31, little freak, jezebel sitting high atop the kitchen counter
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“You simply cannot fit more America into a single incident than a man dying a horrifying death in protest of war crimes while a first responder screams at cops to stop pointing their guns at him and go get fire extinguishers. If you were to pick a single moment in history to sum up the essence and expression of the US empire, that would be it.”
Caitlin Johnstone, The Most American Thing That Has Ever Happened
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Josette Maskin, from MUNA by Marissa Kaye and Morgan Winston
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MAYBE WE’LL MEET AGAIN — CARMEN BERZATTO (part 1)
summary You come back to Chicago for the first time since Christmas five years ago. Seeing Carmen might just split you wide open.
length 5.4k
contents angst, childhood friends to not friends not lovers but a secret third thing, very deeply requited love and everyone knows it except them, family troubles/fighting (giving y’all the Berzatto special), takes place the year of Mikey’s passing + post s2 so everything is still fresh n rly painful, reader has the nickname ‘Birdie’, idk if the fluff even counts…but trust that the romance is there...it’s just real painful n gritty, happy endings are overrated we die like men
note this was originally going to be 1 part but seeing as the doc is reaching 13k words…here’s just the beginning :) warnings above apply to the full length version. also i’m posting this from my PHONEEE so pls be nice if formatting is off - it’ll be fixed by sunday. love u all and thank you for reading <3
Wind comes from the pale gray sky and bites at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Fingers go stiff, a chill runs from the nape of your neck down your spine. Maybe you should’ve worn more than just your jacket; Chicago’s always been a little colder than New York, anyway. You tend to forget the little things.
The windows of the Berzatto house glow yellow with company, and you can hear the bustle just by standing at the door, frosted glass animated by guests. You can picture it like it was yesterday: white yellow lights around every corner, the table set in full with porcelain and silver, hollow presents under the tree, too much talking to hear yourself think. You can still go home to at least save yourself the trouble. Can’t lose if you don’t try, right?
For once, it’s Richie who greets you—not like Mikey’s around to do it anymore, to pull you into a bear hug and tell you how much you’ve grown up, to ease you into the chaos he struggles to navigate himself. Struggled, you have to remind yourself. Past tense.
“Birdie!” he calls out to you, opening the door wide before you can knock, half-expecting you to walk yourself in before meeting you on the porch instead with a big smile.
You look up at him as he plants his warm hands on your shoulders. He’s taller than you remember, but five years time leaves a lot in the ruins. “Hey, Richie.” You lean into the hug and into his chest to at least try to catch your breath, to try and slow down your heart’s racing.
He rubs your back ever so slightly. “It’s good t’see you, kid. ‘S been a while, I missed you ‘n that smile ‘f yours.” He gives you two pats and pulls back to hold you by your arms as he gives you a good look. His brows twitch, subtle enough to nearly miss it, with a sympathetic curve to his mouth. “You doin’ alright?”
Since Mikey died is what he means to add to the end of the question. Maybe it’s Since you up an’ left us. Or Now that you’re finally free.
You stick with the first one and just nod. “I’m okay.” Your eyes flit back to his face before landing on the front door, unease pooling in your gut. “A little nervous to be back in so long.” You let your voice go quiet, and you look at your hands and with wet eyes while your fingers fidget like a tall child. “And I…I miss him, y’know?…I should’ve—” you’re getting choked up now, throat growing tight— “I should’ve been here, or—”
His brows really furrow this time, head tilting to the side before he looks to the sky to bite back any real sadness that could come through in his voice, to keep you from seeing it. Bringing you into a hug again, he mutters, “Shhh, don’t beat yourself up about it, sweetheart. I know you miss him, I know.” A gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We all do.”
Growing up across the street from the Berzattos led them to be a second family to you—and, by extension, Richie, for how inseparable he and Mikey were. Much of your memories as a kid were the two older boys, already teens by the time you came into the picture: Mikey and Richie taking you out to ice cream, Mikey and Richie pushing you on the swings down at the playground, Mikey and Richie teaching you to ride a bike. They might as well have been your older brothers by blood. They always cherished and doted on you, and while it changed in manner as you grew older—from piggy back rides to intimidating prom dates—it was always there. They always cared. Richie still does. Maybe double as much to make up for what’s been lost.
You don’t cry so much into his chest. A few tears fall, sure, but you use the time to just breathe, to close your eyes, to stall. Sniffling, you pull away, wipe your eyes, and straighten your clothes, smoothing creases. “Okay,” you huff. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”
A knowing look. “You sure?”
You nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” Another sniffle. “Promise.”
Richie turns to face the house with you, opening the door while the other hand stays hovering by your shoulder. With the smallest shift in the hinges, noise spills out the door. Small talk in the living room, clinking of glass against tabletops, boisterous laughter, timers ringing in the kitchen, Donna’s voice rolling in. It’s more than you remember. Heavier. Hotter. Richie motions to take your coat and you happily oblige, left to pick at the hems of your sleeves rather than buttons and pockets.
“So,” Richie starts, and with the way he says it you’d think you look like you’re about to pass out, “How’s New York treatin’ ya lately? You a hot-shot lawyer yet?”
You laugh softly, partly to be nice and partly to stave off the awkwardness you feel, like you’re being watched by the rest of the family. “I just passed the bar this year, Richie, I’m barely an associate—”
“Right, right, right—all that stuff goes over my head. Whatever, you’re a genius in my book.”
You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, well the people I work with are just—they’re incredible, how smart they are. I’m a baby compared to them.”
He waves it off as if to say Fuck ‘em. “How’s the livin’ situation, then? You affordin’ it okay, eatin’ good, all that?” He looks a little more stern, more brotherly when he asks it.
“I’m fine.” You look up at him and smile to let him know you’re honest, that you aren’t just saying it to get him off your back. “I really like it out there. I made decent enough money as a paralegal, and I have a roommate with a cushy job in finance. We’re pretty close, but we don’t see each other often with our hours ‘n stuff. Not the best,” you shrug, “But I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.”
He pauses, looks you over to see you’re genuine. “Alright,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and squeezing you tight because he knows you hate it. “I believe ya.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you.” You’re laughing a little harder for the first time since arriving in Chicago, and it reminds you that it can be close to normal, coming home. “Where’s Nat? I haven’t talked to her since I got off the plane.”
“She’s upstairs resting.” He lets go and starts drifting to the kitchen absentmindedly—why, you’re not sure. “The baby’s got her in a mood, kickin’ ‘n all that, the little fucker—but Pete ‘n Carm ‘r down here somewhere—”
Your heart stops, and for a moment you can’t hear anything but your own thoughts, fragments of his voice and his laughter from memory. Your chest goes tight, your throat runs dry. You knew from Nat and Richie that he’d come back to Chicago a while ago, after Mikey’s funeral, but never in a million years did you think he’d come to Christmas dinner. Richie doesn’t seem as shocked as you think he should be. “Carmen? He’s here?” You nearly whisper it, afraid to be heard if he’s nearby.
He stops walking. “In the kitchen, yeah, why? You talk to ‘im in a while? Figured he’d’ah told ya, me ‘n Nat had to convince ‘im. A real jagoff about it, by the way.” His tone doesn’t say anything more than his words do. Maybe he’s forgotten about everything, or he’s trying to spare you. Maybe he never knew all that much to begin with.
“No,” you answer, quiet with an ache in your chest you haven’t felt in years. “We don’t…we haven’t really talked since the last time I was here…” And I don’t want to change that at the moment is what you don’t say, bile in your throat at the thought of peeling back scabbed wounds.
Before Richie can comment, a loud voice comes to you from the front room: “Is that my little Birdie?”
Cicero. You missed him, honestly.
He huffs himself out of his seat in the living room and welcomes you in the foyer, bringing your attention away from Richie like you’d been hoping to. “Oh, I missed you,” he says, giving a brief kiss to your cheek.
You hug him in return, but really you’re just hoping to get away from the kitchen. “Missed you too.”
Resting his hands on your shoulders, he smiles and looks at your face. “You’ve only gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you. Like an angel.” He doesn’t let you protest, he only peeks behind you to look at Richie, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “Ain’t she beautiful, Richie?”
“Yeah,” he deadpans, unamused. “A real treat she is.”
Cicero looks back to you and speaks lowly. “Ignore that son ‘f a bitch. He’s just jealous ‘cause you’re my favorite.” He winks, gestures to the living room, and takes a few steps while he brings his voice back to a normal volume. “C’mon, tell this ol’ geezer about New York—can’t even remember the last time I was there, musta been ‘83—”
If the rest of the night is like this, you think, Carmen might not be so much of an issue. He could be nothing at all, like he always wanted to be.
He promises himself that he’ll say something by the end of the night. He has to, he thinks, and if not to avoid being an asshole, then to avoid getting reamed by Richie. Carmen realizes he has the upper hand, too, whether he likes it or not: he at least expected you to be here. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear your name.
The first time is when he’s cutting onions as Richie opens the door, and he gets lucky enough to hear nothing else but the door shutting afterward. An afterthought, a mirage maybe.
In between that and the second, his name slips by your lips. You whisper it, of course, because you hate him—you hate him for the way he treated you, and for the way he didn’t, and for the fact that he wasn’t man enough to ever speak to you about any of it, or speak to you at all. And despite the fact you try to hide it when you say it, he hears you; he doesn’t think anything could keep him from doing that much. Especially not when it sounds just like you did years ago on those half-broken steps to the back porch, after everything went to shit and there was a hole in the fucking house and you couldn’t stop crying if you tried. He was there for you like he always was: letting you lean your head on his shoulder as you wept, one arm holding you tight to keep you grounded while the other hand nursed a cigarette to keep himself sane. And his name sounded just like it does tonight when you turned to look at him with bleary eyes so many years ago, whispering Carmen? so sweet he wanted to taste the lip gloss that flavored it. That night he did, for a fleeting moment. Before he ruined it.
So of course, he hears you say his name, and he knows it’s you. He doesn’t think anything could keep him from knowing you.
The second time he hears your name it’s like a confirmation. A confirmation that it’s real, you’re real, and you’re here, and it isn’t his mind playing tricks on him like it does when it’s late at night and he’s walking the streets and thinks he sees a girl that looks like you. The rest of the dialogue after the fact goes blurry, the timers going off turn into a monotone buzz, all he hears is chopchopchop against the cutting board until Uncle Jimmy calls you beautiful. He’s sure you are, but he doesn’t want to see it and believe it even more. Your heels click against the hardwood a few times, and he’s not sure where Ma went, but Richie’s standing behind him saying something he can’t decipher and he wants to tell him to Fuck off but he can’t, not now, not tonight.
“Cousin!” Richie snaps, pushing his shoulder. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
He sighs and looks over his shoulder but stays gripping the knife. “No, sorry, say it again—‘m listenin’.”
“Right. So when’s the last time you talked t’her?”
His hand squeezes a little harder, the knife suffers for it. “Talk t’who?”
A quick bang of a hand to the counter top leaves the onions rattled. “Don’t play stupid with me right now, Cousin—” a harsh finger points in Carmen’s face— “or I swear t’God I will fuck you up once this dinner’s over.”
He pauses. He looks past Richie into the foyer where you once stood but quickly goes back to work. Chop. “Look, I dunno, it—it’s just been a while, I dunno the exact fuckin’ date, alright?” Oh, but how vividly he does.
“Yeah? How’s five years to the fuckin’ day sound? Pretty damn accurate, or what?”
No response. Chop.
“You’re a real piece’ah fuckin’ work, y’know that, right?” Richie sounds about as angry as he’s ever been, but it’s different this time: it’s quiet, it’s controlled, it crawls up Carmen’s spine.
“It’s not—it’s not like I meant to, to, uh—”
“ ‘To, to, uh’ what?” he mocks. “To pull the shit you did then go fuckin’ AWOL on ‘er?”
Another beat of silence. Laughter trails in from the living room, and he starts to wonder if it’s you who made it ring. He shakes his head, scrunches his nose. “H—…” Rethinking whether he wants the answer to his question, he puts the knife down and leans into his hands before looking over Richie’s shoulder again. “How, uh…how is she?” It’s muttered, ashamed, the way he asks it, brows furrowed with regret and slithers of hope. “ ‘S she doin’ alright?” He heard bits and pieces of the conversation from just a minute ago, but part of him needs this: to hear it crystal clear, to have it branded beneath his 773 tattoo you traced with an anxious finger, to have the pain be inadmissible such that he can’t forget it.
Without needing to look him in the eye Richie knows to soften his approach. Carmen’s eyes are wet, he’s got that solemn air to him that he gets when he’s thinking about something that forms lumps in his throat, he swipes his hand by his mouth like the words were bitter to say out loud.
He turns over his shoulder like he’ll get caught and looks down at the chef. “She’s good, Carm,” he sighs, nodding his head slowly and with raised brows. “Real good…Like Cicero said, she—she’s beautiful, ‘n she’s gotta career lined up for ‘er. But—” he hesitates when Carmen looks up— “The look on ‘er face, man, it—it changed when she found out you’re here.”
Something indescribable flows through his veins. “Wh—what d’ya mean?” He shakes his head in denial. “Like, like, it—what’d she look like?” He waits expectantly, and part of him hopes something hard and fast’ll put him out of his misery.
Richie swallows. He smooths a hand over his hair, lets it fall to the nape of his neck while his eyes dance elsewhere. “Listen, she…she just looked like—” He kisses his teeth, unsure of how to phrase it, weary of the first thing to come to mind and whether the subject was worth mentioning at all. He should lay it to rest.
But Carmen is ever the stubborn boy at heart. “Cousin.” Fingers drum against granite. “Looked like what?”
“...Like I’d just stabbed ‘er in the gut.”
The rest of the family is enthralled by you, though whether it’s because they haven’t seen you in five years and miss you, or because it finally gives them an excuse to make Lee let someone else talk, you’re not sure. But by the time they let you get a breath in it feels like three hours have gone by, though when you peek at your watch, it’s barely been thirty minutes. You’d forgotten how exhausting the family is when they’re all together. Your head hurts. It’s too hot. You could use a nap.
Cicero looks at you a little softer from his chair. “Would you like a drink, hon? I should've asked ya before we sat you down for an interrogation.”
“Oh, well,” you start, pausing to let it seem like you aren’t dying for that opportunity, “I’ll have one. Is there wine?”
“Of course there is. I’ll grab a glass for ya—” he begins rising from his chair, but you stop him.
“It’s alright,” you insist. “I don’t mind getting it—in the kitchen?”
He nods, and you’re on your way. You pass by Richie and the Faks in the foyer and try to hide the deep breaths you’re focusing on, eyes shut and shoulders shrugging as Richie eyes the kitchen before you enter like you’ll be walking into a war zone.
It’s exactly what you’d expect: Donna with a glass in hand, Carmen assisting, an ashtray full nearby. Natalie has joined them, so you must have missed her on her way downstairs, and Pete hovers beside her as she speaks to him with a worried look on her face, disjointed from the other two Berzattos.
You’ve nearly psyched yourself up enough to interrupt when Donna notices you, almost instantly placing her glass on the counter. “Oh, Birdie, I—” She looks happy, you think, but with her it’s never been easy to tell. “C’mere, honey.” She opens her arms to you and gifts you a hug, patting your back as she says, “It’s been so long, my beautiful Bird—” she pulls away to get a better look at you and plants a kiss to your cheek, just like Cicero— “Oh gosh, you’re so beautiful, all grown up.” She smells thickly of tobacco.
“Thank you,” you laugh, dazed by so much affection from her, “Cicero said the same, it’s just been a while.”
“Well—” she picks up her glass promptly after her hands leave you— “It’s true, you’re practically glowing. He knows what he’s talking about.” She takes a hefty sip like she can’t get enough, and quickly looks to her son. “Isn’t that right, Carmen?”
From where he stands nudged into the corner, focused on the countertop with nothing to do but wring his hands, his attention perks up to his mother. “What was that, Ma?”
You can’t ignore the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged Natalie nor Pete since you arrived; you’re stuck, looped in with Donna and Carmen and somehow obligated to stay there until you’ve been dismissed. You know how she is. Carmen won’t look at you, either.
“Look at Birdie,” Donna coos, and she gestures to present you to him. Your stomach turns. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” She smiles coolly, looks to Natalie only for a brief moment to rub salt in the wound.
Carmen, reluctantly, looks at you. His golden brown curls are disheveled as always, made messier by anxious runs of his fingers every few minutes. His mouth seems caught in a persistent pout that he won’t let up, and if it were years ago, you’d stay by his side until he broke you just to keep someone in his corner. Beneath his eyes rest dark circles, and he wears a forest green sweater you’ve never seen before. There’s a split second of eye contact that has your breath caught in your throat. You haven’t been able to look at him in what feels like a lifetime, let alone hear his voice—not even over the phone. It’s different than you remember, a little huskier, more fatigued. You wish you couldn’t care.
He gives a shallow nod and a shrug to Donna’s question. “Yeah.” His eyes meet yours accidentally again before looking back to his mother, apathy bordering on distaste. “She looks nice.”
You look nice. You don’t know what you thought he would say. Part of you wished he would’ve said exactly as Donna did, or that he’d use the word beautiful, or stunning, or pretty, even. But he’s never been one for words—his consolation offerings were limited to a shared cigarette and sitting beside you, and you’ve always resented that part of him since your last Christmas together. If he’d been better with words, it would’ve been just that; there wouldn’t have been the hand on your back turning into an arm wrapped around your shoulder, he never would’ve pressed his lips to your temple for the first time since you were in kindergarten, you would’ve never been close enough to smell tobacco on his breath. You never would’ve known what American Spirits taste like off of anxious lips or what it feels like to be worth everything and then nothing at all.
Donna kisses her teeth and gives you a sympathetic look as she cups her hand to your neck. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. He’s just in a mood today.” She sips her wine again, which quickly turns into the rest of the glass.
That’s not a mood, you think. That’s just Carmen.
By the Berzatto standards, dinner preparation blows over without a hitch. The house smells divine, nothing is broken, no one has stormed out. Ma sits down with only five glasses of wine in her system. No one mentions the gaping hole in the seating arrangement at one head of the table—not even Lee.
Carmen feels the weight of it on his shoulders, and he thinks you feel it too. You sit for a few minutes as everyone settles with your head in your hands, eyes closed as you breathe. Every time you open your eyes they shoot to Mikey’s seat, only for your hands to cover them again with a sniffle. Richie keeps a good eye on you, even though they’re getting glassy from watching you, and he rests a soothing hand on your back before leaning down and whispering something Carmen doesn’t catch. You shake your head, perking back up again as you dab at your eyes with your sleeves, looking to Richie and mouthing the words I’m okay with a smile plastered on. Carmen’s skeptical.
Uncle Jimmy insists on saying grace as a way to honor both you and Carmen being in Chicago for the holiday, and instinctively he looks to you, looking for something to hold onto to let things feel normal with you, but you keep your eyes closed. Since you walked into the kitchen nearly an hour ago he hasn’t been able to get his mind off of the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the locket pendant hanging close to your chest. Mikey gifted it to you, he remembers, when you earned your undergraduate degree—presented in a black velvet box when you saw him after the ceremony, you cried. Carmen wasn’t there; he was in Copenhagen, doing other things. He can’t quite remember what.
Grace gives way to a more quiet bustle of the dinner, where talking is more or less limited to passing plates and taking first bites, making sure everyone has said hello to everyone. He sits almost silent, taking a measly bite every few moments to avoid an excuse to talk. He notices you don’t navigate this dinner like you have the countless ones before: you’re engaged tonight, laughing with Richie beside you and looping Sugar and Pete into your banter; you’re no longer the teen you once were, who would sit at the end of the table with him to stay quiet and barely munch on dinner, the two youngest with Mikey to your sides, pestering the both of you to Eat, ‘fore Ma tells you to. And it’s not a bad thing, either. You always had that way about you like Mikey did, where you could make conversation with anyone, make them fall in love with you, make them think you’re their best friend. He’s always thought you were his, anyway. You look happier than he’s ever seen you. Ever since he could remember, he had a feeling you’d outshine him.
It’s like Ma said—you’re glowing.
It’s nearing fifteen minutes since the food being served when Sugar nudges him on his right. “You alright, Bear?” She keeps it quiet, under the radar. “You haven’t eaten much.”
He nods and takes a bite to cover his tracks. “Yeah, yeah—just not that hungry, ‘s all.” He hasn’t eaten today. It’s the nerves, really, of seeing everyone—of seeing Ma, seeing you. Brings him back to New York, where his morning ritual included huddling over the toilet and rinsing his mouth until he couldn’t taste stomach acid anymore. He’s hoping that with being in the kitchen all day, she doesn’t pry. “Thanks, Sug.”
She furrows her brows but drops the subject with a bit of a pout. “…Okay.”
“So,” Stevie starts, at the opposite corner of the table, leaning over his plate to smile at you from down the table. “Birdie—can I call you Birdie? Is that okay?”
You smile that smile you always do when you’re caught off-guard before shrugging lightheartedly and taking a bite. “Uh, sure. I mean, everyone here does.”
Richie makes eyes at you, weirded out, and Carmen tries to follow, but you only link with the older of the two. He’s shut out.
“Great. I’ve been wondering—why does everyone call you that? I mean, I know Sugar here’s got an origin story, so what’s yours?”
“Oh, this is such a sweet one,” Ma chimes in, hands over her heart. “They was so adorable, her ‘n Carmen.” The words have warmth blossoming in his chest and rising to his neck.
“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m probably not the best person to tell you; I was really little.” You try to stifle a smile at the thought, and Carmen knows it’s the same thought as his: Mikey loved that story. “Richie’s probably man for the job.” You look up to the man on your left and pat him on the back to startle him. “Aren’t ya, Rich?”
“Uh, yeah, fuck that.” He nods to Carmen. “He can tell ya, Stevie, he was the one dancin’ with ‘er like an idiot, not me.” He shoves three bites’ worth of food into his mouth so he won’t have to talk anymore.
Sugar cuts in, “He was also five, he had nothin’ to do with picking that name.”
“Yeah?” he taunts, mouth still full because he can’t help but put up a fight, “Then you were eleven, missy, so you can tell it. You remember.”
The room starts spinning, there’s back and forth between Sugar and Richie, and Neil’s roped into it, and then Michelle’s convincing them to calm down, but Richie’s still going at it, starting to tell the story, but Ma says it’s not right, and Sugar cuts in again, and the room is still spinning and his head won’t stop pounding and there isn’t enough water in the world to clear his throat.
“Alright, alright!” It’s Uncle Jimmy now, almost shouting, waving his hands to simmer the room. Carmen would thank him if he could speak. “I’ll tell the damn story, you all settle down, eh?” He clears his throat, sips on his drink. “Our Birdie here, when she was real young, now she was a singer. All the time, some tune. Didn’t even have t’be a real song, she’d be hummin’ it anyway.”
You’re sheepish as Uncle Jimmy praises you, grinning to yourself and rolling your eyes at the embarrassment. Cute, Carmen thinks. He smiles and takes a bite of his food.
“An’ remember,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “This was late ‘90s, we didn’t have none’ah that YouTube, Spotify music bullshit, whatever’s popular with you people now—so anyway. We had this boombox for the longest time—”
“Yeah,” Richie interrupts, “Was a real piece a shit, that’s for damn sure.”
Cicero points to Richie while looking at Steve. “Correct. So one Christmas, many, many years ago—”
“Don’t make it sound so cryptic,” you giggle, and Carmen has a tiny fire lit in his chest, eyes trapped on your smile. He remembers that night—not so vividly, but enough.
“Right, right. I apologize, sweetheart.” Uncle Jimmy turns back to Stevie. “One Christmas the weather was especially bad—snow storm, crazy winds, Christmas lights flyin’ everywhere—and the power goes out. An’ our boombox ain’t workin’, got jammed or somethin’.” He shrugs, makes a face that’s unassuming. “So whatta ya do for the music, then? Everyone knows you need holiday music, eh?”
With you, Carmen laughs for the first time tonight. He likes it that way, uninterrupted by the noise of the other guests, who are all listening fondly and eating their meals. It’s like that special Christmas all over again. You’re so pretty when you’re laughing, part of him is a little jealous that anyone else gets to see you like this.
“So Mikey comes up with a great idea. We already got a singer, right? So we just need ‘er to do the holiday songs. So we get ‘er, ‘n we ask her to sing for us all—me, Donna, Mikey, Richie, Sugar, ‘n Carmen, that was it ‘cause ‘ah the storm—but she won’t do it.”
“They were tryin’ to force me, Stevie!” You smile up the table and back at Uncle Jimmy. Carmen beams back at you even though you’re not looking. Richie is.
“An’ she’s cryin’,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “An’ she’s all nervous, she can’t do it, whatever. Then our little Carmy Bear over there—” he shoots him a look with a smug and pointing finger, and Carmen flushes, grinning at his plate to hide from you— “Now he’s her knight in shinin’ armor.”
Everyone smiles at that—you, Richie, Sug, Ma, and Carmen, and everyone else—because that’s the truth. At least it was, for a while. You and Carmen keep your smiles downcast, hidden from the other, and Richie and Sugar make eyes at one another, looking between the two of you.
“He gets ‘er outta her hidin’ spot behind the couch where she was cryin’ an’ he brings ‘er a wooden spoon for a microphone, and he whispers somethin’ to ‘er—to this day I dunno what, coulda been anythin’ for all I care—and all of a sudden she wants to sing again. She sings Rudolph, Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, all the stuff the kids knew, an’ she does it all with this wooden spoon, with our little Bear holdin’ ‘er hand the whole time.”
“An’ he didn’t even do anythin’!” Richie points out. “Just stood there, swingin’ ‘er arm like a jagoff—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Uncle Jimmy waves off, “But he did it for ‘er. And so,” he says, a finality in his tone, looking back at Stevie across the table, “Birdie is born. Our little Christmas song bird protected by the Big Bear. An’ the rest is history.”
Stevie smiles and nods his head. “That was sweet. Really, really sweet.”
“Oh,” Ma laments, “I just love that story. They were such babies then, so cute. It was always Birdie ‘n Carmy doin’ this, Carmy ‘n Birdie doin’ that. Always on their little adventures together. He took her everywhere.”
Carmen smiles to himself, head down as he eats his food. He doesn’t think of his childhood often, more so the teenage years if anything, when he was failing school. Hearing back such a memory brings up a sense of nostalgia—not necessarily for being a kid again, or doing those stupid things, but for how easy it was.
Ma is right: it was you and him together for the ride, up until it wasn’t. He never cared as much after reaching high school. You were in different buildings, and he saw you around but didn’t spend as much time with you anymore. He outgrew you, it seemed. Even in his early twenties when that fire rekindled, he devoted himself to his work. You were still close, closer than you were with anyone else in the family, and nothing would ever change that. But life ran its course.
And it ran pretty damn fast.
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Everything was beautiful and nothing bad ever happened to Sarah and Joel. The End. 😌
Birthday Candles
pairing: pre-outbreak joel miller x reader word count: 5.5k 🎂🎈
The sounds of little girls' laughter, music over the stereo and the telltale slashing of a Slip ‘N Slide were all you could hear from inside the Miller’s kitchen.
July in Austin was brutal but, when Sarah asked if she could have friends over for a birthday party Joel couldn’t say no.
How do you say no to a little girl about to turn 11? The answer is, you don’t.
The inability to say no, specifically to Joel Miller, is how you ended up meticulously placing 11 birthday candles on a cake you’d made the day before. A simple two-tiered confection frosted a pretty lilac color that took you too long to get perfect, not that you would ever admit that out loud.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,”
Joel wasn’t looking at you when he said it, he was too busy eyeing the cake on the counter. He didn't believe you when you told him you’d made it yourself, and stared at you with his jaw practically on the floor when you walked through his front door with it. When he called you to help with Sarah’s party, he’d assumed you'd pick up a simple sheet cake from the grocery store, he never expected you to bring something like this.
“Joel,” you said mixed with a laugh, “for the hundredth time, I really don’t mind,”
You turned to see Joel, his hair a bit damp from helping the girls with the Slip ‘N Slide, white t-shirt the slightest bit translucent thanks to the mischief only young girls can get away with on their birthdays.
“How’s it going out there?” You inquired while peeking around Joel to catch a quick glimpse at the party unfolding in the backyard.
“Good,” he quipped, “thanks to you. I don’t know what I would have done if-“
“Joel, please. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now,” You interrupted him midsentence, already highly aware of what’s coming next. It’s like Joel had been playing on a loop since he initially called to ask you to help with Sarah's birthday party.
The phone call you received three weeks ago was laced with the panic of a man who was acutely aware that he wouldn’t know what to do with twelve 6th-grade girls running around his home. His anxiety was palpable as he babbled on and on about cakes, balloons and birthday outfits.
“She said she wants a special birthday outfit? What does that even mean? Can it be something she already has or does it mean she wants something new?”
You couldn’t help but laugh over the receiver at his plight, this is what would take down Joel Miller, his sweet daughter asking for her first birthday party with friends. On that call you assured him everything would be okay, telling him firmly, “I was born for this task, Miller”
Joel and you had met years prior, a chance run-in at the grocery store where he and Sarah happened to be pushing a cart along in the same aisle as you.
“I really like your hair,” Sarah boldly said to you in the middle of the aisle. Sarah was young then, the type of young that made it possible to complement complete strangers in the grocery store.
You couldn’t help but admire her curly head of hair and sweet demeanor — you also couldn’t help but notice her father, Joel Miller. Whether he knew it or not, he always possessed the ability to take your breath away, even under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the canned goods aisle.
“Thank you,” you responded with a smile, “I really like yours too.” You took a moment to glance over at Joel with a smile gracing your features. “You too, Dad. Nice do.”
The first time you spoke to Joel it was with a wink and a smile that he swore made his heart drop somewhere between the canned soup and the black beans. Clean up on aisle four.
“Could you teach me to do mine like yours?” Sarah continued, running her small hands over her loose locks as she gazed up at your braided hair.
“Sarah, we don’t-“ Joel had started to interject, a bright red flush already beginning to work its way up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Sure,” you started, “but only if it’s okay with your dad,” You took your eyes off Sarah for a moment to glance over at Joel, silently letting him know you were genuinely okay with this.
Your agreeing to Sarah’s request took him by surprise. “Uh,” he mumbled while reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.
The hesitancy was warranted, regardless of how pretty Joel thought you were, you were still a stranger in the grocery store.
“Here’s an idea,” you began while reaching into the bag you had resting in your cart, fishing around in the opening for something before pulling out a pen and a scrap of paper.
“Here’s my name and number,” you said while you scribbled down the series of letters and numbers, “Sarah,” you parroted the name you heard her Dad speak before, “you take this, and if you still want to learn how to braid, ask your Daddy here to give me a ring, okay?”
Daddy. Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the sound of it rolling off your tongue.
“That okay with you, Dad?”
“It’s Joel,” the response was terse, almost choked out because he was still focused on the way you calling him daddy made his skin tingle and his mouth water.
“Alright,” you said as the corners of your lips lifted into a grin, “how does that sound, Joel?”
Sarah stared up at her father expectantly, eyes shining up at him in a way you could tell was practiced, this girl knew how to get what she wanted. “Alright, I’ll call—Sarah’ll call you,”
And that’s how it all started years ago, a chance encounter, a little girl wanting to learn how to braid her hair and her handsome Daddy agreeing to it all.
Before Joel had a chance to respond, Sarah burst through the back door. Her face flushed from the summer heat, with her now-soaked hair secured in two French braids that you had done up for her earlier in the day.
She looked over at the cake behind you with a beaming smile. “Is it time for cake yet?”
“Almost, honey,” you replied. “You havin’ fun?”
She nodded with vigor, little droplets of water splashing down on the floor underneath her as she addressed you. “Uh-huh! Thank you for bringing the Slip ‘N Slide,”
She was too damn sweet.
Making your way over to her you saw one of her braids coming a bit loose at the end. “Only for you, sweet girl.” you began. “You want me to fix this braid for you before you go back out?”
She nodded again before turning her back to you to let you begin your work on her hair.
Joel watched you do this in complete silence, his heart lodged directly in his windpipe as you doted on his girl. It had been like this ever since the first time Sarah called you on the phone. You were immediately sweet on her and Joel couldn’t deny that having a woman on call to help Sarah do things like, braid and buy birthday outfits was more than welcome.
And in return, you got closer to him too, closer than any woman had gotten in years. There was a hole in Joel's heart that you slotted into perfectly.
“Are you ever gonna ask her out? Or are you gonna wait for some other guy ‘round town to do it?”
Tommy asked Joel that months ago, actually, for almost a year now Tommy had been pestering Joel about you. Tommy didn’t understand why in gods name a pretty thing like you was hanging around Joel and his daughter. But he mostly didn’t understand why his hard-headed older brother couldn’t pluck up the courage to tell you how he felt.
How Joel felt was, complicated. You're good for Sarah in a way that he didn’t want to mess up by getting into a relationship. It would break her heart if something were to happen that would keep you away from her. So that’s why Joel kept a tight lip and his feelings locked away to the best of his abilities.
But you made it hard, making it nearly impossible not to kiss you when you would sit around his kitchen table chattering away with Sarah after school. Made it hard as hell not to confess every feeling he had for you when you would sit her in front of you on his couch and style her hair on Sunday nights.
Even now, watching you run your fingers gently through her damp hair to re-assemble the style she had requested specifically for her special party made him weak in the knees.
"All good birthday girl," you chirped, playfully tugging at the end of the fresh braid.
Sarah gave you a quick and enthusiastic thank you before running back out the door, a chorus of giggles erupted the moment she rejoined her friends. It was precious, and it was everything a little girl like Sarah Miller deserved.
"Thank you," Joel said softly, his mind caught up in the vision you presented to him right now, skin and hair bathed in perfect afternoon sunlight in his mess of a kitchen. "You keep sayin' it's nothin' but, it means a lot to—" Joel paused briefly, some sentiment trying to crawl its way out. "It means a lot to me. More than you know."
You know a little. Know that Sarah's mom left and that Joel works tirelessly to provide for them and his younger brother. You're aware of the privilege it is to be a part of Sarah and Joel's life, to be let into their little corner of the world.
You smiled softly at him. If only he knew you would do anything for the two of them—would move mountains if Joel and Sarah asked you to. A kid's birthday party, making a cake and bringing your old Slip ‘N Slide was nothing in comparison to that, and you would do it over and over again, all they needed to do was ask.
"Of course, Joel," you replied, sincerity lacing your tone as you gazed at him in the empty kitchen. "Like I've said before, I'd truly do anything for her. For you too, Joel, you know that."
Joel huffed in response, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his still-damp hair. You could see some spark of a thought running through his mind, those expressive brown eyes were a dead giveaway every time.
Before Joel got the chance to speak further, the pair of you turned your heads after hearing the front door fly open and promptly slam shut. The door closing was followed by the sound of heavy work boots stomping through the empty house.
"Hey sweetheart," Tommy greets you first with a quick kiss to your cheek as he makes his way through the kitchen. "How's the birthday party, bro? Have the 11 years olds taken over yet?"
Joel grunts something unintelligible in response as he watches Tommy slide up to you easily, there was no hesitation in the younger Miller's actions as he reached towards the cake on the counter only to have his hand slapped away by you.
"Tommy!" you yelled. He just shrugged with a smile as he backed away with his hands held up in mock defense. "You were not just about to put your dirty fingers on this birthday cake were you?"
Joel had watched numerous scenes like this play out over the years. Tommy and you were close in age, only a year apart with you being the elder of the pair. Your rapport was easy, it was playful and fun in a way that made Joel's inside twinge with jealousy. He knew Tommy meant no harm by it, but it didn't stop his ears from ringing anytime Tommy would touch you in the ways he wish he had the courage to. Sometimes he wanted to ask his younger brother what your skin felt like on his lips, or what it was like to make you laugh in a way only Tommy could.
"Come on," Tommy started, "can you blame me? Look at that thing, it's a masterpiece. Ain't it Joel?"
Joel's nostrils flared slightly at his younger brother goading, this was another thing Joel was used to. Tommy doing everything in his power — including incessant teasing — to push him to confess his feelings for you.
Joel took the bait happily this time. "It is darlin'. It's perfect."
Your spine prickled at the pet name, nothing set your nervous system on fire like having Joel Miller call you sweet names like darlin'.
"Alright, fellas," you said with a smile, a hand planted firmly on your hip as you stared down the Miller brothers. "I'm gonna go wrangle up the girls and get them ready for cake. Joel, can you please make sure your heathen of a brother doesn't try any funny business in here?"
"Yes ma'am," Joel replied, his eyes following your every move as you walked out the back door and into the belly of the beast.
"You're a moron," Tommy deadpanned.
Joel whipped around to stare at Tommy, jaw slack and eyes ablaze. "Come again?"
Tommy cleared his throat comically before repeating himself. "You're a fucking moron," he said with a smirk. "Just tell her already, Joel."
"Tommy, I swear to god not this again," Joel sighed.
"Yes, this again," Tommy said smugly. "Do you know what it's like to watch the two of you dance around each other like a couple of high schoolers?"
Joel opened his mouth to counter, but Tommy beat him to it. "She likes you, Joel, it's clear as damn day that she likes you."
"She's doin' all this for Sarah, not me," Joel mumbled half-heartedly, the words had no conviction behind them.
"You don't believe that and you know it." Tommy was quick to reply. "She does this for you, for both of you, and you owe it to her to tell her how you feel."
"It doesn't fuckin' matter, Tommy," Joel said to his brother in a biting tone. "Sarah needs her. Sarah needs her in a way that I can't risk messing up because of what, a crush?"
Joel felt like he was choking on the words coming out of his mouth. It didn't feel right to say out loud, it seemed wrong to call whatever he felt for you a crush. But he hoped and prayed that the longer he kept you at a distance the easier it would get.
This had been Joel's plan of action for a long time, keep you at arm's length to protect Sarah, to protect himself, to keep his girl happy. And for a while, it worked. For a few months, it was enough for him just to see how happy you made Sarah — to watch her learn from you.
It worked until it didn't. It worked until Joel would come home and see you curled up on the couch with Sarah, and all he wanted to do was kiss you awake. The plan was solid until he caught the two of you standing in front of the bathroom mirror one day, her hands mirroring your own as you weaved pieces of your hair together. Joel could read Sarah like a book, she loved you, admired you even, and Joel wouldn't risk taking that away from her.
"Joel," Tommy said with a frown. "Please, you deserve this. You and Sarah deserve her. Let yourself have this. Let that beautiful woman outside who loves you and your daughter so damn much have this."
You could tell there was a strange tension in the air when you poked your head back into the kitchen. "Hey boys," you said hesitantly, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Joel, you mind lightin' those candles? I got them all settled out there and if they don't get cake ASAP I can't be held responsible for what they do."
"Course," Joel sent one final look towards Tommy before he made his way over to the cake, a scowl planted firmly on his features as he mouthed drop it at his brother.
Tommy did nothing but smile slyly in Joel's direction. He had settled with his tailbone pressed against the counter, leaning casually next to Joel as his older brother rummaged around in the drawers for a lighter.
Tommy couldn’t help but stir the pot, making Joel a little uncomfortable was his brotherly duty and he wouldn't dare slack off.
"What have you been up to lately besides helpin' my brother plan birthday parties, sweetheart?" Tommy inquired.
It was an innocent query, one that could have led to any number of answers from you. What Joel didn't expect to hear as he was lighting candle number four was what came from your lips.
"Well," you started sheepishly, "I did go on a date the other weekend. It was horrible though, like, considering celibacy levels of horrible."
You didn't date often. Finding a man worth your time in Austin had never proven to be an easy task, sure, there were plenty of dateable, attractive men available. But none of them lit you up quite like Joel Miller, so you found it easier to turn most down politely. Occasionally a charming enough guy could spark your interest, and that's exactly what happened two weeks ago.
"Oh really?"
Even though Joel wasn't facing Tommy he knew the idiot was grinning ear to ear.
"Yeah," you were laughing now, "the man's ego was bigger than the whole damn state of Texas. I've never in my life heard a man talk about himself so much."
Tommy couldn't help but push the conversation further, making his older brother squirm was hardwired into the man's brain. "Okay, so he was a talker — what happened after?"
If you hadn't been the one to make the cake Joel was currently standing over, he would have smashed the confection square into Tommy's smug little face.
"After?" you could hear your tone go the slightest bit shrill at the mere thought of taking your failed date home."There was no after, Tommy. We had drinks, he talked my ear off and I went home. After, was me cleaning the dirty dishes in my sink once I got home."
Tommy just tutted, sucking his teeth at his failed attempt to crack Joel. What Tommy didn't know is, that Joel didn't like hearing the story no matter the outcome of your date. Did it make it better knowing that you had no connection with the guy? Yes. Did the thought of you going out on dates with men that weren't him make Joel's stomach turn? Also yes.
You glanced over at Joel as he worked to light candle number 11, his strong hands working delicately to ensure that no excess wax from the candles dripped onto the frosting. You could watch him do mundane things for hours, and you had. Countless summer afternoons with you and Sarah on the porch, watching Joel mow the lawn while you taught his daughter how to weave together friendship bracelets. Lazy Saturday evenings filled with laughter, takeout pizza and movie rentals. Joel, you can't not like The Princess Bride, it's a classic. A classic that he now had to rent from the video store almost weekly since you first showed the movie to Sarah in his living room.
Watching Joel be a Father was your favorite though — to see him do something as simple as light 11 perfectly placed candles on his daughter's birthday cake was enough to make your heart speed up.
"Looks like we're all ready. You boys ready to do some singin'?"
»»————-¤————-««
It was a few hours later: the cake was long gone, presents had been opened and the backyard returned to its normal state of affairs. Sarah had gone to spend the night at a friend's house after begging Joel to let her. Again, how do you say no to a little girl on her 11th birthday?
"You wanna drink?" Joel swallowed back the nerves rising in his throat as he asked you to stay longer. "Think you deserve one after all of that."
"I'll take one," you replied, finally settling down into Joel's worn couch, your bare feet instantly kicking out in front of you to rest on his coffee table. "Just give me whatever you're having."
Moments later, Joel entered the dimly lit living room with two lowball glasses half full of amber liquid, one with and one without ice. Joel was still in the same outfit as earlier, a grass-stained white shirt and tight-fitting denim. You wondered if he could smell the scent of summer on you as strongly as you could from him. Joel was all wet concrete, warm skin and humid air.
Joel settled down next to you, clearing his throat as he handed you your glass and held his own up to you.
"Cheers," he said quietly, lightly clinking his glass against yours before you both took tandem sips of your whiskeys. "You were really somethin' today, you know that? There's no way I'm gonna be able to top that birthday party."
"Was I?" you teased, "Was it the Slip ‘N Slide that pushed it over the edge? Or was it the expert little girl wrangling?"
Honesty pushed past Joel's lips before he could will himself to hold it back, "It was just you, darlin', always is. You're good with Sarah, have been since the day you met her."
That earnest reply made your heart jump straight into your throat, it sent a thrilling tingle from the top of your head to the very tips of your bare toes.
"She's easy to be good for, Joel. You know that better than anyone."
You saw Joel getting ready to respond to your statement, some self-deprecating comment on the tip of his tongue, so you cut him off before he even got the chance. "You're easy to be good for too, Joel. I don't do any of this just for Sarah. I do it for you too."
You were echoing Tommy's words from earlier and it made Joel's head spin. Hearing it from his younger brother was one thing, hearing it directly from you made him feel like he'd already drained his entire glass of whiskey.
"Why?"
You released a small sigh, removing your feet from the coffee table to tuck your knees close to your chest, angling your body in Joel's direction. You could still feel the tingling sensation from earlier but now it was paired with the feeling of honesty bubbling up to the surface.
"Because I like to, Joel," you said simply, moving to place your glass on the coffee table. "Because I like doing things for you, I like being around you."
Joel’s heart was beating impossibly loud at that moment, the sound of it in his ears enough to deafen him and have him worried that you could somehow hear his artery working overtime.
“Joel,” you started, taking a deep breath in through your nose to quell the feeling of anxiety brewing in your stomach. “you have to know how much I care about you, right?”
You weren’t even touching him, yet he could feel you all over, your confession planted itself directly into his brain — deep into the parts he kept locked away. The parts where he kept thoughts of you and him together, thoughts he only indulged in when he was fast asleep and dreaming of you looking at him the way you were at that very moment.
“Sugar,“ the endearment slipped past his lips before he could even process it. “I don’t want Sarah to get hurt.”
Another confession, this time the one Joel had been terrified to admit to you. So afraid that he thought he’d be okay admiring you from afar for the rest of his life if he had to.
“She won't get hurt,” you whispered to him, gently placing your hand on his denim-covered knee as you leaned in closer to him.
Joel swallowed hard, and his lips subconsciously parted as he stared at the earnest expression painted all over your face.
“How do you know?”
You didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Because I know you wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her, and not to me. You couldn’t hurt us if you tried, Joel.”
Joel gripped your hand resting on his knee, pressing his warm palm into yours as he pulled you in closer. The pair of you were sharing the same breath now, the sharp notes of whiskey mixed with sugary sweet frosting lingered in the space between your mouths.
“Mm,” Joel hummed as he brought his other hand up to rest his thumb on the highest part of your cheek. The same cheek Tommy had kissed earlier that day, the exact cheek he had imagined himself kissing so many times before as he stared on in envy.
“Can I kiss you, sugar?”
So many things happened in your body at once, but the immediate flooding in your panties and the butterflies in your lower belly trumped them all.
“Please, Joel.”
The moment Joel pressed his lips to yours a moan rose from the deepest parts of his chest. An unconscious release as he indulged in an action he thought was only a foolish daydream until a moment ago.
Kissing you was bliss. At that moment you both knew exactly where Nirvana was, it was locked away, hidden in the kisses you and Joel shared.
Tongues explored mouths, teeth playfully nipped at spit-soaked bottom lips and Joel couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was quickly wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you onto his welcoming lap.
You were just as swift to act. Adjusting your positioning so you were straddling Joel’s thick thighs, reveling in the feeling of the heat from his body soaking into the bare skin of your legs.
You wasted no time sinking your full weight onto Joel’s lap. The desperation in you was mounting, and the need to relieve the pressure building in your core had goosebumps rising all over your skin.
Joel released another groan as he felt your core press into his growing erection—and the sweet moan you let out as he bucked his hips upward had his head spinning.
“Will you let me make you feel good, Joel?” you murmured as you stared directly into his deep brown eyes.
Joel tipped his head back as he soaked in your words. That was just like you, a nurturer to the core. And he couldn’t deny you what you wanted.
“Course, sweetheart.”
With that, you were pulling your shirt over your head to reveal the simple bra underneath. Your nipples had been hard since the moment he asked if he could kiss you, and Joel was drawn to them like a moth to flame.
Before you could even make your move Joel was latching his warm mouth to your covered breasts. His teeth immediately began teasing, biting and pulling, doing whatever he could to elicit a chorus of moans from you.
“Joel, I said-“
“I know what you said, sugar.”
Joel had heard you. But you were making him feel good. The feel of you grinding yourself on top of him as he played with your tits had him rock hard already. If you could make him feel like this from a heavy make-out session he could only imagine that everything else would be damn near euphoric.
“Can you take these off, baby?” Joel asked as he tugged at the hem of your shorts.
You nodded wordlessly and stood to your full height in front of him. Using the small space between his knees and the coffee table to slip your shorts down your legs and leave them forgotten on the rug beneath you.
“Those pretty panties too, sugar. Let me see you.”
This was a Joel you had never seen before. A man starved. A man who wanted nothing more than to leave you dreaming of him after he was done.
“Why don’t you take ‘em off for me, cowboy?”
All you saw was a smirk ghosting over Joel’s lips before he gripped your hips and turned you to face away from him. One large palm came to rest on your lower back, pressing on the area in a silent command for you to bend forward for him.
And of course, you did. You presented your ass fully to him as he worked to slowly slip your underwear over the swell of your bottom and down your legs.
Joel’s other hand was preoccupied as he opened up the fly on his jeans and freed his cock from the confines of the rigid denim. Before turning you back to face him, Joel reached up to deftly unclasp your bra, leaving you bare and buzzing with adrenaline before him as you both took in one another fully.
“Aren’t you just the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen?”
“You’re not too bad yourself, Miller.”
You both smiled at that. Smiled because, beneath all of the sexually charged energy in the room, it was you and him. It was everything.
“Come and take a ride, sugar.”
You knew you were more than wet enough, and the anticipation of sinking onto his hard length had salvia pooling underneath your tongue as you straddled Joel for the second time this evening.
The feeling of Joel’s smooth head prodding against your entrance made you gasp. If Joel’s hand weren’t gripping your hips and keeping you hovered over his length you would have sunk down immediately.
Before you could fill yourself, Joel let his thumb wander toward your swollen clit. His own desire clouded his thoughts as he rubbed the sensitive area in small circles and sent waves of pleasure through your entire nervous system.
“Joel, please, no teasing. Not tonight, I need to feel you inside me.”
Always the giver, he obliged. Joel relaxed the grip on your hips and finally allowed you to feel him completely.
A long, drawn-out moan escaped you as you felt Joel filling you up for the first time. Your position on his lap made it feel like he was deeper inside your pussy than anyone had ever been before. And your body responded immediately, your hips began moving almost on their own as you began to chase your pleasure.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck Joel.” You whined.
“Take what you need, sweet thing.” Joel gritted out.
Joel inhaled sharply through his nose as he basked in the feeling of your warm pussy gripping him tight.
Joel let you have the reins for a bit, letting you rock yourself up and down on his cock while he pinched at your bouncing nipples and playfully teased your clit. He only let his eyes close for a moment or two, wanting to commit the sight of you like this to memory. Something sweet to call up when he was alone in his bed and his mind was wandering.
But then enough was enough, Joel felt his own orgasm building swiftly and wanted more than anything to feel you soak his cock before he came.
His hands were back on your hips, palms wide and touch firm as he planted his feet and began to thrust up into you. Before long you were bent over Joel's body, resting your full weight on him as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.
"Can you touch yourself, baby?" Joel practically begged. "Play with your clit for me, sugar."
Ever since you met Joel you'd never been able to say no to him. Not when it came to little girl's birthday parties, and especially not when it came to the orgasm you could feel building up through your entire body. So you did, you reached down between your bodies to sloppily rub at your clit as Joel chased his orgasm alongside yours.
You came undone quicker than you anticipated. A thick, guttural moan escaped you as pleasure raced through your veins. Joel, still attentive, still watching you, was coming closer to his own end. His senses were filled with the sight, sound and feel of you coming undone on top of him.
Joel's breathing was shallow and heavy as he came deep inside you, his sensitive cock aching for more, more, more as he pumped in and out of you, finally coming to a slow stop as he allowed both of you to catch your breath.
For a while, neither of you said a word, the only movement came from Joel softly running the tips of his fingers up and down your spine. In the rush of it all, you'd barely noticed that Joel had not removed a single article of clothing—the two of you were beautifully juxtaposed against the other as you settled into the afterglow and what this meant for the two of you moving forward.
Joel pressed a gentle kiss into your hair, pulling you close to him. "I need you, Sugar."
"You've had me since the day you met me, Joel."
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Birthday Candles
pairing: pre-outbreak joel miller x reader word count: 5.5k 🎂🎈
The sounds of little girls' laughter, music over the stereo and the telltale slashing of a Slip ‘N Slide were all you could hear from inside the Miller’s kitchen.
July in Austin was brutal but, when Sarah asked if she could have friends over for a birthday party Joel couldn’t say no.
How do you say no to a little girl about to turn 11? The answer is, you don’t.
The inability to say no, specifically to Joel Miller, is how you ended up meticulously placing 11 birthday candles on a cake you’d made the day before. A simple two-tiered confection frosted a pretty lilac color that took you too long to get perfect, not that you would ever admit that out loud.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,”
Joel wasn’t looking at you when he said it, he was too busy eyeing the cake on the counter. He didn't believe you when you told him you’d made it yourself, and stared at you with his jaw practically on the floor when you walked through his front door with it. When he called you to help with Sarah’s party, he’d assumed you'd pick up a simple sheet cake from the grocery store, he never expected you to bring something like this.
“Joel,” you said mixed with a laugh, “for the hundredth time, I really don’t mind,”
You turned to see Joel, his hair a bit damp from helping the girls with the Slip ‘N Slide, white t-shirt the slightest bit translucent thanks to the mischief only young girls can get away with on their birthdays.
“How’s it going out there?” You inquired while peeking around Joel to catch a quick glimpse at the party unfolding in the backyard.
“Good,” he quipped, “thanks to you. I don’t know what I would have done if-“
“Joel, please. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now,” You interrupted him midsentence, already highly aware of what’s coming next. It’s like Joel had been playing on a loop since he initially called to ask you to help with Sarah's birthday party.
The phone call you received three weeks ago was laced with the panic of a man who was acutely aware that he wouldn’t know what to do with twelve 6th-grade girls running around his home. His anxiety was palpable as he babbled on and on about cakes, balloons and birthday outfits.
“She said she wants a special birthday outfit? What does that even mean? Can it be something she already has or does it mean she wants something new?”
You couldn’t help but laugh over the receiver at his plight, this is what would take down Joel Miller, his sweet daughter asking for her first birthday party with friends. On that call you assured him everything would be okay, telling him firmly, “I was born for this task, Miller”
Joel and you had met years prior, a chance run-in at the grocery store where he and Sarah happened to be pushing a cart along in the same aisle as you.
“I really like your hair,” Sarah boldly said to you in the middle of the aisle. Sarah was young then, the type of young that made it possible to complement complete strangers in the grocery store.
You couldn’t help but admire her curly head of hair and sweet demeanor — you also couldn’t help but notice her father, Joel Miller. Whether he knew it or not, he always possessed the ability to take your breath away, even under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the canned goods aisle.
“Thank you,” you responded with a smile, “I really like yours too.” You took a moment to glance over at Joel with a smile gracing your features. “You too, Dad. Nice do.”
The first time you spoke to Joel it was with a wink and a smile that he swore made his heart drop somewhere between the canned soup and the black beans. Clean up on aisle four.
“Could you teach me to do mine like yours?” Sarah continued, running her small hands over her loose locks as she gazed up at your braided hair.
“Sarah, we don’t-“ Joel had started to interject, a bright red flush already beginning to work its way up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Sure,” you started, “but only if it’s okay with your dad,” You took your eyes off Sarah for a moment to glance over at Joel, silently letting him know you were genuinely okay with this.
Your agreeing to Sarah’s request took him by surprise. “Uh,” he mumbled while reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.
The hesitancy was warranted, regardless of how pretty Joel thought you were, you were still a stranger in the grocery store.
“Here’s an idea,” you began while reaching into the bag you had resting in your cart, fishing around in the opening for something before pulling out a pen and a scrap of paper.
“Here’s my name and number,” you said while you scribbled down the series of letters and numbers, “Sarah,” you parroted the name you heard her Dad speak before, “you take this, and if you still want to learn how to braid, ask your Daddy here to give me a ring, okay?”
Daddy. Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the sound of it rolling off your tongue.
“That okay with you, Dad?”
“It’s Joel,” the response was terse, almost choked out because he was still focused on the way you calling him daddy made his skin tingle and his mouth water.
“Alright,” you said as the corners of your lips lifted into a grin, “how does that sound, Joel?”
Sarah stared up at her father expectantly, eyes shining up at him in a way you could tell was practiced, this girl knew how to get what she wanted. “Alright, I’ll call—Sarah’ll call you,”
And that’s how it all started years ago, a chance encounter, a little girl wanting to learn how to braid her hair and her handsome Daddy agreeing to it all.
Before Joel had a chance to respond, Sarah burst through the back door. Her face flushed from the summer heat, with her now-soaked hair secured in two French braids that you had done up for her earlier in the day.
She looked over at the cake behind you with a beaming smile. “Is it time for cake yet?”
“Almost, honey,” you replied. “You havin’ fun?”
She nodded with vigor, little droplets of water splashing down on the floor underneath her as she addressed you. “Uh-huh! Thank you for bringing the Slip ‘N Slide,”
She was too damn sweet.
Making your way over to her you saw one of her braids coming a bit loose at the end. “Only for you, sweet girl.” you began. “You want me to fix this braid for you before you go back out?”
She nodded again before turning her back to you to let you begin your work on her hair.
Joel watched you do this in complete silence, his heart lodged directly in his windpipe as you doted on his girl. It had been like this ever since the first time Sarah called you on the phone. You were immediately sweet on her and Joel couldn’t deny that having a woman on call to help Sarah do things like, braid and buy birthday outfits was more than welcome.
And in return, you got closer to him too, closer than any woman had gotten in years. There was a hole in Joel's heart that you slotted into perfectly.
“Are you ever gonna ask her out? Or are you gonna wait for some other guy ‘round town to do it?”
Tommy asked Joel that months ago, actually, for almost a year now Tommy had been pestering Joel about you. Tommy didn’t understand why in gods name a pretty thing like you was hanging around Joel and his daughter. But he mostly didn’t understand why his hard-headed older brother couldn’t pluck up the courage to tell you how he felt.
How Joel felt was, complicated. You're good for Sarah in a way that he didn’t want to mess up by getting into a relationship. It would break her heart if something were to happen that would keep you away from her. So that’s why Joel kept a tight lip and his feelings locked away to the best of his abilities.
But you made it hard, making it nearly impossible not to kiss you when you would sit around his kitchen table chattering away with Sarah after school. Made it hard as hell not to confess every feeling he had for you when you would sit her in front of you on his couch and style her hair on Sunday nights.
Even now, watching you run your fingers gently through her damp hair to re-assemble the style she had requested specifically for her special party made him weak in the knees.
"All good birthday girl," you chirped, playfully tugging at the end of the fresh braid.
Sarah gave you a quick and enthusiastic thank you before running back out the door, a chorus of giggles erupted the moment she rejoined her friends. It was precious, and it was everything a little girl like Sarah Miller deserved.
"Thank you," Joel said softly, his mind caught up in the vision you presented to him right now, skin and hair bathed in perfect afternoon sunlight in his mess of a kitchen. "You keep sayin' it's nothin' but, it means a lot to—" Joel paused briefly, some sentiment trying to crawl its way out. "It means a lot to me. More than you know."
You know a little. Know that Sarah's mom left and that Joel works tirelessly to provide for them and his younger brother. You're aware of the privilege it is to be a part of Sarah and Joel's life, to be let into their little corner of the world.
You smiled softly at him. If only he knew you would do anything for the two of them—would move mountains if Joel and Sarah asked you to. A kid's birthday party, making a cake and bringing your old Slip ‘N Slide was nothing in comparison to that, and you would do it over and over again, all they needed to do was ask.
"Of course, Joel," you replied, sincerity lacing your tone as you gazed at him in the empty kitchen. "Like I've said before, I'd truly do anything for her. For you too, Joel, you know that."
Joel huffed in response, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his still-damp hair. You could see some spark of a thought running through his mind, those expressive brown eyes were a dead giveaway every time.
Before Joel got the chance to speak further, the pair of you turned your heads after hearing the front door fly open and promptly slam shut. The door closing was followed by the sound of heavy work boots stomping through the empty house.
"Hey sweetheart," Tommy greeted you first with a quick kiss to your cheek as he made his way through the kitchen. "How's the birthday party, bro? Have the 11 years olds taken over yet?"
Joel grunted something unintelligible in response as he watched Tommy slide up to you easily, there was no hesitation in the younger Miller's actions as he reached towards the cake on the counter only to have his hand slapped away by you.
"Tommy!" you yelled. He just shrugged with a smile as he backed away with his hands held up in mock defense. "You were not just about to put your dirty fingers on this birthday cake were you?"
Joel had watched numerous scenes like this play out over the years. Tommy and you were close in age, only a year apart with you being the elder of the pair. Your rapport was easy, it was playful and fun in a way that made Joel's inside twinge with jealousy. He knew Tommy meant no harm by it, but it didn't stop his ears from ringing anytime Tommy would touch you in the ways he wish he had the courage to. Sometimes he wanted to ask his younger brother what your skin felt like on his lips, or what it was like to make you laugh in a way only Tommy could.
"Come on," Tommy started, "can you blame me? Look at that thing, it's a masterpiece. Ain't it Joel?"
Joel's nostrils flared slightly at his younger brother goading, this was another thing Joel was used to. Tommy doing everything in his power — including incessant teasing — to push him to confess his feelings for you.
Joel took the bait happily this time. "It is darlin'. It's perfect."
Your spine prickled at the pet name, nothing set your nervous system on fire like having Joel Miller call you sweet names like darlin'.
"Alright, fellas," you said with a smile, a hand planted firmly on your hip as you stared down the Miller brothers. "I'm gonna go wrangle up the girls and get them ready for cake. Joel, can you please make sure your heathen of a brother doesn't try any funny business in here?"
"Yes ma'am," Joel replied, his eyes following your every move as you walked out the back door and into the belly of the beast.
"You're a moron," Tommy deadpanned.
Joel whipped around to stare at Tommy, jaw slack and eyes ablaze. "Come again?"
Tommy cleared his throat comically before repeating himself. "You're a fucking moron," he said with a smirk. "Just tell her already, Joel."
"Tommy, I swear to god not this again," Joel sighed.
"Yes, this again," Tommy said smugly. "Do you know what it's like to watch the two of you dance around each other like a couple of high schoolers?"
Joel opened his mouth to counter, but Tommy beat him to it. "She likes you, Joel, it's clear as damn day that she likes you."
"She's doin' all this for Sarah, not me," Joel mumbled half-heartedly, the words had no conviction behind them.
"You don't believe that and you know it." Tommy was quick to reply. "She does this for you, for both of you, and you owe it to her to tell her how you feel."
"It doesn't fuckin' matter, Tommy," Joel said to his brother in a biting tone. "Sarah needs her. Sarah needs her in a way that I can't risk messing up because of what, a crush?"
Joel felt like he was choking on the words coming out of his mouth. It didn't feel right to say out loud, it seemed wrong to call whatever he felt for you a crush. But he hoped and prayed that the longer he kept you at a distance the easier it would get.
This had been Joel's plan of action for a long time, keep you at arm's length to protect Sarah, to protect himself, to keep his girl happy. And for a while, it worked. For a few months, it was enough for him just to see how happy you made Sarah — to watch her learn from you.
It worked until it didn't. It worked until Joel would come home and see you curled up on the couch with Sarah, and all he wanted to do was kiss you awake. The plan was solid until he caught the two of you standing in front of the bathroom mirror one day, her hands mirroring your own as you weaved pieces of your hair together. Joel could read Sarah like a book, she loved you, admired you even, and Joel wouldn't risk taking that away from her.
"Joel," Tommy said with a frown. "Please, you deserve this. You and Sarah deserve her. Let yourself have this. Let that beautiful woman outside who loves you and your daughter so damn much have this."
You could tell there was a strange tension in the air when you poked your head back into the kitchen. "Hey boys," you said hesitantly, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Joel, you mind lightin' those candles? I got them all settled out there and if they don't get cake ASAP I can't be held responsible for what they do."
"Course," Joel sent one final look towards Tommy before he made his way over to the cake, a scowl planted firmly on his features as he mouthed drop it at his brother.
Tommy did nothing but smile slyly in Joel's direction. He had settled with his tailbone pressed against the counter, leaning casually next to Joel as his older brother rummaged around in the drawers for a lighter.
Tommy couldn’t help but stir the pot, making Joel a little uncomfortable was his brotherly duty and he wouldn't dare slack off.
"What have you been up to lately besides helpin' my brother plan birthday parties, sweetheart?" Tommy inquired.
It was an innocent query, one that could have led to any number of answers from you. What Joel didn't expect to hear as he was lighting candle number four was what came from your lips.
"Well," you started sheepishly, "I did go on a date the other weekend. It was horrible though, like, considering celibacy levels of horrible."
You didn't date often. Finding a man worth your time in Austin had never proven to be an easy task. Sure, there were plenty of dateable, attractive men available. But none of them lit you up quite like Joel Miller, so you found it easier to turn most down politely. Occasionally a charming enough guy could spark your interest, and that's exactly what happened two weeks ago.
"Oh really?"
Even though Joel wasn't facing Tommy he knew the idiot was grinning ear to ear.
"Yeah," you were laughing now, "the man's ego was bigger than the whole damn state of Texas. I've never in my life heard a man talk about himself so much."
Tommy couldn't help but push the conversation further, making his older brother squirm was hardwired into the man's brain. "Okay, so he was a talker — what happened after?"
If you hadn't been the one to make the cake Joel was currently standing over, he would have smashed the confection square into Tommy's smug little face.
"After?" you could hear your tone go the slightest bit shrill at the mere thought of taking your failed date home. "There was no after, Tommy. We had drinks, he talked my ear off and I went home. After, was me cleaning the dirty dishes in my sink once I got home."
Tommy just tutted, sucking his teeth at his failed attempt to crack Joel. What Tommy didn't know, was that Joel didn't like hearing the story no matter the outcome of your date. Did it make it better knowing that you had no connection with the guy? Yes. Did the thought of you going out on dates with men that weren't him make Joel's stomach turn? Also yes.
You glanced over at Joel as he worked to light candle number 11, his strong hands working delicately to ensure that no excess wax from the candles dripped onto the frosting. You could watch him do mundane things for hours, and you had. Countless summer afternoons with you and Sarah on the porch, watching Joel mow the lawn while you taught his daughter how to weave together friendship bracelets. Lazy Saturday evenings filled with laughter, takeout pizza and movie rentals. Joel, you can't not like The Princess Bride, it's a classic. A classic that he now had to rent from the video store almost weekly since you first showed the movie to Sarah in his living room.
Watching Joel be a Father was your favorite though — to see him do something as simple as light 11 perfectly placed candles on his daughter's birthday cake was enough to make your heart speed up.
"Looks like we're all ready. You boys ready to do some singin'?"
»»————-¤————-««
It was a few hours later: the cake was long gone, presents had been opened and the backyard returned to its normal state of affairs. Sarah had gone to spend the night at a friend's house after begging Joel to let her. Again, how do you say no to a little girl on her 11th birthday?
"You wanna drink?" Joel swallowed back the nerves rising in his throat as he asked you to stay longer. "Think you deserve one after all of that."
"I'll take one," you replied, finally settling down into Joel's worn couch, your bare feet instantly kicking out in front of you to rest on his coffee table. "Just give me whatever you're having."
Moments later, Joel entered the dimly lit living room with two lowball glasses half full of amber liquid, one with and one without ice. Joel was still in the same outfit as earlier, a grass-stained white shirt and tight-fitting denim. You wondered if he could smell the scent of summer on you as strongly as you could from him. Joel was all wet concrete, warm skin and humid air.
Joel settled down next to you, clearing his throat as he handed you your glass and held his own up to you.
"Cheers," he said quietly, lightly clinking his glass against yours before you both took tandem sips of your whiskeys. "You were really somethin' today, you know that? There's no way I'm gonna be able to top that birthday party."
"Was I?" you teased, "Was it the Slip ‘N Slide that pushed it over the edge? Or was it the expert little girl wrangling?"
Honesty pushed past Joel's lips before he could will himself to hold it back, "It was just you, darlin', always is. You're good with Sarah, have been since the day you met her."
That earnest reply made your heart jump straight into your throat, it sent a thrilling tingle from the top of your head to the very tips of your bare toes.
"She's easy to be good for, Joel. You know that better than anyone."
You saw Joel getting ready to respond to your statement, some self-deprecating comment on the tip of his tongue, so you cut him off before he even got the chance. "You're easy to be good for too, Joel. I don't do any of this just for Sarah. I do it for you too."
You were echoing Tommy's words from earlier and it made Joel's head spin. Hearing it from his younger brother was one thing, hearing it directly from you made him feel like he'd already drained his entire glass of whiskey.
"Why?"
You released a small sigh, removing your feet from the coffee table to tuck your knees close to your chest, angling your body in Joel's direction. You could still feel the tingling sensation from earlier but now it was paired with the feeling of honesty bubbling up to the surface.
"Because I like to, Joel," you said simply, moving to place your glass on the coffee table. "Because I like doing things for you, I like being around you."
Joel’s heart was beating impossibly loud at that moment, the sound of it in his ears enough to deafen him and have him worried that you could somehow hear his artery working overtime.
“Joel,” you started, taking a deep breath in through your nose to quell the feeling of anxiety brewing in your stomach. “you have to know how much I care about you, right?”
You weren’t even touching him, yet he could feel you all over, your confession planted itself directly into his brain — deep into the parts he kept locked away. The parts where he kept thoughts of you and him together, thoughts he only indulged in when he was fast asleep and dreaming of you looking at him the way you were at that very moment.
“Sugar,“ the endearment slipped past his lips before he could even process it. “I don’t want Sarah to get hurt.”
Another confession, this time the one Joel had been terrified to admit to you. So afraid that he thought he’d be okay admiring you from afar for the rest of his life if he had to.
“She won't get hurt,” you whispered to him, gently placing your hand on his denim-covered knee as you leaned in closer to him.
Joel swallowed hard, and his lips subconsciously parted as he stared at the earnest expression painted all over your face.
“How do you know?”
You didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Because I know you wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her, and not to me. You couldn’t hurt us if you tried, Joel.”
Joel gripped your hand resting on his knee, pressing his warm palm into yours as he pulled you in closer. The pair of you were sharing the same breath now, the sharp notes of whiskey mixed with sugary sweet frosting lingered in the space between your mouths.
“Mm,” Joel hummed as he brought his other hand up to rest his thumb on the highest part of your cheek. The same cheek Tommy had kissed earlier that day, the exact cheek he had imagined himself kissing so many times before as he stared on in envy.
“Can I kiss you, sugar?”
So many things happened in your body at once, but the immediate flooding in your panties and the butterflies in your lower belly trumped them all.
“Please, Joel.”
The moment Joel pressed his lips to yours a moan rose from the deepest parts of his chest. An unconscious release as he indulged in an action he thought was only a foolish daydream until a moment ago.
Kissing you was bliss. At that moment you both knew exactly where Nirvana was, it was locked away, hidden in the kisses you and Joel shared.
Tongues explored mouths, teeth playfully nipped at spit-soaked bottom lips and Joel couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He was quickly wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you onto his welcoming lap.
You were just as swift to act. Adjusting your positioning so you were straddling Joel’s thick thighs, reveling in the feeling of the heat from his body soaking into the bare skin of your legs.
You wasted no time sinking your full weight onto Joel’s lap. The desperation in you was mounting, and the need to relieve the pressure building in your core had goosebumps rising all over your skin.
Joel released another groan as he felt your core press into his growing erection—and the sweet moan you let out as he bucked his hips upward had his head spinning.
“Will you let me make you feel good, Joel?” you murmured as you stared directly into his deep brown eyes.
Joel tipped his head back as he soaked in your words. That was just like you, a nurturer to the core. And he couldn’t deny you what you wanted.
“Course, sweetheart.”
With that, you were pulling your shirt over your head to reveal the simple bra underneath. Your nipples had been hard since the moment he asked if he could kiss you, and Joel was drawn to them like a moth to flame.
Before you could even make your move Joel was latching his warm mouth to your covered breasts. His teeth immediately began teasing, biting and pulling, doing whatever he could to elicit a chorus of moans from you.
“Joel, I said-“
“I know what you said, sugar.”
Joel had heard you. But you were making him feel good. The feel of you grinding yourself on top of him as he played with your tits had him rock hard already. If you could make him feel like this from a heavy make-out session he could only imagine that everything else would be damn near euphoric.
“Can you take these off, baby?” Joel asked as he tugged at the hem of your shorts.
You nodded wordlessly and stood to your full height in front of him. Using the small space between his knees and the coffee table to slip your shorts down your legs and leave them forgotten on the rug beneath you.
“Those pretty panties too, sugar. Let me see you.”
This was a Joel you had never seen before. A man starved. A man who wanted nothing more than to leave you dreaming of him after he was done.
“Why don’t you take ‘em off for me, cowboy?”
All you saw was a smirk ghosting over Joel’s lips before he gripped your hips and turned you to face away from him. One large palm came to rest on your lower back, pressing on the area in a silent command for you to bend forward for him.
And of course, you did. You presented your ass fully to him as he worked to slowly slip your underwear over the swell of your bottom and down your legs.
Joel’s other hand was preoccupied as he opened up the fly on his jeans and freed his cock from the confines of the rigid denim. Before turning you back to face him, Joel reached up to deftly unclasp your bra, leaving you bare and buzzing with adrenaline before him as you both took in one another fully.
“Aren’t you just the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen?”
“You’re not too bad yourself, Miller.”
You both smiled at that. Smiled because, beneath all of the sexually charged energy in the room, it was you and him. It was everything.
“Come and take a ride, sugar.”
You knew you were more than wet enough, and the anticipation of sinking onto his hard length had salvia pooling underneath your tongue as you straddled Joel for the second time this evening.
The feeling of Joel’s smooth head prodding against your entrance made you gasp. If his hands weren’t gripping your hips and keeping you hovered over his length you would have sunk down immediately.
Before you could fill yourself, Joel let his thumb wander toward your swollen clit. His own desire clouded his thoughts as he rubbed the sensitive area in small circles and sent waves of pleasure through your entire nervous system.
“Joel, please, no teasing. Not tonight, I need to feel you inside me.”
Always the giver, he obliged. Joel relaxed the grip on your hips and finally allowed you to feel him completely.
A long, drawn-out moan escaped you as you felt Joel filling you up for the first time. Your position on his lap made it feel like he was deeper inside your pussy than anyone had ever been before. And your body responded immediately, your hips began moving almost on their own as you began to chase your pleasure.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck Joel.” You whined.
“Take what you need, sweet thing.” Joel gritted out.
Joel inhaled sharply through his nose as he basked in the feeling of your warm pussy gripping him tight.
Joel let you have the reins for a bit, letting you rock yourself up and down on his cock while he pinched at your bouncing nipples and playfully teased your clit. He only let his eyes close for a moment or two, wanting to commit the sight of you like this to memory. Something sweet to call up when he was alone in his bed and his mind was wandering.
But then enough was enough, Joel felt his own orgasm building swiftly and wanted more than anything to feel you soak his cock before he came.
His hands were back on your hips, palms wide and touch firm as he planted his feet and began to thrust up into you. Before long you were bent over Joel's body, resting your full weight on him as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.
"Can you touch yourself, baby?" Joel practically begged. "Play with your clit for me, sugar."
Ever since you met Joel you'd never been able to say no to him. Not when it came to little girl's birthday parties, and especially not when it came to the orgasm you could feel building up through your entire body. So you did, you reached down between your bodies to sloppily rub at your clit as Joel chased his orgasm alongside yours.
You came undone quicker than you anticipated. A thick, guttural moan escaped you as pleasure raced through your veins. Joel, still attentive, still watching you, was coming closer to his own end. His senses were filled with the sight, sound and feel of you coming undone on top of him.
Joel's breathing was shallow and heavy as he came deep inside you, his sensitive cock aching for more, more, more as he pumped in and out of you, finally coming to a slow stop as he allowed both of you to catch your breath.
For a while, neither of you said a word, the only movement came from Joel softly running the tips of his fingers up and down your spine. In the rush of it all, you'd barely noticed that Joel had not removed a single article of clothing—the two of you were beautifully juxtaposed against the other as you settled into the afterglow and what this meant for the two of you moving forward.
Joel pressed a gentle kiss into your hair, pulling you close to him. "I need you, Sugar."
"You've had me since the day you met me, Joel."
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#joel miller x original character#joel miller x oc#joel miller pedro pascal#joel miller fic#pedro pascal characters#joel miller hbo#pre outbreak!joel#joel miller fluff#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller imagine#joel miller tlou
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I- everything about this was 🤌
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Eddie Munson x fuckgirl!reader
Follow up to Trouble | Final part Barbed Wire coming soon
18+ minors dni: rough sex, unprotected piv, biting, mention of blood, hair pulling, spanking, degrading names (slut, whore), drug mention, alcohol use. No use of Y/N. 4.2k.
Eddie’s head is reeling. He doesn’t trust his own mind, surely he imagined it, it was all a fantasy. He’ll wake any minute, alone in his bed with a sticky stain inside his pyjama pants.
He screws his eyes closed for a moment, and when he opens them he’s still in the back of his van, the air thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and the lingering spice of your perfume. It was real.
He does his best to sort himself out, removing the condom, tying it and flinging it into the corner. He pulls the bandana from his back pocket, using it to wipe himself down before pulling his boxers and jeans back up, fumbling to refasten his belt.
Leaning between the seats through to the front of the van, Eddie inspects himself in the rear view mirror, combing his curls back into place with his fingers. Your sticky gloss is smeared across his lips, on his jaw, on his neck. But that’s not the only sign of you. His pale throat is littered with violet bruises, a myriad of hickeys and indents from your teeth. He runs his fingertips over them, hissing at the sting.
Eddie stumbles back into the apartment.
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Gareth exclaims, eyeing up the marks you’ve left.
“Rick? Where’s Rick?” Eddie snaps.
“He’s still on the couch. Pretty sure he’s passed out.”
Eddie shoves past his friends, barrelling into the living room and thumping down beside the almost catatonic Rick.
“Hey. Wake up. Wake up man!” Eddie barks, tapping Ricks cheeks with increasing strength.
Ricks bloodshot eyes finally open, his head lolling against the back of the couch.
“What you slappin me for?” He slurs, his heavy lids threatening to close again.
“That girl. I need you to tell me about that girl.” Eddie says, grabbing a fist of Ricks shirt and shaking him to keep him awake.
“What girl?”
“The girl who was here before. The one you said was trouble.”
Rick tilts his head, finally looking at Eddie properly. He barks out a laugh.
“Oh man. She got you good huh? Told you it was a bad idea.”
“Rick! For fucks sake, just tell me what you know about her.” Eddie pleads.
Rick was never the most reliable source of information, his brain left permanently muddled from years of intense substance abuse. Eddie did manage to get a little from him, he got your name at least, and that was enough to go on. He asked around at every party in the following weeks, pulling aside friends, vague acquaintances, and customers to quiz them about you.
No one knew much. You were elusive, coming and going as you pleased, disappearing for weeks on end only to suddenly show up unannounced to a party whether you were invited or not.
You were a tease, lapping up the attention you commanded, but you bored easily.
You were picky, but there was no discernible pattern to your choices, you clearly didn’t have a type. The only thing all the guys or girls who’d been lucky enough to be deemed worth of your time had in common was being left bloody and bruised when you were done with them.
If there was one thing everyone who Eddie spoke to was certain of, it was that you never went back to the same person twice.
He hoped he could be the one to change that.
Because truth be told, Eddie felt like he’d been irrevocably altered by meeting you. The marks you’d left on his skin faded with time, but the internal damage was done. You were parasitic, having nestled your way into the deepest part of his brain and made home there, Eddie couldn’t shake you out with all the liquor or pills in the world.
When he fell asleep, it was to thoughts of you, the wet heat of your mouth swallowing him down greedily. When he awoke, drenched with sweat and tangled in sheets, your eyes rolling back in pleasure was the first thought to flash through his mind. When he fucked other girls, the cheerleaders who used him for cheap weed, or the drunken groupies at The Hideout, your moans and filthy words replayed over and over in his head, drowning out the sounds of whoever he was rutting into.
Eddie was fucked. Well and truly fucked. And he hated you for it.
You had no idea how much time Eddie had spent thinking about you. Had you even thought about him for a second since you slammed his van doors closed? He doubted it, and it made his blood boil with rage. You were so cold, so cruel, taking what you wanted from people without a care for how you left them. They were willing participants of course, and so was Eddie. But that didn’t change the fact that he felt so used afterwards, so small and insecure. You gave him the best orgasm of his life then walked away without so much as a backwards glance.
So Eddie’s desire for more of you mingled with something else, something darker. He wanted to have you again, but this time he wanted control. He wanted to make you beg and plead, wanted you desperate for more, so he could leave you with the same emptiness you left in him.
Almost two months after Gareth and Jeff’s party, Eddie was sure that he may never get the chance. Each weekend he’d kept a watchful eye out for you, searching across crowded hazy rooms, hoping to spot you amongst the writhing dancing bodies, with no luck.
The last place he ever expected to see you was here. Leant against the counter in Steve’s enormous kitchen, Eddie sipped his beer, metal lunchbox tucked under his arm. He wasn’t just here to sell, King Steve turned out to actually be a pretty decent guy, and since their unusual friendship had begun Eddie was invited to every party along with Robin, Wheeler, and the rest of the gang. But it didn’t hurt to take advantage of the opportunity. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, having sold through his stash in the first 45 minutes, the box now stuffed full with bills instead of bags.
He pops the top off another beer, ready to slip outside with the last joint he saved for himself when he sees you. You squeeze through the crowd, snatching up a red plastic cup and dipping it into the crystal punch bowl, filling it with the sticky cocktail. You spear a glistening maraschino cherry from the bowl on a sharp nail, bringing it to your lips and sucking the boozy fruit into your mouth.
Eddie catches your gaze, heat blooming low in his belly when your eyes lock. When your pull your finger away from your lips you’re smirking, a knowing glint in your dark eyes. For a moment Eddie thinks that you might approach him, might say something. Instead you turn on your heels, slinking away into the living room.
The warmth of Eddie’s arousal grows, burning hotter, more like a simmering anger bubbling away beneath the surface. The sting of your rejection has Eddie’s heartbeat thumping in his ears, so loud he doesn’t hear Steve when he first speaks.
“Hey! Earth to Eddie!” Steve says, waving his hand in the metal heads face.
Eddie shakes his head, turning to his friend.
“Sorry. What’dya say man?”
“I said, do you know who that girl is?”
“Which girl?” Eddie mutters, feigning ignorance as he takes another sip of his Bud.
“Which girl.” Steve scoffs with a roll of his hazel eyes.
“You know damn well which girl. The insanely hot chick who just appeared in my kitchen. I saw her looking at you, d’you know her?”
Eddie shrugs, his fingers tightening around the glass bottle in his hand.
“Oh shit.” Steve whispers, his eyes widening.
“That’s the girl, isn’t it? The one who took chunks out of you like a damn vampire!”
“That’s the girl.” Eddie nods.
“You gonna talk to her?”
“I’m gonna do more than talk to her if I can’t help it.” Eddie grins.
Steve claps his hand on Eddie’s back so hard he almost sends him flying.
“Atta boy Munson. If you need a wingman just give me a shout.”
Eddie laughs, tucking his unlit joint behind his ear.
“You got somewhere safe I can keep this?” He says, gesturing to the lunchbox under his arm.
“Sure, give it here. I’ll hide it in my closet.” Steve smiles, taking it from Eddie’s hands and disappearing out of the room.
Eddie wastes no more time, pushing through to the living room, his eyes scanning the room for you.
He finds you in a dark corner, with an extremely nervous looking Robin trapped between the wall and you. She gulps, her freckled cheeks burning scarlet, blue eyes darting across your face as you lean in a little closer.
Poor Buckley, Eddie thinks to himself. She doesn’t stand a chance.
Your flirting has Robin more flustered than usual, she’s babbling anxiously in response to something you’ve said, the plastic cup in her hand shaking so violently that the contents almost slosh over the sides. Eddie shuffles a little closer, still unable to make out what you’re murmuring to her, but can only assume it’s something filthy, Robin looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle on the hideous shag carpet. You tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, your nail tracing lightly down her delicate neck. Your touch is more gentle than expected, like you know Robin’s undeserving of your usual treatment. Maybe you do have a soft spot, somewhere deep down inside.
Robin glances over your shoulder, catching sight of Eddie, a look of relief washing over her face. She waves eagerly, calling out his name above the music. You turn, your eyes hardening when you see the boy approaching.
“Hey Eddie!” Robin smiles, her voice wobbling just a little.
“This is.. um -“
Eddie interrupts her with your name.
You falter for a moment, before your sneering smile returns.
“Oh. You two have met?” Robin asks, pointing back and forth between you.
“Oh yeah, we’ve met.” Eddie smirks.
You roll your eyes, turning back to face Robin.
“It was nice to meet you Robin.” You whisper lowly, placing a chaste kiss to the girls cheek, and stifling a giggle when she squeals in surprise.
You breeze past Eddie without another word, heading out the patio doors into the Harrington’s back yard.
“You alright Buckley?” Eddie asks.
Robin nods, seemingly incapable of speech.
“Trust me,” Eddie says, patting her firmly on the shoulder.
“You should be grateful you got away unscathed.”
Robin nods, excusing herself and scurrying off in search of Steve.
The rough bricks of Steve’s house scratch against the back of Eddie’s arms as he leans against them, the joint clamped between his gritted teeth. He’s been watching you intently as you make your way across the yard, flirting and laughing and teasing as you go. He’s not the only one watching you, groups of boys eyeing you hungrily, muttering to each other about all the things they’d like to do to you. But if Eddie gets his way, they won’t have a chance.
Some jock asshole sitting by the pool is grinning like the cat that got the cream, his hand resting on your thick thigh as you sit on his lap. You toss your hair back over your shoulder, cackling a fake laugh at something he’s said, but you’re looking directly at Eddie.
He draws back on the joint, failing to notice that it’s down to the final embers, the last remains of the sizzling paper scorching Eddie’s lips. He hisses, spitting the roach to the ground and stamping it out beneath his sneakers. Jock asshole is sliding his hand higher, his fingertips brushing under the hem of your skirt. Eddie’s body vibrates with anger, his fists clenched tight at his sides, teeth grinding together, clicking noisily. Just when the jocks hand disappears completely beneath your skirt you jump up, ignoring his protests and strutting back into the house. Eddie can’t help but chuckle meanly at the sight of the boy tugging at his cargo shorts, trying to hide the tent in the material.
Before the door can click closed behind you Eddie catches it in a ringed hand, squeezing through back into the bustling house. He stays a few steps behind as he stalks after you, following you through the living room and the hall, then up the large staircase.
Upstairs the pounding music fades to a low thud, the bass rumbling in time with Eddie’s heartbeat. He makes his way down the hall, approaching the guest bathroom at the end, the only room with a crack of golden light seeping under the door.
He’s pleased to find it unlocked, and he pulls it open, slipping in and locking it behind him with a quiet click.
“Was wondering how long it’d take you.” You purr. Eddie turns to find you leaning on the counter, touching up your lipstick in the illuminated mirror. He catches your eye in the reflection, and you grin smugly, thinking that Eddie’s walked right into your trap. Little do you know you’ve inadvertently stumbled into his.
Eddie approaches you slowly, coming to a stop behind you, pressing his crotch against your ass.
“Happy to see me?” You tease, carefully clicking the cap back on your lipstick.
Eddie doesn’t respond, reaching forwards to pluck the item from your fingers, throwing it back over his shoulder carelessly.
“That wasn’t very nice Eddie.”
“What would you know about nice?” He growls, grabbing your hips roughly to spin you around. He crowds your space, pressing you back into the counter as his lips find yours.
You move forcefully against him, trying to take control of the kiss, but Eddie won’t let that happen, not this time. His hand grips your jaw, hard enough to bruise, and he moves you where he wants you, forcing your head back to give access to your throat. You’re still smirking when he starts with a slow lick from your collarbone up to your jaw, his hot tongue dragging against your soft skin. But the smirk is wiped from your face when his teeth sink in, biting down on the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“Hey! No marks.” You snap, but Eddie ignores your demands, his fist wrapping around your throat as his head dips down, his teeth pulling at the skin on your chest.
“Eddie, I’m fucking serious.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He hisses, capturing your lips again and biting down hard enough to have coppery blood flooding his tongue. Your hands land on his chest, and Eddie half expects you to push him off, but instead you grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him in closer. The kiss becomes even more aggressive, teeth clinking and tongues fighting for dominance, low moans rumbling with each breath.
Eddie pulls back suddenly, pleased when you lean forwards to chase his lips. He turns you around, grabbing a fistful of your hair and shoving your head down towards the sink.
“Get your fucking ass up.” He spits, flipping your skirt up. As your arch your back, presenting yourself to him, he delivers a stinging slap to the fat of your ass, his hand groping and massaging the meat. He spanks you again, and again, each more forceful than the last, until your skin is littered with his hand prints and raised welts from his rings. You watch him in the mirror, your eyes burning with fury, but the guttural moans you let out with each blow betray you.
“Knew you’d fucking love this.” Eddie sneers, keeping you in place with one hand in your hair, the other removing his belt. He doesn’t struggle this time, the nerves he felt during your first encounter a distant memory.
“Knew you’d want to be treated like the slut you are.”
“Fuck you.” You snarl, your lips curling into that familiar vicious smile.
Eddie yanks your hair, stretching your neck back at an unnatural angle. You let out a pained yelp, your hands grappling for purchase on the smooth porcelain of the sink.
Eddie hooks his fingers under the thin black lace of your underwear, pulling until they give with a loud rip. He drops the tattered clothing to the floor, leaning back to admire the view.
Your pussy glistens in the bright light of the bathroom, slick coating your folds and dripping down the inside of your thighs.
“Oh look at you.” He coos, running a calloused finger through your folds, chuckling at the way you jolt at his touch.
“You’re so needy for me, huh?”
“Are you gonna fuck me Munson? Or just stand there looking at me all night.”
“Hmm. That’s not such a bad idea.” Eddie muses, pulling his hand away from your core and reaching into his boxers. He tugs on his length, using your slick for lube as he slowly fists his cock.
“Maybe I should just look at you. Get myself off looking at this pretty, needy cunt.”
You scowl at him in the mirror, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Shall I do that?” He groans, fucking into his fist faster.
“Fuck myself and blow my load all over this pretty little pussy, just leave you here unseen to?”
“Eddie.” You growl, trying to rock yourself back into him, and failing with the tight grip he keeps in the back of your neck.
“What? You got a better idea slut?”
Your lip twitches. Eddie can feel the rage radiating off you, your skin burning hot beneath his palm. He squeezes the back of your neck harder, his blunt fingernails biting into your skin.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
You huff, rolling your eyes defiantly.
“Just fuck me Eddie, for Christ sake.”
“Why should I? You could find someone else right, maybe that guy from by the pool?”
“Eddie!” You snap. You slam your hand down on the counter top, the mirror beginning to fog from your frustrated pants.
“If you want something you need to ask nicely.” He teases, rocking his hips forwards so the head of his cock briefly nudges against your core.
“You’re infuriating.”
“Wrong answer sweetheart.” Eddie tsks, moving away from you.
“Goddamit.” You groan, the pitch of your voice raising to almost a whine.
Eddie waits, studying your face in the reflection. He can see the cogs turning in your head, your internal battle. You want him to fuck you, but you don’t want to relinquish that final bit of control. Unfortunately for you, Eddie won’t give in without it.
You sigh, closing your eyes and mumbling something under your breath.
“Speak up sweetheart.” Eddie commands.
“Please.” you grumble.
“What was that?”
“Please! Please Eddie, just fuck me!” You shout, your eyes wild with fury.
“Good girl. All you had to do was ask.”
You open your mouth for some biting comeback, but the only sound escaping your lips is a strained moan as Eddie thrusts into your sopping heat, bottoming out in one fluid motion.
You’re tighter than Eddie remembered, gripping him like a vice, your warm walls wrapping around him perfectly.
“Fuck.” He sighs, his head falling back.
“This fucking pussy. So goddamn tight.”
You whine in response, knuckles turning white as you cling to the edge of the sink.
Eddie sets a brutal pace, pounding into you relentlessly. He pulls back until only his tip is nestled inside you, before slamming back in, his balls slapping noisily against your clit with each thrust.
The room fills with shared moans and gasps, but frankly Eddie couldn’t care less about your pleasure right now, determined to use you in the same way you used him.
The hand not pinning you down squeezes at your hips, hard enough that when you wake tomorrow you’ll bare lilac prints of Eddie’s fingerprints, marks of his possession.
“Shit. Eddie, shit!” You whimper, your breath coming in short strangled pants.
Your walls clamp down harder around Eddie’s cock, and he knows you’re getting close. You look so gorgeous, all fucked out and glassy eyed, your lips swollen and split from his kisses. The sight has Eddie’s anger waning, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to see you fall apart for him again.
He tugs you up by your hair until your back is flush with his chest. The new angle has him hitting deeper, each sharp punch of his cock hitting your sweet spot.
“T-touch yourself.” Eddie gasps, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck.
“C’mon. Be a good girl and touch yourself while I fuck you.”
You clamp one hand over Eddie’s holding your hip, the other sliding down over your stomach, your fingers rubbing furiously over your clit. Eddie splays his fingers, allowing yours to interlock with his, in an action that would be tender if it weren’t for the animalistic way he ruts into you.
“Fffuck. I’m - I’m gonna-“
“Cum for me. Come on, be a good little whore and cum all over my cock.”
A high pitched wail tears from your throat, and Eddie releases your hair, clamping his palm over your mouth to silence your screams. Your legs buckle beneath you, and he lowers your trembling body, carefully bending you back over the counter. You turn your head, gasping for breath as you come down from your orgasm, and Eddie keeps his hand beneath your cheek, cushioning you from the cold hard sink.
“Jesus Christ. Oh my - fuck.”
The rhythm of Eddie’s hips falters, and he pulls out suddenly, giving a few more swift tugs to his cock before he’s spilling across your ass and lower back, painting your skin in a sinful masterpiece.
Eddie’s chest heaves, his lungs gulping down desperate breaths. You stretch out beneath him, groaning when your lower back clicks.
“Hang on. Hold still.” He murmurs, and you cease your movements. Eddie grabs the hand towel where it hangs on a loop on the wall, wiping the expensive Egyptian cotton blend across your skin to remove his seed. When you’re clean he throws the towel into the laundry basket, making a mental note to apologise to Steve later.
You push up from the sink slowly, wincing a little as you flip your skirt back down.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, his voice full of genuine concern. He’d had every intention of being rough with you and leaving, but knows he doesn’t have it in him. Guilt knots his stomach, that maybe he’d taken things too far, pushed you to do something you didn’t want to. Your neck and chest bare identical marks to the ones you left on him two months ago, deep bruises and teeth marks that look particularly cruel in the harsh light.
“I’m good handsome.” You whisper, turning to face the boy and giving him the most genuine smile he’s seen you wear. It makes his stomach flip over.
“I’m uh - sorry about your underwear.” Eddie chuckles, gesturing to the shredded lace on the floor.
“Don’t worry about it.” You shrug. You brush past him, retrieving your lipstick from the corner of the room. You return to the mirror, touching up your make up so casually, like Eddie hadn’t just fucked you stupid in this very spot.
He suddenly doesn’t know what to say to you, the quiet in the room making him feel small and insignificant again. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to watch you walk out of the bathroom and close the door on him, just like that night in his van. He decides it’s best if he goes before you get the chance.
“Hold up.” You call, and Eddie stops, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
He watches with baited breath as you walk slowly over to him. That same breath catches in his throat when you drop to your knees in front of him.
“I don’t think I’ve got another one in me sweetheart.” Eddie laughs.
You roll your eyes again, but it feels a little less mean this time, more playful. You pop the cap off your lipstick with one hand, using the other to push Eddie’s shirt up over his tummy. He watches you curiously as you slowly drag the waxy scarlet stick across his skin, a small smirk forming on your lips. When you’re finished marking him, you lean in and press a sweet kiss on his hip bone, signing your work with an imprint of your lips.
You stand, giving Eddie your signature wink, then gently shoving him aside so you can pull the bathroom door open and slip out.
But Eddie can’t feel too disappointed at watching you go. Not when he looks up into the mirror, and sees your phone number written across his skin.
Tag list: @sidthedollface2 @ashlynnkennedy
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I’m fully in my Joel Miller brainrot era. This was too good 🥹
the likeability paradox.
pairing. joel miller x fem!reader
synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank’s roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don’t like you, joel.
warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it’s actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!
word count. 12.9k
hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel’s pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don’t come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn’t flop because i will cry and you will hear about it
taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger
read on ao3.
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𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐫.𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫?
Joel Miller x f!reader
NSFW🔞
A/N: this is a result of my post gym ✨horny✨ thoughts. I love to think that Joel can be a whimpering mess, every now and then. You’re welcome ♡ ♡ ♡
Summary: You get jealous seeing the women in Jackson throw themselves at Joel. You decide to give him a gentle reminder of who he belongs to.
~word count : 4.3k~
Warnings: smut with no plot, established relationship, implied age gap, sub! joel, feral/dark! joel, soft! joel,needy! joel, possessive joel! is going to tear you apart! joel, dom/brat reader, unprotected p in v (wrap it kids) oral receiving (male) fingering, light choking, knife play, teasing, edging, light bdsm, consent, consent, consent, nicknames, praise kink, cockwarming, cream pie, cum eating, cum play, uhhh yeah a whole lot of filth! Not much else to say! (+18) MINORS DNI SERIOUSLY THIS IS STRAIGHT UP PORN.
Songs used:
“Freak” by Doja Cat (just trust me on this one y’all)
“Tear You Apart” by She Wants Revenge
“…Ready For It?” By Taylor Swift
“No Good” by KALEO
“Dinner and Diatribes” by Hozier
You never considered yourself to be a naturally jealous person. You had no reason to be. The people of Jackson knew well enough that you were Joel’s lady, and he was your man. You never had to worry about getting hit on at the Jackson bar, or while on patrol, because no one dared to even look at what belonged to Joel. The women of Jackson? They were a little more ballsy than you thought.
You knew your man was handsome. Hell, he was fucking beautiful in your eyes. You’d see some of the single women, and even some of the happily taken women, fawn over your man.
Could you really blame them? He was definitely a sight for sore eyes. You’d watch them touch his arm, laugh at something he’d say and that’s when your jealousy began to bubble deep in your gut.
Didn’t these women know Joel belonged to you? Did he remember who he belonged to? Perhaps you needed to give him a gentle reminder.
Your man had arrived home late one night after being on patrol. You could hear his heavy boots from where you stood in the kitchen, you heard him mutter under his breath about his bad back as he hung his rifle up alongside yours. Joel was currently looking forward to a well deserved, hot shower and a good cuddle with you, his lady. He knew however that something was off because you never would leave the lights off. You kept them on usually on the nights you knew he would be getting home late.
He called out your name.
“Baby? You down here? Where are you, my sweet girl?”
He heard your soft footsteps padding from the kitchen and then your face appeared soon after. He wasted no time to grab you by the waist and pull you flush against his chest. “Hi honey, I was just waiting up for you.” You softly spoke while draping your arms around his neck. “How was it out there?”
“Mmm. Hi Sugar. Why were all the lights off? You usually keep ‘em on for me. S’alright out there. Long fuckin’ shift, and all I could think about was comin’ home to you darlin’.”
You gave him a sweet kiss, gently playing with the ends of his hair through your fingers. “Yeah, baby? I’m sorry it was a long shift. Are you tired? Here, how about you sit down? You’ve been on your feet all day.”
Joel kissed you back immediately while he tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you in as close as he physically could. “S’alright. Feet and back are fuckin’ killin’ me though, sweet girl. Is Ellie home?”
You slowly pulled away from the kiss, sliding your arms down from around his neck and brought your hands down his chest. “C’mon i’ll take care of you, okay? She’s at Dina’s. They’re watching a movie so we’ll have the place to ourselves all night.”
“You had me at we’re gonna have the place to ourselves all night darlin.’” a chuckle vibrated up his chest. “Did ya have somethin’ particular in mind baby?”
You unwrapped his arms from around your waist, grabbing his hands as you brought him into the dining room. “I knew you’d love the sound of that Joel. Go on, take a seat honey.”
He raised an eyebrow in your direction as he tried to gauge just exactly what it was that you were up to. When he took too long for your liking, you placed your hand on his chest and firmly coaxed him down into the chair.
“What’re—”
He was cut off when you had climbed into his lap, straddling his hips while you brought his arms behind the chair, holding his wrists together firmly.
“Shhh. You trust me, right baby? I just wanna take care of you. Treat you real well but first, I think you need a gentle reminder of who you belong to.”
Joel’s eyes had immediately widened when you ever so casually climbed into his lap. His own frustration began to bubble when you brought his arms around the back of the chair, preventing him from touching you. “Course I trust you honey. Whad’ya mean you need to remind me who I belong to? Baby, I belong to you. You and I both know that.”
“Do the Jackson women know that you belong to me? I see the way they fawn over you Joel. You think I don’t notice? They practically fall to their knees when you’re around.”
Joel chuckled, leaning his head back against the chair with a smirk on his lips. “Do I sense a bit of jealousy in ya? I see the way they act around me sugar. I don’t pay ‘em any attention. Don’t need to when I’ve got you. By far the prettiest girl in town. Can confidently say I am one fuckin’ lucky man.”
Joel was too focused on you in his lap to notice that you had pulled a strand of thick rope from your pocket. He barely felt you tie his wrists together behind the chair, till it was too late.
“Yeah, you are one fuckin’ lucky man, Miller and you better remember it.”
He let out a strained noise from his throat when he realized you had successfully tied him to the chair and his eyes narrowed in on you. “Fuckin’ minx. You really just go and tie me to the damn chair?” He let out a low growl.
You were the one smirking now as you leaned in close to his face, your lips nearly touching his. “I did baby, I told you I’m going to take care of you. Just trust me on this okay?” You spoke in a sickly sweet tone.
Your words traveled down his neck, past his thighs and settled beneath his jeans where his cock had twitched slightly. It didn’t take much to get your man going and you were pretty proud of that.
“So you tied me to the damn chair? You gonna punish me, sweet girl? You got it in you to do that to me baby?”
You brought your fingers around his throat, tipping his chin back slightly as you brushed your lips over his, taking his lower lip between your teeth, biting down on the soft flesh as you tugged it out. Your actions elicited a low groan from his chest.
“Oh, I think you and I both know I’ve got it in me baby. You gonna be a good boy for me, or are you gonna be difficult?”
You quite literally stole the air from this man’s lungs. All the blood was draining straight down to his cock. God, you were so filthy and he loved every second of it. “I’ll be a good boy for you darlin’, only if you promise to give me your worst.”
His pupils darkened as he looked up at you, desperately wishing he could fucking touch you as he pulled against his restraints on his wrists.
“I promise you I will, baby.” You cooed and his eyes nearly rolled back into his skull.
You dragged your fingertips along the thin skin of his throat as you leaned down over him, bringing your lips to the shell of his ear, kissing the skin right below. It was the spot that you knew drove him crazy. “You let me know if it’s too much and you wanna stop. Okay honey?”
He felt a shiver run down his spine from your lips along his neck. “I know darlin’. I got you, you got me.”
Your relationship with Joel had been built around trust, and consent. It was important to you both, and no matter what the situation was between you, consent was always at the forefront.
“Good boy.” You whispered against the shell of his ear as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a blindfold.
His jaw went slack as you tied the fabric around his head, covering his eyes from your view.
“You’re about to fuckin’ ruin me, aren’t you baby?” He rasped out, feeling his senses on overdrive now that he could no longer see you.
“Gonna do a lot more than just that, honey. You just sit back and relax. I got you.” You pressed another kiss to the spot below his ear before you slowly dragged your lips down his neck, nipping and biting at the thin skin as he hissed under his breath, turning his head to the side slightly so you would have better access.
You dragged your sinful tongue down the expanse of his throat, you could feel his pulse quicken as your fingers began to expertly undo the buttons on his flannel, exposing his skin to the warm air as you let your fingertips trace down his collarbones, brushing over his nipples as they descended down over his navel.
His stomach went taut under your soft, feather light touches. He had sucked in a harsh breath as his cock twitched in his jeans once more. “Baby, please. Don’t fuckin’ keep me on edge like this honey. Please, I’ll be a good boy, just like I promised.” Your man begged you.
You popped the button off his jeans and tugged the zipper down. Offering him a brief moment of relief as you tugged his jeans down over his broad thighs, listening to the fabric fall down his ankles, and settle above his boots.
His breath hitched in his throat when your fingers lightly brushed over his growing bulge in his boxers. He was so big, so thick, the fabric was straining and could barely hold him.
What you did next? Completely through your man for a loop. You had unsecured your knife from your holster, dragging the edge of the blade down his chest, over his navel. The coolness of the metal against his hot skin was a delicious combination.
He tugged on the restraints hard, the chair scraping on the old hardwood floor when the edge of your knife dragged across his covered bulge. Your man fucking whimpered.
“Darlin’, is that your knife baby? What’re you gonna do with that, huh?”
You kept the edge of your knife lightly pressed against his bulge. You could feel his thighs quiver beneath you, and his cock twitch once more as you leaned in, and whispered against his ear, “Who do you belong to, Mr. Miller?”
He let out a string of curses past his plush lips, stuttering over his words as he was already a whimpering mess beneath you and you had barely touched him. “Yours baby. I’m all fuckin’ yours. All yours.”
“Good boy.” You hummed as you removed the blade from his covered bulge, placing it down on the table before you wasted no time to free him from his constraints. Watching his cock spring up against his stomach. The tip was leaking with precum, all thanks to you and your filthy words. Your mouth was already salivating for a taste of him.
He could no longer feel the weight of your body on his lap. He heard the chair scrape slightly as you got down on your knees in front of him. He wanted to fucking see your pretty face, your irresistible eyes on him, but the fabric on his eyes, blinded him from experiencing that pleasure.
“Gonna have a taste of you now, okay baby? Dying to have one.”
“Fu—fuckin’ hell darlin’ you tryin’ to send me to an early grave talkin’ like that—“
He lost his voice the moment your pretty lips wrapped around his aching tip. You swirled your tongue against the veiny head, collecting his precum with ease.
You dragged your lips and tongue down his thick length, feeling him twitch again as he let his whimpers flow through his lips freely.
“You taste so sweet, honey. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue baby?”
Joel growled frustratingly as he gave the restraints another good tug but they wouldn’t budge and he was completely at your mercy.
“That’s my fuckin’ line darlin’” he groaned.
“Yeah?” You hummed against his length, letting your fingers grasp his balls, giving them a little squeeze. “Well, now it’s mine. Deal with it.”
“You little—”
You had wrapped your lips back around his tip, slowly sliding your wet, hot mouth down over him, as you slowly began to bob your head at a delicious pace.
“F-f-fuck—darlin’ that pretty little mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me. Not gonna fuckin’ last long like this.” He groaned while bucking his hips up slightly, desperately wanting more.
You brought your free hand, that wasn’t playing with his balls, around his thick thigh. You sank your nails into his skin, dragging them downwards as he let out a hiss, digging the heels of his boots into the floor.
You could feel every ridge, every vein against your tongue as you continued to suck him off, your teeth lightly scraped against his length as his tip hit the back of your throat. You knew how to take him well, but there were still tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. You fucking loved having his cock shoved down your throat like this. You loved the way he whimpered out your name, just from your mouth and tongue wrapped around him.
“Fuck—fuck baby you gotta stop soon, please! Fuck. I’m seein’ stars right now. Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ well in that pretty little mouth. S’pretty, just for me.”
Your throat tightened around him slightly as you held him there for a few moments, nearly gagging around him before you slowly lifted your head up, releasing him from your mouth with a pop. You had saliva dripping down your chin that he would have absolutely loved to see, along with your pretty swollen lips.
He heard your own jeans start to be taken off as he listened to the fabric hit the floor with a soft thud as he anticipated your next move on him.
“Where’d you go, darlin’? Can’t feel ya anymore..you better not be fuckin’ leaving me down here tied up like this—”
You had sank back down into his lap, your covered, aching cunt brushing against his swollen tip as you let out a low hiss from the friction. “Mmm. I’m right here baby. I wouldn’t be that cruel to leave you tied up like this..don’t give me any ideas though, okay? Not finished with you yet.”
He let a whine slip past his throat when he could feel your cunt rub against him, as you rolled your hips into his slowly, eliciting another frustrated groan from him, and an eager moan from you.
You reached your hand up, untying the fabric from his eyes and tossed it to the side, his eyes were immediately locked on yours, his jaw clenched so tightly, he could cut something with how sharp it was.
“You gonna fuckin’ let me touch you baby? Or not yet? Gonna keep me on the edge? Fuckin filthy little whore you are. M’so fuckin lucky.” He whimpered.
You brought your fingers through the back of his hair, gripping it tightly as you yanked his head back, rolling your hips into his once more. “Do you think you deserve to fuck me right now, baby? You think you deserve to fill me up with your cock? C’mon, answer me.” You demanded
Joel’s jaw went slack at your words as he swallowed hard. You were something fucking else entirely and he was at a loss for words.
“I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I baby? C’mon, sweet girl. Let me fill you to the fuckin’ brim. Please. Please. Please. Want to feel your warmth around me so fuckin’ bad. Give into me darlin.’ Take me however you fuckin’ want.” He rasped.
He watched as your hand slid down between your bodies, pulling your panties to the side, revealing your slick pussy to his greedy eyes as you dragged your fingers through your arousal. Swirling your fingers against your clit as you kept your eyes locked on his. “Bet you wish you were touching me right now, huh baby? I’m so fuckin’ wet for you. Don’t you wish you could have a taste? Mmm, your fingers do a much better job than mine.” You purred, wasting no time to slip two of your fingers inside, pumping them slowly on his lap. “I’m so fucking tight, Joel. Don’t you wanna feel me baby? Feel how fucking tight I am for you.”
Joel frankly had enough with your teasing. He nearly had drool dripping down his chin as he watched you with hooded eyes. He watched your fingers, slick with your own arousal, disappear inside your tight cunt. The squelching sounds of your wet pussy had his eyes rolling back as he kicked the side of the table with his boot, frustratingly.
“Goddamn you. Fuckin’ filthy. Look at you fuckin’ yourself on my lap. Fuckin’ should be my fingers filling you up right now. You little minx. Do I have to fuckin’ beg you? Your pretty little pussy is fuckin’ purring for me baby. You gotta let me out of these things, please baby. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please fuckin’ let me touch you.”
“No.” You spoke sweetly, between moans. “Keep fucking watching me Joel. Keep watching me fuck my pretty little pussy.”
“You are so goddamn lucky that you tied a fuckin’ good knot. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you when I get out of these baby. Just you fuckin’ wait.” He growled. He was unable to tear his gaze from your fingers fucking yourself, even if he tried. He was absolutely intoxicated with you.
You slipped your fingers out of your mouth slowly, they were dripping in your arousal as you brought them up to your lips, licking them clean right before his very eyes as he kicked the side of the table once more.
Your man was absolutely feral.
You grabbed the base of his cock then, dragging his tip against your slick folds, his arousal and yours mixing together. When you finally, sank down onto him, he let out the most delicious fucking sound you had ever heard. The mix between a groan, and a whimper as you sank down to the hilt, bringing your arms around his neck. “Filling me up so good already, baby. See what happens when you’re a good boy? You get rewarded.”
His breath hitched in his throat when you rolled your hips into his. He could feel every inch of you slide around his cock, and just as you started to get into a rhythm, rising and falling over his thick length as your walls gripped around him deliciously, the rope around his wrists snapped, falling to the floor.
His hands were on you before you even had the chance to open your mouth. You were positively fucked.
“Now, it’s my fuckin’ turn.” He had immediately grabbed ahold of your hips, roughly pulling your chest flushed against his as he fucked into you, his balls slapping against your ass while his nails dug into your hips harshly. “You fuckin’ like that baby? You naughty fuckin’ girl. Hope you enjoyed your fuckin’ little game while it lasted baby.”
His lips were attacking every inch of your skin, between your neck, collarbones and breasts, he was absolutely ruining you with his mouth. nipping, biting, sucking on your tender flesh as he fucked into you, drinking in your moans around him as you let him finally have control, not that you had much of a choice. You knew it was only a matter of time before the restraints would snap.
He had grabbed you from your ass, lifting you up onto the dining room table, while still buried deep inside of you. He brought your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you, with your back firmly planted against the table.
When you had reached down to touch yourself, he smacked your hand away, grabbing both of your wrists and slammed them down above your head, holding them down with one hand. “No.” He growled.“You don’t get to fuckin’ do all of that to me and then think that you can touch yourself, baby. You’re mine now. You fuckin’ got that? All. Fucking. Mine”
“Joel—fuck! Please baby, I was only having a little fun! Please, are you going to let me cum?” You whimpered, tugging your lower lip between your teeth as you looked up at him with those eyes that would send any man’s knees buckling.
Joel let out a deep chuckle, using his free hand to close in around your throat, his thumb pressing against your windpipe as he leaned down, bringing his forehead against yours, drinking in your moans as his lips crashed into yours, your teeth and tongues clashing together. It was a rough, heated kiss. One that was absolutely scrambling your brain. “You think you fuckin’ deserve to cum? You think you deserve that?” He mumbled into your lips, holding you completely captive beneath him.
Your breath was caught in your throat as his thumb squeezed along your windpipe slightly, just enough for you to feel it. The pain, mixing with the pleasure, you fucking loved it.
“Please, Joel! Please let me cum, baby! Don’t you want me to coat your cock? You gotta let me cum otherwise I can’t—”
He slammed his hips into yours, knocking your back against the table, stealing the air from your lungs. “What was that? Sorry, sugar. Can’t hear you above the sounds of my cock tearing your pretty little pussy apart.”
You let out a choked sob when his tip had hit the spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Your body was beginning to tremble beneath him and you nearly cried when you finally felt his thumb working your clit to the very edge.
He had released your wrists just so you could wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and sink your nails into his skin, he knew how much you loved that.
“So fucking close, Joel! So close! Thank you baby, thank you!” You praised him.
Both of your bodies were slick with sweat as his thrusts began to grow uncoordinated and sloppy but despite this, he was still working his thumb over you, stumbling over his words as he groaned out your name.
“That’s it, my pretty fuckin’ filthy girl. Gonna cum around my cock? Gonna coat me? Wanna see you leaking out on the fuckin table when I’m through with you. Think you can handle that honey? Wanna see my fuckin’ cum drippin’ out of that pretty little pussy.”
It didn’t take long for either of you to hit your impending high. It crashed around you, sending white hot pleasure up from your core and through your whole body, Joel shuddered above you, as your pussy milked him of every last fucking drop. He kissed all over your face, praising you for being such a good girl as he gave one last deep thrust, before collapsing on top of you.
This is how it always ended. Joel buried deep inside of you while he grew soft, yours and his cum leaking out of you, while you would cradle him against your chest, running your fingers through his sweat soaked hair.
The post orgasm calm was your favorite part undeniably. You loved the lazy, sex stained grin your man would give you. God, he always looked so pretty after a proper fuck. He’d kiss you slow, deep, letting his tongue slip into your mouth while your fingers would gently scrape against his beard.
“I wanna see more of that in the future.” He mumbled into your lips, kissing you languidly.
“Yeah? You liked that?”
“Fuckin’ loved havin’ you take control like that baby. Do it whenever you want, kay?”
You let out a soft giggle, pulling away from the kiss to get some air as he let out a small whine, he wasn’t ready to stop kissing you just yet. So instead, he let his lips kiss all over your face, your cheeks, chin, nose, your eyelids. He couldn’t get enough of you.
“I will definitely be taking control more often, baby. I can promise you that.”
“Good.” He hummed, pressing one more kiss to your nose, lightly nibbling on it before he slowly slipped out from your warmth.
“We made quite the mess together honey. Dripping all down the fuckin’ table.” He chuckled, dragging his finger through your cum mixed with his, before he licked his finger clean, shooting you a wink.
You sat up slowly, your heart beat had returned to normal as you watched your man with a small grin as he collapsed back into the chair, kicking his boots off along with his jeans before he gathered the pile of clothes up into his arms to take them to the laundry room.
“I fuckin’ love you, you know that?”
“I know you do, Joel. I love you too.”
He leaned down over you, kissing you sweetly once more. He left to drop the clothes off in the laundry room before he grabbed a towel. He was always big on after care so you laid there, waiting for him.
He gently wiped between your thighs, and then the table before he was scooping you up into his arms. He helped you wrap your legs around his hips as he carried you upstairs, smiling to himself when he could feel your thighs tremble, all thanks to him.
One well deserved hot shower later, and you and your man were curled up in bed together. You were the big spoon tonight because you know how much he loves to be held by you.
You were his lady, his girl. He was your man. Your fellow, your guy.
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How in the ever living hell did you write Jess so perfectly?
— coffee stains ⁀➷
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jess mariano returns back to stars hollow, but he doesn’t expect rory’s new preppy friend to be his type.
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☆ | jess mariano | 1.06k |
warnings: none.
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YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D SEE THE RUDE BOY FROM THE BUS STOP AGAIN.
When you initially collided shoulders with the gruff boy who smelled of cigarettes and cedar cologne you told yourself ‘if i ever see that spike haired jerk again i’d give him a piece of my mind!’ but now, as he stared at you from across the breakfast bar in the small town diner, the thought of ripping him a new one didn’t seem so appealing.
“Um, Rory,” You kept your voice to a low whisper as you leaned into your new friend. “Who is that and why does he look like the male version of Lydia Deetz.”
“I can hear you, y’know,” The boy said as he refilled a mans coffee, a glower on his face. His accent wasn’t very strong, but evident enough to be noticed. “You can lean in all you want, doesn’t change the fact that it’s a small diner.”
“Beetle, Breakfast, Orange… Liquid?” You quietly mocked the movie you, Rory and Dean had watched only an hour previous. The boy gave you another look and a shout of, “Cut it out!” While Rory gave you a smile.
“That’s Jess,” She said, elbows resting on the counter dangerously close to your coffee cup. “Jess, this is [y/n]. We go to Chilton together.”
“Great, another Chilton drag along. If she’s anything like Paris, send her back to Hartford please.”
Rory offered a sympathetic smile before shooting Jess a glare as he returned behind the counter. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a loner that hates meeting new people… He’ll warm up to you eventually.”
“My whole life is a dark room. One big dark room.” You bit back a smile as Jess joined in on the references. Ignoring the side glance he gave you, it seemed that maybe it wouldn’t take as long as Rory thought for him to warm up to you.
An older man, who Rory had introduced to you as Luke when you two had first sat down for dinner, came up behind the two of you and shouted something at the cook, making Rory jump and her arm jolt to spill coffee all over your sweater vest and black pleated skirt
“Oh my god!” She shouted in shock, hands flying up to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry! Let me get you some napkins or something—“
“It’s alright!” You smiled, trying your hardest not to let your soiled outfit ruin the good day you were having. “Don’t worry, i’ll just, um…”
“Come on,” Jess interrupted, nodding his head upwards, “I have some shirts upstairs you can borrow.” He turned without as much as a second glance and you quickly but reluctantly made strides to follow him, turning around to give Rory a look that read “Is he normally like this?” All you were met with was a shrug and a vague look.
He lead you up to the apartment above the diner. It was small-ish but surprisingly tidy for two guys living there alone. You sat on his bed as he riffled through his closet, glancing around.
“So, New York, huh?” You questioned, trying to fill the silence. “How long have you been in Stars Hollow then? Accent seems pretty fresh.”
“Been back around a month,” He stated casually before he turned to look at you, eyes flitting around your face. “You more of a Korn or Metallica girl? I’d give you my Britney shirt but it seems i’ve misplaced it.”
His sarcasm made you laugh, but two could play at that game. “Got any Weezer?” You asked teasingly, but were shocked when you were met with a black t-shirt being tossed at you.
He turned around as you changed, hand itching the nape of his neck awkwardly. “So… Weezer, huh?”
“What can I say?” You asked rhetorically, pulling your coffee soaked vest upwards and off of you. “I’m a sucker for songs about sweaters.”
You didn’t notice he’d turned around or came closer until his fingers gently wrapped around your wrist that was reaching for the shirt he gave you. You looked at him with slightly furrowed brows and confusion in your eyes, the bewilderment only growing when his face inched closer and his lips met yours.
You leaned into deepen it without much second thought. So what if you’d only known this guy for, like, half an hour. You were standing in his makeshift room, half naked, about to change in his clothes. Kissing him was the least strange thing happening at that moment.
“I thought you didn’t like Chilton girls?” You teased as you pulled away, his finger tracing upwards from your jawline to tilt your chin up.
“What can i say, the Weezer reference really did it for me,” He muttered.
“I just wish you would’ve known about my amazing music taste before you body checked me at the bus stop this morning,” You laughed, poking fun at him. “Really, they should’ve put you in hockey or something—“
“Can you just shut up so I can kiss you?” He interrupted impatiently, but you could tell he wasn’t mad like his tone indicated. Just… eager.
“Gladly,” You smiled into the kiss, allowing him to run his hand up your side as you leaned into it, going deeper.
Both of you failed to notice the apartment door opening and Luke walking in. “Oh my god,” He muttered as soon as he caught sight of the two of you. “You’ve got to be kiddin’ me..!”
You quickly broke from the kiss with a grin, grabbing the shirt from behind you and slipping it over your head as you speed walked past Luke, shouting out a “Bye Jess, Bye Luke!”
Jess, slightly astonished at your quick exit, pushed past Luke in an attempt to go after you, leaving the door wide open behind him.
“Jess? Jess?!” Luke called, standing still in the now empty apartment, dumbfounded. Did he just walk in on Jess with Rory’s friend? And was she wearing his shirt? “God…” He muttered, “At least close the door behind you!”
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This entire series (read: her entire master list) is beyond all belief — like, why do the rest of us even bother at this point? Give it up. Whew 😮💨
𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟔
☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake have an honest conversation about your pasts. Your love can be shared. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗
You’ve been at the restaurant for hours now. It’s a newer one, one that is draped in red velvet and low, pink lights. There are fresh flowers on all the mahogany tables and the tablecloths are all sewn from fine French linen, their color a seafoam green.
All around you, everyone else is chatting away and ordering another drink or poking around their salads. The restaurant is alive with clattering silverware and popping corks and the live orchestra set up in the corner.
The food has been incredible: artichoke hearts breaded in sourdough and and crumbled with feta, gruyere fondue with broccoli sauteed in garlic and and butter, cobb salad with prosciutto and soft boiled eggs, decadent filet mignon with a mushroom creme.
Rooster watches you take the first bite of your filet, your jaw flexing as you chew. Everyone else--Coyote, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback--is so used to this kind of luxury. This nice cut of steak, this expensive wine, this rich cheese. But you aren’t. This is all new to you still. And the way your eyes are alight with unadulterated joy, the way your lips quiver with every moment the steak is between your molars--Rooster can see it. He can see how unfamiliar this all is.
“Whatcha think, baby?” Rooster asks.
You didn’t realize that he was watching you, but when you look up and across the table, when you see his whiskey-colored eyes crinkled with joy as he watches you chew--you sigh. The world doesn’t push down on you so heavily when he’s looking at you.
Carefully, you pat your mouth with an expensive napkin and reach across the table, taking Rooster’s hand. He strokes your skin, still grinning at you, and wishes that you were perched right on his lap instead of across from him.
“That’s the second-best steak I’ve ever had,” you tell him.
He scoffs.
“Second-best? Don’t break my heart and tell me the best steak you’ve ever had was in Nebraska, kid. Not a chance.”
You shake your head, laughing. Your hair tickles your naked shoulders when you move, a delicate and soft feeling that makes your chest warm.
Rooster lets his eyes fall to the soft slope of your shoulders, the elegant point where your throat gives into anatomy and becomes your collarbones. Your skin practically glows in the light of the restaurant, effervescent. You have your hair pulled up and it’s been falling all night--but it’s fallen so perfectly that it looks purposeful. Tendrils of your soft hair decorate your cheeks and forehead, giving you a very soft and sweet look even with the dark eyeshadow on your lids and the gloss on your lips.
“Well, don’t bogart this best steak,” Rooster says, leaning forward. “What’s the skinny?”
You lean forward, too, setting your cutlery on your plate politely.
“It was at this little place in L.A.. God, it’s really the shit, you know? View of the Hollywood sign, a pool, a tiki bar,” you list, squeezing his hand. “The chef’s, like, super hands-on, too. He was a good lay. Well, anyway, he made the best steak I’ve ever had. Cooked it up real nice, medium, wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt and no shoes.”
Rooster chews a smirk.
“No apron and no shoes?” He asks. “That’s two health code violations, kid.”
You grin back, your lashes fluttering against your rosy cheeks.
“Cry about it,” you tease.
“What’re we crying about?” Hangman asks, throwing his arm over your shoulders.
You lean into him, grinning, resting your head against his. He fingers the silk dress you’re wearing, pressing a lewd kiss to your forehead. Rooster wishes you were perched on his lap fervently.
“I’ve got nothing to cry about,” you tell Jake, smoothing your gown and winking at Rooster. “How about you, Cowboy?”
Hangman likes that you call him Cowboy. He’s been called Hangman for so long--which is still a nickname he loves, one that tells everyone who utters it just how well-endowed he is--that he sometimes forgets that he can be something else.
“How could I cry when I’ve got you on my arm, honey?” Jake lips, kissing your cheek again.
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna cry about,” Fanboy pipes up, lips pursed. He’s nursing a martini, his silk shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and exposing the manicured curls across his chest. “Dennis only giving me six fucking films for the entire year. The entire year!”
“What?” Rooster asks, brows furrowed. He takes another sip of his Tom Collins then sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “That’s bogue.”
“Totally bogue,” Bob agrees. “What, like, boy on boy isn’t popular anymore?”
Fanboy rolls his eyes.
“Exactly,” Fanboy agrees. He finishes his marini and flags down one of the waiters. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m a pioneer in my genre.”
“Well, that isn’t an opinion,” Phoenix says with a sigh, touching her lipstick up in her pocket mirror. “It’s a fact, honey.” She snaps the compact shut and puckers her lips.
“I mean, shit, I’ve got some jobs you can take,” Coyote laughs. He is ferociously cutting into his steak, shaking his head with his eyes wide. “I’m gonna be dehydrated by February at the rate I’m going. You dig?”
“Everyone digs,” Phoenix says, rolling her eyes. “Can’t have more shoots than Rooster, though. Right?”
Rooster is absently stroking his mustache, humming.
“Not necessarily,” he says softly, shrugging.
“Well, how many films you got this year, man?” Payback asks. “Dennis stiff you?”
“No,” Rooster answers. Dennis is a lot of things--but he isn’t stupid. And it would be stupid if Dennis were to stiff Rooster. “He knows better than that.”
“How many, then?” Fanboy asks. He’s smoking a cigarette now, his leg bouncing.
“Ten,” Rooster answers.
You’re tickled. You have more than ten. You have more than Rooster Bradshaw--who’s the biggest and the best in the business. It makes your stomach turn with a precarious sort of excitement.
“Christ,” Coyote says, sighing. “I haven’t had ten since I was a rookie.”
Everyone echoes some sort of murmured agreement, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Your spine prickles. Shit. You have more films than everyone here--Rooster and Hangman already know that.
You’re afraid, suddenly, that these people will not like you if they know this about you. You don’t want anyone to think that you’re taking their jobs, fast tracking the demise of their careers. Jesus--fear slinks up your legs and presses down into your thighs. You like these people, you’re friends with these people, you’re breaking bread with these people. You don’t want to be in this industry without them.
Jake can feel it when your thighs clench, can feel it when your spine stiffens.
“Wanna step outside for a second, honey?” Jake says quietly in your ear. He needs another bump anyway.
“Yeah,” you tell him. “Say, got a mint?”
Jake grins at you.
“Always.”
Rooster watches the two of you walk out together, your dress clinging to your body. Jake’s hand is resting on your ass, just high up enough for it to not be considered rude in this nice of a restaurant. He knows what you two are going to do outside, which is what you two slink off together and do in bathrooms and bedrooms. It makes his palms sweat, but he doesn’t move to stop it. How could he?
It’s not hot in the restaurant, but it’s stuffy--and your face is flushed at the thought of everyone inside asking how many movies you have been signed on for. The cool evening air is a welcome escape, one that makes your lips part in ecstasy as it prickles your bare arms.
Cars are zooming past, their engines purring and their horns wailing. There are people laughing on the sidewalk and holding hands and singing songs. Heels clack against the pavement as people swiftly pass you, not batting an eye in your direction.
You don’t know this yet, but soon you won’t be able to stand on the sidewalk without people looking at you. Men, especially ones walking with their wives or girlfriends, will stare but will not be brave enough to approach you. They’ll pretend they know you from work or school if their wives catch their gazes lingering on you. They will think about the color of your nipples and the way your back arches and the noises you make when you suck cock, but they won’t say anything to you. You almost prefer it when people say something, when they’re brave enough. Because in a few months time, you will live in a fishbowl. You will be lonely even when everyone in the room is looking at you.
Jake is still holding onto you, humming softly as he tugs you over to the brick siding of the restaurant. He tugs the mints container out of his pocket and smiles at you. He thinks you look beautiful tonight, all done up with that eyeshadow and that dress.
“Have you graduated to sniffer?” He asks, eyebrow perched.
You hum, shaking your head. You will rarely pass up an opportunity to have Jake’s fingers in your mouth.
“Nope,” you say, hooking your fingers in the belt loops of his corduroys. “Gonna need your help.”
This pleases Jake. He doesn’t even check behind him anymore before he takes a bump--everyone does cocaine. Everyone and their mama does cocaine in Los Angeles. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it anymore.
Once he’s snorted it off his thumb, he dips his finger against his tongue and then presses it into the powder before bringing it up to your lips.
“Careful,” you say quietly, tucking his hair behind his ears. Your eyes are glowing in the low light of the evening. “Don’t smudge my gloss.”
“I’d rather die,” Jake says simply.
Then he slides his fingers against your gums, makes sure to spread it around.
Your heart is racing already, just in anticipation of the high. It’ll be a few minutes, you know. But you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. Just sitting here with Jake, outside against the cool brick--that’s enough for you.
Jake snaps the container shut and stuffs it back in his pocket, giving you a quick kiss before settling in beside you against the brick. The two of you quietly watch the cars go by for a few minutes, holding hands, waiting to feel it.
But there’s something choking Jake now. You’re stroking his hand, humming to yourself, letting the butter melt on your tongue. And he thinks--maybe because he’s high or maybe because you seem to have a peculiar way of subduing him--that you are a good person. He hasn’t known you for very long, but he knows that the heart that sits in your chest is a good one. You’re kind and you’re bright, bubbly. But it took time for him to understand about you, hours. With Gentry, it took weeks. You’re like Gentry, though. Gentry was just someone that Jake knew was a good person--not right away, the very first time he saw him at the canteen.
“What’s up, Cowboy?” You ask.
You’re looking at him now, your cheek pressed against your shoulder.
He shakes his head, biting his lip.
“You remind me of someone,” he says softly.
You swallow, your lips tingling.
“Who?” You ask.
But you already know. You’ve thought about it a lot, that first night you met Jake when he told you about the only man he ever loved. When you anchored yourself on his body and let him sleep.
“Gentry,” he answers. He sniffles, wipes his nose. He’s tapping his fingers against yours rhythmically. “Not that you’re, like, manly or anything. Ain’t like that. I just like you is all.”
“Everyone likes me,” you tease. But it is true--everyone does like you.
He laughs shortly.
“Yeah, but I don’t like everyone,” he sighs. “You dig?”
You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard.
“Yeah, I can dig it,” you say quietly. “So, what did you like about him?”
Jake laughs again, grinning. His face feels good--cold and soft.
“He was stand-offish,” he answers. “Always had something to say, you know? Didn’t seem scared. Like, we were all fucking scared. Middle of the fucking jungle, barely old enough to drink. Half of us wanted to book it. The other half were just bugged out. And Gentry was just, like, chilled. He didn’t seem scared. Not ever. Not really.”
Blood is rushing through your ears now, but you hear every word Jake says.
“And you think I’m chill and stand off-ish, huh?” You ask.
You squeeze his hand.
“No,” Jake says, sighing. “No, I don’t think you’re stand-offish. I think you’re just--I guess I think you’re just, like, fearless. Like, when I met you and you were just taking a skinny dip in Rooster’s pool--you didn’t give a fuck that I was there. Jesus, you didn’t shy away from anything. You keep it real, Cherry. So did Gentry.”
With pink tickling your cheeks, you move closer to Jake and let your head rest on his shoulder. He smells like patchouli, which is a scent you’ve grown to like. His shirt is soft against your cheek, his skin warm.
“What was it like when you met him? Tell me about the first time.”
He’s never told another soul this. It hasn’t even occurred to him before this precise moment that he hasn’t recounted the story out loud to anyone. But now you’re here and your cheek is warm against his arm and you smell like sugar and he feels like it’s okay to talk about it.
“I cut my hand on a piece of metal. Gnarly cut, bleeding everywhere. We were in the fucking boonies and it was hot and muddy. Everyone was sweating, there were bugs everywhere, it smelled like piss. So, I walk up to the canteen to ask for a bandage,” Jake explains. When he talks about the cut, it starts to burn; that seam that he opened up all those years ago on that sheet of metal, the one that poured out enough blood to make the flies swarm in thick waves. It’s cold outside, but he feels the perspiration on the back of his neck like he’s back there again. “Hadn’t been there for more than a month. I looked new, you know? Like, not as dirty and tired. Got a lot of shit for it from the other dudes in my battalion. So, I ask the little guy with the dark hair working the canteen if I can be bandaged up.”
Jake chuckles softly, remembering. God, what a pesky thing memory is. It makes him feel like Gentry is still alive somewhere, on some plane. How can he remember him so clearly if he isn’t living, breathing?
“Well, what happened?” You press. You’re grinning, watching Jake’s glassy eyes.
“The asshole grabbed my hand, looked at the wound, told me he wasn’t gonna give me a bandage for a pussy cut. Then he fucking licked it--just, like, licked the cut and the blood and dirt. Spit on it. Told me to get lost,” Jake muses, shaking his head. “I was grossed out. But it stopped the bleeding, which was why he did it.”
“That’s trippy,” you laugh, wrinkling your nose. “And then, what? You fell in love just like that?”
Jake shakes his head. He can see Gentry’s eyes if he thinks hard enough--the way they watched him, the way they were always narrowed.
“I hated him before I loved him,” Jake answers. He tuts, pressing the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “He was gung ho. Knew what he was doing. Liked it. Not the ugly parts, you know, but like the rest of it. He was good at everything. Bastard. We were humping the boonies once and we came up on this hamlet--it was evacuated, deserted. So, we set up camp. Gentry and I ended up in the same hut. He found a bottle of snake wine hidden in one of the rooms, like it was waiting for us or something.”
The glow of the lantern of the little kitchen table, the overturned chairs, the strewn linens. He can remember Gentry emerging from the bedroom, his rifle slung over his shoulder, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He remembers still feeling so guarded around Gentry, stuck on the pussy cut comment. And he remembers that Gentry didn’t care--didn’t even really remember.
“We drank about half of it. Drank ourselves dumb,” Jake says quietly. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, how bitter it was. “He asked why I was giving him the hairy eyeball. I told him it was because of the cut. God, that fucking dick, he didn’t even remember doing that. Like, he was always just so brash with everyone that it didn’t even stick with him. So I showed him the cut on my hand again. You know, just to prove it. And--!”
Jake chokes for a moment, overwhelmed. You hold onto his hand tightly, nuzzling your face against his arm.
He clears his throat.
“He told me it was a pussy cut and I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me. Just held onto it too tight. And then he kissed it--you know, the way parents are supposed to when you fall off the fuckin’ monkey bars?” Jake can remember exactly how warm Gentry’s lips were against his hand, exactly how terrified and intoxicated he was. And how he did not want to move a muscle. “Scared me. Still scares me to think about. I was just some fucking kid from Texas and, you know, down there--folks aren’t friendly about that. Boys kissing boys. But I didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t.”
They made love that night. Jake was scared, but only for a few minutes. It felt like an entirely different world he was in the next morning--one he had never even pondered, one he had never expected to stumble upon.
“And then you fell in love?” Your voice sounds small.
Jake nods.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, we did fall in love. Like a couple of fuckin’ idiots.”
“What’s idiotic about falling in love?”
“War is Hell,” Jake says quietly. He sniffles, wrinkles his nose.
That’s all he says.
“Is love Hell?” You’re asking genuinely--you don’t know.
Jake bites his lip hard. He thinks about Gentry’s laugh--that hard-to-earn, brash, unhurried thing.
“No,” he answers.
That’s all he says.
You stand there for a long time, nuzzling your face against Jake’s arm. You just breathe together, watch the cars go by, watch the headlights flood the busy street. You’re not thinking about the food that’s waiting or the company that’s missing you. You’re just high and standing together, soaking in the present state of the world.
“Cherry?”
You hum.
“Why’d you get sent away?”
You’ve been waiting for someone to ask. You know Rooster wants to. You know he’s too polite to ask for the entire story, that he would never want to overstep. But that’s the difference between Jake and Rooster--Rooster is afraid of the placement of his feet on the earth that he walks upon and Jake likes the way the ground shakes when he walks hard.
“Got caught,” you start softly. You sigh, letting your lungs deflate, letting your shoulders slope. “My brother caught me, the jerk.”
“Got caught doing what?”
“Doing who,” you correct. “John Duke. We just saw a picture and he was dropping me back off on the farm. I don’t know why, but he put his hand under my skirt when we were in the driveway. Made me cum, which he hadn’t ever done before.”
Jake is looking at you now, memorizing the slope of your lips when you frown.
“And they kicked you off the farm for that?”
Laughter punctures the air softly. You lean into Jake further, shaking your head.
“I’m probably the only broad in western Nebraska that’s ever cum,” you breathe, shaking your head. “But my brother, I don’t know if he was out doing barn chores or if he was waiting on me to come home, but he saw what we were doing in the truck. Ripped the door open, pulled me out.”
The ground was frozen when you fell upon it, your skirt pooled by your hips and your eyes squeezed shut tight. Your orgasm was ruined, the frigid air pinching your calves and the tip of your nose.
“Chased John off, not that it took much. Dragged me into the house. Woke my mama and daddy up, told them everything.”
“Jesus,” Jake mutters, biting his lip. “What’d they do?”
“Mama cried. Daddy wouldn’t look at me. My brother, Carlton, was an animal. Screaming, hollering. Punched a hole into the wall by my head when I wouldn’t say sorry.”
You wouldn’t say sorry--that’s what made your brother so angry. You were not sorry at all, not sorry about cumming, not sorry about fucking John Duke. You were thoroughly unapologetic.
“He wanted you to say sorry? For what? Cumming?” Jake scoffs.
In an abstract way, you think that, yes, he did want you to say sorry for cumming. It’s not what respectable young girls do--not in cars, not in skirts, not in the driveway of your parents home.
“Sure,” you answer. “And making my mama upset.”
“What’d your mama do?”
You look down at your heels--these shiny and expensive things that hold you up higher in the world and sculpt your calves.
“Spit on my shoes,” you answer. She had never looked uglier to you than when she did that, her face twisted and her cheeks red and her hair frizzy. “They were ugly things, anyway. Left them at my aunt’s house.”
Jake can’t imagine it, really. He can’t imagine someone looking at you in the throes of an orgasm and being filled with venom. He can’t imagine gazing upon your beauty, the kind of beauty that is just there and keeps growing the longer someone looks at you, and hating you.
“Well,” Jake starts. He crouches down suddenly, presses against your belly until you’re flat against the brick wall. You grin down at him as he pulls your leg and lets your heel rest against his shoulder. He strokes your calf, biting his lip. “Now you’re here and your mama’s shoveling chicken shit.”
Your lips tingle.
“Karma, right?” You breathe.
Your mama’s gonna shovel chicken shit until she dies.
Jake kisses your ankle.
“Right.”
You pull him up and wrap your arms around him. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, just embracing. You’re so glad that you know him, so glad that you’re high and standing outside this restaurant with him. You really do love him--you love everyone.
But then Jake kisses the top of your head a few times, grinning, sighing. He squeezes you, letting the weight of the conversation roll off his back.
“Wanna know what they call a new soldier? The one that ain’t seen nothing yet?”
You two start for the door, your cheek still pressed against his body.
“What?” You ask, smiling.
“Cherry,” he answers.
He holds your hand. And when you begin to feel around for the scar, that seam, he feels it. But he doesn’t say anything. He lets you find it. It feels good to be stroked by gentle fingers.
When you come back into the restaurant, you come up behind Bob and pepper a few exuberant kisses across his pale pink cheeks and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Bob is surprised, but he’s grinning as he holds onto your forearms. He’s overwhelmed by your sweet scent, overwhelmed with your kisses and your touch.
“Baby, let’s order another round,” you sigh into Bob’s skin. He smells very clean--like he’s only just stepped out of a shower and into your arms. “As your resolution officer and confidant, I must insist. You jive with that?”
Bob nods, grinning.
Rooster watches from his spot, smoking a cigar now. It’s peculiar, really. He likes watching you love up on other people, especially friends. He feels like you were the world’s best kept secret, holed up in some landlocked state. You’re where you belong, spreading all that love. But still, even if he feels like you should be doing this, he wishes it were him you were wrapped around. He wants to be the one you’re kissing and hugging, the one you’re breathing into.
Jake settles in across from Rooster, his pupils blown.
When they catch each other’s gazes, Jake’s brows knit slightly.
“What?” He asks,
Rooster shrugs, taking a long drag.
“Nothing,” Rooster says.
Jake settled into his seat, tearing a piece of bread and throwing it in his mouth.
“You look like you wanna say something,” Jake insists.
Rooster shakes his head.
Jake glances at you; you’re still wrapped around Bob, smothering him with love as a waiter writes down your drink orders. Bob looks delighted and terrified.
“We’ve gotta take care of her, man,” Jake says. He isn’t sure that Rooster has heard him at first--he isn’t really sure if he wants Rooster to hear him. “She’s our people now.”
But he does. And he knows. He knows that they have to take care of you.
“I know,” Rooster says.
It’s late whenever you get home, Rooster and Jake following behind you as you walk into the house. You’re all a bit drunk now, giggly and handsy. Everything feels soft and bleary, very good and very exciting.
“Cocktails?” Bradley asks, watching you kick off your heels and float to the turntable.
“Heavy on the cock,” you tease.
“Heavy on the tail,” Jake follows, smacking your rear as he passes you on his way to flop down on the couch.
The night passes on seamlessly. Records spin and cocktails flow. You play card games and take a few puffs of Rooster’s cigar, let Jake rub some more coke on your gums. Rooster feels good, loose--but he won’t take a bump, even when you stick your bottom lip out and beg. He won’t slip back into that, won’t put himself back in that place. And he wants to stay an inkling more sober than you, wants to have only a bit of a clearer mind, in case you need something. In case you need anything--even if it’s just to lay your head on his lap and have him stroke your hair.
It’s nearly two in the morning now.
The house is lit a warm orange, casting a grainy glow over everything that is precious: the tufted sofa, the expensive coffee table, the empty cocktail glasses, the playing cards strewn about, the woven rug.
Last Dance by Donna Summer is spinning on the record table now and you’re dancing with Jake, after he sprang to his feet and tugged you to your feet. Rooster is sunken into the sofa, still nursing a beer, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you grind against Jake.
You’re in a state of ecstasy, really--every nerve in your body is glowing with excitement, your belly sloshing with alcohol and coke coursing through your veins. Your hair is wild and your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. Every breath that you breathe is sitting between a moan and laughter, the good kind that makes your ribs ache.
“I think we’re the best boogiers in Los Angeles,” you breathe out, grinning. Your back is pressed against Jake’s front and your arms are above you as Jake firmly holds onto your hips and guides your rear against his crotch. “Rooster, aren’t we the greatest dancers in California?”
Rooster’s chest is tight watching your breasts bounce in your slinky dress.
He swallows hard.
“Sure are, kid,” he answers.
“Tell me you love me,” you whimper to Jake, eyes screwed shut.
“I love you, Cherry-berry,” Jake says breathlessly. He’s hard--he knows you can feel it. He moves to spread his hand across your lower belly, letting the flat of his palm grip you there. He tugs you against him and the two of you are impossibly closer now. “Fuck, you’re so foxy.”
You’re grinning, still moving, letting the music sink into your eardrums and vibrate the soft, pink parts of your brain. You swear that even the music is tickling a part of you that you once thought only men could.
“Rooster,” you moan, letting your head lull until your heavy eyes are gazing upon Rooster on the sofa. He’s sitting there, all broad and bleary-eyed, his legs spread and his palm over his hardening cock. “Tell me you love me.”
Jake hastily pushes the wispy hair from your throat and starts pressing fiery kisses along all that sensitive, delicate skin. When a broken moan tumbles from your lips, the sound vibrates Rooster’s cock. Fuck, he’s fully hard now.
“Tell her you love her, man,” Jake insists, nibbling your throat. “She deserves it, huh? Sweet thing like her.”
You bury your fingers in Jake’s shaggy locks, tugging softly. As quickly as he can, being as drunk as he is, he grabs all the fabric of your dress and hikes it up until it’s pinned at your hips. Then he dips his fingers between your legs and lets his two middle fingers press against your mound through the red lace panties you have on.
“Fuck,” Rooster grunts, mouth watering at the very sight of your thighs. He knows what that precious flesh feels like beneath his mouth, his hands, his tongue. He wants it now, but he can’t move from his spot. He’s stuck still, watching Jake touch you. “I love you, kid.”
You’re moaning now, mewling. And it isn’t just because Jake is rubbing you just right through your panties, but because Rooster loves you. Yes, he loves you and you love him. You feel perfect and the music is just right and everyone loves you and you love everyone.
Jake, who’s panting against your throat, suddenly bends down and steadies you with his hands on your hips when you stumble. He rips your panties off your legs, helps you step out of them, then throws them behind him without a second thought. They land unceremoniously on some of the playing cards strewn about the table.
Rooster’s throat is dry, his cock straining against his trousers. Fuck. It’s torturous watching this--but it feels so good, too. He knows, somehow, that he’ll have a turn with you. You never forget about him.
But since you’re occupied right now, Rooster fists the panties in his hands, holds them close. He can feel how wet you are, how much you dripped in your underwear.
Jake unzips your dress and you shimmy out of it, leaving the orange paisley thing in a heap before you. You’re totally naked now, still moving your body along to the music, grinning, moaning when Jake starts to feverishly press kisses along the supple kiss of your ass.
Rooster’s heart is racing. You look like an angel--naked, basked in an orange glow.
“Turn around,” Jake commands.
You do as you’re told, still grinning.
And without further ado, Jake hikes your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt. He devours you truly--lapping at your folds and sucking and nipping the sensitive bud nestled at the top of your cunt like he didn’t just have a four course meal. It’s almost forceful, the pleasure that washes over your body. It immediately reddens the skin of your chest and throat.
“How wet are you, baby?” Rooster asks.
He unbuttons his pants, breath quivering as he lets his hand slip into his pants. He’s throbbing--for you. Fuck, he feels like he’s back in high school, like you’re some girl he has a little crush on.
With your hands buried in Jake’s hair and your head tipped all the way back, you moan your response to Rooster and let it echo through the cavernous house.
“I’m so fucking wet, Roo.”
Just your name falling from your bitten lips sends his hands straight into his briefs. God, he hasn’t touched himself like this in a long time. He doesn’t need to masturbate, not when his job is literally fucking. He usually doesn’t even allow himself this, wants to save it all for the camera, but fuck. He feels like he can’t even control himself right now. He palms himself, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, his chest growing warm.
Jake is moaning against you, wrapping his arms around you, cupping your cheeks, and pulling you flush against his flat tongue. He feels like he could do this forever--lap your nectar, touch your skin, bury his fingers in your ass.
“Fuck,” you whine, grinding yourself against Jake’s lips. “Feels so good, cowboy. Fuck, keep going.”
Rooster quickly brings his hand to his mouth, spits, then lets it slide back into his pants. His cock is painfully hard--hot to the touch. And as he watches your face flush with pleasure, as you cry out and press your hips against Jake’s mouth. You want to be as close as close can be and he wants you as close as you can get.
But you hear a noise--a small strangled one. And you turn and there is Rooster, that big and beautiful man, touching himself at the very sight of another man getting you off. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded and he’s slowly pumping himself, his pants still on.
“C’mere, baby,” you insist, nodding towards him. “I’ll take care of you.”
And dammit if Rooster doesn’t feel like he’s floating as he stands up from the sofa and comes behind you. You’re kissing him immediately, moaning into his mouth as his cock presses against your rear. His tongue is in your mouth and he tastes like beer and you taste like orange juice.
You let your hand fall to his cock, languidly palming him through his pants, still gasping and moaning as Jake sucks your clit. And before you even really know what’s happening, Rooster is snaking his hand between your thighs and pressing two fingers inside you. You’re wet, maybe wetter than you’ve ever been, and he slides into you with ease. Jake doesn’t mind--just holds you tighter and focuses on your clit and his own throbbing cock.
“Oh, fuck,” you curse against Rooster’s mouth. “Mmm, Roo. Oh.”
He feels like this is what his fingers were made for--dipping into your cunt, being coated in your click, forcing those little mewls from your pretty mouth. And you feel like your hand was made for his cock, made for wrapping around it and pumping, made for inspiring sweat on Rooster’s hairline.
“We gonna make you cum, baby?” Rooster asks breathlessly.
He cups your chin, holds your throat in place so he can kiss it. He’s still pumping his fingers inside you, curling them, letting his bicep rest against your back.
“Please,” you babble, swallowing dryly. “Fucking make me cum.”
Hangman pulls away for just a second, just long enough to nibble your thighs and dig his fingers into your flesh.
“Manners,” he pants.
“Please,” you squeak. “Please, please, please.”
They both know you mean it, too. You’re desperate.
That only inspires them to move quicker, with more haste.
And a few moments later, with Rooster holding your throat and fucking you with his thick fingers and Jake gripping your hips and mercilessly sucking your clit, you’re thrown into the throes of an overpowering orgasm. It’s the kind that makes your entire body convulse and shiver, the kind that renders you helpless against the intense beams of pleasure that puncture your skin.
Once they see that you’ve had enough, that you’re dangerously close to being overstimulated, they stop. Jake kisses your thighs roughly, making quick work of unbuttoning his pants and ripping off his shirt.
But Rooster is still kissing your mouth, stroking your throat lightly as he anchors himself against your hip. He can’t get enough of you--sweet, sweet Cherry. He loves the way your tongue moves against his, the way you’re letting your weight rest against him. He’s holding you up--your legs are quivering. He’s got you. You know it and so does he.
“Y’alright, kid?” He asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.
Your hand, still wrapped around his cock, hasn’t ceased in its gentle pumps. You nod, swallowing hard. The very lining of your belly is quivering, quaking.
“She’s perfect,” Jake says, naked now. He kisses each of your knees and then buries his face in your belly. “Right, honey?”
You hum, nodding again.
There’s no conversation about how it’s going to happen: it just does.
Jake lays flat on his back on the woven rug, his mind spinning and his jaw aching. You hover him, kissing his thighs feverishly and digging your manicured nails into the meat of his legs. He’s already gasping, his chest heaving. Beautiful, shiny beads of precum dribble from the swollen head of his cock as you tease him and puff warm breaths onto him.
You like seeing him like this--all worked up, his mustache mussed by your wetness. He’s grabbing fistfuls of the carpet and peering down at you, pupils blown, waiting for your mouth to meet his cock.
“Fuck, don’t be a tease,” Jake hisses. “Please, baby, I’m hurtin’ over here.”
And Rooster is behind you, letting his palm follow the curve of your spine as he pumps himself a few times. You’re fucking beautiful--so beautiful that he almost came through his pants just listening to you cum. But he’s lucky--he is the one that gets to bury himself in you, the one that gets to spill himself deep inside of you.
You lower your mouth onto Jake’s cock and finally--finally--he has a bit of relief. He’s so worked up that he thinks he might shoot his load right away, directly down your throat. But he holds off, groaning, screwing his eyes shut. Your tongue is warm and flat, flicking against the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock, as you coat him in saliva.
“Oh, Cherry,” Jake mutters, bucking his hips up and into your mouth.
That’s the precise moment that Rooster presses into you. It’s slow, grueling--he takes his time, makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock as he glides into your body. And just like always, he feels like you’re made for him. You take him so easily, welcome him into your body, let his cock bury itself deep inside of you.
“Taking me so well, baby,” Rooster mutters, holding the bend of your hips as he bottoms out. You moan, your throat constricting around Jake’s cock. Jake curses, bites down hard on his knuckle. “That’s it.”
Rooster stays still, just letting you squeeze him, letting you get used to his size. You’re so wet that you feel like you’re going to start dripping onto the carpet, so wet that you feel like you might just turn inside out.
If your mouth wasn’t full of cock, you would beg Rooster to move. The way he’s filling you up, the way his thumbs are rubbing precious little circles on the surface of your skin, you feel like you aren’t gonna last.
But you keep bobbing your head, keep sucking Jake’s cock as he moans and sighs above you. Pink has spread across his chest and he’s puffing out his breaths in short, labored tufts.
“Feel so good, baby,” Rooster croons softly.
He leans down, lets his chest rest on your back. He’s warm, his chest expansive, and the heaviness of his body is a welcome one. He’s lulled to a steady peace by your movements, letting his lips come down on your shoulders again and again in tender kisses.
Then he moves. Just soft, slow movements. He barely pulls out, keeping his arms wrapped around your middle, as he rocks himself into you. He stays close, keeps his lips against you. And when you tense around him, when you moan around Jake’s cock, all three of you hiss with pleasure.
“Shit,” Jake groans. “Oh, fuck, keep doing whatever you’re doing, man. Feels fucking great when she moans.”
You moan again and Jake throws his head back, tangling his hands in your hair.
Rooster is still fucking you slowly, his chest hollowed out with pure pleasure. Jesus, he feels like he’s on another planet right now.
You’re moaning, crying out, still sucking Jake off.
Jake is close to the edge already, gasps dying in his throat as he steadily begins to thrust himself further into your mouth. Drool is pouring out of your mouth and tears are pouring down your face.
But what sends him over the edge is when you choke, when your mouth is tight around him and you cough as he hits the soft flesh of your throat.
“Oh, fuck,” Jake mutters, voice thin. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”
He does cum, crying out, eyes squeezed shut. He spurts down your throat, bitter and hot, and you swallow every single drop of it. And when he’s coming down, when you’re taking your mouth away from his cock, he holds your cheeks.
“Good job, baby,” he tells you. He strokes your hair as you cry out, Rooster still steadily pounding into you with precise flicks of his hips. “Oh, you’re doing her just right, Rooster. Can’t hardly speak.”
Your eyes are shut tight, your toes curling. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure, like it’s raining down on you from all directions. You can hardly breathe as Rooster suckles on your skin.
“Doing so good, baby,” Rooster encourages, voice quivering. He’s approaching his high, too, trying to keep his pace from faltering. “Think you can cum again, Cherry. Think I can get you there.”
Wordlessly, Jake slinks down until his mouth is on yours. You’re open-mouthed kissing now, tasting yourself on his tongue, whimpering. He’s holding onto your hair still, pulling very softly, keeping you close to him.
As Rooster lets one of his hands snake between your legs again, his fingers swirling on your swollen bud, your entire body tenses. Jake keeps kissing you, keeps pulling your hair. And then he starts tweaking your nipple, cupping your breast in his palms.
“I’m gonna cum,” you say, legs quaking. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You’re gasping, sobbing out.
“Give it to me, baby,” Rooster whispers, voice gruff. He kisses the back of your neck, jaw tense as his own orgasm creeps up his spine. “C’mon, Cherry. Cum on my cock, baby. GIve it to me.”
You do--you can’t take it anymore. With a sheen of sweat covering your naked body, you cum for the second time with both Bradley and Jake stimulating you. It’s more overpowering than your last orgasm--the kind that makes your legs clamp shut, the kind that sends your body into a rigid sort of shock. You go blind and deaf for a few moments, honing back in on the present as Rooster’s thrusts become sloppy before he finishes inside you, buried deep.
As you pant, Rooster collapses on your back and Jake combs his fingers through your hair softly, you swear that you hear angels singing.
But, really, it’s just Donna Summer.
Rooster can hardly breathe as he lays on your back, his mind reeling. That’s the best sex he’s ever had in his life--and the first threesome he’s ever had off-camera.
Jake is laughing softly, watching you recover. There are tears pouring down your face, all born from white-hot pleasure. Little flakes of mascara are running down your flushed cheeks. Tenderly, he thumbs them away.
You nuzzle yourself against Jake’s palm, trying to slow your breathing.
“You okay, kid?” Rooster asks, squeezing your hips.
You swallow hard, a smile tugging at your lips.
“More than,” you answer. “I’m perfect.”
☿ 𝐚/𝐧: okay sorry for going so fucking ham on the Gentry/Jake thing but I just saw it so clearly in my brain and had to write it out and break my own heart!!???!? sorry love you guys so much!! your comments/reblogs literally make me so happy!!!
☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠
☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬
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