sstan-hoe

[sstan-hoe]

offers

pairing: joel miller x f!sex worker!reader

wc: 5.2k

summary: Joel comes back to you like clockwork. He has a proposition for you.

part 1 & 2 to cherry

warnings: age gap (20s/50s), smut [f!receiving oral, semi-public car sex], praise kink, reader is a sex worker, protective and defensive Joel, misogyny, smoking (reader), reader briefly soliciting a man who is not Joel and is fairly degrading to her (they don't sleep together), poverty and issues and dangers that come along with that, mentions of hunger and eating, mentions of violence and self destructive tendencies, very hurriedly edited

a/n: please let me know what you think! thank you for reading!

Joel becomes your regular. 

Each Friday, you shimmy into a too short dress and make the long drive out to the club, far enough away from the town you live and work in to avoid anyone you might know. 

You smoke, and drive with the windows down, listening to the ancient rattle of the engine, the whine that sounds like a threat, the slow buckling of delicate machinery. 

The very last thing you can afford is a mechanic. The tenuous tightrope you walk would snap beneath your feet, send you plummeting into the abyss of true financial disaster. 

It makes you sick, a curl of dread settling in your chest, writhing in the pit of your stomach along with all your other woes, until you turn on the radio to drown out the thoughts, drown out the sound of the failing engine. 

One wrong move and your whole life collapses before your eyes. The shame that wells up into the back of your throat is debilitating, to have to return home and look your mother in the eyes and say she was right, going to school was a fool’s dream, a mistake that could fill oceans of other worlds. 

So each Friday, you swing through the doors of the club, little red purse on your shoulder, fingers adjusting the hem of your dress that barely covers your ass, ready to work. 

Since meeting Joel, things have been a little easier. He tips well and you’ve been able to afford better groceries, have time to relax on Saturdays because you don’t need to work again. 

He pays you so much, you feel guilty for accepting it. Then nauseated because you’d fucked him for it, and finally shame for the whole terrible cycle. Guilt for being paid, when he was the one seeking out a whore in the first place. 

Still, he’s gallant compared to most and you don’t dare to let yourself assume Joel will be there. 

But each Friday, Joel is already there, patiently waiting for you at the bar like he never left in the first place. 

The static edges of your brain immediately settle, your worries fade from your mind. It gives you one less thing to fret over. Joel is familiar now. You know how to handle him, what he probably wants you to say and do, what gets him off the quickest, what he enjoys the most. 

You don’t have to try on a new personality, carefully consider and construct each word you speak, be the fantasy they want for a few hours. 

With Joel that all sloughs away. You don’t have to think for the next few hours. 

You aren’t willing to admit to yourself that you hardly put up a front with Joel. Often, the real parts of you unspool in his lap, your real worries and fears, desires and wants. He satisfies you like no man ever has, and you’ve told him things you don’t dare speak aloud in your real life. 

Crystal chastises you, reminds you of the few things she’d taught you, the few rules that get her through this life unscathed, the first night you tossed yourself to the wolves and got burned. 

They’re all the same. And if you start to think a man isn’t, he’ll just disappoint you. Her brow had lifted, lips puckering around a cigarette. Or break your heart. 

Chastity, on the other hand, seems to think you’re in the beginnings of a Pretty Woman situation. She’s a romantic and not yet broken, peering out at the world through rose colored glasses, even here. 

She encourages you. Even keeps Joel company until you get there some evenings, when you’re late on purpose just to see what he’ll do, half hoping sometimes that Crystal will smile and say someone else took him home with a knowing glint in her eyes.

But he’s always there, waiting patiently, guiding you out with a hand softly laid against your back, finger tracing your spine. 

This evening, Joel is nowhere to be seen. 

You’ve stalled long enough that Crystal stopped by the bar. She’d dug her nails into your arm and cautioned you again against relying on one man, smoke from her cigarette billowing into your face. “What are you going to do? Go home empty handed and cry? He isn’t here. Get over it and get on your knees.” 

You’d shaken her off roughly. “I’m deciding.” 

“Baby this is the busiest we’ve been in months. Take your fucking pick, huh?” Her cigarette ash had landed on your arm before she spun away, angry for god knows what reason. 

Five minutes have passed since then, time allotted to yourself to cool down and stop the shaking in your hands, overstimulated from the amount of people in the room, Crystal’s closeness. 

The room sways with heat, bodies jostling in cresting waves around you, bathed in unholy red light, neon and flashing. One of the dancers takes her top off and the din of men roaring at her makes something better ignored twists in your gut. 

Before you can go work the crowd, a man sidles up to the bar, a beer bottle already in hand. You don’t look at him but you can feel his gaze, appraising, assessing. 

You can’t wait any longer than you already have for Joel so you push your chest out and squeeze in your elbows. You let out a dreamy little sigh that sounds more like a moan, so your tits lift and fall, strain against the neck of your top. 

The neckline of your dress is low, plunging between your breasts, already not much left to the imagination. 

“Well, look at you. You don’t look like you’ve been run through yet.” 

Men have said much worse to you. The disgust you feel barely registers, so it doesn’t show on your face, in your body language. 

Not that he would notice if it did. 

Instead, you assess him quickly. 

What kind of woman did he want you to be? More like what kind of girl. He clearly thinks you’re young, maybe new to the job, naive even. 

You giggle and turn toward him, fluttering your lashes. “Am I being that obvious?” 

“Nah,” his eyes flick over you, hungry and wolfish in the dim, ruby light. “I’m just no stranger to a whore. How old are you, honey?” 

Joel had once asked you the same question, though in a different tone, an agonizing, guilty one. This man clearly has no such qualms. 

The back of his free hand presses into your thigh, sliding back and forth over your skin. His touch feels wrong, after so many weeks with only one man, too warm and a little damp and uncomfortable.

His hand looks ancient against your skin, leathery and unforgiving; the skin between the fingers dry and cracked. 

Joel’s broad palms flit to the forefront of your mind, the familiar creases and grooves, scarred and seasoned and skilled. You dream of those hands, long for their firm touch on your skin, between your legs and in your mouth.

You like the way Joel’s hands look against your skin, aged by not old. 

You push Joel from your mind and keep your eyes down, blinking shyly. Nineteen year old you, new to this, embarrassed at being called a whore maybe. “Just turned nineteen last week.”

“Well happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

You giggle again and fidget a little when he curls his hand around your leg, then shifts his fingers to the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. Testing you, seeing if you’d squirm.

You do a little and he grins. “You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly and turn toward him. “I could, um, I could make you feel good too?” 

“Aw,” he lifts his hand to run a finger along your cheek, the edge of your mouth. “How many men you fucked so far?”

You count on your fingers, pretending to think. In your peripheral vision, you watch his grin grow. “Four? So far. But one of them fucked me a couple times.” Your voice is bright, a little defensive of your single digit number. 

“Only need one hand to count ‘em all up? You are green, girl.” 

He releases his beer and runs his finger along the bust of your dress. Crimson light pulses over his face, convulsive and metamorphic. His touch makes your skin crawl, beads of moisture slip over his fingers and onto your skin. 

It’s unpleasant to say the least. The wooden bar feels far away and sticky beneath your elbow, his touch rough and demanding when he gropes you, pinching your nipple. 

You moan quietly, biting your lip until he releases you.  “Oh, I guess so.” 

This corner of the bar is dark, and although the club is packed, there’s a breadth of space between you and the next person at the bar. It’s clear he wants to look at your tits, so you turn toward him, your back to the crowd, and push your chest into his hands. 

“And so fuckin’ sweet,” his hand trails higher on your leg. A familiar floating feeling overcomes you, your mind slipping away from your body, the comfortable distance your mind provides from the world. Only distantly do you realize you haven’t felt that with Joel in awhile. “You wanna suck my cock and I’ll be your lucky number five?” 

“Yes,” you murmur.

He laughs and squeezes you hard. “How much you cost?”

You open your mouth when you catch sight of a familiar shadow across the room. Joel, ever faithful, apparently, just a little late.

Dizzying relief washes over you, followed by a self loathing so intense you feel it curdle and squirm in your belly.”

You widen your eyes at him, then glance away. If you want me, come get me. 

The man next to you doesn’t notice, too busy staring at your chest, sliding one finger beneath the neck of your dress, pinching your bare nipple when he gets to it, muttering in your ear about fucking you right here, showing everyone what a little slut you are. His breath is hot on your skin. 

A shadow falls over you. 

“Howdy, Cherry.” 

“Joel!” You jerk back in feigned surprise. 

The man releases you reluctantly, hand sliding back from your leg and chest. Your chest feels sore from his clumsy ministrations and not in a pleasant way. “Oh god,” you say, clasping the man’s hand against the counter. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot I was meeting Joel.” You roll your eyes, the picture of a too ditzy girl. 

“Well, now, honey, see, we already agreed—”

The shadow looming over you seems to grow thicker. Joel’s hand slots firmly against your back. 

The man clears his throat, “Hey all right, I get it.” He looks at you again, one last soul sucking appraisal. “I’ll find you some other time then, baby.” His hand lands on your ass and squeezes before he pulls away.

Joel starts to turn after him, but you hook a hand against his elbow. “No. Don’t, please. That’s just part of it.” 

“He ain’t got the—” 

“Joel.” 

He meets your gaze, eyes flicking over you, assessing for a long moment. “All right. You okay?” 

“Of course I am,” you dismiss. 

You tuck your hand in his elbow and tilt your head toward the door. But he doesn’t budge. “I’m serious.” 

You blink. “So am I, sweetheart. That was nothing.”

“Nothin’,” he scoffs and shakes his head, but gently guides you ahead of him. 

Joel walks you across the crowded club as he has for many, many weeks in a row now. Too many weeks. You feel the penetrating, disapproving gaze of Crystal on your back.

No doubt she saw him start to turn, how defensive the slope of his shoulders have been. It scares you a little, too, that he apparently feels that protective over you. A bigger part of you likes it, feels safe in the cup of his palm. 

The air outside is hot, penetrating in its humidity but not stifling with the acrid tang of sweat and wanting bodies. Spring had long since transitioned to summer. Even there, in the desolation of the long concreted strip of this poor industrial area, you can hear the songs of night bugs. 

“Not everyone is as gentlemanly as you, as I’ve been telling you for many months,” you remind him. “That’s just how they are. They want to treat me like a whore and I let them.” 

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight, and for a moment he doesn’t answer. “Yeah,” he acquiesces when you reach his passenger side door. “Don’t mean it’s right.”

“Remember the night we met? And I said if you were a different kind of man I’d say I was freshly eighteen?” 

“Yeah,” he answers warily. 

You lean against the side of the truck. “Well, he’s that kind of man, sweetheart.”

He’d wanted to defile you, make you feel the grimy life you’d entered into. The worse part was, as used to it as you were, it still would have stung. He still would have made you feel like trash. 

Joel doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze persistent in sweeping you from head to toe and back again. You wish he wouldn’t have seen what he did, because it seems to have unsettled him. He buzzes with a violent, rattled energy. “I didn’t like seein’ him touch you like that.” 

Your stomach sours, a pit opening up that your anxiety plummets through. Fuck. You’re ruined in eyes. Can’t pretend you’re anything other than what you are now. 

“I’m sorry you had to,” you breathe. “Really. I thought you weren’t coming. I’m saving to fix my car so—”

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t what I meant.” 

You blink. “What do you mean?”  

He opens the door for you, and, like always, gives you a palm to balance on as you settle into the cab. 

The answer never comes. 

Instead of shutting the door and moving back around the cab, he braces one thick forearm against the open door, and looks you over. Joel hooks his opposite hand against the back of your knee, thumb rubbing a soft circle into the flesh. 

You reach for him, untucking the hem of his shirt from his jeans to run your fingers along his belly, the indents of hidden hipbones. You get as far as unbuttoning his jeans when his free hand captures both of yours. “Hold up. I need to. . .We gotta talk.” 

“Oh?” 

“How do you—” He stops and thinks for a moment and you wait, touching him lightly again when he releases your hands. Joel’s skin is warm against your hands, sweat beading on his sides in the heat. 

You tuck your fingers in the waistband of his jeans. His face is shadowed and hard to read. “What? Whatever it is, I want to give it to you.” 

“Ain’t that,” he says, breath hitching a little. He coils his fingers around your wrists and holds them still. You let your fingers go slack in his and he squeezes. “Hell with it,” he mutters, glancing up at you to search your eyes. You tilt your head, waiting. “I worry about you damn near all the time and—”

A bright red flag swings up in your mind and you bristle, hackles raising. You keep your voice sugary sweet anyway. “Do I need to remind you of what this is? I’m not your girlfriend, Joel—”

“I know.” He interrupts, thumb tracking back and forth over the back of your hand. It sparks a confusing warmth. “That isn’t what I meant. We go through this song and dance every week, me comin’ here and pretending like we don’t know what’s about to happen.” He shakes his head and doesn’t continue, eyes fastened to the ground for a long moment as he thinks. 

His jaw works, muscle straining in his throat. Sweat beads in the hollow and you wish more than anything to taste him, sweep your tongue up his throat, feel the bristles of his beard on your lips. 

You meet his gaze and hold it for a long moment when he glances back up, deciding that you believe him, that he understands. “Say it,” you murmur softly, sitting up so your faces are close together, his breath falling over your lips. “Tell me.” 

The muscle in his cheek twitches, fingers tightening on your wrists, like you might disappear once the words flood out. “I want you to come to the hotel, stop comin’ to this godforsaken place. Just come to me.” 

“You’re asking for—you want. . .exclusivity?”

“I guess so,” he sighs, slowly releasing your hand to rub his jaw slowly, nodding almost to himself. “I’ll send you money every Friday, even if I can’t make it out here. Book the hotel, so you can still get away if you need to. If you need somethin’ I want you to tell me. For groceries, rent, hell, I can get your car fixed—”

He seems in no mood to stop talking for once, so you cut him off, shock rolling through your body from head to toe. Already the lines between you are blurred, twisted together into something more than just paid for sex.

This is something else altogether. Uncharted, dangerous waters. 

“Joel, wait, hold on. I think. . . you’re describing a sugarbaby,” you point out and he winces. “I don’t mean to offend you, but can you afford something like that?”

“You don’t gotta worry about that.” 

“Kinda do,” you say, tilting your head to keep his eyes on yours. “It’s, like, the whole point.” 

“I mean I’m good for it.” 

You eye him, still unsure. You like Joel, but you aren’t stupid enough to trust any man at his word. “Are you serious?” 

He dips his head. “Yeah.” 

It’s a much more intimate and personal, formal, arrangement. How much he would expect from you, what he would pay you?

You say as much. 

“I know. We got things to talk about. For now, would ya consider it?”

“Yes.” The agreement jumps out of you before you can stop it. There’s no harm, you tell yourself, no harm in thinking about it, talking about it. 

Joel slides his broad, warm, achingly familiar palm up your thigh instead, leaving your fingers hooked into his belt. You stroke your thumbs there, and his breath catches, sways in the warm breeze around you. 

It’s quiet for a long moment. The lot is desolate around you, the buzz, pop, and flicker of the streetlamp at the corner, the distant hum of traffic on the main road, and the ever present hum of cicadas your only company. 

“Well, okay. Good.” 

Your favorite word on his tongue, the sweet caress of it lodging in your belly, wanting. 

“Do you want me to start calling you daddy?” 

He chuckles, the sound pleasant and surprised, like a balm to your worry. 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” His eyes slide over you, hook into your gaze as his fingers trail up the inside of your thigh. “Don’t mean much, but I’m sorry for being late.” 

“It means something. I really didn’t want to suck that guy’s dick.” You pluck at his belt buckle again, but leave it in place when his shoulders go still. “You want to tell me about it, sweetheart? Why you were late?” 

He pushes you back across the seats, the leather is warm against the wings of your shoulders. The encroaching darkness paints him in shadow, hands warmer than the humid air when they press your knees wide. “This is what I want.” 

“Okay.”

Joel looks up at you, then around the deserted parking lot. Some of the lust clears from his gaze.

“This parking lot has seen much worse, Joel.”

You get the sense that he’s forcibly letting go, unfurling, untangling the hesitation. You spread your legs wider, trying to show him it’s fine, you don’t mind. It’s not like you have a whole lot of honor to defend in any case, and the parking lot is deserted besides 

He leans over you, huge in the door of the truck, imposing.

Thick fingers tug your underwear to the side, slide through the folds of your pussy, already damp. “C’mere,” he says, the slurred word like a command, arm threading behind your back to tilt your hips in his direction. 

The position is slightly uncomfortable until Joel squeezes your thigh and shifts your leg a little, bent against the seatback. 

His gaze locks on yours, intense and dark, one finger pushing into your slowly. 

Heat blooms in your chest, travels to your throat to lie there in a thick heap. He slides a second finger into you, treading now familiar ground inside you. His fingers move at an agonizingly slow pace, building up the pulsing heat inside you. His face is shadowed, brows tugged down over his eyes in concentration. 

You arch your back, a moan caught in your throat when he strokes your walls, thumb heavy against your clit, messily trailing back and forth across your pussy. 

He fucks you slowly, watching your face until you squeeze your eyes closed and roll your hips against his hand, back arched against the seat. 

You gasp when he presses his mouth to your cunt, lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking before he sucks harshly. 

You comb one hand through his hair, blinking down at him to watch him finger you, eat your pussy like a starved man. He groans quietly when you pull his hair, short locks falling through your fingers softly. 

He grips your ass and pulls you closer, encouraging you to close your legs around his head. 

The warm weight of an orgasm curls in your gut, twinning around your spine, reaching feathered hands between your ribs, a sharp contrast to the way his facial hair feels on your thighs, a rough burn that you adore. 

He’s patient about drawing it out, taking it slowly from you, to wind your pleasure around his fingers like puppet strings.

Joel groans against you when your cunt pulses around his fingers, the pleasure he gives you like a slow moving storm, a gradual blooming through your veins, body straining to keep his mouth against you, until it passes and exhaustion replaces it. 

His tongue sweeps through your folds, he retracts his fingers and you shiver when you feel his tongue dip inside you instead. Only when you whine does he pull away, swiping his fingers on a napkin in the door. 

You sit up slowly and adjust your skirt, flip down the vizor to glance at your face. There’s something in your features that you like and don’t like, like you’re freshly fucked but, rosy eyed too, virginal.

It’s terrible. 

Maybe Crystal is right and you’re playing with fire, asking to be ruined, but you don’t care. Not at that moment. 

“Are you at the same hotel?” You ask, just to say something, snapping the mirror closed with a bit more force than you mean to. 

“Yeah, same place as always.” 

You lean forward and reach up to swipe your thumb against the seam of his lips instead of lingering on whatever you saw in your own face. “Did you think I’d agree?” You ask, pulling your hand away, sucking your thumb into your own mouth for just a second, to taste yourself from his mouth.  

“I was feelin’ optimistic we’d, uh, spend the night together even if you told me to fuck off,” he answers, sounding distinctly flustered. The blue night air crests in gentle waves around his features. Nighttime seems to soften him. 

You smile, “Well I still haven’t really said yes.”

“Yeah,” he nods, patting your thigh, tongue running over his bottom lip. “But I got a good feelin’. You hungry?” 

“Hungry?” The word is foreign to you. You can’t remember the last time someone asked you if you were hungry. And the truth is you really are. You’ve been short on groceries for days and you can’t spare the money for that sort of thing. “I, uh—” 

“Yes or no?” The question is gentle. “And I’m payin’. Clear?” 

This is what he wants, you realize. Someone to take care of. The realization smarts, you aren’t good at being taken care of. 

This is what you’ll have to deal with, if you say yes to him. 

A fist closes around your lungs. The word is hard to produce for a long moment. “Yeah, I am.” 

“Good.” Joel stokes your thigh again. “Good girl.” He pulls back and closes the door, leaving you momentarily disoriented. It feels as though your whole world has spun on its side with one question. 

The drive is an exceptionally short one. It doesn’t even give you time to offer to blow him. 

Five minutes down the highway, a lone shack sits at the side of the road. Yellow and pink neon light blinks down at you, an electric buzz in the air as Joel parks and you stand in line together. It’s the first time you’ve been in public with him somewhere other than the club. 

Does he want everything that usually comes along with a sugarbaby? Paying for you and fucking, sure. But being out in public together? The companionship aspect? 

You watch him, wondering if you want it. Wondering if you aren’t already living some part of it. Crystal’s words flash through your mind again. 

“So, what’re you thinkin’ about?” 

Joel is squinting at the sign, bathed in a pink glow. Your legs still feel shaky from his mouth and fingers and something in your belly clenches at the sight of him just standing there. 

You peer at the menu with more ease than Joel seems to manage. “Need me to read it to you?” You ask, digging an elbow into his ribs softly. 

“Ain’t that old.”

They have ice cream, which seems to be what most people have ordered. But you need real food, something that won’t make you sick after a bite or two on an empty stomach. “Fries. And a cherry coke.” 

“Cherry, huh?” He slides an arm behind your back and squeezes your hip. Aside from a middle aged woman that glances at you sharply, no one pays you any mind. “That where the name comes from?” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Yeah. So maybe I have a penchant for cherry.” 

“Uh-huh. You sure you don’t want a burger or somethin’?” 

The thought of having to perform for him later, fuck him, with a full belly makes you feel ill. “Very sure.” 

He orders and pays and you try not to feel weird about him buying you a three dollar basket of fries and a coke. Especially when he apparently wants to help you with rent and to fix your car. It chafes. You hadn’t sacrificed, entered this life at all, to have someone else take care of you.

You sit on the lowered tailgate of the truck and listen to the fuzzy sound of the radio playing from the shack, slowly eating one fry at a time, watching Joel’s hands, the curve of his knee  hitched on the bed of the truck, pressed into your hip, the other extended toward the ground. 

The night is exceedingly calm, the air balmy and a little cooler than in the city. 

One by one the other diners toss their trash and drive away in a cloud of red dust, leaving you and Joel looking out over the pocked, jagged landscape alone. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says eventually. “You sure you’re all right?” 

He’s still thinking about that other man. 

You grin and rub a comforting hand against his forearm. “Just thinking about what you said. Do you come here a lot?” 

He shakes his head and lets you put your legs into his lap as you sip your drink, crushing his burger wrapper in his hands. “First time. I drive by it every time I come through this way though. Usually busy.” 

“How’d you know I was hungry?” You ask, offering him your drink. 

“I pay attention,” he says, taking a long sip.

You chew on your bottom lip. A ring of truth crowds his words. By Friday, you’re usually on your last couple bucks and hungry. Have you been hungry every time you were with him? You hadn’t even noticed.

You don’t have a sharp, witty come back for him, not this time. Being exposed to the night air, stars winking bright in the sky above you, the soft singing of the shack’s owner makes an intense melancholy wrap around your chest. You feel small suddenly, and like you’re making all the wrong choices, that none of it will matter in the end. Your family will still be right about you.

Joel rubs your calf slowly and seems content to sit in silence. You chew on the end of your straw and watch him. “You know you’ve never kissed me?” 

“Yep.”

If he were any other man, you wouldn’t dare ask. You brace anyway, because you’ve learned the hard way that they can flip on a dime. “You don’t want to?”

He thinks for a moment. “I wasn’t sure it was somethin’ you did. And I didn’t want to—Jesus, I already felt so bad about what I was doin’.”

Expectation lingers in his gaze, a question unasked. “Some men don’t like it, so I always wait for them to do it.” 

“Don’t like it?” 

“Who wants to kiss the mouth of a dirty little whore?” You say lightly, a joke but not really. “Putting your cock there is fine, of course.” 

He clears his throat and seems ashamed for some unfathomable reason. “Don’t get all guilty about it, Joel. I really do like blowing you.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. He hesitates, then says, “I like eating your pussy, since we’re exchangin’ truths.” 

You laugh, the sound exploding out of you. He grins when you clutch your belly. He doesn’t often smile with his whole face, and he’s more handsome for it when he does. “Well,” you laugh, “I didn’t need you to tell me that. It’s painfully obvious.” 

“Uh-huh. C’mere.” 

Tears of mirth are still rolling down your cheeks when he pulls you close and kisses you. It’s surprisingly chaste, or at least begins that way. His tongue sweeps in against yours when you open your mouth. It’s intoxicating and intimate and you don’t ever want to stop. You can feel his beard scrape your cheeks and lips and you like the sharp feeling of it. 

He tastes like cherry coke. 

“Cherry,” he says against your mouth when he eventually pulls back, “Yeah, I get that now.” 

[sstan-hoe]

Wheels & Whiskey

biker!joel miller x doctor!reader

summary: you have been evoiding him for a while. now, your friend unknowingly drags you somewhere you cannot escape him.

warnings: none, just a lotta tension and worldbuilding; joel being a MENACE

author's note: i will post this now, without editing it or adding a cover and whatever. i'll pray for the best, and if i wake up in the morning and see this blowing up, i'll continue it. love yall!

After busy days at work in the hospital wore you down completely to the point you were literally married to the job and never leaving the house unless you had to go to work; it was clear your best friend had to do something about it.

Maria is your well trusted nurse, but a devilish little friend. She moved into town at the same time you did, which was about two months ago, so she didn't know how things really went around here; and neither did you. But you thought it would be common sense not to come here.

You almost jump back into the car when you see where she has driven you: to none other than Wheels & Whiskey, where the big bad bikers gather every day and every night.

You begged her to go home and enjoy yourselves there, but she was too excited to see what all the fuss was about. "I wanna know what bikers eat for dessert," she said. So that's when you realized you had no chance.

It didn't help that everyone knew who you were. The second you walked inside, people made space for you to pass through. "How are you so popular?", Maria asked. "I stitched all the people in here at least twice," you replied.

It was half the truth. Indeed, some of the privilege was granted because you had earned it through your medical capabilities. But most of it came from someone else entirely.

Joel Miller. The owner of the local and the leader of his stupid gang of bikers. The one who's been flirting with you ever since you came into this small town, where everyone knew anyone. You couldn't escape him even if you wanted to.

Joel sat at the far end of the bar, his usual spot, nursing a beer and watching the crowd like a hawk. As the door swung open, his eyes flicked toward it, locking onto you the moment you stepped inside.

Your entrance didn't go unnoticed. The usual murmur of conversation died just a moment, and everyone gave you a little extra space. Joel smirked into his drink, taking a slow sip. He knew why they did that. It wasn't just because you were a doctor.

It was because you were his — and everyone in here knew it, apart from you.

He found you very interesting. He wasn't sure if it was the way you didn't fall for the small-town charms or how you'd walk past him with that cool, detached look on your face, but you weren't like anyone else in this place. And if he was being honest with himself, it made you damn hard to resist.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes never left you as you made your way through the crowd.

Maria, the one who had no idea what she was walking into, was giddy with excitement as you passed her.

Joel's smirk twitched. He could already see her trying to play it cool, acting like she wasn't intimidated by the sheer presence of everyone in this room.

But you? You walked around here like you owned the place. And Joel wasn't one to let you slip by without a little something, a little spark to keep the fire going.

He stood, stretching, before crossing the room in a few long strides, stopping just in front of you and your friend.

"Good evenin', ladies." Joel said, his voice laced with amusement. "Guessin' you didn't come here for the food." He looks up and down at you twice. "Not that I blame you. It's pretty damn good, but I wouldn't say that's what brings most people in here."

He leaned closer just enough to let you feel the heat from his body and that familiar scent of him. "So, what's got you all worked up tonight? You need a drink, or maybe just some company?"

His eyes flicked to you and then to Maria, and then back to you. "I could show you around, if you're interested. I can think of a few things that might keep your attention." His voice dropped a little, playful but with an edge of something deeper.

"Though, I'm not sure your friend can keep up." Joel's grin was easy, but there was something behind it. He wasn't looking for you to turn him down tonight.

"Maria, this is Joel, the owner of this local. Joel, she is Maria, my friend from work."

Joel's smile didn't falter, even as you dismissed his advances with practiced indifference. He was used to your cool demeanor, but it never stopped him from trying to chip away at it.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his tone smooth as velvet. "I'm sure you'll find the place... interesting," he added, looking around with a knowing glance that made it clear this wasn't just any regular bar.

"This is... a lot," Maria's eyes widened as she took in the surroundings, looking around at the rough crowd, the tattoos, the flexing muscles.

Joel chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who he was. His gaze shifted back to you, that flicked of challenge still in his eyes.

"I'll take care of you tonight, Doc. You need anythin', you let me know. Drinks are on me, as always."

Maria shot you a glance, clearly impressed by his boldness.

Joel tipped his beer toward you in a small salute, the unspoken challenge still lingering in the air, before he turned back to the bar, sliding back into his seat, his eyes flickering toward you one more time, almost like a promise.

He wasn't going anywhere tonight.

[sstan-hoe]

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

If you don't have a profile picture people will assume you're a bot

theres barely an algorithm, if you want to see cool shit reblog things instead of just liking them

follower count doesnt matter

tumblr fame gets you one thing and it is Yelled At

no one knows what the fuck the nsfw policy is

block anyone that annoys you even a little bit

And most importantly:

post cringe

[sstan-hoe]

"After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"

"Next to my wife."

[sstan-hoe]

The shackles of duty

Summary: In the aftermath of Aegon's fall in the Battle of Rook's Rest, Aemond envisions his future as King with his Queen at his side

Reader is Rhaenyra's daughter and in a secret relationship with Aemond

Part 2 to His Sacrifice

WC: 2.2 K

Warnings: Implied smut, possessive Aemond, kinda dark Aemond, but not really, he's more pathetic than anything

~~

Aemond stared at the plumes of smoke that billowed from where his brother and his dragon had fallen. 

His heart still raced with satisfaction, the adrenaline pumping through his veins keeping him in an almost high-like state he never wanted to come down from. His victorious smirk remained as he turned to the woman beside him who stared at the smoke with a conflicted expression. 

“With any luck, Aegon has perished, or at least will in due time.” 

She looked to Aemond, the furrow in her brow deep, betraying her indecision and unease.

She always knew what Aemond was capable of, she knew of the darkness within him, but to see it now, displayed so blatant before her very eyes, shook something within her, something she didn’t know she could feel towards the man she had loved for so long. 

Aemond grabbed her hands, holding them in his tightly as he turned to face her fully. 

“We can go back to King’s Landing. With Aegon’s state, I will be named Regent. I will sit the throne and you will be my Queen.” 

“What?” She breathed out, the only word she’d been able to speak in the past few minutes. 

“Aegon is not long for this world, surely. It won't be long until I become King. No one can deny us anything now. We can marry, you can stay with me by my side, we can rule together.” Aemond spoke with a franticness that was so unlike him, it unsettled her more than the gleam of desire in his eye in that moment. 

“Aemond…”

“We can finally be together.” He reminded her as his hand reached out to grasp her cheek affectionately, the longing he displayed tearing her insides, as if she were being pulled in two radically different directions. 

She watched him for a long moment, savoring the sight of that beautiful face she’d spent the past few years memorizing, every perfect dip and curve that never failed to leave her breathless, and emotion swelled as she realized she’d have to break his heart. 

“I can’t go with you.” She told him, her voice barely above a whisper, as if it would soften the blow, as if saying it quietly would mean it wouldn’t completely destroy him. 

His lip twitched, his smile fading slowly as he took in her words, praying he had misheard her. His grip on her hands tightened, as if he could keep her with him, as if he could forever stop her from leaving his side. 

“But…”

“Aemond, you know I cannot go with you. No one will accept-”

“Fuck what they think! You are mine and the second I sit on that throne I can make it so. No one could stop us.” 

She shook her head and moved to pull away, but he didn’t let her, his hand sturdy in hers, a look of heartbreak on his face as he felt her hesitation. 

“We are at war, Aemond. Our marriage will not solve anything, it won’t miraculously dissolve what is happening in our family, it will only create more chaos.”

“I don’t care.” Aemond spoke through gritted teeth as he stepped towards her, his hands now cradling her face. “I don’t give a shit about this war, you are all I want.”

She sniffled, bowing her head to avoid looking into his eye. It was too painful to see how she was hurting him. 

“Think about what you are asking of me.”

“I am asking you to be with me.”

“You are asking me to abandon my mother!” She yelled. 

His chest ached, the rush he’d been thriving on suddenly turning to despair as he looked at her, realizing he wouldn’t soon have her in his arms as he had hoped. 

“We can fix this.” He spoke with reverence, but it did little to soothe the storm within her. 

“Maybe we could have… but that was before- before Lucerys.” 

Aemond flinched, recoiling as if she had delivered a physical blow. 

“You know my regret for what happened. You know I would have never willingly jeopardize-”

“I know, I know.” She whispered tearfully, her hands moving up to grip at his wrists, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch. 

She remembered the night after learning of her brother’s death as she met Aemond on their Island, how he immediately fell to his knees in forgiveness, how he let her scream and cry and rage at him, how they held each other as they cried, knowing the state of their family had broken beyond repair, ruining what little chance they thought they had to one day be together as they wanted. 

She wiped her tears and with one last gentle caress to his hands, pulled them away from her, taking a step backwards before he could reach out to her once more. 

“I have to go.”

With every step she took away from him, he took a step closer, his face shifting each time she moved, his frown growing deeper and deeper as it abruptly dawned on him that he was about to lose her, yet again.

“Please, don’t do this.” 

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, the sight of him blurring as tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and didn’t look back as she climbed upon Vermithor, ignoring the pit that grew in her stomach, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that screamed at her to stay with him. 

She didn’t dare spare him a look. She knew she’d cave if she did, that she would fall back into his arms and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

She wiped her tears as she flew, ignoring the pull she felt to her other half as the distance between them grew greater. 

~~

A yell of pure rage escaped him as he flipped the table in his room. He grabbed anything he could get his hands on, throwing any and every object he found across the room, destroying everything in his line of sight. 

His bed was in disarray, the tapestries that lined the walls torn to pieces at his feet, candles knocked to the ground, trinkets shattered into nothing but dust as he raged. 

He only stopped when there was nothing left to ruin. 

His chest heaved with exertion as he let himself slump against his bed, burying his face in his hands as he struggled for breath, forcing himself not to let his tears fall. 

His mind raced with her words, each like a dagger to the heart, each one tearing away a piece of him, leaving him unwhole and untethered to the one thing in the world he cared about. 

Nothing made sense without her. It had only been hours and he was already spiraling. 

Simply picturing her beautiful face caused his chest to ache, as if the dagger of her words had been real, causing him to bleed and fade away until there was nothing left of him. 

He could not let this be the end. 

With a half-formed plan in his mind, he stood with haste and reached for his cloak, ensuring the hood covered his head and stepped out of his room, his steps quick and purposeful. 

He would not let her slip away from him again. 

~~

Her mind was racing, keeping her from her much needed sleep. She couldn’t stop picturing Aemond’s face, the pain she had caused him stirring her own. 

She couldn’t ignore the regret that overtook every inch of her. While she loved her mother and longed to see her as Queen, she couldn’t deny that Aemond had stitched himself within the fabric of her, he was now a part of her she couldn’t ignore. 

She didn’t quite know when it happened, all she knew was that it was too late to go back now, too late to pretend she felt nothing for him. She couldn’t move forward without him. 

She had to see him.

She hissed a curse and tore the covers off, getting to her feet and dressing in her riding leathers quickly, acknowledging the stupidity of her plan, but steadily ignoring it. 

It was easy to sneak out of the castle. She’d been doing it for years now, she could do it with her eyes closed. 

It took little time to get Vermithor in the air and on the course for King’s Landing, her heart in her throat as she flew. She didn’t know what awaited her, what danger she would be placing upon her head, all she knew was that once there, Aemond would never let any harm befall her. 

It was the only assurance she needed to drive forward into enemy territory. 

Suddenly, the bellowing roar of a dragon sounded over the din of the wind. 

She startled and narrowed her eyes, the moon providing light for her to see, but as the hulking figure of the dragon coming before her became clear, she soon realized, her eyes widening as she stared back at Vhagar. 

A breathless laugh escaped her, pure relief overtaking her as she realized Aemond was in the same state she found herself in, unable to settle for their circumstance. 

She pulled at the reins, directing Vermithor to descend, heading towards their Island with Aemond following seconds behind. 

The two mighty dragons landed and their riders met each other's gaze, the both of them taking a moment to simply admire each other, their shared smiles of equal relief and awe that they had had the same thought, the same longing to see each other. 

Her hands almost shook with anticipation as she untied herself from the saddle. 

She felt nervous, as if it were their first meeting in secret, as she approached him, but her reservations didn’t last as Aemond stepped towards her quickly, with no hesitation.

A shaking breath escaped her as she was pulled into his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered weakly, her voice strained as her throat tightened, overwhelmed to be back in his loving arms. 

He shook his head and held to her tighter, softly whispering his relief to see her again

Time was lost to them as they embraced, as they held each other as only lovers could. 

“I don’t know what will happen next.” She mumbled, hating to break the moment with their reality, but it wasn’t something they could ignore for much longer. 

“I don’t either.” He admitted quietly. “But what I do know is that, whatever I do, it will not be without you. I don’t care how many times I will have to chase you down and bring you back to me, I won’t lose you.” 

“You won’t have to chase me. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His exhale of relief was loud and she barely had time to apologize again before he was kissing her firmly, leaving them both breathless and lightheaded with desire. 

His touch was desperate as he laid her down in the dewey grass. It was familiar to them, these fleeting and frantic touches all they could spare in the war that ravaged their families. 

He took her with an intensity as if it had been years since he’d felt her touch and not mere days as it had been. She felt more loved than ever before as he lavished his praise onto her, as his lips caressed every inch of her, as he made love to her with the burning passion as only a man in love could. 

Their cries of pleasure echoed on the desolate Island, their secret remaining shrouded in darkness and isolation. 

As he spilled his seed within her, his call of her name sending shivers down the length of her body, she held him tightly, wishing she could hold onto him forever, wishing she didn’t have to leave his side time and time again. 

He wasn’t quick to part from her, laying over her, his hands still eager to touch her, to remember the curves of her body in fear that it would be the last time. 

But they would never let it be the last, not as long as they still breathed life. 

He left her side with a promise to see her the next night. 

There was no mention of the throne, of titles or battles. It didn’t exist in their time together, the both of them determined to blissfully ignore the reality that was slowly crushing them, slowly pulling them further and further apart, no matter how hard they tried to fight it. 

~~

He lingered in her mind as she woke alone but sated, the phantom bliss of his touch, bringing a smile to her lips in the early morning. She could still feel the warmth between her thighs, feel the pleasurable burn of the marks he had left on her body. 

She smiled politely as her maid entered, placing breakfast down for her. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Princess?” 

Moon tea.

The words were on the tip of her tongue. She trusted her handmaiden, she’d never given her a sideways glance over the past years when she requested the drink. Her mother was still blissfully unaware, which meant her maid was at least keeping her secret. 

Yet the words didn’t come, a decision made in a fraction of a second. 

“No, thank you. That is all.” 

As her maid left, her hand drifted to her stomach, a smile forming on her lips as she wondered what their child would look like. 

~~

Hope you enjoyed! I have more Aemond content coming! I literally have a thousand ideas for this beautiful man, so stay tuned xx

[sstan-hoe]

i’d absolutely love to see your take on a jackson era *SPOILER* (not dead obviously) joel who meets a new comer who’s harsher and more close off than him and only wants to use him for sex and he ends up falling first??🙏🏼🫶🏻 i adore your writing and also can’t wait for more TIP, G&R, and FD 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ok this prompt seriously did something for me and i went feral - enjoy (warnings smut/feelings - both equally as dangerous) thank you so much for your request ! i need the inspo sometimes so feel free to message me in my inbox with more requests xx

also update tangled in paradise hppefully out in the next DAY

all my work (though this needs updating)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The lukewarm air clung to your skin as you sat at the bar in the Tipsy Bison, a glass in hand, the bitter burn of the whiskey still fresh on your tongue. It was a disgusting kind of heat, the kind that stuck to you and made you wish for a shower—or another drink. It was late, later than you usually stayed out, and the bar was sparsely populated, just a few regulars nursing their usuals in the dim light.

You flagged down the bartender, your fingers drumming lightly against the counter. "Another," you said, meeting their eye. They nodded, reaching for the bottle.

Your gaze drifted as you waited, lazily scanning the room. That’s when you saw him.

A man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a glass of whiskey, his posture heavy. He looked older, maybe early fifties, his face etched with lines that spoke of a hard life, not just years. His dark hair was streaked with silver, the strands curling slightly at the ends, and a thick, scruffy beard framed a scowl that seemed permanently etched into his features. His eyes were sharp, though, hidden beneath furrowed brows as he stared at the bottle behind the bar like it held all the answers.

Your brow arched in curiosity. You didn’t recognize him exactly, but he looked familiar—someone you’d seen in passing. Without overthinking it, you slid off your stool and moved down the bar, settling yourself in the seat next to his. He didn’t look at you, didn’t even acknowledge your presence. But that didn’t stop you from giving him a once-over, shamelessly.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and gruff, still not turning to meet your gaze.

You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Do I know you?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Doubt it,” he sighed.

“Oh,” you said, letting the word hang in the air. “You’re Tommy’s brother, right?”

He sighed again, the kind of exhale that sounded more like an admission. “That’s me.”

You smirked, lifting the fresh shot the bartender had set down in front of you. “Hotter than your brother, though,” you said before downing it in one smooth motion, the whiskey burning all the way down.

That got his attention. His head turned, and he finally looked at you—dark eyes narrowing slightly, lips parting as if to say something but stopping short. He looked genuinely taken aback, like no one had ever said something like that to him before. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?” he asked, his tone more stunned than angry.

You shrugged, giving him an unabashed once-over again. “I’m just sayin’. You’re good-looking,” you repeated, meeting his gaze directly.

He scoffed, a rough sound that came from deep in his chest. “Look, lady,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m way past relationships, so I suggest you just walk away.”

“Who said anything about relationships?” you replied, your tone light and teasing.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The room was bathed in the dim glow of a bedside lamp, shadows dancing against the walls as the dresser rattled softly with the force of his movements. Joel had you pinned there, caged in by his arms, his chest pressed against your back as if daring you to pull away—not that you wanted to. His breath was hot against your ear, low grunts and growls spilling out as he moved with deliberate, unrelenting intensity.

Your clothes were still on, mostly. His jeans were tugged down just enough, your own pulled halfway down your thighs, bunched awkwardly as you clutched the edge of the dresser, trying to anchor yourself against the tidal wave building inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder as your grip tightened on the wood. “I’m—God, I’m gonna—”

“Fuckin’ take it,” he growled, his voice thick and ragged, one hand gripping your hip so tightly you were sure it’d leave marks. “You’re right there. C’mon.”

The sensation overwhelmed you, and with a strangled cry, your body broke apart. “Joel!” you screamed, your nails raking against his forearm as you bucked beneath him, the dresser creaking in protest.

Joel groaned deeply, pulling out just in time, his breath heavy and labored. He finished on his hand with a grunt, his forehead dropping briefly to your shoulder as he let out a long sigh, the tension draining from his body.

You both stood there for a moment, chests heaving, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of clothing as he stepped back, adjusting himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he wiped his hand clean with a nearby rag, tossing it aside like it meant nothing, “You all right?”

You leaned against the dresser, still catching your breath, your legs shaking slightly as you straightened up and fixed your clothes. “I think so,” you said with a wry chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “Well… that escalated.”

Joel just shrugged, his eyes sweeping over you before he grabbed his belt, threading it back through the loops with practiced ease. “Yeah, well,” he said gruffly, his tone casual, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “Guess we’re doin’ this now.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

It had been a few months now, and the routine had settled into something both comfortable and volatile. It was almost always the same—you’d show up at Joel’s door late at night, the moon high and the town quiet. He’d answer in a wrinkled shirt and tousled hair, his face carved with irritation that didn’t quite mask the way his gaze swept over your form.

“Seriously?” he’d mutter as you stepped past him, already kicking off your boots and shimmying out of your jeans in the doorway.

“You’re too horny for your own good,” he’d grumble, his brow furrowing in that way that somehow made him look even more rugged.

“No rest for the wicked,” you’d shoot back with a sly grin, already dashing upstairs, leaving him standing there shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Joel always followed, though. No matter how much he sighed or rolled his eyes, he’d climb the stairs after you, his heavy footfalls a sound you’d grown to expect. By the time he found you, sprawled out and ready, he was already hard, already resigned to the fact that you weren’t going to leave him in peace.

It wasn’t soft, not with Joel. It was rough hands, bitten-off curses, and bruising grips that left reminders on your skin. You’d both cum, panting and wrecked, and then you’d slip out of his bed and pull your clothes back on like it was nothing.

At first, you’d knock when you came over, but after too many nights of him stumbling half-asleep to the door, he’d shoved a key into your hand. “Sick of you bangin’ on my door at all hours,” he’d grunted, and you’d just laughed, pocketing it without a second thought.

It worked for you—this arrangement. Whenever the day had been too hard, when your fingers weren’t cutting it and the frustration bubbled over, Joel was there. He was steady, dependable in his own gruff way. But there were rules, even if they weren’t spoken out loud. You never kissed. It just wasn’t part of the deal.

Instead, you’d press your lips to his collarbone, to the patch of skin where his pulse thrummed, tasting salt and sweat. He didn’t complain, but he didn’t ask for more, either. Maybe that’s why it worked—you didn’t ask for more, either.

Tonight had been no different. Joel had pulled you apart, his hands gripping your thighs as he thrust into you, his breath hot against your neck as you came for the second time. You were still catching your breath when you rolled off him, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“It’s cold,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly as he sat up. “You could just ... spend the night.”

The words were casual, thrown out like they didn’t mean anything. But they did. Joel didn’t offer people to stay. Joel didn’t let people in. And yet, here he was, offering you the kind of closeness he didn’t give anyone else.

“Nah,” you said breezily, oblivious to the weight of what he’d just said. You zipped up your jeans, running a hand through your hair as you glanced at him. “Got patrol early. You know how it is.”

Joel nodded stiffly, his face giving nothing away, though his eyes lingered on you as you grabbed your jacket. “Yeah,” he said, the word rough and clipped. “Sure.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, giving him a small smile. “Anyway,” you said, already moving toward the door, “see you when I see you.”

He swallowed hard as he watched you leave, the door clicking shut behind you. For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the empty space you’d left behind. Joel didn’t have the words to explain it, not even to himself. He didn’t want to need this, didn’t want to need you. But he did.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he hated even more that he wished you’d stayed.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The kitchen was dim, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound besides your heavy breathing and the occasional low groan from Joel as he worked between your thighs.

You were spread out on the countertop, your patrol gear still half on, boots kicked off somewhere by the door. The ache from hours on horseback had burned away, replaced with a sharper, hotter need that only Joel could satisfy.

You’d barely stumbled in, desperate, and Joel had opened the door with a gruff sigh, already knowing what you wanted before you even spoke. "Needy as hell," he muttered, but his hands had been on you in seconds, pulling you inside, settling you on the counter like it was second nature.

And now? Now, his tongue moved against you with an unrelenting, agonizing precision. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him grunt in response. His beard scraped deliciously against your thighs, grounding you in the moment as the coil in your belly tightened with every flick of his tongue.

"Fuck, Joel," you groaned, your voice rough and breathless as he dragged another moan from you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place like you might dare to squirm away. This wasn’t like usual. Normally, Joel was fast, efficient—out and over. He didn’t linger. But tonight? Tonight, he was taking his damn time, his lips and tongue teasing you, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge until you thought you might lose your mind.

“Yeah, darlin’?” he hummed against your core, his voice low and gravelly, the vibration making you arch off the countertop. He looked up briefly, his dark eyes hooded, lips slick and glistening as he smirked. “What’s that? You need somethin’?”

“Joel,” you gasped, your head falling back as his tongue flicked over your clit again, slow and deliberate. Your chest heaved as your nails dug into his scalp, desperate for something to hold onto. “I—shit—I’ve got a shift in ten minutes.”

“Then you’d better hurry up,” he rasped against you, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. But he didn’t hurry. No, if anything, he slowed down, his tongue tracing deliberate, lazy circles that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble.

“You’re—” you gasped, biting down on your lip as he sucked gently on your clit, “you’re taking too long.”

Joel chuckled low in his throat, the sound dark and teasing as he kissed along the inside of your thigh, his stubble scratching against the tender skin. “Ain’t my fault you came in here all wound up,” he said, his tone gruff but laced with something softer, something dangerous that he wasn’t saying. “Maybe you should learn some patience.”

“Patience?” you nearly whined, your voice cracking as his tongue returned to your clit, working you over with a precision that made your toes curl. “Oh, fuck, Joel—”

He didn’t respond this time, just groaned softly against you, his grip tightening on your hips as he brought you to the brink. You shattered with a loud cry, your thighs trembling around his head as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless and boneless on the countertop.

Joel pulled back slowly, his lips glistening as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes locked on yours. “There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “That’s better.”

You were still catching your breath, your chest rising and falling as you pulled your pants up. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no heat in your words.

Joel just smirked, stepping back to let you slide off the counter. “Better get goin’, then,” he said, his voice casual, but his eyes lingered on you like he didn’t want you to leave.

And as you grabbed your boots and headed out the door, Joel stood there in the kitchen, his hands braced on the counter where you’d been moments ago, hating the way he already missed you.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Joel’s birthdays weren’t something he talked about. Hell, you were pretty sure he hated the day entirely. No celebrations, no well wishes—just another date on the calendar he could ignore. But when you knocked on his door that afternoon, a half-smushed cupcake clutched in your hand, you decided you didn’t care much for his rules.

You knocked again, shifting on your feet. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d stolen earlier in the kitchen as you snuck eggs to make the damn thing. It wasn’t pretty, but it was something.

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing Joel in his usual worn flannel and jeans. His brows lifted slightly when he saw you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what almost passed for a smile. “Hey,” he said, stepping back to let you in. “Come on in.”

You slid past him, your boots clunking softly against the wood floor as he shut the door behind you. His place was as it always was—quiet, a little too clean, with that faint woodsy smell that clung to everything Joel owned. He turned to you, jerking his head toward the couch. “You wanna do it here, or… head upstairs?” His voice was gruff, casual, like it didn’t matter much either way.

You snorted, crossing your arms as you arched a brow at him. “You make me sound like a sex addict, Joel.”

His brow furrowed, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, Aren’t you, though?

You rolled your eyes, pulling the slightly battered cupcake from behind your back. “Actually,” you began, your tone teasing as you held it out to him, “I’m here because it’s someone’s birthday.”

Joel’s expression froze for a moment, his eyes flicking to the cupcake and then back to you. “The hell’s this?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“It’s a cupcake,” you said, grinning as you waved it in front of him. “Took some serious effort, too. You know how hard it is to get eggs without pissing everyone off?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he took the cupcake from your hands, his calloused fingers brushing yours for just a moment. “You steal eggs for this?”

"Hey," you teased, "I baked for you. That’s a luxury, you know—not all my conquests get this kind of treatment."

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. “Conquests?” he repeated, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Seriously, though,” you said, stepping closer, “Happy birthday, Miller.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. He looked at it for a moment before letting out a low sigh. “Another fuckin’ year older.”

You smirked, walking towards the couch, “Don’t worry,” you said with a wink, “The machinery still works, right?”

Joel barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” you shot back, your grin widening as you plopped down onto his couch, making yourself comfortable. “So,” you started, glancing over at him, “any big plans for your big day?”

Joel followed, lowering himself onto the couch with a groan, his body settling heavily into the worn cushions. “No,” he said, running a hand through his messy hair, his fingers raking through the dark strands streaked with silver. “Not really my thing.”

You tilted your head, watching him for a moment. He looked tired, more so than usual, the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders heavier. Birthdays weren’t just something Joel ignored—they were something he carried, quietly, like an old wound he didn’t let anyone see.

“Guess that’s why I’m here,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “Can’t let you sit around brooding all night, now, can I?”

Joel glanced at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, though there was a hint of something softer there, too. “You do that a lot? Rescue lonely old men on their birthdays?”

You grinned, leaning back against the cushions. “Only the ones who can still get it up.”

That got another chuckle out of him, the sound low and rough, like gravel underfoot. He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the cupcake still untouched in his hands.

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the faint hum of the fridge filling the room. It was comfortable, easy, the kind of quiet that felt rare in a world that was always teetering on the edge of chaos.

“So really, no plans?” you asked, edging closer to him on the couch, feigning innocence as you tucked one leg beneath you.

“Nah,” he muttered, his eyes darting away from yours. But he wasn’t fast enough for you to miss the way his jeans were beginning to strain, the fabric tightening over his thighs.

Your gaze dropped to his lap, catching the telltale tension in his jeans as they began to tighten. A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “Well,” you began, your hand finding its way to his thigh, your fingers brushing just a little too close to where you knew he was already hard. “I think I could give you a birthday present you might actually enjoy, Miller.”

His laugh was low, almost reluctant, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips. “And you deny bein’ a sex addict,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“Hey,” you shot back, your grin widening as your hand slid just a little higher, your fingers brushing the seam of his jeans. “I’m not the one who’s about to cum in their pants.” You tilted your head, nodding toward the very obvious bulge straining against the zipper.

“It’s a fuckin’ Pavlovian response,” he said, chuckling under his breath, though his voice was strained. “You walk through that door, and my body just knows what’s comin’.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re complaining,” you replied, your voice dropping lower as you slid off the couch, sinking to your knees between his legs.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, his voice tight as he glanced down at you, his eyes dark and hooded. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“C’mon, birthday boy,” you teased, your fingers trailing up his thigh as you grinned up at him. “I’ll let you cum in my mouth—just this once,” you added with a wink, your nails scraping lightly against the inside of his leg.

Joel huffed out a laugh, though it came out more like a groan as his hips shifted toward you instinctively. “You always let me do that,” he muttered, his tone gruff as his hands moved to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease.

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice softening as you tugged his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, freeing him. “Consider it my gift to you.”

Joel let out a low curse, his head falling back again as you leaned in, your hand wrapping around him as you pressed a soft, teasing kiss to the tip. He was already throbbing, his body betraying the control he usually clung to so tightly.

As you worked him with your hands and mouth, Joel groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. His usual gruff demeanor was slipping, replaced with raw, unguarded need, and you couldn’t help but smirk around him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough as his hips bucked slightly. “You’re too good at this.”

“Maybe,” you teased, pulling back just enough to glance up at him, your eyes meeting his. “But I think you’re enjoying it.”

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Too much.”

His head tipped back against the couch with a groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and raw. “Just like that, baby. Just like that.”

You didn’t stop, your head moving in a steady rhythm, his quiet curses spurring you on. Your tongue worked him perfectly, coaxing those low, guttural noises from deep in his chest. His hips shifted slightly, a tension in his thighs that told you he was close, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

Pulling back for just a moment, you let a string of saliva trail from his tip to your lips, your breath hitching as you whispered, “Use my mouth.”

Joel’s head snapped forward at your words, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as his hand slid from your hair to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Alright. You sure about this?”

You nodded, your lips parting slightly as you gave him a wicked grin. “Positive.”

He didn’t waste any more time. His hand found its way back to your hair, his grip firm but careful as he guided you back to him. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough as gravel as you took him again, deeper this time, his hips rolling forward just enough to test your limits.

The sound he made was low and guttural, almost a growl, as he watched you, his free hand gripping the edge of the couch so tightly his knuckles went white. “Jesus,” he muttered, his voice breaking as your hands gripped his thighs for balance, your movements eager and unrelenting. “You’re… fuckin’ perfect.”

The tension in the room was electric, every noise, every breath amplifying the heat between you. Joel’s composure was unraveling, his usual stoic demeanor cracking as he gave in to you completely. And for a fleeting moment, as his fingers brushed against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture, you wondered if there was something more to the way he looked at you—something deeper.

But before the thought could settle, Joel groaned your name, the sound low and guttural, reverberating through the quiet room. His hips stuttered, his control slipping as he came, his hand tightening in your hair, his breaths ragged and uneven. You didn’t hesitate, swallowing every drop, the heat of him lingering on your tongue as you pulled back, licking your lips with a slow, deliberate motion that made his chest rise and fall even harder.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice still thick with desire as he glanced down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

You grinned, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you pushed yourself up. “Wouldn’t want you going soft on me, Miller.”

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, running a hand through his hair as he stood, his other hand reaching for yours. “Let’s go upstairs,” he muttered, his voice rough but full of purpose. His cock brushed against his abdomen with each step, and the sight of him—disheveled, flushed, and fully undone—was enough to make your stomach flip.

You laughed, letting him guide you up the stairs. “I think I’ve corrupted you, Miller,” you teased, your voice laced with playful smugness.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Get on the bed,” he ordered, his tone firm but not harsh, sending a jolt of heat straight through you.

“Yes, sir,” you replied with a laugh, already peeling off your shirt as you stepped into the bedroom. But just as your fingers reached for the waistband of your pants, Joel’s hand caught yours, stopping you mid-motion.

“Slow,” he murmured, his voice low and almost tender, a stark contrast to the usual roughness. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his calloused thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Slow this time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Okay,” you said softly, nodding as you let your hands fall to your sides. His gaze lingered on you, searching, as if making sure you understood.

He took his time, his rough palms brushing against your skin as he worked your clothes off piece by piece, his eyes tracing every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

You felt bare—not just physically, but in a way that made your chest tighten. This wasn’t the hurried, primal need you were used to with Joel. This was different, heavier, as if he was letting you see a part of himself he usually kept locked away.

“Lie down,” Joel said, his voice soft but laced with that commanding edge that always made your stomach twist. You obeyed without hesitation, settling onto the bed as he climbed in after you, his weight dipping the mattress. He hovered over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his dark eyes locking onto yours like he could see straight through you.

You bit your lip as you watched him, the room’s dim light catching the silver streaks in his hair. There was something in the way he looked at you tonight—something heavier, more deliberate, that made your pulse race. His hand moved slowly, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh, trailing higher until they found your core.

A sharp inhale escaped your lips, your hips hitching instinctively as his thumb pressed against you, teasing through the fabric. Joel’s eyes darkened, his brows furrowing slightly as if he was studying your reaction.

“You’re wet,” he murmured, his voice low and almost a growl, the words spoken as if they were a simple fact.

“Kinda what happens,” you hummed, your voice trembling as his lips brushed against your neck, leaving a trail of slow, deliberate kisses that made your skin burn.

But Joel didn’t stop. His thumb pressed firmer now, dragging a quiet moan from you as he spoke again, his words rough and laced with something possessive. “You’re wet,” he repeated, his lips grazing your ear, “for me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, his voice curling around you like smoke, intoxicating and dangerous. His hand moved against you with a confidence that left no room for doubt, coaxing your body into responding to his every touch.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice catching as his mouth found the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent as his hand slipped beneath your underwear, his fingers sliding through your slick heat. “Tell me you’re wet for me.”

Your head tilted back against the pillow, your breath hitching as your hands gripped his shoulders. “I am,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m wet for you.”

“Damn right you are,” Joel muttered, his lips pressing against your jaw as his fingers moved with agonizing precision. There was no teasing now, no pretense—just Joel, gruff and unrelenting, pulling you apart like he owned you.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. “Fuck, I need your cock,” you said, your words raw and unfiltered.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded, biting your lip as he guided you, his hands firm yet careful, positioning you on your knees. He knew your favorite by now—doggy, fast and dirty, the kind of sex that didn’t leave room for intimacy, just raw need. But tonight, as he moved behind you, you reached back, stopping him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at you, his hands lingering at your waist.

You turned to face him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s your birthday,” you said softly, your voice lighter now, teasing but warm. “We’ll do it the way you like.”

Joel froze for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, searching for something. He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly masked by his usual stoicism.

He didn’t ask how you knew. Joel might not have been one to talk, but you’d paid attention. You knew he always came quicker during missionary, the way he liked being able to see your face when you fell apart beneath him. You knew how he’d hitch your leg over his hip, how he liked the way it let him sink deeper.

You leaned back onto the bed, your fingers trailing along his forearm as you tugged him toward you. “C’mon, birthday boy,” you said, your voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something gentler. “Let me give you what you want.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darkening as he climbed onto the bed, settling between your legs. He didn’t speak, but his hands said enough—the way they skimmed over your thighs, up your sides, lingering at your hips as if grounding himself.

He pushed into you slowly, achingly slow, his forehead still pressed to yours as he sank in fully. The stretch burned, but it was the kind of burn you craved, the kind that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Joel groaned low in his throat, his grip on your thigh tightening as he began to move, his hips rolling into you with deliberate precision.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, and you obeyed, your eyes locking onto his. It was too much—his gaze, the way his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin as he moved inside you. This wasn’t just sex anymore, not tonight.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered, his voice breaking as your nails raked lightly over his back. “You feel so damn good.”

“So do you,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as he hit that spot that made you see stars. “Joel—”

"Yeah, baby," Joel murmured, his voice rough and low as his forehead fell to your shoulder. His thrusts quickened, his hips snapping against yours in a way that made your whole body arch. “I got you,” he breathed, his words sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your voice breaking as he pushed even deeper. “I feel you so deep,” you gasped, your fingers clawing at his back. The weight of him, the heat, the stretch—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Joel’s lips brushed against your neck, the coarse scrape of his beard a contrast to the softness of his mouth. He kissed you there, slow and deliberate, as though savoring the taste of your skin. But then, his kisses began to inch upward, moving with purpose—along the column of your neck, over your jaw, each one sending a ripple of heat through you.

You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as his lips lingered just below your chin. His pace quickened, his thrusts deeper, harder, but his kisses softer, more purposeful, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice trembling as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark, hooded gaze for a fleeting moment before they slipped shut again as he thrust into you with enough force to steal your breath.

He caught your wrists suddenly, pinning your hands above your head with one large, calloused hand, his grip firm but not harsh. The other hand slid under your thigh, hitching it higher to deepen the angle. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice raw and laced with something you hadn’t heard before—something close to desperation.

“Joel,” you warned, your voice trembling as his lips ghosted over yours, his breath hot and uneven against your mouth.

“Please,” he whispered, the single word heavy, his tone stripped of all its usual gruffness. And before you could respond, his lips met yours in a kiss so fervent, so unrestrained, that it stole every thought from your mind.

It wasn’t soft—it was passionate, consuming, like he’d been holding back for far too long. His mouth claimed yours, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matched the way his body moved inside you. His tongue swept against yours, his grip on your wrists tightening as if to keep you grounded.

The kiss made everything shift, the weight of it hitting you like a wave. Joel wasn’t just fucking you anymore—he was with you, every touch, every movement speaking to something he couldn’t quite say out loud. His hips snapped harder now, his groans muffled against your lips as he swallowed every sound you made as you both finally came in perfect unison.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both struggled to catch it. His dark eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist where he still held it above your head.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.

But Joel didn’t say anything, not right away. Instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss—softer this time, almost tender. His lips lingered on yours, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, as if that kiss was meant to say what he couldn’t put into words. Whatever this was, it felt heavy, real, and it scared you more than you cared to admit.

You shifted, pulling away slightly to look at him. His face was uncharacteristically open, his usual guarded expression replaced with something raw, vulnerable. It was too much, too close, and you didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” you muttered, your voice breaking the silence as you pushed yourself up, your legs still shaky as you reached for your clothes. “I should probably go.”

Joel frowned, sitting up slightly, his bare chest glistening in the dim light as he watched you. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with something you didn’t expect—disappointment.

“Yeah,” you stammered, fumbling with your pants as you buttoned them. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the task at hand as you tried to come up with something, anything, to make this feel less... heavy. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got things to do,” you said finally, the excuse weak even to your own ears.

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his breathing still heavy, his eyes fixed on you as you moved around the room. He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, pressing down on you.

“You sure that’s why you’re leavin’?” he asked, his voice low but steady, his question cutting through the air like a knife.

You froze, your hands fumbling as you grabbed your jacket. You didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, because the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to figure you out, like he cared—was too much. “Yeah,” you said quickly, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

But Joel wasn’t stupid, and you knew he didn’t believe you. He let out a quiet sigh, his head tilting back against the headboard as he watched you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not built for this, are you?” he murmured, almost to himself.

You flinched, the words hitting closer to home than you wanted to admit. “Don’t make this something it’s not, Joel,” you said sharply, finally turning to face him. “It’s just sex.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he studied you. “If that’s all it is,” he said, his voice rough, “then why are you runnin’?”

You didn’t have an answer for that—not one you were ready to admit, anyway. So instead, you pulled your jacket on, forcing a smile as you stepped toward the door. “See you around, Miller,” you said, your tone deliberately casual, as if the tension between you didn’t exist.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Joel’s words haunted you, replaying over and over in your head: “If that’s all it is, then why are you runnin’?”

It had been days since you’d last seen him, and you’d tried everything to shake him from your system. Your fingers weren’t enough, and humping your pillow only left you frustrated. Hell, you even considered finding someone else to fuck—someone who didn’t look at you the way Joel did, who didn’t make you feel like you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t know how to handle. But no matter what you did, deep down, you knew the truth: you didn’t just want someone. You needed him.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the clock. It was past 1 a.m. Joel would be pissed—you knew that. But you didn’t care. The thought of another night without him was unbearable, and before you could overthink it, you were already out the door, making your way to his house.

The door creaked softly as you let yourself in, the weight of the key in your pocket feeling heavier than usual. You climbed the stairs quietly, the familiar scent of his house wrapping around you like a blanket. When you reached his room, the sight of him stopped you in your tracks.

Joel was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. The soft glow of moonlight streamed through the window, highlighting the silver in his hair, the lines on his face that seemed softer in sleep. For a moment, you hesitated, your resolve faltering as you watched him. He looked peaceful—something you rarely saw.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stood at the edge of the bed. He didn’t stir. You tried again, a little louder this time. “Joel.”

He jolted awake with a start, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he squinted at you in the dim light. “You scared the shit outta me.” He reached over, flipping on the lamp. The warm light illuminated the room, his brow furrowed as he took you in.

“I could’ve shot you,” he grumbled, running a hand down his face as he sat up.

“Your gun’s downstairs,” you said simply, your tone light, though your heart was racing. You crossed your arms, standing awkwardly by the bed as he stared at you.

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance evident as he leaned back against the headboard. “The hell are you doin’ here? It’s one in the goddamn mornin’.”

You swallowed hard, your confidence wavering under his gaze. “I… I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening just slightly as he watched you. “So you thought wakin’ me up was a good idea?”

You shrugged, your lips twitching into a faint smirk despite yourself. “You’re awake now, aren’t you?”

Joel let out a quiet huff, shaking his head as he looked at you. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t matter.

You knew this dance—knew how to dissolve the tension in the way you always did. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your shirt, starting to pull it over your head.

This you knew how to do.

“Stop,” he said, his voice low but firm. He sighed, sitting up straighter in bed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Just… stop.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric falling back into place as you stared at him. “Oh,” you muttered, the word quiet as you smoothed your shirt back down. “Okay.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the floor as he avoided your gaze. “I think… we should stop,” he said finally, his voice rough, like the words were being dragged out of him.

“Stop what?” you asked, your brow furrowing as a sharp sting of disappointment coursed through you.

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “What we’ve been doin’. I think it’s time to stop.”

Your chest tightened, the words hitting you harder than you’d expected. You masked it with a scoff, trying to brush it off like it didn’t matter. “You got a girlfriend or something now?” you joked, your voice light, but the edge of bitterness still slipped through.

Joel’s head snapped up at that, his dark eyes meeting yours for a moment before he quickly looked away again. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe,” he muttered, his shoulders tensing.

It was a lie—you could see it clear as day. Joel wasn’t a good liar. Not to you.

“What?” you said, your brow furrowing deeper as you stared at him. “Since when?”

He shrugged, the motion stiff and unconvincing. “Couple weeks, maybe,” he said, still not meeting your eyes.

“Bullshit,” you snapped, crossing your arms as you tilted your head at him. “You can’t even look at me.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. He couldn’t tell you the truth—that it wasn’t about some imaginary girlfriend. That it was about you. That somewhere along the line, he’d started to feel more than he should have, and it was tearing him apart.

“Does it matter?” he said finally, his voice gruff as he forced himself to look at you. “It’s not workin’. We shouldn’t have started this in the first place.”

You flinched at the harshness of his tone, the wall he was building between you suddenly feeling insurmountable. “Not working?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the hurt bleeding into your words despite your best efforts to hide it. “What the hell does that even mean, Joel?”

“It means this is gonna hurt if it keeps goin’,” he said, his voice softening just enough to make it worse. “For both of us.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. This was Joel—gruff, unyielding, impossible Joel—and he was pulling away from you, shutting you out. And even though you’d told yourself this was just sex, that it didn’t matter, the ache in your chest told a different story.

“Fine,” you said finally, your voice sharp as you pushed yourself off the bed, grabbing your jacket. “If that’s how you feel, then fine.”

Joel didn’t stop you, didn’t say another word as you stormed out. But as the door clicked shut behind you, he let out a long, shaky breath, his head falling into his hands.

He’d lied to you—lied to protect himself, and maybe to protect you, too. But the truth was, Joel didn’t just like you. He’d fallen for you, hard and fast, and it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

One week later

You found yourself at the Tipsy Bison, the familiar hum of muted conversations and the occasional clink of glasses filling the dimly lit bar. It was almost poetic, sitting here again, like the first time you met Joel. Except this time, the tension wasn’t playful—it was heavy, suffocating, and every sip of your drink did little to ease the weight in your chest.

The stool next to you creaked, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Joel sat down beside you, his presence unmistakable. He didn’t speak right away, just let the silence stretch before finally breaking it.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, throwing your own line back at you from that first night.

You turned your head to glare at him. “What do you want, Joel?” you asked, raising your glass to your lips and taking a long sip.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar as he glanced sideways at you. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes betraying something deeper.

“Yeah, well,” you said, your voice sharp as you set your glass down with a clink. “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, shaking his head, his brows knitting together in frustration. “You know that’s not true.”

You let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter as you swirled the drink in your glass. “Right. So where’s your imaginary girlfriend?” you spat, the words laced with venom as you turned to face him fully.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a loose fist on the bar. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low, warning. He said your name, the sound of it rough and heavy, like it carried the weight of all the things he hadn’t said yet.

“What, Joel?” you snapped, your voice rising slightly, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby patrons. “You think you can just show up here and—what? Smooth everything over? You lied to me.”

His eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned closer. “I didn’t lie,” he said firmly. “I—”

“You did!” you interrupted, your voice trembling now, your emotions spilling over in a way you couldn’t control. “You lied to me, Joel.”

“I lied because we had to stop,” he shot back, his voice rough, his words cutting through the air like a blade.

“Okay, well, you could’ve just said that,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Instead of pulling that bullshit about having some imaginary girlfriend.”

Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, his jaw tightening as he rubbed a hand over his face. “I know,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, more subdued. “I fucked up.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, the word coming out like a frustrated exhale as you turned away for a moment, your hand gripping your glass tightly. “I thought you liked it.”

“Of course I liked it,” Joel said sharply, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, his expression softened, his voice dipping lower. “You think I didn’t?”

“Then what?” you demanded, your voice raw as you turned back to him, searching his face for an answer that made sense. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been weird. Was it the kiss? Joel, you chose to kiss me.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice almost a sigh, his head dipping slightly as his shoulders hunched forward. “I know I did.”

“Then just tell me,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you,” Joel said quickly, his voice firm as he looked up at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, your frustration giving way to something closer to hurt, your voice quieter now.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his hand gripping the edge of the bar as he leaned forward, his shoulders tense. “I just… I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said finally, his voice low and gruff. “I can’t keep havin’ sex with you and actin’ like it ain’t somethin’ more.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded, like a bomb waiting to go off. Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said.

“Something more,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself.

Joel nodded, his jaw working as he looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s somethin’ more. Least it is for me.”

The room seemed to tilt, the weight of his admission making it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the bar as you tried to steady yourself. “And you didn’t think to tell me that sooner?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something closer to fear.

“I didn’t know how,” Joel admitted, his voice raw, like the words had been dragged out of him. “Hell, I didn’t even wanna admit it to myself. But I can’t keep doin’ this, can’t keep seein’ you and pretendin’ I don’t feel the way I do.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt like the ground had shifted beneath you. “I…” you stammered, searching for something to say, but your thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Hey,” Joel cut in gently, his voice soft but firm. “This isn’t about me tellin’ you how I feel and expectin’ you to feel the same. I’m a big boy—I can handle it if you don’t.” His eyes flicked to yours, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just that… it’ll be too hard if we keep goin’. Too hard for me.”

“Oh,” you murmured, swallowing hard as you tried to process his words, your fingers curling around the edge of the bar for support.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands as he rubbed the back of his neck. The awkwardness in the air was palpable, and yet there was something unbearably vulnerable about the way he sat there, shoulders hunched slightly, like he was bracing for a blow.

You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to find your voice. “I’ve never…” you began, hesitating as his gaze lifted to meet yours. The weight of his attention made it harder to get the words out, but you pushed forward. “I’ve never been in a relationship.”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “Really?” he asked, his voice low and careful, as if he didn’t want to push too hard.

You nodded, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I’ve never been… in love.” The words came out haltingly, the weight of them settling heavily between you. “So I don’t even know what that feels like,” you confessed, your eyes searching his, hoping he’d understand the vulnerability in your words.

Joel’s expression softened, his rough exterior giving way to something warmer, something almost gentle. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and steady, as if grounding you. “That’s okay. There ain’t no timeframe on that sorta thing. No rules sayin’ when it’s supposed to happen.”

You looked at him, the gruff man who so often felt impossible to pin down, who was usually the one keeping things at arm’s length. But here he was, sitting across from you, making space for something you didn’t know how to name. “How does it feel?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Vulnerability cracked through your voice, a stark contrast to the version of yourself that usually tore his clothes off, always in control, always calling the shots.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly as he sat back, his gaze thoughtful. “How does it feel?” he repeated, almost to himself. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly before meeting your eyes again.

“It feels like someone you can’t stop thinkin’ about, no matter how much you try not to. Like every little thing they do sticks with you. The way they laugh, the way they look when they’re not payin’ attention…” He trailed off, his voice dropping lower, almost hesitant, as if revealing too much might make him unravel.

His jaw clenched briefly before he added, “It’s like missin’ someone even when they’re right next to ya.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you with a force you weren’t ready for. The realization struck fast and sharp—you felt that way for Joel. You had for a while now, but hearing him put it into words made it real, undeniable. Your throat tightened as you swallowed again, your hands gripping the edge of the bar as if it could steady you.

“It’s different for everyone,” Joel said with a shrug, his voice almost casual now, like he was trying to pull back from the weight of what he’d just shared. He sighed, his fingers drumming lightly on the bar. “You’re not upset, are you? I mean… I still want us to, you know, talk.”

“Talk?” you said, laughing softly despite the tightness in your chest. “Don’t know if we ever did a whole lot of that, Joel.”

He chuckled, the sound rough and low, but his eyes didn’t leave yours, like he was searching for something unspoken in your expression.

“Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. You took a deep breath, your gaze dropping to the scuffed wood of the bar as you found the courage to speak. “There’s… one person I’ve felt like that for.”

Joel’s posture stiffened slightly, his brows furrowing as he tilted his head, his dark eyes watching you closely. “Oh,” he said, his voice careful, guarded.

You nodded, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bar’s surface. “I miss him when he’s not there,” you said softly, the words coming out like a confession. “And I feel like he… sees me, you know? Like really sees me, in a way no one else does.”

Joel swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his hand flexed against the bar. His gaze flickered, his usual stoic demeanor cracking slightly as he shifted in his seat.

“And…” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, the vulnerability in your words making them stick in your throat. “And I think he feels the same way about me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world had stilled. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his hand reached out, hesitating for only a moment before brushing lightly against yours where it rested on the bar.

“Is that right?” he murmured finally, his voice rough, his dark eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

You nodded, your heart pounding as your fingers turned, brushing lightly against his. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the weight of everything you were saying—and everything you weren’t—hanging in the air. “It is.”

“But…” you began, your voice faltering, “I think he thinks all I use him for is sex.”

Joel stiffened slightly, his hand pausing against yours as his jaw tightened. He looked away for a moment, his eyes darting to the scuffed wood of the bar as he exhaled slowly. “Do you?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Your chest tightened at the question, the weight of it pressing down on you. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, I don’t.”

Joel glanced back at you, his brow furrowed, his expression guarded but softening just enough to let you see the cracks in his armor. “Then why…?” he started, but he trailed off, like he couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it was easier that way. To pretend it was just physical. To not think about… everything else.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hand still resting over yours. “Everything else,” he repeated quietly, almost to himself.

You bit your lip, your fingers tightening slightly under his. “But it wasn’t, was it?” you asked softly, your voice trembling. “Not for you. Not for me.”

Joel’s breath hitched slightly, his eyes meeting yours again, and this time there was no hiding the emotion there. “No,” he said simply, his voice rough. “It wasn’t.”

For a moment, the silence between you was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space. And then Joel’s hand shifted, his fingers lacing through yours as he let out a soft sigh. “I thought… maybe that’s all you wanted,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Didn’t think you wanted more.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t know I did,” you said honestly, your eyes searching his. “Not until now.”

Joel nodded slowly, his thumb brushing over your hand in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “Well,” he said softly, his voice steady but laced with something that sounded like hope, “guess we got some figurin’ out to do, then.”

You bit your lip as you took him in, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Even now, even with the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air, Joel turned you on in a way that made your stomach flip. Your panties were already damp, a low heat building that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how serious the conversation had been moments ago.

Joel’s eyes caught yours, and he sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I know that look,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with something that made your breath hitch. He knew you too well—the way your eyes grew hazy when you were needy, the way you bit your lip like you were barely holding yourself together.

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat under his steady gaze. “Can’t help it,” you said softly, almost shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. His dark eyes searched your face, his expression unreadable. “You mean it?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “There’s… somethin’ there?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trembling as you nodded. “There’s something there.”

Joel stared at you for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep, steadying breath. “Fuck,” he said again, the word rough and full of meaning. He reached for your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Let’s go home.”

A startled laugh escaped your lips, almost a squeal as the weight of the moment dissolved into an electric anticipation. You grabbed his hand, and together you practically ran out of the bar, your steps hurried, his long strides matching yours as you made your way through the quiet streets of Jackson.

The night air was cool, but your skin burned with the heat of what was about to happen. Every brush of his shoulder against yours, every glance he threw your way as you moved together, only stoked the fire. By the time you reached Joel’s front door, both of you were breathless, though not from the walk.

Joel fumbled with his keys for only a second before pushing the door open, and as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“This what you want?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl as he stepped closer.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “It’s what I want.”

Joel didn’t wait another second. His hands were on you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and tender, the kind that made you feel like you were being seen, completely and utterly. And for the first time, it wasn’t just about the heat or the need—it was about something more, something that neither of you had the words for yet, but both of you could feel.

[sstan-hoe]

‘tis the season || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

nothing new. nothing exciting. just some pwp. major shout out to my very freaky girl @dinandwhiskey, this fic was born due to our 4am conversations about fucking Our Old Man on viagra. and to my fellow ocean unicorn @joeloverture, for the encouragement, always. and to @pedrospatch, for being my eyes, and my biggest cheerleader, you have my heart. anyway – merry christmas eve eve & happy holidays ya filthy animals. may 2025 be ever so kind to you <33

pairing: dbf!joel x reader summary: you’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together.  or,  joel fucks you after taking viagra. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ warnings: [no-outbreak au], implied age gap [no mention of ages but reader is in college], secret established long distance relationship [that’s a mouth full] [that’s what she said], drug use, joel miller on viagra is a beast, pet names [baby, darlin’, sweetheart, kiddo], sexualization of the terms kiddo & old man, [mocking] dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, brief mentions of smut that occurs off page [i.e: face-sitting, fingering, anal play, ass eating/rimming, a reach around handjob, f! & m! receiving oral], softdom!joel, unprotected piv, missionary, mating press, overstimulation [rip our girl she’s fighting for her life], dacryphilia, finger sucking, biting, smidge of a pain kink, creampie, squirting, joel fucks you while you’re on the phone with your father, mentions of christmas, (2) christmas puns [author apologizes in advance for said puns], probably [most likely] inaccurate and unrealistic descriptions to the effects of viagra [remember, this is fiction!!], omitting a few tags as to avoid spoilers!!, aaaaand lastly, they’re in love BYE! word count: 3.5k

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs on when i post my writing!

“Just one more time, sweetheart.”

You don’t respond, tongue-tied. The agonizingly slow drag of his cock inside you is too much, your mind is a blur. 

Joel’s been fucking you for hours. He’s made you come six times since you practically pranced through his front door. Twice on his face, once on his fingers, and three times on his cock. And now you’re overstimulated — cunt swollen and almost begging for relief — but Joel, driven by your high-pitched moans and strained whimpers, is unable to stop himself, working to make you come just one more fucking time.

It’s thanks to that stupid little blue pill his buddy slipped him that he’d been able to fuck you for this long. 

In truth, he doesn’t need it. He never needs it. He fucks you perfectly fine without it. But you’re home for the holidays, and you haven’t seen him or come successfully on your own since the beginning of the fall term, and Joel wanted to take advantage of that.

Send you back fucked so full o’me you’ll feel me in here for weeks, he’d groaned. 

Your drippy hole stretched out and clamped tight around the thick girth of him. It had been so long, your face contorted at the sharp sting, and a pained hiss escaped through his gritted teeth when he pushed the delicious fat tip of his cock past your puffy folds, splitting you in two. 

The warm walls of your cunt pulse around his shaft, your clit throbs against the wet thatch of thick hairs stippled gray at his base. You’re too sensitive, too tender, cunt stinging with every long stroke, but not in the way it makes you want to use your safe word. 

It’s just that Joel hasn’t let up. Two hours spent making you come and he hasn’t let up once. The only time he had given you some semblance of a break was when he got up, turned around, and sat on your face at your plea — your desire to show him how good he had made you feel all those times before. 

His cock in your hand, weak fist tugging away at his length while you lathed away at the tight little hole in the crease between his ass cheeks. Even then, Joel couldn't help himself; shoved three thick fingers into your puffy pussy — timing the thrust of them to the desperate pumps of your joint fists — jacking his cock in unison while you writhed beneath him, pulling another climax from you. 

Only when his sweaty thighs quivered around your body, chin tilted towards the ceiling and a stream of profanities poured from his lips, his body curling over yours as hot spurts of his cum painted your soft tummy when he felt your finger slipping past his puckered rim to the knuckle, had he given you a break. 

“Attagirl, just like that. Pretty little pussy’s gonna cum all over me. C’mon, baby, give it to me,” Joel’s voice is thick with arousal as he rambles above you, his hips expertly rolling into yours, head of his cock nudging that place incompetent college boys have failed to reach. 

“Joel—fuck—I don’t think I can—” You gasp frantically, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, arms wound tight around him.

He smirks with another deliberate roll of his hips. “Thought you said you could keep up. Isn’t that what you said? “Naw, I reckon you said, Try keeping up, old man, wasn’t that it?”  He mocks, imitating your words from earlier. Fucking bastard. 

A whimpering mess, your eyes pinch shut in response. 

“I can’t—” you croak, fingernails digging into his shoulders. 

Deft hands brush your hair back from your face. “You can. I know you can, baby.”  His voice softer, barely audible through the wet smack of his balls, smeared in the evidence of your earlier release, firmly slapping against the curve of your ass. The sounds obscenely echoing through the quiet of his bedroom. 

You whimper and try fruitlessly to nod. He knows you can, and he’s right. Your hips wouldn’t be grinding up off the mattress to meet his thrusts. You wouldn’t be feeling something roiling low in your belly.

“One more time, baby. Give me one more n’ I’ll let this sore little pussy rest,” he whispers, lips kissing away your salty tears. 

You nod eagerly. His hand reaches up to the headboard, fingers curling around it and locking into place, his other removes one of yours from his shoulder, pins it to the pillow above your head. And with his hand clasping your damp palm, fingers squeezing then interlocking with yours, he fucks you harder. 

The change in pace has tears spilling from your eyes and pooling into the shells of your ears. The wave swells, swells, swells —

Your phone screen lights up the dark room, buzzing on Joel’s nightstand. 

You freeze, neck craning in the direction of the vibration, eyes squinting and damp lashes fluttering at the bright screen, Dad, it reads. 

Shit. 

You gaze back up at Joel, wide-eyed, panic surging in your chest. Joel growls. “Don’t answer.” 

You don’t listen. You know your father, he’ll keep calling until you answer. Without saying another word, your hand comes up to the wooden surface in search of your phone. You take a few deep breaths, trying to quell the anxious heat swirling inside you, unplug your phone from the charger, slide a shaky thumb across the screen, and press the phone to the shell of your ear.

“Hey—” You clear your throat awkwardly, “Hey, Dad,” your voice breathy, tired.

You unstick your body from Joel’s, your free hand presses to his strong chest, a silent effort to halt his movements.

“Kid! I’m sorry to call you this late, but before you left for Eve’s, I forgot to let you know to be home in time for breakfast.” 

Jesus. That could’ve been a text. 

You sit up, scoot back into the pillows, while Joel sits back on his knees, wincing in unison as his cum-drenched cock slips out of your overflowing slit. Almost instantly, you feel a steady stream of his spend trickle out of your opening. He’d already managed to fill you to the brim three times tonight.

You fiddle with your bottom lip. “Breakfast? I thought we were just doing dinner.”

“Well, I thought since you’re only in town for a few days, we could go the whole nine yards. I missed our breakfasts together. I enjoy them, kid,” he says softly. 

Your bleary eyes flick back to Joel. The smug grin that graces his lips and the gleam of something darker in his eyes don’t put you at ease. He’s up to something, as always. 

You grumble, massaging your forehead. “Yeah, sure, Dad. I’ll be home by nine. Listen, I gotta—” 

“Oh! Speakin’ of dinner, I was thinking of inviting Joel over,” your dad says, plainly.  

Your heart stutters. “Joel? W-Why?”

The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, dark eyes glimmer with mischief. Two heavy hands find your waist, and he’s sliding you back down towards him. Slow and suspicious, one of his hands finds your knee, and presses it flush to the mattress. You both watch as his other hand cups the back of your other knee, pushing it back down to match the other, exposing you to the sex-tainted air. With his eyes transfixed on the slow trickle of his spend, his hand then wraps around the base of his cock, tip lining up with your aching hole. 

There it is. 

“Poor guy has been asking about you, kid.” And Joel glides the head of his cock up and down your puffy seam, collecting your mixed juices on his tip then taps the heavy weight of it on your perked clit twice in quick succession; Joel smirks at the wet smack. You jolt, thighs attempting to clamp shut, his firm grip on your knee tightens, keeping you open for him. 

You pinch your eyes closed and curse under your breath. 

“What was that, honey?” 

Your eyes snap open, and you scramble to recover, “N-nothing, I just–” You clear your throat again. “Sorry. What were you saying, Dad?”

Joel chuckles lowly as he leans forward on top of you, pressing his broad frame in on you, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Chest to chest, belly to belly, pelvis to pelvis, tacky skin against tacky skin, once again as before. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and with his mouth at your other ear, his tongue darts out to lick at the salty droplet there before suckling ever so slightly on your flesh, you bite back a moan. 

Your dad, oblivious to your current state, continues, “Oh— Joel’s been asking after you. Think he’s getting sick of your old man if I’m honest. He keeps telling me he misses having you around, always goin’ on about how you’ve grown up right before his eyes…”

He can hear him. You know he can by the feel of the corner of his mouth curling up into a grin, teeth grazing your carotid now. He lifts his head, dark gaze meeting yours while his massive hands cup your tits, caressing, squeezing, kneading, while muttering, Goddamn have you grown up. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing, and you sigh into the phone; your dad doesn’t hear it through his rambling. You don’t register what he’s chatting away about because then, Joel’s nose nuzzles into your neck, traces a line up, up, up until his tongue snakes out and meets the curve of your earlobe. Licks the meat of it into his mouth and takes it between his teeth, your whimper cuts off into a moan when the bite turns sharp.  

His fingers fiddle with your nipples. “Naughty little thing,” Joel taunts, warmth of his breath fanning across the hinge of your jaw, “You liked that?” 

You keen and nod, his hand dips south between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his length, notches the too-wide cockhead at your too-small hole. You turn your head, pressing your mouth to the scruff of his beard, muffling the whine he elicits from you. 

Joel pushes inside, takes a moment, and just to mess with you — he fucks his tip in and out of your drooling hole in small pulses — once, twice, thrice — teasing you, making you moan. He tilts his head, nosing your cheek, breath hot and voice deep, “Listen,” he commands.

Absentmindedly, you tilt your phone away from your ear, away from your dad’s mumblings. You strain your ears to obey him. In and out, in and out. The squelch of your sticky wet reverberates  against the four walls of his bedroom as the blunt head of his cock moves in and out. 

In. And out.  

“Fuck,” you mutter, eyes flitting down to watch his cock impale you. 

Your dad’s voice cuts in through the fog, redrawing your attention.

“Sweetie? You okay? What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes widen. Shit. “I’m–I’m–fine, I– I j-just stubbed my toe. Dad, I really can’t t–” You stammer, and Joel chuckles lowly. 

Your stuttering emboldens him, taking it as an invitation to torture you further, and with his lips against your ear, a breathy moan escapes from his lips as Joel feeds you his cock, slowly working himself back into your spent cunt. So painfully slow that he ensures you feel every ridge and every vein, and in turn, he feels every inch of your warm, velvet walls sucking him in as he eases himself into you. Used cunt clamped tight around him as you welcome him back in — inch by torturous inch. 

He stills once he reaches resistance, and you bite your bottom lip hard enough that you taste copper, suppressing the moan climbing up your chest as his tip knocks your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush to your ass — finally bottoming out inside you.

He ruts into you once, tip bumps your cervix again — goading you, and you gasp in return, fingernails indenting his shoulder, half–moon crescents marking his skin. Beads of sweat roll off his forehead and onto your face, mixing with the warm tears now cascading down your face, and your tongue darts out to taste it. The flavor of him — his sweat, his musk — only feeds the dizzying blur that is your mind. But through the foggy haze and the lewd, wet slap of flesh against flesh, you think you can hear your dad saying, You really need to quit the habit of walking around in the dark, kiddo.

And you think you’re nodding, an endless litany of, yes, yeah–yeah slipping past your lips, as you rush your way through the phone call with your father, uncaring. Only interested in the shifts of Joel’s hips, slowly fucking into you in measured thrusts.

Joel tuts. “Such a dirty fuckin’ girl, gettin’ off while speakin’ to her daddy.” And your grip in his hair tightens, walls tensing in response. “Attagirl, keep squeezin’ me like that. You gonna show me just how naughty you are for me, hm? Gonna let me have it with him on the phone? Gonna cream all over my cock, naughty girl?”

You nod your head numbly, mouth dry and unable to speak with the tip of his cock prodding at the soft spot inside you on every languid stroke, hips swaying back and forth.

The wave begins to crest, and despite your eager nodding at Joel only a second prior, there’s no way in hell you’re really going to come on your boyfriend’s cock — your dad’s best friend — while on the phone with your father. 

Your voice claws its way up your throat, “D-dad, I’m — mmm — sorry I really have to g–”​ You think your thumb presses the red button, but your phone slips from your hand, dropping to the carpet with a muffled thump, and it’s too late to check if you’ve fully hung up on him, and frankly, you’re too consumed by your lover to care. 

Grinning with pride, Joel pulls back, cock halfway out of your pussy and your hands grasp at his shoulders. 

“Joel— f-fuck–please,” you beg, your resolve melting. 

He clicks his tongue. “Na-uh, try again.” 

“D-d-daddy–please,” you whine. 

“D-d-daddy,” he mocks above you. “Say it, pretty girl.” He knows, but he wants to hear you say it. 

“Harder. Please, daddy–I–I wanna come, please, I wanna come,” you mewl, voice all whiny and petulant.

He says nothing. Without pulling out of you, his long fingers wrap around to grip the backs of your knees, pinning your thighs to your chest, knees to your shoulders, feet dangling in the air beside his beautiful head, folding you in half. Then, he moves to plant his feet flat on the mattress, propping himself up, hands on your thighs to steady himself. 

You’re already a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as he fucks in and out of your wasted cunt — it doesn’t take much longer for you to get there. The air fills with sounds of the headboard hammering against the wall and filthy, sloppy sounds of where you two are connected as he bashes into you with arrant primal vigor.

The new angle has him hitting a point inside you, deeper than you ever thought to exist. And still — the wave doesn’t break. With his eyes locked on yours, you know he can tell. He can always tell. He’s made you scream his name enough times since the beginning of your many clandestine meetings last summer to know when you’re teetering on the edge. In need of more. 

And for a moment, you think you can see it in him. Hazel eyes practically glint against the pale moonlight that spills into his bedroom. Joel bares his teeth in a cocky grin, his hand releases one of your thighs to cup your face, thumb parting your plush lips when he says, give it to me, kiddo, soak your old man’s cock. 

Oh fuck. 

Your eyelids flutter shut, your head falling back onto the pillows, hands clutching and pulling at tufts of his grizzled curls. Lips closing around his thumb wedged in your mouth; licking, sucking, biting into his flesh, as the crest finally breaks and washes over you, taking you under the rogue waves.  

But Joel still doesn’t let up. One more time, my ass. 

He’s insatiable. And he shows you just how insatiable he is when his thumb slips from your spit-smeared lips and reaches between your bodies, the pads of his fingers expertly thrum at your sensitive clit.

Your face twinges up at the intense, almost painful pressure as he pinches your clit between his index and middle fingers, hard. The swing of his hips speeds up, cock relentlessly beating your sore cunt. The sight of his girth, disappearing and reappearing as he pounds your pussy at a punishing pace, and his fingers twisting your swollen clit has your belly pulling taut and snapping within the same beat. With a broken shout of his name, you gush around the root of his cock, dripping down his balls. It’s warm and sticky when it seeps down, past your tight ring of muscle, soaking his blue sheets and turning them the shade of charcoal gray. 

Joel coaxes you through your seventh–eighth toe-curling orgasm of the night. An endless stream of sweet nothings spills from him — good girl, that’s it, kiddo. I know, I know, it’s so much, I know – fuck– such a good fuckin’ girl, as he fucks you through it. 

Your sloppy cunt clenches around him, and with his cock choked tight, deep within your bruised walls, he follows soon after. Growls raggedly as he unravels, and his own orgasm rolls through him, decking the hall of your weeping cunt with warm, milky ropes of cum for the fourth time tonight. 

Joel collapses onto your sticky chest, placing open-mouthed kisses to your dampened face — your cheek, your nose, your forehead, while he pumps you full of his seed, abiding by his promise. And when he’s done, his sweaty forehead drops to yours for a moment. The waves now a steady ripple through your body as you come down.

After a moment, he lifts his head, and in retaliation for giving you what was possibly the best fuck of your life while on the phone with your father and nearly exposing your tryst, you bring one of his hands to your face, hollow your cheeks, and suck his thumb while looking up at him with wide and falsely innocent eyes. 

He licks his lips but manages to pry his post-coital eyes away. Instead, his cum-soaked cock slips out of your tired, leaking cunt. When he leans back, you swallow a moan, catching sight of the aftermath of your many arousals in his pubic hair. Graying curls swimming in a pool of your combined releases that drips down his thighs. A thin strand of your shared pearlescent spend shines in the soft moonlight, stretching from his balls to your folds, still connecting the two of you as he pulls away. 

Joel misses it, something else pulls his attention. His gaze shifts to the clock beside your head. A hint of a smirk passes over his lips. 

“You’re lucky it’s Christmas, darlin’,” voice low, dangerous. 

Your head snaps in the same direction. It’s past midnight. You smirk in turn and pull the comforter up to hide it.

You feel him shift over you, elbow popping loudly as he reaches for what he’s looking for before he moves to sit up beside you, back against the headboard. His hand pulls the comforter back down from your face, and you roll over and sit up on your knees to face him. 

His other palm opens, wordlessly presenting you with a single twig of some plant. One with moss green, teardrop–shaped leaves and plump, round berries, waxy and opaque in color.  

Mistletoe.

You take the meat of your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a laugh that threatens to bubble through you. Because of fucking course he would. 

Though, the soft laugh is short-lived. His broad hand waves the mistletoe over him, but not where it should be. Your gaze follows the movement of his hand, and your mouth falls agape. Your eyes snap back up to Joel’s, and his wicked smirk broadens.

Joel Miller — naked as the day he was born and splayed on top of his messy sheets — dangles the mistletoe over his length, still hard as a rock and stirring in his other hand.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

Beneath the mistletoe rests a lump of bright red and velvety felt; a fluffy white cuff rounds the brim, and a matching fuzzy white bobble hangs at the end of it. 

A Santa hat perched jauntily on his cock.

You shut your mouth and swallow thickly, already feeling that familiar ache at the apex of your thighs, and you clench around emptiness, a stream of his seed dribbling out of your overstuffed cunt and further soiling his bedding. 

“But it ain’t a Merry one till you give Santa's big sack a few kisses.”

[sstan-hoe]

The Red Ribbon

Chapter One

Plot Summary : By day you’re Billy Russo’s clumsy PA, but by night you’re a host at New York City’s most exclusive gentlemen's club. At The Red Ribbon everyone is anonymous and masks conceal the identities of patrons and hosts alike. But your two lives are about to collide and Billy Russo is about to see a whole new side of you without even realising it..

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour. All chapters will deal with smutty themes and include mentions/suggestions of sex work/work at a gentlemen's club (don't like, don't read). Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 6k

A/N : This is a little something I've been toying with for a while. It's only going to be a short thing (3 parts) over the next few weeks. There's no upload schedule but it'll probably be posting on Fridays anyway 😅 Also I've been ill all week so that's my excuse for typos

Master List

Chapter One

“Remind me why I hired you?”

His voice was a cold snap that caused your cheeks to burn with embarrassment. Even on his birthday, your boss was an asshole.

Your hands trembled as you tried to restack the files that you’d clumsily manage to drop all over his office floor. The contents of the files had spilled out and you already knew that it was going to take you hours to make sure the correct paperwork ended up back where it was supposed to be.

“It wasn’t a rhetorical question,” he added a moment later. “Why did I hire you?”

“Because your other assistants keep quitting,” you muttered under your breath.

It was humiliating, scrabbling around on his office floor, the carpet scrapping your bare knees as you tried to pick everything up as quickly as possible.

“What was that?” He asked.

It was reasonable to guess that he hadn’t heard you - you were certain he would have been a lot angrier if he’d heard you. Still, you hated yourself for letting it slip out. As much as you hated the way your boss treated you, the pay was good. Too good to quit.

“I said I’m sorry Mr Russo,” you answered softly, managing to grab the last of the files and get back to your feet. “I’ll get these sorted and have them on your desk first thing in the morning.”

“I hope you’re planning on staying late.”

“What?” The word spilled from your lips before you had the chance to stop it.

“Do you have somewhere else to be? Something more important than fixing your fuck up and doing the job I pay you to do?” Mr Russo asked.

As a matter of fact, you did have somewhere else to be and something that was more important than fixing the potential Anvil candidate files that you’d managed to dump all over his office floor, but you couldn’t tell him that.  

There was only one person who knew how you spent your nights, and it certainly wasn’t your boss. No, if Billy Russo knew where you went after your days at Anvil, he’d see to it that he had your resignation in his hand by the end of the day. And you were sure the same could be said of your night job.

“No, Mr Russo,” you answered, dropping your gaze to the floor, “I don’t have anywhere more important to be.”

“Good answer,” he said as he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. He moved towards his office door, stepping past you as if you were just another piece of furniture, a spare chair in the way. “And don’t even think about leaving that unfinished. I’ll be in at 5am so you’re not going to have the opportunity to sneak in early tomorrow to finish up.”

He didn’t even wait for a half-hearted ‘yes, Mr Russo’ before leaving for the day.

You glanced at your watch, doing the maths in your head; you should have been finishing in ten minutes time, at five o’clock, which would have given you three hours to get home, eat, and then get across town to work your night job.

The Red Ribbon was New York's most exclusive gentlemen's club - though to call it a gentlemen’s club was somewhat outdated as, these days, it catered to the needs and desires of wealthy clientele regardless of gender identity and sexual orientation. But, it had been considered a gentlemen’s club since the 1950s, and the verbiage was surprisingly hard to shake. 

The club offered something that few similar establishments did; total anonymity for both guests and workers. There were no cameras in The Red Ribbon, no phones or recording devices were allowed. And everyone wore masks. The only way to tell the staff from the clientele were the red ribbons worn about their necks.

You’d been working at The Red Ribbon for the last six months. At the start you’d tended bar, not wanting to get too hands-on with the customers - not because you had any strong feelings or moral objections about those that did, but mostly because you didn’t think you’d be any good at it. You’d never been the sort to consider yourself graceful, much less sexy, but you could make a mean espresso martini and you were great with pointless smalltalk. 

The money was good, but it wasn’t good enough, not when you had debts and financial obligations. 

At The Red Ribbon, the hosts made the most money, each getting assigned to one of the private rooms and being tasked with taking care of the customers' needs for the whole night. It was ultimately up to the host what taking care of the customer entailed though boundaries were firmly established before the host set foot in the private room. Every host had their own limits, some were happy to touch and be touched, some took it further still, and others preferred a hands-off approach.

If there was one thing The Red Ribbon was known for beyond the total anonymity it offered, it was the level of security. Everyone who set foot through the doors knew better than to cause trouble or push the boundaries of any member of staff.

You’d made the switch from bartender to host slowly, filling in whenever someone was out sick or when you needed a little extra money. You were slow to warm to it but, to your surprise, you found that you actually enjoyed it. Though you stayed firmly in the no touching or being touched camp, the tips you made in one night were still more than you made over a whole week tending bar.

But, when that money still wasn’t enough to cover your debts, you took a day job.

And that was how you’d ended up spending an evening hunched over a desk at Anvil, trying desperately to match paperwork with the correct file for a boss who’d made it pretty clear that he didn't like you and thought you were too inept for your job.

By the time you were done, you barely had the chance to make it home and shower and, instead of eating a proper meal, you ate a Snickers bar on the subway.

The Red Ribbon had a special entrance for staff that used old prohibition tunnels and a hidden elevator to get you into the building and up to the top floor. 

New York was stunning from fifty floors up and, some nights, you’d find yourself in the locker room just staring out at the skyline as you changed into your uniform. But tonight you didn’t have the luxury of time.

You stood in front of the schedule, checking which room you were in and which mask you’d be wearing. While bar staff and servers all wore the same elegant black and red masks  to obscure their faces, hosts wore individual masks that corresponded with the room they’d be working. Tonight you were in the rabbit room, so you plucked the ornate rabbit mask from its hook on the wall.

Of all the masks, the rabbit had always been your favourite because of the detailing on the ears and the way it just sat right on your face.

You always got such a rush from pulling a mask on and heading out into the club. Under any other circumstance the thought of walking around in a revealing black bodysuit would have been embarrassing, but once you had your mask on, you felt almost powerful, like a superhero with a secret identity. With the mask, you weren’t you, you were whatever part you were playing and tonight you were Bunny, and Bunny could be whoever you wanted her to be.

The last part of your uniform was the red ribbon that you tied around your neck, the very thing that distinguished staff from customers, and gave the club its name.

You gave yourself one last look in the floor to ceiling mirror, making sure that you looked ready to handle whatever the night had to throw at you, before finally stepping out into the main area of the club.

Once you passed the threshold, everything about you changed; you held your head high and walked through the club like you owned the place. Here you weren’t the quiet little PA who had to keep her mouth shut in case her boss decided to fire her. Here you called the shots.

The spring in your step became even more noticeable as you climbed the stairs and headed onto the walkway that led to the private rooms, each situated above the dancefloor with views of the whole club. 

“Hey, lil Bunny,” an all too familiar face said.

You grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Rocky, one of the club's security guards, a man, who in any other circumstances would terrify you.  He was a huge behemoth of a man, truly deserving of the title Built Like a Brick Shit-House. To the patrons, he was the one they didn’t want to get on the bad side of, but to you and the rest of the staff, he was safety incarnate.

“Hey, Rocky,” you said, bumping fists with him as you came to a stop in front of him.

He’d taken something of a shine to you on your first night at The Red Ribbon - he later told you it was because you reminded him of his sister who’d died only a few years before. Since then he’d always kept a close eye on you.

After bumping fists, you kept your arm outstretched so he could fit your security bracelet for the night; a very ornate looking panic button that you could use discreetly if you needed Rocky to deal with a problem customer. 

“You let me know if you need anything,” he said softly but seriously.

And, with that, you were on your way again, slipping into the rabbit room with a few minutes to spare before your guest arrived. You did a quick sweep of the room, making sure everything was tidy before turning on the music and checking the bar and, finally, you lowered the lights.

Less than five minutes later, a group of men were shown into the room, each wearing plain black masks that covered the top half of their faces, and each dressed to the club's high standards. Though, just from looking at them you could tell that some were more comfortable in suits than others.

“Welcome to The Red Ribbon, I’m Bunny and I’ll be your host for the evening and I’ll be running the bar for you, so make yourselves comfortable and I’ll get you your first round,” you announced and, with a flourish of your hand, you waved them towards the sofas.

You took drink orders and made a point of saying a little personal hello to each of them, knowing that it’d help win you tips by the end of the night.

As far as groups went, they seemed decent enough, not exactly what you’d call reserved by any stretch, but they seemed to be happy to talk amongst themselves while you tended bar, not expecting anything more of you.

After about half an hour, one of them broke away from the group and headed towards the bar. You couldn’t help but watch him, taking in the perfect way that his suit fit his tall, slender frame. 

He took a seat on one of the stools at the bar and flashed you the sort of smile that you were sure had panties dropping all across the five boroughs on a regular basis.

“What can I get you?” You asked.

“Another scotch would be great.”

“Sure thing.”

You were acutely aware of the way his eyes followed your every movement as you  grabbed a bottle and fresh glass with ice. Your skin felt like it was tingling under his gaze - he wasn’t leering, it felt more like he was appreciating. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

For a second you wondered if it was a line - it certainly sounded like a line - but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you think he was actually being serious.

“What makes you say that?” You asked in your playful voice, deciding to indulge him.

“I’d remember seeing you.”

He wasn’t shy about drinking in the sight of you. At any other time you might have felt disgusted, but it was part of the job and you probably would have been more offended if he  wasn’t checking you out.

“Hmm, and what exactly is it you think you’d remember?” You retorted playfully.

He grinned at that, a laugh rumbling in his chest. And his eyes - fuck, his dark eyes almost seemed to twinkle.

“I’m not sure it’d be considered polite if I was to get... anatomical,” he joked.

“It’s my ass, isn’t it?” You offered offhandedly, breaking any tension or sense of shame.

His grin grew wider, though there was a hint of surprise on his face too, like he hadn’t quite expected you to be so forward.

“Now that you mention it, you do have a very nice ass,” he agreed, “in fact that whole thigh-ass area is perfection.”

You could feel warmth spreading across your cheeks and down your neck, and you were glad of the low lights and the mask on your face. While you were used to comments on your body and what men wanted to do with you while working, there was something different about this. This felt like flirting. Honest to god flirting. And it had been a long time since anyone had tried to flirt with you.

Out in the real world, his comment would have turned you into a shy mess, but behind the bunny mask... well, let’s just say that Bunny wanted to play.

“Oh, a thigh man as well?” 

“I’m a man of refined tastes,” he shrugged.

His grin had you wishing you could see the rest of his face. You were already trying to picture what he might look like behind the mask but you were certain that your imagination was not doing it justice.

“And what else does that taste extend to?” You asked, leaning across the bar a little more as you slid his drink towards him.

His fingers briefly covered yours - rougher than you’d expected - before you slowly pulled your hand away. For a split second, you felt your breath catch, and there was a flicker of something on his face that made you think he’d felt it too, that moment of electricity when you’d touched.

“Are we still talking anatomically? Because I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about your tits for the last five minutes.”

Again, it wasn’t the sort of comment you’d put up with in any other situation but, then and there, in a place where you held all the power, you liked hearing it. The fact that he’d been allowed into The Red Ribbon meant that he was someone, that he was rich and powerful, so for poor, boring you to be the object of his desires gave a thrill like no other.

You let slip another laugh, propping yourself against the bar with a hand beneath your chin, eyes fixed on Mr Tall, Dark and Playful.

“Only the last five minutes?” You said, almost sounding distraught.

“Oh, you’re trouble, Bunny,” he remarked, leaning towards you as he lifted his drink and took a slow sip.

“I get the feeling that you like trouble.”

“You have no idea...”

It would have been a lie to say that the temptation to carry on the flirtatious conversation wasn’t increasing with every passing second; it was fun, you were actually enjoying it rather than just being subjected to it. But he wasn’t the only person in the room who wanted your attention and you had a job to do. 

“Looks like your friends want some attention too,” you said, nodding your head towards the group of men still sitting at the table. One of them was waving you over, obviously in desperate need of another drink.

“Animals, the lot of them,” he said, almost fondly. “I should have known they had selfish reasons for bringing me here on my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” You asked and received a nod in response, before shaking your head and muttering; “another Sagittarius...”

“Another?” 

You looked at him, almost embarrassed that you’d let it slip out and that you’d blurred the line between your real life and Bunny.

“Just a guy I know,” you shrugged.

“He break your heart or something? Need me and the guys to pay him a visit?” He offered playfully.

Another laugh escaped you and you couldn’t help but think about how strange it felt to be able to genuinely laugh with one of the customers. After months of perfecting your customer service laugh, you’d never expected to find yourself actually laughing at some off-handed comment. Especially when the comment was about a stranger going to beat the shit out of your boss for being mean to you.

“No, it’s okay. I can handle myself.”

“I’ll bet you can, Bunny.”

“Well,” you said, definitively, changing the subject and taking your thoughts away from your terrible day-boss, “happy birthday. I think you deserve something fancy to drink.”

He grinned as you turned away to fish a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge and grab enough glasses for him and his friends.

“This place is really somethin’ else,” a second voice said. “I know you said the girls were pretty but... holy shit.”

Tall, Dark and Playful gave a laugh.

“Prettiest girls in New York are all right here,” he said, clapping his friend on the back.

“Careful boys, my ears are burning,” you joked as you turned back to them.

“It's a beautiful woman's fate to be the subject of conversation wherever she goes,” he said.

“Didn't expect to hear anyone quoting Dorian Gray tonight,” you answered back, amused.

He looked almost surprised by the comment, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve read Dorian Gray?” He asked. “You like to read?”

“Does that surprise you?” You asked, your mask hiding the way your eyebrow rose. “Do you not think girls like me can read the classics?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -” he glanced at his friend beside him, then to the group sitting at the table. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but from some of the hand gestures being made, you could guess that it was something filthy, “- it’s just that I'm not used to being around people who can actually read.”

He got a rough punch in the arm from the guy beside him for that, and you started to laugh again. 

They continued to talk while you popped the champagne and started to fill glasses for the whole party. You placed one in front of the birthday boy, and one in front of his friend, before loading up a tray and taking the rest to the party at the table.

“Champagne to toast the birthday boy,” you said with a cheeky smile, earning a round of cheers from the men.

When you returned to the bar, Tall and Dark’s friend passed you, heading back to the group, leaving the birthday boy all alone.

“Not gonna drink with your friends?” You asked.

It was hard not to feel curious - it was part of the job, the masks, the hidden identities, there were always so many unanswered questions.

“I’ve never been one for birthdays,” he answered with a shrug, but still shot you a smile before lifting his champagne flute to his lips.

“Hmm so the mysterious, handsome stranger has a tragic backstory,” you said playfully.

“I don’t know if I’d call it tragic,” he said, his shoulder ticking upwards uncomfortably.

“Should I ask?”

Probably not, you thought. But some part of you wanted to know, wanted to prod and poke until you had him all figured out.

“My mother abandoned me a few hours after I was born,” he stated flatly.

Oh.

Shit.

You didn’t expect him to laugh when he looked at you again, his head shaking. “Don’t look so shocked, it was a long time ago and I’ve come a long way since then.”

“I just -” the confidence of Bunny slipped for a moment, leaving only you; the clumsy girl with a heart that often felt far too big, “- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve joked...”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve had plenty of time to get over it. Besides, the way I figure it, she did me a favour. You want soft kids, coddle them and treat them well.”

“Wouldn't know anything about that,” you said with a wry smile. “My parents definitely didn't coddle us.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“That all I'm getting?” He asked, smiling that playful smile again.

“Getting personal defeats the point of the masks, don't you think?” You retorted, leaning to top up his drink.

“I suppose,” he answered, pausing for a beat before continuing, “I guess you could tell me anything and I'd have to take your word for it.”

“You don't strike me as the sort of man who's trusting enough to do something like that.”

It was something you could see in his eyes, the way they took you in and watched every little flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

“Then why don't we play a game?” He offered. “We each get to ask a question, and you get to call the other out if you think they’re lying. And if I catch you in a lie, you have to tell me something true.”

Your eyes narrowed a little, trying to get a measure of him. Normally you were reasonably good at reading people - though maybe a lot of that came from working various PA and secretarial positions, needing to be able to anticipate your boss’ shitty moods.

“Okay, you’re on,” you agreed, “but a few ground rules; you’re not allowed to ask about who I am or anything that might identify me.”

“Sounds fair.” He lifted his champagne and took a slow drink but his eyes never left you. “What are you most afraid of?”

That caught you off guard. It was more serious than you’d anticipated.

“You could ask me almost anything, but that’s what you want to know?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person by what they’re scared of,” he said, shrugging.

You took a second to consider your answer.

“Jellyfish.”

“Really, Bunny, you’re gonna lie right outta the gate?” 

“Okay, fine,” you said with a huff, hating that he’d caught you out already. “I guess I’m most scared of dying alone, but jellyfish are a close second.”

“You think you’re gonna die alone?” He asked.

There was something in his voice that seemed to suggest he didn’t get it, or maybe it was that he thought it would never happen. Little did he know that you - the real you - didn’t exactly have the best luck with men.

“That’s two questions. Don’t I get a turn?” You asked, deciding to dodge his question.

Tall and Dark relented and gave a wave of his hand.

“What do you hate most about New York?” 

“Hate?” He repeated.

“Everyone always loves the same things about the city, but most people hate something different,” you explained.

You watched him closely as he considered his answer, looking for anything that might tell you if he was about to lie to you.

“The subway. It stinks of piss and there’s always too many people.”

You had to give him that one for obvious reasons, though he didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who used the subway all that often.

“When was the last time you used the subway?”

“That’s two questions, Bunny,” he chided playfully.

“Fine. Your turn.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“What? You think that this wasn’t my career goal?” You said, barely holding back a laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t know, I went through a lot of phases; I wanted to be a vet until I lost my first hamster, wanted to be a doctor until my brother broke his arm, and I wanted to be a lawyer but I have a conscience...”

The birthday boy laughed with you, smiling at you, obviously happy enough with your answer because he didn’t call you out, making it your turn again.

“What’s your favourite place in New York?” You asked.

“Right here,” he said. “Right now. With you.”

“Yikes, what a line,” you said, smirking at him despite the heat in your cheeks. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“Normally I don’t need lines.”

“No?”

“People - women - usually make their minds up about me pretty quickly, and it’s rarely because of anything I have to say,” he explained.

You watched as he lifted his glass and drained his drink. Without needing to be asked, you refilled his glass. There was a pang of sadness in you, for him, for what he obviously had to go through.

“You must be pretty rich then,” you said, managing to keep the playful tone.

“Oh filthy rich,” he confirmed.

“Emphasis on the filthy part.”

He smirked at that.

The longer the conversation went on, the stranger it felt; it didn’t feel like work anymore, and you almost wished that it wasn’t. But moments like this didn’t happen to you out in the real world. He probably wouldn’t even look at you twice if he saw you in the light of day.

“Anyway, I call bullshit. There must be somewhere you like better than here, even if you are enjoying my company,” you said.

“Alright,” he conceded with an almost rueful smile, “there’s a baseball field in Brooklyn. I used to go there when I was a kid to watch other kids play...”

There was more to it, even you could tell that much, but it seemed personal - far more personal than you were prepared to get with him.

“You like baseball?”

“Liked,” he said, correcting you and adding another layer of uncertainty. “And that’s two questions.”

“Sorry, I’m not used to playing games when I’m tending bar,” you said, topping up his glass again before glancing towards his friends. “And, on that note...”

Again, you felt his eyes on you as you moved around the bar and headed to his friends, checking that everyone was having a good time and taking orders for fresh drinks.

“Think you’ve made the birthday boy’s night,” one of them said.

“Yeah, normally he slips out of his birthday parties after the first hour,” another commented, and they all laughed.

And, as you made your way back towards the bar (towards him), you couldn’t help but wonder what his birthdays were usually like.

“Hope they weren’t giving you any trouble,” he said as you slipped behind the bar and put the empty glasses you’d gathered to the side so you could start getting fresh drinks.

“No, you’ve all been perfect gentlemen,” you said, smiling at him, your face obviously showing some degree of relief because he quickly commented on it.

“Are there times when guys aren’t gentlemen?” He asked.

There was something in his tone, a hint of - what? - protectiveness, or anger maybe. 

“Sometimes, but that’s what Rocky is for,” you said, nodding your head towards the door.

“The big guy?” He asked and you nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t fancy my chances with him.”

Filling a tray with the fresh drinks, you went back to the table and passed them around before heading back to him again, taking up the spot on the opposite side of the bar from him, leaning your elbow on the bartop.

“So,” you said, almost decidedly, “want to tell me why you’re spending your birthday night out talking to me and not with your friends?”

He seemed to hesitate, but only for a split second.

“I thought it was my turn.”

“It is,” you conceded, “if you want to keep playing, but I think you might enjoy your birthday more if you spent it with friends.”

“We could be friends.”

“Friends don’t check out each other's asses, handsome.”

“Oh, so you’ve been checking out my ass?” He said as a grin tugged at his lips.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Something about men in well tailored pants drives me wild.”

The birthday boy let out another laugh, and it was such a happy sound that he drew glances from his friends, all of them wondering just what it was you’d said to manage to get a response like that from him.

He grabbed his glass and got to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Bunny,” he said before heading towards his friends.

Over the rest of the night, you found yourself watching him, always coming up with a teasing or playful remark whenever you went across to get them fresh drinks (oh, you wanted a drink, I just thought you wanted to stare at my ass again and I know how much you enjoy watching me walk away).

And he watched you, too.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps under his attention and you quickly came to love the sensation. Never in all your time working at The Red Ribbon had you felt such a connection with a guest, and you probably never would again.

So, when they all finally stood to leave, you felt a pang of regret - you shouldn’t have sent him back to his friends, you should have kept him with you so you could talk more.

Each of the guys said their thanks, each dropping bills into the tip jar by the door on their way out.

One of them stopped and looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “Thanks. I dunno what you said to him but I ain’t seen him like this in a long time.”

Your heart stuttered, not sure what it was you could have done to inspire such a change in a man you didn’t even know.

You noticed him linger as the door swung shut behind the last of his friends and, at any other time, that would be cause for concern but something told you that you weren’t in danger. Not from him. 

“Something else I can help you with?” You asked, as playful as ever.

“Plenty,” he said, his smile dropping a little. “But everything I want would break the rules, and the last thing I want is to get banned when there’s a chance I might see you again.”

It was sweet how oddly accepting he was of how things were, how they had to be. It made it harder to watch him walk away knowing that you might not see him again. You’d never felt such an instant connection with a stranger before, especially not a stranger who’d seen this side of you, a stranger who knew what you did for a living and didn’t judge you for it.

Against your better judgement, you leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly. You lingered close, watching the way the corner of his lip ticked upwards and heard the slightest catch of his breath.

“Well, here’s hoping you can tell who I am the next time you see me,” you offered in little more than a whisper.

Slowly, cautiously, his hand lifted to your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. It was the barest of touches, so light that he might not have even touched you at all, but you felt a warmth spread across your skin nonetheless.

“I’ll know, Bunny,” he said with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m gonna find you again.”

“Promises, promises,” you joked, wanting to keep the mood light, knowing that the odds of seeing him again were small. And, with that thought, you found yourself leaning forward again, this time pressing your lips to his for the briefest of seconds. “Something to remember me by.”

Then you stepped back, creating space between your body and his, a silent signifier that the night was over.

“I will find you,” he said again. “I always get what I want, Bunny, one way or another.”

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you said, avoiding answering his comment.

He gave you one last look, drinking in the sight of you from head to toe, and you felt your whole body warm in response. Then he left, leaving you alone with your racing heart and the promise that you’d see him again. 

It should have worried you; the way he’d spoken to you, the way he’d been looking, and the fact that he wanted to find you again. But it didn’t. Instead of worry, all you felt was want, even if you knew that the man behind the mask might be someone completely different. Even if you knew the man behind the mask probably wouldn’t be interested in who you were when you weren’t playing Bunny.

Later that night as you laid in bed, your vibrator between your thighs and his dark eyes in your mind, you wondered what he was doing. Your eyes closed tight, picturing him standing over you, watching as you fucked yourself. He’d smile that playful smile down at you and slowly grip his cock - and, fuck, his cock was probably as perfect as the rest of him.

You longed to know what he looked like beneath the mask and beneath the expensive clothes.

You wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by him, for him to kiss you and hold you. For him to fuck you.

No matter what you imagined as you slid the vibrator in and out your body, your thoughts continued to return to one thing; his eyes. You wanted to get lost in them, wanted to make him laugh and see them sparkle. You wanted to see them darken with need as he fucked you and took what he wanted from you.

I always get what I want, he’d told you. And he wanted you.

A loud moan tore from your lips as you came, your whole body shivering with pleasure at the thought of this strange and alluring man getting what he wanted from you.

Then, with a heavy sigh, you sank back on your bed and curled up, the usual feelings of insecurity quickly filling you again.

He’d probably forget all about you; everything he’d said had probably just been to try and get something more than you’d been prepared to give. He’d probably already forgotten you...

Little did you know that, across town, Billy Russo was fisting his cock to thoughts of you without knowing it was you he was thinking of, his hand stroking up and down his length as he stood in the shower. He jerked off to thoughts of your body, your laugh, your smile. He pictured all the ways that he wanted you, his Bunny, all the things he wanted to do.

Your plump and pretty lips would look good wrapped around his cock, and your plush thighs would no doubt feel amazing wrapped around his head as he feasted on your cunt. 

He licked his lips for what must have been the hundredth time since you kissed him and was, yet again, disappointed that there was no lingering taste of you.

As he came, he knew that he had to have you. He would find you again, and he would make you his if it was the last thing he did.

A/N : I feel weird when I don't post on a Friday, so here's a new thing 😅 like I said at the start, this will just be a short, sweet thing (3 parts and done), but hopefully it'll be a lot of fun and a little bit more playful/light-hearted compared to Love, Sick Love. (And I promise no cliffhanger ending to this one 😅) If you've played TellTale's The Wolf Among Us, that's where I got the ribbon idea from (well that and that old ghost story... but no ones head is going to fall off in this, I promise).

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged. I'm not going to full commit to posting every Friday for this because I work in retail and, as you can imagine, it's hectic at the moment, but I want to try and post at least once a week since this is only going to be a short story.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Also I can't remember if anyone else asked to be tagged in all future Billy stories, if I've missed you please shout at me.

Tag List : @lincerad @xxxsweetcarolinexxx

[sstan-hoe]

late nights

pairing: joel miller x f!sex worker!reader

wc: 7.6k

summary: You never expect Joel to come back, let alone to search for you.

part 2 to cherry

warnings: age gap (20s/50s), smut [f!masturbation, voyeurism aka joel watches reader self pleasure, piv sex, f!receiving oral, clothed man, naked woman], praise kink, a little bit of a voice kink, reader is a sex worker, poverty and issues and dangers that come along with that, smoking (reader and joel), mentions of violence and self destructive tendencies

a/n: please let me know what you think! this chapter is a lot of character establishment and, ahem, smut. maybe some of you can guess where this is going, id love to hear if you have theories even if its a little early to have them. thank you for reading!

You don’t think about Joel. 

He was unexpected and rare, and you would never see him again, nor be with that kind of man in a place like this ever again, and daydreaming about it wouldn’t help anyone. It would make everything that much harder.

A couple weeks go by and you forget about him, just another in a long line of men. 

The only time you dare to let your mind drift to him is late at night in your own bed, fingers between your legs in the dark, the remembrance of his voice whispering praise. 

It always pushes you over the edge. 

It’s not the first time you’ve tucked away an unexpected part of a man, kept in your imagination, to get off. That Joel’s voice keeps cropping up when you’re alone, least expecting it, for much longer than some others, means nothing. 

But then, one evening, things change. 

“Cherry!” Chastity hisses your name as soon as you cross the threshold into the club, metal hinges squeaking as it swings shut behind you. It’s a little conspicuous, to be flocked together like a bundle of flighty hens near the doors. She’s standing with Crystal, cigarette hanging from the side of her perfect pouty lips, looking distinctly unhappy. 

It makes you nervous. The owner of the club knows you operate there, but he doesn’t like you being too obvious about it, and you would not put it past him to call the cops. He has the benefit of denial, and safety of his sex, that you don’t. 

“That fella is back. Asked for you by name at the bar.” 

“Who?” 

“I never got his name that time he was here.” She taps her chin, thinking. “Older, real deep accent, kinda gruff,” she muses. “Ringing any bells?” 

A blankness sweeps though your mind, shuffling through the last few men you’ve been with, unable to pin down who she’s talking about. It’s such a remote possibility that it doesn't even occur to you, until—

“Oh, c’mon, Cherry, that real sad one everybody talked to—”

“Joel?” 

Her eyes flash, face lighting up. “Is that his name?” 

You blink at her tone, the excitement in it. 

Crystal tilts her head at you, cool and assessing. “What's your deal with him?” 

You shake your head, meeting her gaze head on. “Don’t have one.” 

“He’s at the bar,” Chastity chirps, nudging you. “Don’t keep him waitin’. Go on.” 

Surprise sends a thrill swirling up from your belly when you peek out onto the floor and catch sight of a familiar silhouette. “Damn, he really is.” 

“Bad thing?” Crystal asks as Chastity’s fingers dig into your arm. 

“I just didn’t think he’d come back.” And you are good at this, good at reading men, knowing things about them, and he’s surprised you. A vinegary squirm of worry twists in your belly. A man fixated on one prostitute never bode well. 

Joel is sitting at the bar, leaning against the wooden countertop like he never left in the first place. “Did you fuck him?” 

“Blew him,” you answer distantly, trying to decide how to feel. 

“Must have been some head.”

Maybe you’d been a little more enthusiastic than usual, but at the end of the day it had just been a blowjob. No reason not to put his dick in whoever was available. 

Maybe it had more to do with the other stuff. The dead wife stuff, the guilt stuff. The telling him he was special stuff. 

Fuck. 

Crystal looks on, her gaze heavy and disapproving. “Be careful,” she advises, head tilting, eyes narrowing. “Remember what I told you.” 

You need no reminders, no cautioning. 

Still, you cross the floor, navigating tables, girls carrying drinks, dancers leading men away for private dances, the raucous laughter of tables full of drunk, reaching hands, though not for you, not yet. 

Maybe not at all, at least not tonight. 

And, despite yourself, despite the worry like a lead balloon in your chest, you feel an undeniable thrill. A ribbon of need unspools in your belly, slips lower between your legs. 

Maybe he’ll fuck you this time. 

Joel turns when you near the counter, like he senses you behind him. He straightens and nods, appraising eyes falling over your body. You tuck your elbows in delicately and tick out your hip when you stop next to him. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t expect to see you here again,” you smile and lean against the counter, crossing one heeled foot behind the other. 

“Howdy,” he greets. “I’m sure you’ll tell me why you didn’t expect it. Teach me some kinda lesson.” 

You smile and press one hand over his forearm. He’s wearing an olive green t-shirt that softens his eyes. “Lesson? Did I learn you somethin’ mister cowboy?” 

He ignores your jibe. “Suppose you did.” 

“Hm,” you lean in. “Is that an invitation?” 

“Yeah. If you’re willin’.”

“Oh, well, of course, Joel, anything for you.” 

Joel eyes you for a minute and you just smile at him. “I swear, I have never met a man that didn’t take a whore at her word.” 

That gets you a surprised laugh. “Now, darlin’—”

“C’mon,” you interrupt, “let’s get a move on.” You tilt your head and glance around. “Unless you’d like to peruse your options a little more—” 

He rolls his eyes and places a hand against your back, guiding you back toward the entrance you’d just come through. You aren’t sure you’ve ever had such a quick turn around. 

Crystal and Chastity have blessedly already departed from their station just inside the door, though you can feel their eyes on your skin, somewhere in the shadows of the club behind you.

Joel holds the door open for you and ushers you through it ahead of him, fingers light on your spine. 

The air is warm, the still setting sun an orange flame on the horizon, coating the parking lot in shades of rose and salmon. The smell of warm asphalt and gasoline rises up to meet you, settled between the dust of the wasteland beyond the town. 

“I came back twice, and you weren’t here,” he says as you cross the lot toward his truck. “Or, maybe, you was busy with, uh, somebody else.” 

You frown. “Didn’t someone else offer?” 

“Yep. Wasn’t interested.” 

“Really?” 

“Figure we kinda got an understanding about each other. After the last time.”

Hm, so you were right. It was the emotional unloading that brought him back, not the head he’d gotten. 

It was probably easier not to have to explain everything again. Not that he would have had to, the second time around. He could have just fucked someone, since his secrets were safely lain with someone else. 

And was it really easier to come back three times? To this desolate stretch of highway? That fancy hotel he stayed in could probably press a button and get him an escort. 

“Well,” you answer. “Just for any future endeavors, you should know I’m strictly only there on weekends, usually only Fridays and Saturdays.”

Joel opens the passenger door for you. You slide into the shadow of it, leaning back against the seat, the fabric cool on the backs of your thighs. 

“All right,” he leans one forearm against the side of the open door, opposite hand on his hip. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He’s close to you. The frame of his body blotting out the streetlight behind him. The evening light softens his features a little, rounds out his jaw, lightens the color of his eyes. 

A soft tug behind your navel gives rise to worry in your chest. 

You’re glad he came back, more than that, you’re flattered by it. Your thirst to be praised slaked by the knowledge that he had come back for you, waited for you. 

The rational part of you knows it means nothing at all. You’ve spent enough time with enough men, to know they’ll fuck pretty much anything.

You lean forward and loop your fingers into his jeans, tugging him toward you as dusk settles in, a quiet yawn of the day slotted between you and nothing else. If you offered, would he let you get him off right here? 

His skin is warm against your fingers, the wings of his hipbones muted through a layer of fat and muscle. 

There’s a decision to be made here, how close he wants you to actually get. Does he want to talk about his wife again? Does he want you to know more about him? There’s always the possibility they turn violent, if they thought you were treading where you shouldn’t be. A hard lesson learned and never forgotten. 

A sudden thought occurs to you as you ponder, tugging and touching until his hips are flush with yours. The hand on Joel’s hip moves to brace against the top of the truck. “Were you there through the week? Joel, everybody knows a club like that on a weekday is just sad.”  

“All right,” he mutters, and, you notice, rolls his eyes. It makes you smile. “I’ll keep Saturdays in mind.” He slides out of your grip and instead offers you a hand to balance on. You accept it, arranging yourself delicately on the seat, tucking your legs to the side, as Joel watches. 

You lift a brow when he doesn’t shut the door, eyes hooked into your legs, the fabric of your dress bunches the very tops of your thighs. At the very least, he’s letting himself look at you freely this time. “I can flash you if you want.” 

His gaze jerks up to yours. “I have really pretty panties on today,” you offer. 

There’s a startled quality to his features that makes you laugh. He doesn’t know how to handle you, what to make of you, and you like that. 

But then he leans down, his face very near to yours. He’s looking at you, eyes hungrily sliding over your skin. Joel palms your thigh, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath your dress. “Why don’t you save it for me?” 

“So you can guess the color?” 

“Mhm.” His hand curves over the top of your leg, between your thighs. “Somethin’ like that.” 

You uncross your ankles and let them fall open a little. “Look at you,” you tease. “What happened to all that guilt?” 

“Trust me it’s there.” 

“But?” 

He pulls back and closes the door. 

The cab is warm with trapped spring air. Joel settles in beside you, sticking the keys in the ignition without looking over at you. “She’s been gone for a little more than a year,” he says to the windshield, the falling darkness. The truck rumbles to life, the neon lights of the club passing by in a flash, the glow sprinting over his features. You notice that the box of cassette tapes is gone. “And I had my kids young.”

You nod, not sure what to say, waiting for a little more before hazarding a reply. 

He struggles with it for a moment, grapples with his own thoughts and how much he wants to tell you. “You was right,” he glances back at you and away. “About bein’ lonely,” he hesitates, thinking for a long moment, “so this ain’t a bad thing.” 

And that’s all you get, left to twist apart the lines and find meaning. You wring the sentences dry, looping them around your fingers, counting the words. 

It strikes you suddenly that there’s something more going on. He lost his wife, the relationship more like a partnership than anything romantic. But he has children, a family, and a man that had been fulfilled for years on that alone, wouldn’t suddenly be desperate to get his dick wet. 

Something else happened. Besides the loss of his life partner, that constant presence, he’d lost something else too. 

You don’t dare ask. It’s too complicated and close, especially when he’d gone to such lengths to bring up the fact that at least one daughter is older than you, and possibly the other, considering you’d lied about your age. 

Night falls in a blue-gray sheaf around you, casts him in shadow and light as you pass beneath streetlights. A chord in his throat strains, jaw clenching and releasing as he drives, no doubt thinking about what he’d just said to you, agonizing over it again. 

You can only think about how your mouth had touched him there, had tasted the salt of his skin beneath his jaw, how you’d like to do it again. Tell him to pull over and climb into his lap and make out with him on the side of the road. 

You wonder what it’s like to kiss him, to feel the scratch of his beard against your cheeks and lips. 

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” you soothe, curling up on the bench seat. “Really. And I’m not just feeding you a line.” 

He nods, and you reach to take his hand, put it back between your legs. “Jesus,” he mutters, but his thumb strokes the inside of your thigh. 

“Am I really your first?” 

“First, uh,” he pauses and doesn’t seem to know what to call you, clearly not wanting to call you what you are.

“Whore?” You offer with a grin. “Hooker? Call girl? If prostitute isn’t to your taste, of course.” 

He mutters something under his breath, takes his hand from between your legs and rubs it over his chin. You like the sound it makes, the scratch of his beard against his palm. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, you’re my first.” 

A laugh lurches out of you, a brighter sound than you intend. It’s genuine, and by the way his mouth twitches up, he knows it. 

He puts his hand back on your leg, though not on the inside of your thigh where it had been. 

The last few minutes of the drive are silent. You run your nails over the inside of his wrist, distractedly looking out the window, watching nice neighborhoods roll past until the hotel appears, it’s beacon of warm white light like a homing signal. 

His hand leaves a warm imprint on your leg, like a suddenly removed branding iron, the air cool in the space left behind. 

Joel once again rounds the truck and a hand down  before you have a chance to even open the door. He balances his hand against your spine like you’re a lady and not a whore he’s paying for, no matter what he wants to call you.

A curl of rarely felt embarrassment slices through your chest when you cross the lush, posh lobby. The same woman is at the front desk, and she and Joel repeat their exchange from the previous time. Her face remains pleasantly professional, but you can sense her distaste this time around. A thick cloud of judgment wreathes her.

There are people milling around the lobby, perched at the bar, and thankfully none of them spare you a glance.

He’s in the same room as before, the brass plated 202 winking at you in the low light of the hall before the door swings open. 

You perch on the bed like the first time and wait. He takes his time about sitting down next to you and taking off his shoes, workman’s boots, you notice, still at odds with the hotel he stays in. 

Curiosity burns bright in your chest. To ask him what he does for work to dress like that and drive the truck he does, but stay at a hotel like this one. 

“First whore,” you muse when he sits back with a groan. “Hm. Can I ask how I’m performing so far? Living up to the fantasy?” 

He ignores your jabbering, shaking his head in a defeated, embarrassed kind of way. “Can I ask—”

“What? How I ended up fucking strangers for money?” 

He rakes a hand through his hair, then rubs it over his jaw. The silvered strands stand up, mussed. You lie your hand on his thigh, reaching to push it back into place. You’re close, nearly nose to nose.  “Jesus. Yeah. If you wanna put it like that.” 

“What other way is there to put it?” 

“Well, you been usin’ the word whore a whole lot.” 

There’s the beginning of a joke there, but you take it out at the knees. 

“You wanna call me a whore?” 

Something dangerous and unsure bleeds into the air. You wonder if he does. 

Does he want to indulge that side of himself? 

It doesn’t matter to you either way. Most of them like some element of that. Degrading you in some way because they all believe you’re beneath them. The receptionist’s face flashes through your mind. 

To your surprise, he brushes over it. “How’d you end up doin’ this?” 

The truth burgeons at your lips and flutters free before you can think better of it. It’s rare that your tongue gets the better of you. “I need to pay for school.” 

“School?” He asks, sounding genuinely miffed.

“College,” you clarify, then tilt your head at him. “Please tell me I don’t look that young.” 

He rolls his eyes. It’s starting to become a familiar gesture. “You screwin’ with me?” 

“Don’t you want me to screw you?” You purr. When he just gives you an unimpressed, flat stare you sigh and then stifle another laugh. “What? What do you want me to say?” 

“No, it makes a whole helluva lot more sense than—” He looks at you again and you grin. You both know that whatever he says next will get him in trouble. “I was just thinkin’ when you first sat down next to me that you don’t really fit in.” 

You open your mouth and he holds up a finger. “Don’t.” 

“Fine,” you smirk. “I’m very privileged that I don’t . . . fit in, I suppose. I very easily could have.” You think about leaving it at that but figure you might as well just tell him. “I grew up poor. I worked all through undergrad, forty hours a week and classes and everything. And then. . .by some miracle I get into my dream grad program. No one else in my family has ever gone to college. My assistantship takes up any time I’m not working on my dissertation but it also doesn’t pay nearly enough.” 

You feel something tinge in the pit of your belly when you realize he’s actually listening to you. Paying attention to the words coming out of your mouth, gaze intently focused on you. “Dissertation,” he mutters. Then, “Workin’ in retail not stimulatin’ enough for you?” 

If anyone else had said it, maybe you’d take offense, but it comes out of his mouth like a lighthearted joke not a judgment. Though maybe he’s judging you, too. You tell yourself you don’t really care if he is, but it’s not quite ever true. 

And, the people who use your services are very often the ones who judge and detest you most.  

“Too much time for too little money,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, as nonchalantly as you can. “I waited tables for a while but. . .I don’t know. I was tired and falling behind because the shifts were so long and. . .more money, I guess, for less hours, doing this. I thought about being a stripper but I’m not athletic enough.” You tack the joke on at the end, to redirect him away from what you’d just revealed. 

It gets a laugh out of him. “You lyin’ to me about all this?” 

“Cross my heart it’s all true. That kind of sob story only works on the very worst kind of man.”  

So many of them want to hold the misery of your life in the cup of their palm, taste the daddy issues and loneliness and poverty and think themselves better, and believe you broken and easy, something they could close their fist over and feel the shards of your life bite into their hands. 

“Guess I’m not that kind of man, since you told me.” 

“I don’t get that sense.” You smile, “There’s time for you to disappoint me yet, though.” You expect it. His lust will eventually turn to disgust. 

Joel just nods, and then touches your knee with the backs of his fingers. “You want these shoes off, darlin’?” 

“Do you want me to take them off?” 

“Not what I asked,” he corrects. “They look mighty uncomfortable.” 

“Actually they’re not too bad.” Still, you nod, and he kneels to take them off for you. He slips one heel off, then the other, and you still can’t believe you’re here with him again. Your rarity, kneeling in front of you.

His thumb divots the flesh of your ankle, the scrape of the calloused pad tracing over your skin. 

You tilt back as he works his way higher, lying against the softness of the comforter somehow already imbued with his scent. It’s cool against your skin, against the flushed and warm feeling sweeping over your skin. 

Was he here the night before? Did he nap there earlier? Leave his clothes on the bed while he showered? You imagine all the paths his hands might have taken, all the ways he might have led himself back to that skeevy club. Did he have to convince himself to come back? Had he looked for you again the very next night? 

Anticipation makes you squirm, and he chuckles under his breath. 

Maybe there’s more to him than you thought. 

Good. It just means there’s more to discover, more to dig your teeth into. 

“So, what do you want from me tonight, Joel?” You stretch your arms behind your head and arch your back, lifting one foot onto the bed to tuck beneath your opposite knee. 

Joel presses his fingers higher until they catch under the hem of your dress. “I wanna watch you.” His fingers touch your underwear and a knot of anticipation curls in your belly.

You hadn’t expected an answer, not when you’d done most of the leading the time before. 

“Watch me?” 

He doesn’t elaborate and you sense he’s a little remiss to actually ask it of you, whatever he wants. 

“Like with another person or—” 

“No,” he clips in, hooks his fingers in your panties but doesn’t pull them off. His hands are warm on your hips, against the curve of your ass. You want him take them off, want him to tug them down your legs and spread you open. You help him along, folding your legs open until your dress is bunched entirely around your hips. “No, nothin’ like that.”

He shifts one hand to your core, rubs your pussy through the thin fabric still covering you, not looking away from your face as he does.  

It takes you a moment to realize what he means. “Oh. And you’ll just watch?” Hesitation works over his face, then something else you can’t quite put a finger on. “Just want to make sure you don’t want to fuck me.” 

He snorts. “Not that I don’t.” 

“Then what’s this about?” You coo, gripping his forearm, pressing his hand harder against your core. Just the pressure makes your pussy clench. “I promise I can do better if you let me touch you.” 

He leans over you, one hand braced against the mattress. “I wanna know what you look like when you come. You didn’t last time. Couldn’t get it outta my mind that I don’t know. That I didn’t get to see it.”

Oh. 

“I’m sure you could make something up. Surely your imagination isn’t that poor?”

He just shakes his head, looks you over. Indulging in the simple act of looking at you, gaze hooked into your skin and tangled in your hair. It’s delightful. 

The ghost of his voice praising you echoes through your mind, whispered words you’ve replayed when you’re alone. You arch your back, not willing to admit that you desperately want him to tell you how pretty you look.

“I could fake it,” you tease, voice breathless to your own ears. 

“I’d know.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sure, sweetheart.” He doesn’t answer, eyes flicking over you again. You’ve been looked at a lot over the last year, but this is something different.

It’s heavier. 

Needier, somehow. 

Like he’s not just finally looking at you but really seeing you. Seeing more than a warm hole at the very least. 

“How do you want me, Joel?” 

His eyes drift to yours, something hungry and wanting deep in his gaze. Joel’s hand caresses your hip, slips unhurriedly down your thigh, and comes to a stop at the hinge of your knee. His thumb slides against the back of your knee, against the sensitive, oft untouched spot. A shiver traces gooseflesh along your skin, nipples stiffening against the fabric of your dress.

Joel watches you closely and doesn't immediately answer.

It’ll be agony to touch yourself for him when you want so badly for him to do it for you.

“This will be the second time you don’t touch me,” you say archly, tone just a little haughty, just a little whiny. 

“Didn’t say nothin’ about not touchin’,” he teases, blunt nails tracing up your side to cup your tit in his hand, tweaking your nipple sharply. 

You gasp and push your chest into his hand. He squeezes the supple flesh, big hands trailing down your body again, fitting against the curve of your waist. “Lift your hips.” 

It’s easy to oblige, and you’re rewarded with a warm, “Good job.” It makes your belly clench like nothing else. He slides your panties off, leaves them caught around your ankles, a desperation fixed in his gaze when he pushes his fingers between the folds of your cunt.

His thumb finds your clit, swirling slowly against you, the pressure and pace agonizingly slow, but expert.

Your eyes roll back, lips parting, and a distant flutter of thought murmurs in the back of your mind that his wife had been a lucky woman. 

He abruptly takes his hand away, leaving you chasing nothing, hips bucking toward an invisible master for a long moment. 

“You comfortable here?” 

“Ye-ah.” 

His chin tilts down. “I’m really askin’ you here, darlin’.” 

You feel flushed and stupidly horny but manage an inkling of sass in response. “And I really am.” 

He chuckles. “You wanna get undressed for me?” 

Actually, you’d love nothing more than to have the warmth of his gaze settling heavily over your naked skin.

You sit up slowly, and he pulls away as you do, staying nose to nose with you for a long moment before he’s gone, plucking your underwear from around your ankles before he goes. 

He sits in the chair in the corner of the room, folds his hands together across his belly and waits, head tilted. It’s a go on then kind of look. It’s kind of infuriating, and more than a little hot. 

“Hm.”

“What?” 

“Nothing. Just wondering about that guilt again,” you smile and curl your fingers around the hem of your dress and shift onto your knees. Your thighs feel damp; you wonder if he can see it. 

He raises a brow at you. “I’m ignorin’ my better judgement.” 

“You must want this pretty bad then.” 

He dips his head once in a nod, eyes fastening to the carpet. “I really wanna know.” 

“So I shouldn’t start begging for your huge cock to be inside me?” 

He laughs, the sound genuine and thick. “You don’t want that?” 

“Penetration doesn’t do much for me.” 

“Ain’t that honest of you.” 

“I thought that was what you wanted? Thought you really wanted to know?” 

He nods, jaw ticking in clearly repressed amusement. “Yeah. So only beg for it if you really want it, I guess.” 

You peel your dress up and over your head, letting it fall to the floor at your side, leaving you bare. You draw your hands up your side to cup your tits in your hands. Joel just looks eyes hooking into different parts of you, the meat of your thighs, the curve of your waist, your breasts when you let your hands drop, nipples hardening in the cool air of the room. 

You fold yourself backwards against the headboard and prop your legs open wide. “So?” 

Being naked in front of veritable strangers has become a strange but regular part of your life. You’re almost used to it. Still, some part of your mind breaks off from the rest of you, walling off the mortification at being that exposed. At times, it’s like you’re gazing down at yourself, floating above it all.  

His eyes slide up from your cunt to your face, gaze working across you in starts and stops when he suddenly stands. 

You frown and start to draw your legs in but—

It’s that fucking pillow situation all over again. He gives you the cushion from the chair, so your arm and elbow are supported. It’s a much more comfortable position if a little less sexy. “Gentleman,” you say softly when he moves away again. 

He snorts, and you understand how rare a man you have with you. Not just for someone like you, but at all. He doesn’t just look, he sees. It makes you feel more vulnerable than sitting naked in front of him does. 

But somehow not in a bad way.

You swallow and try for levity, to chase away that ache behind your breastbone, of being seen. “I bet you wish I’d left the heels on.”

He doesn’t answer and your cunt pulses. “What do you want from me, Joel?” 

“Do it like I ain’t here.” 

“That is a tough ask.” 

And a vulnerable one. It feels more intimate than if he was inside you. 

“Just wanna know what you look like.” 

You shift your hips, heat blooming in your belly at the look on his face, the way he just sits there, hesitantly leaning forward. “Okay,” you murmur. You let your eyes flutter shut, running one hand down your belly to your pussy, spreading your legs wide. 

All in all, not the weirdest demand you’ve ever gotten. It is the first time a man has insisted on knowing what you really look like when you come. It’s also not really a demand. If you’d have said no, you doubt he would have tried to convince you otherwise, or made a fuss at all. 

But why? Why does he need to see so badly?

Because. . .what? You made him come? It’s a little funny.

And you want to fake it, just to know for yourself that he wouldn’t be able to tell. But something in you really wants him to know too, so you won’t. He wants to see? Fine, you’ll show him. 

Still conscious that he’s there, that it’s a show too, you push out your chest, part your lips, hope you look sufficiently like you might be in a porno. 

It helps that he teased you, touched you. God, you’d like to know what his fingers feel like inside you. His are bigger than yours, would stretch you wider, reach deeper parts of you. 

The wet sound of your cunt fills the room, the quiet pant of your breaths clouding the air. You start with one finger and quickly press another inside. You wish he would have let you come before, that he would have kissed down your body and put his mouth on you. 

Your whole body clenches tight, pussy contracting around your fingers, when you think of him lifting his head, mouth wet from you, to say you were doing good. 

He could just talk and you’d probably find a way to have an orgasm without any touching at all. 

You slide your other hand from your belly to your chest, thinking of his hand there earlier, squeezing, how much skin he’d covered, and pluck at your nipple. The image of his mouth there follows, the sound of his voice vibrating against your chest, his cock at your entrance, slowly pushing forward, giving you time to adjust to his size because of course he’d do that. 

Good girl. 

You can practically taste the words. 

You arch your back and moan softly, lips parted to the cool, filtered hotel air, thrusting your fingers steadily. 

Even in the fantasy, he doesn’t kiss you. 

“Christ. Open your eyes.” 

The demand is a grunt pierced with want. 

You blink into the dim light of the room that suddenly feels brighter than the sun. Blinking is like reentering Earth’s atmosphere. It’s too warm, the cascading rush and ache of pleasure intensifying when you meet his eyes. A hot flushed feeling rushes into your chest, makes you feel like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. 

“Will you touch yourself too?” You ask, sliding your fingers out, spreading yourself for him, the slick pooling between your thighs, the clench of your pussy around nothing. “Please?”

He shakes his head again. “You ain’t came yet.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do.” Then, a little hesitantly, “What are you thinkin’ about?” 

You hesitate, watching him rub a rough palm against his jeans, the prominent bulge forming there. If you tell him the truth, that you’d been thinking about him, he probably wouldn’t believe it. 

“You aren’t going to believe me,” you murmur, curling your fingers, thumb sweeping messily over your clit. 

“Try me.” 

“You.” 

“Now that’s a damn line if I ever heard one.” 

But there’s a pretty flush in his cheeks, a desperation in the way he shifts his hips. He doesn’t give much away, but not everything can be hidden. “It usually is a line. But right now, it isn’t.” You let your eyes flutter shut again. 

“What about me, darlin’?” His voice is strained, and you want to look at him so badly but don’t.

You don’t answer immediately, thinking about him fucking you again, calling you good, saying you were doing good. 

“Thinkin’ up somethin’ believable?” 

You look at him again, and bite your lip. “It’s just that you told me not to beg for your huge cock,” you say breathlessly, pinching your nipple, hips thrusting against your own hand. “But that’s what I want.” 

“What?” He laughs a little, the sound choked. “Though it didn’t do nothin’ for you.” 

“You’re using your hands, too.” And then, almost without meaning to, you continue, “Wanna know what it feels like inside me.” You moan the last word and don’t mean to, the line between your own desire and this being work becoming more blurred by the second. It isn’t supposed to feel this good, you aren’t supposed to actually want him.

“What else, honey?” 

“I’m thinking about you eating my pussy.” 

The image comes suddenly to the front of your mind again, the bow of his head between your legs, the strain of his vocal chords when he groans into you, the scrape of his beard against your thighs. You know he’d make it good, that he’d use his fingers too, push them so deep inside you you’d discover new corners of yourself. You see him kneeling, his clenched eyes and his hand fisting around himself, the tilt of his brow when he touches himself because he just can’t help it. 

“Oh, fuck—” You mutter and then the quiet, fuzzy crash of your orgasm floods your veins, cunt pulsing. You rub your clit through the pleasure, a noisy little whine bringing you back to yourself, that you pinch off, throttling it midair. 

Too real, you think distantly, muscles spasming and then going loose in bliss. 

A few minutes pass in silence, the sound of your breathing and his and the shush and hum of the central air. 

“You were quiet.” 

You blink lazily at him, stretching so your back arches, trying to remember that you’re just his whore right now. It’s work, it’s now about you. 

“I thought you wanted authentic?” The corner of his mouth curls, and worry creeps into your throat. Stupid, to really show him. Every ounce of bliss is suddenly sucked from your veins. “Was that not good? Let me make it up to you—” 

“No,” he interrupts, sounding very serious about it. “No. Nothin’ like that. You did real good.” 

Good. 

“Oh,” you breathe. “Okay.”  

You watch him shift uncomfortably and rub a palm against the bulge in his jeans again and imagine him stroking his cock, his hand so much bigger than yours on it. Your mouth waters, but you feel unmoored, adrift. You try to shake yourself, get a handle on yourself and climb back into the cradle of this role you know so well. You’re not you right now. “C’mere, darlin’.” When you look at him, he just says, “Said you wanted it.” 

A command, this time. 

Better, you don’t have to think, don’t need the moment to shake yourself. 

You rise and saunter over to him, bracing one hand against his shoulder to go to your knees. Joel stops you, presses his hand to your hip, fumbles in his back pocket for a wallet, from which he pulls a condom. 

“Let me,” you coo, sinking to your knees between his spread thighs, feeling the tense, thick muscle beneath your fingertips. 

Joel hisses when you unzip his jeans and pull his cock from the confines, giving it a few strokes, tracing the weeping slit at the head with your thumb. He’s silken and firm in your hand and part of you just wants him to ask for your mouth again so you can taste him. 

You tear open the foil and roll it on with deft fingers, eliciting a groan that makes your cunt leak. “My, my, sweetheart, you are so sensitive.” You climb onto the chair with him, straddle his lap. He looks up at you with a faraway look in his eyes. 

You stroke one hand through his hair, the delicious realization that he’s still fully clothed making you drip, though you wish to feel his skin against yours.

Joel is gentle with you when he guides you onto his cock slowly, hands anchored on your hips, fingers denting your flesh.

You breathe through the slight burn of the intrusion, the angle, until it subsides into that heavy, full feeling. 

You want to languish in the feeling, just stay seated there, but this isn’t for you. 

Before you can lift your hips, Joel’s hand is sliding along your spine, up and down, over the blades of your shoulders, down the middle of your spine and back up. “Stay there,” he mutters. “Just like that.” 

Your nipples harden, a groan gets caught in your chest. “Joel,” you whisper, just to say something, clenching around him. “Fuck.”

“Thoght penetration didn’t do anything for you?”

It doesn’t. But usually when you’re getting fucked it isn’t like this. “I—” 

His palm fits against the back of your neck, right where your skull meets your spine. A bolt of pleasure races down your spine, curling hungrily in your lower belly, waiting.

He tilts your head back gently, carefully, while his other hand explores your body, touching all the places you take for granted. It’s demanding and you like that it is. 

His hands are hungry, greedy in their exploration. And you love it. You want him to want to touch you. 

It’s a part of this that you like, that you don’t like to admit that you like. That fucking stranger, losing control, is like a drug. It’s heady. Fucked up, sure. But it makes you feel good in the moments you don’t think about it. It only sometimes ends badly. 

Joel’s hand settles at the dip of your waist and slowly traces its way upwards. 

You let your eyes flutter shut when he circles your nipple slowly with his thumb, cupping your tit in the wide expanse of his palm. When he leans in and sucks the taut peak into the warmth of his mouth, you groan and dig your nails into his bicep. 

Wet rushes between your thighs, hips involuntarily rolling forward. 

The rough denim feels good, and the destructive part of your brain hopes that it leaves a mark on your flesh.

Joel gives your other breast the same treatment, suckling at your nipple until you whine this time, fingers of pleasure racing across your skin like licks of lightning. 

“Keep doin’ that,” he commands.

You push your hips against his, setting a slow, rolling pace. From the angle he holds you at, you can’t shift your weight onto your knees to really fuck him. 

His hand slides back down, across your belly to the apex of your thighs. He leans back, to look at his cock disappearing inside you, you would guess. You hear more than see him lick his thumb and press it to your clit, an immediate, steady, heavy pressure that makes you jerk in his arms. 

“Careful there, darlin’,” he mutters before his mouth closes around your nipple again. “Said I was using my hands too, right? When you were thinkin’ about me.” 

He releases your neck then, and you tilt forward to brace your hands against his shoulders. You set a steady pace.

There are parts of this you have to fake. 

Sometimes, oftentimes, it’s all fake. 

It frightens you a little that none of this is. 

The moan that looses from your throat is yours, the words you want to beg him with are your own. 

His hips lift to meet yours, and the room grows warm, the salty, musky scent of sex blotting out the astringent, cleaner smell. It mingles with his cologne and you hope it sticks to your skin. You hope it says layered on your skin, that you can bring it all the way back to your apartment with you. 

It makes you feel insane. 

Your pussy contacts around him, the beginnings of an orgasm tightening your core. “Come, baby,” he says. “I can feel it.”

A desperate plea catches in your throat, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusing want and knowledge that this isn’t supposed to be something you want. “Please,” you murmur. “Joel.” 

The sound of his name on your lips sets him into a frenzy. Thrusting harder, fingertips more searching, more demanding. 

“I got to see it, now lemme feel it.” 

Your second orgasm makes your vision flash white, swirling around you in waves as Joel groans in your ear and rocks your hips against him until he stills, coming hard. You reach between your bodies and touch where you connect, some insane part of you wishing you could have felt him come inside you. 

You ache, in a good way. 

Joel tucks his arms around you and you have no choice but to lie your head against his shoulder, kissing the space, your taut nipples brushing against his shirt.

Minutes pass in silence as you both come down, breath evening, pulses slowing, Joel’s palm keeping a steady pressure against your spine. 

“Stand up for me?” He asks. His hand stills, and you realize you were about to fall asleep on his chest. 

You’ve fallen asleep with clients before, but not like this, not in their arms and int their laps. Embarrassment flashes through you with a vengeance. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” you mutter and pull back. “I’ll go, I meant to—” 

“No.” He breathes the word out quick. “No. Just want to clean you up.” 

When his cock slips out of you, you feel empty. Still, you lie back on the bed, naked and touch yourself, feeling the mess he’d made of you. 

He ties off the condom and trashes it before zipping himself up. Your muscles ache, a wrung out feeling. 

Joel returns to you and hands you a washcloth. You’re grateful he doesn’t try to do it for you. The intimacy of that might have actually killed you. 

You pull your dress back on and wait, expecting him to hand you money and see you out. 

“You mind if I smoke?” You ask.

“Go on.: 

You lean over the side of the bed and feel his hand brushing against the back of your thigh, pushing your legs open. A whine pushes past your lips when he touches your pussy. “Can I see you next weekend?”

“I’m still here right now,” you turn on your back and light your cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. “You can fuck me again, Joel.” 

You like the way his hands look on your thighs, the way your knees look against his hips. 

“Might be too old for that right away.” 

“Ah.” 

“Can I taste you?” The question is quietly murmured, his eyes still locked on your cunt. “Then I can fuck you again.” 

Your body clenches and you grab his wrist. “Yeah. Please.” 

He does just that, eats your pussy and then fucks you again. He grips your hips in his hands and fucks you slow and deep from behind. It takes everything in you not to lose your head and drool into the pillow he places beneath your chest, nipples brushing the sheets. 

You smoke again and Joel asks you something about school, about your life. 

When he finally drives you back to your car, insistent on it, frowning when you tell him you’d taken a cab the last time, fingers of sunshine are reaching across the empty, desolate lot. 

He catches at your elbow, there’s a flush of something in his face, something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

“Will I see you next weekend?” 

You blink. “Do you want to, Joel?” 

“Cherry,” he takes your chin in his hand then strokes your cheek, saying your name just to say it. “Yeah.”  

“Okay. Then I’ll see you next weekend.” 

“You’ll wait?”

You raise a brow and push open the door. “No. Just don’t be late.” 

He doesn’t drive anyway until you wave, safely inside your car. 

[sstan-hoe]

[900 words of fluff and cock worship]

daydreaming about…

Older boyfriend Joel who is so is so patient and tender with you. He slips out of the bedroom without turning on a light in the mornings, not wanting to disturb your sleep. But he never forgets to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, murmuring something sweet, before he leaves.

And on the weekends it’s the same. Except he comes back in an hour or two, just to leave a coffee on the nightstand for you. Doting without smothering, or risking your morning attitude.

Some days you don’t wake up until you smell the earthy coffee, steam still swirling from the mug. But most of the time he barely makes it to the doorway before you croak out a quiet, “Wait.”

“Come here,” you lilt in your rich timbered morning voice, stretching your arms toward him. It never gets old to him, no, he thinks it’s one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. One of the most heavenly sights.

You can only grin lazily at him. Your gaze drags down, over his handsome smile, over the rippling muscles of his chest and arms under his worn tee, and skimming over the bulge in his loose sweats.

You scoot toward the middle of the bed, hold up the cover, inviting him into the warmth you’ve been nestled in. He climbs in and scoops you onto the broad plane of his chest.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he rumbles beneath you, voice deep as the ocean. It’s so serene to be in his strong arms. Nobody has ever grounded you like this, anchored you, physically and emotionally.

It’s not that being older makes him smarter or wiser than you, rather, he’s the first to brag about your accomplishments or support your goals. It’s the way that time has taught him gratitude.

Joel is present with you. So alive. Flesh and blood, warm and firm. He’s not in a rush, not sacrificing his energy chasing benchmarks or brushing you off to prove something.

He’s there with you.

Sometimes he just holds you in a peaceful quiet. You listen to his breathing and his heartbeat. Until the sun gets higher in the sky and the world comes to life.

But most of the time you can’t resist wiggling your hips against him and biting your lip. Fucking with him, just until you feel his dick start to stir.

Joel’s heart flutters at your breathy giggles, but when your laughter is cut off with a gasp, the heat rushes lower. He likes the game you play, always teasing him and acting surprised at how fiercely he wants you. How badly he needs you. It never takes long before he’s rock hard, straining against his sweats, precum leaving a little dark patch against the soft material between you.

Sometimes everything stays slow and syrupy, just grinding and rubbing against each other until Joel can’t take it anymore. Until he has to roll you over so he can sink into your soft, warm cunt. Sometimes you take turns spoiling each other with greedy hands and mouths until you’re both sweating and sticking to each other.

But sometimes you do this thing that sends him right over the edge. You sit up and perch your ass on the meat of his thighs, far enough down that you can pull at his waistband freeing his throbbing cock. The way you grin just playing it makes him dizzy.

You’re so fucking hot without even trying.

You’re always fascinated by his dick, hard or soft.

Always amused with the bounce it makes when you let go of his shaft and the weight makes it slap against his lower belly. You like the mess of it, the precum that beads, and rolls from his slit, the string of it connecting to the trail of hair on his stomach. You’re easily infatuated by the heat of his length in your palm, the silky smooth skin, the veins and the deep flushed shade of the head. The lust on your face is unmistakable.

Joel could cum just seeing the ardor in your eyes and the greedy way you wet your lips. But then, matching his gaze and lowering your body, you lick a hot, wet stripe from base to tip. His entire body shudders, overwhelmed with the heavenly bliss.

When you finally envelop him in the wet furnace of your mouth, he’s on another planet, groaning and praising you, encouraging you with a massive palm wrapped around the back of your head. Completely at your mercy, he’ll do anything you want. You get him so blissed out he’s nearly incoherent.

He rarely lasts long enough to fuck you properly on those mornings, instead but when you finally let him get his hands between your legs he could nearly cum a second time just feeling how wet you are.

Drenched.

So absurdly turned on, he barely gets to sink his thick digits inside of you before you’re gasping and crying out his name. But you love it. Nobody has ever made you burn with such intensity and ache with such desire.

And he’s generous. Joel never stops until you’re tugging at his wrist, pulling his arm away as you tremble and spasm.

And some days when you come back to yourself and find yourself staring into his deep brown eyes you think you’d like to spend your mornings like this for the rest of your life.

🍒 🌸

click here for more of my writing

[sstan-hoe]

Let’s go

pairing : joel miller x f!reader summary : you decide to channel your inner party girl on this Friday night. But things won’t go as planned. You’ll get even more from this night than a dance in a club and free drinks from strangers. (Or, I just wanted a pretext to imagine bouncer!joel railing me in the back room of a club.) rating : explicit (mdni!) word count : 10,8k (I am so sorry it got out of control)

warnings : it’s porn with a lot of plot again guys. Smut. Kissing, teasing, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv sex (it’s not sex ed class 101, sorry not sorry). A bit of praises. Cursing. Tiny bit of angst and rejection. Messy switching pov (I am in everyone’s head at the same time). Dbf!joel. Protective Joel. There’re feelings too. Alcohol consumption mentioned. Age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s but no age specified joel in his mid to late 40s but imagine whatever suits you). Also, I picture joel as pixel joel cause he’s the one who inspired this but he can be Pedro Joel instead. That’s up to you. Trying my hardest to keep my reader neutral, she has hair, wears makeup, a dress and heels, no further description than that. Please be kind cause it’s a lot of first here for me : first fic of the year, first 10k fic, first Joel smut, first dbf Joel fic, first piv, first creampie (lmao) etc. No y/n, no beta, proofread to the point where my eyes were bleeding but I know there’re mistakes hidden in there. English isn’t my first language, sorry for any inaccuracy. Let me know if I missed anything. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

a/n : this fic is just the silly fruit of me daydreaming while listening to old-school like electro music, I gotta give a shout out to David Guetta (lmao) cause the title and this whole idea is coming from his song Let’s go (and specially the line « wait the bouncer is kind of hot »… bouncer joel miller popped up in my mind and yeah…) the rest of it ? all the credit goes to @joelmillerisapunk , for entertaining this idea and being my draft again, and creating a perfect selection of pics to help me make the moodboard, love you baby 🩷. And a big thank you to my sweet @sawymredfox for her constant support love you 🫂 and to the pretty @evolnoomym and her naughty brain for inspiring me some smut, love ya 🩵🌙. I hope you will enjoy this 🤭✨.

masterlist | joel masterlist | joel miller recs | dbf!joel recs

Standing in the line in front of the Surrender, you let the cold night air grazing your cheeks, calming your nerves as you wait for your turn to enter the club. It’s crowded, not surprising for a Friday night, the bouncers seemingly taking their sweet time letting the patrons in. Your friends Chloe, Jade, Yasmin and Sasha are ecstatic, impatient to hit the dance floor, and have a couple more drinks inside. They have talked about the pretty pink cosmopolitans they serve here all evening.

You’re not that excited though. If it has been your decision to make, you would have headed further downtown, to your regular local bar, the one you’ve spent all your Saturday nights at since your teenage years, listening to live country music, chatting happily with your friends while eating French fries. But the girls insisted, they wanted to do something different, to head somewhere fancier. You’re only here for a couple of days after all, a little break before the finals season at college, and you all deserve to have a nice time.

And that’s why Cameron, Chloe’s boyfriend, suggested the Surrender. You were in the middle of getting ready when they called, your phone on speaker discarded on your bed, trying to choose which jeans to wear. Your heart stopped when you heard the name, and then it started beating faster. Your brain was already making plans, your silky purple dress off the hanger in an instant, the brand new black sparkly tights that were sleeping in your closet were finally useful. You quickly put the unfolded clothes back in their place, and went to change, spending extra time doing your hair and makeup. Applying shiny highlighter on your chest, some fruity gloss coating your lips, you sighed, trying to persuade yourself that you weren’t getting all dolled up for him. That you weren’t expecting anything more from him than a courteous smile and a polite greeting. But deep down you knew that the only reason you needed to be perfect for tonight was the slight chance of seeing him there. 

Now the closer you are getting to the entry line, the tenser you are. Sasha is standing next to you, head resting on your shoulder, your long black wool coat drapped over the both of you. She didn’t bring any jacket and her tight burgundy dress isn’t really suited for tonight’s weather. 

"Are you okay? You seemed off all night babe" she asks in a whisper so the others aren’t jumping on the topic. 

You’re not okay. The perspective of seeing him after the risky text you sent a couple of weeks ago makes you want to throw up.

It was easier to act bold when you were miles away. Now it’s another story. 

"I am fine, just a little bit tired and cold but it will be better once in the club, don’t worry" you fake a smile, and join the others in their conversation again.

At some point, Chloe and Jade announce that their boyfriends are waiting for you inside. They were at the beginning of the line, way before the club’s opening to make sure you’ll get a table. They prepaid your entries and put your names on the list. Smart move. 

You weren’t expecting the wait to be that long for people already on the list, but… it’s the Surrender after all. One of the best clubs in town, the fanciest that’s for sure, considering the people waiting next to you. They’re making 5 figures a month, the Saint Laurent high heels moving on the pavement and Cartier bracelets around their bare wrists are clear indicators. You start to overthink your whole outfit now, taking glimpses at your friend’s dresses and shoes, more…classical, fancy, but not too much unlike you…it’s too late now anyway. 

The line moves up a little and you finally get a good view of the security team filtering the entries. "The bouncer is kind of hot" Yasmin giggles. Jade and Chloe are bragging about how their boyfriends are hotter.

And you… you’re not listening anymore, daydreaming about the bouncer you’re looking for. But he isn’t there. Your stomach drops, disappointment slowly sinking in. You have to silence the voice in your head whispering that it was all for nothing, and that you should have spent less time in front of your bathroom mirror… but you feel pretty and that should be all that matters even if the chances to see him are lower than ever now. 

The girls take off their coats before facing the bouncer, so you do the same, basking in the city lights, waiting for your turn, watching your gorgeous friends smile their way in.  But when you stand in front of the bouncer and give him your name, the guy just shakes his head " no" and gesture for you to head back to where you’re coming from. 

The girls are waiting in front of the door, wondering what’s going on.

You have no idea why everyone went in and not you. 

The tall man named Al, from what you gathered while waiting on the line, let a couple more people in, without any hesitation. So you decide to step in front of him again. 

"Hi. Good evening. I am on the list. I need to go inside to meet my friends " you simply state. 

"Uhhh yeah. No. Sorry. Not tonight." He doesn’t even spare you a look.

"That’s not… There must have been a mistake or something. Can’t you just let me in? I can pay for the entry, that’s not a problem" you ask, starting to search for your wallet in your clutch. 

"Babe?" You hear Chloe calling from the door "Cameron and Dylan are waiting so we’re going in, we see you inside right?" she asks and you wave for them to go before emptying the content of your clutch to find the money. 

Sasha is still standing behind the bouncer, trying to figure out a solution. 

You finally put your hand on the 50 dollars bill and hand it to the bouncer while the line is queuing up behind you. Some people are trying to pass with the other bouncer to avoid losing too much time. The guy sighs, scratching his head.

"Sorry miss… it’s 150 dollars for a last minute entry. "

"What?" you let out, exasperated, while Sasha tries to search in her purse for more cash. 

"That’s ridiculous… I’ve seen you letting people in with only 50 dollars not even 10 minutes ago." 

"Prices have changed. If it’s too expensive for you feel free to go to another club" he says blandly, pushing you aside to continue his job. 

You sigh, watching Sasha mouthing you "What do you want to do?"

You shrug. You don’t know. You can maybe try to flirt your way in, but you don’t even know if you have it in you to do something like that… and that Al looks hermetical to your charms… but maybe you haven't tried hard enough. 

You turn around, rearranging your dress to accentuate your cleavage, pushing your hair behind your shoulders to give him a clear view of your neck, and take a deep breath, confidently making your way in front of him one last time, exaggerating the sway of your hips, internally cringing at what you’re about to do. Sasha laughs behind her hand, pushing her chest up to give you some silent indication of what to do. 

You mimic her, before murmuring another syrupy "hey" to the stoic bouncer. You can see the beginning of a smile rising on his face, his eyes dropping exactly where you wanted, a hint of red showing up on his bare cheeks. 

People around you are starting to complain about your attitude, but you turn around and shush them, before focusing on the bouncer. 

"Al. Please. Just for tonight" you ask, a little hesitant.

But he shakes his head, face turning back to serious mode. 

"I am sorry".

"But why?" you feign innocence, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

He looks at you dead in the eyes, and the next words coming out of his mouth aren’t what you expected at all.

"You are not pretty enough to get inside our club". 

The sentence rings in your ears. Sasha gasps behind him, shocked. You feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach, shame rising in your throat, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. 

"Oh." you exhale, stepping aside and heading to the back of the line. 

Sasha asks the bouncer if she can go see you real quick, and he nods. She runs your way, telling your that he’s an asshole, and advising you to don’t be afraid to be a Karen, and call for the manager. You just tell her to go inside, and have fun for you. She kisses your cheek and leaves.

You tie your coat around yourself, hiding your embarrassment. Now you just want to go home, you’re not feeling like partying anymore. Alone, dragging your black high heels on the sidewalk, you wonder if you should go back there again to tell that prick what you’re thinking about his disrespectful behavior. You’re fuming. You want to slap him so hard for saying something like that to you… Who the hell does he think he is? 

And before you can realize what you’re doing, you are climbing up the line again, eyes never leaving your target.

"Hey! Hey! " you shout to Al. 

"Sorry for this " he excuses your behavior to the other clients looking you up and down. 

"That was really mean you know? " you throw his way, pointing him with your finger, trying your best to sound menacing. 

He doesn’t answer, ignoring you.

"That’s not because you’re living a stupid life that you have to take it out on others alright? Now you don’t want me in your stupid overpriced club? That’s fine by me. The atmosphere is lame anyway. Drinks aren’t even that good. And the staff is disrespectful!" Al closes the line on his side, nodding to his coworker before heading your way, threatening, determined to make you shut up. 

"See? That’s what I was saying. Sorry guys you should head somewhere else for tonight this club doesn’t deserve your money" you shout at the crowd, trying to escape him. 

"You should stop making a scene. Go take a cab and leave"

"hm hm. No, I am not leaving. And you know what? I want to see your manager"

Al laughs at that.

"What the hell do you want to see my manager for?"

"Well I am going to tell him exactly why you said I can’t enter this club you asshole! See what he has to say about that. I bet he won’t like that very much, what do you think Al?" you spit, dragging the only syllable of his name exaggeratively.

Al laughs harder, raising his hand in the air as if he is giving up, before whistling towards his coworker, gesturing for him to call for the manager. 

"Sorry to let you know that he won’t let you in either… but take your chance doll" he says, going back to his spot again letting you alone on the side of the line. 

The flow of patrons getting in without extra fee or mean rejection is really making you feel stupid, sad, and mad. The purple light illuminates your silhouette, waiting next to the entrance. You sigh, feeling super silly for the scene you just caused but you couldn’t let that slide, could you? 

All introspective thoughts come to an end as soon as you hear him. Deep voice coming from behind the stupid bouncer, southern drawl accentuating his annoyance.

And you immediately know that you are in trouble. 

"What’s the matter here Al?"

"Nothing boss I told her she couldn’t get in and she insulted me, started to shout at the clients… and then she asked for the manager… so…"

That man that rejected you, feeling all mighty not even 10 minutes ago, looks like he is shrinking inside his own shell right now. 

"I’ll take care of it. Now slow down the entries we are almost full for tonight. And I don’t want any drunk assholes inside, y'got it ?"

"Got it boss"

And with that, Al returns to his job. 

Joel steps aside, emerging from the crowd, and you can’t help but whisper a curse. His eyes are on you, his intense stare making you lose your train of thought. 

This tall, handsome man, illuminated by a purple neon, the slight strands of grey shining in his hair, broad shoulders stretching perfectly his t-shirt… walking towards you. You can only focus on his big muscular arms on display, and the way he crosses them on his chest making your heart beating faster… it’s ridiculous how he can sweep you off your feet. A couple of heads are turning in his way in the crowd, women smiling and giggling and trying to catch his attention. He's used to it... but there’s not a single chance that he would care about it now that he sees you.

"Hi mister Miller." you manage to say, embarrassed, voice coming out shyer than you intended to. 

He shakes his head disapprovingly. Unreadable. Not the Joel you’re used to sitting next to at your parents’ dinner table. Not the Joel you shared drinks with in his garden while the day you were returning home from college last summer. Not the Joel you daydreamed about every single day since you last saw him. 

"You asked for the manager" his deep voice tears you out of your little analysis. 

That sounded like a question: it is not. You just look at him, dumbfounded. 

"Well, now here I am sweetheart. What’s the issue there hm?"

You struggle to word this in the less childish way possible…

"I wanted to know why I couldn’t get in. That’s not fair. All my friends are in there and I just have to go back home?"

Joel chuckles. He cannot believe it. He couldn’t believe it when he saw your name on the list earlier this evening, not thinking that you would ever show up here, and he wouldn’t have imagined for a second that you were the kind to cause trouble in front of a club. But here you are.

"’Bouncer’s the one who decides if you go in or not. If he says no then the party’s over. That’s the rules, you know them. You can try to find another club"

"Are you serious?" you let out a little louder than expected. 

"Dead serious."

He looks dead serious indeed. It’s like he’s a complete stranger right now and you’re regretting asking for him so badly. Maybe he’s punishing you for the stunt you pulled the other day. It’s his way of making you understand that he’s not interested. And he’s not here to deal with your bullshit. 

But you can’t shut up, the disappointment is too strong for you to just retreat and move on. 

"That’s so fucking unfair. I’m alone now. And…there’s no other club and you fucking know it."

"Yeah well… you better go home then, it’s late anyway, and a girl like you shouldn’t be here."

"What the fuck? A girl like me?? What does that even mean?" you say pushing on Joel’s chest. 

He stumbles back a little, before grabbing your elbow firmly with his big hand. 

"Careful sweetheart, my patience has limits and you’re very close to the edge"

Despite the sweetheart, Joel looks like he isn’t kidding at all, but you’re too pissed off to care. 

"What are you going to do about this hm? Call me ugly like that asshole did?" You throw at him boldly, despite feeling your confidence slipping away at the reminder of what happened with the other bouncer. 

Joel has heard enough. He tightens his grip on your arm, before yanking you out of the way and leading you to the back of the club.

Joel walks way faster than you and if he wasn’t holding you by the arm, guiding you, you would have torn your ankle. Stupid high heels. 

"Where are we going?"

He doesn’t answer, stops in front of the backdoor, pulls out a magnetic card from his jeans pocket, and holds the door open for you. 

The heat coming from the club contrasts with the cold outside, a cloud of steam surrounding you.

"What the fuck Joel?" you say, out of breath, taking off your coat to cool down. You’re really mad at him, not knowing what to expect from his weird attitude. 

Joel towers over you and forces you to lean against the wall. It silences you right away. He stops a few inches from your body, hands resting on his hips. 

He was about to start talking, when a couple of bartenders coming out of their restroom, a case of gin bottles in their arms, clinking with each of their steps, interrupt him.

"Hey Miller, good luck for tonight!" they greet him, and he nods with a tight lip smile, watching them walk away. 

"Hey!" You snap your finger in front of him. "What’s your problem Joel?" you ask again, angrily. 

"What’s my problem…" he repeats, chuckling sarcastically, stepping closer to you. "My problem is you being in front of my club in the middle of the night while you shouldn’t even be here, creating a scene in front of the fucking clients, insulting my crew, and not listening to a goddamn word I said. That’s my problem"

This is the first time you’re seeing Joel losing his composure. He never spoke to you that harshly before and you hate it when people are mad at you. You never thought about the fact that Joel might actually be mad at you. The guilt starts to creep up in your heart.

You wait for a beat or two, observing him trying hard to calm down, before adding very softly. 

"That’s not your club, buddy. You don’t own it. And you and your little friends don’t get to decide who is better and richer and prettier and get to go inside or not. That’s fucked up"

You can’t mask the emotions showing in your eyes and Joel has no intention of stepping back. He can feel how heavy this incident is weighing on your mind. He sighs, face softening a little. 

"Is that what this is about?"

"What?" you ask, focusing on the plastic cases stacked right next to him. That’s a lot of empty champagne bottles.  

"The pretty thing?"

You just shrug, but he notices the sadness in your eyes. 

"Godammit" he curses, leaning back on the wall in front of you. 

You don’t want to admit this to him. It sounds ridiculous. But he’s not blind, he sees the way you’re just losing your light at the recollection of what happened earlier. And Joel can’t let you believe something about yourself that is not true. He needs to give you the real reason, even if it’s going to lead him on a dangerous path.

He says your name for the first time since you’ve met him tonight, trying to catch your attention. You shift your focus on him, wondering why he looks so reticent to speak right now. 

He drags his hands on his face, letting a couple of second pass. 

"Look…When I saw you were on the list…I told my guys not to let you inside alright? This has nothing to do with how you look and how pretty you are…This idiot must have say that to make sure you’ll leave or…I don’t know".

"What?" you gasp in shock.

"Yeah."

"Are you serious Joel?"

He winces, wondering if it’s going to make you mad again. 

"Did my dad ask you to do this? Because I swear to God Joel I’ll call him right now and I…"

"No need. Your dad has nothing to do with this"

"So what … You just … blacklisted me?" you laugh in shock.  

"Yeah I did" He affirms, avoiding your angry stare. 

"Why?"

Why… Good question. How the fuck can he explain this without saying something stupid, something that would make this situation way more complicated than it already is? Taking a deep breath, Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, walking to you. His hand finds your shoulder, and he keeps it there while trying his best to find the right words. 

"Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. You’re right. That’s not my club. But I work here. And this club isn’t a place for you, trust me on that. I don’t want drunk assholes hitting on you all night long and offering you drinks and dancing too close to you or touching you …"

You try to swallow but your throat is suddenly really dry. You can only focus on the warmth of his hand resting on your naked shoulder. 

"Don’t fight me on this sweetheart. Now put on your coat and go home"

You don’t even want to protest anymore. The way he just admitted this so sincerely... You don’t want to let your brain create false hopes, but it seems like Joel cares about you. And maybe a little more than what a friend of your dad should.

“Okay. I won’t. Thank you Joel“ you respond, smiling softly. 

“Alright, let’s go now, I’ll walk you out” Joel concludes, mirroring your smile, stepping back and aiming for the door. 

In Joel’s mind, it feels like a victory: defusing the situation in the smoothest way possible. Not revealing too much about what he really feels, not hurting you either. You’re going to head back home soon, he’ll go back to work, no need to worry about you all night, to wonder if you’re dealing with unsolicited advances, if he should look for you in the middle of the patrons and make sure nobody will try a dumb move on you or put something in your drink. 

But in your mind…You just can’t part ways with him right now. Not after what he just told you. You need more time; to talk to him, to admire him in his work environment, to store images of him in your head for future fantasies: new stills for your Joel collection, scenarios unlocked you’ll happily replay in your head instead of paying attention to the lecture you spent thousands of dollars to follow, sitting at the back of the amphitheater, doodling his name on the empty pages of your notebook. 

“Wait…Can I just use the bathroom first?" you ask, folding your coat over your chest. 

Joel nods, turning back on his heels and leading you through the corridor, towards his office. 

Walking silently behind him, you realize it is further away from the main room of the club than you expected. There’re concert posters, magazines pages upholstering the walls, more pink and purple neon illuminating the space, it looks like the backstage of a concert venue…or the room of a rebellious teenage girl? You’re not sure, but clearly not what you expected from this “fancy club”.

Two bartenders are passing next to you, returning from their smoking break, downing cans of Red Bull. One of them winks at you, whispering a hey, but you don't even pay attention to this guy, to busy watching Joel struggling to find the keys to his office. He’s starting to get impatient, patting his front pockets, with no luck. 

An old school electro mix is playing, all the 2000s classics, and you can hear the loud cheers coming from the dance floor. 

"It looks like the DJ is doing a good job" you say, breaking the awkward silence. 

"Not my kind of music but… I reckon Jared is pretty good" he mumbles before taking out the keys. Joel finally feels like the worst is behind him, you will be gone soon, and he’ll be able to breathe properly again. 

But you catch his eyes taking your dress in appreciation for the first time tonight while passing in front of him, and you can’t miss the opportunity to ask him a little question. 

"So... I was just thinking about what you said earlier…does that mean you think I am pretty mister Miller?"

He can hear the smile in your voice. And Joel feels lucky you can’t see him right now. Because he is smiling too. He coughs, pushing the office door open and lets you enter. You stop in front of him, waiting for his answer, scanning his face.

"Bathroom is on the right. I’ll wait here" he states, but you can see the faint blush on his cheeks.

You’ll take that as a yes, smiling proudly. 

"Thank you mister Miller" you reply with a wink before disappearing. 

Joel waits for you to close the restroom door before exhaling the breath he was holding since you stopped in front of him. 

Fuck. He needs to get you in that cab as soon as possible. 

Joel is sitting in his chair checking some paper nonchalantly when you come out of the bathroom, your lips shining with a fresh coat of gloss. He heard the door opening, but he can’t risk looking at you right now. He doesn’t give a fuck about rearranging the schedule to make sure Jimmy can go to his sister’s wedding next Friday and yet here he is, focusing on this printed excel spreadsheet like his whole life depends on it. 

You walk in, heels clicking on the floor with each of your steps, progressing toward the only bookshelf in the room, where accounting books and a couple of folders are set next to a lava lamp. It gives this place a nice purple hue, and it’s a good thing because this room is gloomy. The walls are painted in a dark shade of green, there are bars at the windows, and the only luxurious items here are Joel’s huge wooden desk and his leather chair. The rest is… rudimentary. A couple of lights with black lampshades in the corner of the room, and a large metal closet. No plants, no carpet, no colored item. Just that lava lamp drawing shadowy bubbles on the ceiling and wall behind you.

You’re silently flicking some pages of the books you found, and Joel takes the chance to look at you, drinking in the way your dress fits your body perfectly. The music coming from the club is loud, even with the door closed, resonating through your body. Joel notices the way you’re resisting the need to move your hips to the rhythm of the bass. You snap the book closed, putting it back in its place, and before you can realize he is watching you, Joel pretends to look for something in his drawer. 

Singing along, you walk slowly around the office, swaying your hips, moving your arms above your head. Joel takes a few more glimpses at your silhouette, but you don’t notice. You movements expose the curve of your breasts, the cleavage of your dress making his head spin.

Hell he is trying to be respectful here. Really trying…

Outside, the music changes, and you quit your little act, frustrated that you failed to captivate Joel's attention... Not enough for him to leave his stupid papers alone. You decide to try harder, change your method. You don’t know when you’ll get the chance to have him to yourself next, and you want to see how far you can tease him, eager to know if this is another non reciprocated crush you’ll need to get over quickly, or if this time, there’s a chance for this … thing you feel for Joel to grow into something more. 

You stop in front of his desk, facing him, laying your palm flat on the dark wood, pushing up your breasts to make it more difficult for him to ignore your presence. 

The movement makes Joel raises his eyes from the spreadsheet, and when they finally land on you, you flash him a smile. Waiting patiently for him to drop his stare for an inch or two or three. But they don’t stop on your cleavage. Not once. 

You pout, disappointed, trying to figure out what you should do next. Maybe you should give up on this completely. It would be safer. 

Joel sighs, fighting hard to keep his eyes on your face before adding. 

“You’re good to go?”

“You are in such a hurry to get rid of me Mister Miller…”

He chuckles, shaking his head. 

“That’s not… I don’t want to get rid of you. ´Just need to go back to work, check on my guys, customers can give trouble and who knows, maybe they will want to talk to the manager too…” he teases, nodding towards you. 

"Very funny mister bouncer, I didn’t know humor was required for this job. But don’t worry, you can go back to your shift. I’ll stay there, enjoy the party, go find my friends on the dance floor… “

Joel tenses in his chair, laying on the backrest. 

“Sweetheart… you said you wouldn’t fight me on this. You can’t stay here. You need to go home” his voice is soft, pleading. 

Your cheeks start to grow hot at the nickname and the way he is talking to you. 

 “Come on Joel…. Just for a couple of songs!” you insist, begging with your eyes and pouty lips. 

Joel’s face is stern, unimpressed, he shakes his head no and you lean over the desk, getting closer to him. 

“What if you give me a tour?”

“A tour… not happening either” he laughs.

“Just to say goodbye to my friends then, I’ll be quick!” you try again, your head between your hands, elbows resting on the desk, upper body nearly flat on the surface. 

Joel can’t help but think about the sinful view he would have if he was on the other side of the room. You’re driving a hard bargain, but he really doesn’t want you to get hit on inside this club… 

“No. And these girls you came here with? They don’t deserve your goodbye. Not very friendly of them to leave you alone outside while they’re partying instead of looking for another place where you could be together."

You didn’t expect Joel to confront you with such a brutal truth. Biting your lips, you replay the events quickly in your head… you know he is right… 

"So no, you are not getting in the club” Joel affirms, observing your reaction to what he just said about your friends. 

“That’s so unfair !” you whine, standing up quickly, straightening your dress.

“That’s how life works. Now take your coat and your bag, I’ll call you a cab and wait with you outside”

Joel takes out his phone, and gets up from his chair, ready to lead you out of the office, when the first notes of one of your favorite song echoes in the room. 

"Oh you gotta be kidding me !! Joel I beg of you…" you squeal, pretending to get down on your knees "Let me just listen to this one and then we can go, please please please"

Joel doesn’t have the strength to say no again, not when you’re looking at him like that, not when you’re looking like that. 

"Fine, just this one…"

He sits back down, watching you humming the lyrics while slowly dancing along, hips moving, tilting your head back. 

It’s getting cold baby, I want your hot hands on me

Joel’s not one to pay attention to electro music lyrics, but the words you’re singing right now ? They don’t sound innocent at all. He curses under his breath, you’re not giving him any break tonight and he has no idea if you’re doing this on purpose or not.

You look completely absorbed by the music, not caring about Joel, about the show you might be involuntarily putting on for him: the way the hem of your dress is shifting higher on your thighs while you move makes Joel wants to bite his fist, but he just exhales the sigh he’s holding since you started instead. How can you move so gracefully on those heels ? He has no idea, but he is very grateful for the way it makes your legs and your ass look so good. 

Picking up a pen, Joel taps to the rhythm of the music on the dark wood, trying to give himself something to do other than admiring you. But he is mesmerized by you…and he’s grateful you’re ignoring him right now, doing your thing. That’s good. He wishes you would be closer though. So he could feel the heat of your body, smell the scent of your perfume, touch the softness of your skin. 

Your eyes suddenly finds his across the room, and Joel knows he’s fucked as soon as you start getting closer to his chair.

Oh you weren’t ignoring him at all…

"What are you doing?" Joel asks, reclining further back on the chair, surprised by your bold move. 

"Just enjoying the song, you know ? Dancing…I love the lyrics"

You’re playing coy. Your hands start to brush his knees, and you stop right between his parted legs, slowly squatting down in an undulated movement. Joel can only focus on you, and his heart pounding in his chest. 

"You don’t like my little choreography Joel?"

"You should take a step back" He says, clenching his fists on the armrests.

You slowly get up, stumbling backwards on your heels, a little hurt by the cold tone of his rejection. 

Flicking your hair over your shoulder you give him a look, before noticing the way his chest is heaving. You pretend to leave, but you turn around his chair, crouching down to his side.

"Actually I think I should dance a little closer" you tease,  whispering in his ear. 

You let your hands slide down his chest but Joel suddenly stops you right above his heart. He grips your hand gently, keeping it firmly there, and you can feel the ecstatic rhythm of his heart beating behind the firm muscles. 

"I think it would be a mistake baby. Let’s go".

Baby… that’s all you can hear now, the way it rolled off his tongue so sweetly… Joel seems like he’s trying everything not to snap, and you… you feel like it’s your one in a million chance to get what you’ve always dreamed of. 

"I think you’re lying mister Miller. I think you’re enjoying this"

You’ve never been this close to finally get the answers to the questions that are invading your mind since last summer: does Joel likes you ? Or does he only see you as his friend’s daughter, the one who has an annoying crush on him since you met months ago ? Was he about to kiss you that night ? Why didn’t he answered your text ?

The music finally changes, and Joel secretly hopes that the new one won’t be your favorite. He can’t handle another of your choreography.

Give me silence silence I just need your touch

Joel wants to kill Jared and his stupid mix right now…

You grin, knowing you won’t keep your promise to Joel. There ain't no way you’re leaving that office now. It doesn’t seem like Joel wants you to leave either. 

You perch yourself on the wooden desk, the cold surface burning under your thighs, crossing your legs, too lost in a staring contest with Joel, tempting him, pleading him, silently, to make a move and Joel is trying really hard, to keep his composure, to pretend he’s not affected by any of this ... 

But… he’s just a man after all, he can’t ignore the way you’re teasing him, your body so beautiful and inviting, your perfect thighs, the hem of your sexy dress stopping at a dangerous spot.

"Oh yeah? What makes you think I do?" He smirks, leaning in.

He knows you can see how much you arouse him. It wouldn’t be the first time. But he shouldn’t be willing to see how far you’re ready to go this time. Joel knows the limit he settled between the two of you. But tonight you’re playing with him, and he struggles to see if there’s a real meaning behind all this except making him pay for your failed night out. 

He looks at you boldly, waiting for your answer. 

But that answer doesn’t come. You riled him up, and you wonder if you can handle what’s coming next. You didn’t think this through… and the prospect of finally having what you want is making you feel nervous. 

Joel gets up from the chair, walking closer to you, and cages you in. You start to lean back on the desk, resting on your hands, puffing out your chest, cleavage on full display. You part your legs, and Joel stops right in between them, leaning forward, inviting you to go further.

Your thighs brush against his jean, your breathing becomes erratic, you don’t even know how to act anymore. 

"What’s the matter baby? Where’s that teasing attitude now hm? You’re quitting that little game of yours once it’s getting interesting?" his hands are resting on the desk, on each side of your thighs.

You need him to touch you. 

"Joel…" you whisper, taking one of his hands in yours and putting it on your thigh, the warmth piercing through the thin fabric of your thights. It’s rough under Joel’s fingers. He slides his thumb below the hem of your dress, tempted to go further, to explore the shape of your hips, to slide his hands underneath the tights and feel your bare skin.

Joel shudders at the thought. He wouldn’t be able to stop any of this.

But before making a mistake, he retreats his hand from your skin, acting like this slight touch just burnt him. 

He whispers your name softly, and your breath hitches.

"We shouldn’t cross that line. You know that. Now get off that desk and let’s go". 

You sigh, already disappointed… You were so close…But there’s not enough will in the way he speaks. And he doesn’t move. It feels like he is trying to convince himself more than anything… You cant' shake the feeling that you didn’t hallucinate this whole situation, whatever you can call this thing. He offered half an answer to your questions already. You can push a little harder to get the whole truth.

Your blood is boiling in your veins and you feel brave enough again. 

"Why?" you ask taking his hand back in yours, bringing it in front of your mouth, moving your lips to the inside of his wrist, pressing a kiss there, before repeating the motion on each one of his fingertips, slowly. 

Joel closes his eyes, enjoying the press of your lips on his skin. He shouldn’t. 

"You don’t think I am pretty ?" You blurt out. 

Not that question again… Joel feels like he is cornered now. And with you sitting so close to him, touching him…He hisses, clenching his teeth. 

It’s over. He knows it. If he answers this question, he won’t be able to stop what’s coming next. He is not even sure why he’s trying so hard to resist you anyway.

Out of respect ? Lines have been blurred a while ago, and god already knows what is going on inside of his head when he’s alone at night, redirecting all his thoughts on you : you, smiling at him from the kitchen while helping your dad cooking the dinner he was  lucky to have been invited to taste, you laughing at his joke when you lead him outside with a plate full of the chocolate cake you said you made specially for him, you getting on your tip toes to kiss his scruffy cheek and whispering a "goodnight Joel" in his ear.  He tried really hard again that night, not to read too much into it, not to lose control and push you against the ivy covered wall of your front porch, out of your parent’s sight, and kiss your pretty mouth. Your eyes have been pleading him to do it, just like they are now. 

He went back home instead, and in the silence of the night, the cold water flowing down his shoulders as a background noise, Joel gave in. Wrapping a hand around his cock, he gave it a few hesitant tugs, head resting on the tiled wall, cursing under his breath, before abandoning himself to what felt like debauchery, and making himself come to perfectly mind-crafted images of you, with your name dying on his lips: you taking off your shirt for him, you laying your naked body on his navy blue sheets, you asking him to fuck you harder while soaking his cock with your perfect pussy.

It’s been a recurring sin, one that brings him slowly more pleasure than guilt, and each time he has the chance to see you, his will to resist seems to erode further away. 

He laughs, his hands sliding off yours, moving to gently caress your cheeks. 

"Oh trust me I do think you are pretty. Prettiest girl in the world. That’s exactly why I don’t want you inside this club. Don’t want any of those wannabe lawyers and their filthy hands on you" 

He sounds conflicted, and you feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now, your chest swelling with fondness and adoration, a twinge of fear, about what this could really mean, what this could finally become. 

"So why can’t we just…"

"Your father would kill me" he cuts you off, taking your hands in his, pressing them against his chest. 

You snort. It feels like such a cliche. This whole situation is actually, very much like a movie.

"He would probably kill us both Joel... I know my father. But I don’t care because I want you"

You’re getting up from the desk, forcing Joel to withdraw in his chair.

"You can’t say that… you’re just…"

You step closer, silently compelling him to sit down, and Joel’s shoulders seem to relax, the weight of the confession leaving his body. He didn’t read to much into it. He wasn’t an old fool to think there might be something else behind your shy glances and polite talks.  

"Why not ? It’s the truth, Joel. I want you. "

Elbows set on the armrest, Joel clears his throat, tilting his head back on the chair. 

You don’t give him the time to protest, you sit on his lap, straddling his denim clad thighs.

Your name weakly comes out of his mouth, a last warning, a desperate attempt to make you go away, to do what he convinced himself was right. One last shot, completely lost in advance considering the way your body fits perfectly against his, but he tries anyway. His arms have to resist the urge to circle your waist, to pull you closer against his chest. He stays put, but the heat radiating from your body makes him tense. 

You let your hands wander on his chest, looking at him intently :

"Joel. Don’t give me the "you don’t know what you want… you’re too young" excuse, it won’t work on me…"

"You just…"

You shush him, your finger resting on his lips. 

"Joel. I am serious. I’ve been trying to get you to understand for a while now"

Joel’s lasts bits of resolves slowly crumbled with each batting of your eyelashes and bright smile directed his way in crowded rooms, each brushes of your knees against his thighs under the tablecloths, each flick of your hair above your shoulders while nobody but him was paying attention, each heartfelt laugh you let him hear, each murmurs of his name on your lips, each tug of your warm hands on his lonely cold heart. And tonight there’s nothing left. 

This moment feels surreal. The wayJoel's eyes are staring straight into your soul…It looks like he’s begging you to end his suffering. 

You take one of his hand in yours again, and put it on your rib cage. Joel’s hand tenses, but he doesn’t retreat anymore. 

"Did you get my text the other night Joel?" you ask, carefully. 

Did he get your text the other night ? Damn right he did. 

He hasn’t been able to cross the street to say hello to your father since then. He still can feel the tightness in his chest, and in his pants, when he got your picture. A selfie, your limbs sprawled out on your bed, your breats covered in a pretty lace, the hem of your matching panties appearing at the bottom of his screen. He threw the phone on the coffee table immediately after he opened the text, head resting in his hands. He thought it was a mistake at first, that you sent it to the wrong number. He wasn’t supposed to see this, but fuck... he did take another look at that picture right after. It was even better than what he imagined. It was so wrong to look at you like that but at the same time…it felt inevitable.

He nearly missed the text that followed, too caught up by the way your body was spread on your bed:

"Heard about your tough week. I’m sorry Joel. Thought this might cheer you up a little bit. Xo"

Yeah it was definitely not a mistake. You took this picture for him. He didn’t known what to do, how to answer to this, he didn’t even know if you expected an answer. He left you on read instead, spent the whole night spiraling about how to handle this, wondering how he’ll be able to talk to you next time you’ll be in town, falling asleep to the thought of you coming apart under his tongue. 

Now the time to think is over, he admits to himself as he lets his hands roam down your sides. 

"I did" he confesses.

He knew full well the two of you would get there eventually. 

You danced around that blurred line all night, slowly getting closer to his surrendering, and further away from his resistance, from the lies he tells you and himself to avoid facing the truth and taking what he really wants. 

"Why didn’t you answer me then?"

You guide his hand further up, keeping it on your left breast. You bite your lip at the feeling of his strong hand on you. 

"It wouldn’t have been right. I’m not… I am not supposed to think about you like that. I’m just trying to do what’s right for the both of us sweetheart…. That’s why we should stop…"

His mouth is saying something that his mind, heart and body don’t follow at all. Instead of stopping, he cups your breast with his left hand, letting his thumb slip inside your cleavage to find your perked nipple, brushing it softly. You squirm on his lap, biting back a moan. 

His other arm finally circles your waist, and makes you slide further down, your crotch resting against his. You grind your hips back and forth just once, feeling him growing hard against you. 

You smile, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his. 

"It doesn’t make any goddamn sense now that your hands are touching me like this Joel". 

"I reckon I lost the point here baby…" he chuckles before adding in a whisper "are you sure you really want this?" 

You laugh and nod before pressing your lips on his softly. It’s a really shy kiss. Joel’s lips are moving against yours slowly. You’re not sure he’s letting go completely. You want to tell him that it’s okay, he’s not going to break you, but then his hand leaves your breast and slides up your body, finding its way at the side of your neck, his thumb caressing the skin of your throat, and you’re the one wondering if you can handle this. His tongue plunge into your mouth and the kiss has you feverish. 

It’s not enough. 

"Joel, I need you to touch me" you murmur between heated kisses. 

He frowns, but you know he doesn’t need much convincing to fold now. 

You slowly slip the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. 

"Fuck… baby you’re…you’re gorgeous" he says, blushing. 

You whisper a thank you, and a second later, his mouth is on you, kissing the skin of your throat, further down your neck, his beard leaving a slight burn on the soft skin of your breast, and when his mouth finally closes around your nipple, sucking it gently, you moan his name, gripping the hair at the back of his head, grinding on his lap. His other hand fondle your left breast, pinching your nipple, and you throw your head back, whimpering. 

"Oh gosh Joel you’re just…it’s so good"

"You’re so soft baby, so pretty sitting on my lap like this…"

"I really really need you to touch me Joel" you beg, taking his hand in yours, sliding it down your stomach. 

Joel looks at you, asking if you’re okay with him taking off your tights, and you nod, raising from his lap to slide them down your legs.

"I wore them for you" you tell him, starting to move them further down your leg.

"Really?"

"Hm hm. Do you like them?"

Joel breath is stuck in his throat, he wonders how the hell he has the chance to get such a beautiful girl like you stripping for him… His pants are growing tighter, he doesn’t have the patience to wait for you to get them off the way. 

"I do… but I won’t feel sorry for doing this" he rips them off your thighs, leaving the sparkly fabric teared up on the lower half of your legs. 

"Joel!" 

"They’re cheap baby. Shouldn’t come off as easily as that!" 

"Is 25$ cheap to you?"

"I’ll buy you another pair, something more resistant, don’t worry" 

He slams his mouth against yours again, before letting his hand slip inside your lacy thong. 

You moan as soon as his warm fingers trace the outline of your pussy, smearing the wetness that gathered there since you started teasing him. 

"You’re so wet baby… can you feel the mess you’re making all over my hand?"

You nod frantically, whispering for him to make you come. 

"So needy already… You want my fingers baby ? 

"Need you inside" You beg, and Joel gently pushes one of his thick fingers inside of you. 

"Fuck Joel…" you curse, suddenly wondering how the hell you’re gonna take him inside of you if it’s how you feel when you only have one of his fingers. Joel starts moving a little faster, the palm of his hand moving against your clit. You’re already on the verge of breaking down.

"You think you can take another one? Yeah?"

"Please Joel."

He inserts another finger, stretching you a little more, curling them inside of you, his thumb finding your clit, drawing circles there, watching the way you’re panting, admiring the sight of you biting your lips, slowly coming apart on his hand. 

"You’re close baby, you’re gonna come for me?"

"Yes yes yes please Joel" you chant, before your orgasm hits you, warmth diffusing inside your body, your pussy clenching around Joel’s fingers. 

"That’s it darling… you’re being so good for me"

"Oh my gosh…" you whine, trying to catch your breath, kissing Joel fiercely while he pulls out his hand from between you legs. 

"I need more Joel…" you whisper, letting your hand slide down his chest, towards his belt buckle. 

Joel is tormented. Again. And he can’t get rid of this feeling, despite the fact that he just made you come on his fingers… 

"Baby… I don’t think that’s a good idea…"

"Oh you definitely don’t…" You smirk, palming him through his underwear. 

Joel’s rich laugh makes your body shake against his… He can’t hide now, betrayed by his own body. 

"I just…"

"Want to do this right ? Hm… We don’t have to if you don’t want to Joel, that’s okay."

"Well…" he starts to think about an excuse, a reason to give you, but his mind is empty, visions about you coming undone underneath him replacing all coherent thoughts. He never thought he’ll get the chance to touch his dream with the tip of his finger but here he is. 

"Tell me you haven’t thought about me like that and I’ll stop" you ask him, tightening your grip on his half hard member. 

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. 

"Can’t lie to you darlin’"

"Good. Because I trust you Joel. Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you… but this… this is different" 

"You had your fingers inside of me 2 minutes ago Joel…" 

"Yeah but that’s not…" Joel doesn’t even know how to escape this anymore… 

"I guess I’ll just have to keep imagining what it feels like…"

You let your fingers trail along the waistband of his boxers, before slipping your hand inside, finding the tip of his hardened length, caressing it with your thumb. 

"Oh"

Oh. You can’t even finish what you were saying, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his big cock against the palm of your hand. 

Joel moans, letting his head fall backwards on the chair. 

"You were saying?" His breathing is getting heavier. 

"I was saying… that I’ll just have to keep imagining what it feels like to…have you deep … inside of me…to come apart on your big cock…while I touch myself" you whisper in his ear, accentuating each word with a gentle stroke along his length. 

"Darlin’…Why am I even trying to resist you?" He manages to say, swallowing a moan.

"Pretty please Joel?" you pout, raising your hips to take off your underwear.

"You sure as hell know what you’re doing here… finding the right words to convince me tonight darlin’"

You seal your deal with a kiss, before taking his hard cock out without hesitating, coating the tip with your wetness, brushing it against your folds, watching Joel lose his mind over your actions. 

"Baby you should… you should slow down" he says, feeling you helping him inside of your warm pussy. 

You moan his name as soon as the first inches of his cock passes your entrance, your grip tightening on his shoulder as you adjust to the burning sensation.

"Joel…" you beg, and he kisses you again, pushing the rest of his cock inside of you. "…feel so good…so big inside of me" you mumble, voice heavy with lust.

"Gosh sweetheart you’re so tight" he says, relishing the way you feel around him. Your cunt is gripping his length, your walls pulsating around his cock, and he realizes that he could come just like that, not even 2 minutes after having you wrapped around him. 

You feel him contract under you, tensing. 

"Joel… hey… look at me"

He obeys, eyes focusing on your pretty face. 

"Relax okay?"

"I am trying darlin’"

You kiss him, sliding your tongue along his lips, before sinking down onto his cock again. 

"You can move Joel you’re not gonna hurt me" you whisper, desperate for some friction. 

"I know baby, it’s just… I want to take my time. Never thought you’d grant me this so…I am a little bit overwhelmed here" he states, pushing a strand of hair from off your face. 

Oh. It suddenly occurs to you he’s trying not to come already. Your face grow hot, and you kiss him again, biting his lower lip, swallowing his moans.

"Hey. It’s okay. I don’t care if you don’t last long. I need you to fuck me Joel" you take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you, while starting to move your hips up and down faster. 

"Fuck… I didn’t know you were that greedy…"

"Only for you Joel"

You let your hand slip underneath his tshirt, caressing his chest.

"Only for me uh? You don’t know what you do to me, come here…"

Joel’s warm hands find your waist and he guides you, meeting your thrust as best as he can, limited in his movement by the fucking armrests. He tries to set a good rhythm, one that has your tits bouncing against his clothed chest, the sounds of skin slapping skin punctuating the echoes of Jared’s mix, moans escaping your mouth louder with each thrust of his cock inside of your cunt.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. 

"Joel… I…"

You’re too lost in the feeling, unable to prevent your heart from beating faster, Joel’s name slowly sewing itself onto it, with each second passing having him inside of you, your eyes never leaving his, your hand caressing his beard, your mind racing with thoughts that shouldn’t even come to you in this moment. It’s too intense and your stupid brain is according so much meaning to this… 

He sees it. Instantly. This fleeting glimpse of something more painted across your face. He closes his eyes, moaning your name, trying to ignore the way his heart swells underneath your soft hand. 

"More… more… I need more Joel" you whimper, tilting your head up, focusing on the ceiling instead, on the way the bubbles from the lava lamp are dancing above your head.

It’s more… reasonable. 

"I got you baby don’t worry" he groans, but Joel starts to grow frustrated; not able to move as he would want to, not able to feel you as deep as he knows he can. 

He suddenly stops, stilling his movements. 

"What’s… what’s wrong Joel?" You ask, out of breath, a little worried.

"That… that’s not enough, come here, get up baby"

He slips out of you and you gasp, already missing the way he was filling you up. 

Standing from off his lap, your dress falling back into place, muscles numb, unsure of the amount of weight you can trust your legs to carry around, you let him manhandle you until you find yourself bend over his desk. A shiver runs down your spine in anticipation. Your breast are pressed against the cold surface of the wood, making you feel more aware of the warmth radiating from Joel’s body behind you. 

"You’re okay like that?" He asks, laying over you to press a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

"Hm hm…give me something to remember Joel… please " you manage to say. 

"Shouldn’t be saying shit like that to me baby" he sighs, stroking his cock, unable to replicate the feeling of your touch on him.

You feel him ease slowly into you again, but this time there’s no stretch, your pussy already used to having him there. You scream his name, the sound transforming into a long moan, the deeper he goes. But he doesn’t move yet, taking all his time to enjoy the way you feel around him. This is way better. 

"Stupid armrests…Fucking hell baby… you’re gonna be the death of me" Joel curses above you, his hand finding the small of your back, holding you still on the desk, impeding you to thrust back on his cock.

Your hands find the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly. 

"Oh yes… you’re so big Joel… I knew you would make me feel so full…" you whine, feeling warmth spreading over your stomach again.

Joel starts pounding into you, the sound of his thighs slapping against your ass cheeks is just obscene. 

"Your pussy’s so sweet darlin’… Lord have mercy" he sighs, eyes searching for a sign on the ceiling. Nothing but dark purple clouds again. He choses to ignore it, he doesn’t believe in omen anyway.

You giggle, feeling warm at the praise. 

"Don’t stop Joel" you beg.

And despite the new dj set echoing outside, you can only focus on the noises you’re making and Joel’s grunts. 

"I am gonna come… Joel don’t stop… harder… need you harder…"

Joel doesn’t even know how to give it to you harder… he pushes on your back, pressing you against the desk, accelerating his thrusts, before letting his hand slip in between your legs, finding your soaked clit. 

"M’close Joel… so close"

He’s all you can feel, all you can hear, all you can think about. It’s overwhelming and it feels so good you could cry.

"I got you darlin’. Let go for me" 

Your pussy clenches around him, a jolt of electricity coursing through your body. You come in a long plea, eyes getting blurry with pleasure, your grasp tightening on the wood. 

Joel’s chasing his own orgasm behind you, moaning your name. 

"Darlin’ I am not going to last…where do you want…"

"Inside… come inside of me Joel… need you inside, fill me up" you whine. 

"Gosh you’re too good to me darlin’… too fucking good to me" 

He keeps thrusting into you, before coming, whimpering your name, letting your pussy milk his cock dry, his spent sliding down your legs, staining the glittery fabric of the tights resting on your calves. 

"You’re okay there sweetheart?" Joel asks, swiping a bead of sweat from of his forehead with the hem of his shirt. He pulls out of you, chest heaving, trying to realize what just happened, completely hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of your pussy.

You’re completely exhausted, unable to rise from the desk, body aching from the way he fucked you, the skin of your waist so sensitive. 

You nod, humming in response. The truth is that you don’t really know if you’re okay… 

Standing over you, Joel buckles his pants back up, admiring your exhausted body resting on his desk, storing this picture in his mind for later. A hint of worry slides accros his face for a quick second… but now is not the time to think about the consequences. 

"Don’t move, I am getting you something to…clean up our mess" he says before disappearing in the bathroom. 

"Not planning on going anywhere right now…"

Joel steps in a couple of minutes later, a warm paper towel in his hands. 

You’re not bent over the desk anymore, just resting against it, facing him. 

"Not the best material I reckon but…"

"It’s fine." 

He helps you clean up before slipping your thong back in place, sliding your dress down your waist delicately. You slip the straps on your shoulders, covering your chest. 

Before any of you can say anything more, someone pounds on the door, popping up the soap bubble the two of you were wrapped in since you came into his office.

"Shit…". 

"Joel ! I can’t go out like this! Look at me? Look at my legs!" You panic, forcing Joel to realize the mess he made of you. 

"Boss ?" A voice shouts on the other side. 

"Gimme a minute" Joel yells back, grabbing your discarded coat on the floor, pulling it around your shoulder and tying it gently around your waist, making sure the knot won’t fall off. The black fabric is long enough to cover you up to the ankles. 

"You’re ready to go?" He asks, looking suddenly very pale. 

You nod, not inquiring further, letting him lead you out. 

You’re in the corridor in a blur, Joel’s hand splayed wide on the small of your back, pushing you out while talking to his guy. 

The music comes back in force now that you’ve left the office, making it hard to hear what this is all about. Your body is numb, mind unable to function properly anymore, the feeling of Joel’s skin on yours the only thing that you care about now. 

"Be right back in a minute, take Jimmy, Al and Rachid with you. Marcos is goin’ to the front alright?" Joel’s deep voice finally says loud enough for you to hear, right before he opens the backdoor. 

The cold night air hits you suddenly, and the cab Joel ordered a while ago is there, waiting for you. 

"I gotta go. Go home safely, alright?" Joel says mechanically before kissing your forehead, your eyes never meeting once. 

You just nod against his lips, closing your eyes, tears welling up in the corner. 

Joel opens the door for you, and you slide in the backseat, watching him going back inside the club through the window. 

You mumble the address to the driver, and your voice comes out so weakly that he turns towards you, hand resting on the headrest of the passenger seat. 

"You’re okay Miss?"

"Hm hm. I am fine. Thank you" 

"Alright"

The engine starts and the cab goes away in the night. 

Fidgeting with the lock of your purse, you focus on the city lights brightening the dark sky reflecting on the window, unable to stop yourself from wondering if this fleeting moment you shared with Joel, the one where you made this silly dream of yours a reality, wasn’t just big mistake after all.

a/n : thank you so much for reading all this, I hope you enjoyed it, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💜

tagging some moots that were interested in the wips (no pressure at all 💕) : @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @gothcsz @almostfoxglove @almostempty

[sstan-hoe]

SUBTLE LOVE, DARING WORDS

masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏsummary: Aemond is in no hurry to take a wife, yet once he realizes that he doesn't value what he has until he might lose it, he takes action. (based on THIS request!)

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader.

✧word count: 3.1k

✧tags: fluff and comfort, aemond is BAD at feelings, reader doesn't really admit anything either, slight? slowburn?, overall fluffy!!, this is really vague about in which year happens, lol

The first time he met you it was in the library.

He had his mind on the whole commotion at court, the tournament which he had refused to entertain, much to his mother's dislike because of his position as a royal. To him, it seems like a foolery, as if he was willing to participate in making himself a fool such as Mushroom. 

When he came to the library, intending to search for a book to comfort himself, he found a lady leaning down one of the staircases, where there were lots of books stacked only for maesters, with him as an exception… but not a lady surely, less one that seemed to be looking for something below. He was astonished, for many reasons. 

He watched her big, puffy dress, in rich red velvet and gold details. It was definitely a Westerlands style, so he was more confused as to why she was in this part of the library, only for maesters, and… well, him. How did the guards allow her to enter? How did she do it so confidently, as if he couldn’t make her life hell for it?

“Ehem” he scoffs, as if trying to get her away. The least of his worries was having a lady on the forbidden library corner… for now. “Get out. You are in a forbidden part”

“I am aware” your voice comes from down the staircase you had even moved some books! That made him slightly… annoyed.  As you move your head out to see the prince above you, and you make a movement with your head as if doing a courtesy. “My prince”

He was not amused, at all. You had green eyes, and the most golden hair he had seen in ages. The small lions on your dress allowed him to know who you were: A Lannister. And he definitely never wanted to deal with any of your kin. 

“And I said-”

“My cat is down there” you say, as if he cared. 

“Okay. Take it out of here”

“I can’t” you say simply, watching him with a grin. “She seems to be in labour. I didn’t know she was pregnant at all…”

He has many questions, and he frowns at your reasoning. He would take the cat and throw it out himself if he had to. 

“It is your cat, just take it away”

“Well, my father gave her to me two weeks ago!” You make a face, almost whining about it. Of course he could know which Lannister is your father. “I didn’t know she was pregnant, and she is still getting used to me. She will scratch me, more if I get closer to her babies”

“A scratch won’t kill you”

“Just sit” you say softly, watching the cat and sitting on the ground to wait. “You can even keep one of the baby cats”

“My grandsire has brought enough cats already” Aemond says, walking to grab some wine for him and the lady. He wasn't impolite to be rude to a lady, much less one with your status and beauty. “They come to my bed when I am sleeping, and I wake up to cats in my chest”

“Well, I think they are cute” You say, taking the cup of wine, thanking him as you sip the wine. “Cats are felines, like lions. So I think having a cat is reasonable, better than a lion”

“Don’t you want one?”

“I have one back at home” you say shrugging, smiling widely. “He is called Brightroar”  

Of course you named it like the ancient weapon of Lannisters. “And this one?” 

“I wanted to call it Brightroar second, but it turned out to be a she. So she is just called Gemma” 

He can’t deny that he is amused, watching you being so nonchalant about it all, as if you owned the world. He raises an eyebrow as he has a slight smirk, as he sits near. 

“Gemma” he scoffs. “A very…”

“Lannister name” you say smugly. 

“Hm. I was going to say… common, perhaps” he adds.

“You would love for Lannisters to be commoners, my prince. Yet you seem to rely on our gold” you notice, raising one eyebrow. So you weren’t a silly lady, he realises, you had the wits.

“Hmm… Our gold seems a bit excessive, my lady. It is your father who is the head of your house” he reminds you, leaning back on his chair. 

You smile softly. He thinks you are Cerelle, probably. Mostly because you know Cerelle was still a kid and never been presented to the royal court.

“Mine or not, I still am more entitled to it.”

“I have a dragon.” He adds, as if this was a debate between you both. He was actually enjoying it. He had totally the wrong impression of you and he… was enjoying it. “The biggest dragon”

“Yeah, and?” 

“And I could burn your silly little castle” he shrugs, taking a dip of wine. 

“No, you could not” 

“I’m pretty sure I can”

“No, actually. I know you haven’t gone out of these four walls and this... city, my prince, but I remind you out of the kindness of my heart: Casterly Rock is literally… a rock” 

Aemond rolls his good eye, yet his smirk doesn’t leave his face. As if your cat was forgotten, he keeps on his point. 

“As if has stopped a dragon before” Aemond says simply. “Because I am as kind I shall remind you of Harrenhal, perhaps?” 

“And I shall remind you that Harrenhal is a castle made of rocks.” She shrugs softly. “Not exactly a rock. Casterly Rock is literally a castle inside a rock.”

“Some parts are out of it”

“Not the part where we keep our gold, not really”

Aemond squints his eye, and you look back at him. You amused him, looking like a defiant cat that got away with their mischief. It was fun to see, and he could hear the wails of your cat. You didn’t seem worried, neither was he. Perhaps that was the circle of life, and you knew your cat would manage. 

As you speak of such trivial matters, waiting for your cat to end her labours, he couldn’t help but admire your wits, as much as your beauty. Your velvet gown, of a strong red and some gold details did wonders with your appearance, and your brains only made you brighter. 

“What are you doing here?” It was Tyland Lannister, coming with a Maester behind, probably who sneaked your position in a forbidden library. “You know ladies can’t be here” 

“Father... My cat is giving birth” You say, frowning as if it was the most obvious thing. 

“My prince” Tyland makes a courtesy to him, a bit rigid and tense. You had heard how the prince would often terrorise your father, making him do the silliest things as if that amused him. Your uncle Jason often had a laugh about it. 

“I was not aware your daughter was…” Aemond says, turning his gaze to you “All grown up”

He knew about you, but your father talked about you as if you were a babe. You were practically his own age, for what he could tell.

“Yes, my little lion is certainly… grown” Tyland agrees, his hand on your hair as he spoke. “Come on; let’s not bother the prince…”

“It is not a bother” Aemond cuts him, serving himself more wine. “She is rather amusing”

“How dare you-!” You say, offended as you come to your defence.

“Sweetie” Your father tries to calm you, with a tense smile as if telling you to shut up.

“I am not a jester” 

“No one said you were” Aemond says, amused as he smirks. 

“You are such a…”

“Apologise” your father murmurs. 

“But fath-”

“You heard me”

“I am sorry, my prince” You say mockingly, and he smirks, even more amused.

Tyland seemed as if he was about to have a stroke, because he had enough things on his plate, and he didn’t need the prince making his life at the small council harder. 

Aemond sees Gemma, bringing her cats to show you how they were, all of them bloody, and squirmy, a bit pink and small. You petted them as you didn’t mind the blood.

“Come on. Servants will need to clean the blood” Tyland says, making a notion for you to stand up “Grab the kittens and let’s go”

“Ew, no. They are all bloody” You say frowning. “You take them” 

How lady-like. He thinks, as you didn't seem to mind the blood two seconds ago.

Even with your persistence, your father took the small and weak kittens, and your cat kept meowing at him as if he would kill him. 

“How did your cat even come here to give birth?” Your father asks as he tries to not get Gemma to kill him.

“I have no idea, father…” You say, and Aemond sees you standing up. 

He sees the pile of books in your hands, behind your back as you walk behind your father. You smart wench, he thinks, as you had just successfully stolen forbidden books by setting up your cat to give birth here. You even had him fooled. No one else notices, since your dress was puffy enough, and he noticed it by shamelessly trying to see your ass. 

You watch him, and press your index finger in your lips, as you walk behind your father and his complaints about your cat. 

“Do not bother the prince, darling” Tyland says once you get out of the library.

“I think he is quite handsome” you admit, when you know the prince won’t hear you. You father watches you shrug, walking forward him, not allowing him to see your hands. He sighs, as Gemma starts meowing loudly. 

While the rest of your interactions have been brief, he notices that you are more of a troublemaker than you let yourself look. You had that mischievous smirk always, arching your eyebrows in such a way when you had a plan. 

Yet, you were sweet. He notices how you play with your cousins, Cerelle, braiding her hair, and with Loreon, the small heir to Casterly Rock, a kid that enjoyed running around, and you often entertained his antics. 

“And there will be so many ladies, Aemond. In this time, we need alliances…” His mother says, as they walked through the castle. He hears the step of Cole behind them, guarding them, and probably hearing how his mother tried to make him a lovebird.

“It does not interest me”

“It doesn’t have to interest you. It is a matter of duty-”

“I won’t marry, mother.” Aemond shrugs, as if that was the way of his life. “Not yet. I have things ahead of me yet” 

“You inscribed on the tourney?” The queen inquires, curious. 

“No” he says shrugging, slyly trying to seek for you in the royal box, to no avail. “I am not in a hurry.”

He greeted noble ladies, of course. As he was seated on the royal box, bored and waiting, he could see girl after girl doing courtesy and smiling in a flirty way to him. It did not amuse him, and he was polite enough, almost rude. 

“She is trying really hard, you know” A voice joins his thoughts. It is you, sitting by the empty chair by his side, where Aegon is supposed to be, but he never is on time.

“Who isn’t?” He rolls his eye.

“I didn’t know you were so in demand. High valued. Sought after” you list, as you fan yourself as it was indeed a hot day. 

“Very amusing” He murmurs.

“Come on, my prince. There must be a lady who catches your attention.” 

“I am not blind” he says, rolling his good eye. “Of course there are women I find beautiful”

“Oh my... Having feelings now, congratulations, the Seven indeed are capable of the most... unthinkable miracles”

“You just woke up being so funny” he says, looking at you, raising his eyebrow, yet the small way his lips curved allowed you to know he was amused.

“I am always funny, my prince” you say watching the crowd get settled, squinting your eyes due to the sun. “My cats are good, thanks for asking. Gemma is quite the mother, even if she tried to eat one of them.”

"How... vivid." He says, raising his eyebrows in slight disgust.

"I saved them. Since they are four, I named them: Elia, Joy, Alyssa and Teora"

"And what if one of those silly cats was to be a male?" he asks, as if seeing a flaw in your cat-naming thing.

"Pff, none of them will be. I know it. And if they are, I won't change the names"

He remains quiet, surprised by how bold and petulant you could be. It was amusing to him, and he enjoyed talking to you more than he cared to admit.

“You stole from the library.” he reminds you.

“I have no idea what you are about” you say, still looking at the crowd, smiling softly. The red of your dress made your gold hair bright even more. “Ladies do not read such matters”

“Yeah, right. You are unlike any lady”

“Quite the contrary” you finally turn to see him “I am just like any other lady” you says, smiling. "It just happens that I am friends with the prince, so I am allowed to speak freely"

"Who said..." He says, opening his mouth and turning his face to you, a bit impressed by your silliness "How come you think... you suppose that we are friends?"

"Since you have neither sneaked about the time at the library, or told me to shut up and leave you alone, it is a logical conclusion, if we have in mind your previous reputation to anyone else." You say smiling. "And do not worry, if you do not consider me as such, doesn't matter, because I do and I appreciate you even if you hate me"

"You are..." He scoffs, grinning like a fool "Unbelievable"

"I know. One of my many charms. That and being a matchmaker. I love it. It is wonderful to make couples at court, and more if they end up together, being all happy and..."

“Huh.” He hums, thinking of how odd you were. “Talking about the wonders of a married life”

“I didn’t say that. I merely stated that… marriage isn’t the worst. I intend to find a husband very soon as well. I would very much like to be a wife”

“I shall pray for the poor soul who calls you wife” He murmurs as he looks at the field below, where the knights were preparing, yet you hear his grumbles. 

“And I shall pray to see prince Aemond besotted for a lady” you say teasingly, standing up, not before doing a small courtesy and leave to sit by your father, who had just arrived, frowning a bit as to why you were with prince Aemond.

The tournament does not bore him at all. He is very into the way the fight develops, and he takes mental notes when he sees some weaknesses in the participants. He regrets, just a bit, not joining, because he thinks he could have won. 

He sees you, on the seats below him, jumping in excitement as the fight develops. You are into it very much, clapping and screaming as any commoner does outside the royal box. It was improper, but it was… cute. 

He can see the rest, clapping politely, not overly excited yet proper for the occasion. You were unlike the rest, yet at the same time, you were just like any lady. It amazed him, and he did not understand.

He soon realises that he is not the only one that has you in mind, when the winner of the tournament comes closer to the stands, riding triumphantly in circles while the audience cheers him on, the crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty on his lance.

“The Winner, Ser Dale Dondarrion shall find his Queen of Love and Beauty”

He hesitates for some moments, he thinks he shall name his niece Jaehaera to win the favour of the royal house, like his ancestor once did to little princess Daenerys at the early reign of King Jaehaerys. 

Yet his smile faints when he sees that the queen of beauty’s laurel falls into your lap. 

“Lady Lannister, I hope I am deserving of dedicating my victory for you, and shall your reign be full of joy, even if lasting one night”

You take the wreath of flowers, almost jumping in sight and squealing some thanks as Tyland accommodates the crown onto your braided hair. Your crowning came with an ovation full of applause, from the box and from the commoners… but him. 

It was an odd feeling, stirring something in him, as he watches your cheeks pink from the compliments of all, and most of all; having a suitor. Being named queen of love and beauty was not anything like a dull compliment of court merely because it was proper. It was being publicly courted, and often something many ladies wished, because there was no better feeling than being shown off to everyone. 

He was quiet the rest of the day. Humming when ladies talked to him, in hopes to gain his attention and be courted; when Aegon mocked him; when Helaena placed one of her bugs in his lap, which Maelor ended up squeezing on his grip; when his mother presented him a lady of a high castle with expensive clothes and a sweet behaviour, pure, and devoted. He paid little attention to it all.

It was when your reign was coming to an end that he asks for Tyland to come to the empty throne room. He was watching the throne, carefully inspecting it, as he calculated of his next words. He was being irrational, clearly driven by his emotions and desperation rather than the logically he usually had. 

“My prince” 

Tyland was no stranger to the formalities of court, yet he never let himself be intimidated by lords that tried to impose themselves. He was the second son, yet he had established a name for himself and earned respect in his position; there was nothing for him to feel belittled about

Yet intimidation comes natural with prince Aemond around. 

He has the impression that his one eye is wide open, and the smirk that naturally was on his lip was one of amusement in the suffering of the rest. Always stoic, never doing things out of impulsivity... Which was even worse. His hands behind his back, as he remained as still as a statue.

It did not frighten him, but he knew Aemond was as cold as unforgiving. And slicing his head won’t make the prince feel regret.

“Lord Tyland” Aemond greets him softly. 

A silence follows, as Tyland feels his hand sweating slightly. “An idea for the small council?” He tries to guess. “I am sure it can wait, my prince, I should be with my daughter, since it’s her day…”

“Exactly. That’s what I wanted to speak about”

Tyland is a smart man, and he quickly realises the problem.

“I know she can be presumptuous and slightly spoiled, my prince” He starts, feeling Aemond’s eye on him as he turns to face him. “She takes the title too seriously, when it isn’t, Mushroom was just hyping her up, and she is just still a girl, and I apologise on her behalf for trying to impose herself as Queen, when her reign only lasts for a day, and she really is…”

“I want to marry her” Aemond tells Tyland simply. “Her reign shall not end. She can be a princess.”

Lannisters usually aren’t left speechless. They had never been known for their silence, yet here he is, silent.

“Ser Dondarrion made the same proposal hours earlier, my prince, and I…”

“And you will allow your daughter to marry a Ser instead of a prince? I have already told you. I want to be her husband” He insists, his tone not certainly soft as he loses patience. His soul craves you. He needs to be yours. He can’t let you go away. “She is smart and she has the wits. She is spoiled, and she loves to have her way. She is kind, sweet, and funny. And I want to be her husband and give her anything she asks for. Is that so hard to get?”

What wakes up Queen Alicent is her son with a stoic expression, not even entering her rooms to speak.

“I was wrong” He says simply “I shall marry Lady Lannister, mother. I am in a hurry. So I ask you to prepare the wedding. Good night and Seven blessings”

Almost a year later is when your father comes closer to your chambers once again, seeing how your ladies in waiting do a courtesy out of politeness, and he watches prince Aemond at your door, waiting for him.

“Came as fast as I could…”

“Hm” Aemond says, as he walks toward the open doors.

Tyland could have his distance with Prince Aemond, but he couldn’t deny how good a husband he was. He wasn’t a man of many emotions, in his perspective, yet he was a devoted husband. He danced as many times you wanted in the ceremony, sighing every time you made him stand up from his seat. He didn’t wear the eye patch on your wedding, just as you requested.

“That is the worst idea ever, darling” He said to you, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Well, he will have to if he wants to marry me”

And so he did. When you wanted to travel to Volantis, he arranged it all. When you wanted for him to meet Brightroar, he took Vhagar and rode into the Westerlands with you. 

“Was it all well?”

“Everyone in the castle heard a lion roar” Aemond says walking past the maesters. 

You seemed so little, in Tyland’s eyes, all sweaty and tired, like the time you got so sick he was afraid you would die. He had brought the very best maesters he could find, just to assure you were safe. 

“It is a girl” It’s the first thing you say to your father, smiling a bit. “A healthy baby”

Tyland leans, to kiss your forehead, as you extend your babe to him. It was a small thing, yet chubby and all pink still. She had small, silver hair, very thin, but present. He could see the little gold spot, as if gold hair would grow on some of her hair. It was indeed curious, and yet he couldn’t think she was anything but perfect.

“A bit squirmy” He comments, as the baby yawns, opening her mouth as she whines slightly. 

As he tries to coo the small thing, he watches how Aegon sits by your side, at the edge of the bed, passing his hand behind your shoulders to caress your shoulder. You lean against him a bit, and say.

“It is a pain to breastfeed, why didn’t you tell me?”

He chuckles a bit awkwardly, he had never gotten used to your bluntness and honesty. “I never knew anything about that”

“Well, it is. I thought babies knew how to do it, but she takes a long time” You say, looking up at Aemond.

“She is still very little, my love” Aemond reminds you. 

“I know, but what if I am doing it wrongly? Mothers usually know those things, and I find myself clueless. Aunt Joanna says it comes naturally, but she has successfully raised kids who have survived childhood.” You say, looking at Aemond. “So has your mother. How comes I don’t know?”

“Because you are a mother from little more than a day.” Aemond reminds you “And they had help. So you do. You have me, of course. You have wet nurses, maids, maesters, and my own mother and of course, you have the brightest mind. We’ll do”

“Did you know Aemond cried, father?” You tell him, and he finally looks away from his little granddaughter. 

He blinks, a bit confused, watching the prince. “Oh, did he?” 

“Yeah, it was rather cute” Aemond rolls his eye amused, as your hand was on his knee. 

“It’s the only natural response.” Tyland says, his finger caressing the skin of the sleeping babe, who squirmed a bit at the feeling, like a cat. “She is delightful. Have you named her?”

Aemond looks at you, amused, expecting you to answer the question. You had the smug grin on your face, and nodded. “We had a deal. If she had golden hair, she would have a Targaryen name. If she had silver hair, she would have a Lannister name”

“And?”

“Well, she is rather… peculiar. She had silver hair, but you can see how some gold hair has grown too? It is the oddest of things, but the Maesters said it was natural. You know how cats have different hair colours?”

“Don’t compare her to a cat” Tyland makes a face, softly rocking her in his arms.

“She has both silver and gold.” Aemond says, as if reminding you to keep on trail. 

“Ah, yes. Since it’s most silver, we agreed on something that you will find the brightest things, father.” You look at your husband and then your father. “Gaemma. It’s a bit… weird to say it, but with time it shall be delightful”

Tyland looks at you, and he blinks. “Like your cat?”

“Well, thanks to her I and Aemond met.” You remind him. “She deserves some credit” You add.

“I like it” he murmurs. “Don’t make your mama lose her mind” He says, as the baby yawn, extending her arms. 

“She will, after all she is her mother’s daughter” Aemond says, taking her back, and he adds “You should have seen how loud she wailed once she came.”

“I am here, world. Hear me roar” you say, as if trying to translate Gaemma’s cries. You smile widely, and Tyland knows that even if you were always going to be his little girl, you were in the best hands, and that Aemond adored the ground you walked on. Even if you name their child after your cat. 

[sstan-hoe]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't) IT'S TOO MUCH (give me more) HELP!=="))??! (that i do need tysm)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as coffee, he allows himself to believe in you.

[sstan-hoe]

[sstan-hoe]

Sell-out

Pairing: QZ!Joel x f!reader

Summary: After a smuggler Joel and Tess were working with didn’t pay for his end of the deal, Joel captures his girlfriend, you. Tired of your boyfriend’s scheming ways, you decide to use the situation to your advantage.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, captivity, mentions of m!oc, cheating, darkish!Joel, dubcon (power imbalance, eventual consent), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamics

A/N: Happy New Year! Decided to do something different for this one-shot and I'm excited to put it out there because I personally love reading these types of stories and I've been writing this for a while. I appreciate any feedback and enjoy these messy characters! :)

masterlist

The first thing you feel waking up is sharp pain coming from the back of your head. You move your arm to inspect it, but the weight of chains stops you, clanging against the hard floor. You quickly open your eyes to see where you are.

The room you’re in is wide, brick walls of it covered with graffiti, holding a network of pipes. You... You know this place. You’ve seen it from outside of the abandoned warehouse near the QZ, waiting for your boyfriend Lucien to finish up meeting with his smuggling crew. You always hated the types of guys coming here and the way he’d try to fit in with them, mimicking them without noticing. Most of the time, though, you’d bear with it because his line of work brought in the resources. To him and to you. This has to be the shadiest place in a wide perimeter, and it smells like it; of sweat, dried blood and rusted metal.

You raise your arms slightly and turn to look at them. There’s a pull of the heavy metal again. You see chains tied around your wrists, locked around a metal pipe. You don’t remember any of this happening, much less getting here. Your mind runs a mile an hour, trying to find an answer to the burning question – why the hell are you here tied up?

Heavy and intent footsteps grow louder until you see a big wooden door open. Your eyes widen as you see who comes out, his bearded face and stern expression unmistakable. He leans on a small metal table, staring you down. Joel fucking Miller.

Of course you know who Joel Miller is. Along with Tess, he’s one of the most notorious smugglers in the Boston QZ, feared by even the toughest of brutes. Tess is the brains, Joel is the muscle. They worked with Lucien on his most recent deal and... Oh, shit. You know why you’re here.

His expression is nonchalant, except for a subtle scowl. “Finally. You’re awake.”

You look him straight in the eye, trying not to show the fear bubbling in your stomach. You curse yourself as a tremble in your voice betrays it. “Why am I here?”

He grins darkly at the tremble in your voice, satisfied with his plan to intimidate you. “You know why you’re here.”

Of course you do. This isn’t the first time Lucien’s sleazy tactics backfired on him, yet he always thought he knew better than you. Didn’t want to listen to your advice and did as he pleased. Now you’re the one captured for it.

You decide in a split second you’ll pretend you have no idea. “No, I don’t.”

“Liar.” He says menacingly.

“What do you want?” You get annoyed and struggle against the chains.

“No use strugglin’. You’ll just hurt yourself. And I want my share.” He walks around as he speaks, heavy boots stomping on the concrete floor. You have to resist the urge to flinch at every one of his steps. “Thought you were so smart, double-crossing me and Tess.”

You glare at him, determined not to let him sense your fear. “Me? I’m not a smuggler.”

He smirks. “Oh, right. Forgot you’re Lucien’s arm candy.”

You know what he’s doing. Trying to coax an answer out of you by implying your only use is standing still and looking pretty. You won’t fall for it. You tilt your head. “Forgot you’re Tess’s muscle.”

You see a flicker of annoyance pass him at the quip before he composes himself. “The muscle could snap you in half.”

You keep glaring up at him. “Good thing. Nothing else going for you.”

He comes closer and kneels in front of you, his shadow looming over your frame. “You’re makin’ this a whole lot harder on yourself.”

You keep eye contact as he comes closer to you, his breath hitting your face, your breath speeding up from adrenaline and... His proximity. He’s so close you can smell his musk mixed with gun powder. God, not him. Not right now. You swallow.

He smirks. “What? Cat ate your tongue?”

You struggle to think as your skin warms up slightly, making part of you not want to leave. Looking away from him towards the floor, you shake out of it. The chains are tied to the pipe with a lock. If you’re lucky and he hasn’t thought this through, he could be keeping the keys to the lock somewhere on him. Joel wouldn’t, but it’s worth a try. You could also convince him to let you go. You’ve talked your way out of worse, and Joel is a pragmatic man. If you figure out what he wants, you stand a chance.

After a few seconds of running through this in your head, you have a plan of action. “I can give you your share.”

He leans a bit away to check your facial expression, determine if you’re deceptive. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was a stupid idea, and I told him that. You should be made up for your struggle.” You try to keep your expression flat, playing up the “you deserve compensation” card.

He hums, smiling slyly. “You’re good. Can’t tell if you’re lyin’.”

“Well, I’m telling the truth.” You huff, genuinely annoyed this time at the predicament you’re in because of your boyfriend. “So how about we cut a deal and you get me out of these?” You raise your arms as much as the chains tying them on your back will allow.

He raises his eyebrow. “You’re takin’ this way better than I thought.”

You roll your eyes. “Not used to people coming in to save me.”

He shrugs and nods. “See...” He gets up slowly from his crouching position, walking around again. “I could cut you a deal.” He stops and looks you over, his eyes scanning your body slowly, like a predator deciding whether to play with its prey or finish the hunt. “Ain’t sure you’re gonna like it, though.”

Relief, intrigue and a bit of fear are swirling in your chest. Your voice cracks but you compose it quickly. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

He comes closer to you and crouches again, stroking your cheek with no emotion in his eyes, searching yours for any signs of discomfort. Chills prickle your skin and you’re not sure if you want to bite your lip to hold back your reactions or to spur him on. You refrain from it.

You should move to stop him. But it’s as if his gaze is keeping you in place, looking into your very soul.

“This is about sendin’ a message.” He strokes your cheek with his knuckles, the roughness of his calloused hand pleasant against your soft skin. “So you can tell me where you keep everythin’ you own, or...” He bites his lip, his eyes closing slightly with lust. “We can do somethin’ else.”

You’re breathing heavily, you heart beating quickly in your chest, leaning against the wall to get as much distance as you can from him in a desperate attempt to think clearly.

All of Lucien and your resources or... Whatever Joel’s up to? You don’t like this. You’re cornered. As much as you’re intrigued by the latter, you have a sinking feeling in your gut you’ll be forced to do it anyway. You frown in resignation.

You turn back to Joel, your tongue on your teeth in anger. “What else?” You spit out.

He smirks, aware of his position, taking his hand off your cheek. “You’re a smart girl. ’M sure you’ll figure it out.”

Thinking of your next move, you look at him frustrated. You lunge and bite the front of his shirt, keeping him in place as you try to will your chained hands to move to his jean pockets and look for the key.

He scoffs in frustration and shakes you off, pinning your shoulders against the wall. “Goddamnit-“

You slam against the wall, scowling at him.

He keeps you pinned and scoffs. “Oh, c’mon.” He smiles slyly, running his finger down the pulse point on your neck. “Afraid you’ll like it?” He leans in and whispers in your ear, his lips lightly grazing the shell of it. “You already do.”

You hate him with a fiery passion. You hate the invisible pull between you two and the way your breath is quickening.

He keeps whispering. “Smart girl. Sharp as a whip. Bet he doesn’t know how to handle ya.” He runs his hands down your sides, stoking the fire lit in you.

Your eyes shut slightly on their own accord, the sensation in your core pleasant. He’s flattering you, using your vanity against you as if he’s reading into your mind.

“I could make good use of you.” He whispers, his breath hitting your ear. “In a lotta ways.” His words are seductive, but you sense a deeper meaning. He sees tangible value in your calculating mind and survival instincts.

You should resist him. Use any tactic you can think of and try to run. But you’re curious about what he could do to you. You like the thought, and your body’s betraying you too, heat pooling low.

You’re also curious about the vision of Joel treating you like an equal. Tess is his partner in crime and you’re not sure how you’d fit in the picture. Yet, desperation for recognition Lucien never gave you lets you think wishfully for a fleeting moment. Does thinking like this make you a traitor? Weak willed? A sell-out? What devastates you is you’re not sure Lucien would care for this more than losing his supplies.

There’d likely be hell to pay either way. Hell with Joel seems like the lesser one.

So you entertain Joel. You bite your lip and turn to him slightly as you whisper. “Bet you could.”

He slowly pulls away from your ear and smiles slyly. “You’re comin’ around.”

You return his sly smile with your own. “Are you gonna make good on your promise?”

He leans in, his lips inches from yours, an invitation for you to close the distance. “You bet.”

You look down at his lips, corners of your mouth crooked into a smug smile. Temptation rises in you, pulling you in like a moth to a flame. And a flame will it be when Lucien finds out.

You lean in and kiss him. He kisses you back searingly, full of pent up aggression and desire, biting your lip softly. You moan at the slight sting, both getting lost in this desperate and carnal moment, mouth to mouth, no more space for thinking. His tongue finds your lower lip, asking for access. You grant it instantly, opening your mouth to let him explore it. You catch his tongue with yours and they glide against each other in a slow dance.

Moaning, you pull away. He grunts slightly at the loss of your lips on his. There’s a certain question in the way you look at him now that he can’t answer; how far is this going? He’s swept away in the tide of his arousal and letting it guide him.

He gets up and puts his hand on your chin, lifting it and tapping it as he speaks commandingly. “On your knees.”

You blink a few times in surprise and swallow your pride before you get up on your knees, tugging at the cold chains as you shift from your sitting position. Your core is fluttering even as you’re feeling like uncertainty is pressing down on your chest.

He smirks at your current position and tilts your head up, nudging you softly with his words. “Open wide. C’mon.”

You lick your lips as you look up at him with an expression juxtaposing what you’re feeling. Ready. In too deep, you’re seeing this through, letting him take you through the unknown. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

“Eager for me, huh?” He strokes your chin tenderly, like you’re something to be handled carefully. “Good girl.”

You smile smugly with your eyes, keeping your mouth open, the last shreds of your restraint keeping you from giving fully into him.

The sound of him unbuckling his belt echoes through the warehouse interior. He slides it off, pulling down his jeans. You get a good look at the bulge straining against his boxers. God, he seems big. A bit of worry of you’ll fit him in your mouth comes over you.

He just grins at your hesitant frown and reaches for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. His length is bobbing on his abdomen, red and angry, already leaking precum. You instinctively tilt your head and bite your lip at the sight. His bulge didn’t fool you about his size, and of course it’s as demanding and manly as the rest of him.

He looks at you sternly. “Go on. I ain’t got all day.”

He’s taunting your doubts, and you might agree with the sentiment. You want to be so full of him you can’t think. You lick up the drops leaking from his slit, looking up at him with wide, pliant eyes.

He strokes the back of your head, sucking in a breath. “There we go.” He grips your hair and pulls you in the direction of his cock. You wrap your mouth around his tip, swirling your tongue, before you push in deeper.

He grunts. He grips your hair, his eyes shutting slightly at the sensation of your warm mouth. “Just like that, baby. So good.” He pats your cheek with his other hand.

You bob your head, setting up a steady pace. You inhale his musk as you take him in deeper each time.

He’s a mess of grunts and low moans. He grips your hair with both hands and starts thrusting into you with abandon. He hits the back of your throat and even as you gag, you close your eyes and moan, the vibration pleasant on his cock. He lit up a wildfire inside you. At this point, you’re helpless to stop it.

Even in his haze, he’s making sure to hold your head securely to keep you from falling backwards. He lets out a groan as he bucks into you, struggling to speak. “Takin’ me so well. You like chokin’ on it?”

You moan in approval. You’re getting off on being tied up and used like this, the ache in your core becoming almost unbearable. So intent on doing whatever he wants, you don’t care if it gets eased.

“’M not sure how long I can last.” He pulls out of your mouth slowly, the saliva stream connecting your mouth with his cock as he does. You open your eyes, looking up at him half-lidded, close to being completely spent. He strokes your cheek, scared he’s hurt you. “You okay?” His voice is tinged with warmth you didn’t expect.

You nod as you look into his hazel eyes, still devoid of emotion but attentive in their own way, glimpses of the man he must have been before the world hardened him.

“Where d’you want me?” He keeps stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I want you inside me.” There’s almost a desperation in the way you look up at him, not sure if it’s for him to slide into you or to keep him giving these small crumbs of attention.

He nods as his gaze skims over your body slowly. As if he just remembered something, he stops in consideration. He orders, slight irritation at this thought ruining his fun in his voice. “Turn around.”

You narrow your eyes questioningly and hesitantly turn around to face the wall. Gripping your arm, he unties the chains around your wrists. Relief and confusion come over you. Is he going to...?

He is. You recognize the sound of keys clinking behind you before he turns the key in the lock keeping the chains to the pipe. The chains fall to the floor with a loud clang. You finally move your arms, sore and chafed by them, rubbing the marks.

Why would he let you go before you get to the good part? Wait... Guess there are invisible lines Joel won’t cross. As much as he liked the power he had over you, he wants you to have a choice in this. To know you’re doing this on your own accord, not to escape, not fearing for your life. This is just his test of that. He stands behind you for a few moments, gauging your reaction, watching whether you’re preparing to flee.

As you stand with your arms free, all your instincts tell you to run. But where to? Back in the arms of the boyfriend who makes you fear his betrayal every single day? It’s only a matter of time before his backstabbing tendencies are turned on you, you think.

To be fair, Joel is not the most reliable man to turn to next, but you decide to explore what has transpired between you further.

You turn around and look at him, his bulge still straining against his pulled up jeans, tilting your head and smiling knowingly. “Go on. I ain’t got all day.”

“Good. Thought you’d try to run.” He grins and nods, and you can see relief clearly painted on his face. “Woulda been a shame.” His voice takes on a lower and more confident tone.

He grabs your arms and moves you to the patch of brick beside the pipe you were locked to, pinning you to it. Your faces are close together and now you’re both smiling like two teenagers sneaking off to do something forbidden. He slides his tongue into your mouth again as you open it eagerly. You kiss briefly before his fingers slip past the waistband of your jeans inside your panties. He hums. “Already wet for me, aren’t you?”

You nod as you exhale in pleasure. “So wet.”

He parts your folds with his finger, not pushing in, just teasing. “Let’s see how wet you can get...”

Your core is throbbing and his touch keeps making it worse. Leaning your head back against the wall, you sigh. “Oh God...”

He smiles slyly as his fingers find your clit, rubbing teasingly. “Lucky bastard, Lucien... Gonna fuck you so hard you forget all about him.”

You look at Joel in surprise at mentioning him, too worked up to care at this point, perhaps even tempered by the anger and resentment you harbor for Lucien. Too late to turn back anyway, you think you like the way this is sticking it to him. A subtle sly smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He takes his hand out of your jeans and begins undoing the button and zipper on them. As he does, your chest is rapidly rising and falling and you feel the heat spreading through your body, consuming you. You clutch onto his belt, undoing it once more along with his jeans and boxers. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down.

He taps the head of his cock to your clit, your arousal mixing. You move your hips instinctively for him to push in, but he makes sure to torment you for a moment longer, tapping it against you again.

“Joel...” You whine.

“You want it? I wanna hear you.” He pushes in just the head of his cock, closing his eyes in pleasure.

“Yes! Yes, I want it so badly. Please...” Before you’re even done begging, Joel can’t take it anymore and pushes all the way in. In one rough stroke, he’s fully inside you. Your breath’s almost knocked out and a slight sting from his size quickly turns into pleasure.

He stills for a moment, letting you adjust. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

He slides out of you a bit before he slams back in. He sets a ruthless pace, each thrust pushing your hips to the wall and hitting deep inside of you. You lean against the cold brick, your lips parted and your eyes half-lidded, moaning. It’s almost animalistic, the way you’re both losing your bearings in this dirty warehouse.

“Atta girl. Take all of me.” He picks up speed as he presses closer to you, taking your nipple between his fingers through your shirt and pinching it, his voice husky and low. “Who’s fucking you harder than he ever did?”

“You, Joel.” The words come out of you without even thinking about them.

He grins proudly. “Damn right.” His hand reaches for your thigh, raising it slightly so it’s wrapped around his waist. The angle he’s thrusting at changes and you feel him hitting that delicious spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Now you’re a mess of gasps and moans.

He pounds into you relentlessly. “’M close. Gonna fill you up full of me.”

Too deep into the blissed out haze, you moan and nod, only thinking about how good it will feel. And it does. He buries his face in your shoulder as he fills you, hot pulses of his thick release pumped deep inside you. His cock is throbbing inside you as he empties himself. The sensations send you over the edge, and you lean your head back and moan as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He stays like that for a while as you both catch your breath. Sated and wrapped up around him, you close your eyes, coming down from the high. The tension from your initial meeting has dissolved, leaving you both light and boneless. You wrap your fingers in his hair, stroking it as he tries to gather his bearings.

There is not much to say after what’s already said and done, besides the question making your chest tighten as you both put your clothes back on. Is Joel going to brag to Lucien about this, more so – was this kind of payback his plan all along?

Something in your stomach twists at the thought that you were a pawn Joel successfully used in his game, but you don’t regret the way this has forced you out of the convenience of being by Lucien’s side.

As you zip up your jeans, your gaze falls back on Joel’s questioning expression. He can tell you’re lost in thought.

“Will you tell Lucien about this?” You say it with more bite than you intended, angry at the thought of being used.

He considers your question then shakes his head. “Won’t if you don’t want me to.” He grins. “Reckon it’s not my style anyway.”

Exhaling in relief and amusement, you nod. “Alright.” Your legs are sore as you head for the steel doors of the warehouse.

He raises his eyebrow at your abrupt exit and calls out. “We gonna see each other again?” He wants to, you can tell by his tone.

You turn around on your way out and contemplate whether you want to see him again. You connected physically but you feel like connecting emotionally with Joel would be an endless chase of something never to be caught. You’re so drawn to him. You don’t want to go. But you tilt your head as you answer bluntly with a smile. “No.”

He shrugs indifferently as the steel sliding door grinds while you open it. “Probably for the best.”

[sstan-hoe]

Behind The Red Curtains

Pairing: soft dark! Steve Rogers x actress! reader

Summary: You come to know that your success might not be solely because of your talent.

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, forced relationship, bondage, size kink, degradation + praise kink, choking, oral(f receiving ), unprotected sex( it's fiction, your life's not), dirty talk, explicit language, explicit sexual content.

(Let me know if I forgot something)

Prompt: Oral sex, overstimulation, praise, Mob au, Blackmail + Cum play + “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.”

A/N: So, this is my entry for the cum together extravaganza hosted by @labella420 and @stargazingfangirl18

I wanted to write this for a long time after the provocation by @biteofcherry 👀. I hope you all enjoy and this is my first time writing smut so, be gentle.

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Main masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

“Johnny Storm was seen with the new sensation in the modelling industry yesterday night. Rumor has it-”

You pressed the switch-off button with more force than needed as the squeaky voice of the anchor finally died down. Throwing the remote across the bed, you groaned in agitation.

You were dating Johnny Storm. Everything was going well, the meeting was story worthy, he was handsome, charming and had some good qualities you were looking for. This was the first relationship you got into since entering the film industry. Because you may be a hopeless romantic, but you were also choosy.

You didn’t know what happened in the process that just torpedoed your budding relationship. One day you were walking out of a cafe hand-in-hand and the next day, he was fucking some modelling sensation. Maybe you got lost in translation.

Or maybe he was just a fucking asshole. No matter what happened it showed you his true colors. That or instead of coming to you to talk out his issues, he went around, fucking and ghosted you.

Oh, but that was not the problem. The real problem was that you were shooting a movie with him. A romantic movie, with sex scenes. And you have no idea how you would be able to show any affection or chemistry on the screen without being awkward as fuck. This would be the best test of your acting skills for sure.

“Why do you look like you regret being born?” your friend and manager, Wanda asked as she entered your room.

You glanced at her and rolled your eyes. She was trying to lighten your melancholic mood but, it was of no use. “You know damn well why.”

She sighed. “I know, but you’re a great actress. You could easily pull off a serial killer then a rom-com is nothing for you. Don’t get worked up about it. Just imagine your celebrity crush instead.”

You laughed at that. You worked with people whom the masses considered celebrity and if you had a crush, you’d simply ask them out. So, you’re stuck in that department.

“I appreciate your support and I’ll get over this. Just give me some time. Is that why you came here?”

Wanda shook her head with a smile. “No, actually the PR guy told me to tell you to go to partage restaurant. Someone wants to meet you.”

You frowned. “You know if I started giving time to ‘someones’ then I won’t even be able to breathe. I need the specifics.”

“He didn’t tell me. Said the person didn’t want to be known till you meet them. But he said you need to go or they’ll be pissed and it could pose a problem to your career.”

Some rich asshole again. You pinched your nose in frustration. People really glamorised a celeb’s life but if they knew that you all have to play rich people’s puppets, they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about it. 

“Fine, I’ll go. What time and day?”

“8 p.m Sunday.”

“Great. Now get lost, I need my beauty sleep.”

Your heels clicked on the floor as you stepped inside the restaurant to utter silence. 

The usually bustling restaurant was deserted. There was no violin swimming in the air, mingling with the chatter of the expensive people, the polished tables had no spilled drinks and the fine plates had no leftovers. The lobby had no sight of a reception and all the staff had evaporated out of existence. You were half doubting yourself that maybe you arrived at the wrong time or date. Maybe the restaurant was closed.

But all of them vanished when a prim and proper lady approached you. You had never seen her before but you didn’t care to ask if she was new.

“Good evening, ma’am, you may go to the VIP area upstairs. Sir is waiting for you there.” She said in a professional voice.

“Yeah, sure. But can I ask why the restaurant is empty?”

“He booked the entire restaurant.” She said like it was the most normal thing in the world. It was not like this place costed more than the top-paying actors in the Hollywood.

You thanked the woman with a polite smile you went upstairs to get to the VIP section.

The he made you shudder from inside. Another sleazy old man who thought that you would open your legs for him just because he was rich was awaiting you and judging by the stunt he pulled. You’d have to be more tactful.

Reaching the shiny golden doors with a lion emblem, separating the demi-gods from the gods, you knocked on the door of the VIP room.

“Come in.” A thick and deep voice called out, making you frown. How come an old man has such a great voice?

Oh, but how wrong you were. Because, as soon as you opened the door, in front of you, sat a man who was far from aged. He was pure muscles. His rings sparkled in the chandelier lights. Draped in the finest black suit with his blonde hair combed back, sat none other than Steve Rogers, the mafia lord of New York. The one who you have been trying to avoid your entire career. Who posed as a successful businessman but everyone was aware of how he earned his dollars. Just, they were too afraid to acknowledge it.

You couldn’t move an inch, frozen from fear and surprise. You had only met him once, during the premiere of your debut film and people had acted like he wasn’t someone who could wipe them off from the face of the earth without even blinking an eye. That night, his eyes were glued to you like Hades's gaze on Persephone. So intense and consuming that you never wanted to see him again.

And now, here you were.

“Sit down, darling.” He husked out, the sound of alcohol filling his glass reverberating through the walls.

Breaking out of your trance with a gulp. You pulled out the chair and sat down across from him while your heart was in your throat. “Good evening, Mr. Rogers. What brings me the pleasure of your company.’ You managed to get out without your voice cracking.

He smirked and leaned back on his chair. “It’s your beauty, your talent and your creativity that brings you here, sweetheart. I’m a big fan of art and beautiful things, you are both of them.”

“Thank you…” You drawl out, expecting him to continue.

“I liked you the moment I saw you. In your pink dress, you looked so innocent, so shy. Overwhelmed by the media attention. I knew you would do something big so I gave you the freedom to shine and shine you did. However, it looks like your freedom has got to your head.” The last sentence was said with a lower voice and an ominous smile.

Your hands became sweaty as they clamped down on the armrest. “I’m not getting what you are trying to say.” You whispered out. 

His chuckle only made your heartbeat faster as he leaned forward and his gaze bore into your soul. “Let me rephrase, I claimed you the moment I saw you. But I knew you had potential so I let you go but your little dance with Johnny Storm made me realise it was time you became mine.”

“What-what did you do?” You choked out but you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

You yelped as he yanked your chair closer towards him till your knees were touching. Your chest moved rapidly as he leaned closer, his hands covering yours on the armrest.

“Awww, don’t play stupid, honey. Johnny, he’s a himbo and you are mine,” He said as his left hand moved to caress your cheek as you flinched away from his touch. “So, I pulled some strings, fed some mouths with dollars and your cute little on-set romance came to an end.” Your eyes widened in horror as he was the one that ended your relationship with Johnny. 

He gripped your face in his big hand and turned your head so that his eyes burned through yours. “Trust me, honey, I was generous with him. I could have him disappear and no one would have given a shit.”

“No.” You whispered, wrenching his hands away. You suddenly stood up from your chair, effectively surprising him.

“No?”

“That is not happening. I don’t want to be with you, I’m sorry.”  You stumbled back to the door but before you could touch the doorknob, you were whirled around and pushed against it.

“When did I tell you, you could say no?” Steve growled his hand wrapping around your throat. “If you think you can reject me then you are sorely mistaken, darling. Don’t forget that the production house you work with the most is mine.” 

You gasped. How could it be his? It was of Tony Stark, you scorched the earth and back and found no such connection. 

Steve noticed your reaction and tsked.“You didn’t know? Don’t worry, you are not stupid sweetheart. The public doesn’t know that Stark is nothing but my pawn.” His other hand snaked around to squeeze your ass through your jeans and you screwed your eyes shut as his touch sent tingles through your body and your breaths became shorter.

He tugged you closer to him with your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. “Now, do you still want to be stubborn?”

Now, you were no dumbo. If Steve can jeopardize your relations with his production then he can also ruin your entire career. Mob involvement in the film industry is an unsaid rule. However, you didn’t know their claws were so deep and sharp.

“And what if I leave? Leave this industry?” What could be more precious than your pride?

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Then you’ll just be the wife of Steve Rogers who was an actress. Remember princess, I’ll never leave you alone. If I held onto you for three years what makes you think I’ll not find you and drag you to my hell?” 

Tears threatened your waterline as you murmured. “You are really forcing me?” What a stupid question to be asking a mobster.

He let out a throaty chuckle and moved his hand from your neck to his pant pocket however he was still invading your private space as his lips were inches away from your lips. “I’m giving you options: either come willingly or I’ll force you. Your choice, darling.” 

He fished out a silver card from his pocket, tracing the sharp and cold edges of it on your face, meandering down your neck and stopping only when it reached the valley of your breast. You gasped harshly when he slid the card inside your bra, the chilled hard paper resting against your warm skin.

“My number, call me when you make a decision. You have one week.”  He whispered against your lips before sealing the unspoken vow with a kiss.

With that he slipped away from your body and took his seat again like dark clouds gilding away from the moon before shortly, engulfing it once again. He resumed sipping from his glass like nothing serious happened and said nonchalantly. “You can go now.” 

You ran to your car like you were burned. Which you were, your soul was burning. Burning from the choices you were given. Which was essentially choosing which cage you preferred better, golden or grey.

“Did you like the dinner?” Steve asked in his deep voice as he sat across from you at the dining table.

Blinking your eyes away from the full moon that shone outside the dining room window, you glanced at Steve and nodded. “Yes, I liked it.” 

You did come to him willingly in the end, after all, what choice did you have? The moment you admitted your defeat and called Steve flashed in front of your eyes. His smug and triumphant words ringing in your ears.

“Nice choice, princess.”

“You seem to like the moon a lot,” Steve observed as his piercing gaze never left you, noting your every move and reaction.

You looked down at your hands, clasped in front of you. His presence still sent chills of fear down your spine. His imposing figure and intense gaze made your heart race. Not to mention the way his eyes sparkled with desire and lust whenever they laid upon you.

“Yes, the night is beautiful.” You replied softly.

“Do you want to go upstairs? In the balcony for a better view? I also have a very pretty garden.” Steve offered and you refrained from frowning. 

From the moment you accepted his advances, Steve has been acting like the perfect lover. Sending flowers, expensive gifts, wanting to have nice and deep conversations and supporting you in your work. But still, you couldn’t decipher if he was actually being nice or plain manipulative.

However, you had grown tired, sitting and chatting in the room, the walls suffocating you. “I would like that.”

Steve grinned and stood up from his chair, taking a few long strides he reached you and offered you his hand. “Let’s go.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, slipping your hand in his, you got up. You sucked a sharp breath when his hand tightened around your smaller one and his eyes grew darker. You ignored the building tension as he led you upstairs, to the balcony.

His mansion was spectacular, painted beige with marble murals. It resembled old French castles with intricate paintings from Greek mythology on walls to railing carved with various plant and flower motifs.

When he said he enjoyed beauty, he wasn’t bluffing.

Stepping on the top floor, there was a lounge area with a fireplace on the right and a couch on the left. In front was the glass door leading to the balcony. Steve opened the door and you had to hold back your gasp as the view was absolutely breathtaking. 

It had the same marble railing as before and also had a sitting space for two people with two chairs and one glass table, perfect for a cosy morning or evening. The balcony ran along the entire top floor, connected with all the rooms.

However, the main highlight was the enormous garden that stood before your eyes. Tall trees were perched vertically of all types, some bearing fruits, some flowers and some none. Speaking of flowers, bright, colourful flowers adorned the garden like jewels. Rose, jasmine, sunflower, etc scattered all over with moonlight pouring on them.

It was straight out of a princess movie and you could spend your entire life wandering inside it, reading books under the tree shade.

“It’s gorgeous.” You whispered to Steve as you stepped forward, leaning on the railing.

“I know, my mother made it. She wanted me to keep the garden big and flourishing. So, I put everything I could to keep it perfect.” Steve revealed and moved behind you, his body pressing against yours.

You were so engrossed in gazing at the garden that you missed his hand coming to cover yours and he laid a soft kiss on your cheek.

“What are you doing?” You questioned as you tried to step away from his grip but he had you trapped.

“Enjoying my view,” He said as he gripped your hips and pressed them against him, his semi-hard cock pressing against your ass. “See what you do to me?”

His lips trailed down, kissing and sucking on your neck. His left hand travelled from your hips to your breast, he squeezed the underside of your tities while grinding his erection against your bottom. Your breathing was getting heavy as he continued to massage your boobs and sucked on your neck, collarbone and shoulder.

You had to refrain from biting your lips. His strong body and demanding moves were making you unwillingly wet. But he forced you into a relationship you didn’t want, you didn’t want this, right?

“I don’t want to do it.” You whispered despite wanting nothing but his hands under your scarlet dress.

“No?” He chuckled. “Let’s check, shall we?” He whispered seductively in your ear.

Your eyes widened as you thrashed in his grip but he stopped all your attempts to deny the truth with a hand around your neck and a squeeze that made you go still. His other hand glided under your dress and found your panties damp.

“Your pussy proved you wrong, princess.” He said with a smug laugh. He sucked at your pulse point as his fingers moved your lace panties aside and caressed your folds. The suddenness made you let out a choked moan as your hold tightened on the railing.

His words embarrassed you but you couldn’t deny that his touch was making your body betray you. He played your body like an instrument.

His fingers ran along your petals, spreading your arousal and brushing your clit, his index finger teasing your entrance when he abruptly stopped.

You blinked, gasping and panting. You were about to glance at him in confusion when he bent you over, your head resting against the marble railing as he went down on his knees, bunching up your dress around your waist. He ripped off your panties, the sound heating your cheeks with humiliation.

“You deserve to be punished.” He said through gritted teeth as he slapped your clit, making you jerk at the delicious sting as he spread your legs wider for him so your pussy was on full display. Wet and ready.

“Spank your ass till it’s burning for going out with that pathetic excuse of a man Johnny or have Bucky watch you as I fuck you senseless. He’s also a fan after all." He spread your labia and sucked on your clit, making you moan out loud as your stomach flipped.

“But I can’t, because this pussy is too tempting of a distraction.” He lamented as his lips went down to your pussy and his tongue teased your cunt with slow yet precise strokes.

Your left hand moved to his hair and tugged on the blonde locks as his administration made your clit pulsate with need. You couldn’t decipher whether you wanted him to stop or continue.

He tutted on you pulling his hair. You whimpered at the loss of his mouth on your pussy when the clicking of his belt echoed in the empty space. He yanked both your hands behind your back and secured them in place with his belt, the grip firm but not harsh. 

“No.Touching.” He growled in your ear as his words were accentuated by a slap on each of your buttcheeks, making you whimper in pain and pleasure as you let your forehead rest against the cool marble and he knelt again.

He took your clit in his mouth again but with more ferocity as your pussy clenched around nothing, “Oh my god, Steve yes!” You mewled.

“Captain or I won’t let you cum.” He commanded as his fingers joined in and drew slow and teasing circles around your cunt.

“Captain, please.” You pleaded as your orgasm started to build up in your stomach.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl.” He finally eased his index finger inside of you, his thick and long finger filling your pussy and you were afraid as to how you were going to take his cock as his finger alone stretched your vagina.

He pumped his finger in and out of you all the while kissing and sucking your clit. When you bucked into his finger he added another one, exploring your velvety walls to find your spot that would make you sing. He curled his fingers when you dripped around his fingers and mouth.

“Mhmm, captain. Feels so good.” You cried out as your climax was approaching you faster, your skin glistening with sweat under the pale moonlight. It was so embarrassing, being this crying and moaning mess he had turned you into. His hands kneading your thighs and ass.

“Are you going to cum, princess?” Steve asked in a husky voice as he kept up his pace, replacing his mouth with his thumb to grow circles around the bundle of nerves,

Your skin was on ablaze, the coil tightening in your belly as you were tethering on the of falling apart. “Yes, Captain. Please let me cum.” You requested, spellbound. He didn’t need to ask you to beg, you were already sliding into your subspace. His finger found your g spot as he twisted his fingers, making you whimper as your breath shuddered.

He snickered, sending vibrations through your body. “I didn’t know you were so obedient, good to know.”His hand came down on your clit and it was the final straw that threw you over the edge. 

You came with a loud moan as the blinding pleasure brought tears to your eyes and you gushed around his lips and fingers, coating his chin. He lapped all your juice, his pace not halting as he drank your nectar greedily.

Your body was quivering from the force of your orgasm, your heart racing as you tried to collect yourself.

Steve got up on his feet and you almost collapsed when he wrapped a sturdy hand around your shaking body, pressing you against his chest. He jutted your chin up and grinned down at you. “Aw, you already look so fucked out darling but it’s just the beginning, we have the whole night.” He smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your tired whimpers and moans.

After devouring your mouth and leaving you breathless. He picked you up and started walking to his left. You were too dizzy to notice your surroundings till you were hitting silk bed sheet and plush mattress. You glanced at Steve through your hazy vision as he stood at the end of the bed.

He smirked down at you. “How about you return the favour, sweetheart? Strip.” He ordered and it was enough to clear your mind of any hangover.

Your hand snaked to your back and you slid down the zipper and pulled off your dress, your breast clad in red lace coming into view as you completely removed the dress and discarded it on the floor.

You then unclasped your bra, trepidation and anticipation mingling together as your boobs spilled out. Now, you were completely naked, your panties already torn and tossed away.

“On your hands and knees.” He commanded as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, his abs and chest made your mouth water and you wanted to grab and touch him but shook away the thoughts.

You got on your hands and knees, clothes rustling till the bed dipped behind you. Steve ran his hand up your spine, sneaking underneath to grop your breast. You mewled as his thumb tweaked your pebbled nipples, twisting and flickering the buds till you were writhing under him.

His other hand smacked your ass, causing you to whimper. “Spread your legs more, I want to see that pussy.”

You spread your legs some more, displaying your glistening cunt to Steve’s hungry gaze. “You have such a pretty pussy.” He said as he played with you enough that you were whining before he rubbed the tip of his cock over your cunt, spreading your arousal and his pre cum.

You shuddered, you had an inclining that he was big but how much? That you didn’t know since you couldn’t see his dick from your position.

He slapped the head of his cock on your pussy and you visibly shuddered. He did it a few more times before you were dripping for him and was on the verge of sobbing in frustration. 

“Such a shame that it is about to get ruined by my big cock.” He declared and pushed the tip inside you. You moaned as you awaited your eventual mounting.

You clutched the silky sheets as he slowly bottomed out, your walls spasmed as they tried to accommodate his length. You were so full already and he was gracious enough to give you time to adjust. All the while he explored your body, kissing your spine, kneading and spanking your thighs, ass and breasts. His touch was electrifying and in no time, you were whimpering for him to move.

“Ah, someone is getting impatient.” Steve mocked but began moving out of your hot channel. He was slow and deliberate, his girth dragged through your walls and your pussy fluttered.

He hissed. “Don’t do that darling if you want to walk the next day.” He pulled out all the way, only the tip remained inside. Pushing your head further into the pillow as he slammed inside your cunt in one stroke, taking your breath away.

“Look at your pussy, pulling me in and clenching around me,” He grunted as his hold on your hips tightened. He looked where you two were connected and sighed in awe. “I didn’t know you were such a slut, you look so innocent. But look at you now, dripping around a man’s dick you barely know,” He pulled out again and thrusted back in with the same power. The slow yet rough pace he set made you cry out in pleasure as your climax started to stir in your lower belly again. “But I like how cockdrunk you are that you just don’t give a shit anymore.” He groaned and pulled out.

He changed his angle slightly and when he thrusted back again, he hit your g-spot and you screamed, flames of pleasure intensifying. He tugged you by the hair, pressing you against his toned chest. “Tell me that you are my slut.” He growled in my ear.

“I’m your slut, Captain!” you said breathlessly as his deep thrusts made you gasp.

His hand came to your clit and his thumb started drawing circles, making you tremble in his grip. “Yes, you are my slut. My fuck toy, who would let me do whatever I want and whenever I want with her because I own you now. Repeat what I have said.” He thrusted harder and if it wasn't for his strong grip, you would have fallen down. 

“I'm your fuck toy. You can do whatever you want and whenever you want with me because you own me now.” You cried. 

“Such a good obedient girl- Ahh, taking my cock so well. Now, you are going to ask me to make you cum.” He groaned his thumb sped up. Leaning down, he sucked on your pulse point, surely leaving a hickey, marking you as his.

“Please Captain, let me cum! Let me cum around your big cock.” You squealed out. Tilting your face upwards he kissed, hard and rough, you moaned against his lips as you tasted yourself on him.

“Good girl, now cum for me.” He demanded as fingers and thumb pinched your clit, his cock hitting your sweet spot in quick succession.

You shrieked ‘captain’ as you came around his girth, squirting on his dick. “Good, what a good little slut for your captain.” He moaned in satisfaction as he nibbled at your earlobe, fucking you through your release. 

He let go of you when your shaking died down. Your face fell on the pillow as you tried to catch your breath. Your fucked out mind didn’t register that he didn’t come till you were being flipped on your back. Coming face-to-face with his annoyingly handsome face.

“You didn’t think it was over, did you?” He rasped with a smirk as he plunged into your cunt once again, but this time with more fervour.

You instantly mewled but the overstimulation and coming two times had worn you out, you weren’t used to this. You attempted to scoot away from Steve. “I-I can’t, too much.” 

He pulled you back down on his cock, wrapping your legs around his waist. He restrained your hands over his head with one hand, leaving you unable to escape the pleasure he was giving you. “You can and you will. Get used to it, sweetheart. I’m being gentle right now,” He growled as he moved on top of you.

The pace was rough and fast, the bed rattling with each thrust, your boobs jiggled from the speed. He placed his hand on your lower stomach. “Do you feel me here?” He asked, the belly bulge sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, I do, Captain.” You managed to choke out as he pounded in your pussy mercilessly.

“Then enjoy it, honey. Enjoy, writhing and moaning underneath me. My cock stretching your tight cunt, because that’s where you belong. Taking my cock like a good little fuck doll.” He husked as the force of his thrust increased with each passing second. The pain and pleasure mixing made tears fall from your eyes, the knot tightening yet again.

Steve leaned over you, kissing your tears, trailing down to your neck and then your boobs, groping and licking the plump area before taking your pebbled nipples into his hot mouth.

“Oh my god!” Your back arched, pleasure zapping through your body like thunder as his hot tongue sucked on your nipples and his hand massaged your other breast. All the while his thick cock rammed into you, his pubic areas brushing your clit.

Your hands jolted to touch him but he had your hands pinned above. You shut your eyes and enjoyed the unyielding pleasure he was bestowing upon you as pressure built up for the third time in your stomach. Your moans and his grunts bounced off the wall, so did the clapping sound of skin slapping against the skin.

Suddenly, his grasp loosened before coolness touched your ring finger. You looked up as he slid a beautiful sapphire ring into your finger, sealing your fate with his forever. You managed out a surprised gasp. He brought your hand down and pinned it to your side, giving you a proper view of the ring as it sparkled under the stark glowing moon.

“Imagine me, sweetheart,” Your breath caught in your throat as his speed grew frantic, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt as he chased his own release. “Imagine me when you have to romance on screen with some pitiful A-list actor.” He whispered in your ear, intertwining your hands with his as he kissed your lips. It was softer than the previous ones but no less demanding.

“Imagine me when you have to pretend to fuck someone on set. Because I know,” He whispered against your lips before lowering his hand to your clit and he drew fast circles on the bundle of nerves to help you fall apart. 

Steve cursed under his breath and thrusted faster when your walls clenched his dick. “Because I know that I have ruined you for any other man. Ruined this pussy for anyone except me. So, imagine me when you kiss a man and realize that he’ll never make you feel this good.” You nodded along his words as tears streamed down your cheeks, smearing your eyeliner and mascara but he paid no heed to it. Rather, enjoying your fucked out state.

The fullness of his dick inside your pussy and the overwhelming stimulation finally tipped you over the edge as you came the hardest and it hit you like a tsunami.

After some more brutal thrust, he came inside of you with a loud groan. His hot cum spilling inside your abused cunt as it milked him dry. He pumped into you a few more times, giving you every last drop of his seed and staying inside your warm channels till his cock softened.

He put his forehead against yours as he finally pulled out and you almost whined at the loss of dick but restrained yourself as his cum leaked out of your hole.

Only heavy breaths echoed in the spacious room as both of you caught your breath. You were beyond regaining your previous strength as you couldn’t even move a muscle. However, Steve recovered shortly afterwards as he kissed your forehead and whispered smugly. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I think you even enjoyed it.” 

You didn’t answer because he was right, you enjoyed every bit of it even if you didn’t want to. Before you could drown yourself in self-pity. Steve picked you up and took you to his bathroom to soak you in a nice, warm bath…

[sstan-hoe]

No words needed…