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lotusbxtch · 14 hours ago

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HAPPY FUCKING HOLIDAYS I hope Frankie Morales is under my tree ��

In the Winter - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Warnings: LOL this is so rated E for every single reason. Oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, you name it. Word Count: 2355 Prompt #56: Pulling your love in your lap, them straddling your hips. a/n: I watched Triple Frontier twice in a week and this happened. Happy Winter!

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You’d grown up in the cold, but Frankie most certainly had not.

“How the fuck does anyone live here?” Frankie asks for what you’re pretty sure is the fourth time since you started shoveling out the driveway. Snow was still falling, but you’d lived there long enough to know that shoveling a little at a time was greatly preferable to plowing your way through the higher drifts later. Your dad didn’t believe in snowblowers so shoveling was the only option, and this made it easier. It was a whole deal.

You stop for a moment, leaning against your shovel as you wipe away a few stray strands of hair from your cheek. “You deal with it,” you shrug, although you’ll be the first to admit that living in Florida for the past few years has made dealing with it a lot harder than it used to be.

Frankie mirrors you, his weight shifting against his own shovel as he breathes heavily. A giggle escapes you at the sight - Francisco Morales in a bright blue parka, his jeans tucked into an old pair of your father’s boots. A winter hat that replaced his standard baseball cap sits atop his head, and his cheeks are rosy red from a mixture of cold and the exertion of clearing the driveway.

“I’m starting to regret volunteering for this,” he quips, taking a few steps toward you as he drags the shovel behind him, the metal scraping against the icy pavement.

“But now Dad loves you,” you tease, maneuvering in his direction with a sway of your hips, “and wasn’t that your goal?”

His eyebrows raise in disbelief, “how did you…”

“Isn’t it?” you ask again, popping the “T” in your response as a smile plays at your lips. When your mom learned that you had some time off, she’d insisted that you come home for the holidays, and Frankie had been oddly eager to join you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that Frankie was trying hard to impress your parents, but it wasn’t until you accidentally overhead a conversation in your father’s study that you fully understood why.

Your boyfriend is close enough now that his breath mingles with your own, fogging in-between your bodies. From where you stand, even through the layers you both wear, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You automatically lean closer, swaying in his direction, but he surprises you by pulling back, resuming the task of clearing snow with a sly smile plastered on his face.

“What the fuck, Frankie?”

“If my purpose here is to impress your father, then I’d better finish clearing out this driveway,” he states, effortlessly working to clear the remaining snow with renewed determination. “Plus, anyone could see us out here.”

Arousal pools deep in your belly as you watch him work, and you glance back at the house, where soft light pours out the front window. Frankie’s right, anyone could see you out here, your parents included, but it’s also late. Late enough that the street around you is quiet, and you’re fairly certain your parents have already gone to bed.

Which is why, when you look back at Frankie, your brain short circuits. He’s grunting as he lifts another load of snow and it causes a flash of heat to course through your veins, and you curse the archaic traditions that have you sleeping in separate bedrooms. Frankie had sheepishly followed orders, bunking downstairs in the guest room while you took your childhood bedroom two stories up. You’d protested, but this trip and their impressions were important to Frankie, which meant they were important to you, but now your ability to refrain from sneaking beneath his sheets is wearing thin.

And, then, a plan forms in your mind.

You drop your shovel where it stands, moving with purpose down the driveway. He’s focused enough on his task that he doesn’t hear you, the sound of your footsteps muffled by his hat, and he’s obviously surprised when you grab his arm and drag him back toward the house. His shovel drops with a second loud clang, and you wince, hoping that it doesn’t wake anyone inside the house, but you keep moving, intent on getting him inside as soon as possible.

“What are you…” he asks, but you drown out his response with your lips on his the second you have him pulled into the garage. With the door closed behind him, he winds his arms around you, still covered hands spanning the width of your back.

Frankie’s a good kisser, you learned that on your first date, but nothing ever seems to prepare you for the way he devours you. You might be in control, pressing him firmly against the door, but he maintains a near-frantic pace, biting at your lower lip in a well-practiced effort that draws a moan out of you.

It’s overwhelming, and you’re unsure how he’s been able to notice anything in the moments since you stepped into the garage when you already feel like you’re floating, but he leads you easily toward an old workbench that you recognize faintly from your grandparents’ farm. When he sits, he drags you down against him, urging you to straddle his hips, hands on your thighs as he leads you in grinding your core against him. Your movements are sloppy, desperate for any kind of friction, but then he finds your rhythm and fuck.

He’s hard against your center, hips rocking ever so slightly up against you even through the layers you both still wear. It’s unclear when you lost your scarf or when he lost his hat, but Frankie’s lips are attached to your neck, worrying into your skin in a way that makes you thankful it’ll still be cold enough for a turtleneck in the morning. You make a feeble attempt to bring him closer by tangling your fingers in his curls, but it isn’t enough. None of it is. You need to be closer.

“Why the fuck did I wear snow pants?” you whine into the dark as you stand, frantically starting to peel back your layers. Frankie is barely visible in the shadows of the room, but you hear his low laugh, and you swat at him in warning. “Stop laughing and help me out of this thing.”

“As you wish,” he returns, making quick work of your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders to let it pool on the concrete behind you. You’re already working at your boots while he unzips his own coat, and then his hands are on you again, attempting to unfasten the suspenders on your snow pants. “And here I was thinking the most complicated thing I’d ever have to get you out of was that thing you wore for our anniversary,” he grumbles as his fingers work.

“Just wait till you see me in a wedding dress,” you tease, and you can tell by the way Frankie stills for just a moment that you haven’t extinguished a fire, you’ve lit one.

You’re barely aware of what happens next, of the way Frankie lifts you so your back is against the rough surface of the bench. He practically rips your snowpants from your legs, revealing the yoga pants underneath, and he makes quick work of those too. Your skin protests at the onset of the cold room, but he’s quick to distract you by trailing a line of kisses from your neck down your body, hands running up underneath the sweatshirt you’re still wearing to cup your breasts as he drifts lower.

When he reaches your core, he blows a puff of air against your soaked panties, and you’re faintly aware of the way you’re begging him to do something, anything. He makes you wait instead, tracing your thighs with his tongue as he slowly pulls the remaining fabric down your legs, and only then does he finally give you what you want.

You struggle to swallow a moan when his tongue traces a path through your center, his fingers already easing their way toward your entrance. He’s methodical, the same way he always is when he eats you out, carefully monitoring every sound you make, every move of your hips. “Doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs against you, “but you’ve gotta stay quiet for me.”

It’s a command that’s easier for him to give than it is for you to follow, especially as your hips rut up against his mouth. It’s harder when he’s buried two fingers kuckle-deep inside you, pumping in and out slowly. Frankie knows how to play you, and when your motions become more evident, he pins your hips down with an arm, preventing you from increasing the pace. Forcing you to take what he gives you.

“Can you take a third?” he questions, swiping at your walls while he waits for a response. You can barely nod, afraid that if you stop biting your lip you’ll alert half the neighborhood to the fact that your boyfriend is currently eating you out in your parents’ garage. He complies, adding his ring finger just as he resumes his assault on your clit.

It’s exactly what you need, and within seconds you feel the pressure building. One of your hands finds a grip on his forearm, still pinning you to the bench, and the other holds his head against you as you let the white hot heat consume you.

He brings you down gently, like a pilot touching a helicopter to the ground, fingers continuing to circle slowly as he crawls up to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, the kiss sloppy as you immediately start to work at his belt. “Frankie,” you whimper quietly, pushing at his jeans, “get these off.”

“A little impatient tonight, Querida?”

Your eyes have finally adjusted to the low light, and you glare at him, watching as he kicks off his jeans and makes quick work of his boxers, his cock springing to life. “I swear to god, Frankie, if you don’t - “

He cuts you off with a lengthy kiss, his body crowding you into the wooden surface, his length already rutting against your folds. “If I don’t what?” he asks when he finally allows you both to come up for air.

“If you don’t fuck me right now you’re sleeping outside.”

He chooses that moment to slip inside you, cock dragging against your walls as he buries himself to the hilt. You grab at his shoulders, mouth biting at the skin of his chest as you conceal your moan. Frankie’s hips are pressed against yours tightly, waiting for you to adjust to his size, and he gently grinds into you in some effort to speed up the process.

Sloppy kisses are left along your collarbone, but you can easily tell just how hard he is, how much effort it’s taking him not to spill into you then and there, so you encourage him to look at you in the dim light. “You can let go, baby. It’s okay,” you reassure him, fingers pushing unruly curls away from his sweaty forehead.

He shakes his head. “Want you to come again too.”

Of course he does.

“Then fuck me, Morales.” Your statement is more of a command than anything, and it’s one that he heads without hesitation, pulling back before slamming into you with a particularly rough stroke. He repeats the process, immediately lost in the sensation, brows furrowed in concentration as he holds himself back. It’s fast and it’s needy and you’re only faintly aware of the way the old wooden bench is squeaking beneath you, legs hammering against the concrete with every snap of his hips.

“Come on, baby. Come on,” he urges, breath hot against your skin. You know you’re close, but that he’s closer, and you wrap a leg around his hips in an attempt to push him over the edge.

“Let go, Frankie,” you whimper again, hardly coherent yourself, but it causes the coil in him to snap. His hips stutter as he fills you, the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit in an attempt to take you with him. It works, and you follow just as he collapses against you.

His cock is still buried within you when you come back to your senses, his head pressed into the crook of your neck. It’s only when your shoulders start to ache that you encourage him to move.

“Wait,” he stops, and you watch with curiosity as he slowly pulls away, his cock immediately replaced with his fingers as he drops to his knees at the side of the bench, pulling you toward him. You shudder at the motion as he pushes his spend back into you, swiping his tongue along your slit once, twice, and then a third time that has you aching for more even after two orgasms. His gaze meets yours. “I want to remember what we taste like,” he states, and you have half a mind to spend the rest of the night in this garage if it means he can keep fucking you.

But then the sensor light outside turns on, illuminating you both as the light seeps in through the garage window. There’s a scramble to find your clothes, both of you giggling like teenagers as you pull on pants and coats and jackets somehow faster than you’d ripped them off, giggling the whole while. Your snow pants remain tossed on the garage floor, forgotten as you ease your way toward the door to see who’s triggered the light.

And there, in the yard, sits a raccoon, staring at you with bright, mischievous eyes.

Frankie’s behind you a moment later, crowding your space as he looks out over your shoulder. “Do you think he knows?”

You elbow him lightly, “knows what? That you just fucked me into oblivion in my parents’ garage?”

“No,” he whispers against your ear, a hand already trailing down beneath your yoga pants again to where he’s still seeping out of you. “Do you think he knows I’m about to do it again?”

#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales #triple frontier #dear santa pls pls pls #fic recs

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lotusbxtch · 15 hours ago

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Okay so I read this fic before you and I were close, @mountainsandmayhem , and I feel that NOW, I can beg you…

PLEASE DEAR GOD GIVE US A FOLLOW UP, DADDY.

We’re such good girls for you. We deserve a little treat. 🥺❤️

Tess's Treasures

18+, MDNI

Pairing: Tess x Joel x OC!Female x Female!Reader Summary: After perfecting the art of pickpocketing, you’re invited to join Tess’s Treasures. They’re infamous around the QZ and the initiation process is not what you expect, but exactly what you need. CW: If you’re not into foursomes/bi girl shit then you are in the wrong place. MFFF, bisexual females, fingering, masturbating, oral, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink. Unprotected p in v. Overstim and squirting. Please read this at your discretion. If this isn’t for you, that’s perfectly fine. AN: You can thank @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for being good little girls and filling my mind with depraved and twisted thoughts. This fic has truly been a labour of love, taking me almost 6 weeks to put together and edit. I'm not the least bit sorry about the word count, grab a snack, probably some electrolytes and maybe some spare batteries lol. Special shoutouts to @pedritoferg for their kind words when my imposter syndrome had the best of me. As always, dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Friendly reminder that I'm phasing out my tag list, follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for new fics.

Word Count: 9005

Becoming one of Tess’s Treasures seemed like a fallacy, a pipe dream. A fairytale life only reserved for the most vicious females that prowl the shady streets of the Boston QZ, and you aren’t a killer. A thief, yes; but not a killer. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure if the organization existed. Sure, Tess was a real person, but did she actually have a horde of women she called her Treasures?

She was infamous in the seedy underbelly of Boston, her and her henchman Joel. Granted, no one ever seemed to see Joel, unless he was about to kill you. And sometimes not even then, he was often hiding in the shadows, shadows darker than the demons that allegedly haunted him.

Outbreak day happened when you were just little, you don’t remember much of the journey from your old hometown to Boston. Everyone here is poor, doing what they can to get credits to buy basic human needs; making trades and swaps were what most people did. You, however, were much more clever. After discovering a book detailing the art of sleight of hand you started practicing, and now you can take anything, right in front of someone's eyes, without them noticing.

Or so you thought. After stealing a pistol from a FEDRA officer and replacing it with a banana, all while having a conversation with him in broad daylight, Tess approaches you.

“Come to my apartment next week. I wanna see if you have what it takes. Mum’s the word.” It’s a hushed whisper as she passes you, slipping a small card in your back pocket as she goes.

You follow the cards' instructions, arriving at the exact time, going up to the top floor and then doing two quick, sharp knocks on the worn out door.

“Enter,” Tess says from inside. The door creaks on your way in. It’s the hottest day Boston has seen in years, and even in your small sundress, the room is stifling hot. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s a fan oscillating in the corner, the paint chipped off the cage that protects the blades. As it blows warm air past you, you realize that the other smell is sex.

Tess is sitting on the couch to the right of the door, two mismatched wooden kitchen chairs in front of her. Straight ahead from the door is a small kitchen, and to the back left of the studio style apartment is the bed. Unmade, sheets tousled like someone just woke up, but based on the heady taste of the air in the room, the messy sheets are definitely from two people rolling around in them.

“Come sit,” Tess says firmly. You click the door shut behind you and head to the empty chair that’s waiting for you. The other chair is occupied by a small brunette woman. She has long slender limbs and doesn’t look like someone who would hang out with raiders, poachers and drug runners. Her hands are folded in her lap, ankles crossed under the chair. She doesn’t look over at you.

Tess leans forward, spreading her denim clad legs wide and resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you two know who I am?”

You both nod slowly. Up close, Tess is terrifying. She could have you killed with just a snap of her fingers, and Joel would do it however she wanted. From what you’ve heard, very slowly was her favourite way to have people eliminated from this earth. Quick deaths weren’t something she enjoyed when someone had fucked her over.

“Speak!” she commands. The brunette jumps and even though you’ve mastered the art of pushing your fears down and masking your emotions, a small butterfly flaps its wings behind your navel.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely as a meek ‘yes ma’am’ sounds beside you.

“Good. So then you know the….perks of being one of my Treasures,” Tess’s eyes twinkle as she says perks like she knows something you don’t. Like it’s more than the better living arrangements, food and medical care. Better than a sense of family and belonging.

She continues, “I’ve seen both of you at work. You,” her steel grey eyes are laser focused on yours, “With your quick hands, and you,” she adjusts her attention to the petite woman beside you, “With your ability to talk a man into almost anything. Before you can officially call yourself my Treasures, there’s a small matter of your…” Her voice trails, mouth ticking up on one side as she cocks her head and drags her eyes across both of your bodies.

“Well, your initiation.” She leans back onto the couch, knees falling wider. One arm drapes across the back, the worn cushion deflating slightly. The other rests on her thick, toned thigh. “I take care of my girls, but they need to show me that they can listen.”

The air seems thicker, and harder to fill your lungs with. Every move of her eyes is suggestive. Is she saying what you think she’s saying? You feel yourself begin to soak through your panties at the possibility of getting to fuck.

You aren’t left wondering for long as she points a long finger at the girl beside you, “Stand up, take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” the girl sputters.

“I said to stand up and take off your fucking clothes,” the words almost seem to burn as she repeats herself.

The girl stands so quickly that the chair falls, making a loud crash against the worn hardwood flooring. She stares at Tess for a moment, unsure if she should pick up the chair before she decides against it and pulls her blue cotton baby tee off, revealing a lacy white bra underneath.

“That’s it,” Tess groans. “Take off those little shorts next.”

With shaky hands she moves to the button fly, each drag of the metal on denim seems to echo in the silent room. Tess licks her lips as she slides her shorts down her legs and kicks them to the side. “Come here,” Tess says, her voice already husky and deep. The woman walks over to Tess, stopping between her spread legs. Tess’s strong fingers grip the girl's hips and she gasps. “Turn around,” she urges, dragging her fingers along her hips as the mystery girl spins.

“What’s your name?” Tess asks. The girl's bright green eyes land on you and you see her breath hitch in her slender throat. She’s petite, probably a few inches shorter than you and at least a foot shorter than Tess. You’ve always been attracted to both men and women and there’s no denying that this little stranger is absolutely stunning.

“Lydia,” she croaks.

“Are you nervous, Lydia?” Tess asks, cupping the globes of her ass in her hands, kneading and squeezing. Spreading them gently, exploring what she’s about to claim as hers.

She nods her head and lets out a shaky moan of agreement.

“Go pick up your chair and sit down, Lydia.” Tess swats her bum as she walks away and Lydia yelps quietly.

Tess’s eyes now come to you. Staring straight into your soul. I’m sure if she could, her eyes would incinerate your clothes right off of you. It’s intoxicating. You, unlike Lydia, are not nervous. Not in the slightest. If anything, Tess’s attention on you only makes you wetter. Your panties are practically soaked through already. “And you, my little thief. What’s your name?”

You say your name confidently and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease some of the ache that Tess’s newfound attention is bringing to the apex of your thighs.

Tess whispers your name back at you and it sends a shiver down your spine. She continues, “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

Lydia swallows loudly beside you as you drop to the floor, crawling seductively to Tess, head held high. The worn hardwood planks creak under your weight. Even the floor is warm and sticky from the weather. You make it to her, sitting back on your heels like the good little girl you are. She leans forward and tugs on the hem of your dress and her syrupy voice says, “Arms up”. You lift your ass slightly and she slips your dress up and over your head. It was too hot for a bra today so you’re left in just a lacy pink thong.

“Mmmm, look at those pretty tits,” Tess hums, her fingers gliding along the plush soft skin of your breasts before ghosting over your nipples making the arm whoosh from your lungs. “You like that? Me touching your nipples.”

You breathe out a yes, eyes shutting as she pinches your pebbled buds roughly. “Oh god, yes.”

The old worn couch groans as Tess sits back, “Go take her bra and panties off.”

You climb to your feet and walk over to Lydia, holding out a hand and helping her stand. You move behind her and trail your fingers down the soft skin of her spinal column before popping the clasp of her bra. Lydia slides it off her body, arms crossing to block her now exposed breasts. Goosebumps rise across her from head to toe. You shush her and rub up and down her arms. Lydia relaxes under your touch and she drops her arms, Tess nods at you once, a silent encouragement to continue. You get down on your knees, hooking your index fingers in the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her round ass is in your face, she smells like fresh linen and rain. You fight the urge to kiss the sensitive little spot right where her ass crack starts.

“So fucking beautiful. Sit back down, Lydia.” Tess says and you want to cry out in protest. Her body is so enticing, soft and warm. She focuses back on you and says, “Stand in front of Lydia so she can take your panties off.”

You stand gracefully, biting your bottom lip as you maneuver yourself in front of Lydia. “Spread your legs,” you whisper, determined to help her so you can put on the best show for Tess. Lydia parts her knees and you twirl to face Tess, gathering your hair in one hand as Lydia slides your soaked panties down your legs. You kick them to the side and seductively drop your hair, smiling sweetly at Tess.

“Sit,” Tess barks. Lydia gasps behind you, but you like this; being told what to do. Commanded. Used. Tess continues after you sit, “I want you both to touch yourselves. Show me how you like it, but don’t come. You haven’t earned that yet. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lydia says, looking down at her hands. You nod eagerly, already sliding your ass to the edge of the chair and spreading your legs wide for her. Tess stares at your glistening core hungrily, leaning forward again to rest her muscular forearms on her knees. Her hair falls forward and frames her face. Her expression is hard, like you don’t want to disobey her in these moments. Brows are slightly knit together, lips in a thin line. She looks beautiful and dangerous, but as you bring your pointer and ring fingers to your entrance she softens a little, cocking her head to the side slightly.

Lydia keeps her legs closed, slipping a finger down her slit and rubbing slowly from side to side. She whimpers silently beside you, glancing at you nervously. Your fingers easily slip inside of your soft, dripping hole.

Tess’s eyes dance between the two of you. “Two very different girls,” she says to the room, neither of you stopping what you’re doing, both determined to become a part of her Treasures. “One of you seems shy, but I can work with that. Help you get out of your shell. And then there’s you,” her focus locks on you as she gets up with a grunt and saunters over to you. “You are a little whore, aren’t you? So eager to please.”

You feel yourself getting wetter at her attention and mean words. She pets your head lightly a few times, laughing quietly at how you lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your lashes hit your cheeks she grabs a handful, pulls hard and gets within inches of your face. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you gasp, your orgasm right on the precipice, so you slow your motions. “I’ll be good, Tess.”

“Did I say you could slow down?”

“I - I’m gonna come,” you whine.

“No, you’re not. You just told me you’d be good. And good girls don’t come until they’re told.” She releases your hair and you suck in a breath. Tess’s presence is palpable, she seems to take up all the space and air in the apartment by just being here. “Do NOT come, that’s an order.”

Just as the last sentence leaves her mouth the door opens and the apartment gets smaller, like your whole existence is being put in a vacuum sealer. The deep chuckle that comes from whoever just entered makes your scalp prickle, but you keep your focus on Tess.

“What’re we doin’ here, Tess?” The voice is deep, with a slight southern accent highlighting an occasional word. It can only belong to one man, the only man allowed near Tess’s Treasures. Joel Miller. He’s feared and revered in the Boston QZ. Runs the drug trade that keeps both FEDRA and the seedy underbelly running. You’ve never seen him before, but you’ve heard stories.

“Recruits,” Tess says, walking over to Lydia, crouching in front of her. “This one is shy. The other one - well, I might need your help with her.”

Your clit feels like it’s zapped with electricity at her threatening promises and you moan loudly, pausing your fingers that have been plunging in and out of you as per Tess’s requests. “See,” she says flatly, hands massaging Lydia’s plush tanned thighs.

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as he walks towards you, you can feel his heat and smell the tobacco coming off his skin. When he steps into your line of vision everything blurs. He’s beautiful and dangerous, but overall he’s the most incredible specimen you’ve ever seen. Your brain seems to go blank, like a hard reset, until all you see and smell and care about is Joel. You keep your eyes locked on his face, his brows crease, lips pressed tightly together. He plants his hands on his hips as his coffee and whiskey eyes slowly trail down your body. When he gets to your soaked and swollen pussy he licks his lips. “You gonna let her come?” He asks Tess but doesn’t take his eyes off you.

The fog clouding your brain clears and you glance towards Lydia and Tess. She has her legs spread and Tess is smiling encouragingly up at her, hand on top of hers, teaching her where to touch.

“She can come when she’s earned it. Lydia’s earned it though. Haven’t you?” She nods at Lydia as she squirms in the wooden kitchen chair. “That’s it, show us.”

Lydia speeds the up and down motion of her hand sloppily, you can hear the wetness as her movements become more erratic. Joel’s eyes haven’t left you, still watching you fuck your fingers in and out of yourself, almost mesmerized by you.

“Tess,” Lydia murmurs.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let me see that pretty little pussy twitch.”

Lydia’s body starts to shake as she cries out, her hand slowing as she whines and moans, “Oh god. Oh god. Yesyesyes.”

You peel your eyes away from her and squeeze every muscle in your body as tightly as you can, holding on, not letting yourself come. Looking at Joel makes it nearly impossible not to tip over that very tantalizing edge, so you clamp your eyes shut. “Tess,” Joel says, his voice a baritone whisper. “You’re torturing this one, look at her.”

He’s right, she is torturing you; but, what Joel doesn’t know is that you love it. You love being denied just as much as you love being used. You love being pinned down or tied up. You love having your throat or pussy or ass fucked in any and all positions known to humankind. The world is a dark and horrible shit show, but sex? Ya, sex makes you feel alive.

“Torturing her would be not letting her touch herself at all. She should be thanking me.” Tess turns her attention back to Lydia, helping her stand up and pulling her to the couch. “You did such a good job for me. You looked stunning as you fell apart.”

You open your eyes at the movement of them. They stop and stand facing each other in front of the couch as Tess removes her shirt, her breasts are small and perky with light pink nipples. Joel looks away from you, staring appreciatively at the woman he’s sworn to protect. She pops the button on her jeans. “Take them off her, Lydia. Tess shouldn’t have to work this hard,” Joel commands.

You whimper at the timbre of Joel's voice when he’s giving instructions and his eyes whip back to you. “You like that, don’t you? Being told what to do.”

“Yes, oh god, please can I come Tess,” you cry, eyes still locked with Joels.

“Lydia is going to lick my pussy, Joel is going to move out of the way so I can see you, and when I say you can come I want you to be loud. I want to hear those slutty little moans. Got it?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate, stepping behind your chair. He must be leaning over you because you swear you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Tess sits on the couch and tugs at Lydia’s wrist gently, encouraging her to kneel in front of her. “Come on,” she whispers and then places her finger at the top of her pussy. “Just lick and kiss right here. You can do it.”

Lydia moves slowly, giving you a knowing glance over her shoulder as she gets into Tess’s desired position. You suddenly realize that she’s more clever than you initially thought. She’s not shy, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Tess likes to lead, so she acted like she needed the guidance. And now she’s come and you haven’t. Tess’s head falls back, jaw going slack as Lydia tastes her.

“Does that turn you on?” Joel whispers, his warm breath hitting your neck. “Seeing Tess being eaten out. She deserves that every day, you know. She’s gonna take such good care of you, so you better care for her.”

“I will,” you mumble. “I’ll do whatever she needs. Whenever. Fuuuuck.”

“Look how wet you’re getting, I don’t think you can hold it for much longer.” He’s taunting you now. “Little thing loves to come, doesn’t she?”

“No, Tess gets to - oh god - she says when,” you’re squeezing as tight as you can, holding back the orgasm that’s right there, like a seesaw teetering, so close to tipping to the other side and slamming through you.

Lydia slurps at Tess, you can hear her sucking at her clit as Tess moans and tangles her fingers into Lydia’s hair. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck, right there.”

You let out a breathy whine and Tess’s eyes come to you. “Ssshh, not yet. Oh shit, Lydia. So good.”

Joel laughs into your ear. “Just come, what’s the worst she’s going to do? Spank you? Let me fuck your throat? I bet you like being punished.”

You shake your head, trying to block out all the lewd mental images he’s creating. “No, Joel.” you huff, refocusing on holding it in, thinking of all the unsexy thoughts you can as you watch Tess, waiting for your time.

Tess’s legs begin to shake, “get ready, baby. We are going to come together.”

Your wrist begins to ache, it feels like you’ve been fucking yourself for hours. “I need to, please. You look so - “

She cuts you off, “Joel, take over for her. I’m gonna come.”

Joel practically leaps in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling your drenched fingers out while slipping his two thick fingers into your mouth. You bob up and down on his fingers still looking at Tess. Her eyes are glazed over, and a bead of sweat slides down the line of her toned stomach and lands in her belly button.

“Now, Joel,” she whines and Joel wastes no time slamming his fingers inside of you. You cry out at the stretch, pleasure mixing with pain before he pumps his fingers forward. “Come right now,” Tess says.

You look down at Joel, his thumb coming to caress your swollen bundle of nerves and you cry out, the room filled with your loud moans just like she wants. You hear both her and Joel encouraging you. Joel’s Texas twang washing over you, “that’s it, fuckin clenchin. Fuck you’re so tight.”

Joel is relentless, curling and dragging his fingers in and out of you as you writhe in your chair. “Tess, oh god, yes.”

Joel's other hand slaps the inside of your thigh, “LOUDER!” he demands.

You squeal at the hot pain that splashes along your thigh, “hhnnngg, thank you. Fuck.” Your pleasurable moans turn into whines of pain as the overstimulation starts to seep in. You try to pull back and bring your knees together and Joel lets out a growl. He looks up at you dangerously and your stomach clenches. This is the wild, animalistic Joel Miller that everyone fears.

You start to panic, he’s not stopping and you don’t know if you can take much more. You’re so wrapped in his onyx gaze and a mix of fear and arousal that you don’t notice Tess behind Joel until she speaks. Her voice is soft yet firm as she cards her fingers through his greying curls, “Joel, that’s enough.”

He blinks hard, seemingly coming out of some sort of trance, and then slips his fingers from you, strings of milky arousal coating his fingers. “Good boy,” she whispers. “Help her up, but you don’t get to touch either of them until I say so.”

He nods and then stands, helping you up. Lydia is lounging lazily on the couch, her face still glistening with Tess’s juices. Your knees shake underneath you and Joel wraps an arm around your waist. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but never one that deep and strong. Your pussy is aching and you just want to sleep.

Tess sits on the chair that Lydia was on and spreads her legs slightly. “Lydia,” she crooks her fingers at her, calling her over. “Turn around, pretty girl. Straddle my thigh.”

Lydia follows Tess’s instructions, that fake nervous pout of her lips on display for Joel. Clever, very clever, you think through heavy eyelids.

“Joel, help her on the other thigh and bring that chair.” Joel guides and steadies you as you sit on Tess’s thigh, then places the extra chair in front of the three of you. “Use the chair for balance,” Tess instructs, her hand running up and down your spine gently.

You both lean forward, your sweaty palms slipping slightly against the wooden chair. You both gasp quietly as your swollen clits press into her muscular thigh, as she caresses your backs and hips. Joel sits on the couch across from you, one arm draped across the back and his legs spread. He watches you intently, eyes blown out and curls sticking to his forehead. It’s not lost on you that he hasn’t focused much attention on the other girl. You look over at Lydia and she’s smiling flirtatiously at you. Your faces are just inches apart and she nudges at your nose with hers.

“Ladies,” Tess starts, “this is the part where you show Joel what you can do. He’s going to kill people for you, and when he does, you need to repay him.”

You graze your lips against Lydias, her skin tastes like peaches and Tess’s cunt.

“Pretend my thigh is Joel's cock, show him how you’ll ride him.”

You flick your attention back to Joel, and his expression shifts from hard to a tortured need. You rake your eyes down his strong chest, still concealed by that fucking denim button up that you want to rip off with your teeth. He’s dangerous and could easily snap your neck with two fingers, but fuck, if that doesn’t make you want him more. Lydia presses her lips to your throat and you start to grind back and forth on Tess’s thigh.

You continue to take in Joel’s body, stopping when you get to his lap. Your eyes widen at the distinct outline of his hard cock pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you lock eyes with him again. His coffee coloured irises are almost onyx as he shifts in his seat. He wants you - just as much as you want him, and you just hope that you can break him enough so Tess lets him have you.

Tess’s strong hand travels up the smooth skin of your back, tangling her hands in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Tell Joel how good it feels, baby. Lydia, keep kissing her.”

Lydia’s lips suck at your skin. “Mmm, fuck Joel. Feels s’good. Wish it was your big cock filling me up, sliding in and out of my tight, wet pussy.” Tess tugs at your hair to open your neck more for Lydia and you yelp.

“Keep talking, baby girl,” Joel says, his hand moving to palm himself over his jeans. “Tell me what you want.”

You grind harder into Tess’s thigh, between the sting in your scalp from her hand, Lydia’s soft lips on your neck, and Joel’s intense stare, it almost becomes hard to breathe. Every bit of their attention is on you.

“I-I want you to, mmmm, to pin me down,” you take in a shaky breath, never taking your eyes off him. “To f-fuck me…from behind. Want you to f-fill, oh god, fill me.”

Joel pops the button of his jeans, reaching down his pants to grip himself through his tight grey boxers. You continue breathily, “Wanna feel you spank me. Slam inside of me. Dominate me.”

“Good girl,” Tess says, releasing her grip on your hair and pulling Lydia off your neck, before pressing in between your shoulder blades until you’re flush with her thigh. You crane your neck to keep your eyes on Joel, looking at him through the wooden slats of the back of the chair in front of you. “Your turn, Lydia. Tell Joel what you want.”

She clears her throat before beginning, “If he killed for me, I wouldn’t make him do any work. I’d lay him down, lick and kiss every inch of him before sliding him in my mouth. Taking him deep, cradling his balls with my hand. I’d swallow every drop.”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, almost like a secret language between him and Tess. Joel leans forward and removes his denim button up and t-shirt in one swoop. His tanned and toned chest makes your mouth water. His chiselled pecs and soft belly have trimmed salt and pepper hair dusted across them, he toes off his shoes and then lifts his hip, sliding his jeans down his legs. His skin glistens with sweat and you want to lick it all off of him, drink up his salt and musk, his innate Joel-ness.

“Come here, Joel.” She says.

“Sit up,” she says softly to you. Joel stalks forward like he’s about to claim what’s his and your pussy clenches around nothing in hopes that it’s you.

“Ride my thighs, girls. Whoever cums first, Joel gets to fuck.” You spit into your hand and reach between your legs, gently spreading your lips and coating yourself in saliva.

A deep, “holy fuck” leaves Joel's lips at the sight of you. Yes, he definitely wants you just as much as you want him. You move your hands from the chair to Tess’s knee and grind your hips in small, slow circles. Your arms push your tits together for Joel. Beside you, Lydia stops moving. She sits as still as a statue, looking over her shoulder seductively at Tess. A loud slap fills the room, followed by a lust filled moan that you didn't think Lydia was capable of.

“Tess,” she says, all airy and breathy. Her tone feels sweet on your skin. “I don’t like sleeping with men.”

You keep grinding, your focus on Joel. He’s so close that you could reach out and grab one of his muscular forearms. You’re going to fuck him. You want to fuck him. Any way he wants. Any hole he wants. None of it matters, you just want to feel him, smell him, taste him.

Tess lets out an impressed sigh. “You’re even more amazing than I thought, Lydia. Had me telling you how to lick a pussy, how to touch yourself. But you already know. Don’t you?” She slaps Lydia’s ass again and the loud noise even has you clenching. Fuck, you want Joel to spank you. Or Tess. Even Lydia at this point.

It’s wrong. And taboo. But who can say what’s right or wrong in this new world anymore?

“You are going to have to do things for Joel, little temptress. It’s part of the deal.” You see Tess’s hands come to Lydia’s hips, encouraging her to grind at the same pace you’ve set. “So ride me. Let me feel that slick little pussy, let me feel it quiver on my thigh.”

Things are quiet for a moment, just the squelching sounds of both your cunts gliding along her smooth thigh. You lean into Lydia, desperate for more. More what, you aren’t sure. Just more.

She responds to your touch, her nose brushing your cheek before you turn into her and kiss her deeply. Slanting your head to taste her tongue against yours. She’s sweet, like strawberry jam. Lips so soft they almost don’t feel real. Her teeth clamp onto your bottom lip and you cry out. The perfect amount of pain to increase the pleasure between your legs. When she lets go you’re panting.

“She’s close, Tess,” Joel murmurs like he knows your body so well, but he’s not wrong. He continues speaking casually to Tess as if you aren’t in the same room. “Do I really get to fuck her if she cums first?”

You grind down harder, kissing Lydia again. You love them talking about you as if you aren’t here. Making the decisions for you.

“As soon as she cums, you take her to the bed.” Tess’s strong hand lays a sharp slap on the meaty globe of your ass and you crumble.

“YES!” You scream, convulsing as the pleasure courses through you. You look up at Joel through your lashes, jaw slack, voice weak and desperate. “Joel. Please. Please.”

He drops his boxers and his thick cock spring free. Slapping against his belly. The tip is smooth and leaking, he’s bigger than you thought and somehow your throat dries out as your cheeks fill with saliva. As you come down from your second orgasm you realize that you can do this. You are going to do whatever Tess says and become one of her Treasures.

“Think you can take him?” Tess hums as Lydia falls apart beside you, moaning sweetly. Tess adds, “Good girl, Lydia. So perfect when you cum.”

You decide to take a page out of Lydia's book and act innocent. “N-no,” you stammer. “It’s…I don’t…it’s too big.”

Joel snorts, “You’re not a very good liar my little slut.”

Before you can respond he’s lifted you up and over his broad shoulder. His skin is warm against your belly. You giggle mischievously as his hands dig into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. He can so easily overpower you, so easily destroy you - mentally and physically. And you’d let him, and to make it worse, you’d thank him afterwards and probably ask him to do it again.

He drops you on the bed. “Don’t move.”

You nod and swallow the dry lump in your throat. You definitely want this, even if you shouldn’t. Even if that logical voice inside your head is screaming at you to put up the wall, block him out like you do with everyone else. But the infinitesimal hint of softness in his face that can only be seen by the two of you keeps you sucked in. He won’t hurt you, no. Something in his eyes gives him away, he wants to please you with those hands that have brought pain and torture to so many others.

He walks back over to Tess and Lydia who are completely entranced with one another. Lydia is now sitting fully in Tess’s lap. Her back pressed to Tess’s front, both her legs draped over Tess’s as she pressed kisses along the tops of one of her shoulders and rubs her fingers gently from her pussy up to Lydia’s. Joel kneels in front of them, both of their legs spread, wet pussy’s glistening and on display for him. The sight of Joel Miller on his knees does something unexplainable to you. He’s so goddamn delicious.

He looks over at you again, that softness still coaxing you deeper into his web, tangling around you, claiming you. His large hands cup Tess’s inner thighs and then he dives into both their pussy’s. Jealousy swirls in your stomach as he draws a sloppy wet line from Tess’s entrance to her clit, then up to Lydia in the same manner.

“Oh, fuck Joel,” Tess cries as Lydia whimpers.

“Too much, baby?” he says gruffly to Lydia who nods before burying her face into the crook of Tess’s neck. “Little more, m’kay?”

He licks at them again, Tess’s moan ending as Lydia’s starts. Joel doesn’t stop. He uses long languid and lazy strokes of his tongue as he eats at both of them.

“J-Jo - fuuuck Joel!” Tess murmurs, her head falling back and mouth falling open in a silent scream. She wraps her arms tightly around Lydia as her legs start to tremble. Joel’s deltoids and biceps flex as he pushes to keep her thighs apart.

“Fuck, Tess.” Lydia purrs, “You look so goddamn hot when you cum. Suck on her clit, Joel. Make our girl squeal.” You can hear him slurp her swollen and twitching nub into his mouth. As it slips along his soft and puffy lips her pained sounding moans start to become mumbles of pleasure. Joel works her through her orgasm, not stopping until he knows she's good and sated.

Lydia reaches back, twisting to kiss Tess deeply and then whispers into her lips. Whatever she says gets Joel's attention and he releases her clit with a pop before looking up at the two women. You haven’t moved from where Joel left you, as fun as being a brat is, he could probably dish out a punishment so intense that even you would break and use whatever safe word he gave you. Lydia whispers more, Joel smirks at whatever she’s saying and then the three of them all slowly turn to look over at you.

Fuck

Joel stands, his hands coming to the outsides of Tess’s knees and guiding her as she closes her legs, then he gives a hand to Lydia to help her stand before repeating the same with Tess. He stands tall and broad, completely naked and fully erect between these two powerhouse women, linking his fingers with Tess and smiling over at her. She gives him a little nod and your stomach flips as your pussy clenches.

This is it, you think.

“Little slut,” he says deeply, “‘M’gonna fuck you now, while they hold you down. Understood?”

You try to say yes, but just air seems to leave your lungs. Tess and Lydia climb along each side of you, hooking their arm under your leg and pulling back to open you for Joel. Your arms are trapped under their bodies as they lay beside you. You’re pinned and exposed; fully at Joel, Tess and Lydia’s mercy.

The bed dips as Joel settles between your thighs, his large body looms over you, resting himself on one forearm beside your head, his other hand wrapped around his cock, running it up and down your folds.

“So wet for me. So soft,” he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance and you gasp. “Shit! S’tight too, baby girl.”

Tess and Lydia nuzzle into you, lightly dragging their noses along your neck and jawline. “J-Joel, fuck me. Pleaseplease. Fuck me”

Joel presses his hips forwards, and the thick, smooth mushroom head of his cock pushes at your weeping cunt again. “Look at me, little slut,” he rasps. You don’t hesitate, look at him with big innocent eyes, biting your lower lip. He spits into his palm and then coats his throbbing dick with it, fisting himself up and down. He raises an eyebrow at you cockily, “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, please!”

Without warning Joel slams into you, stretching you painfully and your body jolts. You try to slam your knees together but the naked women on each side of you keep you spread open widely for Joel. “Shit baby,” he says through gritted teeth as his body folds over yours, his hands caging all three of you in. Tess nips at your neck, while Lydia sucks at your earlobe after whispering, “Relax, little slut, we all got you.”

Your lungs slowly come back to you. You take a deep, full breath in, and it feels like you haven’t taken a proper breath since seeing Joel for the first time. As you exhale you’re completely surrounded by Joel Miller. His large body is all you can see and feel. Meanwhile, all you can taste and smell is his tobacco scent and the salt of the sweat that coats his tanned skin. You’re addicted, you want to be able to inject him right into your veins. Your pussy relaxes around him and the pain ebbs into pleasure, and you need more.

“More, please more,” you murmur into his neck.

“There she is,” Tess whispers in your ear and you whimper.

“Say it again,” Joel commands.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you cry. “Please, fuck me. Make me your little slut for real.”

Lydia giggles seductively in your ear, pulling you into her tighter.

“Open her all the way for me,” he says to the other two. “S’too tight for me.”

He sits himself up and your knees are pulled open and back. Joel keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tilts his chin a bit and splits on your already soaked pussy. His veiny hands come to the back of your thighs, squeezing and massaging at your sensitive skin.

“Think I should fuck her, Lydia?” He starts, and soon they’re talking about you again as if you aren’t even there, the slick walls of your cunt fluttering as they speak.

“She's been good, hasn’t she?” Lydia says in a syrupy aroused tone.

“No she hasn’t,” Tess says between kisses along your jawline. “She’s a thief. She’s a bad girl.”

Joel slaps the inside of one of your thighs, with just enough of a flick in his wrist that it immediately sends a zap of pleasure toward your clit. Lydia feels you relax more into her grips, “She likes it when you hit her, Joel”.

“Of course she does,” Tess moans. “She’s a little slut.” She hits the t at the end of the word hard and Joel slaps you again. Right in the same spot, precision that you’ve never known before from a man who kills without being seen.

“Should feel how tight she is, maybe she had us fooled,” Joel says, eyes shifting between the two women, wholly avoiding your gaze. You’re so desperate for his attention, and the humiliation of him not returning it arouses you so much more than it should.

“What’d’ya mean, baby boy?” Tess asks, her warm breath hitting your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Like a virgin, squeezin’ me like a vice.”

“She’s shakin,” Lydia adds. “Poor girl.”

“You two don’t stop kissing her while I do this,” they both nod and he flips his attention back to you. “I wanna hear you screamin’. Got it, little slut?”

You shudder under his intense stare. “Yes, yes, Joel. Please, just fuck me. Pleeease!”

He pulls halfway out and then slams back in, his heavy balls slap at your taint and asshole, your needy high pitched moans filling the room. Your whole body constricts around Joel and as it relaxes it feels like heaven. No one has made your body feel like this. “That feel good?” Joel says tauntingly, his hands gripping into the back of your thighs.

“Please - fuck, yes. More,” you mumble, almost incoherently.

“Show our girl, Joel. Show her what he can have once she’s my Treasure.” Tess commands.

What’s that saying, ‘You say jump, I say how high’? Well, when Tess says jump, Joel is already mid jump, doing it exactly how Tess wants it. He’s already dragging his cock out slowly, all the way to the tip, before slamming fast and hard back into you.

“Harder,” Tess growls, biting your neck as Joel repeats the motion. Lydia squirms against you, her soft warm skin slipping along the thin sparkling layer of sweat that coats your body. “Look at her. Pliant, soft. Letting Joel do whatever he wants.”

“That’s cuz she’s a good girl,” Lydia moans, kissing the sensitive skin under your earlobe.

Joel brings one of his hands to cup your chin, his thumb running around your bottom lip softly. “Gotta relax for me, little slut.”

You take a breath and as you exhale you can feel the grip your pussy has on his thick cock loosen. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

“Good job, baby girl,” Tess whispers, kissing at your throat again.

“Fuck her now, Joel.” Lydia says, “We got her.”

Joel sets a quick pace, slamming in and out of you. His name and a string of swears leaving your lips with every thrust, just the screams of your pleasure and the squelching of your pussy filling the room. Tess and Lydia whisper praises as Joel is possessed by your cunt. Pounding and pounding into you without pause. Over and over, he’s relentless. A man possessed. You can’t help but wonder if he’s like this with all other women or if this is just for you. His hand falls from your chin, landing beside Tess’s head on the mattress, the other still gripped to your thigh. His short nails dig into your skin, leaving you marked with signs of him.

“That’s it,” Lydia hums. “Taking it like such a good girl.”

Tess’s teeth lightly scrape at your jawline. “Come on, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

“So fuckin’ pretty when you come,” Joel says each word at the end of his harsh thrusts. His voice is gravelly and deep. Seeping under your skin and into your DNA, the very fabric of your being. You belong to him, no questions asked.

“M-more. I - more - please.” You aren’t sure what you mean by more, but Joel seems to know your body better than you as he sits himself back up and brings his thumb to your clit, teasing it gently and you writhe under him. It’s almost too much but you need it, and even more, you need Joel not to stop.

He hammers into you again, slower this time, but still with an intense flick of his hips at the end. The leaking tip of his cock pressing against the perfect spongy part behind your clit.

“Can see you in her stomach, Cowboy.” Tess moans. Both the women feather long, lingering kisses along your neck. The juxtaposition of their soft actions and the bruising dance of Joel’s hip is just as confusing as it is arousing.

“Rub her clit a little harder, Joel. I think she’s getting close.” You clench around him at Lydia’s words and cry out loudly.

He swirls his thumb easily along your lubricated clit, the mixture of both of your arousals and his spit making it slippery. “Ohgod, hnnnnggg, J-Joel pleasepleaseplease.”

“Sssshhh, baby,” he soothes, pausing with his hips pushed flush to your ass. “Gotta relax, remember?”

You whimper in agreement, nodding your head as you try to slow your breathing and your heart rate. “There she goes,” Joel moans as your pussy walls flutter and then relax.

He starts to fuck you slowly, circling your swollen velvety nub with the rough pad of his thumb. His other hand leaves your thigh, massaging your breast, pinching at the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. Gonna fill you one day.”

“Today, please!” you protest through a salacious moan.

“Tell her,” he says to the women holding you in their arms, speeding up the circles of his thumb.

“Lydia,” Tess whispers, like it’s a secret just for the three of you, “Tell her your plan.”

You’re lost in a daze as Lydia says your name into your skin. When you don’t respond she nips gently at you and says, “Baby? You with me?”

“Y-yes. Fuuuuuuck,” you say wantonly.

“Joel is gonna make you cum, then pull out and cum all over our faces. After, we are going to lick it all off each other.” She says it with a hint of mischief and lust in her voice.

The three of them praise and encourage you as Joel keeps fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. You have no idea how long you’ve been in this apartment, how long you’ve been floating on a vibrating fluffy cloud of pleasure and craving. Whispers of “Good girl”, “so pretty”, and “fuck listen to how wet you are” travel through you.

The electric currents of pleasure that sizzle along your skin all come to the base of your spine. Pressure building, so very close to exploding around all of you. “Come on, little slut. Let go for me.”

Lydia and Tess say ‘Come on’ and ‘relax into it’ at the same time.

“Shit, J-Joel,” you whimper. A tear runs down your cheek.

“I know, I’m here,” he says, voice slightly softer than earlier. “I know.”

The pressure becomes unbearable and then everything snaps. Your pussy flutters as the pleasure starts to consume every single inch of your being. Your vision blurs, every muscle going lax as you twitch unconsciously underneath him.

“Good girl. Yes, that’s my good little slutty girl,” he growls. Your orgasm continues to tear through you, ripping you in half and you know when you come down only Joel will be able to stitch you back up again.

Joel presses his large palm to your mound, and just as you feel yourself start to come down you’re on the precipice of another orgasm. “Got another one for me, baby?”

“Yesyesyes - yeeesss,” you’ve forgotten words, you’re just a bundle of pleasure. No muscles or bones or thoughts of your own. Just a pliant body, that’s fully under the control of Joel Miller.

Your second orgasm hits you hard, tearing anything you had left in half. “She’s gonna squirt,” Joel mumbles.

“Just let it go,” Lydia whispers, suckling on your earlobe.

You push into the feeling, letting it overtake you as liquid gushes from your cunt, coating Joel's pelvis and pooling on the bed below you. It splashes as Joel keeps up his pace. You scream out in pleasure. Lydia and Tess talking you through it quietly, “Good girl. Stay relaxed for me,” Tess says as Lydia adds, “Let it take you, we’re right here.”

The pleasure starts to ebb, it’s becoming too much as Tess whispers, “Breathe, baby girl. Just breathe.”

“Can’t, Tess.” you whimper, turning your face towards her. “Please,” you plead. If you learned anything from earlier, it’s that only Tess can make him stop.

“Ok, baby, you’re ok,” she hums. She looks up at Joel above all of you and drops her voice, “That’s enough now, Joel.”

Joel pulls away from your clit and you sigh in relief, both his hands coming to your breasts, squeezing them roughly as his thrusts become sloppy. “Get ready,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Both Tess and Lydia scoot up so their faces are pressed against yours.

Joel slips out of you with a lewd pop and practically bends you in half to get over your faces. “Open your mouths and look at me,” he commands. The three of you obey, anything for the man who is going to kill for you or defend you to the very end if need be.

His hand is tight around his cock, pumping himself quickly, the cords of muscle and veins along his forearm start to pop. His balls are full and heavy, tight against his body as he edges closer to his release. You stare at him, soaking in how wrecked he looks as he gets closer. His brows pinch together, onyx and whiskey flecked eyes looking only at you before his face goes lax and he lets out a deep, loud moan. Warm ropes of opaque white cum paint your faces.

As soon as he’s done he pulls away, Tess and Lydia letting go of your legs as the three of you kiss and lick at each other's sticky faces. Joel tastes better than you could have imagined, a heady mix of saltiness that leaves you insatiable for more.

Joel sits back on his heels watching the three of you slurp him up. He has a proud smirk on his face and when your eyes find his he winks at you before getting up and grabbing a towel off the top of the small dresser near the bed. Tess says something hushed to Lydia as you and Joel look at one another. Lydia pressed a kiss to your cheek before getting off the bed and following Tess into another room, the unmistakable sound of the shower alerting you to where they’ve gone.

Joel climbs beside you, looking down at you hesitantly. “You ok?” he whispers.

“Ya,” you sign sleepily. “I’m ok, Joel.”

He brings the towel to your thighs, soaking up your arousal. “I didn’t hurt ya?”

The towel ghosts along your swollen folds and you gasp, turning your head into Joel’s strong upper body. “I know, sorry.” He hisses, hating that he’s causing you discomfort. “But I gotta clean you up.”

He dabs gently with the soft towel causing an aftershock that shakes through your body and you feel yourself squirt again. Not nearly as much this time but a euphoric moan leaves your lips. Joel tucks the towel between your legs and guides your face up to meet his. His brown eyes burn themselves into your soul, “do you need more, baby? Just tell me.”

“It’s sensitive,” you whine.

He lifts an eyebrow slightly, “does it hurt?”

You stick your bottom lip out and nod sadly.

“Need me to kiss it?” he asks gently, his hooked nose rubbing against yours.

You look at him hesitantly. Of course, you want Joel’s plush lips on your pussy, but a flap of a butterfly wing could probably cause you to implode at this point.

“You can say another time,” he whispers, lips hovering over yours. He doesn’t know where this side of him has come from. Joel Miller is a simple man. Murder who Tess says, fuck any one of her Treasures that offer to get the adrenaline out afterwards, then leave them in their apartment pumped full of his cum. He usually can’t wait to rush back to his apartment to take a shower and shoot back a mix of whiskey and sleeping pills. But with you, he feels the need to care for you afterwards, and he has a strong feeling that you’re going to be a very large distraction in his life from now on.

I’m fucked, he thinks to himself.

You lean forward to sponge your lips against his. He kisses you sweetly, pulling you in tighter as you hum contently into his lips.

“I don’t think I can tonight,” you say softly after breaking the kiss.

“That’s ok, little slut.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re resting on top of him. Legs straddling his hips and your head resting on his chest. You shiver against him, tucking your arms into your body. His hands scramble for the blanket, wrapping it around the two of you, kissing the top of your head. “Tomorrow, after Tess officially makes you her Treasure, that will be your gift from me.”

You nod into his chest, he smells like gunpowder, fresh sawdust and sweat as your eyelids become heavy and the world seems to slip away. You have trouble sleeping normally, I mean who wouldn’t in this fucked up new world you’re all in, but with Joel, it happens almost too easily. Sleep just takes you to a deep and uninterrupted place for who knows how long. But when you wake you’re in a large grey t-shirt in a small bedroom, not the same one you fell asleep in. You hear the peaceful and melodic breathing of someone beside you. You move slowly, peeling open your eyes to see Joel sleeping beside you. The moonlight dances softly along his face, grey hairs glinting in the light. He looks so peaceful, nothing like the man that was crazed by your pussy early. He’s still visibly dangerous, but fuck is he beautiful.

I’m fucked, you think to yourself.

Tag list:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44

@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #pedrohub #joel miller fanfiction #fic recs

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lotusbxtch · 17 hours ago

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PEDRO is the criminal for making a character for A MOBILE GAME AD so fucking HOT 🥵

Pedro Pascal as Detective Tim Rockford for Merge Mansion (2023)

#pedro pascal #tim rockford #merge mansion #I’ll never be over him #we were robbed

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lotusbxtch · 17 hours ago

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GET READY, BITCHES, this is SO FUCKING HOT 🙌🔥

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Updated Word Count: 69.9k

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Content Warning: In order to avoid spoilers I will not be warning you of everything. This story will contain sexually explicit material around the world of BDSM. Please remember that even with the age gap betweeen Joel and Reader, they are both legal and consenting adults. Although my intentions are never to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. That being said, as a survivor of sexual assault none of this story will contain dubcon or consensual non consent. At the heart of it all, this is a love story.

AN: I figured that @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @burntheedges and @joelmillerisapunk are all sick of me yelling at them about this story so I should start sharing! Thank you to the 4 of you for all your kind words and encouragement. To the 800+ of you that follow me, thank you for being such beautiful souls and encouraging me to work on my craft. I hope you love this series as much as I love each and every one of you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Part One

Chapter 5 - Part Two

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 - Coming December

Chapter 8 - Coming January

*Chapter count and release dates could change*

Follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates and turn on notifications for updates.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #pedrohub #joel miller fanfiction #fic: BDSMaid #fic rec

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lotusbxtch · 23 hours ago

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heartbreaking.

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Did you even love me?"

"I begged you to stay."

"Was any of it ever real?"

"If only we had more time."

"You have given up."

"I will never forget you."

"We made so many plans together."

"You promised me you'd come back."

"I have always loved you."

"You can't hurt me anymore."

"Dreams are all we have now."

"I wish I could stay forever."

"You broke me."

"Everywhere I go, I see you."

"It hurt too much to say it out loud."

"Maybe in a another life."

#writeblr #heartbreaking dialogue #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #heartbreaking #lotusbxtch bookmarks

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lotusbxtch · 2 days ago

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Part 2 already??? Omg yay!

smooth operator ch 2. this bitch bites

Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker

➴wc: 7k | summary: you accidentally send a picture of yourself to joel which results in a video call

➴warnings: mdni, fxm phone sex, m&f masturbation, dirty talk

➴an: hi! tysm to everyone for all the love on the first part of this silly little series. I've been having so much fun writing and interacting with everyone. y'all are the best. feel free to come scream with me about this or anything <333

masterlist | series masterlist

For the rest of the night, your mind plays your conversation with Joel on repeat.

Elliot is asleep when you barge into his room, itching to share your dirty little secret. His limbs are sprawled like a starfish, his mouth hanging open, a light snore escaping him. He looks so peaceful that you decide against waking him. Instead, you sneak back to your room, feeling as if you'll explode if you don't tell someone soon. You’re a talker, and keeping this bottled up feels like pure torture.

Blowing a breath out, you stare up at the ceiling. How you feel isn’t easy to explain.

Your body is more satisfied than it’s been in a long time, aching for more.

Your heart agrees, thrilled at the thought of a forbidden relationship with this sexy, mysterious man. It hasn’t felt much since your last boyfriend—only pain and disappointment.

Your head, though, is another story. It reminds you how much trouble you could get into. Jane has a strict no-relationships rule between workers and clients, fearing the temptation to give free "sessions" or show favoritism. She’s all business, no play.

Dread swirls in your stomach. What you’ve done is dangerous, even if it was ridiculously mind-blowing. Joel wants a repeat; if you deny him, he could tell Jane.

You could always deny it… say it was just part of the act.

But your heart hates that thought. Even considering letting Joel down makes it ache as if you’ve already done it. How can you feel so much for someone after one phone call?

Because it’s exciting, the bad girl in you whispers.

You’ll get into trouble, your rational side argues, but it’s outnumbered.

Think about how amazing he made you feel, your body chimes in, tingling in remembrance. You came harder than ever, and he didn’t even touch you.

“God,” you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes until they hurt and you see funny lights. “I need sleep.” With no way to figure it out on your own, you know you need Elliot. For now, you push the thoughts away and try to rest.

Before you open your eyes, you know you’ve woken up ridiculously early. Something feels different—a sensation you can’t quite place.

You don’t have the cozy, half-asleep feeling you usually enjoy. The blankets aren’t warm or soft enough, and you’re itching to get up and do something. So, you throw the covers off, get dressed, and spend extra time on your hair and makeup. The effort gives you a bounce in your step, though the knot of unease in your gut remains.

Grabbing your phone, you head to the bathroom, use the toilet, and brush your teeth. There’s no noise from Elliot’s room—you doubt he’ll wake up for another hour. You go downstairs instead.

The kettle is still full from yesterday, so you flick it on and get your coffee ready. You debate making breakfast but decide against it—eating without Elliot feels wrong.

Less than a minute later, the water boils. You pour it into your mug, watching the steam rise before curling up on the sofa.

Being awake this early makes you feel like you could get so much done. Maybe you’ll work out after coffee, or tidy up and throw out the takeaway boxes before more clutter piles up.

But your mind drifts back to Joel. You wonder about his morning routine. Does he put effort into his appearance because he’s good with women? You imagine him with a six-pack… God, you hope he has one.

No, stop, you think, shaking your head. What does it matter? But the thought of him only makes your fantasies steamier.

Your plans are forgotten, and you spend an hour imagining every inch of him. You don’t even notice your coffee going cold until Elliot flops onto the sofa beside you.

“There you are,” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Ooh, you made coffee.” Without asking, he takes your mug, grimacing after a sip. ��This is cold. How long have you been sitting here?”

“About an hour,” you admit with a shrug.

“Oh.” His brows lift. “How come, honey?” Concern laces his tone.

“I have something to tell you.” Finally, the words spill out, and you shift to face him.

“Did you finally shave your legs?” he asks, deadpan, taking another sip of coffee.

“Shut up. It hasn’t been that long, okay? This is serious.”

“Fine.” He smirks. “Go on.”

“I had phone sex last night.”

His brow furrows. “Sweetie, phone sex is your job. Are you feeling okay?” He places a hand on your forehead.

You roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “Not like that! I got off with him.”

Elliot’s jaw drops. “You… you flicked your bean to a client?”

Guiltily, you nod. “In my defense, he has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. And he’s amazing at talking dirty. Better than me!”

“Really?” Elliot’s skepticism is written all over his face.

You nod, leaning closer. “He said things like… ‘spread yourself open’ and ‘you’re such a good girl for me.’ He even told me to force my clit out of its hood! Most guys don’t even know what a that is!”

Elliot blinks, grabbing a cushion to cover his lap. “I completely understand.”

You laugh, though the thought of getting in trouble dampens your mood.

Elliot waves dismissively. “Just don’t tell anyone. I won’t either. In fact, I expect details from future calls.”

You snort. "I don't know if there will be any more."

He looks at you like you've grown another head. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to get in trouble for this," you admit, biting your lip for a moment. "Even if it was incredible."

"You won't get into trouble." He sounds so sure. "Seriously. I may or may not...have done the same thing. More than once," he mumbles the last part.

"What!?" you exclaim, wondering how the hell you're only just hearing about this. "Why haven't you told me?" You poke your bottom lip out at him. "You're keeping a lot of secrets from me lately."

He pinches your lip between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to pull it back into your mouth. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't tell you every time I jack off to porn, now do I? As for my date with Danny, I told you as soon as I had the balls to."

"But it is a huge deal," you argue.

"Yeah, to you, but...you're a bit of a prude."

"I am not. How can you be a prude when you work as a phone sex operator?”

"You are," he teases lightly. "When you had that one-night stand after you and Ben broke up, you cried for three days."

Your shoulders slump, and you mumble, "I was ashamed."

"Well, you shouldn't be," he says firmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is beautiful. And fun."

"That's easy for you to say," you point out. "You're a man. Women get labeled and judged." And oh boy, do you hate being judged. It's why you don't tell people what you do for a living.

He softens at that. "You shouldn't be so worried about what people think of you. You only live once."

"I know," you mumble, not knowing what to say to that. Because it's true—you shouldn't be so concerned about others' thoughts of you—but it's not something you can just switch off. You change the subject. "So tell me about the times you've...you know." You know it’ll make you feel better.

"Well," he licks his lips and puts one hand on the back of the sofa while the other holds his coffee. "The first time, I can't even remember his name. He called when I was in the middle of getting off, and we ended up getting off together with my porno playing."

You both laugh at that.

"The second time," he continues, a certain fondness in his tone. "Was this guy called 'K.' I don't know why. There was just this... attraction, and we did it. Then it just became this thing."

You frown in confusion. "A thing? Does that mean you still do it?"

"Yep," he pops the 'p' with a grin. "He doesn't call very often, though."

"I can't believe..." you break into a breathless chuckle because here you are, worrying your ass off, and it's actually no big deal. Well, as long as Jane doesn't find out. "This is crazy."

"Maybe," Elliot shrugs and then wiggles his eyebrows. "But isn't it so much more fun that way?"

You have to agree.

___________

That night, you find yourself itching for Joel 's call. You’ve even stripped yourself naked in preparation. If that’s not eager, you don’t know what is.

Every time your phone rings, your heart leaps into your throat. It's ridiculous to act like this because of a man you don’t even know, but for some mysterious reason, he's caught your attention, and you're not letting him go anytime soon.

When it turns out it’s not him on the other end of the line, you find yourself entertaining the idea that he lied when he said he’d call again tonight. Maybe he only said it to keep you happy, or he hadn’t known what else to say.

Although he seemed interested. Interested enough to ask for your real name...you’re not counting him out quite yet. The night isn't over.

It takes another two phone calls before his name finally flashes on your screen.

Almost immediately, your stomach twists with excitement, and an ache starts to form between your legs. You're nervous but in a good way. It reminds you of the very first time you had phone sex with a client. When you manage to calm yourself down, you answer the phone, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey, you." Does that sound okay? You hope so.

"Hey," he greets, his voice wobbling just a little. Maybe he feels the same way you do. "How've you been?"

You blink, momentarily stunned. Did he really just ask that? None of your clients ever ask how you’re doing. Not that you’re complaining—it’s nice to be treated like an actual human being instead of just a way to get off.

"I'm great," you say honestly. "What about you?"

"Much better now," he replies, and you bite the corner of your lip to keep a goofy smile from breaking through. "I have to say, I've been thinking about you all damn day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with a near-constant boner?"

You’re already gushing down below. Squeezing your thighs shut at the image he’s planted in your mind, you reply breathlessly, "Can't say I have, but I know what it's like walking around with a fountain in your panties all day long."

His laugh is dark. "A fountain? Sounds like someone's been thinking naughty thoughts."

"More than one, actually."

"Mm," he hums in approval. You hear rustling in the background as if he’s settling in. "Tell me one of them."

There are so many to choose from, but one stands out. "Okay," you say, licking your lips. "But you can't laugh, okay?"

"I wouldn't dare," he assures, though you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Right." You take a deep breath. "So... it's a student-teacher fantasy."

"Ah," he responds knowingly.

"Yeah, so, you're the teacher, and I'm the student." Christ, you can’t believe you’re actually saying this. It feels stupid and embarrassing—so much easier to talk about other people’s fantasies than your own. "I have detention, and it’s just you and me in the classroom. You’re looking over schoolwork, and since you’re distracted, I decide to, you know."

"Say it." It’s a command, and the increase in his breathing tells you this is getting him just as hot as it gets you.

"I play with my pussy," you admit, scraping your teeth along your bottom lip. "I slip my hand down my panties, find my clit, pinch it, and rub it. I hold back my moans because I don’t want you to hear." Without realizing it, your eyes shut, and your hands wander down your body, acting out the fantasy. You’re already wet—so wet it surprises you, soaking your thighs and dampening the sheets.

"Fuck," he draws the word out. "You think you’re being quiet, but you’re not, Princess. And your pussy’s so fucking wet I can smell it from my desk."

"God," you choke out, your breath hitching. "I don’t care that you know. I’m too close—I don’t even care if you see." You’re not lying; you’re so close, but not ready to finish yet. Leaving your clit alone for a moment, you slide two fingers inside yourself—they glide in easily. "In fact, I move further down the chair and spread my legs so you can see what I’m doing."

Both of you are worked up now. You hear him stroking himself hard in the background.

He growls dangerously. "I know exactly what you want, Princess. I come over to you, throw the table out of my way, and sink to my knees. You’re so fucking wet I can see everything through your white panties. It’s clinging to your slit and your poor swollen clit."

"God."

"My whole mouth slots over your creaming cunt, and I suck the sweet juices through your panties."

Your pussy clenches hard around your fingers. "Jesus Christ. You’re so good." Your hand is practically swimming in your own cum.

"Your hard little nub doesn’t stand a chance against my tongue, and I have you gushing into my mouth in under ten seconds."

You have no self-control. You don’t want to come yet, but your hand has a mind of its own. Before you know it, you’re going over the edge.

"Ohmygod, Joel !" you squeak embarrassingly, thighs shaking around your hand as you rock your hips, trying to prolong the sensation.

"Did you come?" he asks, both amused and proud.

"You didn’t give me much choice," you reply weakly, tiny waves of pleasure still coursing through you as your hand lingers.

"Hey, I’m not complaining, trust me," he says. "The sounds you make when you come are heaven, baby."

You blow a stray piece of hair off your face and finally pull your fingers out. "Have you come? Do you want to keep going?" you ask. "I didn’t even get to the part where I give you an epic blowjob."

"Please, by all means, continue."

You grin. "All right. So after that mind-blowing orgasm, I kiss you so I can taste myself on your lips."

"Fuck, that’s hot, Princess." You hear him stroke himself faster.

"And I grab your tie, walking you back to your desk. I make you sit down." The thought of touching him excites you all over again, and you circle a nipple with one finger. "I kneel between your thighs and unzip your pants. Your dick is so hard it’s leaking pre-cum through your underwear." God, you’re desperate to taste it. You tell him that, too.

"Keep going," he orders, his voice strained.

You do. "I lick the fabric, but it’s not enough. I grab your cock and bring it to my lips. God, you’re fucking delicious. I rub the head all over my lips, needing to taste more of your cum." Shamefully, you mean every word.

"I’m so close, Princess," he groans, his pace quickening. "Just a little more."

"I take you into my wet, warm mouth. You’re so big and hard I can barely fit my lips around you. I hollow my cheeks and suck like I would a lollipop, my tongue stroking underneath your shaft. I can feel you getting close because you start pulsing in my mouth. I go faster, wanting to feel you spill down my throat."

He finally releases with a harsh moan. "Damn, Princess."

You blurt out your name correcting him before you can stop yourself.

He’s still catching his breath. "What was that?"

You repeat your name, unsure if this is a good idea but knowing it’s too late to turn back. "It’s my name."

He repeats it smoothly, the name rolling off his tongue. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

You scoff, rolling your eyes to stop yourself from smiling. "You don’t know if I’m pretty or not."

"I don’t have to see you to know you’re beautiful."

His words touch you, but you doubt he’s worked all this out after just two phone calls. You humor him anyway. "That’s sweet of you to say."

"I better get going. Gotta get up for work in the morning," he says with a genuine yawn.

"Oh?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What do you do?"

"I’m a fireman."

Your eyes widen, and you instantly regret asking. Now you’ll be up all night fantasizing about him in uniform. "Oh god, that’s sexy," you blurt out.

"I’m glad you think so," he chuckles. "Maybe we can work it into our role-play tomorrow?"

"That’s a fantastic idea," you agree eagerly.

"All right," he laughs. "Seriously, I gotta go. Sweet dreams princess."

"Yeah," you reply, already looking forward to the next conversation. "You too, Joel."

__________________

"Tell me how big you are," you demand lightly, still tingling blissfully from your orgasm. You finally remove your hand from between your legs and use your damp fingers to trace circles around your hard nipples.

Joel laughs, the sound a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. "It's probably going to sound like I'm bullshitting, but... seven and a half inches."

You decide to believe him. Sure, he could very well be lying—lots of guys do. Practically every man you talk to claims to have a big dick. It’s all part of the fantasy. But Joel feels different. "Wow... that's huge."

Your body responds instinctively, a clench of anticipation as you imagine how full he could make you feel.

"Yeah... well, I've had no complaints," he says, sounding both bashful and proud.

"You sure?" you tease. "I bet there have been a few comments about you being too big or going too deep."

He laughs again. "When I was younger, yeah, but I learned pretty quickly that every woman is different. I like to get a feel for her using my fingers first, see how much she can handle."

You can’t help it; a vivid image of his fingers working you over, his muscular arm straining against your thigh as he tests your limits, flashes in your mind. Jesus, you could come again just from that thought. You stumble out a response. "Oh, I, uh... yeah, that’s good of you."

"Only fair. They're lettin' me have sex with them, least I can do is make sure they damn well enjoy it."

What a gentleman, you think. How many men actually care if a woman is enjoying herself? In your experience, they get off without a second thought for you.

"I wish more men were like you," you tell him honestly.

"Well... I wish more women were like you."

That catches you off guard. "Really? In what way?"

"I don’t know... you’re just so open. Sexually, I mean. You’re not afraid to tell me what you like. You’ve got a great laugh, too. And you’re so damn easy to talk to. I feel like I could tell you everything."

The words make your heart flutter. Compliments from clients are nothing new, but they usually run along the lines of, "You’re so good at talking dirty," or, "You made me come so hard." None of them are as sweet or genuine as what Joel just said.

And none of them make you think about how easily you could fall for him.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you push it away. How ridiculous. There’s no way you should be falling for a man you’ve never met. You don’t even know what he looks like. Having a crush is one thing, but love? God, I’m turning into one of those women who fall for anyone just because they say the right things.

And the saddest part? You’re pretty sure Joel isn’t even trying.

"Princess? You still there?"

His voice pulls you from your spiral. You don’t know how long you’ve been silent, but the realization is both embarrassing and unprofessional. You’re wasting his time—and his money.

"Sorry, Joel," you apologize. "I totally zoned out. I -I’ll refund you for the call."

"Don’t worry about that," he says quickly. "Please, be honest with me. Did I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to overstep—"

Oh, god, he’s so sweet. You cut him off. "No, no! I swear, you didn’t. I was just... surprised, that’s all," you reassure him. "I really appreciate it. And... I feel the same way." You bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. "I feel like... I’ve known you forever."

"I’m glad," he says, relief evident in his tone. "Was worried I’d freaked you out."

"Not at all," you reply with a soft smile.

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence. The reality of your situation dawns on you: You’re discussing feelings—real feelings—with a client. A man you’ve never met. You don’t know his last name. It’s been, what, a week?

But you want to know him. Desperately. Maybe you’re crazy. Maybe you’re just lonely. Or maybe you need something deeper than the physical connection you’re used to.

The sound of a beeping line breaks the moment. "Damn it," Joel curses. "They need me at work. I’ve got to go."

Immediately, you feel a pang of guilt. He didn’t even get to finish. "Listen," you say impulsively, "I’m going to text you my personal number, okay? When you have a chance, call me, and we’ll finish what we started."

There’s a pause. "Wow," he says finally. "That would be amazing. I could text you throughout the day, too... only if you want, of course. Don’t wanna cross any boundaries."

If anything, it's you crossing boundaries. “I’d love that." You respond honestly, your heart fluttering and a fuzzy feeling settles in your belly. You really like him, don't you? Crap.

He chuckles, and you can almost hear his grin. "Good."

—-------‐

How'd the baking go? You still alive?

You breathe out a laugh as you open and read Joel's text. It's been about a week since you gave him your number, and you haven't regretted it for a second.

Like shit, I can't have cooked it long enough because it was still gooey in the middle. But we're all still alive...for now.

You send the text before glancing over at the modeling shoot, which is now where your living room used to be. White material hangs from metal frames, creating a backdrop for the pictures. Standing lights are positioned opposite. The photographer your mom hired is here, and your house is his studio.

Elliot is currently looking through the outfits he and your mom spent all of yesterday shopping for, now hung from a clothes rail. Some of them are latex and kinky as hell, others flimsy and revealing.

Your mom is busy pulling on a gray mini skirt. She’s already wearing stockings, a white, revealing blouse, and a tight gray blazer that cuts off at the elbows. You know she has a pair of glasses to complete her sexy secretary look. All she needs is a messy updo, and she’ll be ready to go.

You have to admit, the fake breasts she bought five years ago look fantastic in that shirt. You’re almost jealous. They look better than yours.

Elliot, meanwhile, is shirtless, with a pair of leather pants covering his bottom half. He looks amazing. His hair is messy, like he just had sex, and he’s debating with your mom whether or not he should use some eyeliner to make himself look darker and more mysterious.

You remain firm in your decision to stay out of the photo shoot. Even though you wouldn’t have to be naked, the idea doesn’t sit well with you. People could recognize you—friends from school, old work colleagues, or that bitch who stole your favorite hair clip in swimming class when you were a teen. The thought of any of them knowing—or worse, judging—what you do for a living makes you die a little inside, even though you know in your heart it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just too sensitive, you guess.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, signaling an incoming text, and you glance down at the screen, your attention no longer on the shoot. It’s Joel again.

Ah... remind me to do all the baking if I ever work up the courage to ask you out.

Your lips part in shock before they curve slowly. He wants to ask you out? Wow… you trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you type your response.

Deal. You finding that courage any time soon?

You hesitate, then press send before locking your phone and leaning your elbows on the counter in front of you. Your eyes follow your mother’s movements as she practices poses in front of a large, stand-up mirror. You’re on kitchen duty since you’re neither a model nor a photographer, which means it’s your job to keep their coffee topped up.

“What do you think?” Elliot asks, his question floating to no one in particular as he studies himself in a small pocket-sized mirror. A black eyeliner pencil sits in his other hand.

You tilt your head, examining his eyes. One is framed in sharp black, while the other remains untouched. “Go with the eyeliner,” you say after a moment. “It matches your leather look.” You gesture toward his trousers.

Without looking up, Elliot starts lining his other eye. “Thanks, babe.”

You curl your lips in a faint reply, even though he can’t see it. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly check the message on the screen.

I'm working on it ;)

Good. I'm looking forward to it ;)

You bite your lip, trying to hide your excitement. You don’t want your mom catching onto your texts; without a doubt, she’d know you’re talking to a guy. Then she’d question you until you gave up the goods.

A ping behind you sounds, reminding you that you were in the process of making another round of coffee. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you decide you’d better get the coffee addicts their fix.

The photo shoot ends up being a success—not that you were expecting anything different. They could have been real models, and it makes you wonder why they didn’t pursue a career in it. They’re honestly naturals.

And oh my god, your mom—you’re laughing now—manages to get a date with the photographer. He has to be about ten years younger than her. Not that it stops him, of course. You and Elliot can’t help but exchange glances and giggle knowingly when it’s your mom’s turn to be photographed. The poor guy can’t take his eyes off her.

You hope it goes well, of course, but you doubt he’ll end up being anything more than a fling. Your mom just isn’t one to settle down. Not since your dad walked out when you were a baby and left her with a broken heart. You think she lost her faith in men after that.

Not that your experience with men is much better. Your ex was an asshole who killed your confidence and then cheated on you with someone you had considered your best friend at the time. Pretty clichéd, you know. But unlike your mom, you still have hope that a Prince Charming will come along and sweep you off your feet.

And just maybe, that Prince could be Joel.

Yes, okay, it was still early days to be thinking like that but sometimes...you just know, you know? There’s a fluttering in your stomach—a warmth, a feeling of pure happiness, safety, and understanding. It’s not the same as those first-date butterflies you had with your ex, when everything was exciting and new. No, this is something different, something deeper. You can’t quite explain how—it just is.

"Hey, you’ve got a package down here!" Elliot sing-songs from downstairs, pulling you out of your thoughts.

A package? What could it—Oh! You remember the top you ordered online and let out an excited squeal. Quickly, you step out of the shower. You were finished in there anyway.

"Coming!" you call down to Elliot, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your plain black bra and underwear. You rub the towel through your hair, barely giving a thought to your state of undress as you head downstairs. Elliot wouldn’t care, anyway.

As you step into the room, Elliot whistles from the sofa, his legs tucked underneath him and one arm draped along the back. “Looking hot, girl!” he teases, flashing you a playful grin.

“Thanks, babe.” You lean over the back of the sofa and snag the package from his lap. Tearing open the grey plastic bag, you start digging through it eagerly.

“What’d you get?” Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Remember that top I showed you and Julie? The white one with ‘This Bitch Bites!’ written on the front?” Your fingers brush soft material, and you pull it free with a triumphant grin. Tossing the plastic to the floor, you hold the top up to admire it.

Elliot throws his head back in laughter. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did.” You flip the shirt around, showing it off with a dramatic flourish.

Elliot gasps as if it’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen. “I fucking love it! Do they have it in my size?” He reaches out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, giving it an approving nod. “Ooh, I like the material, too.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you say, gathering the shirt in your hands and pulling it over your head. You smooth it down and strike a pose, hands on your hips. “What do you think?”

"Your boobs look awesome in that." Elliot nods approvingly. "Oh! Gimme your phone. I'll take a pic, and you can send it to Julie. I bet she'll wanna see it." He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

You instinctively reach for your pockets, but your fingers brush against bare skin, reminding you that your clothes—and your phone—are upstairs. "I'll go get it," you say, heading off.

After sending the picture, you grab a quick snack before making your way back upstairs. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you know you need to dry it before it starts frizzing.

You sit at your dresser, plug in your hair dryer, and get ready to turn it on when your phone vibrates with an incoming message. Setting the dryer down, you pick up your phone to check the text.

Damn, I hope she does, was the response, leaving you confused.

Julie doesn’t text like that. You know how she is—always shortening her words until they’re barely readable, leaving you and Elliot to figure out what she actually means. And commas? Forget it. She probably doesn’t even know what one is.

You scrunch your nose, confused, your thumb hovering over the screen to text her back when another message pops up. This time, it’s from Joel.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

Okay, so that’s kind of creepy. How the fuck does he know what you look like? That’s when it hits you— the previous text was from Joel, not Julie like you’d assumed.

“Oh no…” you breathe, your fingers scrambling to scroll up through the conversation. And there it is. The picture Elliot took of you. You, wearing nothing but your white this bitch bites! shirt and black panties, your chest pushed forward so the writing stretches smooth across the fabric. And that picture? It’s been sent to Joel. Not Julie.

You growl out loud, “I’m going to kill Elliot,” your heart pounds like crazy. You spring to your feet, panic surging through you as you pace back and forth, trying to form a coherent thought. Did he do it on purpose? No, surely he wouldn’t—okay, yeah, he probably would. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands before falling backward onto the bed. You land with a bounce.

And just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the realization hits you. “I’m not even wearing makeup, Elliot!” you shout, your voice full of despair.

You know you should respond to Joel, but you're way too busy freaking the hell out.

He knows what you look like. That’s bad. So very bad. Why exactly it’s bad, you’re not sure. But the black hole churning in your stomach insists it is.

He thinks you’re beautiful, a calmer part of your mind whispers blissfully. Without makeup. That part makes you ridiculously happy. But it’s still bad…right?

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you try to think clearly. So what if he knows what you look like? It’s not like he can track you down with just an image. Sure, okay, he also knows your first name, but you don’t even have social media. Good luck with that, buddy!

...Really? Come on.

You shake your head at yourself. You know Joel wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re just freaking out and thinking irrationally. He’s a good guy, and you trust him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have given him your real number.

Breathing in deeply, you lift your phone to your face and read his messages again.

Damn, I hope she does.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

This time, you allow yourself to smile, embracing the warmth that fills your stomach at his words. He’s so sweet, with just the right amount of dirty. He hopes you’re a biter... Naughty pictures flood your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together. You’d be a biter for him any day.

Your thumbs hover over the touch-screen keyboard as you consider what to respond to him. Deciding that honesty is the best policy, you go with:

Sorry about that! It was meant for my girl friend but my other friend is a total dick. I don't make a habit of sending half-naked pics to guys. I'm glad you like it though :)

A thought pops into your head, and you quickly type:

Since you've got a pic of me...maybe you'll be open to sharing one of you?

You nibble at your fingernail as you wait for his response. You hope you didn't make him uncomfortable by asking for a picture, but you honestly do want one of him. You're curious about what he could look like. You have an image of him in your head, but you dare say it wouldn't look anything like him. A few seconds later, you get a reply.

Ah, that makes sense. I did think it was a bit odd since you never mentioned anything about us exchanging pictures. I'm glad it happened, though. Maybe I should be thanking your friend ;)

Your lips curl as you get ready to send him a response when another text comes through.

Sure, you can have one of me as long as you'll excuse my appearance. It's It’s been a rough day at work, and I haven’t had a chance to shower yet.

Again, you start typing your reply, your heart jumping into your throat at the thought of finally seeing his face when yet another text comes through. But this time, it isn’t words; it’s a picture. The picture you’ve been waiting for.

Your lips part and your heart falls back into your chest, doing a funny little dance. A slow breath escapes you as you can't tear your eyes away from the selfie he sent you.

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe him. whiskey-colored eyes, lips so full it almost looks like he's pouting. A day or two's worth of stubble covers his lower face.

He looks tired but still manages a small, lopsided smile for you. His hair is a mess as if he's spent a good portion of the day running his fingers through it. Full lips and dark eyes. The picture is taken directly in front, and you can see his large Adam’s apple and broad shoulders. His shirt, from what you can make out, is completely white.

“Oh my god,” you mutter in astonishment. Honestly… the guy looks like a model. You find it hard to believe someone like him needs a sex operator to get off. He must have women falling all over him. He's a firefighter for fuck’s sake. It's like every girl’s wet dream.

It makes you wonder if he's telling the truth, or if he's been lying all along and knows exactly how to draw a girl in.

Worried and paranoid, you bite your bottom lip and finally text him back.

Is that really you? Or are you screwing with me?

His reply doesn't come in the shape of a text. Instead, you get a notification about an incoming video call.

Your eyes widen, and your first instinct is to reject it. Having just gotten out of the shower, your hair is wet, and your face is make-up-free. You don’t want him to see you this way, but then you remember that he’s already seen the picture you—well, Elliot—sent him. So, you accept it. It can’t have put him off that much since he's still talking to you.

It takes a moment for the call to connect, and you bite your lip harder.

And then there he is, looking just like he did in his photo. This proves that he'd definitely just taken it moments before, and it was definitely him. You feel guilty for doubting him.

"Wow." His full lips twist into a big smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your butterflies return with a vengeance, and you grin back so hard your cheeks hurt. "Hey, handsome." You know your face is burning but you don't even care. You're nervous and aren't afraid to admit it. This is a big step for both of you. Who wouldn't have some kind of nerves? The hand holding your phone up shakes slightly.

He chuckles, rubbing his fingers over his lips. "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you. It's crazy. You're so gorgeous. You're perfect."

Your entire body buzzes at his words, warmth filling you. "Coming from you? You're so fucking sexy I thought you'd sent me a fake picture!"

You both laugh, the sound full of excitement, anxiety, and amazement. "No, no. I would never do that. I'm glad you approve though, I was worried I wouldn't be your type."

You splutter, "Dude...you have to be everyone's type." The nervous laughter continues. Neither of you really knows what to say or how to react, but you can't stop looking at each other with goofy expressions. "How was your day?" you finally decide to ask, figuring that maybe a more casual conversation might help you both get over the shock.

"My day?" He was grinning still, shaking his head. "My day...this has got to be the best day of my damned life."

It’s so sweet you could almost cry. Almost sobbing with tears in your eyes, you respond, “I know the feeling.”

You’re both too overwhelmed to have a normal conversation. You stay on the phone for hours, mostly admiring each other, smiling like idiots, and commenting on your disbelief of the situation. You’re in awe of each other, that much is obvious. Time quickly flies by, and you notice Joel starts to grow more tired by the second.

"Why don’t you get some sleep?" you suggest softly, one hand tucked under your cheek as you lay on your side, snuggled up underneath your duvet. You continue to hold the phone in front of you.

He groans and rubs his eye with his knuckles. It’s adorable to see. "I should...I really, really should." His hand drops, and he focuses on the phone, flashing you a sleepy smile. "But that means hanging up...and I don’t think I’m ready to leave you yet."

You giggle quietly, feeling genuinely happy. "I know the feeling," you say. "But it's getting late, and you have work in the morning. I promise we'll talk again tomorrow night. Plus, I'll be texting you all day, you know that."

He chuckles. "Damn, I just can't get rid of you, can I?" He teases.

"Nope." You pop the 'p', grinning back. "You're stuck with me now."

He sighs dramatically. "What have I gotten myself into?" You both laugh once more. "I'm joking, of course. Who'd wanna get rid of a gorgeous girl like you?"

You hide your face in your shoulder. "Stop, you'll make me go all giddy," you warn him, half serious.

He grins. "That's not gonna make me stop, princess. You're too cute when you're all giddy."

"Oh, Joel ," you sigh lovingly before you realize what you're doing. You can't help it though. He makes you feel so good. So joyful. You can't ever remember having this feeling. It’s as if you're on top of the world.

"Darlin," he purrs back, and your belly flutters. You fall into a small silence, and for a moment, just smile at each other. It’s actually pretty cheesy.

"We should go," you whisper reluctantly.

He nods. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Good night, handsome." Moving the hand tucked under your cheek to your mouth, you blow him a kiss.

He chuckles and acts as if he grabs it before placing it onto his lips and blowing one back to you. "Goodnight, pretty girl."

Taglist: @pedrito-is-punk7 @bitchytimetravelqueen @wh0reforbucknasty @joelsrose @justajoelsreader

@guelyury @bbyanarchist @untamedheart81 @ro-nahime-things @peepawispunk

#lotusbxtch tbr #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #fic recs #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters

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lotusbxtch · 2 days ago

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I’m no help but I’d just like to point out what a slut he’s being in these GIFs 🥵 the seductive eyes? The little flirtatious snarl of the lip?

Oscar girlies (gn): which interview/video is this?

@avastrasposts found these gifs floating around and I'm absolutely obsessed with them (look, it's been a month day, I need my enrichment). I feel like I've seen a pretty good amount of Oscar videos but this one doesn't ring a bell -- does anyone know where it's from?

Tagging some folks! @reallyrallyauthor @campingwiththecharmings @alltheglitterandtheroar @missdictatorme @moonknightly

@nowritingonthewall @my-secret-shame @romanarose @loki-hargreeves

#moon knight #poe dameron #santiago garcia #i feel like i need this interview video today #oscar isaac

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lotusbxtch · 2 days ago

Text

Obsessed with how you portrayed their dynamic! The smut was so hot but their bond is even better. ❤️

Take Care - A Dom!Joel Miller One Shot

Joel has a bad day at work so you give him something he can control: you.

Pairing: Dom!Joel Miller x Sub!Female Reader

Warnings: No Outbreak AU. Established relationship, husband and wife. Dom!Joel x Sub!Reader (light). Ages not really established but I picture them both late 30s/early 40s (Sarah is away at college and they are empty nesters.) Reader uses her safe word and Joel listens. Unprotected P in V sex. Oral sex, M receiving. Creampie. Sensory play. Overstimulation. Aftercare.

Length: 3.8k

A/N: I saw a TikTok about praising subs for using their safe word and decided Joel Miller would do exactly that. This is the same couple from the one shot Undone but can definitely be read independently.

Joel had had a shitty week at work.

It had been stressful for a while, a project getting more and more behind schedule because shit just kept going wrong, all shit that he had no control over. Deliveries were late, one of the apprentice guys on another team fucked up, winds were too high one day to keep working.

That day, it had all come to a head. The supplier fucked up their order, it started pouring rain at 10:30 in the morning, the contract holder decided to change the tile at the last second. He came home in a bad mood, still wet from the rain and desperate to feel like he was in control of something for a goddamn change.

You seemed to sense it when he came in, poking your head out from your home office as he stomped to the kitchen.

“Everything OK love?” You called at him.

“Shit day,” he growled, yanking the fridge open so roughly that the glass jars in the door clattered against each other. He found a beer and cracked it open and knocked back damn near half the thing in one go.

You came into the kitchen, frowning in your usual work from home uniform - yoga pants that made your ass look so fucking good and a v-neck t-shirt that seemed designed to drive him crazy - with your arms crossed over your chest, pressing your tits together like you were putting them on display.

“What’s going on?” You frowned, looking him up and down. “Talk to me.”

He quirked his jaw but did as you asked, ranting, raising his voice more than he was proud of when he was near you. But you just nodded along until he finally fell silent and took another sip of beer.

“What can I do?” You asked gently.

“I dunno,” he sighed. “Nothin’. Just need shit to work the way it’s supposed to for a minute, to actually be in control of one fucking thing so I don’t lose my goddamn mind. It’ll be fine, baby. Just gotta get through it.”

“Well,” you shrugged, stepping closer to him. “Want to be in control of me?”

He frowned a little.

“Baby…”

“I was just finishing up work for the day, anyway. I’ll be a good girl for you,” you smiled a little at him. “Do whatever you ask me to. If you want, of course.”

His heart beat a little faster. Fuck, that sounded so, so good. Having you in every way he wanted, getting to know he was taking care of you, making things go just the way they should. He longed for that control. Maybe a little too much.

“I dunno baby,” he sighed. “Might not be the best idea, I’m a little worked up right now. I don’t want to be too rough with you.”

“You won’t be,” you reached up and trailed your fingers through his hair. “And even if you are, I have my safe word. If you think it would help, I want to do it. I want to take care of you, Joel.”

He looked at you for a moment, into your soft, earnest eyes.

“Promise you won’t push yourself too far?” He asked. You nodded eagerly. “Promise you’re offering because you want this, too?”

“Yes sir,” you smiled, a little mischievously.

Joel stood up a little straighter, setting his beer on the counter and taking your chin in his hand.

“Then go to our room,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “Get undressed and get ready for me.”

“Yes sir,” you said again, slipping out of his hold and damn near skipping away.

Joel palmed himself through his jeans, his cock already aching and leaking, a sense of peace settling into him at the thought of was waiting for him just down the hall.

He downed the rest of his beer before going to find you, peeling his damp shirt off as he did. You’d done as he asked, sitting almost demurely in the middle of the bed he shared with you. You’d gotten out some of Joel’s favorite bondage gear and arranged it on the bed. He raised his eyebrows at you and you smiled proudly.

“I know what sir likes.”

He quirked his jaw, trying not to smile back.

“Yes, you do,” he said. “Such a good girl for me.”

He knew just what he wanted to do with you. He bound your wrists together over your head, attaching them to the headboard so he could have you on your back or your front before putting you in the spreader bar, opening you to him. The sight of your exposed pussy, dripping and waiting for him, made his mouth water.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He took out one more thing: the blindfold from your nightstand.

Joel had always loved toying with your senses, seeing how much more intense your pleasure seemed when you were tensed and waiting for it but not knowing how you’d get it. But he’d never used a blindfold with this combination before. You’d always been free to move as you wanted or restrained by his command or tied completely to the bed. He’d never tried it where he could manipulate your body like this, move you in just the way he wanted so he could use you in just the way he wanted.

You looked up at him from your position bound to the bed, your eyes a little wide as he held the blindfold.

“Remember your colors?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Remind me.”

“Green, yellow, red,” you said obediently.

“Good girl,” he said. “Right now?”

“Green.”

“Good,” he said. “Gonna put this on you and I’m gonna take over. You’re going to be mine. All mine. Understand?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Yes what.”

“Yes sir,” you said.

“Good girl,” he said and put the blindfold on you. He took a moment to look at you like this, all spread out for him, ripe and ready for the taking. The trust you had in him to be so vulnerable, the confidence you had to offer yourself so willingly made his heart ache. Fuck, he loved you.

He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them slowly, as silently as he could, before freeing his cock. He stroked himself a few times, spreading his precome over his shaft as his eyes lingered on your breasts, trailing over the softness of your stomach to your bared pussy and spread thighs. Fuck, he was going to enjoy this.

He kept working his cock with one hand as he reached out with the other, watching your face as he brought his fingertips ever so lightly to your wrist, just below where you were bound to the headboard. You gasped at the contact and he trailed his fingers slowly, lightly over the silk of your skin. He continued his path over the crook of your elbow, your arm, your chest, his fingers tracing the outline of your plush breast. But he took his fingers away before he reached your nipple, watching as it pebbled and hardened in anticipation of a touch he wasn’t going to give you.

You whimpered when he stopped touching you and he smirked at that.

“So needy already?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said, voice tight. “I just know how good you make me feel.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Be my good girl and I’ll make you feel good. When I want you to feel good, I’ll make you feel good.”

He explored your body like that for a while, his fingers getting close to your most sensitive parts, always stopping just short of giving you exactly what you wanted. But you were craving it more and more, he could tell from the tension in your body as he teased you and the way your pussy was fucking weeping for him, your slick making your spread skin glisten.

“My baby need more?” He asked, standing at the foot of the bed, not touching you at all.

“Yes,” you panted, squirming as best you could in your bonds. He moved up the bed while you did, silent as he could. “Yes, yes, please sir, I…”

He took your head firmly in his grasp, making you gasp, and turned it so your mouth was facing him.

“Open,” he ordered and you obeyed so fast he laughed a little at it as he guided his thick, hard cock to your lips. He pushed inside slow at first, giving you a moment to adjust so you wouldn’t accidentally bite him in shock, but then held your head in place and thrust in quick, all the way to the back of your throat. Your gasp was quieted by his intrusion and he felt you struggle to swallow him. He held himself there, buried in the wet heat of your mouth as you worked to contain him and then started fucking into you there, watching your lips wrap around his shaft, feeling you swallow around him to take him into your throat, your tongue pressing up against the underside of his shaft just the way you knew he liked.

“There you go,” he praised, his grip on your head tightening. “Just like that, such a good girl for me.”

His free hand moved to your breast and, when he pushed himself against the back of your throat and held himself there, he took that full, soft mound in his palm, your nipple firm against him as he squeezed and held you. You groaned at that, and he almost did, too, the vibration of your vocal chords and the heat of your mouth and the plush of your tit almost too much for him.

Almost.

But he wasn’t ready to come yet, even though filling your pretty throat with his spend sounded so fucking good in that moment as you sucked him. He pulled free of you and you coughed and sputtered, a trail of spit going from your lips to the head of his cock.

“You’re too damn good at that,” he said, releasing your head and your breast, no part of him touching you anymore. “Color?”

You panted for breath but didn’t answer.

“Be a good girl,” he said. “And tell me your color.”

“G-green,” you managed, chest heaving.

“Good,” he said before moving quickly, quietly, to the other side of the bed, stopping at your waist. He jerked his cock, gathering your spit from his skin, and carefully aligned two fingers with your leaking entrance, being sure not to touch you anywhere else as he did. He watched your breathing ease, your head still turned toward where he’d just been standing. A false sense of security. But he’d control that, too. He thrust his fingers inside you, swift and hard, and your back arched and you gasped, your channel clenching tight around him. You looked around - as if you could see him, anyway - trying to figure out where he was standing. He helped you figure it out, pressing the heel of his hand into your clit while he took your nipple in his fingers, twisting and pulling just enough to make you whimper.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he worked himself as deep as he could reach, grinding against your clit as he scissored his fingers inside of you. “That what you like? You get off to someone else taking over this gorgeous fuckin’ body of yours, that it?”

“Yes!” You cried out. You were trying to kick your legs but couldn’t manage it with the spreader bar and Joel smirked, loving what he could do to you.

“Yes what.”

“Yes sir!” You said quickly. “Yes sir, yes sir, I love it, fuck!”

“Go ahead and come for me pretty girl,” he said. “Come for being so good for me.”

You obeyed, throbbing and fluttering over his fingers, breaths frantic.

Normally, he’d keep pushing you in an orgasm. Try to pull the strongest one from you he possibly could. Not this time.

Right at your peak, he pulled his fingers free and he watched as your tight little hole grasped at nothing, leaking and desperate. You whimpered, your fists clenching, and you fidgeted as best you could but he’d taken that outlet away. You were pent up, needy, totally reliant on him and his touch to give you what you were aching for.

Joel went to the foot of the bed and took the spreader bar in his hands, using it to flip you onto your stomach as your pussy was still fluttering and you cried out as he climbed on the bed between your open legs, grabbing your hips and pulling you into the position he wanted. He lined his cock up quickly and fucked into you hard and fast, bottoming out in your still orgasming cunt in one stroke.

“Fuck,” he panted, buried totally inside of you as you struggled to get your bearings. He ran a hand up your back, planting it firmly between your shoulder blades to push you further into the mattress before running up to the small of your back. “So fuckin’ pretty, all open for me like this.”

He started to fuck you then, moving inside you forcefully, savoring the way your body molded to his. You always took him so damn well, your channel so fucking tight and warm and soft and he knew just how to drive you higher, make you needier.

Joel reached between your spread legs and toyed with your swollen clit and you cried out as he worked you there, bringing you closer and closer to another orgasm before easing his touch, pulling you back from the brink but leaving you even tighter around him. He did it again and again, pushing you further with every motion. The whole time, he was finding new places to touch you, tease you, never giving you a hint at what he was doing next, each new sensation a surprise to build your orgasm more and more.

“Love this tight little pussy,” he panted, driving into you again and again. “Always so good for me, just made to take this cock weren’t you?”

You didn’t really respond, just giving a muffled little groan. Joel frowned, slowing his pace and relaxing his touch on your clit.

“Baby,” he said, his voice tight. “You OK?”

He looked to your hands, you fingers fumbling against themselves and he stopped moving, still inside you.

“Honey,” he said. “Need a color.”

Your voice was muffled and then he felt you move, lifting your torso just enough to turn your head.

“Red,” you panted, voice wet. “Red, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Shit,” Joel said, pulling out of you gently but moving fast then. He freed your ankles quickly and delicately adjusted you so you were on your back, Your chest was heaving and your face was wet and you kept apologizing over and over. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold, close your eyes so it’s not too bright.”

You nodded quickly and he gingerly pulled the blindfold off, the fabric wet with your tears.

“Oh baby,” he said softly, freeing your wrists next and pulling you into his arms. You buried your face into his neck, trembling and crying against him. “You’re alright, it’s OK, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccuped against him. “I really tried not to safe word, I…”

“What?” He pulled away from you ever so slightly, just enough that he could see your tear-streaked face.

“I thought I could take it but it was too much but I tried and…”

“Baby,” he said gently, running his hand over you to cup the back of your head. “Don’t you dare apologize for using your safe word, you hear me?”

Your eyes searched his and you sniffled, frowning.

“But…”

“I’m so proud of you for using it baby,” he said, watching you closely. “You did so good for me. I’m so proud of you for telling me when it was too much, so proud of you for not letting me push you too far. I’m sorry I did. We have the system we do for a reason, so we can explore and push limits and enjoy each other to the fullest but it only works if you use it when you need it. I never want to push you too far, honey, never. You did so good, using your safe word. You were so good for me.”

“Yeah?” You sniffed.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing by the corner of your eye, drying your tears with his lips. “So proud of you. So happy that I can call you mine.”

You nuzzled closer to him, your breaths calmer and deeper now.

“I was supposed to be taking care of you though,” you said, almost pouting. “I was trying to give you what you needed and I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t screw up a damn thing,” he said, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “This is part of it, baby. You’re lettin’ me help you, letting me take care of you when you need it. This is something going the way it’s supposed to go - maybe not the me pushing you here part but the part where you told me it was too much? That’s us working how we’re supposed to. I needed something to work and it did. Understand?”

You nodded into him, pressing yourself closer. He held you like that for a while, rocking you gently until your breaths had calmed and you weren’t crying anymore. You adjusted in his hold, fingers tracing over him, kissing his neck. He groaned a little at that.

“I still want to take care of you, though,” you said, voice low and a little needy.

“Don’t need to do that, baby,” he said, forcing himself to not grind his aching cock against you.

“I know,” you said, pulling back from him. “But I want to. Will you let me, sir?”

He smiled a little, searching your eyes, making sure you were really in a good place.

“Alright, baby,” he said. “Take care of me.”

You smiled and nudged him onto his back and he went where you guided him, grinning a little to himself as he watched you. How’d he get so lucky, having you all to himself?

You stroked his cock, which quickly went from half-hard to fully erect, and you got this proud little look on your face as you did, as though he’d ever have a prayer of not being hard and needy for you.

“Can I ride your cock?” You asked, still stroking him. “Please sir?”

“Fuck,” he said, something about you asking permission to be on top making his heart speed up. “Yeah, baby, yes you can.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, straddling him. You planted your hands on his chest for balance and eased yourself down onto his firm length and he groaned as he felt you make room for him inside yourself. You started slow, finding a rhythm and an angle that let you grind your clit down against his skin as you worked him before going harder, faster. His hands roamed over you, spreading over your thighs, running over your sides to your breasts, watching the place where he was disappearing into you. His climax was growing fast, already so close before the two of you had stopped before. It had been waiting just below the surface and you were expertly drawing it out of him with every stroke of your tight, wet heat. You felt just so fucking good inside, like you really had been made to take him. You made him come harder than anyone else he’d ever been with, made him more desperate and needy than anyone else ever had and, right now, you seemed bound and determined to make him fill you up.

Your breaths got faster, needier and your back arched as your pussy got even tighter on him.

“Fuck, you about to come for me?” He asked, having to clench his jaw to keep from coming himself in that moment.

“Yes,” you whined. “Yes sir, if it’s OK, I need to come, please sir, please.”

“Come for me,” he said, rocking his hips up into you and making you cry out. “Come all over my cock, baby.”

You obeyed, gasping “thank you” over and over as your channel throbbed so hard around him it almost hurt. Your hips stilled, holding him deep inside and he ground himself deeper, your orgasm triggering his own. He pulled your hips down on him, holding himself so deep inside you as he came, feeling you as close as he possibly could.

You collapsed on him as your orgasm eased, panting for breath as you nuzzled into his chest, his cock still throbbing within you. He put his arms around you, holding your soft warmth close, breathing in the smell of your hair and skin tinged with sex as he did.

“How are we doing, pretty girl?” He asked eventually, his hand tracing a slow, soothing pattern over your spine.

“I’m good,” you said, voice light and airy and completely blissed out. He chuckled a little at that and you sat up ever so slightly from him. “How are you? That is the real question.”

“Oh, I’m amazin’,” he smiled and kissed you lightly.

“Better than when you got home?” You asked, hopeful.

“So much better, baby,” he said, kissing your lips again before going to your cheek, your throat, tugging you closer again as his cock softened inside you. “Take such good care of me.”

You hummed happily and kissed his chest.

“Can I keep taking care of you?” You asked.

“You feelin’ up for that?” He frowned, his hand stilling on your lower back. “Don’t want you pushing it.”

“I know,” you said. “I had planned to cook tonight but I was thinking we can order dinner instead. Chinese? General Tso’s chicken and egg rolls and beer?”

“Sounds amazing,” he gave you a squeeze.

“Then we can watch Curtis and Viper IV,” you said, kissing his chest. “They just put it on Amazon. As long as you promise to cuddle me during, of course.”

He laughed a little.

“Good luck stopping me,” he said and you sat up from him a little, smiling down at him, making him stretch up to kiss you for a change. “Thank you, baby. Don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

“Back at ya,” you smiled and, as the two of you went to get cleaned up, Joel knew that the rest of his week was going to be better. After all, he had you.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #dom!joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #fic recs

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lotusbxtch · 3 days ago

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We don’t talk enough about how fanfiction writers love to give character large amounts of non-specific paperwork they hate doing

#paperwork #browniefox speaks #writing tools #lotusbxtch bookmarks

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lotusbxtch · 4 days ago

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Death and Desire | Part 1

Pairing: bfd! Joel Miller X fem!Reader | W/C: ~9K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: A decade of memories and unspoken truths weave through you and Joel, tying the past and present into a tangled knot of longing, loss, and love in the most unexpected places.

A/N: This is my personal ode to the poet Joy Sullivan: a muse in the beauty of friendship, sweet rebellion, and the delicate dance of forbidden love, grief, and fleeting happiness. This story is about the fragile intersections where hearts break, heal, and dare to love again. I hope you all enjoy it.x

Warnings: I am leaving some warnings off for now as they are built into the story as a surprise. Eventual POV-Switching. The story builds over time (starting with 10 years ago). Friendship. Edibles/high thoughts. good dad!Joel. Grief. Death. Tension. Flirting/Teasing. Age gap but not mentioned (make it your own). Pet names. Grief. This one is gonna burn so slow, but ignite itself in the end. TLOU au. No use of Y/N. Eventual smut. Don't worry, I don't blue ball you in this one entirely. Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Let me know if I missed anything!

Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3

TEN YEARS AGO

The two of you were sprawled out on the floor in Sarah’s childhood bedroom, the dim glow from a small TV perched on her old dresser casting soft light across the room. The space was exactly as you remembered—walls lined with faded band posters, a cluttered bookshelf in the corner, and a faint scent of cherry blossom from the Bath and Body Works lotion you both swore by. Still swear by, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Sarah looked at you, laid on her back with her feet propped up on the armrest of a battered chair, a fuzzy blanket tangled around her torso. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes half-closed, and her lips curved into a dreamy, unfocused smile.

The crumpled bag that once contained a brownie sat on the floor near her hand, alongside a pair of empty glasses of water and an open bag of pretzels. The room felt timeless like it could have been any night from your teenage years, though the buzz of adulthood hung faintly in the air. It always seemed to be since you both graduated college this past Spring.

"You ever think about how humans are just... super easy to charm?" Sarah’s voice was soft, her words melting into the quiet hum of the TV.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, smirking. "Oh no. The brownies officially kicked in, hasn’t it?"

She tilted her head to look at you, her expression one of exaggerated seriousness, though her lips twitched with amusement. "No, I’m serious. Like, we’re these tender mammals, right? Always trying to keep each other afloat. Scooting earthworms off sidewalks. Giving too much of ourselves, like—" she made a vague gesture toward the ceiling, her fingers fluttering—"oysters from the shell."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oysters from the shell? Where do you even come up with this stuff?"

Sarah ignored you, her eyes slipping closed momentarily before popping open again. "Sunsets," she said suddenly, her voice picking up with urgency. "We know they can’t fix anything. Like, a sunset’s not gonna pay your rent or stop your car from breaking down. But I’ll still—" she mimed driving, her hands gripping an imaginary wheel—"swerve off the 405 just to watch the sky go pink under the night’s big, dark thumb."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "The night’s thumb? That’s what we’re calling it now?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning faintly. "Don’t laugh—it’s poetic.”

She paused, then continued, “Like, my grandma, the one on my mom’s side, not my dad’s, can’t even eat daffodils, but she’ll rescue them from frost. Why? Because we cradle what’s soft and small, even when it’s not ours."

You sat up slightly, watching her as her words hung in the air. There was something about how she said it—dreamy, wistful, but with a quiet truth that made you pause.

"I guess we do," you said finally, your voice quieter. "Root for things to live, I mean. Even when they’re not ours."

Sarah turned her head to look at you, her eyes glassy but bright. "Exactly," she said, smiling softly. "It’s human truth."

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, the TV flickering in the background. After a moment, Sarah’s stomach growled, the gurgle making you both laugh, both noises breaking the stillness.

"You want some chips?" she asked, her tone shifting into something more lighthearted. "Ooo, or maybe Oreos and peanut butter?"

You chuckled, nodding. "Oreos and peanut butter sounds amazing, actually."

Sarah grinned, sitting up and untangling herself from the blanket. She stumbled to her feet and crossed the room, pulling open her bedroom door. Leaning out into the hall, she called down, "Dad!” No response. She tried again. “Daaaaaad!” She heard a door open downstairs. “Do we have Oreos?"

From somewhere downstairs, Joel’s voice carried back, warm and familiar. "What do you think, Sarah? This house runs on Oreos."

You couldn’t help but smile. It had always been like this, even when the two of you were sixteen and constantly toeing the line between harmless trouble and outright chaos. Being back here felt like no time had passed. It had, of course, you had the tits, a sparkly degree, and even one gray hair to show for it.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled you from your thoughts. A few minutes later, her dad appeared in the doorway, a pack of Oreos in one hand and a small jar of peanut butter balanced on top. He leaned casually against the frame, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly. His white T-shirt clung slightly to his frame, smudged faintly with grease. He looked like he’d come straight from the garage, his jeans worn and dusty, his forearms streaked with evidence of whatever project he’d been working on. The faint scent of motor oil and something clean—woodsy, maybe—lingered in the air around him.

"The princess calls," he teased, holding up the Oreos with a grin that deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes. His tone was playful, but as he turned his attention to Sarah, his smile faltered slightly. "Wait a second. You alright?"

Sarah waved a hand, her movements loose and exaggerated. "I’m fine! We’re fine. Just… hanging out. Bonding. You didn’t have to bring those all the way up, kudos for bringing the whole jar" she added quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from herself.

He ignored her deflection, stepping further into the room. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, then shifted briefly to you. His gaze wasn’t unkind, but it carried a weight that made your stomach twist—not from nerves, but from…well, you didn’t know, actually. Blame the weed. There was effortless confidence in how he carried himself, a quiet command that ate up all of the air in the room without trying.

"Uh-huh," he said, unconvinced. He set the Oreos and peanut butter on the edge of Sarah’s desk. "You both look a little off."

Sarah stepped forward quickly, her face flushing slightly. "Dad, we’re fine. Seriously." She placed her hands firmly on his chest, trying to nudge him back toward the door. "Thanks for the snacks. We’ve got it from here. Love you! Byeeeee!"

He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just don’t eat the whole stash in one go." His dark eyes moved back to you, like he was trying to read you. You always were an easy tell. The attention made you hyper-aware of the fact that you were sitting on the floor in his daughter’s childhood bedroom, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught breaking some unspoken rule. If he looked at you for even a second longer you probably would have blurted the truth out like you were allergic to it.

"And keep it down in here," he added, the tease in his voice softening the command as he stepped back toward the door. "Can hear your damn gigglin’ from downstairs." He loved it, you and Sarah both knew he did.

With a final smirk, he left the room, closing the door behind him. His footsteps echoed down the hall, the faint scent of the garage and aftershave lingering behind him. Sarah leaned against the door, exhaling loudly.

"Ooof, that was close," she muttered before flopping back onto the floor beside you, grabbing the Oreos and peanut butter with an almost ceremonial flourish.

You tried acting casual, reaching for a cookie from the tray, but your mind spun. The image of him leaning in the doorway, his broad shoulders framed by the light, wouldn’t leave your head. His presence had been so casual and effortless, yet it had entirely shifted the air in the room. The warmth in his voice, his laugh, the way he had looked at you—observed you—sent your pulse racing in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

He’s Sarah’s dad. Knock it off. You’d obviously been too lost in the sauce and were reading into it.

"PB?" Sarah asked, her mouth already full of it, so it came out sounding more like Phoebe. She was already jamming another cookie into it with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sure," you said, your voice a little too tight. You cleared your throat and forced a smile, trying to push the lingering heat in your chest aside as she handed you the jar.

But the faint trail of his scent was still in the room, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d filled the doorway like he belonged there—like he belonged everywhere.

Your best friend's ridiculous question pulled you back to the present moment.

“You ever think about what the color green would taste like?”

NINE YEARS AGO

The air was sharp with the bite of December, much colder and snowier than usual for Austin, even this time of year. It was the kind of cold that stung your nose and turned your breath to smoke. You shifted from one foot to the other on the front porch, clutching the tin of cookies tighter than you needed to. The snow-dusted yard behind you was quiet, the sort of silence that felt heavy, not peaceful.

A year had passed, though it felt like a lifetime compared to the last time you were here.

Your knuckles hovered over the door before you finally knocked. Once, then twice, the sound of it cutting through the crisp wind. You pulled your hand back and wrapped both arms around the tin like it would somehow shield you from, well, everything.

The thought of walking away crossed your mind. Just leaving the cookies on the doorstep, retreating into the night. But your legs felt frozen in place, your body refusing to move. You’d practiced what you would say a thousand times in the car, but now, as footsteps approached from inside, every word scattered like dry leaves in the wind.

The door opened, and the warm light from inside spilled out onto the porch. And there he was–

Joel Miller.

His broad shoulders filled the frame just as they had that night a year ago. He wore a thick flannel over a plain T-shirt, his hair a little grayer, his face lined in a way that hadn’t been there before. There was a weight to his expression, something that had settled in the lines of his face and the set of his jaw.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His eyes landed on you, widening slightly in recognition, then softening into something unreadable.

"Hi," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of everything unsaid. You swallowed hard and forced a shaky smile. "I, um… I brought cookies."

Joel’s eyes trailed to the tin in your hands, then back to your face. He didn’t respond right away, but you saw something flicker in his eyes—hesitation, definitely, or surprise, maybe. Finally, he stepped aside, holding the door open wider.

"Hi. Wasn’t expectin’ to see you.” Ugh, gut punch.

“Come on in," he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You hesitated for a second, then stepped inside. The house smelled the same as you remembered, faintly of cedar, vanilla, and something earthy. The warmth of it enveloped you, but it did nothing to stop the tremble in your hands as you held the tin out to him.

"They’re… uh, Sarah’s recipe," you said, your voice wavering. "I thought… I thought maybe you’d like some. I know she always used to make them this time of year."

Joel’s hand brushed against yours as he took the tin, and the warmth of his touch jolted something in you, the memory of how much Sarah had loved this house, loved her dad. You looked away quickly, blinking hard, biting down the emotion creeping up in your throat.

"Thanks," he said quietly, setting the tin on a side table by the door. He lingered there momentarily, one hand resting on the edge of the table, the other on his hip.

You were hyper-aware of the silence between you, heavy and strange. It was impossible to stand there without thinking of all the times you’d been in this house with Sarah, how her laughter had filled every corner of it. Now, the quiet felt wrong, like something was missing, glaringly absent.

"I wasn’t sure if I should come," you admitted suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "I didn’t want to make it… harder."

Joel turned to look at you, his expression softening. There was a tiredness in his eyes but also something else—gratitude, maybe, or understanding.

"It’s not harder," he said, his palm rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to say next, "It’s just… it’s, well it’s good to see you."

You nodded, your throat tightening as you struggled to find something to say. The weight of the past year, of everything you’d both lost, hung heavy between you both.

Joel stepped closer, his broad frame looming as his shadow stretched across you. The faint scent of cigarettes and pine clung to him, tugging at a memory. You wondered if he’d picked the habit back up—if grief had worn him down like it did you.

"You’ve been alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, nodding even though it wasn’t entirely true. "Trying to be."

His gaze lingered on you, the kind of look that made it feel like he was trying to read every piece of you, every crack and scar you’d been hiding. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Joel nodded and turned, gesturing for you to follow. His frame filled the narrow hallway as he led you toward the kitchen, his steps unhurried. You forced yourself to focus on the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor, anything to keep the sharp edges of memory at bay as you passed the staircase, the wall of framed memories beside it.

You didn’t look for long—just enough to let the ghost of a laugh drift through your mind, clear and bright, even though it had been over a year.

Sarah had perched on the top step that night, knees tucked to her chest, a gummy worm dangling from her mouth as she tossed you a bag of chips with her free hand. Her smile lit up the dim hallway, effortlessly chasing away the dark, the way she always did.

It had been the middle of the night, the house wrapped in quiet except for the muffled hum of the water running through the heating pipes, the wind against the windows.

You were both supposed to be asleep, but instead, you’d raided the pantry like you were saving for the apocalypse. Arms full of stolen snacks, you tiptoed back toward her room, stifling your laughter behind your hands. Sarah, determined to keep the gummy worm in her mouth while juggling the loot, had lost her footing. She tripped at the last step, tumbling onto the landing in a tangle of limbs, snacks scattering everywhere as laughter burst from her.

"Shhh!" you’d hissed, barely holding back your own giggles. "You’re gonna wake your dad up!"

She’d waved you off, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter, the gummy worm now dangling forgotten against her chin. In her other hand, she clutched the bag of chips like it was a treasure of unspeakable value. "He’s a heavy sleeper," she’d whispered, barely getting the words out between laughs. "But if he finds out we stole his gummy worms, we’re screwed."

That did it. You had to clamp your hand harder over your mouth to keep from completely losing it. Sarah tried to get up, but her socked feet betrayed her again, sliding on the slick hardwood. She went down with another muffled thud, the chips scattering like confetti around her.

It was over. The two of you crumpled into each other, gasping for breath and clutching your sides, the kind of uncontrollable laughter that was impossible to stop. Your muffled laughs echoed faintly in the quiet house, just loud enough to make you both shoot panicked glances toward Joel’s door, half expecting it to creak open at any second.

It didn’t, but he had heard everything just the same, not that you two were any the wiser.

Now, standing in the hallway a year later, the house felt too quiet.

The memory pressed against the edges of your mind, vivid and sharp, but it was just that—a memory. There was no Sarah, no stolen gummy worms, no muffled giggles as you both tried not to wake her dad. Just the low creak of floorboards and the faint rumble of a news casters voice coming from the living room.

You followed Joel to the kitchen, your fingers brushing lightly against the wall. The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and insistent, but you forced it down, keeping your steps steady, your breath calm. Still, the memory lingered, the sound of her laughter so vivid you could almost hear it, her grin etched into the dim light of the hallway like a ghost that refused to leave. Not that you wanted it to. It was all you had left of her.

You looked away quickly, fixing your gaze on the back of Joel’s flannel as he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The room was warm and familiar, the scent of bacon mingling with the smell of fresh coffee. Joel moved to the counter, pulling out two mismatched mugs from a cabinet without asking if you took yours black or needed sugar. He remembered, but confirmed it all the same.

"You still take it the same way, right?" he asked, his back still facing you.

You blinked, surprised, and nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. "Yeah. Same way,” you said, sliding on a nearby stool.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching your expression, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was a fleeting thing, there and gone again. When was the last time he smiled for real? He poured the coffee and handed you a mug, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

"How long you home for?" Joel asked as he leaned back against the counter. He sipped his coffee, his steady brown eyes trained on you.

You shifted your weight, the warmth of the mug in your hands warming you from the outside in. "Just for the holidays," you said softly, staring at the dark liquid swirling inside. "Figured it’d be good to get outta LA for a bit."

He nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. "How’s work treatin’ you out there?"

You shrugged, unsure how to condense the chaos of the last year into a simple answer – being a script writer, trying to make a name for yourself, has been a little rough. "It’s fine. Busy, mostly. I’ve been trying to stay focused, you know? Keep my head down."

Joel studied you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Sounds like you’ve been workin’ too hard. That what they make you do out there? Grind you down?"

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the tension in your chest. "Something like that. It’s… different. Fast-paced. I like it, but…" You trailed off, searching for the right words. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just… floating through it. Like it’s all noise, and I’m just trying to keep up."

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he set his mug down on the counter. "That why you came back? To get some quiet?"

You hesitated, the question hitting closer to home than you wanted to admit. "Yeah, maybe. I just… I needed to be somewhere that wasn’t LA for a little while."

"Well," he said, his voice softening as he crossed his arms over his chest, "you picked the right place for quiet. Not much else to do around here but think."

"Exactly what I was afraid of," you said with a wry smile, earning a faint chuckle from him. The sound was warm and familiar, grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening. "You’re always welcome here. You know that, right?"

You nodded, your throat tightening. "Yeah. I know."

He didn’t press, didn’t ask for more than you were ready to give. Instead, he reached for his mug again, sipping his coffee like the moment hadn’t stretched into something heavier than it was meant to be.

"You seein’ anyone out there?" Joel asked after the pause, but the flicker of curiosity in his eyes betrayed him. Joel had always carried a protective edge, especially when it came to Sarah—and, by extension, you. It wasn’t nosiness; it was just him wanting to make sure you were treated right.

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, feeling a slight heat rise in your cheeks. "Not really. I guess I’m just... too busy for that kind of thing."

Joel raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint smirk. "That what they say in LA? 'Too busy'?"

You laughed, a quiet, self-deprecating sound, and shook your head. "Something like that. I don’t know. Relationships feel so... complicated. Like there’s never enough time to figure them out, let alone make them work."

What you didn’t say was the truth—that the thought of losing someone else you cared about was too much to bear. It was easier to stay on the edges, to avoid trying in the first place, than to risk the weight of another goodbye.

"Time’s always gonna feel short," he said, his voice low, thoughtful. "But if you find the right person, you’ll make it work. No matter how busy."

His words lingered in the space between your bodies, and you didn’t know what to say. Joel had a way of cutting through the noise, saying what he really wanted to, even if it didn’t always make sense at the time. It was comforting, even if it left you feeling slightly exposed.

"What about you?" you asked, deflecting, your lips curling into a small smirk.

Joel’s expression shifted, softening, but his eyes stayed sharp, steady on yours. "Me?" He let out a short laugh, more air than sound. "Not really. Don’t think I got the energy for all that anymore. Feels like I’m a little past the age where people line up for the complicated guy with too much baggage."

You raised an eyebrow, a small scoff escaping you. "I hope you don’t really think that’s true."

He shrugged, a slow, almost self-conscious movement, like he didn’t quite believe you but didn’t want to argue. "Maybe. Guess I’ve just been more focused on making sure the people I care about are doing alright. It’s easier that way."

Joel had had a few girlfriends over the years, but nothing serious—no one he ever brought home. Part of you hoped he’d eventually find happiness, someone who could fill the quiet spaces in his life, someone to keep him company in this big, empty house.

But another part of you wasn’t so sure. Maybe Joel didn’t want someone else. Maybe he was content to carry those ghosts alone, to fill the house with echoes of what once was and nothing more. Or maybe—just maybe—he was waiting for something, or someone, that felt worth the risk.

But none of that was your problem to solve.

You shifted in your seat, your fingers brushing over the edge of your mug. "Well, I should probably get back home…" The words came out slower than you meant, trailing off as if leaving them unfinished might keep you there a little longer.

Joel looked up, his expression unreadable but softer somehow. "Yeah, bet your momma’s excited to have you back." Your heart clenches, knowing he means that, knowing he’ll never have that familiar excitement again.

You hesitated, your fingers lingering on the strap of your bag. "Yeah… she is," you murmured, though even to your own ears, it sounded more like you were convincing yourself than him. Standing, you tightened your jacket, but your feet didn’t move right away.

"Thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you around, Mr. Miller," you said, your smile small and unsure. "Happy Holidays."

"’Course. Happy Holidays to you too, darlin’,” he kept his eyes steady on you as you turned to go.

Just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you. “Oh, and by the way, you can call me Joel, you know.”

He gave you a faint wink, and without thinking.

“Joel,” you smile in reply and walk out the door.

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, sharp against your cheeks, but your thoughts lingered behind. With Sarah gone, the truth crept in, uninvited—you might not actually see him again. The idea settled in your chest, heavy and unwelcome, like a stone you couldn’t shake.

Still, it was the holidays.

If there was ever a time to hold onto a bit of hope, it was now.

That’s what Sarah would do.

FIVE YEARS AGO

The H-E-B felt foreign, almost unrecognizable, a far cry from the local grocery store that this corporate dump used to be. You ducked down an aisle, pulling the brim of your hat lower over your face. The last thing you wanted was to run into anyone who might recognize you and start in with the questions: Are you married yet? Any kids? Still living in LA?

The plan to stay incognito was working fine—until your hand brushed someone else’s as you both reached for the last box of Cocoa Pebbles.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to—" you started, glancing up.

Joel Miller stood there, holding the box you’d both been after, his expression shifting from surprise to warmth as recognition settled in. He looked good, better than you expected. His hair was more gray now, but his face had that same quiet strength, tanned and slightly weathered in a way that only made him more handsome. He wore a flannel, the same one you’d seen on and off again for the better part of a decade, over a thermal shirt, his broad shoulders filling it out easily.

"Well, look who’s back in town," Joel said, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He held up the box of cereal. "Didn’t figure you for a Cocoa Pebbles kinda girl anymore."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Some things don’t change."

"Guess not," he said, handing you the box without hesitation. His eyes swept over you before settling back on yours, all warm and chocolate. "Been a long time."

"Yeah," you admitted, your fingers tightening slightly around the box as you glanced down at it. "It has been."

Joel nodded, his gaze softening. "I get it. It’s not easy." He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to. You knew exactly what he meant.

"It’s easier now," you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. The honesty surprised you, but it felt right. "Time helps, I guess."

A moment of silence passed between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His presence felt grounding, familiar in a way that made you ache and feel at ease all at once.

"So, what brings you back this time?" he asked, leaning casually against the edge of the shelf. The casual effort was betrayed when his elbow bumped a cereal box on the shelf, sending it tumbling to the floor.

You bit back a laugh, your grin breaking through anyway. "Mom guilt," you said, watching him. "She wouldn’t stop calling until I caved and came home for the holidays."

Joel smirked, bending down to pick up the cereal. "Classic move. Hard to argue with mom guilt."

"What about you?" you asked, shifting the subject. "Still working construction?"

"Yeah," Joel said, his grin returning. "Started my own company with Tommy a few years back. Keeps us busy, but it’s good work."

"That’s great," you said, and you meant it.

Joel hesitated for a beat, the heel of his boot turned up against the linoleum. "Listen, I’ve been meanin’ to clean out Sarah’s old room. Finally started goin’ through it this week, and I found some stuff I think you might want. Notes, pictures, that kinda thing. You got time to swing by while you’re here?"

The mention of Sarah’s name tightened your chest, but it wasn’t unbearable. You nodded slowly. "Yeah. I’d like that."

Joel’s smile was soft, almost shy. "Tomorrow night okay?"

"Sure," you said, your lips curving before you could stop them. "Tomorrow’s fine."

"It’s a plan. See you then, darlin’," he said, his drawl wrapping around the word like a hug.

As you walked away, a strange warmth followed you, settling in your chest. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you caught yourself smiling—just standing there in the checkout line, no reason except that tomorrow night was waiting.

Maybe being home wouldn’t be so bad after all.

++++

The next night, you found yourself back on Joel’s porch, the warm glow of the porch light casting familiar shadows across the worn wood. The house hadn’t changed much—it still had the same quiet charm, the same weathered comfort. Your eyes lingered on the wooden sign hanging by the door, the one that read The Millers. You were grateful Joel hadn’t taken it down, even though there was only one Miller in the house now. It felt like a small piece of the past he’d chosen to keep, which made you smile.

Joel opened the door just as you raised your hand to knock, his timing so perfect it caught you off guard. He leaned casually against the doorframe, a small smile playing on his lips. "Right on time," he said, stepping back to let you in. "Pizza’s in the oven, beer’s in the fridge. Thought I’d keep it simple."

"Very on-brand, Mr. Mill – Joel," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips as you stepped inside and shrugged off your coat.

Joel’s chuckle was low and warm as he closed the door behind you, the sound filling the quiet house. "Figured you’d appreciate the nostalgia." You did. You’d spent countless Saturday nights with pizza, the Millers, and a movie – and occasionally a beer or two, although you didn’t much care for the taste (or the trouble you’d be in if Mr. Miller caught you both).

After catching up at dinner, the two of you spent hours sifting through boxes of Sarah’s things—old photos capturing her mid-laugh, notes scribbled hastily on the backs of movie ticket stubs and the bottom of polaroids, and the worn hoodie she never seemed to take off. The memories carried their usual weight, but the sharp edges had softened, leaving something bittersweet and almost comforting in their place.

By the time the snow began falling heavily, the clock had slipped past midnight. Joel glanced out the window, the crease between his brow became more apparent. "Lotta snow out there." It had been one of the coldest, wettest winters on record.

You stepped closer, peering outside at the world buried under a thick, untouched layer of white. The snowflakes fell with a quiet insistence, heavy and slow, as though the night itself had conspired to keep you there.

"Wow," you murmured, almost to yourself. "S’a little unusual from what I remember growing up, although I haven’t been home in forever, so I wouldn’t really know."

Joel lingered for a second, then turned toward you, his voice quieter now. "Well, you’re not drivin’ anywhere tonight. Roads’ll be impossible."

You nodded, the inevitability of it sinking in. He hesitated, then motioned toward the living room. "Take the couch. I’ll grab you somethin’ to sleep in."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with nothing but your memories.

When Joel returned, he handed you an oversized T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, the fabric soft and well-worn. "Sorry," he said, his voice quiet. "I already donated most of Sarah’s old clothes a while back. Not that they’d fit you now—she was still a kid when most of this stuff was here." He didn’t know why he said that, you of course already knew that part, seeing as you two were practically glued at the hip from age 10.

"These are fine," you said softly, taking the clothes from him. Your fingers brushed his, a fleeting touch that sent a surprising warmth through you. His quiet thoughtfulness settled over you like a blanket, soft and cozy like the sweatpants he just handed you. The thought of wearing his clothes made your stomach feel like goo.

"Let me grab you some blankets. Meet ya in the living room,” he said, the words coming out more like a question than a statement.

As he turned and disappeared down the hallway, you watched him go, the steady weight of his presence filling the quiet house. You weren’t sure what this night would mean in the long run, how it would sit in your memory when it was all said and done.

But for now, with the snow cocooning the house and Joel’s energy around you, it felt like a small step toward something lighter, something warmer—something closer to happiness.

++++

He lingered in the middle of the living room, his hands resting on his hips, his eyes drifting to the corners of the room, looking anywhere but at you.

"Guess I’ll let you get settled," he said, his eyes eventually finding yours. "I’ll be upstairs if you need anything."

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the blankets he just handed you a little tighter. Something about letting him walk away felt incomplete. "Hey, Joel?" you called, your voice tentative.

He turned back, his expression curious. "Yeah?"

You shifted your weight, nerves flickering in your chest, but you pushed through them anyway. "Wanna watch a movie? For old times' sake?"

Joel raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For old times’ sake, huh?"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Yeah. We’ve already got frozen pizza and beer. Feels like a missed opportunity if we don’t add a bad movie into the mix. I think that’s what Sarah would say, anyway."

Joel chuckled, the sound low and familiar, and instead of walking away, he moved toward the couch. "Alright. What’re we watchin’? Somethin’ from the '90s, or you got somethin’ more modern in mind?" He sat down and patted the cushion beside him, his grin inviting.

"Definitely the '90s," you said, grinning now as you joined him, tucking your legs up under the blanket. "Anything with cheesy action or overly dramatic romance will do."

He leaned forward, flipping through the small stack of DVDs he still kept under the coffee table. "How about Speed? That one checks both boxes."

"Perfect," you said, pulling the blanket tighter around you as he set it up.

The opening credits were rolling when Joel settled back on the couch beside you. He stretched his arm along the back of the couch; his body relaxed in a way that made him seem lighter than you remembered. You weren’t sure if it was the years or something else, but he felt… better. Happier. The same could almost be said for you.

Keanu Reeves delivered his first overly intense line, and you both laughed, your shoulders brushing as the sound of the movie filled the room. Joel glanced over at you during a quieter moment, his eyes dark and deep.

"Been a long time since you’ve been home," he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.

"Mmm," you replied, allowing your eyes to flick up to him for a brief moment. "Too long, I think."

He didn’t say anything more, just nodded, his arm still resting casually along the back of the couch, close enough that you could feel his faint warmth even through the fuzzy fabric that separated you.

As the movie played on, you became acutely aware of the weight of his attention, lingering just enough to make your skin prickle. He wasn’t trying to hide it, but he wasn’t overt about it either—he was just looking. Just looking. Right?

You shifted slightly, pretending to adjust the blanket, but instead, you let yourself lean a little closer, until your shoulder brushed against his side. It was subtle, but the contact made your pulse quicken. His arm didn’t move—if anything, it seemed to settle more comfortably, curving ever so slightly, like he might pull you in if you gave him any more reason to.

Your heart thudded harder in your chest, and you willed yourself to focus on the chaos playing out on the screen, pretending to be absorbed. But the tension in the air was electric, crackling like the fire across the room in the space between you.

His steady warmth at your side, the predictable pattern of his breathing, and the way his presence seemed to envelop you—all of it worked against your better judgment. You knew if you looked up, if you met his eyes right now, you might just tempt desire and all her slender hands.

You might give in to the magnetic pull that had been quietly building between you all night, but you weren’t sure where that might lead.

If he even felt what you did.

So you stayed where you were, your head resting just slightly against his shoulder, hoping the movie and the falling snow outside could keep the moment suspended just long enough for you to figure it out.

PRESENT DAY

You've gotten better about coming home in the years since Sarah’s passing. One year, you even made it back three times, much to your mom’s delight—and exasperation when you left as quickly as you came.

But none of that matters now.

Now, you’re coming home for good. Coming home because both want and need to.

Your beat-up U-Haul, one with a lizard on the side, rumbles as you turn into the familiar cul-de-sac, its tires crunching over loose gravel. The neighborhood is exactly as you remember—tree-lined and cozy, the houses aged just enough to look lived-in but still charming. When the chance to buy a home here popped up this summer, you couldn’t say no. It was your favorite corner of Austin, after all. It would be a good place to settle down.

LA had been suffocating—not just because of the relentless traffic or the heat that clung to you like a second skin. The city felt like it was closing in sometimes, all noise and movement with nowhere to breathe. In Texas, you were looking forward to space—real, wide-open space. Big skies that stretched endlessly, highways where you could drive for miles without seeing another car, and nights so dark you could actually see the stars.

The rhythm of life here was different, too. Slower, steadier. You missed the way people waved as they passed, even if they didn’t know you. The sound of cicadas buzzing in the twilight, the smell of mesquite from someone grilling a little too close to sunset, and the unmistakable taste of barbecue that no fancy restaurant in LA could ever replicate.

Texas wasn’t just a place; it was a feeling. And after the chaos of LA, you were ready for it to wrap around you again.

The timing felt right, too. Your script writing job eventually took off, and now you’re able to work remotely and travel back when necessary. That, and the extra heartbeat growing inside you had grown louder lately—loud enough to make you stop and listen.

You slow down, eyeing the driveway—your driveway. The words still feel foreign, surreal, but you turn in and kill the engine. You just sit there, gripping the steering wheel as you let out a sigh.

The summer had brought so many changes, but this one feels the biggest. Well, for now, anyway.

You glance out the window, looking through the glass at the house two lots down. The one you know as well as your own childhood home. Of course, your new house just happens to be in Sarah’s old neighborhood. Because why wouldn’t it be?

And yes, her ridiculously attractive father, Joel Miller, still lives there.

But it’s fine. It’s all fucking fine.

You and Joel are cool.

You’d run into him here and there in the decade since Sarah’s death. Family barbecues, awkward holiday run-ins, the grocery store, and even once at the gas station on your way out of town to drive back to LA. That time, you’d been mid-chew, caught red-handed with a gummy worm dangling from your mouth.

Joel had smirked, leaning against the pump as he filled his truck. "Still stealing the good snacks, huh?"

You’d flushed, quickly finishing the gummy worm as if that would somehow erase the evidence.

There was even that night—the one where you’d sat next to him on his couch, the pull between you almost unbearable. You’d spent hours pretending to be engrossed in the movie, your heart racing every time his arm shifted slightly closer. Neither of you had said anything, and nothing had happened, but the tension lingered.

Since then, you’d kept things polite, careful to maintain just enough space to keep that night buried where it couldn’t surface. Distance had been your shield, a way to keep the fragile balance intact.

But now distance wasn’t an option.

Pushing the truck door open, you hop out of the cab and stretch, the long drive leaving your muscles tight and ready for a break. You’re halfway to the tailgate, ready to start unloading the smaller boxes, when movement on your front porch catches your eye.

Your heart skips a beat.

And why wouldn’t it with Joel Miller standing there?

He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, a plate of cookies balanced in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his dark leather jacket. His black shirt clings just enough to hint at the strength beneath it, and the scuffed cowboy boots on his feet tie it all together—a rugged, unpolished confidence that Joel has always seemed to carry without even trying. Seriously, does the man even age? Has he actually gotten hotter? You blame the hormones for your horny thoughts.

His expression is warm, his mouth curving into an easy, teasing smirk that makes your pulse stumble. "I brought cookies," he says, his voice low and rich, laced with just enough amusement to send a ripple of heat through you. He lifts the plate slightly as if to prove his point, and the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having makes it even harder to keep your composure.

You step closer, your hungry eyes glancing briefly to the plate before reaching out to take it. It’s not the homemade kind you were expecting—it’s a package of Oreos, wrapped hastily in seran wrap on a plate as if to look homemade. You can’t help but smile.

"You got any peanut butter to go with these?" you ask, hoping he can’t sense the heat that’s risen to your cheeks.

Joel chuckles. "Didn’t think that far ahead. Figured the cookies alone might do the trick."

You laugh softly, the tension you’d been holding since you pulled into the driveway easing just a little. Balancing the plate in one hand, you reach for your keys with the other and unlock the door to your new home for the first time.

"Wanna come in?" you offer, the words casual, but something about them feels significant. You don’t even let yourself linger on what that means.

He nods and steps forward. "Yeah, I do.”

And with that, he crosses the threshold, his boots clicking softly against the hardwood as he enters.

The air feels charged for a second like both you and the house are adjusting to his presence.

++++

The two of you sit in the middle of your living room, half-unpacked boxes stacked around you, the air thick with the smells of cardboard, pizza, and that faint freshly cleaned new house scent. Joel leans back against the wall, shifting slightly, trying—and failing—not to make it obvious that his back is protesting after hours of hauling boxes and sitting on the hard floor.

His beer bottle balances loosely between his fingers as he studies you. Despite your repeated protests that he didn’t need to help, that your brothers would be helping in the morning, he had stubbornly insisted. Now, here he is, sitting in the chaos of your new place, looking like he belongs here more than the boxes ever could.

You break the silence, your attention fixed on the stack of cardboard squares marked Kitchen. “Sarah would’ve been shocked to know I moved back here,” you say, your voice tinged with a soft nostalgia. “She always joked I was too stubborn to leave LA, even if I hated it half the time.”

Joel’s eyes soften, the slight furrow in his brow giving away the depth of his thoughts. “She’d be glad you’re home,” he says quietly. You think he’s right. Sarah was always one to say that LA was only a pitstop, never a forever.

You nod, the lump in your throat rising faster than you can push it down. “I miss her, Joel,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. “I miss her every damn day. It’s like… I keep hitting these milestones, you know? Big, small, whatever. And every time, I wish she was here to go through them with me.”

Joel doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes.

You glance at him, your voice trembling just enough to make you pause. Joel exhales slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around the neck of the beer bottle in his hand. “She left a lot behind,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “But you… you were her favorite piece of it all.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips, the words tugging at your heartstrings.

Joel shifts gears with ease, his tone lightening. “So, what’s your dating life look like these days?” he asks, one eyebrow quirking as he takes another sip of his beer.

You groan, laughing despite yourself. “Seriously? We’re gonna do this now?”

“Why not?” Joel smirks, the corners of his mouth curling just enough to make you roll your eyes. “You move all the way back from LA, there’s gotta be a story there.”

There is. Not a good one.

You hesitate, fiddling with the edge of your pizza crust, avoiding his gaze. “You mean besides the suffocating city?” The biggest reason, the one nestled quietly within you, feels too fragile, too new to put into words. Not yet.

Finally, you glance up, a faint smile breaking through. “Okay, fine. But you’re not allowed to judge.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “No promises,” he says, his voice carrying just the right amount of teasing warmth.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m serious, Miller. I don’t need you adding ‘bad decisions’ to my highlight reel.”

He smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like a pretty impressive reel already.”

You roll your eyes, tossing a crust at him, the tension easing, even if the words you can’t say still linger.

He chuckles, settling back against the wall, the bottle in his hand catching the dim light. “I make no guarantees. Let’s hear it.”

You laugh softly, leaning back against a nearby box, your head tilting slightly as the memory starts to surface. “Remember that night before Sarah died? We were in her room, watching that crappy TV on her dresser?”

Joel nods, his expression shifting, softening. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well,” you begin, dragging the word out as your cheeks heat, “we may have been a little high. Like… edibles high. It’s embarrassing to admit, but there it is.”

Joel’s lips twitch, the faintest smirk curling at the edges. “I already knew,” he says, his tone teasing but unmistakably smug.

Your eyes narrow, and you toss a crumpled napkin in his direction. “What? How?”

He shrugs, the smirk widening into a grin. “You two kept giggling at the ceiling fan like it was telling jokes. It wasn’t exactly subtle.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands. “God, we thought we were so slick.”

Joel shakes his head, his smile warm and wistful. “She always had that way about her—made everything feel like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.”

Your laughter fades, softening into a quiet hum, and the room grows still. Your eyes wander to the scattered boxes around you, and your voice drops, quieter now. “That night, she said something that stuck with me. Something about how we cradle the soft, the small things—even when they’re not ours. She said it was a human truth.”

Joel leans forward slightly, his expression steady and thoughtful. “Sounds like her,” he says softly.

“Doesn’t it?” you murmur, looking at him, only to find his eyes are on you first. “I think that’s why I came back, Joel. To cradle the soft things again. To remember what it feels like to have roots, even if they’re tangled.” You pause, your breath hitching as your hand grazes your stomach, almost unconsciously. “I need a place to grow and expand. A place to feel steady again.”

Joel doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes lock on yours, heavy with meaning. The ice maker in the freezer drops ice in the distance, the soda in your hand warming against your palm. The moment stretches, taut and breathless.

“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” Joel says finally, his voice breaking through the quiet. “Missed having you around.”

“Yeah, you know, I…” The words catch in your throat, softer than you intend. “I missed you, too.”

The air thickens between you, the weight of your admission settling in. You can’t help but feel slightly nauseous realizing he didn’t say that he missed you, he just said that he missed having you around. Same thing, right? You’re not sure.

Joel doesn’t look away, It’s as if he sees right through you, past the walls you’ve spent years building.

Your chest tightens, the tension pressing against you like a physical weight. Unable to sit still under it, you grab the pizza box, clutching it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. “You want another beer?” you ask, the words tumbling out in a rush as you stand.

Joel blinks, his focus breaking, and nods slightly. “Sure.”

You don’t wait for more. You hurry toward the kitchen, the box in hand, your pulse racing. The dim light from the living room barely illuminates the space, shadows pooling in the corners. Setting the pizza box on the counter, you grip the edge, your fingers curling tight as you try to steady your breath, calm your stomach. Your mind spins, your thoughts cloudy with all things Joel, but the unspoken truth still claws at you.

Tell him.

The sound of his footsteps reaches you, closing the distance. You don’t turn right away, but his presence fills the room, the space behind you shrinking under the weight of him. When you finally turn, he’s closer than you expect. The warmth of him brushes against you.

“Joel,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, trembling in the stillness.

His thumb ghosts over your lips, a barely-there touch that makes your breath falter. "I’d really like to kiss you," he murmurs, his voice low and thick, dripping with desire, hunger.

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening, but you nod, the words escaping in a shaky whisper. “I think I’d like that, too.”

Joel doesn’t move right away, his thumb lingering on your lip, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for you to change your mind. The anticipation is electric, the space between you so fragile, so intimate, it feels like a single breath could shatter it.

And then – finally – his lips are on yours, warm, firm, pulling you into a kiss that feels like it’s been waiting for years to come to fruition. The tension between you unravels in an instant, the quiet kitchen filled only with boxes and shadows and him suddenly becomes the whole world.

When he pulls away, not far, just enough for you both to breathe, the words spill from your lips before you can stop them.

“Joel, there’s something I really need to tell you.” Oh god, you think you might actually throw up this time.

His lips find yours again, cutting off the words, the kiss soft and unhurried, as though he’s giving you time to forget whatever you were about to say.

You pull back, just enough to look at him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, grounding yourself against the warmth of his hand still cradling the base of your neck. His eyes search yours, a flicker of confusion mingling with the steady, unshakable admiration that’s always been there.

"Joel," you whisper again, his name heavy on your tongue, your voice catching like it doesn’t quite belong to you. His brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t rush you, just stays there, holding you like you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

"The real reason I came home…" The words tumble out, shaky and raw, the weight of them pressing against your chest. "It’s not just the city, or wanting to be closer to family." Your grip on his wrist tightens as if holding on to him could steady the whirlwind inside you.

Your breath hitches, and for a fleeting second, you consider stopping, letting the moment slip away. But the way Joel looks at you like he’s ready to catch whatever truth you’re about to give him.

"It’s not even just you," you admit, though your voice cracks on the last word, betraying the vulnerability you’ve tried so hard to hide. His thumb brushes the side of your neck, silent reassurance that he’s here, listening, waiting.

“What is it, baby? Tell me,” his words are soft, there’s no bite or frustration behind them.

The words hover on the edge of your lips, the truth threatening to unravel everything between you, but you know there’s no turning back now.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening as the truth spills out, unstoppable now. Fuck, here we go.

“I’m pregnant.”

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N Continued: Soooo yep, this one will be interesting. Much love to all of you, thank you for your support. Image credits to all the respective creators (unknown) and the convo between Sarah and you is based on the poem "Instinct" by Joy Sullivan, as is the one line, "Desire and all her slender hands."

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#lotusbxtch tbr #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel and sarah #bfd!joel #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #grief and love

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