

“Marry me” he pleaded, holding your face in his hands, blue eyes filled with tears. His heart at peace for the first time in weeks.

“Yes, yes I’ll marry you Daryl”

He pulled you against his chest, burying his nose into your hair, you were together again and that’s all that mattered, even if war was on the way.

Negan was stopped, his community fell and he was held as a prisoner in Alexandria’s prison, where he still sat to this day. Apparently showing everyone that change can happen, that the killing of humans needed to end. You’d lost people though, friends, family, it was an awful fight and one you hope never to encounter again.

Another peace offering was this notion, one to connect every community together with a bridge. It would make travelling quicker and safer, the building of this bridge was currently underway you, Daryl and Rick were overseeing the project.

Your husband was currently hammering down planks, while you were going over plans with Rick.

“We need more workers Rick, they are working themselves silly, is there any give on the saviours yet?” You asked.

“No carols been working on them, tryin to convince them, but it ain’t working’ yet” Rick sighs.

“But your right, this can’t continue” he vented, before walking off to check on the progress.

Rolling up the plans you theorise that this bridge will never get completed, no one is getting on and the saviours that are here are causing nothing but issues. While you were pondering you hear desperate footsteps charging towards you. One of the younger citizens of hilltop, she looks panicked “There’s a small heard coming this way, I saw them from the watch tower! Aaron’s got a team out there cutting down trees, the coms are down and I don’t know what to do!” She pleaded.

“Ok don’t worry I’ve got it, I’ll take a group out to deal with it” you reply, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

You throw on your baseball cap to shield you from that blazing sun and jog over to find Michone, “There’s a small heard on the way over and Aaron’s teams out there” you relay. “Ok let’s get going then” she urged. Gathering a group of able fighters you make your way in the direction of the heard.

After joining you guys at the prison Michone had taught you to how to use a Samurai sword, an art you’d skilfully mastered now over years of practice. You’d stollen another one from terminus’s artillery stock years back, and you haven't parted with it since.

Tying a bandana over the bottom half of your face, you breathe in a slow calculated breath calming yourself before running towards the heard, slicing the heads off the walkers with exact precision along side Michone. While the others shoot arrows and stab machete's into their skulls, working together you clear the walkers quickly. Unknowingly being observed by a small group of people from the tree line, once the walkers were all cleared the group emerge making their presence known.

Snapping up your eyes meet those of a young girl, about Carl’s age she looks at you with wide eyes, glancing at your sword. You lower your weapon, and Michone speaks first “Who are you?” She demands “Umm I’m Ellie” the girl replies shakily, a broad man is by her side in a flash, pulling her behind him protectively. It’s then you look up meeting deep brown eyes you recognise instantly “Joel??” You stammer.

“Do I know ya?” Joel asks his tone warning.

You let out comical laugh, of course he doesn’t recognise you, he’d moved on before you even left. Although your hair was shorter now, cut into a long bob to ensure walkers and enemies couldn’t grab it. Your body was more muscular, toned by the years of fighting. And you were less feeble, your demeanour had changed.

This will be fun you thought before removing your baseball cap and your bandana, Joel lets out a low gasp “y/n?”

“Yeah it’s me, how many of you are there? And do you have a community?” You ask voice unwavering.

“Woah, hold on there darlin’ the last time I saw you was nearly four years ago, and you snuck out of our home while I was asleep! And I never heard from you again! I thought you were dead!” Joel exclaimed

“Well sorry to disappoint, now answer the damn question!” You demand.

Joel gawps at you astounded, Michone smirks proudly, she knows who Joel is, she’s your best friend after all. You’d told her everything it’s why you asked her to teach you, so you’d never be weak and defenceless again. “There’s just us four, me and Ellie, and we met Chris and Ellen here on the road a few weeks back” he answers.

The girl named Ellie is watching the exchange, eyes narrowed trying to get a hold on what was going on.

“Right follow us, we have a safe camp close by. There’s food and water, your welcome to both and a safe bed for the night” Michone cuts in, obviously realising the tension rising between Joel and yourself. You nod along with her before hastily walking back towards camp. Joel staggers trying to catch you up, “y/n! Hey stop please” Joel pleads, you blatantly ignore him, still stomping your way to camp like a petulant child. As he goes to grab your wrist a lone walker stumbles out of the trees, taking Joel by surprise. But you instinctively jump in front of him slicing the head in half, allowing it to fall to the floor with a thud. Then once again picking up your pace, one destination in your mind, Daryl.

“Jesus y/n” Joel mumbles, before trying to catch up to you again, “Look can we talk please?” He asks desperation laced in his voice. “You can talk as we walk” you snapped. All you wanted right now was to be in Daryl’s comforting arms, all that tension would wash away.

You'd be able to think straight again.

“Ok I’ll take what I can get, what I did to you wasn’t right I know that, but running off like that? That was beyond reckless, I couldn’t sleep for weeks! I was worried sick, you have no idea how immobilising that was!”

“It’s called guilt Joel” you deadpan

“I’m alive and well, I have a family now one we all created together in Georgia. People who love me and protect me, as I do back for them. So you can leave that guilt behind now because I’m fine” you summarised.

“I can see that…. You’ve changed” Joel sighed.

“Yeah well I needed too, it was you who said and I quote “you are useless out there, without you I’d be walker food” sound about right?” You ask.

“I didn’t mean that sweetheart I was upset in that moment, I always knew you could handle yourself” Joel implored.

This stops you in your tracks, you turn to him anger cursing through you “You were upset?” You laugh out voice like venom.

“You cheated on me Joel, I was just trying to be there for you, I know you’d gone through a lot but I was there for you, and you tossed me aside like I was nothing!” you cried.

“I didn’t” he whispers

“Didn’t what?” You ask

“Cheat on you, I didn’t, I asked Tess to spray me with her perfume she was only a friend, I knew you deserved better, I was dragging you down, I knew you needed to move on, find someone your age, less broken. I wanted you to still have a life! I knew you wouldn’t move on unless you thought somethin’ had happened between me and Tess, I was wrong I regret that night so much darlin’” he explains, tears rolling down his cheeks. He hastily wipes them away with the back of his hand, as Ellie approaches.

“Everything ok Joel?” She asks carefully

“Yeah” Joel replies meekly.

He wraps an arm around her and ruffles her hair, you felt happy for him to get that chance to be a dad again, he was a good dad.

By the time you reached camp your head was in complete turmoil, you were still angry and hurt but now it was for different reasons. How dare he take your choices away from you like that, he didn’t get to decide that you deserved better. But you did find better didn’t you, a man who loves you wholeheartedly. A man who had never once hurt you, who never made you feel like a burden or unwanted.

Your eyes searched for your archer in the sea of people, when they landed on him he was ruffing with the kids, laughing as they chased him. You stood for a minute admiring him as he scooped up Judith, swinging her around before handing her to Carl. He looked up his ocean blue eyes meeting yours, then he’s jogging towards you smile gracing his features. “Heard ther wer sum walkers? You ok?” He asks checking you over “Yeah I’m good, we took care of it” he nods, hands cupping your face before placing a tender kiss to your forehead. “We found some stragglers, brought them back for food and rest, Michone will decide after that if they can stay” you explain “Joel is with them” you confess, he stills then “As in the Joel?” He asks “Yup, the Joel, it’s ok I think. I’ve said my bit, he won’t be here long” you reply.

Daryl looks over towards the newcomers his eyes meet Joel’s, who’s already watching Daryl’s and yours exchange. “Guess I’d betta go introduce myself then huh” Daryl all but growled. You smirk to yourself, you’d never seen this jealous protective side of him before, you gesture for him to go for it, and watch as he walks over.

Reaching his hand out to shake Joel’s, Daryl introduces himself “Hey I’m Daryl y/n’s husband, I’ve herd a lot bout ya” Joel hesitantly shakes his hand “Joel” he replies stoic as ever. “Well I jus wanted to thank ya” Daryl continues small smile on his lips. “Thank me?” Joel asks visibly confused, “Yeah for messin up so badly, for givin me the chance to meet her, and show her how she shud be loved, she’s the best thing I’ve eva had in mah life, and I am thankful every day for her, so yeah thank you” with that Daryl walks off back towards you, leaving Joel watching after you once again, realising how much he had lost when he gave you up.

Pulling you into his side as Daryl walks you to where Rick and the rest of your family is organising the next steps of the project, Michone gives you a side hug and Rick looks up “You ok?” He asks big brother protectiveness coming out, “Yeah I’m good, I have my family” you smile, Carol chimes in with “You sure?” Nodding you think to yourself how lucky you are to have these guys, your hand finds Daryl’s, and your arm loops around Michone. “Yeah I’m really good”

You knew these new emotions would be hard to navigate, but you had those who loved you right here.

[devilbat]

| Series Masterlist | We got your back |

| main masterlist | read on ao3 |

summary: You work as a new DEA agent alongside Peña and Murphy. A not-so-kind colleague reveals more about you than you would like. What ensues is a deep dive into your own past and coming to terms with what you need in the present. When it all gets too much, Peña is there to pick up the pieces.

pairing: javier peña x f!dea!reader

rating: 18+MDNI

word count: 10k +

warnings: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, canon-typical violence, slow burn, more warnings to be added

updated: 23rd august 2023

| main story |

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

my current outline is roughly nine chapters but more chapters or one shots may be added depending on where the story takes us! <3

[devilbat]

Tonight | Joel Miller X Wedding Planner F!Reader

authors note: finally got this one out! with a new job and new house, life has been pretty chaotic recently but I finally got back into my usual writing schedule!! lots of wips at the moment so prepare for those!

part three of love is in the air part one here: love is in the air part two here: tensions rise

summary: Joel thought that he would be having the time of his life the night before his wedding. But he’s conflicted, for all he can think about is you.

warnings/tags: 18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, infidelity, age gap (24 and 46), nicknames (baby girl, doll, baby) fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, angst

word count: 4.6k

“We really can’t be doing this anymore, it isn’t right…”

The words repeated in Joel’s head over and over and over again. He gripped his drink of whiskey, swirling it around before taking a swig. Looking around, he saw all his buddies laughing and dancing, having the time of their lives and partying. Partying just like how he should be doing. But instead, he stood in the corner with a drink in hand, lost in his thoughts.

It was the night before his wedding, the last night he would be considered a single man. Much of his freedom will be washed away from him when he finally ties the knot. He was supposed to be getting wasted with his friends and having a blast, having one last ‘hoo-rah.’

But he felt like shit, to put it lightly.

He watched as all of his friends were having a good time without him at a party that was supposed to be for him letting loose.

He would say that he would much rather be home than here, but that would also be a lie. Jenna would most likely be home. He wanted to be with you.

Taking a deep breath, Joel finished his glass of whiskey in one go before setting it down. With a groan, he rubbed his temples and another sigh left his lips.

“Pre-wedding nerves?” Tommy joined him in his corner with a laugh. He could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Joel chuckled and nodded, “S’pose you could say that.”

Yes, he was nervous and anxious, but they didn’t feel like the pre-wedding jitters he’d heard so much about from his married friends.

His nerves felt more like a sense of guilt, of regret. Possibly regret of sleeping with someone that wasn’t his fiancee, but he knew damn well that wasn’t it either.

His thoughts were messy and unorganized, all because of you.

All he could think about was you.

“Don’t be all mopey for the rest of the night. Come dance with us.” Tommy’s words were slurred, but Joel was barely paying attention anyway. With another laugh, his brother walked back to the rest of the group, leaving Joel on his own once again.

Instead of going with him and having a good time, he ordered another whiskey, drinking in silence.

┉┉┉

It’s late, nearing one in the morning. Sitting at your kitchen table, you dunked your tea bag into the warm water several times. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you watched the lemon tea bag go up and down, feeling as though you could fall asleep right then and there.

However, sleep seemed to be a big struggle for you. You were laying in bed for hours, restless. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Joel and Jenna standing at the altar, sharing a loving kiss as they became one. Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Your heart would initially sink, and your stomach would be sick. And immediately after, you would feel guilty and stupid for feeling that way in the first place.

They were your clients—Joel was only a client. You were the one who helped them plan their wedding. You should be ecstatic to see them finally marry. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t.

What’s worse, you’ll have to attend their wedding tomorrow to make that a reality. You wished you could bail somehow and devise an excuse, but this was a part of your job. You needed to make sure that everything ran smoothly at their ceremony.

The thought made you uneasy. However, you tried your absolute best to push your feelings aside. You couldn’t let yourself be selfish. Not when you need to remain professional. 

Sipping your tea, you hoped it would help you relax and ease your mind and racing thoughts. Maybe then you could sleep without having to envision Joel and Jenna kissing at the altar over and over again.

You almost felt like you were losing your mind. You had never felt so reluctant about attending a wedding that you assisted in planning before. But it was different with the Millers. So, so different.

You thought your time with Joel was just going to be a one-time thing, one mistake. But that one mistake turned into two. And now, you couldn’t take your mind off of him. 

You had to keep reminding yourself that you needed to keep things professional between the two of you. Even though you had failed this before, you needed to put it in stone now before it was too late. He was getting married tomorrow, and you needed to accept that fact. He is in a happy and loving relationship; that’s something you need to swallow.

Taking a sip of your tea, you closed your eyes and felt the relaxation hit you instantly with the warm lemon flavor. It never fails to calm your nerves. While they weren’t gone completely, they did decrease significantly.

With a few more sips, you were sure that you’d be able to fall asleep in no time. After all, you needed to be wide awake and perky tomorrow morning for the wedding. But no matter how many times you tasted the calming lemon tea, Joel never left your mind. 

You kept thinking about the way he felt, the way he touched you, the way he held you as he would thrust into you over and over again. Just thinking about it made your cheeks hot and your pussy throb. But the way he made you feel was what stuck in your head the most. 

Clearing your throat, you sighed before sipping your tea, already close to finishing it off. You were just hoping that this would work and you would be able to drift to sleep without another thought of Joel.

After a few minutes, you started feeling more relaxed and drowsy. You felt as if you were going to lie down in bed and attempt to fall asleep, and you may have been successful.

That was until you heard a knock on the door.

Your eyes quickly widened as your heart rate picked up. A knock on your door was the very last thing you were expecting. It scared the shit out of you, to say the least.

Your heart was still pounding as you slowly turned to face the door. You were cautious, for it was the middle of the night, and you had no clue who was at your door or why. You felt your heart in your throat as you slowly stood up, still overly wary.

Surely, if it was a murderer, they would have already attempted to break into your house, right?

A second knock followed shortly after the first as you approached the door.

With a deep breath, you slowly creaked the door open, cracking it open an inch to see who could be at your house at this hour before opening it up completely.

It was Joel.

You furrowed your eyebrows and opened the door, knowing that it was safe and that it was somebody you actually knew. But that didn’t calm all of your thoughts. You were still beyond confused. Why would Joel be at your doorstep? On the night before his wedding, of all nights? Shouldn’t he be cuddled up in bed with his bride-to-be all fast asleep?

While you were lost in your thoughts, Joel was staring at you, lost in his own. His eyes bore into your own, a swirl of thoughts in his mind. 

“Joel?” Was all you could say before he took a step forward, not even saying a word before putting his hands on either side of your face and pulling you into him.

His soft lips crashed into yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. He kept you close, as if he were to let go, he would lose you completely, and that wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

You didn’t hesitate for a second before kissing him back passionately. You felt as though you wished upon a star, and now your dream came true. You had been thinking all night about Joel, and now here he was, standing on your front porch kissing you as if you two were the last people on Earth.

Your arms draped around his neck, bringing him in even closer to you if possible. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting all of you that he possibly could. It pained him to know that this could potentially be your last kiss. Although, there shouldn’t have even been one in the first place. He was supposed to be a married man soon, for fuck’s sake. But you were like a drug to him. He kept on coming back for more. Neither of you could get enough of each other. Each promise that you made to yourselves never lasted. There was always a part of you that knew you two would find each other again one way or another.

“Joel.” You tried to mumble against his lips, but your words were muffled as he kept kissing you, never wanting to stop.

He shook his head to shush you and brought your lips back to his into a passionate kiss.

He moved his hands down to your ass, giving them a cheeky squeeze before grabbing your waist, picking you up, and placing you on his hips. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss never breaking in the process.

His strong arms kept a grip on you while he moved you over to the counter to place you down, his hands squeezing and caressing your hips. Pulling his lips away slightly, he moved them down to your jaw, placing kisses down to your neck.

“Joel..” You took the opportunity to speak but interrupted yourself with a moan when Joel found the weak spot on your neck. He already knew you and your body much too well, “Your wedding’s tomorrow. We really shouldn’t-”

You trailed off from your sentence when Joel pulled away to look you straight in the eyes, “You want me to stop?” He whispered, his hand still firm on your hip.

You didn’t want him to stop. And he knew that you didn’t from the way you looked at him, the way all your emotions swirled in your eyes. 

“We shouldn’t.” You repeated, but Joel quickly stopped you before you could say anything else.

“I asked if you wanted me to stop.” He shook his head slowly, never looking away from your eyes. He could feel you tense slightly under his touch, debating with your mind on how to answer.

“I…” You whispered, licking your lips as you looked him up and down. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the bulge in his pants, and your mouth went dry. You wanted this man in front of you so damn bad. You knew it was beyond messed up and wrong, but you knew that this was your last chance with him, that after this, he would be married for good, “No. I don’t want you to..” You whispered breathily and pulled him in for another kiss, your fingers getting tangled up in his hair.

He smirked against your lips as he kissed you back instantly, proud of your words. They were exactly what he wanted to hear. He wasn’t ready to let go of you yet and wanted to show you that.

He moved his hands from your waist up to your chest, cupping your breasts in both of his hands. Your moan vibrated against his lips as he slipped his hands underneath your tank top, his strong hands now caressing your skin. The coldness of his hands sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

His thumbs moved over your nipples as he massaged your breasts with both of his hands, knowing just how to touch you to please you.

It was a familiar feeling, the feeling of guilt and pleasure all in one. Your mind has already told you, screamed at you, countless times before that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you shouldn’t allow yourself to be in this position. But no matter how much you reminded yourself that this wasn’t right, you couldn’t stop. Especially now, when this may be your last chance to be with him again.

The thought that you may lose him after tonight made you pull him in closer to you, wanting to be as physically close as you possibly could. You wanted to touch and feel all of him, memorizing every nook and cranny in his body to keep stored in your memory when he would inevitably disappear from your life.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you couldn’t express those feelings, especially not now. You didn’t want to ruin this moment between you. You just wanted to enjoy it while you still could.

“God, I need you so bad, baby girl.” Joel mumbled quietly in your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe. This caused you to lean your head back slightly and sent a warm vibration over your lower body.

You need him just as much. But you didn’t need to say any words to get that message across. He could tell the second he moved his hand under your panties, slipping a finger rather easily into your wet folds.

Joel groaned as he looked at you, his eyes darkened with lust and want. Knowing and feeling how much you wanted him turned him on even more. His bulge was prominent in his pants; it was almost unbearable. He could feel it throb with eagerness, being trapped by his boxers.

“Tonight, you’re all mine.” He growled, attacking your lips with his.

That one word stuck with the both of you. Tonight. He was yours, and you were his, but only for tonight. After that, he would belong to Jenna. And tonight, you would make sure that you would make it one hell of a night, for it may as well be your final night.

Agreeing with his words, you kissed him back passionately, your teeth nearly clashing with his. You put your hands on his cheek, his scruff prickling against your skin. You nearly held onto him as you kissed him, letting out all the emotions you’ve kept down since now.

“Bedroom.” Joel demanded, out of breath, panting against your lips for a quick moment before pulling away. He held onto your hips and helped you down off the counter. You could only smile in excitement as you made your way to the bedroom, Joel right on your heels.

Joel’s shirt was already half off when he stepped into the bedroom. He really wasn’t wasting any time.

You lay on your bed, resting your head on the pillows, your eyes watching Joel’s every move. Within the blink of an eye, Joel was on top of you as he threw his shirt over his head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

Your hands instantly moved up to his chest, running your hands up and down as he started to take off your pants effortlessly. You were sure that by the end of the night, you would have touched every single inch of his body.

“Look at ya, look how damn gorgeous you are.” Joel shook his head, his tongue going over his lower lip. He gazed upon your body, putting his entire focus on you as if it was the first time he had ever seen your body underneath him.

You blushed and failed to hold in your smile as you stared up at him, “Oh, just fuck me already, Mr. Miller.”

Joel chuckled lowly and shook his head as he moved his hands down to his hips, his fingers grazing your skin gently, “Little impatient are we?” He whispered, lowering down to press kisses on your jaw down to your chest.

“Very.” You admitted with an involuntary whine, needing him more than ever. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to wait without him inside of you.

Joel smirked at your confession and shook his head teasingly. Oh, how he loved to tease you and see you squirm under his touch, just desperate to feel all of him.

“I love seeing you needin’ me so bad..” Joel cooed and caressed your hips firmly with his thumbs, “I won’t make ya wait any longer.” He didn’t admit it, but he was just as desperate as you. He didn’t want to spend another second without him inside of you. He wanted to fuck you until you were unable to walk, wanted to make this a night that you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about for the rest of the week. 

Without any more warning, he slipped inside you with ease.

“Fuck, I love this pussy.” Joel groaned and held onto your hips tighter as he pushed himself inside of you. It wasn’t his first time fucking you, but each time felt like the first. He could never get sick of you. Whereas with Jenna, he couldn’t even remember the last time they spent a night together.

You fit him like a glove as if your pussy was made just for him, and he had found the missing puzzle piece. Joel took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down just a little. He didn’t want to get himself too excited, for he wanted this moment to last. And seeing you like this and just being inside of you was more than enough to get him going. He didn’t want it to end. He didn’t want this to be the last.

You and him both knew that you didn’t want him to go through with this marriage. Jenna never did anything wrong necessarily, but there was just something about you that she was lacking. He wanted to be with you and to stay with you. And even though you couldn’t admit it to him, you wanted the same exact thing. You had an ounce of hope that after tonight, he would tell you that the wedding was off and he was going to stay with you. But that was just wishful thinking.

“Nice and wet just for me.” Joel breathed, his hot breath hitting against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your skin tingled, yearning for the feeling of his lips on your neck.

His thrusts were slow and steady at first, getting you nice and eased in. But it wasn’t long until he pulled out before going back in one thrust, getting as deep as he possibly could, “God, I just wanna be deep inside of ya, doll.” he mumbled before doing it once more, the feeling of being empty to completely full causing you to moan.

You tried not to think about the possibility of it being your last time with him, and it was easy to do so at the moment, considering that your mind felt foggy from him thrusting into you over and over again.

You leaned your head back and grabbed onto his hair for something to hold onto as he thrusted mercilessly into you. The tugging of his hair only made him more motivated as he quickened up the pace. He could feel himself getting close, but he tried his best to distract himself from finishing for he didn’t want this to end any time soon.

He held himself up with one hand over your head, the other grasping onto your breast, squeezing and teasing the nipple while he kept the pace of his thrusts. With each thrust, you let out a moan or a breath of pleasure. 

This was something that you had enjoyed about sleeping with Joel so much. The fact that he knew exactly what you liked and that he knew what he was doing was incredible for you. He was the first to make you finish, and he’s always ensured you did.

You loved it. And for your own selfish reasons, you weren’t ready to let it go. To let him go.

Joel moved his hand from your breast to caress and squeeze your hip, the gentle squeezing making you even wetter. You loved the effect he had on you.

“Fuck, Joel! You’re incredible, fuck” You moaned out, feeling like your words were choked up in your throat. Moans followed your words, making you feel almost pathetic for how he easily made you feel like this.

Your head leaned back against the pillow, and you bit your bottom lip. So hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were able to taste blood sometime soon.

Joel groaned and smirked at your praise. It was just that little bit of motivation that kept him going.

There was a deep sinking feeling in his heart. Not because he knew he would be married to someone else soon, but because he was sleeping with somebody else. But knowing that this might be the last time he would be so intimate with you. It pained him to think about it.

However, he wouldn’t allow himself to get distracted and doleful, for his current goal was to make both of you feel good. And damn, he was going to do a good job of it.

“God, so fucking sexy,” Joel groaned and leaned down slightly to kiss your neck, a place that you were badly aching for him to touch, “Can’t get enough of you.” He bit your neck gently, pulling the skin slightly before placing a kiss over and over again on that same spot. 

“I’m close, fuck I’m close.” You moaned and squeezed your eyes shut, putting all of your focus on getting to your climax. 

Joel took these words and continued to do precisely what he was doing, gripping and squeezing your waist while keeping the same pace with his thrusts, knowing just what you wanted, just what you needed. He knew you like the back of his hand.

Your hands moved down from his hair onto his shoulders as you felt the finish line getting closer and closer.

“Come for me, baby.”

With your nails dug into his back, you kept your eyes shut and moaned and screamed out his name, your climax taking you by storm. You felt elated as he continued his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm.

Your breaths became quicker as you came down from your climax, your heart racing at a million miles an hour. You felt as though you were on cloud nine. The idea that this was possibly the last time wasn’t even in your mind anymore. All you could think about was how incredible this man was able to make you feel, each time without fail.

With you finishing, Joel didn’t feel the need to hold himself back anymore, knowing that he had gotten you where he wanted you to be. He squeezed your waist gently and leaned his head back, the veins in his neck nearly popping as he came inside of you. Wet and hot rope after rope shooting inside of you, he felt as though it was one of the longest and most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced.

While he was with Jenna, you were the one who made him feel good about himself. You made him feel like the man he was. His legs nearly shook as he slowly pulled himself out of you, both of you instantly missing the feeling of being connected so intimately.

Joel kissed the top of your head before slowly laying down next to you, wrapping his arm around you. You had already come down from your climax while Joel’s heart was still racing, and his breathing was unsteady.

“God, you never fail to amaze me.” You break the silence and laugh.

Joel chuckled along with you and rubbed your arm as he pulled you in closer to his naked body, “Same goes for you, doll.”

While the two of you were feeling incredible, you knew that there was an elephant in the room that neither of you wanted to begin to discuss. But you know you had to.

“So, you’re getting married tomorrow.” The words felt forced from your lips as you glanced over at him.

You could feel him tense up once you brought it up.

“Mhm.” He hummed out and looked down, refusing to look at you.

You almost felt bad for asking, but you knew that it had to be done, “Must be pretty exciting, huh?”

You were hoping that he would say what you were hoping, that the wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place. But again, that was nothing but hopeful thinking.

Joel opened his mouth to say something but sighed, his body still tense, “You would think so,” he spoke quietly, holding onto your shoulder a bit tighter to reassure himself. He couldn’t hide the truth from you. He didn’t want to, “But I’m not feeling the least bit excited. It’s dread, is what I’ve been feelin’. And I can’t lie, baby, you’re all I can think about.”

This is what you wanted to hear. But it didn’t feel right. Your heart was still sunken in your chest.

“But the wedding?” You whispered while staring up at him, wanting him to continue.

“The weddin’s tomorrow. I can’t just not marry her, she loves me.” The corner of Joel’s lips turned into a frown, “I can’t do that to her.”

The words hurt you more than you ever thought they would, especially now that you were cuddled up against him, close in his arms. You weren’t ready to let him go. 

With your head resting on his chest, he felt at home. You felt safe in Joel’s arms. You couldn’t deny that feelings for him were beginning to develop, which made this all that much harder. And saying goodbye wasn’t necessarily ever easy.

You swallowed the big lump in your throat and nodded slowly. Now was quite possibly the only time you could ever tell him the truth. If you stayed silent, you knew that you would regret it in the near or far future.

“I understand,” Your voice was soft, your throat was tight, “I really do like you, Joel… I’ve loved spending these nights with you. I ended up looking forward, wondering if I may see you again,” 

His eyes bore into you as you spoke. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed along with a frown on his lips. He had a gut feeling that he knew where this was heading, and he dreaded the words coming from your lips.

“And I want you to be happy. I know that if you cancel this wedding, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want to get in the way of that, not more than I already have. You and Jenna deserve to be happy.” You fought back the tears, refusing to choke up in front of him.

Joel stayed silent and frowned as he looked at you, squeezing his hand gently. He didn’t say a single word as he stood up from your bed. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling down.

It was a silent goodbye. He was hesitant, but he didn’t want to make this goodbye harder than it already was.

He left the room without turning back. 

Once you opened your eyes, the tears fell down.

You tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep that night. They are getting married tomorrow. And there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

[devilbat]

Pedro Boys tasked with buying your period products.

Someone sent an ask about Pedro boys dealing with their girl on their period... Not sure if this is what you had in mind but I hope you enjoy it regardless :)

Also, this is just for silly fun, don't @ me too harshly in the comments please if you don't agree with some of these, but DEFINITELY feel free to tell me where and why your opinion might differ on some of these choices, I'd love to hear it.

like this post? check out my Pedro Boys Alignment Chart Masterlist here

Headcanons under the cut.

Din/Tim/Dave/Ortega/Clint/Max L - Din is mostly just too shy/embarrassed to ask for help, the rest of these guys are too stubborn, too busy and/or aren't terribly comfortable standing around in this aisle any longer than they have to be.

Ezra/Jack - They're just genuinely confused as to why there are so many varieties. Maybe you WILL be playing tennis tomorrow like this girl in the picture on the box, how tf are they supposed to know? Jack's also a bit of a himbo but it's okay, he's pretty.

Marcus M/Oberyn/Frankie/Marcus P/Joel/Javi P - Some of these boys are 'girl dads' and just know the drill by now. Some are just great husbands (or husband material) who pay attention and some, well... some of these boys just know your p*ssy better than you do and that's all there is to it.

Javi G/Eddie/Zach W - They're sweet, and they're trying. They just wanna be good boyfriends. God bless these boys.

Dieter/Pero/Max P/Lucien - Dieter thought it was an honest question. The rest of these guys are just complete menaces (and honestly, we love them for it).

[devilbat]

Falling for You

Joel Miller x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Feelings surfaced on the wrong day- the day of your best friends wedding.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: drama filled, talks of a wedding but not too much detail, smoking, age gap (joel's in his early 50's and reader is in her mid 20s), plus size reader, make out sesh, if i missed any please let me know!

A/N: she's alive!!! after not writing for almost 2 months i was finally able to squeeze something out of my brain. there will be a part 2 to this and maybe a third? 👀

If you don't like it, don't bite it!

Never would you have thought that you'd be helping your old best friend plan her wedding. Last time you spoke was before she had left to study abroad, when she came back she had gained an English accent and a boyfriend. When she came back home to Texas, it didn't take long for the accent to go away and for the boyfriend to propose. It didn't come as a shock to you when you got the phone call the next day, asking for you to be her maid of honor.

Few months later you were setting up her dressing room when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you called out as you heard the door creak open. You turned around and locked eyes with him. The father of the bride- Joel Miller. “Can I help you Mr Miller?”

“After all these years, you still can't just call me Joel?” he chuckled

“Respect thing I guess. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Sarah just wanted me to make sure everything was good.” he let out a small sigh and sat on the small couch in the corner of the room, running his fingers through his thick brown curls. “Girls never been this high maintenance before.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. You sat next to him and gently rubbed his lower back, the same spot he always complains about hurting.

“It's how every bride tends to be on the day of their wedding. Promise you after todays over she'll go back to the same Sarah we all know and love.” he looked over at you and smiled. He felt his eyes wander down to your lips, imagining how soft they would feel against his. You noticed and chuckled.

“What?” you asked. He leaned over, now his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Nothing.” he whispered as he closed the small gap, pressing his lips against yours.

Not long ago, you had felt… something for Joel. Ever since Sarah left, she had made you promise to keep an eye on him. Occasionally you'd come over for dinner or sometimes join a poker game with him, his brother, and a few work friends. He obviously returned the favor. Every time you had a shitty date or needed something fixed in your apartment, he was always there. You'd gotten close to him over time but you kept reminding yourself that he definitely didn't feel the same. Turns out, he actually did.

He pulled away, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “I think I'm falling for you…”

You stared into his eyes, trying to figure out the right words to say, when your phone rang. You both flinched and stood up, slowly stepping away from each other. You looked over and saw Sarah's name light up across your screen.

“Its Sarah. She's here.”

“Yeah I uh-” he cleared his throat and stood in the doorway. “Gotta get home and get ready.” you gave him a small nod and watched as he walked away.

The wedding should be interesting.

*~*~*

Music echoed through the reception room, followed by laughter and chatter coming from the other guests. You were sitting at your assigned table, talking with the other bridesmaids, when you saw Sarah wave you over. You excused yourself and walked over to her.

“What's wrong?”

“I cant find dad and its almost time for the father daughter dance. I told him he can't go wandering off, I have a schedule!” she rambled. You placed your hands on her shoulders and gave her a small reassuring squeeze.

“Its okay, I'll go find him.” she nodded and muttered a quick ‘Thank you’ before you walked off. Joel wasn't wrong, she was very high maintenance today. She had been overly picky with every detail and would chew the heads off of anyone who put her behind her super strict schedule. You never would have pegged her to be one but she indeed was, and is, a bridezilla.

You had made your way outside, in desperate need of smoking a quick cigarette. You placed the cigarette in between your lips, ready to light it when-

“You know those are bad for you right?” Joel called out as he emerged from the darkness like he was Batman or something.

“Jesus Joel! Scared the shit out of me.” he chuckled as he took another inhale from his cigarette. You're aware that smoking is bad and in reality you only smoke when you're stressed out, but by god a man has never looked so good smoking before. You looked him up and down, noticing that he had lost the suit jacket he was wearing during the ceremony. He had unbuttoned the first few buttons from his dress shirt, leaving most of his tan toned chest exposed.

“I can see you eyeing me.” he smirked, pulling your attention back to his eyes. God those eyes. It’s like fucking hypnosis. You'd have to be a fool to say you don't get lost in them. He flicked the butt of his cigarette and walked closer to you. He placed his hand on the indent of your thick waist, giving your skin a soft squeeze.

“You look beautiful.” he muttered.

“Dont look so bad yourself.” you gently chewed on your bottom lip. His graying curls were slightly slicked back, but he had one curl resting on his forehead. Your eyes wandered down to his chest again, noticing that had a few sun spots scattered across his chest and that went up his neck.

“Kiss me again.” you whispered. He let out a small chuckle and leaned down, pressing his lips against yours. His hand wandered to the dip in your back, pulling your body closer to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss started to intensify. You both felt the heat rush through your bodies as his tongue explored your mouth, leaving behind the menthol taste of his cigarette. He placed one hand on the side of your neck, wanting to pull you even closer to him. He wanted you, and he didn't want to waste any more time. Suddenly, the doors to the reception hall opened and out walked Sarah.

“What the hell is going on out here??” she called out as she stared you and Joel down. “On my fucking wedding day? Really??”

“Sarah-” she quickly cut Joel off

“I don't want to hear it!” she yelled out as she threw her arms in the air. “Whatever this is, it needs to not happen. She's my age, dad! You not know how that makes me feel?” she looked over at you and scoffed. “Some best friend you are.” you went to speak but before you could say anything she was already back inside.

“I take it she doesn't want me here anymore so I guess I'm just gonna head home.”

“Baby don't leave…”

“No, it's okay Joel. I'll talk to you later.” you kissed his cheek and walked away, leaving Joel alone with the burning temptation to run after you. He let out a small sigh and walked back into the venue.

divider cred: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

special s/o to @dancingtotuyo and @pamasaur for beta reading

[devilbat]

[devilbat]

Diet Mountain Dew

rating: E 18+ only pairing: f!reader x bfd!joel miller (tv + game series) summary: your boyfriend has been cheating on you, but his uncaring, selfish, and very flirtatious father wants to make it up to you the best way he knows how... warnings: AU (no apocalypse, no sarah), infidelity, 30+ year age gap, asphyxiophilia, dacryphilia, a little rough housing, hair pulling, spanking, oral (m receiving) | let me know if i've missed any! wc: 5.5k a/n: thank you for 500 followers!!! let the record show that i do not condone or endorse cheating at all, this is purely for entertainment purposes!!! i tried something a little bit different with the writing style so please let me know if you guys like it or not!

you’re no good for me, but baby i want you…

He couldn’t help his filthy mind. Even if he wanted to. Being around you was always a test of his willpower.

He kept as much distance as respectfully possible, not wanting to give himself away. Still, every night he managed to find himself lying in bed fisting his cock while entertaining the daydreams he often had of fucking you into the bed.

It wasn’t the age difference that deterred him from you, but the mere fact that you were dating his son.

He hated himself for it, but he hated it even more when he would be painting his stomach with white streaks and barely whispering remnants of your name.

And now, as he sits across from you and his son at the dinner table, he hates himself for finding you so pretty.

His eyes keep lowering to look at your grey and white striped tank top — not because he was trying to look at your cleavage but because it fits you perfectly. You kept fidgeting with the top hem of your shirt as if you were ensuring it wasn’t shifting too low. He thought it was cute.

Your voice left him in a trance; he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but he enjoyed hearing you rave and ramble about the movie you just went to.

The real mood killer was Jacob — “Okay, we get it. It was a good movie,” he snapped.

“Jacob,” Joel scolded. Though the pout you absentmindedly wore told Joel that it was pointless.

Jacob made an incredulous face and slightly shrugged. “What? She’s been talking about the movie for ten minutes. I feel like I saw the damn thing.”

“Well, I happen to like spoilers.” Joel meant it as a joke in hopes of lightening the mood, but once he saw the slight smile on your face, he felt a sudden rush of protectiveness.

How he could appreciate you more than his son did was beyond him. Joel just hoped it wasn’t a more significant issue behind closed doors.

Over the next few months, Joel had been seeing less and less of you and even managed to overhear some of the times Jacob had been arguing with you over the phone.

From the only half of the conversation he could hear, Joel gathered that you were upset that Jacob was spending more time with “friends” than you, which led Joel to believe it was more of an indication of cheating. He stayed tightlipped about it because he had no desire to stir up any unnecessary drama, but his curiosity grew as time passed.

So when he saw you grabbing some cereal in the grocery store on a random Tuesday, he wasted no time approaching you.

You seemed surprised at him calling your name but gave him a welcoming smile nonetheless.

“Hi, Joel, how are you?”

“I’m alright, how ‘bout you? Feel like I haven’t seen you around lately.”

Your smile nearly dropped completely. “Yeah, uh. Jacob and I are just going through a tough time right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Joel said softly, not really meaning it. “My son aside, I do actually enjoy your company. I mean, you’re the only twenty-four year old I know that likes U2.”

That made you chuckle. “Oh, is my seasoned music taste the only thing I have going for myself,” you bantered.

He tried to contain his blush as if it were even possible. “No, not at all,” he sarcastically replied. “You also don’t use like or totally after every other word.”

You laughed harder at that, maybe a little more than necessary, but it was nice to be complimented on things other than how ‘good you give head.’

A few minutes later, you told Joel you have to get going, and for some reason, he took it as the chance to say, “Next week, they’ll have that new Daniel Craig movie in theaters. I was wonderin’ if you’d want to go. I remember you said something about it.”

You smirked up at him and narrowed your eyes slowly. “Are you asking your son’s girlfriend on a date, Mr. Miller?”

Kind of, he thought.

“No! No, fuck,” he hissed, pinching his nose bridge and squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like that.”

And there’s another cute laugh coming out of you. “I’m teasin’. I think it might be a little weird, y’know?”

“Jake can come if you want. Doesn’t have to just be you and me.”

“Mmm… I kinda don’t want him to,” you admitted. “He’ll just complain the whole time. We’re friends, right? Let’s go, just you and me.” Your optimism plastered a smile on his face, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think it was cute. He agreed, and you both said your goodbyes.

As you walked away, you felt a pang of guilt for some reason. It wasn’t a date, but it felt like one. This sudden need to impress Joel Miller (formerly anticipated father-in-law) made you feel weird.

But you thought of all the nights you spent home alone watching movies because your boyfriend was out late again. And again. And again.

After a long and stressful internal debate inside a bath with some Epsom salts, you decided not to care.

So what if you wanted to dress up and wear a little makeup to (hopefully) catch your boyfriend’s dad’s attention? It's not like your boyfriend didn’t spend time doing body shots off of some random girl at the furthest bar across town.

A little male attention wouldn’t hurt anything, right? 

Besides, you didn’t think Joel would actually care. Pretending it was a date was purely just for your entertainment.

So when the day came, you practically ran outside the second you got a text message from him saying he was there. He chewed on his bottom lip to restrain his grin as he watched you walk towards his car, wearing a denim mini-skirt and a white babydoll top.

Your hair was neat and tucked behind your ears, and you were visibly wearing more makeup than usual.

He felt flattered, entertaining the idea of you putting in a little extra effort just for him.

The ride to the car wasn’t as tense as you had anticipated. You both spent it to talk about the previous movie and the theories you both had for the new one.

While you both were excited to see the actual movie, neither of you could stop noticing the small details about each other.

He smelled your lotion. You smelled his body wash.

He noticed your new earrings. You caught him smiling a lot more.

He looked at you every chance he got. You waited until he looked away to look at him.

He insisted on paying for your tickets and food at the theater, then led you to the “best seats” in the viewing room. Not a date, your ass. He even looked like he put effort into buying a new pair of jeans.

The tension inside you grew as soon as the movie began. And fucking hell, you didn’t know you could get so horny so fast. It was stupid little things that made you clench your thighs occasionally.

No fingers brushing. No elbows touching. Nothing like that.

Instead, it was the sound of his fingernails scratching the thick layer of scruff along his jaw, how he occasionally readjusted in his seat and seemingly spread his legs a little more, and when he would look over at you to ensure you were enjoying the movie.

This had gone a little further in your head than you intended, but you didn’t fucking want it to stop.

Maybe halfway through the movie, he realized you hadn't opened any of your candy. You always ate candy during a movie; it was something Jacob found cute when you first started dating and something Joel grew accustomed to long before his crush even developed. Joel even made it a point to keep a stash for when Jacob had you over for movie night.

He felt a little silly for hyper-fixating on such a weird and relatively small detail, but then he saw your legs clench together. He tried telling himself you were only readjusting your position, but then you sighed in a peculiar tone. The sigh that Joel always let out when he was sexually frustrated.

He would have continued telling himself he was reading too much into it, but another soft sigh left your lips, and suddenly, all he could think about was having you beneath him making the same pretty noises.

All the signs were there, but who would initiate it, and how? He worried he bit off more than he could chew by inviting you here. It only got more difficult to ignore when his cock stiffened inside his jeans, rolling his eyes at the fact that he wasn’t in the comfort of his own home to take care of it.

You noticed his hand palming his jeans and glanced over at him, only to see his erection throb against his pants, hard.

Knowing you’d probably regret it, you put your hand beneath the armrest and suddenly rested your hand high up on his thigh. His body tensing made you halt any more sudden movements, but nothing suggested he wanted you to stop.

He searched for the strength to push your hand off and tell you to stop, that this was wrong, and to remind you of your assumed loyalty to his son.

But he didn’t want that at all.

He liked having your hand on his thigh where it felt like it belonged, painted nails drawing small circles along the denim.

What he truly needed was for this fucking movie to be over. Once it finally was, he wasted no time getting you back into his truck.

“Joel?” Your voice was fragile and soft, and you wondered why he hadn’t made a move yet or at least started the engine. “Should I not have done that?”

“What were you thinkin’?” Was all he could think to ask.

“Guess I wasn’t.”

“No. You shouldn’t’a done that.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You will be.”

You don’t remember who initiated it or climbed in the backseat first. All you knew was that you were looking at the back of a building, the mall, or something, and you heard Joel grunting next to your ear while his hips slammed against your ass.

You felt a soreness forming around where his rough hands were holding you, but you didn’t flinch or pull away. You leaned into the meanness of his grip, allowing it to satiate all of that burning desire running along your flesh.

“Oh my God, Joel, ye-yes.”

His name dripping so effortlessly from your lips only urged him to fuck you even faster, his truck no doubt shaking violently because of it, some metal underneath made that obnoxious creaking sound to verify.

“You like that, huh,” he groaned; his fingers wrapped around the cuff of your elbow to meet his body halfway with the thrusts. “Needy fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me so well-agh!“

“So deep,” you huffed out.

“C’mere.”

Joel carefully turned your body around, sitting you back against the door before sliding his cock back inside of you with ease from how wet you were.

“Joel,” you moaned without reason, eyes fluttering shut as the curve of his shaft continued to rut into that sensitive spot.

He pulled the strap of your tank top down to find you braless. Of course. He smirked and licked his thumb and index finger before giving your stiff nipple a soft pinch.

Your breath shuddered at the surge of pleasure, and then he did the same thing to your clit with his other hand.

“Oh my fucking-“ You cut words off with a deep moan, finding it a little silly that such a slight squeeze to your clit could make you melt the way it did.

“Tha’ feel good, baby?” He asked, voice hoarse from choking back his own moans.

You hummed and nodded, something he thought was cute and began to rub your clit forcefully with his big thumb. Your mind felt numb from all of it, so much pleasure releasing itself.

Looking up at Joel made you feel so small, protected, and cared for. Looking down between your legs, he looked so focused on making you feel good.

“He doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”

You shot your wide-eyed gaze up at him, surprised at his sudden appraisal of his son.

He chuckled and took his hand from your breast to softly hold your chin. “You gettin’ all shy on me now, girl?” Suddenly, he fell to an achingly slow rhythm and curled his hips into yours instead of his previous thrusting. “…I thought you had a bit more confidence than that.”

You scowled at his taunts, not sure what to say back. You just wanted to fucking cum. Noticing your lack of response made him chuckle again.

“What? My son don’t fuck you stupid like this?” He whispered onto your lips.

“…No,” you finally whimpered.

You felt a weird rush of emotion pass through you; the father of your boyfriend talking down on him while simultaneously fucking you didn’t turn you off like it maybe should have… If anything, it pushed you closer to the edge.

Joel raised his eyebrows in amusement and half smiled at your flushed face. “No?” His finger still made loops around your clits, his cock drenched in your heat. He wanted you to feel all of it.

“You make me feel so good, Joel.” You reached up to give him a chaste kiss.

“You take me so well, honey,” he said against your neck. “I want you to cum for me. Can you do that, baby? Hmm?”

You whispered out your confirmation and grabbed a hold of his greying hair. You wanted to memorize this moment thread by thread. His hair smelled of cheap shampoo and his beard of coffee, but his arms and chest smelled like him with the hint of sweat that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. God, how you could just bathe in him, cumming and unfolding in his strong arms. 

“Oh- Joel, I’m cu—I’m cumming,” you choked out. He said something about how good you were that you couldn’t quite process.

You held onto him tightly and cried out at the sensation of your knotted-up tension unraveling inside you like a Christmas present just waiting to be opened up. It fluttered and filled every corner of your mind, all while you moaned his name. You couldn’t even confuse it with his son’s. Joel.

Joel just worked better in your mind than Jacob ever could. Joel worked your body better, too. Maybe even a little better than you.

Your mind was so fucking blank that you almost didn’t feel Joel collapse onto you as he finished himself, moaning your name and running his hands all over you as if to savor it. He kissed you softly, slowly pulling out of you, and discarded the condom somewhere.

“So pretty when you cum.”

You lazily giggled at the compliment and sat up to grab your panties, but Joel snatched them from your weak hand. He took your legs and rested them in his lap to slide the fabric up your calves and thighs. You just watched and smiled at his further appreciation for your body as he did the same with your skirt.

“You really know how to treat a lady,” you playfully cooed, reaching for another kiss that he returned, savoring it.

He bashfully smiled, like his mind was elsewhere. “You know we can’t do this again, right?”

“We will,” you quipped, confidence returning; he glanced over at you and frowned, confused at the sly grin you wore proudly. You climbed onto his lap and ran your nails over his facial hair, trailing over his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. “The more you fight it, the more you’ll need me, Joel.”

And fuck, were you right.

Weeks. He waited weeks after that encounter to see you. Weeks, he felt disappointed when you didn’t attend the weekly dinner that Joel and Jacob agreed upon him moving out.

He no longer felt guilty touching himself to thoughts of you. He was angry. Why couldn’t you just say you agreed with him instead of letting him know there was an opportunity to do it again? Why make yourself available to anyone other than his (shitty) son?

That anger turned into thirst when you finally decided to show up for Jacob’s small birthday dinner. Aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered to wish the only child a happy birthday. Meanwhile, Joel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you the second you walked in — partially because he wasn’t expecting you to show up after not seeing you for a while, but he’d never seen you wear something so… Short.

As possessive as he wanted to be, he knew he had to keep his composure not to reward you the satisfaction and keep his promise to himself. What he hadn’t considered is that you would not make those same promises.

While Joel finished preparing the food, you told Jacob you’d help bring everything else out so he could sit around the living room and talk to his family and friends.

You took the unnecessary route and grazed your chest against Joel’s elbow as you reached into the refrigerator to grab some drinks before taking them to the other room. You made as many sly little trips like that, not looking at or towards Joel whatsoever but making sure he was looking at you.

You saved Joel’s beer for last. You always brought him his beer once you realized he usually had one before eating dinner any time you were over. It wasn’t anything malicious or sneaky until now.

You grabbed the brown glass bottle and stood next to him. Finally giving him the satisfaction of looking at him, you twisted the cap off and wrapped your lips around the cold rim, tilting the glass up and tasting some of the orange-flavored liquid, lips coming off the bottle with a pop.

Those lips. That noise. It filled his mind with the image of you a second ago, only instead of a beer bottle, he imagined his hard cock.

He watched carefully as you licked up a running droplet from the side of the neck; you held the bottle up for him to take, and tensely, he did so.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” His usual response but in a more sultry tone.

It made you blush and stare at him like he hung the stars and moon every night for you. “You’re welcome, Joel.”

He kept his eyes on you as you walked away for the last time, thinking about everything he wanted to do to you.

His hands were firm, clasped tightly around your wrists. His body pressed into your back while he pushed you against the wall. He hated that you were laughing. That you thought this was a funny game.

He thrusted into your ass without care, hurting you slightly with the pressure. He grabbed a hold of your hair and yanked it. He almost smiled at you, yelping out.

“Where’s that little fucking smile at now, huh,” he gritted. Then he planted a hard smack to your cheek, not bothering to soothe it the slightest bit. “You think you can just tease me and test me and fucking treat me however you want? Hmm? Think you can walk around with your ass damn near hangin’ out of this fucking dress?”

A tear rolled down your burning cheek as you whimpered, “I’m sorry, Joel. I w-wanted your attention.”

“You got what you wanted. Don’t fuckin’ cry about it now.”

Feeling your panties fill with a warm desire, you felt pathetic and weak.

Do I like that, you wondered, feeling used and being hurt?

You got your confirmation from the dumb little whimper you let out when you felt Joel’s body release from you. He boots thumping against the floor a few times before the bed creaked from his body weight.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

You pushed away from the wall and tiptoed to him. He almost felt bad for making you cry, but you were pushing his fucking buttons all night long. You sank to the floor, sitting on your bare feet and looking at him through wet eyelashes. Joel was more than glad that Jacob decided to go to a party with his friends and even more pleased that he didn't ask questions when you said you'd stay to help Joel clean up.

“I’m sorry, Joel-“

“You will be.”

You softly smile at him, repeating those words, knowing this time he meant it.

His eyes were cold and shallow when they stared into yours as his hands worked to undo his belt buckle. The metal teeth clanking together made you shudder, and you tried your best to keep your eyes locked with his.

“You misbehave once, and this belt goes ‘round your neck,” he warned, “we clear?”

You bashfully nodded, thankful he accepted it as an answer. Though you secretly hoped he would do it already, knowing you were bound to back talk him at some point.

Joel began to undo his jeans, and he made a ticking noise behind his teeth, ruminating on how you played with him at the table.

“Playin’ with my cock under the table,” he grunted, pulling his jeans down to his knees, “what kinda girl are you?”

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, felt you,” you said, glancing down at the growing erection beneath his plaid boxers. “I was being needy.”

“Yes, you were,” he simpered, “but you know I like that.”

You hesitated for a second before jumping into his lap and kissing him. Thrown off, it was a moment until he relaxed into your body, grasping the sides of your waist and hungrily kissing you back with a groan emitting from his throat.

He tasted like a man. He smelled like a man. Beer and body wash and perspiration drowning your senses. Your pussy ached when he slipped his beer-coated tongue into your mouth, sloppily licking around the ridges of your teeth and lips, tasting your chapstick and that one sip of alcohol you stole from him a couple of hours prior.

He felt your shaky hands reach to pull his cock out of his boxers; you pumped it slowly with one hand between your bodies, causing his moans to fall into your mouth.

He got a hold of your tits and massaged them gently before giving your nipples both a hard pinch, making you yelp and pull away from him. After chuckling at your pouty face, he grabbed hold of your hair and pulled it to his liking, almost treating you like a rag doll.

“Need you to suck my cock,” he choked out, sounding almost as if he were pleading of you to do it.

“Are you asking?”

He tugged your hair a little harder to signal he was not asking.

“Yes, sir.”

He watched intently as you stripped down to your panties and sat back in your previous position on the floor, taking his pants off and propping your arms on his burly thighs. He leaned back after unbuttoning his shirt and watched your tongue lick up a thick bead of precum from his tip, and you swallowed it without a second thought.

You drooled and spit all over his cock, wanting to make it a little messy for him, and even spreading some around his balls which made him incandescently moan.

And finally, you took him into your mouth, slobbering and sucking and moaning away around his girth. Your hand pumped to the sane rhythm of your mouth while gently squeezing and twisting it to add to his pleasure.

Joel’s head fell back in ecstasy; he couldn’t hold back his moans even if he wanted to. Your mouth was so warm and inviting, and it felt so fucking good. Your tongue lapping away as you sucked drove him crazy, and he found himself wondering why the fuck his son was cheating on you.

“That’s it, baby—mnh, fuck,” he encouraged. “Just like that. Ohh, just like that.”

His hand stroked your hair, and you looked up at him from the touch. Those eyes of yours made his thighs twitch and his stomach contract.

He wanted to punish you for making him wait, for teasing him, for being so fucking irresistible… But he couldn’t. Not now, at least. He felt weak beneath you, out of control. And he loved it: watching you take control of him, his dick. The slurping noises coming from your mouth not only suggested that you knew what you were doing but that you fucking loved it.

Your lips humming around him and creating webs of spit and precum made his dick harder than he had ever felt it. He was so close already, dire for his release, and it didn’t help when you surprised him with a rough thrust into your throat.

It hurt a lot, but that’s what you wanted. To ruin yourself for him. Show Joel what he could be getting every fucking night. Tears ran down your cheeks as you put him further down your throat until your nose was buried into the black and grey hairs surrounding the base of his cock.

He cried out your name and obscenities, saying, “Please,” for something, but you were not sure what exactly. His trembling thighs began closing around your head, not aiding in the lack of oxygen you had left, but he tried to fight it. You refused to let up on him, only swallowing hard and gagging harder, waiting for him to shoot his cum down your throat.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Oh fuck, no one- agh—no one’s ever fucking gone that deep-“

That’s what he was pleading for: he wanted you to quit. He didn’t want to cum so soon. But he tasted so good, and you had gotten him so fucking close, you couldn’t see yourself quitting now.

You pulled your head up to mess with Joel’s head, making him think you were listening. But you only went back down, making him pull your hair to stop you from disobeying him. Your lips departed from him with a pop, the same pop that he'd heard when you took a sip of his drink. It made him all the more desperate.

Despite your coughing and choking, he slipped his belt around your neck and looped it, not saying anything to ridicule you and simply tugging at the belt roughly. You choked a little more and then smiled at him, drool dripping down your chin onto your breasts. The sight was purely pornographic. Your lips were puffy, your face red, eyes dark and welling up, tears streaks on your cheekbones.

“Since you wanna fucking choke on something so bad…”

He tugged at the belt once again to emphasize his point. He stood up and yanked the leather to guide you where he wanted, yet that proud look never left your face. You were on all fours on the bed as if you were on display for him, and he stood behind you, pressing his thumb to your slit and spreading your juices around lazily.

You hummed at the small amount of friction and arched your ass up for him. Wiggling your hips in desperation, he smacked your ass hard enough to sting, the echo in the room ringing against your eardrums.

Joel smacked his fat tip against your asshole smirking when he felt it pucker; he took his wet cock in his hand, pumping it a few times before allowing it to sink inside of your needy cunt. You found yourself burying your face into the sheets as he began fucking you, the tug around your neck digging deeper as Joel maintained his grip on it.

“Such a fucking slut, so wet from just sucking my cock,” he spat, watching his cock disappear into your swelling pussy over and over and over. “S’it feel good, baby?”

You nodded, arching your back even more to feel him reach deeper and whimpering whenever his tip brutally bumped your cervix.

Suddenly, you felt a firm yank against your neck. “Use your words.”

“Feels so good, Joel,” you answered.

A swell of desire fills your belly, growing each time he thrusts into that sweet little spot inside of you. You’re clawing at the bed, reaching your neck forward to apply the satisfaction of not being able to breathe.

His free hand pressed against the swell of your ass, gripping it tightly as his hips snapped against the back of your thighs, making a clapping sound fill the room. You moaned into his duvet, slobber trailing out of the corners of your mouth. His balls hitting your clit with every thrust gave you the added pleasure you needed to finish if he kept this rhythm, but his voice was what you needed to send you over the edge.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy," he groaned. "Love how you squeeze my cock with it. Ohh, yeah, that's it, baby. You need to cum? Hmm? Does this pretty pussy need to cum?"

Your moans, muffled by the sheets, resulted in him pulling the belt up enough to make you lift your head so that he could hear you more clearly. "Yes yes yesss, Joel- MNH, oh fuck yes, please please."

He never forgot how your body gave away when you needed to cum; your body heaved with anticipation, your knuckles turned pale from your tight grip, your walls clung to him tighter than what was comfortable (which he fucking lived for then and now), and your moans heightened in pitch and volume. He couldn't punish you when you sounded so sexy screaming his name, it was his biggest weakness.

"I know, baby, I know. You can come," he encouraged sweetly, massaging the dip in your back to help relax you. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Need to feel you- fuck- cum for me."

And a few seconds later, you were convulsing beneath him from the tight coil inside of you finally breaking into shreds. The belt being pulled tighter around your neck rendered you helpless as it created the euphoria of what felt like nearly passing out. The fuzzy vision and the black spots sent your mind into a daze, or it could have been the lack of air. Your eyes grew heavy as your orgasm persisted from Joel's lack of mercy for your cunt. He just pounded away like you were made for him and his enjoyment only, and it thrilled you even more.

He grabbed your shoulder gently to bring your back to his chest and let go of the belt. You breathed heavily, and Joel kissed your jaw endearingly, his beard scraping your skin.

"So good f'me, you know that?" He moaned against your ear. His eyes fluttered shut when his hand went to cradle your chin, and he felt all of the saliva and tears coating your face. 

"Can't take it," you mumbled.

Your cunt was aching and sore, still pulsing from the harsh climax you had to endure with him not easing up at all. Your lips were swollen from his rough pounding, and your ass was burning from his hairs scratching against you. His cruel laugh filled your ears and made even more tears fall from your eyes.

"Fucking ruined you," he chuckled, earning another moan from you. "You can take it, baby. I know you can. I know you can be a good girl for me. Gonna fill you up with my cum- mmngh... Make sure this pussy knows it belongs to me."

"It does," you huff out, reaching to hold onto his forearms. "Not anyone else. Not even me. Just for you, Joel. It's all yours. Not even Jacob's."

That sent him over the edge. A pathetic whimper followed by a moan left his hoarse throat while he gave you one last powerful thrust. That cold feeling of guilt flooded his body and turned him on even more; he relished in the confidence you reclaimed, knowing that the guilt and secrecy of it all also turned you on in the darkest of ways.

"Fuck," he shouted as the last of his spend poured inside of your sore pussy. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips and slowly pulled out of you to sit beside you on the bed before you climbed to straddle his thighs. "You're amazing," he whispered against your lips whilst unraveling the belt from your neck. "You know you really are gonna help me clean up," he teased, sending you into a short fit of laughter.

"Only if we get to make one more mess, Mr. Miller."

dividers by cafekitsune

[devilbat]

I.AM.FERAL !!!!!!! 🥵 🥵

[devilbat]

unbelievable

mechanic!Joel x f!reader

masterlist

wordcount: 4,489

summary: the 'It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?' Trope

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, lots of fingering, there's a joint, lots of 'sweetheart', some aftercare but like a bit different (I don't wanna spoil it) mentions of anxiety (bc I'm an anxious bltch and this would happen to me) fluffy smut?

notes: hiii 🥰 I hope you like mechanicJoel because I fell in love with him so fast, he has no right being so hot 🙃 The title is unbelievable by diamond rio, it felt pretty accurate to my inner Joel dialogue. a big thank you to @saradika-graphics & @firefly-graphics for the dividers (graphic designers deserve the world honestly)

You've always had a thing for rugged men, and Joel Miller is the epitome of a handsome, rough-around-the-edges mechanic. His strong hands, grease-stained clothes, and confident demeanor make your heart race every time you see him, which has been a lot recently since your old car has been having its fair share of problems.

It's a hot summer day, and you decide to visit the garage where Joel works, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. As you walk in, the smell of oil and gasoline fills your nostrils, making you feel a little lightheaded. But then, you see him. He's hunched over a car engine, his muscular arms covered in sweat and grime. Your heart skips a beat as you take in the sight of him.

You approach Joel, trying to act cool and collected, even though your insides are turning to jelly. "Hey, Joel," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was wondering if you could help me with my car again. It's been making a weird noise, and I don't know what to do."

Joel looks up at you, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease on his face. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he says with an almost knowing grin. You've been coming to see him every couple of weeks for the past few months. "Let me take a look for you, darlin."

As Joel inspects your car, you can't help but steal glances at his muscular physique. You imagine what it would be like to run your hands over his firm chest and his stomach, to feel his stubble scratch against your skin as he kisses you. The thought makes you wet, and you squirm, trying to hide your arousal.

But Joel notices. He looks up at you, his gaze intense and seductive. "You seem a little flustered, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "Is there something on your mind?"

You swallow hard, trying to gather your nerves. The heat in the garage is making you feel more and more flustered, and the idea of Joel noticing your arousal only adds to your embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, I guess so," you manage to reply.

Joel's eyes rake over your body, taking in the way your shirt clings to your body and the way your nipples are hardening under the hot conditions. "I can tell you've been coming to see me for a while now. It's not just your car that needs fixing, is it?"

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammer, trying to deny the truth even to yourself.

But Joel isn't backing down. He steps closer to you, his body towering over yours. "I can help you with your car, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low growl. "But if you're looking for something else, something a little more personal, I can do that too."

Your mind is racing as you try to figure out what to do. On one hand, you've always had a thing for rough-and-tumble men like Joel, and the idea of being with him is almost too much to bear. On the other hand, you're not sure if you're ready for something like that with someone you're not even dating. As you stand there, frozen in indecision, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to decide right now. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Joel continues working on your car, he takes his time, making sure to do everything a little slower. He runs his hand over the engine, and with every turn of the wrench and every adjustment of parts, you can't help but feel your heart race, your skin tingle, and your body heat up. He's wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug his thighs, and every time he bends over the car, you catch a glimpse of the outline of his bulge. You wonder what it would feel like to touch him there, to feel him hard and ready against your skin. Your mind races with fantasies of him taking you, claiming you, making you his in ways that go far beyond the mechanical fixings of a car.

Joel takes a bit of a break from your car, and you think he's about to tell you what was wrong with it. "You know, sweetheart, I could fix more than just your car," he repeats himself again, " I could fix all your problems, make you feel good in ways you've never felt before."

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. "What do you mean?"

Joel grins, a knowing look in his eyes. "I mean, I could show you the kind of fixings that only a man like me can provide," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Make you mine, take you right here. I promise you, it's something you'd never forget.”

“Oh, uh I, uhm I need to -” You pause, looking at your phone, “I have a thing soon. So I should uh go when you're done.” You can barely keep yourself together as you fumble through your sentence.

Joel smirks, "Of course, sweetheart," he says, his voice reassuring. "When you're ready, I'll be here.”

As you exit the garage, you feel a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through your veins. Joel's words have left you feeling both turned on and terrified at the same time.

You spend the next few hours trying to shake off the encounter, but your mind keeps wandering back to Joel's words and the way his body made you feel. You can't stop thinking about the way his muscles bulged under his tight jeans, or the way his hair curled, his strong jawline, or the way those lips would part everytime he would focus on your car. You want to touch him, taste him, feel him- anything. And you're desperate to hear him speak that sexy accent of his once again.

When you finally arrive home, you let yourself into your apartment and immediately head straight for your bedroom. You shed your clothes as fast as possible, trying to rid your entire day from your skin. After your shower, you pull on a pair of shorts, your favorite oversized t shirt before padding barefoot across the carpeted floor of your room.

Just as you're opening your bedroom door to get a snack, your phone rings. You glance at your screen - a number with no name showing up - before answering the call, your heart pounding in anticipation. “Hello?”

You can hear a woman's voice in the background, "I told you not to come in my office. You can't just call random clients." Then you hear a muffled males voice and the woman again. "Yes... I understand she hasnt paid, but we don't contact clients until the end of the month."

You sit there unsure of what to do, should you say something? Should you hang up? Should you ignore her? Suddenly, you hear yelling. "Out - now!" she exclaims before apologizing for the misunderstanding and hanging up the phone on you. As you hang up the phone, you can't help but feel a sense of confusion and disappointment wash over you. You had been hoping that it was Joel on the other end of the line and that he was calling to follow up on his earlier proposition. But instead, it seems like you were caught in the middle of a heated exchange between a man and a woman, and you can't help but wonder what it all means.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You know that you can't let yourself get too caught up in the idea of Joel. You need to focus on yourself and your own needs rather than getting swept up in the allure of a man you barely know. You've got plenty of people who love you, and it's better to prioritize your relationships than get carried away with a man like Joel. You know you wouldn't be able to handle it.

But then suddenly here you are. You take a deep breath and steel yourself as you walk back into the garage, hoping to catch Joel before he leaves for the day. The receptionist gives you a disapproving look as you enter, but you ignore her and make your way towards Joel, who has just finished up with a customer. As you approach, Joel looks up and sees you, a small smile spreading across his face. "Hey there, sweetheart," he says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

You swallow hard, trying to find the right words. "I, uh, I had some questions about my car," you say, trying to sound casual. "I figured I'd come down and ask you in person."

Joel raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods towards the back of the garage, inviting you to follow him. As you walk, you can't help but notice the way his muscles ripple under his shirt or the way his jeans hug his hips. You feel a heat creeping up your neck, and you hope he doesn't notice.

Once you're in the back, Joel crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a serious expression. "Listen, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I know what you're doing, and I want you to know that it's not going to work."

You furrow your brow, confused. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

Joel takes a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean that I know you're trying to avoid what's going on between us," he says, his voice softening. "And I get it. I know I'm not the easiest person to be around." You open your mouth to protest, but Joel holds up a hand to stop you. "But I also know that there's something between us, something real and intense," he continues. "And I don't want to ignore it anymore."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "What are you saying?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel takes another step closer to you, his body almost touching yours. "I'm saying that I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I want to make you feel good, to show you things you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as you try to process what Joel is saying. On one hand, you're terrified of the intensity of your feelings for him so soon, of the way he makes your heart race and your skin tingle. On the other hand, you can't deny the attraction you feel towards him, the way your body responds to his voice alone.

As you stand there, frozen, Joel reaches out and gently takes your hand in his. "It's okay, darlin," he says, his voice soft and reassuring.

You know that you have a choice to make, a decision to make about what you want and what you're ready for. And as you stand there, looking into Joel's beautiful brown eyes, you know that you're ready. Without saying a word, you lean in and press your lips to Joel's, feeling the heat and passion of his kiss. Joel responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. You can feel the strength and power of his body. As Joel deepens the kiss, he reaches down and gently lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you over to a nearby workbench. He sets you down gently, cupping your face in his hands, "Be right back, sweetheart, don't go anywhere.”

Just as Joel turns to lock up, the receptionist calls out, "Joel, she can't stay here. She's not an employee."

Joel turns to her, his expression stern. "I'll take care of it, Linda," he says. "Just go home."

Linda looks taken aback, but she doesn't argue. She grabs her things and leaves the garage, shooting you a disapproving look as she goes.

Once she's gone and the doors are locked,Joel walks back over to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He pulls a small joint out of his pocket and holds it up for you to see. "Ever tried this before, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

You shake your head, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "No, I haven't," you admit.

Joel grins, lighting the joint and taking a deep drag. He holds it out to you, his eyes locked on yours. "Here, let me show you," he says.

You lean in, taking a tentative puff on the joint. The smoke is harsh and unfamiliar, but the sensation of Joel's hand on your back, guiding you, is intoxicating. You feel a warm, tingly sensation spreading through your body. He pulls back, his eyes shining with desire as he takes another drag. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to speak. You've never smoked weed before, but with Joel, it feels right. It feels intimate and exciting, like you're sharing a secret that only the two of you know. For a while, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away, like you're the only two people in the entire world, and it's a feeling you never want to let go of.

But eventually, the joint burns down to nothing, and the two of you are forced to come back to reality. Joel grins, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his lips are soft and gentle, his tongue exploring your mouth as he deepens the kiss. You can feel the warmth of the weed spreading through your body, making you feel relaxed and happy.

As you kiss, Joel's hands roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and the swell of your breasts. You moan softly, your body responding to his touch. You can feel the heat building between your legs, your clit throbbing with desire.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and intense. "I want to make you feel good.” You nod, your body trembling with anticipation. You want him too, more than anything. You want to feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. You want to feel him inside you, filling you up and making you his.

Joel's fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your head. He tosses it aside, his eyes raking over your body. You're wearing a lacy bra, the color of pale pink. Joel's fingers trace the lines of your bra, his touch gentle and teasing. You can feel your nipples hardening under the lace, your body begging for more.

"You're so beautiful, sweetheart," Joel says, his voice low and husky. "I can't wait to taste you." With a quick motion, he removes your bra, throwing it to the floor.

He leans in, his mouth closing over one of your nipples. His tongue flicks at the hard peak, making you gasp with pleasure. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, his fingers tracing the lines of your lacy panties. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's fingers find the edge of your panties, tugging them aside. His fingers trace the outer lips of your pussy, his touch gentle and teasing.

Joel's fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you with ease. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. He starts to move his fingers inside you, faster, his touch more urgent. You can feel the orgasm building inside you.

"Fuck, sweetheart, so fuckin' tight," Joel growls.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel's fingers continue to work their magic.

And then, suddenly, you're there.

You cry out as you come, your orgasm ripping through you like wildfire. Joel's fingers continue, drawing out your pleasure until you're left weak and trembling in his arms. “S'okay baby, s'okay, you did so so good for me sweetheart.”

As your orgasm subsides, Joel pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes dark with desire. He licks his fingers clean, his tongue tracing the lines of your juices. You watch him, your mouth parted like you just watched him lick the tastiest ice cream cone.

Joel reaches down, his fingers finding the button of his jeans. He undoes it, tugging his jeans down over his hips. He's not wearing any underwear, and his cock springs free, hard and ready.

You can't help but stare, your eyes wide with desire. Joel's cock is long and thick, the head dark and swollen. You can see a drop of pre-cum glistening on the tip, and you can't wait to taste it. Joel steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your thigh. You can feel the heat of it, the hardness. You reach out, your fingers wrapping around the shaft. Joel groans, his head falling back as you start to stroke him. You can feel his body trembling, his cock twitching in your hand. You stroke him faster, your hand moving up and down the shaft. Joel's hands roam over your body. He reaches down, tugging your panties off in one swift motion.

You're completely exposed now, your pussy on full display. Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his cock throbbing in your hand.

"Fuck, you look so hot," Joel growls.

You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Joel, it feels right. It feels exciting and thrilling, he reaches down, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub, his touch gentle and teasing.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" Joel asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, unable to speak. "You're so fucking hot,," Joel growls. "I can't wait to taste you."

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. He reaches up, his fingers tracing your inner thighs. You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy. Joel's tongue finds your clit, gentle and teasing. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel's tongue moves lower, tracing the outer lips of your pussy. His tongue finds your entrance, pushing inside you. You can feel him exploring his tongue, tracing your walls. Joel's fingers find your clit again, rubbing in time with his tongue.

"Fuck, Joel, m’gonna come," you cry out grabbing onto his hair.

Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing, his eyes don't leave yours, it makes him almost painfully hard watching you come. You cry out as you come. Joel's tongue continues to lick at your pussy, drawing out your pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good, sweetheart," Joel growls, standing up.

He steps closer to you, his cock brushing against your entrance. Joel's hands find your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. "You ready for me sweetheart?

"Yes, please, Joel." He pushes inside you, his cock filling you up completely. You gasp with pleasure, your body responding to his touch. Joel starts to move, his hips thrusting against you. His cock hits that sweet spot inside of you with every stroke. Joel reaches down, his fingers finding your. You can feel your body trembling, your pleasure building higher and higher.

"Fuck, Joel, I'm gonna come again," you cry out, your voice hoarse with pleasure.

Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his fingers moving faster. You can feel your orgasm building, your body tensing with pleasure until you come again. Joel's thrusts become erratic, his body tensing as he reaches his own release. He groans, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills you with his seed.

The two of you lie there, panting and sated, your bodies still tangled together. Joel's forehead is pressed against yours, his eyes shining with desire and affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the beating of his heart against your chest.

"You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You smile, feeling a sense of contentment. But even as those thoughts run through your mind, you also know that you can't let yourself get carried away. You barely know Joel, and there are things about him that you don't know. Important things.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you have to do. "Joel, I... I need to go," you say, your voice soft but firm.

Joel's expression changes, a hint of sadness and disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Suddenly, the walls feel like they're closing in on you, and you can't catch your breath. "I-I can't breathe," you manage to say, your voice shaking.

Joel's face falls, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "Just breathe with me, in and out. You're safe, I've got you."

You focus on Joel's voice, trying to match your breathing to his. Slowly, the panic begins to recede, and you can feel your heart rate returning to normal. "I'm so sorry," you say, your voice still shaking. "I don't know what came over me."

Joel shushes you, his hand tracing circles on your back. "It's okay," he says. "You don't have to apologize. You've been through a lot today. It's okay to feel overwhelmed."

You nod, feeling a sense of shame wash over you. You wanted to be strong, to be brave, but instead, you fell apart.

Joel must sense your embarrassment because he pulls back and looks at you with a serious expression. "Hey, listen to me," he says, his voice firm. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're allowed to feel however you feel, and I'm here, no matter what. Okay?"

You nod, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding, even for someone who knows nothing about you and you can't help but feel drawn to him.

"Come on, sweetheart," Joel says, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here and into some fresh air. How about we go to my place and spend the night? I promise, no funny business."

You know it sounds crazy but a sense of relief washes over you as you agree. You don't want to be alone right now, and the thought of spending the night with Joel is weirdly comforting. As much as you know, you should probably just go home. Joel helps you get dressed, his hands gentle and reassuring. Once you're both dressed, he leads you outside and into his truck. He drives you to his house, his hand resting on yours the entire time. When you arrive, Joel leads you inside and shows you to his bedroom. He pulls back the covers and helps you climb into bed, tucking you in like a child. "Just rest, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft. "I'll be right back."

You nod, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over you. Joel returns a few minutes later with a glass of water. He helps you sit up and take a sip of water, then lays down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's soothing, and you can feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

"Thank you, Joel," you murmur, your voice sleepy.

Joel kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Anytime, sweetheart," he says. "I'm always here for you."

As you drift off to sleep, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Joel. He's been so kind and understanding. For the first time in a long time, you feel safe, and you know that everything is going to be okay.

As you sleep, Joel watches over you, his eyes full of affection and concern. He's fallen for you, hard.

As the night wears on, Joel holds you close, his arms wrapped around you. He knows that you're not ready for anything serious, and he's okay with that. For now, he's just happy to be with you, to be there for you, to comfort you, and to make you happy.

[devilbat]

bunny - one shot

Javier Peña x PhoneSexOperator!Reader - Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, aliens??

A/N: Just for funsies. I’m gonna do a second part to this at some point in time. Is it considered a one shot then??? Idk. Enjoy ☎️

EDIT: LINK TO SECOND PART HERE

The first time you heard Javier Peña’s voice was in 1998.

Fresh off a call with one of your regulars, Dale, with whom you role played an alien abduction fantasy, detailing the things you would theoretically do to extract his sperm in an attempt to make an alien-human hybrid clone. You told him all about how you were wrapping your spindly, gray, extraterrestrial fingers around his cock, pumping his throbbing manhood, so warm, so deliciously human. From wherever he was, a wet slapping sound and shaky little moans filled your ears.

Sometimes you theoretically shoved things up his ass while he actually shoved things up his ass. Probing, he called it. Sometimes you’d theoretically take him in your tiny, lipless alien mouth while you sat at your kitchen counter and stretched your very human lips around a dildo, rutting up and down until you were gagging and gasping for air. Dale, on the other end, would start out whimpering no, don’t, I have a wife. Then as the squelching sounds of the dildo in your mouth grew wetter, faster, he would grunt out things like fuck yes, you fucking like that you naughty little alien?

Only after he came would he allow the façade to break, mumbling a thank you, telling you about how his wife thought his fetish was too weird to partake in this kind of role play. You said that you enjoyed his calls because it allowed you to be creative and… actually, you found it kind of hot. He said he’d talk to you soon and dropped the call.

Then the next call came in.

“Hi,” you purred, “What’s your name?”

“Javier,” he replied, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The dulcet baritone of his voice was smooth and sure. There was clinking and a long sip from his end, indicating that he was drinking.

“Bunny,” you told him, “What’re you drinking tonight, Javier?”

This was a fake name, of course, and was listed in your newspaper ad alongside a grainy black and white picture of a woman who was most definitely not you. Most men know this, sometimes asking what’s your real name? Or, what do you really look like? And you always tell them the same thing: I’m whatever you want me to be, handsome.

A fantasy. A shapeshifter. Custom-tailored to outfit their most depraved sexual cravings.

“Whiskey,” he answered, “How long have you been doing this… Bunny?”

As thinly-veiled as his disbelief was, you appreciated his attempt to suspend it when he said your fake name.

“About a year now,” you started off around your kitchen’s island counter, stepping heavy to let him hear your heels click-clack against the tiled flooring. That really got some men going.

The wet swallow of his throat, a slurp, then a quiet sigh. Another sip of his whiskey. He then inquired, “Do you like it?”

“I do,” you replied earnestly, looking up at your ceiling, studying the grooves of the light fixture hanging above you, “I get to talk to all kinds of interesting people.”

His throat rumbled in acknowledgment.

“How was your day today, handsome?” you prodded, trying to sus out what this man’s motive was for calling. Some people take a while to gather the courage to come out with it. A few just want to talk.

“It was shit,” he grumbled. The flick of a lighter, then a muffled inhale, exhale. Smoking.

“What can I do to make it better?” you asked, edging your voice along the rasp of your throat.

Javier took a long drag off (what you assumed to be) his cigarette, then said, “Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

You frowned and hummed in contemplation, searching your mind for what you think would make Bunny happy.

Then he added, “But don’t give me some horse shit answer like you’re just so happy with a cock crammed down your throat, ok sweetheart? Real answer.”

This made you laugh, and you told him, “Sure. Ok, let me think.”

“I like your laugh,” he commented softly while you were digging through your brain.

“Thank you, Javier,” you smiled, then started pacing around your island counter as you mulled over an answer that’s real, but not too real as to reveal the tender parts of yourself you keep separate from this job.

He waited patiently, sipping his drink and smoking.

“There’s a bird feeder in the garden of my apartment complex,” you confided as you leaned against the counter and crossed an arm across your soft middle, “In the morning I sit out on my deck and watch the birds while I drink coffee.”

“And that makes you happy?” he asked. His voice was flat and unbelieving.

“It does,” you confirmed, nodding your head as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, “I think it’s important to take joy in the small things. Like how the sky looks when the sun is rising. Or when I see a black-crested titmouse at the bird feeder.”

“A what?” Javier chuckled, and it was warm and deep and genuine, “What’re you, a Boy Scout?”

“Bunny scout,” you joked.

Heat spread across your face like wildfire when he laughed at this. The sound made your heart skip a beat.

“And, what makes you happy, Javier?” you asked then, dropping your voice to sultry croon.

He grunted at this. The sound of a fridge opening. Ice clattering into his glass. The glug-glug-glug of whiskey being poured.

You pushed off the counter and walked around the island again, the click-clack of your heels on tile sounding off every second like a timer.

“I suppose, the company of a beautiful woman like you is enough to make me happy.”

“I thought you said no horse shit answers,” you teased.

He laughed again, which made you smile, then he cleared his throat and admitted quietly, “I’ve been trying to figure it out lately.”

“Trying to figure out what makes you happy?”

“Trying to figure out what happiness is,” he clarified.

The salience of his admission struck you. You hummed to emphasize its poignancy, then told him, “Happiness is whatever you want it to be, handsome.”

Javier was the one humming then. A long sip of his whiskey. The sound of a lighter sparking the tip of a cigarette.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, sweetheart?”

“Whatever you want, Javier,” you cooed.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You looked down at your baggy t-shirt and biker shorts, “A red lace bra and matching panties.”

“What you’re really wearing, Bunny,” he purred, “Let me see you how you are.”

“I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt,” you admitted with a smirk.

“Take your shirt off,” he instructed.

You placed the phone on the counter and pulled your shirt off over your head, dropping it next to the phone. When you brought it back to your ear, you notified him, “My shirt is off.”

“Mmm, good girl,” he breathed, “Bra?”

“Not wearing one,” you told him, “I’m… topless in my kitchen right now.”

“Squeeze your tits.”

With your free hand, you grazed your breast, then pinched your nipple with a whimpered, “I’m squeezing my tit.”

“The other one, too.”

You complied, attending to the opposite side with another airy whimper.

“Do you still have shorts on?”

“Yes.”

“Take them off.”

You shimmied your shorts and underwear down to your ankles, then stepped out of them, “They’re off.”

The jingling of a belt buckle. A zip. More jingling. A soft exhale.

“I’m touching myself,” you told him as you dragged your fingertip along your seam, exploring the ridges and valleys of your sex.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m rubbing my clit,” you narrated your actions in a throaty whisper, “Drawing circles around it, it feels so fucking good, Javier.”

“Suck on your fingers.”

You did this, humming and licking around your digits.

“Are they wet?”

“Yes.”

“Spit in your hand. I wanna hear it.”

You gathered a wad of saliva on your tongue and spit it onto your fingers.

“Good,” he rumbled, “Rub your clit again, sweetheart.”

A whimper fell from your lips as you follow his instructions, “Oh my god, Javier.”

He groaned and the sound dripped down your center, hot and tangible as it pooled inside you.

“Are you stroking your cock?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

“Good,” you purred, “Fuck, this feels so fucking amazing, baby.”

“Tell me more,” his voice was low and strained.

“Rubbing my swollen fucking clit, I’m so fucking wet,” you whined, and it was real, the heat gathering at your core and pooling between your legs.

“Let me hear how fucking wet you are, sweetheart.”

You slid your touch down your lips and spread your slick around, then sank two fingers into your cunt. With a shaky moan, you started fucking yourself, letting the wet squelch of your arousal sound off freely, breathing, “Can you hear that, Javier? How much you turn me on?”

“Oh my god, yes-” he groaned, “Are you fingering yourself?”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Get on your knees,” he instructed, so you did, then he told you, “Put the phone on the ground so I can hear you. Keep doing what you’re doing, baby, make yourself feel fucking good. I wanna hear you make yourself cum.”

“Setting the phone down,” you told him, then put it to rest on the floor between your spread knees.

This man’s stern instructions swirled around in your head, filling you with fire. You followed the urges of your flesh, moaning wantonly as your hands worked your body, “Yes yes yes- just like that, Javier, that’s fucking perfect-”

You arched your back and let your eyes flutter shut, picturing this faceless stranger getting off on the sound of your moans, the wet sound of your fingers rutting in and out of your pussy. Frantic whimpers huffed from your throat as you chased this shimmering, golden orb of pleasure, “Yes, Javier, yes yes yes baby, I’m gonna cum- that’s it, Javier- oh my god yes, I’m fucking cumming-”

Your words caught in your throat. The strumming of your touch on your clit, your fingers inside you, the stranger stroking himself, it all tightened and lifted you. The swell of an orgasm overtook your body and crashed down on you. You released a shattered moan as your pussy fluttered around your fingers.

When you picked up the phone, your breath was ragged, chest heaving, “Did you get that, handsome?”

He was panting, too, “So fucking hot.”

“Did you cum for me?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “I did.”

The flick of a lighter on the tip of a cigarette.

You giggled, “I wish I could have heard it.”

“Is that right?” he rumbled, taking a drag of his smoke.

“Yeah. I think it’s sexy,” you admitted, then added, “Maybe next time.”

“When can I talk to you next?”

You gave him your schedule. It became a weekly occurrence, these calls with Javi, which you eventually were given permission to call him. He was your favorite caller.

With most of your callers, there was an expectation that you would morph yourself into their fantasies. Which is fine. It’s something you enjoyed about your work as a phone sex operator. But there was something so freeing about your calls with Javi, how he wanted you to be yourself. Your real self turned him on more than any of the bullshit.

He never asked for your real name, although you could tell he wanted to know it. Every time he called you Bunny, it left his lips with a kind of disdain. Like he couldn’t stand you pretending to be someone he knew you weren’t. He opted to use sweetheart or baby instead, which you liked.

Javier was a loyal customer for two more years, until you were hired as a professor at The University of Texas San Antonio and finally had the financial freedom to quit your side gig as a phone sex operator. Truth be told, you grew quite attached to him. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him it was your last call when it happened. Goodbyes have never been your strong suit.

Little did you know, no goodbye was necessary. Because it wouldn’t be the last time you’d hear his voice.

[ part 2 ]

[devilbat]

Han, bestie, I am obsessed with Your Summer Dream. It is seriously the best DBF!Joel fic I have come across. Because I am such a sap can I ask how they spent their first Valentine’s Say together since it’s tomorrow? Like what did they do? What did they get each other? Did they try anything kinky? 👀

non, i love you so much, thank you for reading and for loving ysd <3

i wouldn't call this a proper fic or anything...just some random thoughts about these two on valentine's day. i hope you like!

your summer dream, valentine's day thoughts

pairing: dad's buddy!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 1.7k warnings: fluff, consumption of alcohol, alternating pov, smut, bondage (come on handcuffs), unprotected piv, oral (m+f), ass play (it's them), and food play (whipped cream is either dairy or non-dairy in this - you decide). no use of y/n.

Joel has gotten pretty damn good at reading at you, if he does say so himself. Not that you're all that hard to read. But it's painfully clear to him, when he asks if you want to do anything for Valentine's Day, that something about the question irks you. A grumbled response followed by a sudden, loaded silence, your fingers flying to the seashell around your neck like the feeling of it under your touch will anchor you somehow.

And he's no fool, he can put two and two together. No doubt you're thinking of your ex, and Joel shudders to think how much that kid must have fucked this day up to make you react like that. He doesn't pry. But he does start to plan.

See, for Joel, Valentine's Day was never about romantic love. It was about forcing himself to wake up early for once to leave chocolate hearts in Sarah's cereal bowl before she came down to breakfast. It was about helping his little girl hand write each one of her classmate's valentines, usually in a frenzied rush on the night of February 13. It was about sneaking one for himself just so he could slip it into Sarah's lunch box and imagine how she'd smile when she found it. That's all he wants for you - that's all he ever wants for you - to see you smile and know he'd had a hand in it.

-

Joel Miller doesn't do surprises all that well. But he's trying, and you love that. He might have been able to keep his plans a secret had he not offhandedly suggested you book the 15th off work for "no reason," very poorly ignoring your side-eye from across the centre console of his truck. So you'd known he'd been up to something, but nothing could have prepared you for what.

He's got supermarket flowers on the counter when you get home from work, calling out a greeting to you from the bedroom. You find him there, duffle bag open on his mattress, looking all flustered and giddy when he tells you he's already packed your pyjamas and your toothbrush and your swimsuit but that he doesn't know "what all make-up or whatever" you need and you're just standing there in the doorway, charmed to absolute death like, "Well, neither do I unless you tell me where we're going." And all he gives in response is, "Not far, nothin' crazy."

He's a picked dress for you, you discover, some flouncy little pink number you haven't worn since...well, since Costa Rica. He's already packed it away along with your singular pair of "nice shoes" and it probably shouldn't turn you on so much that Joel is literally choosing your outfit for you and yet...you think he might be the only man on Earth who could get away with something like that. It's kind of hot to let him call the shots. To, for once, not have to think so much about things.

Of course, you've got him a present too, but you keep that to yourself for now.

He's not lying; it's not far and it's not crazy, just a nice hotel in downtown Austin, chocolates on the sheets and sparkling wine in an ice bath. Reservations at one of your favourite restaurants. He looks so handsome with his hair pushed back, dark green button-down, dark black jeans, dark brown eyes in dark restaurant lighting. His fingers alternate between brushing your thigh and caressing your inner wrists and he seems to be deliberately trying to drive you fucking crazy.

As much as you insist against it, he pays for dinner, and frankly, you're far too eager to get back to your hotel room to argue about it.

-

Joel is impatient too. And nervous. And fucking hard.

You may not know what he's got planned, but he certainly does. And he's been struggling to think of anything else all evening. You share a shower and it's all soft touches and wet kisses and his cock pressing into your thigh, your body literally melting against his and afterwards, he feels a bit less nervous. Your gaze is a little foggy and your breaths are coming a little shorter and he's sure you're wet by now but he fights the urge to touch your pussy because tonight...tonight is about patience. Tonight is about indulgence.

-

As much as you've made a home for yourself at Joel's place these past few months...there's something about a hotel room that feels infinitely more familiar. You're glad Joel chose this.

You wait on the big, cushy bed with a robe around your body and watch Joel emerge from the bathroom, curls still damp, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. He rummages in the mini fridge (had he put something in there?), then he rummages in his duffle bag (what the fuck is he plotting?), then he finally kneels on the bed before you with both hands behind his back and a roguish little smirk.

-

He starts with the cuffs, they make him less nervous; you've already said you want this. He gets exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for when he presents them, all pink and fluffy, from behind his back: a widening of your eyes and a hitch of your breath, an instantaneous nodding of your head. So willing it makes his cock ache.

He tells you to get naked and you do so without question. Laid out all bare and open, he's sure he must be the luckiest man in the entire goddamn world. You welcome the cuffs around your wrists, all soft and pliant and trusting while you let him mould you into a position of his choosing, arms above your head. He carefully conceals his other surprise until you're comfortably restrained.

-

Bound and yearning, you watch him expectantly. Suddenly he's trying to play it cool, muttering some shit like seein' as it's Valentine's Day... as he retrieves the canister of whipped cream he'd been hiding. You can't help it, you burst into a fit of laughter and Joel laughs too, shakes his head, maybe a little embarrassed. But also still noticeably hard and not exactly backing down.

It's corny - it's so corny - you both laugh and laugh about how corny it is but ultimately...this is Joel. And you'll try anything with Joel.

And no surprise, it's fucking hot as hell. You give into it the instant he traces a line of whipped cream up your navel and licks his way along it, up between your breasts till his lips find yours. Sugary and sticky, his kiss dissolves you, and you are fully at his mercy.

He toys with you, calls you his good girl while he decorates every inch if your skin with cream and thoroughly licks you clean. You squirm when he dances his tongue over your perked nipples, moan when he scoops a dollop of cream onto two of his fingers and slips them between your lips.

"Wanna eat it off your dick, Joel," you tell him and oh - he likes that idea. Quickly readjusting your restraints so your wrists are connected behind your back, he at last removes his briefs and perches on the edge of the bed, guides you down to your knees and says, "Open your mouth," only to squeeze a small amount of whipped cream onto your tongue before slowly feeding you his cock.

And that's fun - but when he pulls you off him, you pout. "I said I wanted to eat it off your cock." Joel chuckles but grants your wish, shaking the can with a devilish grin before drawing a line of cream from his tip down to his base - "Go on, then."

And you do, lapping first at the sweet stuff around his tip. The curious flavour it creates when it mixes with the heady salt of his precum is so stupidly erotic it makes you throb. You wish you could touch yourself.

Joel lets you work him until his cock is clean, slick and sweet and glistening with saliva.

-

After that, Joel's patience finally expires. He helps you back into bed just so he can manhandle you onto your knees, press your chest into the mattress and eat your pussy from behind. It's his favourite way to eat you out, especially like this, with your hands still confined behind your back. Fully his.

You come like that, fairly quickly too. Maybe it had been all the build up. Maybe it had been the way he'd let his tongue wander over your asshole so he could eat you there too; he fucking loves how crazy that makes you.

-

You're just a sticky-wet puddle by the time he finally fucks you, big hand curling around the back of your neck, holding you flush against the sheets until his frame crashes down on you altogether and you're fully prone beneath him. And it's kind of romantic, you think, his body weight smothering you, thick cock buried inside you, rasped whispers in your ear...it's just like the first time. All these months later and it's just like that first time.

Unlike that first time though, he actually comes inside you, painting your insides instead of your skin. He frees your wrists and kisses each one turn, tells you how good and sweet and perfect you are until the words stop sounding like words.

Another shower, a dip in the hotel pool, a quick night cap at the bar downstairs and then you're back in bed, settling in for TV and snuggles and - undoubtedly - round two.

And of course - presents.

For Joel, custom guitar picks with his initials embossed on the celluloid and a few previously promised Polaroids of the two of you together (which he immediately stows in his wallet).

For you, a book you'd said you wanted nearly a month ago now - never mind the hotel and the dinner and the flowers and the goddamn handcuffs. There's also a personalized card with a handwritten message that you're not ashamed to say makes you tear up. Well, one line in particular:

I'm yours and you're mine...one day at a time.

You curl up in hotel bed sheets, let your eyes slip closed as you savour the safety, the intimacy, the undeniable nostalgia of it all.

"I do okay?" he asks as you begin to drift to sleep.

"More than okay," you vow, nuzzling into the column of his neck. "Thank you, Joel."

[devilbat]

Dirty Work 37

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: wowee, it's snowing here a lot.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Loki… Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t linger. As you lay in a sheen of foggy afterglow, he dresses and mutters to himself. You want to ask him to stay. To tell him it’s okay but you’re scared he might say no. So you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him button his shirt.

“We both require a good night’s rest to contend with my family,” he says.

You nod and sit up, sliding your legs beneath the blankets. He looks up as you do and a line creases in his forehead. His worry makes you worry. You’re starting to get the feeling that something bad is looming.

“In the morning,” he avows before he turns away. “You will not emerge until I fetch you.”

“Yes, Loki,” you answer.

He stops at the doors and lowers his head, “here, behind these walls, I am Loki, beyond, Mr. Laufeyson. Understand, pet?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur.

He pulls open the door and steps out swiftly. The mechanism clicks into place and you fall back onto the pillows. You deflate beneath the downy duvet and close your eyes. He confuses you. One moment, he’s all over you, all-consuming and insatiable, the next he’s distant and icy to the touch. 

You hug the top of the blanket and cling to his lingering warmth. Your thighs tingle and your core plucks as you clench, thinking of how his fingers delved deep into you. Why couldn’t he stay? You could have done more. You think you’re ready to.

It’s never what you want. You will await his signal and as always, you will take his lead. That is better. His words ring in your head from that fateful day, ‘obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for.’

What do you long for? That question follows you into your subconscious. You sink into the void, the knot of anxiety bound around your chest. Visions of rich greenery and fluttering petals fill your head, birds winging and critters chirping all around. The magical garden is a shrine of rosy sunlight.

Your mind builds a paradise and all at once, it falls around you. Your eyes roll open as you float back to the surface. Your lashes stick together as you blink and groan. It’s early, too early. Dawn paints a violet hue across the room. You lift your head and search around. Something must have woken you but there’s nothing but shadows.

You drop your head back down and groan. You turn onto your side and curl up, tucking a hand under the pillow. You squeeze your eyes shut, reaching for the last dregs of drowsiness. Your head swirls as you feel yourself descending again. 

You’re brought back again. This time, you catch the noise. Your ears prick and you lift yourself to look over at the door, a gentle scuffing on the other side.

What’s happening? 

You squint, your vision dulled in the lowlight. You sit up and push back the blankets as you sidle to the end of the bed. You see a black spot beneath the doors, darker than the rest of the slatted shadow. It moves. There’s someone out there.

The bed creaks as you bend your legs over the edge. Who could it be? Mr. Laufeyson?

A tap on the wood makes you flinch. The handle wiggles but doesn’t press down. Your heart thumps in your chest. A whisper comes through, “pet…”

Your spine goes rigid. Pet? It must be Mr. Laufeyson, but why doesn’t he just let himself in? You don’t recall locking the door before you went to sleep. You get up and creep forward.

“Pet, let me in,” the whisper is sandy and low. Is it really him? Who else would it be?

You unzip your bag in the dark and pick out a nightgown from the bottom, jostling the rest of the clothes. You slip it over your head and rub your eyes. You shiver as the air is cooled in the darkness.

You near the door and grab the handle so it stills. There’s tension as you twist it. It releases and unlatches easily. The lock is not in place. You pull it open a crack and squeak at the large, looming silhouette on the other side.

“Ah, pet, you’re awake,” Thor rasps.

“What–” you gulp, “what are you doing?”

“You didn’t come say hello,” he drawls, “so, hello, pet.”

You blink at him and push on the door. He slaps his hand against it, the wood shaking between you. You know he’s much strong, you can’t close him out.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing, I– I’m trying to sleep,” you eke out. If Laufeyson knew…

“You are funny, pet,” he chuckles.

“Please, go, I’ll see you in the morning–”

“But I am here now,” he jerks the door, just a little, just a statement: he can open it if he wants.

“Why?” 

“Why?” He huffs, “you haven’t very good manners, pet. My brother has trained you poorly–”

“Please leave me alone,” you beg, jittering. Just the mention of his brother has your heart in your throat. He said to avoid Thor but what do you do when he seeks you out.

‘To the right of your door…’ you pluck the words from your memory and shudder.

“I just want to talk,” he edges the door in another inch and you stumble back.

You spin and run to the wall, pounding on it with your fists. You must seem crazy but you don’t care. You hit it over and over, “Mr. Laufeyson! Mr. Laufeyson!”

You’re wrench back as a large hand frames the back of your neck. Thor turns you and claps his other hand over your mouth, hushing you. You whimper as you shrink in his shadow.

“What are you doing? I’ve only come to talk–”

You wriggle and put both your hands around his wrist. It’s so thick, neither hand can fit all the way around. You kick out as he keeps you pinned to the wall.

“Haven’t I been nice to you?” He growls, “so why do you treat me as a villain, little maid…” he leans in, “perhaps because your thoughts have corrupted me, hm? Naughty little maid.”

His voice lightens playfully as he tilts your head up. You squirm as your hand slides down his forearm. Your other swings out to hit his chest.

“What do you think I’d do? If I am so evil, what could I do?” He taunts as he pulls you from the wall. He drags you towards the bed, “what have you done, eh?” He says as he edges towards the bed, “you’ve already made a mess.”

He throws you back onto the rumpled duvet and you squeak. You push yourself up on your elbows and bring your heels onto the mattress. You push yourself back as he looms over you.

“Aren’t you supposed to take care of messes, little maid?” He bends and puts his hands on the bed, snarling through his teeth. He catches your ankle and pulls your leg straight, tugging you down to your back as you yipe. “Let’s make a mess–”

He grunts and suddenly staggers, releasing you as a dark blur crashes into him. He hits the night table and sends the lamp to the floor. He deflects Mr. Laufeyson as he charges again and they tangle each other up in their arms.

“You beast,” Laufeyson hisses, “get out!”

“Ah, brother, lovely to see you here,” Thor chuckles, “we were only just talking about you–”

“Shut up!” Laufeyson snaps, hooking his leg around his brothers. 

“Don’t be so… dramatic,” Thor heaves as they struggle, pulling back and forth as each tries to overturn the other, “I was only getting to know her–”

“Get out!” Laufeyson repeats, “or I will truly be dramatic. Let mother see the cretin you truly are–”

“Speak for yourself–”

“Get!” You throw out your foot and kick Thor’s shoulder, immediately regretting it as he barely reacts. You scurry back and hug your legs.

“Aye, little maid,” Thor sounds amused, “isn’t that cute?”

“Brother, I tell you one last time–”

Thor cracks his elbow into Laufeyson’s ribs. The slimmer man lets go with a wheeze but doesn’t falter long as he slides between the burly blond and the bed. He coughs out another warning, “go.”

“I’m going,” Thor says lightly, “you always were so serious, brother.”

He waves off Laufeyson and steps away, sending you a look through the rising dim. You cower and watch him stalk away. Mr. Laufeyson follows and swiftly shuts him out, turning the lock with a loud click.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and lower yourself to the floor. You pick up the lamp and straighten the table. You flip the switch and the light radiates around you. You turn to Mr. Laufeyson as he holds his ribs and scowls, slumping back towards you.

“Are you alright?” You ask as you rush towards him, “Mr. Laufeyson…” you reach to touch him but think better of it, retracting your hands to fold your arms over your chest, “I… Thank you.”

He sniffs and sits on the side of the bed. He pushes back his dark hair and winces. You hover before him nervously, shaking like a hummingbird.

“You did well… calling for me,” he says quietly, “that was very good, pet.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought it was you knocking. I didn’t mean to–”

“I said, you did well,” he interjects as he outstretches his arms, beckoning you closer. He touches your upper arms and draws you straight, “are you alright?”

You quiver and nod, “I think…”

“Good, good,” He pulls you closer and leans forward to kiss your forehead, “I will sleep here then. Just until the morning comes.”

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves as you dress for the day. He bids you to lock the door behind him. He’s been silent but not in his usual way. Pensive but not dour. You put on a poppy red blouse with a brown skirt. 

You ready out of habit, your mind still trapped in the night's events. First, Laufeyson and the wonderful way he made you feel. Then Thor and the horror he brought into your room. It almost feels like a bad dream.

You go to the door but don’t emerge. What if Thor is waiting? You shudder as you think of what he would’ve done if you hadn’t called for Mr. Laufeyson. If you hadn’t been heard.

The door shakes as a tap rattles you from your trance, “darling,” Frigga calls through, “are you awake?”

You inhale deeply, throat tight, and unlock the door. You pull it open and force a smile, “yes, I was just… about to come out.”

“Wonderful,” she trills, “we are having tea in the garden.”

“Oh?”

“Come,” she takes your hand, “after tea,” she drags you out as you pull the door closed with your other hand, “we will go into town and get a few things for the celebration. Flowers, as I said. And perhaps a new outfit.”

“Okay,” you agree meekly.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks as you get to the stairs, “you are quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer.

“Yes, I do find it difficult to sleep in new places,” she hums, “well, we only want you to feel at home so do let me know if I can do anything.”

You press your lips together and nod. Could you ask her to make Thor leave you alone? Or to make Mr. Laufeyson a little less stormy? No, but you suppose you could ask for some chamomile before bed.

She takes you through the grand foyer and into the next room, winding around to the elaborate dining room and the back entryway that opens onto an equally awe-inspiring veranda. The railings are wrapped in ivy and flowers, marble pots on plinths hold bunches of gardenia and the big square table at the center has four chairs on either side. Much too big for the meagre party at it.

As you approach, you see Mr. Laufeyson’s shoulders, straight and stiff as he grips the armrests. He glares across at Thor who smiles dopily at the sky. As you get closer, his eyes find you and you wilt down. Frigga draws you onward as Odin stands from the table to offer you the chair beside him.

“There she is,” he says, “come, sit.”

You obey, claiming the seat to his right as Frigga skirts around to take his right. Laufeyson sits along the side just to your own right and leans forward as you wiggle in the chair. He gives you a look and you bow your head slightly.

“What do you like? Milk? Sugar? Honey?” Odin offers as he pours a cup and places it on a saucer before you.

“Just milk,” you answer.

Thor puts his arm on the table as you feel him watching you. Laufeyson clears his throat but his brother doesn’t acknowledge him. You look down at the tea as it clouds with dairy.

“Isn’t this nice?” Thor booms, “I apologise, I was errant yesterday and hadn’t a moment to welcome you.”

You flinch and Laufeyson squeezes the armrest tighter, bristling visibly.

“Now,” Odin sits back, “boys, this is a special week for your mother. She’s working hard, you will not ruin this.”

“Wouldn’t dare think of it,” Thor puffs, “I was only being polite and welcoming the little maid.”

Little maid… the words make you recoil.

“Little maid?” Odin echoes, “don’t be so demeaning. She has a name or perhaps she should call you the big oaf.”

Thor tilts his head and snorts, peering between you and his father. “Forgive me, I thought that’s what she was.”

“Regardless, she is a person and a guest. You will remember your manners,” Odin reproaches.

“Yes, father,” Thor utters dryly and receives a sigh in return.

“Oh, let’s not spoil such a lovely day,” Frigga chimes, “isn’t it so nice to be all together ag–”

“Ugh, must the sun shine so goddamn bright,” the silty voice undergirds Frigga’s chirp. You look over as Hela struts in, a large pair of geometric sunglasses over her eyes, “remind me next time not to finish the bottle.”

“Hel,” Odin greets curtly as Frigga blinks in surprise.

“When did you arrive?” Frigga asks, “Hilde didn’t say.”

“I slept in my car,” Hela answers and struts to the table, sitting next to Laufeyson, “well, I woke up there, at least.”

“Oh my,” Frigga mutters.

“I got here early though,” Hela preens, “when’s that ever happened, mother? And all for Walpurgisnacht, though I guess Midsommar is some time off.”

“Yes, very timely,” Frigga agrees softly, “well, you can come along with us to town. You’ve always had a keen eye.”

“Oh, I may,” Hela smirks, “who is us?”

Frigga looks at you and you give a tiny wave. Hela grins and takes off her sunglasses, winking at you, “I almost didn’t notice the little mouse. Well, I think I shall join you.” She squints and shades her face before putting the glasses back in place, “tell me we have some breakfast wine.”

“Have some tea,” Odin insists, “and a bit of decency.”

[devilbat]

Teacher's Pet

Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help. 

Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).

w/c: 7.7k idk what happened

a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm

my masterlist

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever." Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed. "A what?" "Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.  "No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp. 

"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time” 

"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.

Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."

You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.

"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."

You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."

You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.

"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."

"You think so?" You ask hopefully.

"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."

Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."

"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pissy, dump his ass."

"That simple, huh?" You scoff.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."

"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!

"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."

You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.

"I've watched porn before" you retort. 

"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.

"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.

Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.

"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"

You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.

"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"

"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."

"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.

"Alright. Then do."

"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.

Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."

You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out. 

It's not a bad idea, not necessarily. 

You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.

 It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.

It's an absolutely insane idea. 

You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.

"What?" he says, looking back at you.

"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.

"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."

You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Well now you're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?!"

"That face!"

"I'm not making a face!"

"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"

You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself. 

"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."

Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.

"A what?"

"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head. 

"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?” 

His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.

"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.

"Is that what you want?"

You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.

"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."

He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.

"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back. 

But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.

"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.

"It's okay, come here."

His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.

"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."

You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.

"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."

There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.

"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.

"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."

"Not drunk?”

"Nope."

"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"And you still want to?"

You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.

"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."

He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—

His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm. 

"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"

You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod. 

You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.

He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.

It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt. 

He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing. 

"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.

"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body. 

"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."

His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.

You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.

"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.

"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek. 

"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.” 

You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.

"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"

"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."

You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"

Joel hums as he thinks for a moment. 

"What do you want to do?"

You stare at him for a second, blinking.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.

"Well, how far do you want to take this?"

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?

Yeah, probably.

"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way” 

He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.

"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.

"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"

Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."

"I want it.” 

He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again. 

“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.” 

Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.

"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."

"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"

Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.

"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.

"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.

You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"I’ll be good. I promise."

"Liar"

"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."

You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.

"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.

His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.

He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.

He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists. 

“Can I take this off, baby?”

Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.

Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.

But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.

"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.

"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.

His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt. 

"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."

The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing. 

He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.

"Can I?" he asks.

"Please."

He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.

His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.

He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.

"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly. 

"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"

He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.

"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.

You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.

"Get on the bed, baby."

You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.

He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.

"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."

"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.  

"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"

Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.

"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.

He grins, his brow quirking up.

"Look at you, being all bossy"

"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.

His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer. 

“I sure do.” 

He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can. 

"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.

His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.

You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath. 

Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.

"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.

He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.

"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.

"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit. 

"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.

"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"

You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him. 

"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again 

Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.

"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."

"But-"

"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.

You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.

"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.

"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."

You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

And he's barely touched you.

"How's that feel?"

You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.

He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.

"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.

"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"

You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now. 

"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.

"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically. 

"I know, honey, I know."

You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.

"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.

"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.

White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge. 

You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-

"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.

You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.

He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.

"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.

"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth. 

"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.

He grunts and shakes his head.

"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."

You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again. 

He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.

"Alright?"

You swallow and nod, licking your lips.

"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"

"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him. 

"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"

"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"

"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.

"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"

He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"

He hums and nips at your thigh.

"Damn right I do."

You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.

His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.

He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.

The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.

"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"

His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.

He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.

You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?

You're fucked.

A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"

He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.

He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless. 

But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.

You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.

How to please him. 

You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans. 

You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.

"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.

"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."

Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.

"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"

"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.

He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.

"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"

You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.

"Oh my god, that was terrible."

"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.

"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.

You gulp and lick your lips.

"Or..."

He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.

"Yeah, that's what I thought"

You glare at him and then sigh.

"You're a bully"

"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick. 

"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.

"And proud of it.”

"Pride is a sin."

"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"

You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.

"You're ridiculous"

"You love it"

And that's the thing, isn't it?

Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.

And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.

You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.

"Joel?" you say his name softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Teach me."

Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!

[devilbat]

i know it when i see it - part 6

series masterlist | part one | ao3

pairing:  pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

rating: explicit 18+ minors dni

word count: 7.3k

warnings: sex work, exhibitionism, public-ish sex, a lot of feelings, more feelings than porn tbh, dirty talk, explicit p in v sex, angst

summary: you fuck joel off-camera for the first time. it makes everything worse.

a/n: thank you for being patient and loving this story even when i am a disaster. it means the world to me.

Joel drives you home after the diner.

And it’s easy. Too easy. The comfortable silence stretching between you, the blur of streetlights and breeze catching your hair. Sated and soft-limbed, a little sore between your legs and at your wrists where the rope chafed. And when he exits off the 405, there’s a small, stupid part of you that wishes you could just keep driving. Head down to the PCH, go up the coast — just stay in that truck with him forever.

You don’t linger when he pulls up in front of your apartment. You can’t. Not with your belly full of syrup and sugar and something else, something so soft it scares the shit out of you. 

The apartment is dark when you get in, the only light spilling in through the window. It’s warm and untidy, remnants of the night left scattered across the coffee table. A popped cork, a lime wedge. A little tin of tobacco with a fingerprint pinched out of it.

You’re too restless to sleep, skirting the blurry edge of a breakdown, so you climb out onto the fire escape. The night air is cool, but it does nothing to soothe the burn beneath your skin, the furious storm of feelings scalding your insides.

You are so fucked. 

You don’t know what this is. It’s so much more than stolen kisses in school hallways, breathless sex in the back seat of cars — all the things that came before. The fast-fading infatuations, the slowburn of affection left charred and smoking. The men that used to mean something, the ones with names you once wrote in your diary, faces now blurry and indistinct.

Nothing has ever felt like this. This want that has teeth and claws and could tear you apart. 

And it’s so embarrassing. To want like this, to feel the way you do about him. You’re supposed to be a sex symbol, for fuck’s sake. You’ve seen more dicks in the last month than most people do in their entire lives. But every time you’re around him you feel small and girlish and so tangled up with feeling that you can’t think straight. 

Porn isn’t real. The fucking isn’t even real most of the time. It’s all so calculated and precise, a veneer of sex over clumsy mechanics and awkward angles. Every touch rehearsed, every orgasm pre-planned. It doesn’t mean anything. You know that.

But when you’re with Joel, it’s so easy to believe the lie. To get caught up in the fantasy, the feeling. The stupid, desperate hope that maybe he’ll still want you when the cameras stop rolling.

You stub out your last cigarette, smearing ash on the windowsill before you climb back inside. 

The receipt with Joel’s number is still tucked into the book by your bedside. The creased edges are now smooth from your fingertips, the ink a little smudged. You’ve spent too many nights staring at it, willing yourself to find a reason to call.

Something always stops you.

The thing is — if he wanted you, he could have you. He must see it in your face every time you look at him. That open and obvious hunger, the desire that’s eating you alive. Sitting across from him at the diner, spilling your messy history between the salt shakers. It would have been so easy for him to take your hand if he wanted to.

But he hadn’t. 

Because he doesn’t want you, not like that.

Fuck.

It was so much easier when he was an asshole. When he kept you at arm's length, all frown lines and frustrating stoicism. At least then you knew where you stood. Now you’re not sure what he feels for you. If he likes you at all or if he just tolerates you because you’re good at making him come. 

You��re so sure of everything — this city, this business, all the bridges you burned to get here.

Everything except him. 

And that scares the shit out of you. 

x x x x x

Tess was right — people will pay good money to see you get tied up.

The bondage scene sells better than anything you’ve ever done before. And it’s not a surprise, not really. There’s an appetite for rough, for raw. Women writhing and whining, at the mercy of some big strong stud. The wet dream of every soft-boiled middle man across America, wheezing his way to a disappointing orgasm while his wife cooks him dinner.

You wonder if they could still get their rocks off if they knew how gentle Joel was with you after, how he rubbed the ache from your wrists and asked if you were hungry. Probably not. 

Soft doesn’t sell.

You’re getting more work, bigger roles. Your name is more than just small print. Not quite top billing, but you’re getting close. You always have your own dressing room on set, some tidy impersonal trailer, a vase of wilting flowers on the vanity.

It’s less of a mystery — this business, this world. The flashbulb and fantasy of it all. You know how to play the game now. Leveraging your looks, your little sliver of celebrity, that slight shimmer to the air around you. The way the world opens, unfolds, and all you have to do is lean a little.

Tess picks up a bag of fanmail from the production office and you spend an afternoon going through it. The envelopes spread across the kitchen table, a bottle of red airing out in the decanter. A record spins in the living room, the music drifting through the open doorway as you sift through the pile.

Each letter is worse than the last — all vaguely obscene, occasionally bordering on the obsessive. Clumsy declarations of devotion, promises to leave their wives. Fumbling, sweaty prose about all the ways they want to fuck you. Requests for a pair of panties, return addresses enclosed. A few polaroids of blunt and blurry erections.

Tess holds one of them up for you.

“This one says he’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

You raise an eyebrow at the picture. The sad, shriveled foreskin peeking out from coarse hair.

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t feel anything.”

Tess snorts, and tosses the picture into a pile with the other discarded dicks.

You have a stack of your own pictures in front of you, an assortment of headshots and pretty girls taken from different shoots. Your wrist is getting sore from signing them, a headache pinching between your eyes as you write love from Lucky for the millionth time. There’s a small collection of cheap perfume on the table, and you douse each picture before slipping it in its envelope.

It’s tedious and un-sexy, this part of the job. Selling the fantasy, the idea of access. You have to let them think they have a chance. That all their rutting and grunting is worthwhile. Every ticket they buy, every tape they slip into a discreet plastic sleeve brings them just a little bit closer to you. You’re the girl-next-door, the girlfriend they’ll get after the divorce. Utterly, eternally available. 

Their Lucky.

You know that it’s all part of the game, but you think you liked her best when she was just yours. This careful creation, the girlish monster made from glitter and wet dreams, gazing out from glossy pages. It’s a little less satisfying when you have to share her with everyone else.

“So,” Tess says casually, still rifling through the pile, “You and Joel.”

Your hand slips on the photo you’re signing, looping the y in Lucky into a figure-eight. Your heart flutters somewhere at the base of your throat, and you try to keep your voice level.

“I thought you weren’t getting involved.”

Tess shrugs, “Call it professional curiosity.”

You hesitate, staring down at your own picture, that soft-focus glow.

You could tell her — you know that you could. It’s not like there are any other secrets between you. She’s seen you through every shade of debauchery. Spunk in your hair, rug burns on your knees. She won’t judge you. Tease you a little, probably. That wry smile, the knowing glint in her eye, something like I fucking knew it on her lips.

But you can’t bring yourself to say it, to spill the messy contents of your heart onto her kitchen table. It feels too raw, too real. An exposed nerve, an ache you don’t want to draw attention to. 

“Nothing happened,” you tell her, which is only sort of a lie, “and nothing is going to happen.”

The second part feels like the truth, even if it settles like lead in your stomach. Nothing is going to happen. He doesn’t want you the way that you want him. And you just have to deal with it.

Tess raises an eyebrow, “So that little stunt in my living room?”

You blush, although you wish you wouldn’t.

“We got a little carried away.”

“Is that all?”

You drop your gaze. Because you can’t look at her when you think about the other things. When he touched you outside of the bar, or at the party in the hills. That time in Bill’s office. All of the moments you’ve stolen off-camera, the little scraps of a nameless something that you wish meant something more.

You can’t tell her, because it’s embarrassing. A bit of flirtation, a few friendly smiles — that’s all it took. You don’t need her to know how easy you are. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you mutter.

It doesn’t. Not to him, anyways, and that’s sort of the important part. 

Tess tilts her head, “You sure about that?”

Her tone is still light, but her gaze is — sharp. Dissecting. Pulling apart every nerve and synapse, tugging at the tender flutter of truth beneath. She knows you’re lying, but she can’t figure out why.

You push back from the table, suddenly antsy, agitated. You need something stronger than wine. 

There’s a bottle of bourbon on the bar cart, and you give yourself a heavy pour. Tess’s eyes are on you, searing, but you don’t quite meet her gaze when you ask —

“You want some?”

Tess frowns, “Can we cut the bullshit?”

You glare at her.

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

Tess leans back, folding her arms over her chest, “Look, I just need to know if this thing is going to blow up in my face.”

Heat flares in your cheeks. 

“There is no thing.”

Tess gives you a look. Flat, unimpressed.

“I have eyes, kid.”

You drop your gaze, staring at the inch of bourbon in the glass. Fuck. There’s the awful burn of tears behind your eyes and blink hard, trying to keep them at bay. But you can feel the flimsy thing you call resolve starting to slip.

“Hey,” Tess leans across the table, softening, “Do I need to kick his ass?”

You laugh, a weak, watery sound. 

“He’s twice your size.”

“Yeah, but I fight dirty,” Tess smirks.

You scoff and scrub a hand across your face.

The thing is — Joel hasn’t done anything wrong. Not really. And it twists uncomfortably in your stomach, the idea that you’ve made a mess of things between them. It’s not his fault that you can’t keep your feelings in check. That stupid fluttering want, growing arms and legs and getting out of control.

“I just got caught up,” you say.

“It happens,” she shrugs, “But if he’s fucking with your head—”

“He’s not.”

You think of what Joel told you at the bar, when you asked why he had kissing on his rider. Stops the lines from blurring. He told you where his line was. It’s your own stupid fault for thinking it meant something else.

“Look, I’m a big girl,” you sigh, “I'm not going to break.”

Tess gives you a warm look.

“Trust me, I know,” she says, lip curling, “Toughest slut around.”

You laugh and think — enough. 

This is enough.

You’re not starved for love. Most of the time you’re surrounded by it — in breathless laughter, dancing in the kitchen, piled together on the couch. Here, in the warm glow of the kitchen light, shuffling through a stack of smutty fan letters with the first person who looked at you like you meant something.

You don’t need anything else, anyone else.

You don’t need him.

And maybe, if you keep telling yourself that, it’ll start to feel true.

x x x x x

The season slips into winter, but the weather doesn’t change. Seventy-five and sunny, the Santa Anas coming down from the hills, catching at the ends of your hair and hem of your dress.

You’re going the tiniest bit crazy. Not thinking about Joel, not asking Tess about him when he calls. Tamping the feeling down, trying to starve it into submission. You have to find a way to shape it into something you understand, to tame the raw want inside of you into something a little more survivable. 

The other girls are just as bored, just as listless. Wearing silk robes and waifing around the apartment, waiting for the phone to ring. Drinking flat champagne before noon, chasing the stale taint of it with coffee. The afternoons are blurred and boring. Plucking at a six string someone left behind after a party, a tuneless buzzing chord. Only one of them can actually play, but she hasn’t been in the mood since that pianist broke her heart last month. 

You’re all itching to do something interesting, possibly illicit. 

You decide to go to The Daisy, with its velvet ropes and brick patio, the rotating crowd of up-and-comers, the membership fee you could never afford. But men with money don’t like to drink alone, and rules always bend for pretty girls. There’s a line out the door — stilettos and slacks curling around the corner of Rodeo — but the list has your names on it. 

You try to hide your smiles, your giddy laughter as you’re led to one of the shiny, upholstered booths. Inside, the air is heavy and sweet, cigar smoke spilling out over the crowded bar. The tables are packed, extra chairs pulled up to make room, overflowing ashtrays. Waiters weave between tables, trays held aloft. The whole place has a glossy, dreamlike quality. A bottle of champagne sweats in the bucket and the little row of waiting glasses catch the light.

The bottle pops and sprays, spilling over your fingers. The other girls cheer and hold their glasses aloft, faces flushed and smiling. You fill your own glass and settle back in the booth. The music is loud and terrible, but the alcohol helps, softening the edges of the room, filling your belly with a warm blur of feeling.

One of the girls nudges you.

“You caught one,” she whispers, nodding towards the bar.

You follow her gaze and find a guy at the bar watching you, his fingers gone slack on the neck of his beer. When your eyes meet his, he flushes and gives you a sheepish sort of grin. He’s handsome in a way that’s in fashion — the overlong shag of hair, a scruffy sort of softness. A little boyish for your liking, a little smooth. 

Not like Joel, an unhelpful part of your brain supplies, and you tell it to fuck off.

You smile back at him, fluttering your fingers in a wave that makes him go even redder.

More bottles arrive at your booth, and you don’t know who’s sending them but you don’t really care. Men come up to the table sometimes, stale with cologne and well-rehearsed lines. I saw you from across the room. I had to come say hello. You all hide your smiles behind sips of champagne and say things like that’s so sweet and maybe the next song.

One of the girls gets up to join a game of 8-ball, racking up alongside some Central Casting square-jaw who looks ready to lose his life savings. Another wanders away in search of acid, catching the wrist of one of the wide-eyed, too-young teenagers by the bathrooms.

“Excuse me?”

You look up.

It’s the guy from the bar. His shoulders sloping, his posture unsure as he offers his hand out for you to shake. He says his name — shouts it, actually — but it gets swallowed up by the music. He’s a little sweaty, a little breathless when he asks if he can buy you a drink. 

You’re not sure if it’s because you’re pretty or because of the porn. You decide it doesn’t really matter. He's looking at you with an open, earnest kind of interest. The attention is nice — overt. There’s no mystery to it.

You slide over, making room for him at the end of the booth. He doesn’t ask for your name, but you have a feeling he already knows. He flicks his hand for a waiter and orders a round of shots. You can tell he’s trying to impress you, and you don’t mind, really.

He tells you that he’s in a band — the one with the billboard on Vine and the album full of all those miserable little love songs. Trite and terrible and topping the charts anyways. There’s an eager sort of flush to his cheeks, a nervous twitch in his hand when he curls his arm around the back of the booth, like he’s itching to get even closer. 

“I’ve, uh, seen some of your films,” he says, and you can tell he’s been waiting to bring it up. You’re used to it by now, the way that men will trip over themselves to talk about sex. 

But that’s fine. Sex is easy. It's always been easy. You’re good at it — you have the proof in your scenes, in the ticking rise of your bank balance, the bills stuffed under the mattress, the messages scrawled on bar napkins. 

It’s everything else that gets complicated.

You lean in, and suddenly you’re her again. Lucky. Her curling lip, her fluttering lashes. His eyes drop to your necklines, the way the fabric drapes to expose the curve of your breasts.

“Which one’s your favorite?” you ask. 

It takes him a second to respond, to drag his eyes away from your chest. He flushes when he realizes you caught him staring.

“Uh, the bar one,” he stammers, “It was, I mean, you were good in it.”

You think of the bar scene. Joel on his knees in the back room, the heat of his mouth at your center. The teasing sort of smile on his lips when he realized you were close to coming, the low murmur of his voice in your ear. I’ll take care of you.

Shit. 

That was a mistake. You didn’t want to think about Joel right now.

You take another shot, feel the bitter slide of it down your throat. It helps a little. The burn searing the edges of the memory, blurring the details.

The musician’s hand slips a little lower on your waist, the fabric rippling beneath his smooth, uncalloused touch.

Maybe this is good. Maybe if you have a taste of something real, then your feelings for Joel won’t matter so much. You can’t keep waiting, can’t keep wanting. 

You curl your hand around the collar of the musician’s jacket, tugging him close enough to smell the gin on his breath, see the spark of excitement behind his glazed eyes.

“Kiss me,” you tell him.

Because someone should.

He leans in. The press of his lips against yours is eager, a little sloppy as he slides his tongue against yours. His hand slips down your waist, resting at the curve of your ass. His nose bumps against yours, his breath coming in frantic little pants. 

And it’s — well. It’s a kiss. 

But you feel nothing. Less than nothing. 

Maybe a little nauseous.

When you pull away, the musician grins at you, a boyish sort of eagerness in his expression. Best kiss of his life, probably. You try to smile back, but you don’t really want to be here anymore.

You don’t want some soapy upstart pawing at your dress. You don’t want his awful, ginny breath in your ear as he promises to write you a song. You don’t want to be the story he tells his friends tomorrow, bragging about the blue movie star he talked into bed. 

The other girls have disappeared. It’ll probably be a few hours before they’re ready to call it a night. You look past him, gaze drifting over the lilting crowd — 

And then you freeze. Lead settles in the pit of your stomach.

Because Joel is standing across the bar.

Watching you.

And you think, for a second, that you must be imagining it. He can’t be here, not really. You must have conjured him from your haze of frustrated feeling, placed him there amidst the smoky air and spinning bodies.

Except he looks — pissed.

Angrier than you’ve ever seen him, in a way that you would never imagine, would never want him to look at you.

And you’re suddenly aware of the musician’s hand on your hip, a stinging self-consciousness. It’s much less scandalous than most of the things that you do on camera. But suddenly it feels wrong. Unwelcome.

You shiver away from him slightly. He notices and pulls his arm back.

“Sorry,” you say, the apology tripping out. But you’re not looking at him. You’re looking at Joel.

Joel who is just — staring at you. Jaw tight, eyes dark. A brooding mass of a man, the rage rolling off of him in waves.

And then he’s turning away, melting back into the sea of strangers. 

He’s leaving. 

You sink back into the booth, your heart in your throat. The musician taps his fingers on the table, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands now that they’re not on you.

You stare at the spot where Joel was standing.

The low buzz of alcohol in your belly, the taste of some other man’s mouth on your tongue. And still all you can think about is him. Those rough hands, that grip he has on you. 

You shouldn’t go after him, you can’t. You’ve been trying to get over this, stomp on the embers of that stupid affection before you get burned even worse. You can’t let him ruin your night, he doesn’t get to have this, he doesn’t get to —

You’re out of the booth before you realize you’re even standing. 

The musician looks up at you in mild confusion, maybe a flash of contempt.

“I'll be right back,” you say, and then you’re slipping away through the crowd, following Joel.

You weave your way across the room, past the twist and spill of bodies from the dance floor, the anxious line for the bathroom, the smoke-dense patio door. You catch up to him in the front hall, with its brocade wallpaper and faded brown carpet. There’s the silhouette of the doorman through the door at the end, but otherwise you’re alone.

“Joel.”

He stops short. Muscles tensing, shoulders bunching beneath his shirt. When he turns to face you, that look from before is gone. He’s stony and stoic as ever, completely unreadable.

“I was just on my way out,” he says, voice tight.

You frown.

“And you weren’t going to say anything?”

His expression shifts, mask slipping. You catch a flash of anger, of irritation. 

“Seemed like you were busy.” 

There’s a bite to it, a snarl. 

Something like shame coils low in your stomach but it doesn’t last, because it’s not fucking fair. You were trying to get away from him. Drown out the memory of his touch with someone else’s hands, someone else’s mouth. And now you’re back to feeling as stupid and girlish as you always do around him. 

You fold your arms across your chest and glare up at him.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“You want to climb all over some guy at a bar, be my guest.”

And it stings, even if it shouldn’t, even though you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You glare at him.

“Fuck you.”

Joel’s gaze flashes over your shoulder. A few people linger at the mouth of the hallway, peering over their shoulders with interest. Goddamn fucking voyeurs.

Joel shakes his head, “We’re not doing this here.”

He wrenches a side door open, and jerks his head. Go on. You step inside, away from the curious eyes. An acidic sort of anger roiling in your stomach, seething.

It’s dark inside, the single overhead light coated in dust and the tarry smear of old cigarettes. The walls are lined with coat racks, the air heavy with stale perfume, the humid taint of weed. The door snaps shut behind you, muffling the music. 

You turn to face him and — shit.

He’s close. 

You can see the flecks of amber in the dark brown of his eyes, the little threads of gray through his beard. Heat radiates from him, warm and whisky-scented. Your stomach swoops low, and for a second you forget that you were arguing. It’s hard to hold your ground when he takes up so much fucking space, eats up all the air in the room.

“You come here with him?” he asks, jutting his chin back towards the main room. 

And you want to say no, I didn’t, but even if I did, it wouldn’t matter, because his tongue was down my throat and I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

But you can’t, obviously you can’t, so instead you settle on —

“I don’t even know him.”

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“Looked real cozy to me.”

You flush, anger and embarrassment roiling together in the pit of your stomach. 

“Since when do you care who I fuck?”

Joel scoffs, “I don’t.”

But it’s a lie. 

You can see it. The twitch in his jaw, the flex of his fingers at his side. There in the burning heat of his gaze — he’s jealous. And he’s doing a really shitty job at pretending otherwise.

The realization flickers through you like a flame, heat igniting low in your belly. That want, that hunger. The thing about him that makes you soft and unsure and so fucking needy. Because now you can see it reflected back at you.

And maybe you don’t know how he feels. Maybe you don’t know if this is real, if it means what you want it to mean, if anything changes after tonight. 

But right now you know he wants you just as bad as you want him. 

You take a step closer, and he goes still. Tense. Watching you, brow furrowed. Wary. Almost like he’s a little afraid of you, afraid of the line you’re about to cross.

And it makes you bold, makes you reckless. 

You raise your hand to his chest, laying your hand over his heart, feeling the rhythm stutter and then double beneath your touch. 

“I don’t believe you,” you say quietly.

That line between his brows deepens, the muscle in his jaw twitching. 

But he doesn’t stop you.

Not when you drag your hand down his chest, over the tense muscles of his stomach. Not when your fingertips catch on his belt. Not even when you go lower, sliding over the front of his jeans, cupping the thick shape of him through the denim. 

He hisses a breath through his teeth, and you tilt your head up at him.

“Feels like you care a lot,” you murmur.

Joel’s hand darts out and catches your wrist, holding you fast. His eyes are dark, pupils blown so wide they edge out any of the brown.

“You are treading on some mighty thin ice here,” he says, voice so low and edged in warning, the threat heavy on every syllable.

And maybe that would make you back off — if he wasn’t so hard for you.

You lean in even closer, your pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips where he holds your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise, but not enough to stop you.

“If you want to fuck me so bad, you can just say so,” you tell him.

Then you tilt your head. 

A challenge. 

A dare.

“Unless you want me to go back out there and let him do it.”

Joel moves fast. An angry, animal sound tearing from his chest as he turns you, presses you up against the wall. Your breath catches in your throat, stuck somewhere in the thrum of your pulse, the rush of blood that makes you dizzy. You feel the heat of his body at your back, crowding up against you, trapping you there against the wall. 

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he grunts.

And you can’t help the smile that curls at your lip, the little spark of vindication that is smothered by a surge of arousal as his mouth drags over your pulse.

“Fuck — Joel,” you gasp. 

His breath is hot on your neck, beard scraping against your cheek as he bites at your jaw. Your breath catches in your throat, and you press back against him. Wanting more, needing more, more of him, always. 

And it’s like he knows, like he can feel it. He slides his hand around to your waist, pulling you up and back, angling your hips so you can feel — oh. 

“This what you need?” he mutters, grinding the weight of his cock against you.

And maybe he’s not looking for an answer, but you give him one anyways, a slur of fuck and yes and Joel, please. He grunts and grips you tighter, pulls you even closer, dragging his nose down your neck, biting at the curve of your shoulder.

“Need to get fucked so bad you’d let that asshole touch you?”

His hand slides up over your stomach to cup your breast in his palm, kneading it roughly beneath his palm. He thumbs at your nipple, raising it to a peak, and a little whine slips through your lips.

Joel makes a satisfied sound against your throat.

“He wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with you, baby.”

He rucks up the front of your dress and slides his hand down to the wet heat between your legs. He strokes at the damp fabric of your panties, fingertips teasing over your leaking center. 

“And what about this, huh?” he murmurs, nipping at your throat, “All this for me or for him?”

You keen, nails scraping against the wall as you try to arch further into him.

“For — fuck. For you, Joel.”

He hums against your skin. 

“That's what I thought.”

He slides his hand up your trembling thigh, the scrape of his callouses leaving a trail of goosebumps. There’s a tug and a tear, the thin lace of your underwear ripping easily under his hands. 

His fingers slide through your slick, the sticky mess between your legs. You’re so wet for him, arousal dripping down the inside of your thigh in a way that would be embarrassing if you could think about anything other than the weight of his cock against you. His fingers brush against your clit and your stomach twists, insides empty and aching, desperate to be filled.

And then two thick fingers slide into you, punching the breath from your lungs. Joel grunts, biting at your shoulder, the bruising scrape of his teeth over your pulse. 

“Fucking tight.”

His wrist flexes, fingers driving deep into you, brushing up against that spot that makes you see stars. Your breath hitches, and you grind back down against his hand. It’s not enough, not when you’re this wound up, when you want him so badly you can barely breathe.

“More,” you whine, “I need — shit. More, please.”

“I know,” he murmurs, “I know what you need.”

He drags his hand back, leaving a trail of slick between your thighs.

You hear the soft clink of metal behind you, his belt coming undone. He shoves your dress up, tangling it in his fist and holding it against your hip. You feel the brush of his knuckles against your ass as he works his cock, slicking it with your arousal.

You're almost dizzy with pleasure, the need overwhelming, when he nudges at your entrance, the heat of him parting your folds. And you feel the scrape of his beard against your cheek, his hot breath on the back of your neck.

“Is this what you want?”

“Fuck — yes,” you pant, “Want it, want you.”

He fills you in one thrust. The weight of him inside you smothering that emptiness, filling the lonely spaces. Your eyes sting at the stretch — because it still is, even now, even after you’ve taken him so many times, it still feels like he’s splitting you in two. 

You gasp, his name breaking between your lips, “Joel —”

He doesn’t give you a second to breathe, to think. He rocks his hips against yours, driving even deeper, pressing up into that almost painful pleasure, that ache low in your belly. 

He swears under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening. 

“So good at taking this cock,” he grunts, his thrusts coming hard, “So goddamn good.”

You brace yourself against the wall, letting him fuck you the way he wants, the way you need. His one hand at your hip, fisting the fabric of your dress, the other across your chest, keeping you tight against him. His cock driving deeper and deeper, stoking the heat inside your core, that spring that coils tighter and tighter. 

And then you hear voices outside. 

Joel stills, fingers flexing on your hips. 

You can hear them, just beyond the door, a low murmur of conversation. Soft and slurred, the words misshapen. And you can imagine them there, dawdling in the hallway, cocktail glasses dangling from fingertips, perfume fogging the air.

Joel scrapes his teeth along your jaw.

“Gotta be quiet for me, baby.”

He starts fucking you again. Slow, grinding thrusts. His cock dragging against your walls, barely leaving your wet heat before he pushes back in. It nudges up against that spot and you gasp.

The voices outside pause.

Joel presses his damp fingers over your mouth.

“What’d I say about being quiet?” 

He keeps you like that, his hand tight over your mouth as he fucks you. 

It’s all dizzying touch and quiet, panting breaths. The steady drive of his cock inside you, the moans tearing at your throat, fighting to get out. Heat builds and builds until you’re right on the edge, right on the shivering precipice. And you know Joel can feel it, the soft spasm of your muscles.

“That's it,” Joel grunts, “Come on my cock.”

And you do, breaking apart under his hands, the pleasure ripping through you in a white-hot wave until you’re a trembling, gasping mess. The world narrows and blurs until all you can feel is Joel filling you, fucking the last few, hazy thoughts from your head. 

Until it’s just him.

There you go, he’s saying, his voice low in your ear, all rumbling softness, all desperate hunger. Just like that. A sharp bite right beneath your jaw, his stubble brushing against your cheek. His grip bruising, his voice wrecked. So good for me.

He drops his head to your shoulder and you can feel the furrow of his brow, his breath hot and heavy as he pants against your skin. His hips stutter as he spills inside you, a heavy warmth that spreads like a fever, sticky and messy and good.

You stay like that, the wall cool beneath your cheek. The heat of Joel’s body pressed against you in the dark, the space between your bodies damp with sweat. Your breaths come ragged and raw, the air humid. You feel the soft press of his lips against your shoulder. 

And then the door opens. 

Light from the hall spills over you, exposing the tangle of your bodies together. There’s a gasp and an embarrassed sorry! before it snaps shut again.

There’s a moment of quiet tension. 

And then you start laughing. Because — fuck. 

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

He pulls out of you, and you can feel the little spill of semen dripping down your thighs. But you’re used to it by now. Most of your life is spent covered in sweat and come.

You turn, leaning against the wall, grinning up at him in the dark. 

“So much for being quiet.”

He grimaces.

“Reckon the whole bar will be hearing about it now.”

You shrug, “Nothing they haven’t seen before.”

He looks down at you. All the anger is gone from his gaze now, and there’s that soft tinge of fondness you recognize from the diner. The way he looked when you poured too much sugar in your coffee, too much syrup on the pancakes. It’s warm, and it makes everything inside you fuzz.

He brushes a sweaty strand of hair off your face. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I'm good.”

His thumb strokes along your neck, the tender skin there. You wonder if he left a mark. You sort of hope he did.

“I was rough on you.”

You smile, “I can handle rough.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “Know you can.”

His hand lingers there, at the base of your neck. His gaze is heavy even as his touch stays soft, and you suppress a shiver. His hand trails down, grazing the side of your breast, stroking over your hip. Your breath catches when you feel him tug up your dress again, knuckles brushing the tender skin of your inner thigh.

You start to shake your head, “We shouldn’t —“

You cut off in a moan as his hand slides between your legs, cupping your sticky wet sex. 

“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs, his fingers dragging through your damp folds.

He ducks face into your neck, scrapes his teeth over your collarbones, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. He pushes your dress down, mouth closing around your nipple.  Your hands dart up to clutch at his shoulders.

“Joel,” you gasp, “People need their — fuck — coats.”

“Fucking seventy degrees out,” he mutters, “Nobody needs a goddamn coat.”

His fingers find your clit. Slow, steady strokes, a pressure that makes your breath catch in your throat. Your hips twitch, chasing the scrape of his callouses, that almost too much touch. His fingers slide down to tease at your entrance, catching his own come as it drips from your slit.  

You can still feel the low build of arousal deep in your core, that ache that somehow hasn’t been satisfied. It’s not enough, you think, maybe it won’t ever be enough. Maybe you’ll always want more of him.

His mouth is hot against your chest, teeth and tongue sliding from one breast to the other. You shudder at the feeling, your cunt clenching down on his fingers, and his groan vibrates against your sternum.

You feel dizzy, weak-kneed and too hot, but he holds you steady. One arm around your waist, the other steady between your legs. The feeling flickers through you. The heat of his mouth, the slow rub of his fingers.

It’s different this time, a syrup-thick drip of pleasure that tips and spills, burning low in your belly. You tilt your face up towards Joel and he watches as you come, dissolving under his touch, breaking into a million soft, shivering pieces.

When he pulls his hand from between your legs, his fingers shine with your combined release. He slips them between your lips. His come and yours, sticky sweet and heady. You hold his gaze as you lick them clean, tongue sliding in the space between his fingers. 

He lets them linger there for a moment, fingertips on the swell of your bottom lip. 

You look up at him, at those dark eyes tinged with amber, and for once, you can read him. You can see all the things he’s so good at hiding. There’s still that hunger, that heat. But there’s something else too, something so tender that it makes your stomach clench.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth, and your heart stutters. For a second, you think he might kiss you. It’s against the rules, his rules, but still. He’s so close, so warm and solid against you. You want him to rip you open, to eat you raw. 

Then something shifts in his gaze. That warmth, that softness flickers and dies.

He takes a step back. Drops his gaze, clears his throat.

“I, uh — I should go.”

Your stomach sinks. Just drops, straight through the dirty carpet, through cement, down to the fucking fault lines below. The places where his hands held you turn cold, a chill catching on your skin.

“Oh.”

His throat works, fighting for the right words.

“I mean, I don’t do — this.”

You don’t know what this is, but you suspect he might mean you. And it aches, it stings, burning in your chest and behind your eyes. But you can’t fall apart, you won’t. Not in front of him.

“It's fine,” you say, “It’s just sex, right?” 

Joel looks at you for a moment. Then nods.

“Yeah.”

You swallow and it hurts, but you keep your expression even. You smooth down your dress, the places where it wrinkled beneath his hand.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” you say.

Because you need him to go now. The air feels thick, too heavy with the smell of sex and heat and him. Your skin feels a little too tight, achy in the wrong ways.

“Right,” he says.

He turns, headed for the door. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, hesitates for just a second. But then he’s pulling it open, stepping out in the hallway. And then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone in the dark with that gnawing want, the aching bruise of unreciprocated affection. And something else.

A hungry, hopeful little thing that wonders if maybe it’s not all in your head.

​​x x x x x

You make it home, eventually. Finding your friends in the darkness of the bar, piling into a sweaty cab, pressed between them. You’re quiet, but they’re loud, still buzzing from the night's adventure, talking over each other, laughing and asking the driver to turn up the radio.

You don’t want to be alone, so you crawl into bed with one of the girls.

Her sheets are warm and her hands are gentle when they find you, patting over the sheets until her fingers tangle in yours. She pulls you close, wrapping her arms around you and tucking you into the soft shell of her body.

You lay like that for a moment, the glow of the streetlight slating across the room, spilling tepid light across dirty laundry and last night's heels.

“You smell like sex,” she mumbles against your hair.

And you want to laugh, but you also sort of want to cry, so the sound that comes out is sort of strangled, a sob and a scoff all at once. She pulls back, brow furrowed, and studies you for a long moment.

“What happened?”

You don't know what to say, where to begin. How to unriddle the mess of feeling that lives inside you. But she must read something in your face — that desperate obviousness, the disease of feeling. She can tell, the way that girls can always tell, can see it in each other. 

“You okay?” she whispers.

And honestly — you don’t know. 

Coming here was supposed to solve things, answer the impossible riddle of yourself. You wanted to be like the girls in the magazines, and now you are. But it hasn’t answered anything. The future still stretches uncertain and strange, a haze of half-hopes. 

You bury your face in the pillow and feel the slip of angry, exhausted tears.

You’re older than you’ve ever been and still feel so young, so unsure of so many things. You thought things would be different if you made people see you.

But you’re starting to realize you only care if one person is looking. 

[devilbat]

emo!joel miller x soccer player!athena kallis - college au.

tlou-verse: a masterlist.

(i couldn't help myself! my mind had a vision and I had to create a moodboard of it + i find this dynamic adorable for them and I LOVE it.)