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vanwritesfan-fiction · 4 months

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Liar, Liar

Joe finds out you've faked it in the bedroom before, and he's determined to make sure you never lie to him again

Warnings: smut (thigh riding, intercourse), language, fluff at the end

"I mean", Sarah paused as she topped off her glass of red wine, the bottle hitting your coffee table with a thump, "there's this expectation that we're just supposed to be at the ready whenever they get home, and sometimes I'm too tired." She sunk into the couch dramatically, her confession earning a couple of hums and nods in agreement from the group.

"Exactly! Like just because you have the stamina of an athlete, doesn't mean I do!", Rebecca chimed in, raising her glass to the group, a few intoxicated chuckles echoing through the living room.

You were tight lipped as you tucked your legs underneath you on the couch, taking a big gulp of your wine as you nervously played with the hem of your sweater.

It was your turn to host the monthly Bengals WAGS get together. It started out as a book club, but quickly became a gossip and venting session where everyone would reveal the things that bothered them about being married or dating a professional athlete. It wasn't really your scene to air out your dirty laundry to anyone outside of your relationship, but you wanted to make friends in the organization, so you offered to bring the alcohol.

"Y/N, you're awfully quiet tonight." All eyes were on you now, and you shrunk under the scrutiny. "Spill it girl, everyone's dying to know how Joe is in bed." Tiffany, the most senior wife on the team, she'd been married to her husband for over a decade, scooted forward towards you. Desperate to change the conversation, you pivoted. "Uh, can I get anyone more wine?" You quickly lifted to your feet and scurried to through the house before anyone could stop you.

"Yeah, baby, how am I in bed?" Joe's voice startled you as you collided with him in the kitchen, Joe catching you at the waist. "Oh my god, don't even start." You playfully slapped him on the chest before pulling away, making him chuckle. You disappeared into the pantry and reemerged with a couple of bottles of wine.

"Where is the bottle opener, babe?" You searched the usual drawer, coming up empty. "Here." Joe approached you from behind, his crotch pressing against your ass as he reached above you to grab the bottle opener. "You better have nothing but good things to say about me", he teased you, a whisper in your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"That doesn't bother you, that people are asking about something so intimate?" You asked, furrowing your brow as you looked at Joe, who simply shrugged. "I mean, not really. As long as you're not getting too detailed", he smirked at you, making your stomach flutter, "its just your version of locker room talk. Its harmless in my eyes."

You removed the cork from one of the bottles with a large with a loud pop. "So I shouldn't tell them about how you like to-", you gestured at your chest suggestively. "Hey! Those are details." Joe wagged a finger at you, playfully patting your butt as you walked back to the living room.

"Y/N! You're just in time!", one of the other wives perked up as you reentered the room, filling up the glasses before you sat back down. "Oh really?" You weren't sure you wanted to hear what they were talking about to be honest. 'Yes! We've been talking about whether or not we've ever faked it with our guys." She wiggled her eyebrows at you, "you know, in the bedroom."

You choked on your wine, letting out a couple of forced coughs to catch your breath. "I, uh-", you were feeling the pressure to say something memorable. You really hadn't ever faked an orgasm with Joe, but you really wanted to make friends with the other wives, they were your lifeline when you spent a lot of weeks alone. "I'm sure I've done it once before, I just really can't remember." You immediately regretted saying that, your throat going dry.

****

Once all of the ladies had left and you had cleaned up the living room and kitchen, you headed upstairs to get ready for bed. Joe had disappeared at some point during the night upstairs to watch game tape, but when you checked his office, it was empty. You followed the sound of the shower to your bedroom, spotting Joe's pajamas laid out on the bed.

"Remind me to never host a party again", you chuckled, "The wives are something else." Joe barely acknowledged your presence as he walked out of the bathroom, a towel tied at his waist. "I was thinking we could go to brunch at this new place Sarah mentioned." Joe was silent as he slipped a t-shirt over his head. "Joe?"

"I have practice tomorrow", he finally bit out with a sigh.

"I know. I mean after practice. Maybe we could run a couple errands together? Its been a while since we've done that."

"After practice, I have meetings." Even if you didn't know your husband well, anyone could tell that Joe was upset about something.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

Joe let out a curt laugh, louder than intended. "I don't know. You're the one faking orgasms, why don't you tell me?" Joe wasn't boastful, neither in his private life or on the field, but he did have pride, and it was wounded tonight when he heard you telling all the wives how unsatisfied you were with him in the bedroom.

"Joe, listen, I can explain that-"

"How long have you been lying to me?" You knew you had to tread carefully here and make sure you didn't say the wrong thing. "I haven't been lying to you, Joe. You said it yourself, its just "locker room" talk."

"And we agreed, no details! I don't talk to the guys about you like that." Joe sat at the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed in anger. You straddled his lap, raking your hands through his wet hair. "You're right. I crossed a line, it won't happen again, okay? But really, babe, it was nothing." You teased him with a quick peck on the lips, Joe deepening the kiss as he held you in place by the back of the head. You moaned as you felt his tongue roam your mouth, gasping for breath as the two of you made out.

You broke apart out of necessity, your chest heaving as you looked at Joe's baby blue eyes, your faces inches from each other.

"Show me."

You held his face in your hands. "Show you what?"

"When I'm fucking you. Where you're faking it." You groaned as you lifted yourself off of his lap. "Joe, let it go, please." Joe hated losing, always had, and this admission felt like a loss to him. He grabbed your wrist as you tried to walk away, pulling you to stand between his legs. His fingers toyed with the zipper of your jeans before he unbuttoned them, pushing them past your hips and exposing your lace panties. He pressed a kiss just below your belly button, his lips lingering against your skin as you shivered. You stepped out of your jeans, kicking them off to the side.

"If you're not lying, and this is just locker room talk, let me fix whatever's wrong."

The thought of you faking an orgasm truly did upset him, and as much as he hides behind his male bravado, there's something incredibly intimate about being able to truly release for your partner, no holds barred. A level of trust he's worked hard for, and you so easily revealed to be false.

You opened your mouth to speak, but could only let out a gasp as he quickly had you mount one of his large, muscular thighs, his hands holding you down at your hips. You instinctively ground yourself against him, the friction of your panties rubbing against your clit overwhelming. "Joe, I-" you mumbled against his lips as he pulled you in for another kiss, your fingertips digging into his shoulders as you quickened the pace of your hips, alternating between moving back and forth and in lazy circles as your orgasm built in your core.

"It can't be this, baby", he whispered, taking in your face as it contorted with pleasure, "that doesn't look like the face of someone faking it."

"I promise you, I'm not faking it." You bit out, throwing your head back. You pulled your shirt off over your head, your breasts at eye level with Joe. His nose trailed down your front, nestling between your breasts as he laid wet kisses between them. You were quickly coming undone, frantically moving on top of him. He could feel you getting close, your thighs clenching around his leg. "Get on the bed."

You climbed around Joe, lying on your back as he stood, the towel around his waist falling to his feet. The tip of his cock was bright pink and leaking with pre-cum as it rested against his lower stomach. You were salivating at the thought of feeling him on your tongue, but Joe had other plans for you. You felt the mattress dip as he pressed a knee into the bed, moving to position himself between your legs.

He let out a dark chuckle as he stroked himself, watching you wriggle on the bed uncomfortably, desperate to reach your climax. "Were you lying about this part, baby?" You let out a squeal as he drug the head of his cock through your drenched folds, teasing your entrance before pulling away.

"Joe, please", you begged, very aware of how desperate you sounded. You shifted yourself down towards him, growing impatient. "Joe, what?" At this point he was just enjoying toying with you. "Joe, please stop playing around." You could fake with your words all you wanted, but your body gave you away. You were no actor; there was no faking the shaking legs and the heaving chest.

He moaned out as he sunk deep into you, bottoming out as you adjusted to his size, slowly moving your hips around his pelvis. He leaned over, framing your head with his forearms. "You know, I could never fake this with you." He moved to your throat, grazing his teeth against your skin. At this point you were just cockwarming him as Joe pressed kisses to your jawline.

"Joe, please, move. Fuck me, please." You whined in his ear, digging your nails into his back, but he continued to hold you there with his body weight. There's nothing you can do but submit to him and you want nothing more than for him to ravish you, but you can tell he's holding back.

"The way you feel when I'm so deep inside of you." He slowly pulled out before slamming his hips back into you, all of the breath leaving your chest. "All of this is real. Always has been, always will be." He pulls out again, this time pushing himself to the hilt agonizingly slow, so you feel every inch of him.

The pace he set was relentless, his thrusts audible in the room as you coated his cock with your slick, hurdling toward your orgasm. "Fuck, Joe. Fuck, don't stop", you breathed out, your eyes shut tight. You tried to reach down to pleasure yourself, but Joe pounded so roughly into you, you couldn't focus, the circles around your clit erratic, your moans vibrating in your chest. "I'm- I'm, Joe-" you stuttered, gasping for breath, tears welling in your eyes from the intense pleasure. "I've got you, baby. I've got you", he reassured you, seeing you grasp at the sheets to steady yourself.

He studied your face, looking for the sign that you were close. There it was: you scrunched your face tightly, your nose wiggling as your release washed over you, your cushiony walls clenching down around him. He remembered how cute your orgasming face was the first time he saw it, an innocent juxtaposition to the explicit actions happening below.

"Such a good girl. So good, baby." He praised, as each pulse of your muscles pulled him in deeper, making his hips stutter, warmth pooling in his stomach. He continued to fuck you so you could ride your high as long as possible, but you were overstimulated. Joe nestled his face in the crook of your neck, groans leaving his mouth as he felt you tighten around him, and in within seconds he was cuming inside of you, "Oh, fuck, fuck", he cried out as you milked him for every drop of his release.

You pulled him in tight, cradling his head and drawling lazy circles on his back as you both came down from your high. His pants in your ear made you shiver, a giggle slipping from your lips as his cock grazed against your sensitive bud when he pulled out. He pushed away from the bed, resting on his hands, laying to the side of you. He took his time admiring your perfect body, his fingertips dragging along your sensitive skin, your face blissed out and euphoric.

"You know I'd never lie to you, right?", you stroked his cheek with your thumb as he looked down at you. "I love you, Joe."

"I know. I never should have doubted you." He gave you a small smile as he rested his chin on your chest. "Just no more bedroom talk with the wives. Deal?"

"Deal, baby."

Tag-List:

@wonderlandiswhereitsatyo

@bernelflo

@wickedfun9

@brrbrina

@zobellagio

@tallrock35

#joe burrow #joey burrow #joey b #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #nfl smut

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cameronspecial · 1 month

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Let Me Hear That Again, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N sees a trend on social media and she can't help but want to see if she can get Rafe to believe it.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Y/N has no idea how the trend started, but she is completely on board with the idea. There is just something so hilarious to her about getting men to think that women actually shed their skin every month. Lucky for her, Sarah is completely in love with the idea of tricking Rafe and John B. into thinking this myth is a fact. The girls send their boyfriends out to pick up dinner at The Wreck during an at-home double date night, so they can put on the clear peel-off face masks. The boys return and this is when the plan sets into play. “Y/N/N, when you get your period, does your monthly shedding ever just get so hard to take off that you just consider letting it flake off?” Sarah questions, looking over at the girl. Rafe and John B. pause at the Cameron girl’s words. They don’t quite know what she is talking about, but they assume she is talking about the shedding of her uterus lining. That is until Y/N says what she says next. “Yes, my skin is shedding right now and look how flaky and big some of the pieces can get.” She starts to pick at the mask and peels a massive part off of her face. Rafe’s eyes widen at what is happening to his girlfriend’s skin and puts the bag on the kitchen island. He rushes to her side, “Angel, what is going on with your skin? Are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I take you to the hospital?” Sure, he has seen some skin peel, except it looks nothing like what he sees before him.

The girls struggle to hide their giggles and Y/N straighten with a serious look on her face. “I’m fine, Rafe. This is supposed to happen. My skin sheds every month with my period,” Y/N lie. His head tilts, “Let me hear that again, Angel.” She smiles to herself. This is working. “It’s like a snake, Rafe. I shed my skin when I get my period. Like this,” she explains, pulling at the mask to demonstrate her point. He refuses to accept this word, “That’s bullshit. If this really happens every month, then how come I’ve never seen it happen?”

“Because I hide it from you silly, so you don’t freak out like you are now.”

“How come they didn’t talk about it in health class?”

“You say that as if we actually learn anything useful in health class. If you don’t believe me, then ask Sarah.”

Rafe turns towards his sister and she nods in confirmation. “It’s true. Look. It’s happening to me too,” she says. Her hands fly to her face to start removing her ‘skin.’ Now, it is John B.’s turn to freak out. “Sarah, don’t do that,” he grimaces. She ignores his plea and gets rid of the second skin on her face. “I can’t believe this is real,” Rafe whispers to himself as his head pivots between looking at hs girlfriend and sister. This pushes the girls over the edge and they both burst into laughter. “OMG, you guys really believed us!” Sarah scream. Both boys stand and back away from their girlfriends. “What do you mean?” Rafe inquiries, staring at Y/N with narrow eyes. Y/N giggles, “Rafe, it’s not real. We just wanted to see if you would fall for it.” John B. looks at Sarah and points at her face. “Then what is going on with your faces?” Sarah holds up the face-mask tube, “It’s just a face mask, John B.” The boyfriends look at each other with a pout and turn their backs to their girlfriends as they walk to the kitchen island. The room is silent as the boys begin to eat without the girls.

Y/N sighs and wraps her arms around his shoulders, “I’m sorry I made you worry.” She presses a kiss on his cheek. “No, you aren’t I saw how hilarious you found that,” he grumbles. “Okay, maybe I’m not that sorry, but I can see how upset you are. I promise I’ll make it up to you later tonight.” Rafe grins at her words and turns to her. “You better,” he mutters against her ear.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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pedrohub · 1 year

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All "zombie-adjacent" films and shows tend to begin the same way - with the outbreak, and The Last of Us was no exception, taking its time to take us through Sarah's (Nico Parker) last day with her father Joel (Pascal), before she is brutally shot by a soldier who panics under pressure. It's pivotal, because the incident informs Joel's character arc for the entire series. "As quickly as that moment happens in the first episode, we shot that scene all night," said Pascal. "It was physically and emotionally one of the hardest nights of shooting I've ever had."

"That was a rough night," says Craig Mazin, showrunner. "I think we did eight takes and the one we used was take eight! Pedro was beating himself up, saying, 'I haven't gotten there, I haven't gotten there.' Because he knew how important it was. And then he got there. And boy, did he ever." ( x )

#pedro pascal #the last of us #nico parker #hbo the last of us #craig mazin #tlouhboedit #tlounetwork #ppascaledit #the last of us hbo #joel miller #sarah miller #ours #polly #edits #interviews #tlou spoilers

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mellowsaturns · 2 years

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just the way you are

BUCKY BARNES X READER

summary: bucky’s acting strange lately, and you find out why

warnings: fluff, jealous!bucky, bucky being a show off

wc: 914

masterlist

a/n: inspired by those tiktoks of people taking their partners to watch top gun maverick and regretting it after lol

———

Bucky was acting weird lately.

Not in a closed off, reclusive sort of way, but like a sudden boost of confidence, never ending energy type of way.

“—hundred ninety-nine, two hundred, two hundred and one, two hundred and two…”

He was doing push-ups in the middle of your room at two in the morning.

You watched him as he went at it, arm propping your head as you laid in bed.

“Bucky. I get it, you can do lots of push-ups,” you said as a yawn escaped your lips. “It’s time to go to bed.”

“Two hundred-ten, two hundred-eleven,” he continued.

“Buck. I’m serious,” you said sternly. “Come to bed before you start to stink of sweat.”

He stopped at your command, grunting before pulling himself back up. He was flushed from the workout. “Could’ve done three-hundred.”

You laughed. “I know. But now isn’t exactly the best time to show off.”

He walked around to his side of the bed, steadying his breath as he sat down.

You pivoted over, lazily wrapping your arms around his waist as you rested your head on his back. “I don’t know why you suddenly got down and started doing push-ups,” you stated, because that was exactly what he did, “but there were other things you—we could have done if you wanted to get rid of all that energy.”

Bucky stiffened at your comment. He turned around, eyes meeting yours from above, a sly smile appearing. “I guess we can make up for the remaining ones I didn’t do,” he said before kissing you, pushing you back down onto the mattress and pulling the covers over.

It had been a normal day. You left the front doors of your workplace, ready to head to the subway to go home like always before a loud honk scared the living daylights out of you.

“Hey, doll.”

You snapped your head to the voice and behold, Bucky Barnes was here with a motorcycle.

You walked towards him, mouth agape. “Bucky… What are you doing here? With that?”

He shrugged. “Here to pick you up,” he said, before handing you a helmet.

You furrowed your brows. You had so many questions.

He grinned. “Hop on.”

The two of you were currently in Louisiana visiting Sam and after helping him with his boat that always seemed to have some kind of mechanical issue, he suggested a trip to the beach.

You were just about to decline his offer as you knew Bucky didn’t particularly enjoy the blazing hot sun and watchful eyes but your boyfriend’s sudden urge and agreement left you speechless.

So here you were, relaxing on the beach chair with Sarah as Bucky played football with Sam and his relatives.

Oh, and Bucky was shirtless.

You were trying really hard not to stare at him and his chest and his abs and the way his muscles moved when he ran and threw the ball.

Did he just… wink at you? God—this Louisiana heat was making you lightheaded.

Sarah smirked, “Are you sure it’s not your hunk of a boyfriend?”

“Here we were, sweating and panting from runnin’ miles to the hideout. When we got there, I kicked em’ steel door down and marched in,” he boasted. “Should’ve seen their faces. They were terrified. No match for us as we took down every single enemy.”

A beaming smile adorned your face as he told his stories. It wasn't often he shared about his days back in the army as there were certain memories he didn’t want to relive, but when he does, it wasn’t usually with this much excitement.

Bucky has been acting strange and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Mmm?”

“Is there a reason you’re acting strange lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” you paused. “You were randomly doing push-ups the other day and you picked me up on a motorcycle that one time. And you have been talking about your days in the army for the past two hours. And um, you played football at the beach without…” you gulped, “a shirt on.”

The push-ups, the motorcycle, the beach. You couldn’t find a connection between—oh.

“Wait,” you said, finally connecting the dots. He was doing everything that happened in that one movie the two of you watched weeks ago. “Were you recreating everything from Top Gun?”

There was a hint of embarrassment in his eyes.

“Oh my god! You were!” you exclaimed.

“No, I was not,” he scoffed.

You studied him. “Bucky.”

He sighed, “Fine. I was just tryna impress you.”

“Impress me? Why would you want to impress me?”

“Well, you were certainly impressed when you were watching on the big screen,” he grumbled.

You frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were staring,” he stated, looking down at his lap, “at those actors. With that look.”

The realization washed over you—Bucky Barnes was jealous. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“Bucky, it was just a movie,” you stated. Sighing, you grabbed his hand and held it tight. “You don’t need to do all that to impress me. I’m impressed by you every single day.”

He gave you that shy smile that always gives you butterflies.

“I love you just the way you are. In my eyes, you’re the bravest, handsomest and coolest person I know. No one compares to you, I promise.”

“Yeah?” he asked bashfully

You returned a loving smile, “I would choose you over anyone in a heartbeat.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #drabble

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cherubispunk · 7 months

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CHERUB (PART I) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: your uncle can’t pay for his weed, joel finds another form of payment.

a note from Lucy: SHEEE'S BAAACK! im sorry but someone had to do it. I took it into my own hands. Hate myself...but I love this. When fleabag said ‘I am a bad feminist’>>>.

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 3377 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! no outbreak (but Sarah still dies sorry), no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, dubcon, P in V sex (unprotected), Creampie, Cumplay, dom!Joel sub!reader dynamic, sex as payment for drugs, allusions to oral - m receiving, Fingering, ever so slight assplay, Choking, gagging (not on his d tho *sigh*), panty sniffing and stealing, Light Spanking, mentions of using drugs such as weed, alcohol consumption, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, spitting, spit play. Some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

It was no delicate whisper, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper.

He did not belong there.

He would not belong there. You’d not give him closure to live and breathe in intimate parts of your anatomy. The only place he would be from now on was between your legs. And maybe in your bed until the wee hours of the dry morning.

That is where you would let him sit.

That is where he would stay.

You hate him. You hate his face. You hate his voice. Hate his fucking temper. But worst of all— the cataclysmic catalyst in your small world of four bedroom walls—you hate how you don’t hate him at all. Not really. Your heart wouldn’t let you. It would break your own ribs clean in two to lurch from your flayed chest and into his palms. If only he’d open them.

Joel Miller gnashed you between his teeth to let you splatter past his lips on the sun cracked dirt. He circled you like a wild cat. His pretty gazelle. Graceful, light on her feet. You felt the splintering distraction of him in the base of your skull. Dull and aching. Still there to rot into earth.

You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain.

Distraught with him, you contemplated desertion. Something akin to treason for his tyranny. Cowardice churning at your gut. The pleasure you would draw from the curling scowl of his coarse brows. The thin line you’d make of his lips and dark mist of hickory that would cloud his eye and better judgement.

But then what? You soon learned that if it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. Joel Miller was harrowing.

Broken. Broken, broken, broken — Maimed, shattered, blistered to burst like waterlogged paint. He made you all, and nothing. Made you shrivel into your own shell at the phantom of his thought. Baring your teeth at the need to divulge in feeling deeper than satiation.

—

You’d cycled back home, hair damp and lank with rare Austin rain. Slow circles of the pedals around a pivot, swerving gently from one side of the empty road to the other. Eyes ahead of you. It was like you were floating in a daze under the yellow saturation of the streetlamps. Past shabby housing estates back to the trailer park you called home. Tips from tonight tucked into the pocket of your apron, ready to be stored under the mattress in the moth bitten pillowcase. Ready to find your flight out of this town.

You skidded to a halt in the pebble speckled dirt outside your trailer, brakes squealing in protest. Standing to lock up your bike to the railing by your uncles beat up, busted down truck. A heavy thunder cracked above, a swollen storm cloud rolling in to send the summer out on its departure with a bang. September was here. And the air smelled acidic with the promise of downpour.

Glancing at the trailer next door, you came to realise your neighbour was in. Lights on, music rattling aluminium walls of his shabby home. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him as he caught your eye in his window. Watching, thumb swiping over his lower lip as he eyed you in your uniform. A stupid yellow dress and pinafore, scuffed mary janes, frilly white socks. Ketchup stains. Doe eyes glued to him, you saw a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat. His deep hickory eyes were dark black in this light, pupils blown to devour the colour.

Before the heat licking up your cheeks could pull to your centre, you moved one foot in front of the other, crashing through the door. The TV was on, a barbaric film of screams drowned out the thunder outside, rattling in your ears. Jarring? No. The regular. Your uncle, ever the washed up cop out he was, was on his fifth beer, no doubt would send a nightcap of whiskey down his throat before lugging himself off to bed. The bottle hung limp in his drunken hand, loosely dangled over the armrest of the leather couch.

He did not spare you a glance.

“I’m home.” You called out to him, waving out a hand in his direction. His sunken stoner eyes didn't drift from the box television in front of him. Merely garbled grunt, followed by a beer burp passed his lips. You sighed through your nose, teeth set on edge. “You had dinner?”

Another grunt. One you took as ‘the fuck do you think?’

You sighed, “Okay, i’ll throw somethin’ in the oven, yeah?” This time he did not spare an answer.

You took it as a blessing. Could have been worse. He could have struck you for being late, taking on overtime for Dee, the young mother who worked alongside you on friday evenings. You needed the money. Uncle Luke got laid off last month, turning up to the impound lot drunk, reeking of hard liquor and staggering around machinery.

So you left it at that, disappeared to hide your money, counting out the bills into piles of ten. Just shy of ninety six dollars. All gathered and stuffed under your mattress. Next was dinner. Nothing much in the fridge, a box of frostbitten waffle fries, out of date in the back of the freezer. Or leftover pizza from the night before. Why not both. ‘Have a feast!’ you humoured yourself dryly.

It was an hour or so later into the evening when your uncle finally spoke up, empty plate resting on his beer belly, another belch to punctuate the first words he said to you all evening.

“Do me a favour and drop by Joel's will ya, doll?” You sat up, looking at him from the lazyboy seat you perched in, feet kicking down from the coffee table.

“Joel’s? Why?” He looked over to see your brow furrowed in question.

“Usual dealer is outta town. Joel’s hookin’ me up with some in the meantime.”

“Come on,” You sighed, tilting your head at him the way a parent would do with a child in pity, “I thought you were clean.”

“It’s just weed.” He snapped, voice gruff in his thick drawl, slurred. “Aint gonna fuckin’ kill me. But you might. Expensive brat.”

The thought flickered across your mind to argue. Fight back. Tell him you were fighting tooth and nail for the rent due next month. But the bruise of his handprint and the simmering burn of his slap to your face the night before stopped your words dry in your throat.

“Fine.” You sighed.

And so, with heavy feet and a grudge in your tight chest, you ambled on over to the next door, knuckles rapping on his door three times quickly.

Joel Miller opened the door with a puff of air out his nose, cigarette hanging loose from his lips. A barrel chested man in a tight wife beater and low slung dirty jeans, brow set in stone. The corner of his lip curled into a sneer of a smirk, taking no shame in the fact he was eyeing you head to toe. The devil down smirk. It made something disgusting tug at your insides, pool deeper in the thick of tension.

“What can I do for you?” He asked in a drawl, crossing great oaks of arms over his chest. The neck of his tank let tease a smattering of salt and pepper hair over the top of his chest. Bristly, wiry. You ignored the urge to feel it catch in your nails. Do the same with the scruff, scant over his jaw. The same gradient. Just as coarse.

“Um,” You eyes dropped from their ogling to the step your feet were planted on, head hung with them, “Uncle Luke said you had somethin’ for ‘im.” You mumbled after clearing your throat.

“I do.” He nodded, pinching his cig between his thick thumb and forefinger, taking a drag and parting it with his lips. He squinted as he exhaled, the stench of the cigarette catching bitter in your nose. “He sent you over here to get it? A sweet lil’ thing like you.”

You nodded hesitantly, still not daring to look at the man in front of you. Above you. He chuckled inwardly at your display of subservience, cock twitching behind the zipper and denim of his jeans. “Look’t ya.” He mused, tossing his dying cigarette onto the gravel, hooking his tobacco stained fingers under your chin to lift it. While your head tilted up at his touch, your eyes strained to stay on the floor. He watched as the stretch of your neck struggled to accommodate a nervous swallow, skin rippling deliciously under his hold. “Lil’ angel aint ya?” He thumbed your head to the side, eyes relishing in the sight of more skin, the wash of yellow light over your profile. “A Cherub.” ��Cherub. That’s what he named you. His little Cherub who was defiled and taken in a heated, frantic assembly of limbs. Pulled to fire at hell's mouth. Joel Miller's mouth.

Still you looked down. “Look at me, Cherub.” And with a heavy sigh you did. That was what was so easy about Joel. It took nothing to obey. Nothing to give in and keel over at his side. “That's better.” He mumbled under his breath, watching the rise of your chest. You could feel the pert tips of your breasts pebble at the meeting of his eyes, mixed with his touch. How delicate it was now. How deranged it would be later. “Come on in…Cherub.” He practically crooned the pet name, stepping aside.

You passed the threshold, a mistake for the best and words parts of you. Because stepping across that line was the damning event in your experience of Joel Miller. Pandora’s box had been opened, left to decay in the woods somewhere as evil poured guilt free from it.

He rummaged around for a second, pulling a clear plastic ziplock bag from a duffel in the corner, dangling it in front of your face. A dirt green, clustered in form. You reached to take it, but he snatched it back with a cruel smile, making the walls of your stomach curl in dread, jaw clamp shut.

“Luke’s gotta pay up, first. He give you money for me?” You shook your head. His eyes clouded darker. “No?” He raised an amused brow, “How you gonna pay for it, Cherub?”

You're stumped. “I– I…” Your voice died in your throat. But Joel can seemingly peer inside you to your own mind, part it like a page of a book or your own legs.

“I don’t want your money, baby.”

“Woulda been mine, anyway.” You sigh. And he narrows his eyes at you, tutting in disappointment.

“I can think ’f one thing that’ll make it up to me.”

And that's how you ended up here. His thick, intruding fingers hooking into your mouth, unhinging your jaw as he speared you on his cock. Everything about him was larger than life. Even the way he breathed was domineering. Fucking you with flared nostrils that gave way to a billowing a breath. The other hand at your neck, revelling at the feeling of your pulse hammering under his splayed palm. Worming your way though cracks in his thick ribs while took you.

He had folded you in half, pressed the knobbles of your knees up to the sides of your head as tears ran thick, hot and slow down your temples. He made it hurt. But you loved it. Needed him to evaporate into air so you inhale him. Devour him.

He grunted, watching in furrowed brow amusement while his thumb pressed into the soft flesh under your jaw, middle and forefinger coated in your slick form earlier and now your own saliva.

It was a primal image. One some may find disgusting. To see him bent over you and ravaging your cunt raw. Bleeding you dry of a semblance of sanity. It was so easy when the tip of his hot, angry cock nipped at the mouth of your cervix with vigour like that. His hand is at your throat, pressing a purple bruise into your flesh over the old one made by another man. For you to marvel at later when he once again staggers from bed to refresh himself with a cool beer, clutching the ache that curled at the base of his spine.

In his eyes, you needed a big god. A man to keep you to yourself. Never have you stray. Ground you with the slamming of his pelvis into your hips. Legs parted for him to eye the very core of you. The seam he would part with two fingers, hot, needly, wet for him. Aching and pinching and shuddering around his digits, tongue, dick. Letting him invade you like the good girl he told you you were, crooning into your ear with hot damp breaths.

Joel dredged up an ache of humanity in you that felt numb so long before. Lay dormant in the chasm of your stomach. Swallowed like a peach pit to choke on later. After the sin had dried like the sweat on your skin.

“Fucking easy, ain’t ya, Cherub.” He would say as he penetrated your walls, invaded your mouth with his fingers. His lips draw open mouthed, wet kisses to the delicate column of your throat, down the bone between your breasts. Then he leans back, watching intently as his hips slow to grind, dragging the slick of your walls to drench the base of his cock. Ready for you to take down your throat later if he wished to meld you into that position. A hand let free the grip on your throat, instead watched with fascination as he slapped your tit, took the swell of it in his palm, cupping it, tugging at your pearled nipple. “Gonna take all of it for me, Cherub.”

You garbled out a yes, a cry of submission to him. Before, Joel never felt the acidic aftertaste of guilt for being selfish. Since he lost Sarah, he took it upon himself to have what he wanted and when he wanted it, without a damn for the rest of humanity.

The only time he felt a shred of remorse was when he stole you; Hid you away from the warm, nurturing touch of others' more loving, less brutal hands. But you were his Cherub. All that was pretty a beautiful and to be desired in the world.

With his lip between his teeth, his thumb swiped tight circles over your swollen clit, slick aiding him in the fluidity of his strokes, heavy balls drizzled in your arousal as they slap wetly against your ass. A nod and his fingers slip further into your mouth, opening your jaw wider to peer inside. A glob of his spit drooled past his lips, splattering thick and warm upon your clit. It slid down to your entrance, where he punctures moans out of you, shaft stretching you, fucking you out, and thrusting with the intent to break you. You can feel the curve of it, the vein that runs steady on the underside of it. Heavy, full. You remember the slap it sounded out when you reached to pull it free. Before he parted your legs wide and sheathed himself in your pussy with one swift wane of his hips.

Joel smiles when you sob and break down for him, pull back a layer for him to slip into you. The walls of you drag him down into a grounding. A centre of a universe. Gravity strong enough to implode, create dark matter, compress tightly into a black hole. The centre of his universe.

“Does my baby want it?” He crooned, and you yelped a yes, strangled by his being. The scent of him clinging to you, your sex. It gnarled at your skin. Scratched marks into flesh. “Does she want to come for me?”

You didn't have to nod, he made you with his grip on your jaw. It was going to be your answer anyway. “Want you to say it for me too, Cherub.”

“Yea, Joel!” You yelp, voice shrill, and cracked like the callus on the heel of his hand. “Yes!”

He grins, wicked and wrapped with the inter to tear you apart from the inside with the jackhammering of his cock inside you, The delicious, toe curling numbness of it inside you.

“Come on, Cherub, sing f’me.”

“Yes-” It's a shriek, a quick, frenzied shriek. One that filled the hollow of your chest and then deflated it. “Yes! Please, please, please- Please!”

Your begging melts in his ears, the sight of eyes rolled back, mouth open for him. And he needs to feel, reaching between where the two of you join with your own hand. The base of his cock now between your middle and ring fingers, his length swiping your fingers in combined precum and slick as he bucks his hips violently. The headboard shakes and trembles beneath his frantic movement. And he presses the heel of your hand into your clit, having you seeing stars. Crying to the heavens you fell from.

His little Cherub. Plush skin and plump curves for his teeth to sink into and mark his territory. Whenever he may please now.

“Come.”

And you do, screaming his name to him as a numb weight fills the pit of your core, has your pussy pulsing in waves, ebbs and flows. It sucks him deeper, a lew squelch gaining his attention when his lower abdomen and balls tighten. He lets out a strangled groan, filling you with one final push upon your cervix.

It has you gasping for air, chest heaving when he looks down between you, the white sticky ooze of his come seeping from your walls, softening cock still sheathed inside of you. Not ready to pull from the warmth your cunt hugs him with.

“That’s it, angel, down you come.” He coos, before sifting his hips, leaving you to whine as your gaping hole fluttered furiously around nothing.

He stands, pulls his jeans on, fly still undone, belt buckle loose and clinking at his sides. He swipes your underwear from the scattering of your clothes over the musty carpet, bringing it to his nose to inhale. “Part of the payment.” He mumbles, not that you’re listening, mind still swimming in its pool of oxytocin. And he slips the lace into his jean pocket, baby pink peeking out from denim.

“Better get back, Cherub.” Joel said plainly, fingers dancing over your used hole, as cum dribbles gluttonously from it, down your crack to your puckered asshole. He thumbs it gently and you squeal, squirming away. His hand clamps down upon your thigh, dragging you back down the mattress to his unyielding touch.

“Don’t be ungrateful now.” He growls, collecting the creamy spend with two fingers, scooping it back inside you. Your body jolts from the intrusion, but gathers itself again and desire swims low in the swell of your belly. “Want it all in ya’. Fillin’ you nice and good for me, Cherub. There we are, that’s it.” He smiles, eyes unmoving from your cunt as his fingers disappear inside and stretch it out, scissoring you to overstimulation. “Maybe one day i’ll get to use this one too…” And you feel his thumb once more at your butt, adding the smallest tease of pressure.

Joel pulled back, clapping a hand down on the plush, malleable skin of your thigh.

“Up ‘n out, Cherub, ‘fore your uncle gets suspicious.”

You know Uncle Luke won’t know any different. He’s passed out on the sofa when you get in, legs trembling with an ache weighing the marrow of your bones. You shut the door with your back and a shaking huff, tossing the weed onto the coffee table, retiring to your room, sobbing to nothing and no one but your grimy pillow, licking your wounds like the wounded bitch you had now become.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #dealer!joel

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astrid-sorensen · 1 year

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Healing you - Joel Miller x reader

Genre : Angst, Fluff, Hurt + Comfort my favourite.

Word count : 2,040

Warnings : Established relationship, nightmares, injury, child death yk the drill. Tell me if I missed any and feedback welcome!

MASTERLIST

A long 12 years after Sarah’s death, Joel can’t seem to open up to you again. But you’re never gonna stop trying.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke to him pivoting your leg off to his side, leaving him just enough room to shuffle his large mass in between your legs, easing his weight down on top of you. His fingertips dug into the plane of your lower back, his skull pressed in between the bare flesh of your breasts. You began to straighten on the bed, awaiting his next move. His wavy hair a messy mop on his head as you began to lovingly comb through the ashy strands.

The dark hollow glow of your Boston apartment echoed with the eventual quiet sobs of Joel, your Joel. Agonising nights like this weren't uncommon, Joel always struggled with rest without the help of pills and brown malt liquor. And when the nightmares rolled in, he turned to you for comfort as his fatigued cries lulled himself back to sleep.

You clutched across his broad shoulders, attempting to soothe him with your words. "Shhh, I've got you. I'm here." Hot drops of his pain pooled on your skin, if you weren't so pained you'd had wiped them away. Joel wouldn't have minded, but you couldn't bring yourself to disturb him. He pressed harder into your sternum, the rhythmic thump of your beating heart grounding him. Eyes watching down as his face scrunched up tightly before softening.

The eventual soft snores of his blocked nostrils signally he had finally drifted off again. You let out a soft breath you didn't realise you were holding. God, he was in so much pain, it stunned you every time. Even though his blank stares and loss of affection had become a sort of ritual by now. Love and tenderness were an abandoned cause.

—

"Ready?" The southerner asked from where he was stood, packed and ready to go. Joel's words were few and far between, so unlike the cheery funny man you once knew back in sunny Austin. You shot him a sharp nod, tucking your trusty dagger in a leather case and into your side pocket.

You followed him out the QZ, cold benevolent rain drops pattering down on the stark city streets. You only had to skip past two soldiers before crouching through the busted wire fence, it were only a matter of time before the tear would be sealed up again. You crossed short planes of long grass and rubble terrain before entering the safety of the nearest borough, no one from the QZ would be after you now. Watching your step not to trip or slip on the muddy ground.

You trekked along, Joel's large hand falling to his side, his fingers loosing hanging. Envisioning your palms closing around each others, the heartwarming feeling of companionship. But you didn't dare establish it. You had tried many times, the forbidding shake of his arm to get you off, too painful to bare singly once more.

"Hey, Joel?"

"Yes."

"I wanna talk to you abo-"

The grooved soles of you feet were no match against the sloped grass, your boot making a sharp decline behind your front one. Pulling you down to the concrete ground you'd started from.

A burning pain shot through your knee, a squeal and grunt leaking from your lips as you moved to steady yourself on the floor. You eyes squeezed shut as you straightened your leg, the pain only intensifying. Joel had quickly jumped back down to join you sitting on the cobbles.

"We're going home now." He stated bluntly. You interjected. "It's not safe. You’re unable to walk properly."

"No, it's ok-"

Brawn branches heaved you up from your standpoint. In another life you could picture this same position, grins ear to ear as the church bells rang. Lily white petals fluttering and spinning through the air as they fell to the chapel floor. 'Just married' drawn on the back of the vehicle as you left for your honeymoon. Bliss. A utopian yet impossible bliss.

Your wrists curled around the thick trunk of his neck, the grisly hairs scratching across you skin. Tucking into his neck for better weight distribution you noticed how close you were. The deepened frown lines of his face and the golden glow of his beautiful tanned skin. The sight made you hands clammy, you don't remember the last time you gazed upon him this close. A heat spilled into the depths of your rib cage.

Back at the flat, Joel kicked open the fragile wooden door, then slammed it shut behind him. He strode into the living area, ever so compassionately plopping you upon the torn up couch. The back of your head touched the cushion, a controlled breath leaving your cracked lips at the pain.

"Still bad?" His eyebrow cocked towards you inquisitively. Your eyes shut briefly with a nod of your neck, the larger male crouching down to the floor as he decided what to do next. "Pants off." The Texan told you. Your began to shuffle out of the worn out denim, filled with thinned patches and threadbare.

He noticed your difficultly and you leaned your weight with your upper back against the furniture, his hands grabbing simultaneously at the waistband to tug down the fabric. Once you got to your knees he eased out your good leg, before doing the same to the other mercifully.

"Shit." He gruffly leaked under his breath. The swollen cup of your knee cap, red and beginning to bruise. His hands moved to the wounded limb, one pressed on the side of your thigh as the other lay on the light hair of your shin. It was worse than you had both expected. "You need'a rest."

Later, your rested your leg outstretched on the worn out mattress. “I’ve gotta finish this run. Should be back tomorrow if I’m lucky.”

“Joel?” He turned facing you. “I love you.” His nodded, eyes gazing off in a line as the words registered in his head and like that he was gone. The worst part was that night, it didn’t feel too different to normal. Empty and cold.

—

The next evening you woke to the door shutting. Quickly you turned to the bedside draw, shaky hands gripping at the handle to pull it out and fetch your dagger. The tall dark male entered, your heart pounding once more before started to go back into rhythm. “Fuck.” You heaved in shock. Joel sent you an apologetic look, emptying his pockets of his weapons and supplies before standing over the bed.

“You hungry? Cold?" Joel was curious, he had deep purple bags under his eyes and a shallow cut on his jaw. You would ask him about it later.

"No, I'm okay."

"Ok, I'll just-"

"Can you come here?" He meandered closer standing to the side of the bed as he sat into his hip. You sat up moving across so he could perch on the side, your foreheads touching as you placed a hand to his toughened cheek. You leant in, millimetres away from your lips touching — his head turned, facing away from you.

Your hand fell in rejection, the familiar crushing weight of loss cascading through you. "You won't even kiss me anymore," You let the words hang, his head tilted in what looked like guilt. Your heart ached for his love again his longing and desire. You used to be like rabbits never able to keep your mitts off of each other.

"And we haven't had sex in years." Your tears bubbled as the statements festered in the grooves of your brain. “Joel, please stop pushing me away."

"She wasn't even your daughter." You hunched away from him, the stinging sharp torture of your knee paling in comparison to the sentence just uttered. You lower lip dropped in shock, unable to fathom how he could muster such a thing.

"You knew how close I was to her. I spent years getting to know her and looking after her! How dare you!" His jaw tightened, still not daring to look at your furious expression. "I know your mourning her! I am too! But you don't know how it feels to mourn someone whose hasn't even died!" The words stung the brunette like an angry wasp.

"Baby-"

"No, Joel. Don't.” Mumbled words slipped through your teeth. “I can't take this anymore, I miss you so much. I just wish I could make you happy."

"You do make me happy." Joel commented. His eyes scanned down to see a small silver chain hung around the supple skin of your throat. A small diamond heart pendant hung from the jewellery.

Joel gifted it to you for your birthday one year after a lovely romantic dinner at your favourite restaurant of course. He’d paid Tommy to look after Sarah that night, leaving you enough time to have a long hot bubble bath with some red wine. Joel was joint at your hip that day, always a hand on you whether it be holding your hand, around your waist or shoulders or resting softly on your thigh.

You were like a drug to him, he was hooked. Smothering you in kisses and heartfelt confession of his love. Making your next sentence a torturing wake up call.

"You can't even look at me anymore.”

"No, no." His body spun from where he was sat, leaping over you til your frame was trapped inside his larger one. His hand cocooned the back of you head, keeping you pressed into him. He squeezed you tightly before pulling back his hands drilling into the sides of your face to look at him. "I love you. I love you so much.”

There was a deep desperation in his face his eyes hollowing out your soul and pleading with your heart. You lip wobbled, the loving man of your past shining through with the exception of his pitiful distress. Eyes falling down to his small chapped lips, he knew what you were after. Hesitantly, he gave in.

Flesh on flesh, his warm mouth joined your own, a searing kiss coveting everything he was trying to say. It was forceful, not enough for you to pull back, but just enough for you to place a hand on the puffed up plane of his chest. He moved his lips against your a few more times before pulling back.

“I just feel like I’ve lost everything. We were so happy, you me and Sarah.”

"I'm sorry,” Joel began, “I'm so selfish. I didn't even realise I was neglectin' you." You swallowed hard, savouring the dark honey taste of him on your lips. "I can't begin to make it up to you, but I'll promise I'll try." Offered the male. “Don't you cry now, you'll set me off." A small smile cracked onto your face. “You need’a get some sleep, you look tired.”

“I am.” You agreed. Joel walked around the bed, pulling back the blankets and getting in beside you. You snuggled up into his side, his arm protectively cuddling around you. Pulling you into closer to his flannel clad skin. His other hand clutched your head, tender stroking his hand over your dirty tangled hair.

Joel watched your eyelids close, your long lashes resting on your plush cheeks. It brought him back to the days back when. Back when you’d cuddle up on his living room couch, Sarah sat on the floor doing her homework with the TV on.

He’d knew in that moment you were it for him. He’d never leave your side. He wanted you in every way another person could have someone. Loved and cherished. Devoted and loyal.

“Your still just as beautiful as the day we met.” Words whispered into the cold air. Clouded with red light shooting through the bed sheet covered windows.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. You’re the only woman I’ll ever love.” There was wretched plea coating his tongue. “I miss touching you.”

“You have me.”

That night you both slept like a baby. The tall brunette crushing you back into his chest as his limbs glued your skin together. He lay the shyest of kisses to the back of your neck, shoulder and head. One hand brushed along the skin of your hip. Whispering sweet nothings as he pacified you to sleep. "Shhh, I've got you sweetheart. I'm here.”

#joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us fluff #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller blurb #tlou joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x you

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years

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Femme Fatale Booklist:

Books to become your dream girl. This list is curated to unleash the empowered woman inside, tap into your dark feminine energy, and help you succeed in every area of life. Sections are listed below:

Self-Development/Mindset

Seductive Psychology

Femme Fatale/Dark Feminine/Feminist Reads

Business/Finance/Entrepreneurship

Productivity

Mental Health

Physical Health

Fashion & Beauty

Get educated. Expand your mind. Enjoy xx

Self-Development/Mindset:

Mindset: The New Psychology of Success by Carol Dweck

The Magic of Thinking Big by David Schwartz

Atomic Habits by James Clear

You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay

Don’t Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen

The Mountain Is You: Transforming Self-Sabotage Into Self-Mastery by Brianna Wiest

Boundary Boss: The Essential Guide to Talk True, Be Seen, and (Finally) Live Free by Terri Cole

The Confidence Formula: May Cause: Lower Self-Doubt, Higher Self-Esteem, and Comfort In Your Own Skin by Patrick King

The Slight Edge by Jeff Olson

Choose Your Story, Change Your Life: Silence Your Inner Critic and Rewrite Your Life from the Inside Out by Kindra Hall

When You’re Ready, This Is How To Heal by Brianna Wiest

Hunting Discomfort: How to Get Breakthrough Results in Life and Business No Matter What by Sterling Hawkins

The Four Pivots: Reimagining Justice, Reimagining Ourselves by Shawn Ginwright

The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle

The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle

Seductive Psychology:

48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

Mastery by Robert Greene

The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene

How To Win Friends & Influence People by Dale Carnegie

Power vs. Force by David Hawkins

Femme Fatale/Dark Feminine/Feminist Reads:

Unbound: A Woman’s Guide To Power by Kasia Urbaniak

Pussy: A Reclamation by Regena Thomashauer

Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl―A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship by Sherry Argov

A Single Revolution by Shani Silver

This Is Your Brain On Birth Control by Sarah Hill

Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler

Regretting Motherhood: A Study by Orna Donath

Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Me by Caroline Criado Perez

Women Who Run With The Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

The Second Sex by Simone De Beauvoir

The Ethics of Ambiguity by Simone De Beauvoir

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf

Women & Power: A Manifesto by Mary Beard

Spinster by Kate Bolick

What French Women Know: About Love, Sex, and Other Matters of the Heart and Mind by Debra Ollivier

Living Forever Chic: Frenchwomen's Timeless Secrets for Everyday Elegance, Gracious Entertaining, and Enduring Allure by Tish Jett

Business/Finance/Entrepreneurship:

Never Split The Difference by Chris Voss

Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion by Robert Cialdini

The 2-Hour Cocktail Party by Nick Gray

The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey

Girl On Fire by Cara Alwill Leyba

Women, Work & the Art of Savoir Faire: Business Sense & Sensibility by Mireille Guiliano

Crucial Conversations Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High by Joseph Grenny

Living On Purpose: Five Deliberate Choices to Realize Fulfillment by Amy Eliza Wong

The Earned Life: Lose Regret, Choose Fulfillment by Marshall Goldsmith

The High 5 Habit: Take Control of Your Life with One Simple Habit by Mel Robbins

Building a Second Brain: A Proven Method to Organize Your Digital Life and Unlock Your Creative Potential by Tiago Forte

The Culture Code: The Secrets of Highly Successful Groups by Daniel Coyle

Rich As F*ck: More Money Than You Know What to Do With by Amanda Frances

Rich Bitch by Nicole Lapin

Like She Owns the Place by Cara Alwill Leyba

So Good They Can’t Ignore You by Cal Newport

The First Minute: How To Start Conversations That Get Results by Chris Fenning

Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

Build: An Unorthodox Guide to Making Things Worth Making by Tony Fadell

The Hard About Hard Things by Ben Horowitz

The Psychology of Money: Timeless Lessons on Wealth, Greed, and Happiness by Morgan Housel

Productivity:

The Science of Self-Discipline: The Willpower, Mental Toughness, and Self-Control to Resist Temptation and Achieve Your Goals by Peter Hollins

Free Time: Lose The Busy Work, Love Your Business by Jenny Blake

Vision to Reality: Stop Working, Start Living by Curtis Jenkins

Deep Work: Rules For Focused Success in A Distracted World by Cal Newport

Finish What You Start by Peter Hollins

Mental Health:

Becoming The One by Sheleana Aiyana

Attached by Amir Levine

Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns

Whole Again by Jackson MacKenzie

Take Your Lunch Break by Massoma Alam Chohan

Stop Overthinking by Nick Trenton

Codependent No More by Melody Beattie

Designing the Mind: The Principles of Psychitecture by Ryan A. Bush

Radical Acceptance: Awakening The Love That Heals Fear and Shame by Tara Brach

Recovery from Gaslighting & Narcissistic Abuse, Codependency & Complex PTSD by Don Barlow

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents: How to Heal from Distant, Rejecting, or Self-Involved Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson

Inner Child Recovery Work with Radical Self-Compassion by Don Barlow

What Happened To You?: Conversations on Trauma, Resilience, and Healing by Bruce D. Perry & Oprah Winfrey

Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown

Physical Health:

The China Study by T. Collin Campbell

The Blue Zones by Dan Buettner

How Not To Die by Dr. Michael Greger

Befriending Your Body by Ann Saffi Biasetti

Brain Over Binge by Kathryn Hansen

The Power of Self-Discipline by Peter Hollins

Fit at Any Age: It's Never Too Late by Susan Niebergall

French Women Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano

The Archetype Diet by Dana James

Fashion & Beauty:

The Lucky Shopping Manual: Building and Improving Your Wardrobe Piece by Piece by Andrea Linett & Kim France

Dress Like A Parisian by Alois Guinut

Parisian Chic by Ines de la Fressange & Sophie Gachet

Why French Women Wear Vintage: And other secrets of sustainable style by Alois Guinut

Ageless Beauty the French Way: Secrets from Three Generations of French Beauty Editors by Clemence von Mueffling

Skincare: The Ultimate No-Nonsense Guide by Caroline Hirons

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

Drawn Together 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, spanking, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Take her to the room, son,” Sarah’s voice crackles like ice, “and don’t let her out until she’s earned it.”

“Yes, mother,” he answers as he squeezes you tighter.

“Don’t let her ruin this,” she turns on her heel and struts around, “this is a very nice home, I think the two of you would be very happy here. If she doesn’t spoil it all.”

“She won’t, ma, I promise. I can teach her–”

“You better,” she spins back to him and jabs her finger in the air, “when I return, I expect a warmer welcome than I’ve had today. Do you understand?”

“Mother, yes, I do,” Steve avows.

“I’m not talking.” She takes a step, “to.” Closer. “You”

You blink at her futilely. You can do nothing but murmur into Steve’s hand. She shakes her head, her disapproval ticking in her cheek. The shadows set angles on her face in a way that reminds you of her son.

“She will understand,” Sarah looks above you, “you will make sure, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Steve shudders against you, “I’ll show you out–”

“No, I can see to myself, do not delay. And do not be soft.”

She waggles her finger at you before she tilts her chin up and strides away promptly. You watch her take her purse from the console table as she approaches the banister. She pauses to glance at you again.

“I will lock up so you do not need to worry,” she dips her head down in a dismissive nod, “goodbye, boo.”

“Bye, ma,” Steve chimes back, “love ya.”

“As I love you, my special boy.”

She descends without further pretense. Your heart blazes in horror as you writhe and kick down your feet. Steve huffs, you feel his chest heave, and drags you backward. You reach out, trying to catch the wall but he’s too strong.

“Sweetheart, all you had to do was be good,” he sneers as he pulls you into the bedroom, “I really like you but ma, she’s got trust issues. She won’t give you another chance.”

He turns and kicks the door shut behind him. He marches you to the bed and tosses you forward. You stumble and land on your stomach against the mattress. You roll over as he clicks his tongue.

You sit up and watch him unlash his belt buckle. You whimper and push your knees together as you stretch your hands over the bedspread.

“Steve,” you squeak, “please, I’m sorry–”

“Shhh, no, that’s not yet,” he says as he pulls his belt free of the loops, “apologies are after. That way, I know you mean it.”

He nears as you cower away from him. You wince as he drops the belt beside you. You let out a quivery breath as he stands before you. He crisscrosses his fingers between each other and cracks his knuckles. Is he going to hit you?

You raise your hand in a measly defense and he grabs it, shoving it down.

“No, I wouldn’t– not your face,” he sniffs and unbuttons his sleeve, then the other.

He methodically rolls up the pressed white fabric, folding it just above his elbow. His forearms bulge beneath the layers of ink, tendons and veins standing out as he furls and unfurls his fingers. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, shaking out his hands.

He pivots slowly and sits beside you. You tremble as his touch crawls up your back. He pulls you close and puts his lips to the shell of your ear.

“Get on my lap,” he growls.

He eases you back to look you in the face. Your eyes glisten in shock. What is he going to do to you?

“Pardon?”

“Ah, first, remember, it’s sir. Say it.”

You gulp and quaver through the well brimming behind your eyes, “sir…”

“I gave you an order. You say ‘yes, sir’ and do as I tell you.”

You look him in the eye. You pout and reach for his hand, one last plea, “please–”

He snatches his hand away, “don’t make me tell you again.” He slaps his thigh, “on your stomach.”

You peek over at the door. You could never outrun him. Besides that, you tested your luck and the front door isn’t budging. As stupid as you are, you nailed the windows down and trapped yourself.

You move slowly, as if in a trance. Your limbs are dull and heavy as you awkwardly position yourself across his lap. You sniffle as he pushes you flat, running his hand along your back, following the curve, and over your ass. He lingers there, groping you as a ripple courses through him.

“This is how you have to learn. If you can’t listen, I have no choice. I don’t want to do this, sweetheart, but I have to.”

You drop your head down and hide it in the crook of your elbow. You bite down in anticipation. You know what he means to do. He lifts his hand and you hold your breath.

He lays down a smack so hard it stings. You squeal in surprise, ready for the strike but unprepared by the sheer force and the quick succession that follows. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t let up as he brings his hand down over and over, so fast you can’t even count.

You whine and whimper, raising your head as you bite back the pain. Your body wracks as you fight the swell of agony that radiates from his contact. You clutch the bedspread in your fist and dig your knees into the mattress.

“Ow, please, please, I’ll be good.”

He stops, keeping his hand on your ass. He waits silently. You shake, waiting. He snarls.

“I’ll be good, sir…” he drags his hand down your leg and back up, pushing up your skirt.

You wince and squeak again. He pushes the fabric above your waist and hooks his fingers in the ribboned trim of your underwear. He wrenches them down as you jolt. The cool air touches your hot ass, adding to the sear in the tortured flesh.

“You.” He brings his hand down without warning, “have,” another, “to.” Slap,” learn” crack, “your,” smack, “manners!”

“Ow, ow, ahh, please,” the tears spring out as each spank is harder than the last, “please, sir, I promise–”

“I have to go all the way,” he puffs as he reaches back with his other hand, “you made me do this, sweetheart. You did.” He pulls the belt off the mattress and the belt tinkles in foreboding, “you insulted my mother. I can’t allow it.”

“No, I didn’t–”

“Shhh,” he hushes you again as he lifts the belt, “be a good girl and be quiet. The louder you are, the more you’ll get.”

He folds the belt and holds it against your ass. You murmur and bring your hand back to bite into your knuckle. The leather rises and you sink your teeth in. He swings and strikes your ass. The belt’s lash razes your flesh and sends a vibrant bloom of pain up your back.

Tears spring as you try not to make a sound. As he hits you again, you can’t withhold the pathetic mewl that escapes your lip. Your face wets with the unyielding flow that comes from the pain scalding your skin.

Your shoulders rise and fall as you try to measure your rampant breaths. You sob as he whips you furiously, the sharp lashes licking down your thighs. You can feel the welts lining your ass, burnt into the flesh by his rage. He keeps his free hand on your lower back as he carries on, over and over until your delirious with the pain.

You weep into your arm as your knuckles slip from your mouth, the teeth marks throbbing as you lay limps and defeated. Please, stop, stop, stop. You can’t take it.

It isn’t until his rough palm grazes your ass that you realise it has stopped. That you hear your own babbles, crying out your thoughts weakly as you shake uncontrollably. He rubs you gently and coos, “it’s over now, sweetheart. Shh, please, stop crying.”

You can’t stop. The tears leak out and the sobs coil around your ribs, squeezing out your grief. He pulls your panties back up, the fabric causing the heat to pulse in your ass. He fixes your skirt and moves you slowly.

You wince and moan as he lifts you off him and angles you onto your side, pulling you up to lay your head on the pillow. He bends over you, a shadow skewed in your haze as he touches your shoulder, “sweetheart, do you understand why that had to be done?”

You nod as your tears gush out and you cover your face.

“Tell me.”

“S-sir?”

“Tell me why?”

“B-because…” you gulp and hiccup from behind your hands, “because I have… to learn… my manners.”

“Mmm,” he thumbs as his thumb rubs your shoulder, “yes, and?”

“And?” You pull your hand down slightly and bat your lashes at him, “sir, I don’t… know.”

He gives a soft smile and bends over you, bringing his hand up to your chin, “you wore the wrong dress. I want you to remember that I didn’t punish you for that.” He trails his hand up to caress your cheek, “next time, I will.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and reluctantly draws away. You watch him move around, taking the belt off the bed where he left it. You notice how he rubs it against the front of his pants, a bulge beneath the fabric. You hide once more and curl up tight, the fiery pain thrumming beneath your tailbone.

“I will give you time to think,” his footsteps cross to the door. You say nothing and wait for him to leave. You can do nothing else as you're paralysed by terror and torment.

#drawn together #drabble #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark drabble #dark!drabble #au #tattoo au #series #mcu #marvel #captain america

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