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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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Hard Light | Chapter Two

chapter one | ao3 | masterlist

series summary: when a new english professor begins teaching your class for the duration of your semester, you can’t help but develop an innocent crush on him. he’s as off-limits as he can be but it doesn’t deter you in the slightest. after a drunk night, you accidentally email him something that wasn’t intended to ever be seen by anyone. but that doesn’t matter. it triggers a misunderstanding that manifests into an affair with your professor who is twenty years your senior. nothing good could come of this, right?

chapter summary: becoming obsessed with your english professor and imagining what fucking him would be like was never part of the plan. you seem to think about him whenever least convenient and read more into innocent words and touches than you should. but, your infatuation with him comes screeching to a halt when you discover something about him. crush done and over with, right?

pairings: professor!joel x college student!reader

word count: 2.7K

series or one-shot

chapter warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, no mention of Y/N, alternate universe, professor/student relationship, eventual smut, self-esteem issues, workaholic, joel x female!reader, infatuation bordering on obsession (stay delulu friends), some sexual thoughts, masturbation (f), sexualization of the male form, allusions to sexual and explicit scenarios, drinking and glorification of getting drunk

A/N: okay, listen, i won't beat around the bush, i kinda let this series die after like one chapter. my brain works in mysterious ways, as in, i lose interest in stuff quickly, and that includes writing certain fics. that's why i have so many unfinished wips. but, here we go with another chapter of hard light. i re-read this chapter and was suddenly inspired to write for it again. enjoy and don't forget to comment, reblog, and like.

You’d been stuck at the coffee shop for the majority of the day, constantly checking your phone to see if Jeremy had answered you yet. But it didn’t look like he was going to be able to cover your shift. Where the fuck was he? You normally had no problem with covering a Saturday shift but you really needed to leave early, the application for the internship was due soon and you hadn’t started it yet. You flinched, feeling the burn of scolding oat milk drip onto your hand. You shook your hand out, trying to ignore the pulsating emanating from the skin.

You’d been burned before and worse, but you just wanted to get through this shift. You tipped the ceramic cup and poured the frothed milk into it, moving your wrist in tandem with tipping the cup, trying to quickly do the design that had become second nature to you at this point. Your mouth flattened into a tight line, almost smiling at the student as you handed them their coffee beverage. You were always glad that the coffee shop on campus had only a few options to choose from when it came to coffee orders. And they were all pretty easy to memorize and make.

Heaven forbid you worked at a Starbucks, where you had to nail down complicated drink combinations and fulfill nauseating orders. Coffee was a sacred thing, at least to you, and it was the perfect concoction of bitter and sweet that had you hooked each time you drank it. People needed way too much sugar to actually enjoy a caffeinated beverage, and there was nothing wrong with that, but it wasn’t something you personally liked.

You looked up from putting the oat milk back in the fridge when you heard the chime on the door, ready to greet the person who had just entered with a welcoming smile, but that smile flattered when you saw who had just walked in. Your new English professor, the one with the tight ass. You shook your head. Okay, from here on out you were not allowed to think of him that way. He made his way to where you were, an easy pace to his walk. You swallowed as your eyes raked over him. He was wearing brownish-green slacks that seemed to fit him snuggly in places that you couldn’t look away from, and a stylish brown tweed jacket, which stretched across his forearms and chest tightly.

He gifted you with a smile, his lips perfectly rounded and pink even though they hid underneath a subtle stubble. You opened your mouth to speak but apparently, you had no knowledge of the English language at this current point in time.

“Could I get a latte?”, Professor Miller asked.

You had heard him speak in front of nearly a hundred people earlier this week and yet, you were taken completely off guard by the throaty yet softspoken quality of his voice. How soothing and intimate it was when it touched your ears. It made you shiver, imagining how it would sound in the harshness of night when he was on top of you, thrusting slowly, and giving you words of encouragement while you took his thick—

“Yes”, you squawked, stepping back from the counter and burying your head in the coffee machine as you prepared his latte, trying not to let it show how heated your cheeks probably were.

You heard a low chuckle from him as he paid, turning on his heels and standing in front of you, the bar of the counter the only thing acting as a barrier between the two of you.

“You’re from my English Lit class, right?”, he asked, his Southern drawl sweeping over your whole body, making your stomach flutter.

You looked up briefly, not ready to meet his eyes for fear that he could read your thoughts if you let him. You nodded, ducking back down and concentrating.

“Thought so”. His voice was filled with amusement and something else as you felt the weight of his stare.

You placed his finished latte on the counter, stuffing your hands into your back pockets as you waited for him to grab it. He took hold of the cup and the saucer but he didn’t move, plastered in place as you locked eyes with him. His pupils were double their original size as he scanned your features, seemingly staring into your soul. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t find the strength.

His mouth tipped up at the edges, “Since I can get an unbiased opinion from one of my students...”, he paused, thinking about his next words thoughtfully, “How did you find my first day? Been meaning to ask one of you...”.

You cleared your throat, “I think you did well. If my opinion matters at all”.

Professor Miller snickered under his breath, nodding, “It does. Thank you for your honesty”, he twisted around but spoke over his shoulder, “I think you’ll find that I have a lot that I can teach you, and I look forward to the rest of the semester”.

And with that, Joel continued to a table near the back corner of the coffee shop, setting his beverage on the surface and taking out his phone. He didn’t look up at you for the duration of his time, sipping his coffee, head buried in his phone for about an hour before leaving. He gave you a small wave as he left, which made your cheeks flame.

You really needed to get a grip on yourself and not read more into his words. But you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything else. I think you’ll find that I have a lot that I can teach you... He meant it in terms of the course, not whatever your idle mind told you it was really about. But you couldn’t help but dig into the double meaning behind those words. You were sure he could teach you a thing or two, he definitely looked like someone who had more experience when it came to sexual things. God, what was wrong with you? Joel— Professor Miller was a nice man, someone you could surely rely on when it came to your studies, you shouldn't be thinking of him that way.

You were just tired and in need of some sleep. Yeah, that’s why you were letting images best left in the dark corners of your mind float to the forefront. Occupying yourself for the rest of your shift, eventually, Joel and that whole interaction became a distant memory, leaving your mind as fast as it had manifested.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You settled into a lacklustre routine as the week came and went in a flash. You hadn’t had another one-on-one conversation with Professor Miller, much to your relief. You’d been using your job at the coffee shop, studying and catching up on homework, or even spending time out with friends, as a diversion when your mind began to wander back to that man that made your head spin and your every nerve ending light ablaze when his eyes settled on you in class.

It wasn’t just a one-off coincidence when you felt it the first time, it wasn’t even a coincidence the second time that you’d felt it either. It was becoming something permanently stuck in your head; when you would see him again, and you made a bet with yourself before every class. Would you get that same flutter in your stomach when you saw him standing before the class, back turned to you and that backside calling out to you? And every time, you would win or lose, depending on your outlook that day. You had a monster crush on your English professor and it was becoming a hindrance.

Each day you’d wonder what he would think of your outfit, because yeah, now you were actually having to think about your appearance, you actually cared. You wanted him to care, to notice, for his heady gaze to bore into you for a little longer than any of the other girls in your class that he looked at. It was maddening, having him on your mind when you were awake and when you were asleep. You’d conjure the dirtiest images of him and you when you were alone at night, not caring in the slightest as you slid a hand into the waistband of your panties, driven to the edge of insanity if you didn’t ease the overwhelming flutters that never seemed to quit.

You told yourself that what you were doing was innocent, that because Joel was in your proximity, it was only a natural progression that you’d develop something of a crush on him. But what you didn’t account for was how badly you wanted to act on it. How sometimes when you hung around after class, trying to work up the nerve to talk to him, you’d half-expect him to throw you onto his desk and pound into you, roughly, eagerly, your name slipping past his lips as he worshiped your tight cunt. But, he never did. And the more you thought about how much you wanted it, the more it became unrealistic.

He was your teacher, for fuck’s sake, and you were his student. Nothing would happen and nothing could happen. But at night, when the stillness of the darkness crept in and you were having trouble falling asleep, your mind still strayed to the man old enough to be your father and you’d cum to the thought of him, over and over again, until your sated body and mind lulled to sleep. And then, when your alarm shrieked in the morning and you had to peel yourself from your bed and get ready for the morning, you’d be overcome with shame. Shame and regret. Because you were getting yourself off to the image of a man who probably wanted nothing to do with you, and you felt like a creep.

You’d go about your day as normally as you could until you saw Joel in class again, and something as innocent as making contact with his hand as he gave you a quiz would ignite those flutters again, making them unquenchable.

You were currently out with a few friends from your English class, and Jeremy had decided to tag along. The guy was a social butterfly and could fit in with any group easily. It was actually getting on your nerves, how your friends were currently swooning and chatting to him while you just sat there, waiting for them to loop you into the conversation. Jeremy caught your eyes over the shoulder of your friend, Cat, who was shamelessly flirting with him. Not that you minded, it was great that he was looking for someone. You had thought that you’d broken him when you broke up but it must have been all in your head.

“Let’s dance”, Jeremy said to Cat, taking her hand in his, making her giggle as she stood up from her seat, and letting him guide them to the dance floor.

You watched as his hands moved down her body, settling on her hips, and swaying them both in time with the slow song that was playing from the jukebox in the corner. Feelings you’d thought you had buried long ago came swelling to the surface, which had nothing to do with Jeremy moving on right before your eyes and everything to do with how lonely you felt. It hadn’t really hit you until this moment, watching two people who you considered friends, getting closer.

You had a stupid habit of putting your needs on the back burner and suffering because of it. But growing up in a household that would rather see you be quiet than entertain any of your ideas or thoughts or feelings had done a number on you. Instead of seeking out what you wanted, you always held back, afraid of upsetting someone and losing their respect. It was the dumbest hang up but you couldn’t shake it. Even when you were in your twenties, it lingered. The feeling of not being good enough, for anyone.

You turned around in your seat, giving Jeremy and Cat some privacy, the call of alcohol in whatever form suddenly calling out to you like a siren song.

“Shots?”, you asked the remainder of your friends, which elicited a resounding and enthusiastic response.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The time was crawling into the early hours and yet you still knocked back shot after shot, not caring much that the bar manager was growing annoyed at you and your still rowdy group of friends, probably seconds away from kicking you all out. Jeremy had brought Cat home hours ago but the rest of you decided that the night was still young, and so were you.

You’d been dancing for the majority of the night, switching dancing partners as much as you’d switched between different liquors, but you were alone now, moving your hips from side to side as you nursed a drink of some kind, not really knowing what was in it. Your friend, Ayesha came over to you, stumbling and almost knocking into you.

“Look what I just found”, she slurred, holding her phone near your face.

You squinted, trying to get the dizziness to subside long enough for you to focus on the image she had pulled up. But it was difficult, you were really drunk.

“What’s is it?”, you asked, hiccuping loudly. You covered your mouth with your hand.

“It’s him”, she screeched, jumping up and down, “Professor Miller, I found his Tinder. God, he looks yummy”.

Your heart sank to the dark and twisted pit in your stomach and you felt like retching right then and there. But, it was inevitable, for the spell to break, it was only a matter of time. Fuck. You rubbed at your eyes, hoping that this was all a dream. Just a really demented trick that your mind was playing on you. But when you removed your hands from your face and everything around you came back into view, you knew it was reality. Because of course a man like Joel Miller, the rugged yet charming English professor from Austin, Texas would have a dating profile. He was surely dating people and having sex. Lots and lots of sex with women his own age, not with his students.

You took a step back from your friend and uttered something about feeling sick and wanting to go home. They offered to Uber back to your apartment with you but you made up some excuse about it being dirty, so you didn’t want them to see it like that. A short Uber ride and you were sinking down against your front door, running your hands through your hair, and smacking your head back in frustration. You were an idiot, and right now, you were a drunk idiot.

Getting up from the floor, you fished around in your purse for your phone and settled into bed, not bothering to change or take your make-up off. It was way out of the realm of what you could muster from yourself right now, and honestly, it was a whole task in and of itself. You mindlessly scrolled through various apps on your phone, trying to occupy your mind, anything to not think about the shocking and devastating revelation you’d had tonight.

You paused when you hit your email inbox, seeing a new email from Professor Miller. You sat up in bed, fumbling with your hair like he could see you through the phone. You clicked into the email, your eyes struggling to focus on the small text. You skimmed it, something about a missing attachment from the previous email you had sent him. You groaned, feeling like your world was spinning on its axis. Maybe it was from the alcohol or maybe it was because of the damning truth that you never had a shot with Joel, to begin with.

You thumbed the tiny icon to attach the missing document to the email, replied back to him, and threw your phone away from you. Maybe you’d feel better about things in the morning, but you strongly doubted it. Nothing could cure how heartbroken you were and nothing could help you through it. Wallowing would have to do but for tonight, all you wanted was sleep.

taglist: @joeldjarin @pedrorascal @magpiepills @eliza-8 @noisynightmarepoetry @untamedheart81 @eldauvs @paanchusblog

let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist!

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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Don't fight over dumb stuff, just fuck till you both can't talk

#pls this is so joel x reader core

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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omgg he's soo cute (i want to peg him. i want to make him whimper. i want to edge him till he cries and begs me to cum)

#man i wanna write this for frankie so badly lol #francisco morales

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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#not that anyone cares #but here is a lil update for you all #i am so tired rn lol #my brain isnt braining #i've been editing for like 3 hours straight and i still have a ton to do #no this isn't fic related #i don't actually know when i'm going to write fic this week #anyway #just a small update from your neighbourhood whore #i just need a break but i also don't want to lose focus #i'm already behind #even tho i have a little over a month to get this ish done #i'm two coffees deep rn and ovulating so #that's how that is going

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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straight up let’s hear it for dry humping!!! wooohoo dry humping!!!!

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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This is special 🥹🩷

#the mandalorian fanart #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin art #pedro pascal #pedro pascal art #pedro pascal fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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STACKEDextras ➙ There's no place like home

1.9 Home Written by Eric Kripke Directed by Ken Girotti 14.6 Optimism Written by Steve Yockey Directed by Richard Speight, Jr. Original Air Dates: November 15, 2005 & 2018

#i'm going to throw up #this is so cute #why do i not remember this?#i love a good parallel #supernatural #sam winchester #jack kline #dean winchester

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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saw this on pinterest and had to share *not saying i actually do this irl, i mean sometimes lol*

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller smut #older guys #daddy k!nk #i think i need someone older core #lana del rey

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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Tumblr knows what's up 🙌

Perfect opportunity to tell you that you really are one of my fave writers on here! Can't wait to read any new fics you have coming up, I always get so hype when I see you post <33

Here's a lil appreciation smooch 😘

just woke up to see this. thank you so much, i'm actually emotional rn. i promise i will have a new fic coming soon, i finally have some time off and will be working away on some unfinished wips.

thank you again for the love 🫶

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #kry answers #ask answered

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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Pedro Pascal in Triple Frontier

#that's my man #Frankie morales #triple frontier

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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#pedropascal #josepedrobalmacedapascal #tloucast #joelmiller #hbotlou #tlou #narcos #game of thrones #pedropascaledit #ppascaledit #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal edit #ppascaldaily #dieter bravo #joel miller #javier peña #javierpeña #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pascalishunky

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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it’s very cool to write complex stories with a ton of depth but it’s also very cool to write “meaningless” smut

this is all for fun

do whatever the hell you want

#yeah man #this is a reminder for me to stop putting so much pressure on myself lol #my fic

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

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SCREAMING RN-

sticky [no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

summary: You send Joel a new toy to keep him occupied while you're away. ratings/warnings: E [smut, established relationship, soft feelings, sex toys, male masturbation, female masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk, Joel has some nasty fantasies, they're horny and in love] wc: ~2k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! this is just smut. it felt like it'd been a while since i wrote something mindless and fun, so here's this! no beta, yeeting this to the universe. would love to say thank you to @haylzcyon for being a sweetheart and listening to me talk about this and also go read her sub joel bc i feel like they're the same man.

masterlist | joel miller masterlist

“What is this you got me, girl?” Joel asks as soon as you pick up the phone, his nostrils flaring at your breathy giggle.

He closes the bedroom door, reverting to his teenage self hiding contraband from his parents under his mattress. There’s no one else in the house with you out of town, but he still feels like he’s going to get caught. He pulls out his pocket knife, sheering through the tape of a suspiciously nondescript cardboard box. He can’t help but think the delivery person knew exactly the type of package they’d handed to him.

“Just open it.” Your voice comes out clear and jittery, and Joel doesn’t know if he should trust it. You’re a little too excited, and that almost always signals trouble. Good trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

Two weeks you’ve been away for work, and you’ll be gone for at least another. He missed you the moment you walked out the door, but he’s tried his best not to be too needy.

He likes to give you some time to miss him, though. The sounds you make are that much prettier when he finally gets you underneath him again. Or on top or beside——he doesn’t care, as long he gets to hear you whine for him.

“All right,” he sighs. He plucks a smaller box from the thick cardboard casing and stares down at it, not quite sure what he’s looking at. “This a damn spaceship?”

You huff at him as he flips the box around, inspecting this gadget, like something he’d find in sci-fi porn.

Not that he watches a lot of sci-fi porn or anything.

“Bluetooth-controlled male masturbator,” he reads out, and you burst into giggles. “What’s so damn funny?”

“Keep opening it!” You say, ignoring his question. It looks expensive—rechargeable, controlled by an app. He finally pulls out the thick, white plastic tube, about ten inches long.

The last thing he finds is a package slightly smaller than the main contraption. He squeezes it, the thin plastic crinkling over something soft and squishy.

“Got you the pussy sleeve,” you explain. “So it’s a little smoother.”

“Goddamn, you are somethin’,” he says, plugging it in to the closest outlet.

“So you like it?” You ask, a slight tremor in your voice, as if he wouldn’t.

“I’d rather have you,” he says, and he means it. “But you got me interested.”

“Good! I—shit, I gotta go. Call you tonight, baby? Maybe we can try it out?”

“You think I’m gonna say no to that?” He chuckles. “Go back to work. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Joel tries to have a normal rest of the day. Lunch, paperwork, phone calls, a meeting with a new client who wants a million things that are sure to be damn near impossible. He tries to ignore his mounting curiosity every time he passes his open bedroom door, glancing in at the white tube lying motionless on the bed. Eventually he goes in under the guise of needing new socks, peering down to see if the charge light is green and grunting in disappointment when it’s not. He can barely concentrate on the meeting, already half-hard thinking about you talking to him while he uses…that.

The day can't go by fast enough.

Gonna be really late. ): Try it without me, see if you like it?

Despite his disappointment, he doesn’t want to try it without you.

How late? Ten or eleven. I can wait. You shouldn’t. Baby. Fine, fine. Love you. Love you.

He finishes the evening with a frozen dinner and falls asleep in front of the TV, only waking up at nine or so when some infomercial blares at top volume. He glares down at his cock, still half-hard as he brushes his teeth, willing it to go away.

It resolutely refuses.

The toy is still on his bed, and that doesn’t help, either. He’s never been so tempted in his life.

You’d said he could try it. You’d encouraged him to try it.

He picks it up and puts it on his dresser with the rest of the packaging.

Later.

It’s hot tonight, his ancient air conditioner on its last leg and screaming for replacement, so he kicks off the comforter and lays there in his boxers, trying to find a comfortable position. He lets out a long sigh, eyes scanning his dark room until it falls on his dresser.

You’d given him something solely for his pleasure with no expectation of anything in return. No price tag, no conditions, no demand he think of you and only you while he indulges. He'll think of you regardless--he always does--but it stirs something in him. What's he done to deserve you?

God, he misses you.

You in that little sleep shirt that just barely covers the top of your ass, the material so thin he can see your nipples. It’s not as showy as some of the lingerie you wear for him, but it’s always what he imagines you in when he’s stroking his cock, thinking of you finally coming home.

His skin burns, his whole body shuddering as his hand drifts down into his boxers and wraps around his cock, squeezing himself for just a second of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, the charge light is a bright, twinkling green.

He sits up to check his phone, just in case he’s missed a text.

Nothing. Goddammit.

It wouldn’t hurt to turn it on, would it? Just to make sure it works. Just to see how it works, maybe.

Joel ignores his now-growing erection as he shuffles over to the dresser, ticking on the little lamp next to your jewelry box. He avoids his reflection in the mirror, pulling the toy off the charger and holding it in his hand. It sits nicely, slick and cool against his palm. The goddamn thing has a user’s manual with more pages than the one for the dishwasher he’d just installed. Vibration settings, contraction settings, even a large, all caps warning to use lube.

He just means to try it. Just to test it out. But the moment he slides it onto his cock—after a generous dousing of lube—he shivers. It sucks him further inside, the lips opening gently and making room for him just like your pussy does.

He hasn’t even turned the damn thing on and his hips are thrusting forward of their own accord. If he keeps his eyes closed, it’s almost like you’re in front of him. He draws in a deep breath and turns it on.

Joel surprises himself with how loudly he moans.

“Fuck,” he grits out, fucking his hips forward. “Oh, fuck.”

It definitely works. He hadn’t anticipated that it might be difficult to stop fucking the damn thing. Now all he can think about is making himself last as long as possible.

It’s never been this good alone.

His hand is fine, of course it is, but it can’t do what your cunt can. This can’t compare to you, either, but it’s a damn good second.

He thinks of you catching him like this, humping into the air, groaning pathetically as he entertains the kind of fantasies he seldom allows himself.

Making you come in a crowded place, whimpering his name with your hot little cunt on display for everyone to see. Fucking you so hard he has to take care of you the next day, your pussy so sore you can’t walk. Licking your cunt while you’re asleep, so tired you wouldn't be able to stop him even if you wanted, letting him defile your soft, pretty body.

That last one brings out a noise he's never made alone before, a long, low growl as he imagines you dripping and messy, sleepy moans and whimpers while he plays with you like a doll.

He’s so into it he almost—almost—misses his phone light up. His chest seizes like he’s been caught doing something illegal, and he shakes his head as he tries to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he gasps, pulling the toy off of him. It hurts to leave his cock so unsatisfied, angry and red and slick with lube and precome. He grabs his phone just in time, trying to hide the guilt in his voice. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hi,” you say, and he can hear the amusement in your voice. You aren’t fooled for a second. “You run to answer the phone or something?”

“N-no,” he says.

“No?”

“No, I-”

“Joel,” you murmur in a low, throaty voice. “What were you doing?”

“Was just…I just thought I’d just make sure it worked,” he says, clearing his throat. Your little laugh makes him throb.

“Does it?” You ask.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” you say.

“Baby, I-”

It’s like you can feel his shame through the phone. “I got it for you, Joel. I got it for you to feel good. It’s fine that you tried it without me. You deserve to feel good all on your own sometimes,” you say softly.

He swallows, warmth swirling in his chest. “So you…you wanna listen?” He asks.

“Mmhmm,” you say. “And don’t worry. I have something to play with, too.”

Of course you do.

He puts the phone on speaker, laying on his back as he lets it sink back onto his cock. Another one of those low, pained moans escapes him, and you give a delighted gasp.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“It—fuck—it’s not as good as you, baby, it’s not as good as your pussy—” He’s desperate to explain, to make you understand—nothing is as good as you.

“Shh,” you say. “Just enjoy it, love. What’s it feel like?”

“I…ughhh…good,” is all he can say. Now that you’re talking, now that he can hear the breathiness of your voice and the buzz of your vibrator in the background he can barely keep himself from coming apart. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Want you, though, so fuckin’ bad. Feels so good. Wanna…fuck, wanna press this up against your pussy, wanna show you what it feels like. Wanna make you squirm. Wanna make you watch,” he growls.

You don’t answer, just whimper into the speaker. He can almost see your back arching as you press your toy into your clit. “Let me hear you, baby, let me hear how wet you are.”

Joel doesn’t quite catch what you say, but the sheets rustle as you lower the phone until he can hear the squelch of your toy fucking into you.

That’s what he fucking needs. All your noises, all your whimpers, your hot, needy pussy crying for him.

“Gonna fuckin’ come, baby,” he says.

“Then come, Joel, come for me, please—”

He flips over on his knees and lets himself fuck, fuck, fuck into the toy, the vibrations sending him into a different plane as his cock throbs, sticky come pulsing into the wet clutch of what he wishes was you. You’re wailing his name on the other end, and he imagines you underneath him, warm and soft, as he shudders to a halt.

Flopping over onto his back, he hits the off button and breathes hard. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Goddamn.”

You chuckle. “That good?”

“Don’t compare to you, sweetheart. Nothin’ does. But it felt good.”

“So you liked it?”

You sound nervous again, less sure of yourself. “‘Course I liked it. Always takin’ such good care of me.”

“You deserve it, Joel.”

He whimpers as he pulls it off and frowns at the come dripping onto his belly. “Didn’t think about havin’ to clean it up,” he says.

“Well,” you murmur, and he hears that buzzing again. “I had a really hard day. I could go again. You wanna make it worth the cleanup? Video call?”

“You missin’ me that much?” He asks.

“You know I am, Joel,” you tell him, and he smiles to himself. “You know that.”

He does.

#kry fic recs #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

Text

A Loving Ode To The Writers (And A Big 🖕🏻 To The Haters)

Friends,

I want to take a moment to talk about writers.

The amazingly talented writers, here in this Pedro fandom collectively (although it applies to all writers in any fandom really).

Whether you're an established writer here, or just starting out, I love you. You all rock. You're all incredible. Keep going and doing your thing, because you're so amazing at it. 🖤

No matter what anyone else tries to tell you...

Yes, I also want to address the idiots who feel entitled to send anon messages to you giving you tiresome grief about your work... sigh. 🙄

Think about this for a moment, if you will...

When you go into a bookshop, or choose to purchase a book online, do you have several tags listed on the back cover?

No.

Do you have the author of that book listing every single possible trigger/smut warning?

No.

Do you have the author writing an extensive author's note explaining their thought process, or how it came to be that Joel got with Reader, or stating that they're not sorry for this brain rot they produced at 2am whilst high, or apologising in advance if they spelled something wrong, or whatever?

No.

All you have is a book, a singular book, with a cover and a small paragraph with a basic plot blurb, that alludes to nothing juicy or that will spoil it. Because if the book gave away the full plot on the back cover, all the warnings and triggers etc... what's the point in even buying it, right? You already know the story. Job done.

Generally, readers will buy a book for these reasons:

1) The cover looked awesome and drew you in to read the synopsis.

2) The synopsis drew you in, or a review.

3) It's by an author you already love, so you read everything they release because you're a fan of their work.

4) It was recommended to you.

5) You brought it/were gifted it on a whim.

None of these reasons give you any prior knowledge to the outcome or ending of the story. You haven't met the characters yet. You don't know what's going to happen. Unless you actively look for spoilers...

That's the joy about reading stories. You're left surprised, not knowing.

With posting fanfic, there are slightly different "rules" (and I use quotation marks here because strictly speaking, there are no rules; it's just decades and decades of assumption and expectation that writers follow out of respect and care for their readers) in that the writer provides you with adequate warnings, or tags, for you to make an informed choice about whether this fic is something you want to read or not.

But, they don't have to do that.

The writer, also might offer a pairing, or mulitple. The writer might also warn you of triggers, or if a particular chapter is smutty, heavy, angsty etc...

Again, they don't have to do that.

No published book out there does this.

So, if that's the case, that writers here on Tumblr, and in fanfiction in general, not only spend hours of their free time in their personal life, dedicating themselves to writing a story, that you get for FREE, they also provide you with adequate warnings and pairings to cater to your particular tastes.

Again, they don't have to do any of this.

Remember that book in the bookshop? It does none of what fanfic writers do for you before you even get to the story... They've done all this for you before you get to the first sentence on your screen.

So you can make a choice, that is your own, on whether you want to read this story or not.

Your choice.

So, if you then choose to read it, are you really so entitled to then send an anon message telling the writer you didn't like it? When it was clearly signposted with all the possible warnings, outcomes, troupes, pairings... and was for free??

Imagine that, free stories that you can read as often as you like, for FREE... wow. What a fantastic concept!

☝🏻And that's not sarcasm. It's truly fantastic that there are thousands, upon thousands of stories here for you to trawl through and enjoy to your heart's content.

All. For. Free.

Catering to every Pedro Boy, every Reader type, every kink going. Fluff, smut, angst, romance, horror, thriller, crack fic. Multi-chapter series, one shots, drabbles. Happy endings, open endings, no endings... you name it.

You have it all here at your fingertips, whenever you want.

All. For. Free.

A lot of time and work goes into writing any kind of story, not just fanfic. Depending on a writer's skill level, it may take them longer than you may realise to complete a story from initial conception to birth.

English may not be their first language, for example. Or they may be dyslexic so have to spend additional time editing several times over so you can read their words coherently.

They may have spent weeks, months, maybe even years, planning, gathering and summoning the courage to write this story.

The story doesn't start on the page, oh no. It starts as a spark in their brain that ravages and spreads like a fire.

It's consumes them. Causes sleepless nights.

Causes stress and tension in their personal life because they've spent more time in front of their computer typing, than they have walking the dog, hugging their partner, socialising with their friends... remembering to feed themselves.

You may think that's a dramtic or romantic notion of being a writer, but I assure you, it's not.

It might not apply to all writers, but for some, writing IS their life. They live it, breathe it, far more than you care to imagine.

Far more than you give them credit for.

They've poured their heart and soul into this and are proud that, finally, fucking finally! It's on the page for the world to see. To read. To enjoy.

To pick apart scathingly... to critique. To compare. To belittle. To mock. To diss.

To demand.

You think writing is easy? That writers just bash out 10k words on a whim? Sweet delusion I hardly knew ye.

Even the most published and revered authors in this world will tell you it's anything but easy, bub.

Imagining a story in your head is the easy part. Getting it on paper to translate your thoughts into captivating words? Not so much.

And writer's block is certainly a real thing, FYI. Made all the more worse by pressure being piled on.

Pressure from readers who have the choice whether to read or not. Who have all these stories for free...

☝🏻And I'm not talking about readers in general. No. There are so many amazing and respectful readers here who are an incredible and integral part of this community. And I, for one, thank you, dear readers, for doing just that; reading.

Without you, no-one would read or share our words. You guys are the main cog in this clock, and as writers we want to keep you greased up so you keep ticking. We love your enthusiasm for our work. We love that you share it, shout about it, want to see more of it. You guys deserve all the love. 🖤

But sadly, there are also a select few individuals who crawl out of the woodwork, scittering around and shitting over things like the insects they are.

Respect. I've said it before, I'll continue to say it. Respect costs nothing. And yet, some readers find that to be an alien concept.

Think about the stories you really love.

Think about the one story you couldn't get out of your head for days. The one story that made you cry into your pillow. The one story that gave you hope when you really needed it the most.

The one story that made you fall in love. That one story you've read a hundred times, a thousand times, because you love it so fucking much and it changed you in some way.

Somebody wrote that.

Writers bend over backwards for you until their spines snap. Writers give so much of their heart into their work, their blood.

Writers give you the books you love, the shows you enjoy. The blogs you follow, the films you go to see. The fanfiction you consume.

Without writers, entertainment would not exist.

🤔 Ponder that for a second... you'd have nothing. No internet, no TV, no books, no magazines.

No imagination.

Writers give you chills, make you smile, make you cry, turn you on, excite you with their words. They lead you into unexplored lands, take you to new heights.

Writers hand your idol to you on a page, naked and panting for you, and say "here, this is my gift for you, dear reader. Have him."

Writers give you an escape.

Writers give you something to do on your commute to work. Writers offer an extension on your inner fantasies.

You want to have Joel Miller hug you and never let you go? Carry you out of the apocalypse as you cling onto his broad shoulders? Fuck you so hard into the mattress you're screaming for him?

Writers can give you that, bub.

Hell, writers will give you anything you ask for, within reason. All you have to do is simply ask.

Writers pull you into a world where anything, literally anything you want, is possible.

And fanfic writers give you all of this. For FREE.

You don't have to go to the bookstore and part with your hard earned cash.

You paid no money for this. The writer made no money from this either.

Writers don't ask you for anything except for you to enjoy their work, their creation, and to consider re-blogging it, so others can enjoy it too.

They ask you for nothing else in return except to show some basic respect.

R E S P E C T

All they want from you is your enjoyment.

They give it to you from the goodness of their heart, from the stem of their creativity.

And yet, some of you piss all over it.

Some of you have the termerity, the gall, the ignorance, to send a message anonymously - cowardly - to a writer claming that their ending wasn't good enough?

Wasn't to your liking? That Joel, or whichever Pedro Boy, didn't do this, or didn't say that? That their view is wrong because it wasn't canon, that their story didn't live up to your expectation, despite them giving you as much advance information as possible. Even when they don't have to...

And yet, you still chose to read it.

How dare you be so offended by a story that, was never written for you to begin with. The writer wrote it for themselves. They then decided to share it with you. For free, remember?

Are you for real?

If you think it's rubbish, or not to your taste, or boring, or lacks passion, or didn't end the way you would have wanted it to, that's fine - you're entitled to your opinion. Difference of opinion is what makes us unique as individuals.

But the writer, who gave you this story for FREE, and with plenty of upfront info for you to make an informed choice, does not want, or need to hear your self-righteous bullshit or negativity.

Move on quietly and find a story that fits your needs.

Or better still, put your money where your ungrateful mouth is, and write your own ending that you covet so badly.

I guarantee you, it'll be a lot harder to do than you think...

You didn't pay for this story, therefore your passive-agressive opinion, your cruel words, your whole mantra of being a dick for dick's sake, isn't worth a dime.

SUPPORT YOUR WRITERS.

Don't drag them down if you can't, or don't have the balls or talent, to do any better.

To every writer: You are incredible. You are what makes the world go round. Your imagination never ceases to amaze me and I will forever have your back and sing your praise from the rooftops. You deserve to be here, or wherever it is that you write and share your words. THANK YOU for sharing a piece of you with me, with all of us. 🖤

To every disrepectful anon who has ever sent a hateful or hurtful message to a writer: respectfully, go fuck yourself.

#needs to be said more apparently

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

Text

Thank you so much for adding my works to this list!!

Sanctuary update — new works and authors added ⋆｡°✩

Consuming internet content is your own responsibility. Most of it is 18+, also mind authors’ notes.

If you'd like to recommend a fic - welcome here.

random fics of the day ⋆｡˚

personal forehead kisses for anyone who recognizes the reference

by @romanarose — Lover of the Light , To the Rescue , No. , Just a Fantasy — Joel Miller; Lucky — Will Miller; Partner in Crime — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @thetriumphantpanda — I'll Crawl Home To Her — Marcus Pike; I Could Use Somebody , Don't Say I Didn't Warn You — Joel Miller

by @toxic-seduction — Lacy ,Call My Name , Taken It Easy , you don't belong , Venom , bad first date , best medicine , reunion , reunion part 2 — Joel Miller

by @javierpena-inatacvest — Forever and Always , Amor , Tired — Javier Peña

by @palioom:

day thirty - free use — Pero Tovar

day thirty-one - free day / public sex , day twenty-six - overstimulation — Oberyn Martell

day twenty-nine - breathplay — Ezra

day twenty-five - pregnancy — Marcus Moreno

day twenty-seven - dp in two holes — Dieter Bravo

just a game , told you I'd be back — Joel Miller

by @undercoverpena — the angel + the devil — Javier Peña; be good, be quiet — Joel Miller

by @joelmillers-whore — Fuck Me Like You Mean It — Joel Miller; heaven and back — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @softlyspector — birds of a feather , Grays — Joel Miller

by @amyispxnk — Me, you, and a motorbike. — Javier Peña, You're perfect, baby. — Joel Miller

by @beskarandblasters — Me and Husband , Uncut , Grasp & Tug , Oral Fixation — Din Djarin; sexfiles.mp3 — Tim Rockford

by @chloeangelic — seeking what is desirable , Window shopping till they're closing — Joel Miller

by @pascalisbaby — take it there — Joel Miller

by @pascalssbabyy — Soaked — Joel Miller

by @morallyinept — Two Fingers Of Whiskey — Jack Daniels / Whiskey

by @ghostofaboy — Frankie Morales NSFW Alphabet — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @foli-vora — my girl — Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales, Dave York

by @aurorawritestoescape — SURVEILLANCE — Javier Peña

by @pedrostylez — Missed You — Javier Peña

by @mandoisapunk — The Gift — Javier Peña

by @imalrightllama — Dr. WeVibe; or How Dieter Bravo Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Remote Vibrator — Dieter Bravo

by @sirowsky — Grumpy Pumpkin — Pero Tovar

by @burntheedges — home — Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

by @kiwisbell — Las Mañanas — Javier Peña

by @mandosmistress — Hunter and Prey — Din Djarin

by @sp00kymulderr — My love is like the warmth of the sun — Javier Peña

by @iamskyereads — Joel, Interrupted — Joel Miller

by @noxturnalpascal — Sanity is a Cozy Lie — Joel Miller

*smooches*

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joelmillers-whore · 5 months

Text

AH thank you so much! I appreciate the kind words 🫶

heaven and back

summary: an object on your nightstand inspires frankie to experiment in the bedroom and you’re all for it.

word count: 1.7K

series or one-shot

warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, frankie x female!reader, no mention of y/n, smut, waxplay, bondage, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, brief degradation kink, frankie calls you a slut for like a second, breeding kink kinda?, established relationship, i don’t think i’m missing anything but let me know if i did.

a/n: i really do apologize for not posting more, i’ve been in a bad writing slump lately and the creativity is just not coming to me. but, please enjoy this little frankie fic that may or may not be self-indulgent. as always, please reblog, comment, and like to support me.

Your heart was beating to an unsteady tempo, the rhythm jarring and scattered as the organ tried to keep up with what was happening to your body. Your back arched off the bed, feverishly chasing the feeling, wanting to get closer to it— to him. But you couldn’t.

Your wrists were tied tightly to the bed posts, the rope Frankie used rubbing against the sensitive skin, igniting a want you felt so deeply that it rushed throughout your body, licking along each and every nerve ending until you were a throbbing, dripping, whining fucking mess.

Frankie was kneeling above you, the light cascading in through the window from the street below bathing the room in a soft, feathered glow. The end notes of golden hour drifted by without anyone noticing, bright orange diffusing into crystallized moonlight.

There was a slight breeze coming in from the open window, making your already stiffened nipples harder, almost to the point of pain. Goosebumps erupted along your breasts, your clavicle, your collarbone.

The pebbled skin decorated your body, the lightest of touches setting your dampened flesh ablaze. Frankie’s fingers explored everywhere the goosebumps were, groaning low when he reached your stomach, just above your belly button.

His trimmed fingernails scraped against you lightly, making you flinch, your stomach clenching from anticipation.

“It’s okay, preciosa, I’m going to take good care of you”, he said.

Your heart stopped, and changed its course, fluttering at his sweet words. You looked up at Frankie, through your lashes, watching as his gaze was already fixated on you, taking you in, naked and salacious and wanting for him.

His features were lightened by the moonlight, his face seeming younger somehow, the sheer luminescence caressing every smile line and crinkle near his eyes tenderly.

Your eyes floated down to his broad chest, his sturdy stomach, his tree trunk thighs, and finally, his stiff cock, red and angry, with pre-cum dribbling from the tip.

“Frankie...”, you moaned, wiggling your hips needily.

The dulcet smell of lavender took you by surprise, you turned your head, eyes snagging on the candle you had lit before this had all started. Frankie reached over you, plucking it from the nightstand, inspecting it. His eyes snapped to yours, an eyebrow raising in question.

“Have an idea”, Frankie said, his hand cupping the glass, rolling his wrist, letting the wax melt and congeal around the rim. “Do you trust me?”.

You nodded, squirming against the restraints, your wrists growing slack after a minute of fighting them seemed all but pointless.

“Y-yes”, you nearly shouted, arousal leaking down your thighs, gushing out of you. Frankie’s cock twitched with need.

He chuckled and your insides did a kickflip. It was filled with equal parts amusement and hunger.

“Just relax...”, he said, his voice taking on a hurried edge, clipped, like he was trying to hold himself together.

Grabbing your hip with one hand, and tilting the candle with the other, Frankie slowly started drizzling the hot liquid onto your skin. You watched him eagerly, wincing when the melted wax touched your skin, but whimpering a second later when the pain was overridden with pleasure.

“Ooooh”, you exclaimed, head thrashing back into the pillow, teeth sinking into your arm.

“Don’t...”, Frankie growled, getting your attention immediately. “I want to hear all your sounds, preciosa. Every. Single. One”.

More wax dripped onto your stomach, hardening immediately when it hit your skin, moans tumbling from your lips over and over again until you felt your stomach beginning to cramp up, your thighs shaking from the position you had been in.

“Frankie...”, you mewled, writhing against your restraints. “I want- I need to feel you”.

You bucked into his hand involuntarily, trying to get him to touch you. He only pushed your hip deeper into the bed, pining you down, all of his strength behind it.

“I don’t think so, baby...”, Frankie laughed, dripping a path of wax between your breasts, his lips inches from connecting with your skin, the gentle puff of air heightening every sensation and touch, searing into you like a brand. Marking you as his.

Placing the candle back on the nightstand, both of Frankie’s hands gripped your hips, steadying you while he slotted himself between your legs. His length rubbed up against your cunt accidentally, the feeling making your head spin.

“Fuck, Frankie”, you whined, your walls clenching around nothing. Another gush of your own arousal leaking from you. At this rate, you’d cum from that one touch alone if he didn’t hurry up and fuck you.

Teasing you, Frankie did it again, dragging out the action, torturing you. His hand was wrapped around his length, the muscles in his arm bulging, swelling as he pumped himself. His tip grazed your clit, making a moan bubble deep from your chest.

Your eyes were locked onto where his cock was spreading your lips, pre-cum mixing with your own fluids.

“Do you need this cock? Hm? Does my baby want to be stuffed full?”.

You nodded, a choked groan leaving you, “I need it, Frankie...”.

Frankie stopped moving, your eyes finding his, “And what do we say?”.

You bit your lip, the teasing driving you wild, your thighs spasming, “Please”.

You were begging at this point, keening for Frankie to stuff you full, to pump his seed so deep into you that it painted your walls white. You wanted to be leaking him for hours.

Taking his time, Frankie began to push into you, rocking his hips, the bones flush with yours as you took every inch of him, nearly bruising your wrists as you jerked against your binds.

You wrapped your legs around Frankie, your heels digging into his lower back, desperately pulling him closer to you the only way you could. Your lips quivered as you sucked in a sharp breath, the air being punched out of your lungs when Frankie thrust all the way into you, not missing a beat.

Sweat crested his brow, eyes dancing with lust, heavy-lidded— drunk with his desire for you. Frankie’s wide palms were splayed across your thighs, kneading the flesh, an attempt to stabilize himself as he lost control inside of you.

You wished that you could feel Frankie underneath your fingers, wished you could feel how his muscles tensed each time you raked your nails against his back, leaving red and raised streaks along his flesh— marks you happily kissed away after the fact.

When you were both coming down, heaving breaths expelling from your lungs, eyes twinkling with satisfaction, Frankie would pull you closer to him, practically moulding you to his body so that you were a second skin.

He would get lost in comforting you, asking you if you were okay from whatever the two of you had done. Whether it was rough or sweet, he would ask you the same thing each and every time.

But right now, there was no room for soothing words, not when Frankie was bending you to his will, rutting into you so fast and sharply that your eyes were beginning to water, your vision blurring at the edges as you focused on him, a watery image atop of you.

“Fuck...”, Frankie groaned, head low, his messy brown curls sticking to his forehead, a stray strand falling into his eyes, “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby”.

His pace didn’t let up and you didn’t want it to, your walls pulsating on instinct, making Frankie moan loudly into your ear, your stomach clenching, that familiar intense vibration radiating from the base of your spine and climbing higher.

You rapidly blinked away the tears in your eyes, concentrating, focusing only on Frankie. He grabbed the back of your knees, hiking them higher, almost folding you in two, his angle hitting deeper than you were expecting, his cock brushing your cervix. You threw your head back.

“That’s it...”, he mumbled, panting, his hot breath fanning over your neck, “Take it all, like the good little slut you are”.

You let out a high-pitched whine, his words finally wearing you down, that tightly wound coil inside of you finally snapping. Your orgasm ripped through you, wetness seeping onto the sheets below.

You were in a state of total bliss, your eyes literally rolling back as Frankie continued to thrust into you, your body humming and twitching. His grip on your legs was bruising, not easing until he was through with you.

Your chest was slick with sweat, heaving as you tried to even out your breathing. You thought you’d heard him speak, muttering something incoherent.

You gulped down a breath while Frankie’s rhythm changed, taking on a hurried note, like he couldn’t control his movements any longer, couldn’t control how much he wanted to come inside of you.

“What?”, you whispered, pretty sure he had said something to you.

“I’m going to fill you up, going to have you leaking me for days...”, Frankie groaned, his body vibrating.

“Do it, Frankie”, you huffed, “Come inside of me”.

It didn’t take much more than that before Frankie stilled inside of you, his whole body spasming as he came deep inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, heaving breaths hitting the shell of your ear, the air ghosting over you gently.

“Fuck”, you panted, wheezing periodically, trying to even out your breaths. You moaned as you felt his release running a path down your ass.

“I was going to say that”, Frankie joked, his voice coming out raspier than usual.

You felt a light kiss on your shoulder, Frankie’s lips decorating your smooth skin. Your lids felt heavy as he continued tracing your neck, cheeks, and arms, making his way up your body.

He carefully untied the ropes that had been restraining you the whole time, taking your right wrist in his hand, planting a soft kiss on it, and then repeating the same action on the left.

“Are you okay, preciosa?”, Frankie asked, his eyes finding yours immediately, as he continued to rub at your delicate and nearly raw wrist, a desperate note to his tone.

You nodded and Frankie pulled your body into him. You curled up against his chest, absorbing the warmth that was radiating from him.

“I’m perfect”. Frankie grunted approvingly, stroking your head lovingly, and placed a kiss along your hairline.

“Good...”, his hand that was in your hair snaked lower and lower and before you could take in another breath, Frankie manhandled you so that you were laying on your stomach, ass up in the air. “Because I’m not done with you yet”.

#frankie morales x reader

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