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[milla-frenchy]

thank you so much for your sweet words as always Sara 😘🥰🥰 it means the world 🥹🥹🥹❤️

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never���” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

it's been a weird couple days (as you know cause i keep texting you 😅). everything still feels really off and my emotions are going in circles (thank fuck i'm seeing my therapist tomorrow).

BUT either way, I've promised you that I'd FINALLY read roommate!Paz and tell you my thoughts!! idk what it is about tonight, but i finally had the energy to fully appreciate it and be ready to do this (maybe I also just needed the comfort of your writing and your paz).

Soooo, let's start? I’m going to try and not just quote every single line back at you but oh my god please know that I love everything about this. I still don’t quite know how one is actually supposed to react to stories, so I hope you‘ll enjoy my rambling about how your words have made me feel 😅

First of all, i hope you know that roommate!Paz is my ABSOLUTE WEAKNESS!! that man is so fine 🥰🫠(and honestly,, can do whatever he wants to me..)

"He was so careful, so gentle and made sure you felt safe, happy and satisfied before he tried new things. Even then, said new things were introduced slowly and with care. And every time he did you felt like you were falling in lust a little bit more." this? the dream. Also "in LUST"??? girl please stop denying it, you’re like fully in LOVE!!!

also.... "something very peaceful about not having to worry about how someone fucks you because you know they do it right" ..... do you just have a secret source of knowledge about my anxiety issues??? cause that feels a little to relatable as a concept,, like straight up taken from my brain when i try to explain why i'm drawn to these types of stories 😂🙈

"the man of your dreams (and also your heart but it would take time for you to admit that out loud) ".. THANK YOU, this is what ive been thinking. can't wait for them both to realise that they are absolutely in love with one another.

also, this: "You wanted to spend as little time as possible on chores and as much time as possible … together." very relatable. the „… together“ made me giggle 🙈

.. also sidenote, I really love the way you center the trust between them in the beginning of the story (and througout, really). It really is such a vital part of their dynamic and to actually feel that is really nice. and i also just really love the intimacy between the two of them - like the scene of him coming home and caring about how her day went.

“Paz,” you giggled, your hands buried in the soft hairs at the back of his neck, “What are you doing?” ... dont mind me just giggling and grinning over here...

“I’m eating you out, what does it look like?” he grinned, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip AND THEN “Patience, sweetheart,” he teased you, looking up from where his fingers were circling your nipples over the fabric of your shirt. “Let me play with you.?????? hot. 10/10. actually cant function anymore, this is all I'll think about now 🫠

“You're so good for me,” he murmured against your sternum, “Such a pretty little slut just for me, aren’t you?” ... LIKE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING RIGHT NOW????? i think i dont even really like the idea of men calling me a slut, but i think he might be an expection.....

… also, please know that this is how I've reacted to every line of paz speaking 🙈🥰🫠10/10.

Before you could answer (or, let's be real, beg) ... LISTEN, that would be true but you didnt have to call me out like that 😂😭

“I know,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your inner thigh before slipping your legs off his shoulders, “Got you all come drunk already, huh?”.. one thing that man will always be is cocky.... and honestly? fair, he's allowed to be. how could he not be when he’s doing everything so right?

“Not today, love,” he murmured, the nickname sending a thrill through you and also Kissing Paz was everything you had ever fantasised it to be and more. JUST CONFESS ALREADYYYY 😭🫶🏼

“I thought this could be your … the necklace, you know?” [...] Paz seemed to know what you were thinking because he suddenly became bashful. He rubbed the back of his neck, the free hand still on your thigh, “You can – you can choose something else, if you like, of course. But I saw it in the mall at lunch and I just … knew.” stop I'm gonny cry

“And remember –“ he started. “I can always take it off whenever I want to,” you finished… i really love this. I think I've told you this before, but i really like how you always manage to hit home on the consent and trust between pairings in your stories.

You thrived in coming home and being dragged into his bed or him coming home and coming straight to you. That must be your favourite part, really. Him coming home and using you any which way he liked. Both of you ending up on the couch afterwards, talking about how your respective days had been. ... did you just invade my daydreams??? but seriously, again, i love love love reading about the intimate aspects - even without smut - in your stories. they might not confess how they're fully feeling (yet), but they don't really need to in order for me to feel the emotions between them. this just makes my heart flutter and yearn 🤍🥺

A bit of topic, but this: "It had been raining and you had used your day off to curl up on the couch and read one of the books on your tbr list." just got me really excited for finishing my master's degree next summer. I can't wait to read an actual book and enjoy it without any stress that I'm technically procrastinating. like, im so excited to not be too exhausted for my tbr list.

back on topic... Paz was usually home by now and even though you were not his girlfriend (which was totally absolutely perfectly fine with you, of course)… GIRL, CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE JUST SAY YOUR UNSPOKEN FEELINGS OUT LOUD AND MAKE IT OFFICIAL

paz coming home and needing stress relief? 10/10. also, i can't fully say why, but the way you describe paz? such a hot, pretty man.

“Stars, that’s just what I needed,” he sighed, his hand cupping your cheek, “that pretty little mouth on my cock. You’re doing so well for me, aren’t you?” AND ALSO “I know I’m very big, sweetheart,” Paz cooed, leaning forward. His hand wandered to the back of your head and you felt surrounded by him in the best way, “Can you try to take me a little deeper? Can I try to fuck your mouth?” may, how am i supposed to go to bed after this???? there's no way my brain will actually turn off, I'll just be mentally stuck right here. like,, this entire smut scene???? i fear i will not recover from this.

LIKE.. "“One day I'm gonna see how deep I can go,” he groaned as you choked on him, “Have your head hanging off the edge of my bed, see if we can make that pretty throat bulge, make that choker stretch, hm?” HUH, officially deceased. Every line I keep thinking „okay that’s it. NOTHING can make me react more than this“ and then I keep getting hit with the next words???

and then,, “Ordering pizza and a movie? We can cuddle and if you want to we can try that thing you’ve been pretending to google secretly?” MAY, i can't 🫠🫠🫠 i will be thinking about this story for forever. somebody please tell me where i find him in real life.

and the ending being all soft and fluffy? i dont know what else to say besides this man (and story) has my heart 🤍

I could keep going cause I just love your writing so much, but this turned out quite long already. So in short: honestly? we both know that i always love your writing but this made me all smiley and giggly and that really is something i needed right now 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 i don't even know how to put it in words how much i love every part of this!!

MY DARLING SARAH!!!

I am doing somewhat okay! I got to see Adele this weekend which was one of the most surreal experiences ever but with the heatwave this week I’m simply just lying on the couch, hoping that I’ll melt into a puddle 🫠

And your lovely lovely comment is not helping because that had melted my heart 🥹😭 I’m so so happy you liked it! Roommate!Paz really is so special and so fun to write 🥹

[toxicanonymity]

toxic! the latest chapter of raider joel is 👨‍🍳💋

ur writing is amazing and so complex! ur so talented!

this kiss?!?!?!? and basically making love to her like WOW!!!!! I had tears 🥹

was so good to see the two pov's as well

(ive never really been into the collar idea but im keeping an open mind cos you know.. it's for our own good) 😭😭😭

x

Thank you so much! 🥹🙏🖤

( it's, like, basically a leather choker 😅 📿 )

[zablife]

@novashelby I loved the idea of this fic bc I tend to see John as the dominant partner. Giving the reader all the control felt so satisfying! I'm happy you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it 💞

A Difficult Patient

John Shelby x wife reader

Summary: John is in bed with a wound and is being a difficult patient. However, his wife has an idea how to make him behave.

Author’s Note: Completely self-indulgent fic based on the need to hear men reduced to moans and whimpers.

Warnings: 🔞, porn with very little plot

John’s stab wound made him helpless, sitting up in bed all day as his eyes glazed over from the copious amounts of whisky he was drinking straight from the bottle to obliterate the pain. “John, you can’t live like this,” you told him one day, determined to bring him out of his stupor.

“And what else am I meant to do, laid up? No use to anyone?” he asked, with venom dripping from his tongue. 

You knew this wasn’t your husband speaking. It was the humiliation of being stabbed by his rival and the guilt of being unable to protect himself and Arthur from ambush. However, you were determined to make him see reason. Kneeling by him, you looked up through your lashes and begged, “Darling, please let me look after you properly. I swear you’ll heal faster and be back to hunting those devils faster than you know.”

John considered you carefully, wary of any tricks Tommy had put you up to before deciding to trust you. “Fine,” he said, thrusting the bottle toward you. “What do you suggest?”

You took it from him carefully, placing it by your side before bringing a gentle hand to the stubble that had collected along his jawline. “Why don’t I help my handsome husband relax, hmm?” you said with a sly smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. You would have felt clever, hand snaking south for his pants if he hadn’t caught your wrist at the last moment.

“What do you think you’re doing, eh?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion. You had rebuffed his initial advances toward you stating sex was off limits as it would only tear his stitches. Therefore, your sudden forward gesture left him confused about your intentions. He didn't appreciate being teased and the dangerous look in his eye told you so.

You pushed him back against the bed frame gently, a promising look in your eye as you nodded at him. "Just relax,” you directed, placing kisses to his bare thigh.

John groaned in reply, sensitive to the feeling of your soft lips against his skin so close to the hem of his boxers that a gentle stir began to grow beneath his shorts the longer you remained at his side. He dug his fingertips into the roots of your hair as he felt you begin to nip at his flesh. “Are you going to be good for me, John?” you asked, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Your husband looked down at you through hooded eyelids and jerked his chin almost imperceptibly, but enough to let you know he was listening. “Good,” you replied with a mischievous smirk. Running your hand over the bulge in his shorts, you sighed heavily in satisfaction. The feel of him, even semi hard, made you wanton with desire and he knew it. John’s eyes tracked your hand, but he didn’t dare say a word as he waited for you to continue. 

And you made him anxious with doubt, would you leave him there or give him more? The look in your eyes was so full of devilment he couldn’t be sure and he hated how much power you held over him in that moment. Biting his lower lip, John kept quiet, unwilling to make a sound for you, but you knew you could make him moan and beg for you in time.

Resuming a gentle stroking motion up and down, you looked your husband in the eye asking, “Does it feel good, baby?” 

“Yeah,” John said, swallowing harshly.

“Should I take these off?” you asked innocently, indicating toward his pants. 

John licked his lips and nodded, unable to form the words. You took pity on him and hooked your fingertips along the waistband, pulling them down as he raised his hips toward you with a hiss of pain. You kissed him all over his stomach, hips and legs after removing his shorts to soothe the ache you knew he felt deep in his gut. You only stopped when you noticed him relax into the bed once more, certain he wasn't in pain.

Running a hand along his neck and down his chest, you felt his toned abs before reaching for his erect cock. Despite the intention to tease him, you couldn’t deny yourself any longer, leaning forward to take him into your mouth fully. You hummed in satisfaction as he hit the back of your throat and John’s head tilted back, a shaky sigh escaping his lips at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. His hands clenched the bedsheets by your side before finding their way to your head.

He gripped your locks tightly, tugging at your roots as you swirled your tongue over his tip enticingly. As you lapped at the salty precum that had collected there you placed pressure along the underside of the head making John jump. Pulling off him momentarily you remarked, “So sensitive.” 

He shook his head as though he wanted to disagree, but thought better of it at the last minute, wanting you to continue your ministrations. You pumped his shaft with just enough pressure to keep him desperate, watching his eyes roll back in his head as you smiled to yourself. You had him right where you wanted him.

Taking him in your mouth once more, you worked him mercilessly until he was a panting, heaving mess. The moans coming from his parched throat were so delicious you slowed slightly just to hear the low growl he emitted in frustration. Every sound was a delight to your ears, knowing he was enjoying this just as much as you were. You watched him raise his hips to your mouth and placed a hand to his hip to stop him, hoping to keep him from busting his stitches in his sudden desire. "Shhh, baby. I've got you," you told him. But he was too far gone to hear you, pushing up into you with abandon.

“Y/n,” John whispered. It was so low you wondered if you’d even heard it at first. A sheen of sweat was glistening on his brow and his head lolled to the side, mouth slightly agape. “Y/n” he whimpered again, a bit louder and it was unmistakable this time that he was trying to get your attention.

“Yes, darling?” you asked, looking up at him with cocked eyebrow. You took this moment to free your breasts from your nightdress slowly, placing his hand over the globe of one breast, allowing him to feel the softness of your skin. His hands groped your flesh, pinching and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and you let your honeyed voice respond. John let out another strangled moan in response and you felt his length throb in your hand.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, as he swallowed harshly, attempting to catch his breath. His eyes looked away from you momentarily shamefully before you called his name. “John, tell me what you want love and I’ll give it to you,” you simpered, stroking him gently, feeling him pulsing in your hand so close to his end.

His head dropped back as he broke, “I can’t take it.”

You licked his swollen red tip, toying with him as you asked, “You’re desperate aren’t you baby?”

“Fuck,” he huffed through gritted teeth.

“Need to cum, don’t you darling?" you said sympathetically, popping the spongy head into your mouth and giving gentle suction until you thought he might explode.

John’s face contorted as a tumble of pleas fell from his lips, “Please, please, please,” he begged and you took into your mouth fully, bobbing a few more moments until he came down your throat in hot spurts. You swallowed him down eagerly, though some escaped the corner of your mouth. It had been some time since John had had a release and you giggled as you scooped the remainder from your chin and licked it up greedily from the tip of your finger as he watched in adoration. You stroked his twitching thighs beneath your fingertips, nails scratching along his skin with pressure bordering on overstimulation as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. 

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed.

You came to sit beside him, smiling in triumph and asked, “Not feeling so grumpy now are we?”

He extended an arm and pulled you into his chest as he replied, “I swear I’ll be a good patient from now on if this my treatment.”

“I’m glad to hear that," you said as you leaned in for a deep kiss.

--------------------

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[roosterbruiser]

this is something I've personally been wondering!

I personally am a huge supporter of comment reblogs and think it's a fantastic way to interact with my readers. however, I do worry that I am clogging up people's feeds with them!

[brummiereader]

Unchained melody is so sad and I’ve only read one chapter! i love it so much

Hi anon! I know 😭, poor Y/N i never give her a break.

...☝️our dear girl on a daily basis to me. Thank you for this sweet message anon, I'm thrilled you enjoyed the first part ❤️!

[slimybeth69]

"Fucking teared up at that bit. We have done no wrong. EVER. She deserves to feel normal, no shame and discomfort in that."

She does deserve to feel normal and loved-- she went about it in a very weird way, but she still deserves it!

I'm so excited, already working on the next chapter (even though I have other things I should be working on lmao), this is just too much fun to write

Part 2- Cave In

Series Masterlist | Part 1

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- flashbacks of readers graphic and sad past!!!

While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you!

Joel’s mind drifts off to the days and nights he spent teaching Ellie how to play guitar– watching her learn, grow more confident in the way she held the instrument. Then hearing her play her first song is one of his favorite memories. He wonders what her, Dina and JJ are doing right now. 

He wonders if Tommy and Ellie are looking for him– Joel can’t imagine they wouldn’t be. Not after what they did in Seattle a couple years ago. His daughter and his younger brother would come looking for him, and eventually they’d find him- and rescue him.

The three of them- Joel right alongside them, would kill you in the process, he’d make sure of it. 

That’s all he can think about– being rescued and watching you die as you wrap a second layer of duct tape around the oven mitts on his hands. 

As much as Joel hates you, he can’t deny that you’re resourceful. 

With the shock collar still around his neck, and now, two pairs of oven mitts secured to each of his fists, Joel watches you untie his arms from the chair. 

He is stiff, and misses the fucking sun. Joel just wants to the feel the warmth on his face- but he can’t really even think about that now, he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to fucking knock you out the minute you crawl into his lap. 

He’ll knock the shock collar remote out of your hand, headbutt you– a real one, he’ll go right for your nose and try and break it– then he will wrap his big strong arms around you, and squeeze until he can feel your ribs snap.

He’s got it all planned out- until he hears the sound of more duct tape ripping, and he wonders what part of him you’re going to tape next. 

Joel watches in horror as you tape the remote to your palm, your thumb gingerly laid across the button that would shock Joel probably into next week. You wrap the tape until Joel can barely see the remote anymore. 

You’re more resourceful than he thought, and that’s terrifying. Joel is almost sixty years old– he’s being outsmarted by some insane woman who lives in a mall in what now is the woods outside of Jackson. 

How did you get here? Where’s the rest of your group or community? Joel hasn’t seen a single other person since he got here, and he hasn’t seen or heard you interact or say you had to go meet up with anyone since he’s been here. 

There is no way you’re surviving out here all on your own on peanut butter, raspberries and whiskey. 

“Let me go,” his voice croaks. “C’mon. Y’don’t really wanna do this.” He’s pleading. He hasn’t fully begged yet, not pathetically– which is what you must want to hear. You wanna hear Joel– the big strong man cry and whine and beg for you to let him go. 

You drop the roll of tape on the floor beside your feet, “Got some rules ya’ gotta follow, Mister.” You ignore Joel, taking an inched step towards him. “Number one is ya’ don’t hit. You don’t hit– I don’t zap ya'. Sound fair?" You don't wait for him to reply. "Good. Glad we're on the same page.”

Joel rolls his eyes and is immediately met with an intense muscle spasm throughout the entire right side of his face, and down his neck. It spreads out over his shoulder and through part of his chest. 

It lasts for only a split second, but it leaves Joel panting, his brow already beaded in sweat from just that short electric shock. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ– don’t fuckin’--" he starts to warn you with a stern tone and narrow eyes– but he’s greeted by your wet, stare only inches from his. 

Your mouth opens and closes once, twice… three times before any sound comes out. “Stop makin’ me hurt you,” you whine, one single tear falling from the corner of your eye. “I really don’t like hurtin’ ya’-- I don’t wanna do it, so don’t give me reason to, right?” 

Joel glares at you while deep down inside him somewhere his heart twists slightly. 

Awww, look it’er cryin’. Cute lil puppy, alone, out here in the woods–

Joel blinks twice as you crawl into his lap, your soft, warm body pressing against his tentatively, as if you were waiting for him to start fighting you off, to start screaming and shouting at you. 

He wants to so badly, he wants to feel his forehead connect with the bridge of your nose as hard as it can– but it’s like you hypnotized him when you curled up on his lap. 

“Now ya’ wrap your arms ‘round me,” you breathe against Joel’s neck. 

Joel fucking sighs at the feeling, almost wishing you press your lips to the spot directly behind his ear.

Go on, move your arms…

Fuck no! Something is seriously wrong with him, he needs to talk to someone besides you. He knows you’re a bad person; a good person wouldn’t do something like this. 

Joel knows that if he puts his arms around you the way you want him to, he might start squeezing, and keep squeezing regardless of the pain from the electric shock. He’d seize up and wouldn’t be able to let you go, even if he wanted.

That might not be a bad thing though, either Joel would kill you, or you would kill him. It would solve his problem either way– and that was fine because he didn’t want to keep living like this. He couldn’t.

It would drive him fucking insane. He already feels like he is going insane the way he wants to kiss your neck, and suck on the spot where your collarbone ends, and your throat begins.  

C’mon, fuckin’ do it. Ya’ know she wants it, give it to her– make her fuckin’ beg for it first…

Oh fuck, Joel knows that is the unstable part of his brain talking– and he has to shut it out. 

You are Joel’s attacker, his fucking captor– the one keeping him from his family, the one he worked so fucking hard to get back. He might never see them again because of you. He’s thinking of all the ways he could hurt you–to hurt you badly, he wants to see you dead– but all those feelings of anger and hatred flee from his brain when you press the most soft, sweetest, barely-there kiss to his jaw. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. The way you sigh and melt into Joel, molding to him, has his head spinning for a whole new reason, and he’s completely fucking sober this time. 

See big feller, ain’t that hard t’just comply.

Joel realizes only then that he has both of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him, with his cheek resting on your head. 

She ain’t t’bad, right? Smells nice’n sweet, like a pretty lady.

It’s so hard to hate you and want you dead when your soft, sleepy breaths flits across the skin on his neck. 

“I have more movies–” 

“Anything besides the princess movies- please,” Joel sighs, not removing his cheek from your head. “I can’t do the princess movies again, anything else…”

“Do you like Batman?” The action of you lifting your head off his shoulder is the only reason he pulls away from you. “The cartoons?” 

Joel snorts, and nods his head at you. “I do– me ‘n Tom–” Joel stops himself from sharing too much with you for no reason whatsoever, his eyes dropping to your bare thighs. 

It makes his mouth water when he looks at them, even though they’re bruised to hell, with fresh cuts and old scars adorning your supple, and kissable looking skin. 

He can feel you looking at him, waiting for him to finish what he was about to tell you. His eyes flash up to yours when you question him. 

“Who’s Tom? Whatta’bout him?” 

Joel can see your desperation in your face and eyes–they're wide, still slightly wet with the tears from zapping him moments ago. You must want to know so badly, and he decides to use it to his advantage. 

“Get me some meat– anything– n’ I’ll tell ya’.” Joel can’t help but smirk to himself because this is going to work. 

Your eyes light up, and you lean in real close- the tip of your nose pressed against his. “Promise?” 

Joel nods, his eyes locked on to yours, “Promise.” 

Give’er a lil kiss. 

Joel leans forward to do it, but you pull back with your brows furrowed and a scowl on your face. 

“No. Ya’ punched me last time ya’ did that.” You whisper at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry f’that-” Joel starts but you don’t let him finish. 

Your head shakes from side to side quickly, eyes still wide– untrusting, but desperate for something, he’s seen that look before so many times in so many different sets of eyes. After you scramble out of his lap, finding your footing on the floor beside the chair, you look down at him, still frowning. 

“Sorry don’t mean nothin’- not out here it don’t.”

S’okay, Sug. You’ll be fine– Mister-man’s gonna be real thankful. 

“Well he fuckin’ better! I hate gettin’ shot at, I hate havin’ t’fuckin run real fast- I hate that the place is almost three fuckin’ hours awa–” Your eyes fall onto the horizon where the sun is starting to rise just over the mountains in the distance. “Ain’t even get any fuckin’ sleep–”

Oh Sug, it’ll be worth it, he’s gon’ tell you–

Lies. He’s going to tell you lies, and for what!? You almost got shot–

“I know I almost got shot— You don’t think that I know I almost got shot!?” You’re nearly shouting in the woods. “Now both of yous be fuckin’ quiet– m’tired, and I twisted my fuckin’ ankle–”

And it’s the truth, you did twist your ankle when crossing the stream about a mile back, and thankfully the raiders had stopped following you a while ago, but with all the adrenaline it was easy to keep running. That was, until you slipped on those stupid fucking rocks.

It takes you thirty more minutes to get home, and by the time you do everything hurts, and you just want to go to sleep. Your ankle throbs with every tender step you take.

Taking a deep breath, you plaster on a smile and push open the door. "Honey, I'm home," you call out in a sing-song voice, trying to mask all your exhaustion and this fucking pain that won’t quit.

Mister’s already watching for you as you make your way slowly down the stairs. His eyes narrow as his eyes mill across your frame.

You don't look great. Disheveled, torn clothes, scrapes on your hands and knees from when you fell.

"What happened t’ya?"

Oh he’s worried ‘boutchya! Let him help you, honey.

You wave off his question with a limp hand. "Never mind me,” you toss your backpack on the table, the bottles of whiskey clank around inside noisily as you sit down in the metal chair beside Joel’s recliner. “Gotch’yer meat you wanted to fuckin’ bad.” You say, rolling your eyes.

Mister-man looks you up and down. "Y'look like hell," he says, his eyes tracing over the scratches on your arms and legs.

You ignore his words and his wandering eyes and open up your backpack. “I got jerky,” you pull out two large containers of dried meat and set them on the table. “-got bread ‘n more peanut butter— they had jam this time.”

“Who is ‘they’?” Joel asks, his eyes never leaving you even as his arms and wrists begin to twist gently under the restraints.

Embarrassment floods you, it takes over everything that you are, just like it did when you told him you had been watching him for a while. You know what you did was bad, and you shouldn't be stealing or killing-- but you're only doing it for him!

You look at him, with a hollow feeling in your chest that you can't quite place. "They’s just... people," you say quietly. "They don't matter none."

Joel tilts his head, studying you so intently that makes you want to squirm. "Ya’ hurtin’?" he asks, voice rough like sandpaper grating your ear canal.

“Who is Tom?” You avoid all questions about you, and any issues you have because why burden Mister-man? You're not his problem, you want to give him a worry, burden free life here in the mall with you and Puddin'.

Mister watches you very carefully as you pull a slice of jerky out of the container, he’s practically drooling when you place it as his lips. He groans as he begins to chew, and immediately takes another bite before he’s even swallowed the first.

He doesn’t answer— not even after the entire piece of jerky is gone, so you withhold the next piece.

“Who. Is. Tom?” You shift closer to him and wince when your ankle brushes against the leg of the chair.

"Tom... Tommy is my brother." His voice… there's something almost tender in his tone when he says his brother's name.

It feels like someone it clenching your heart in their fist, and they’re fucking squeezing.

"You're my fucking sister!" His voice is so hoarse, raw and desperate. It doesn't even sound like him anymore. "Don't— please, don't fucking do it, I'm sorry-" "You told me sorrys don't mean nothing anymore— not out here they don't!" You shout back at him, the gun in your hand trembles right along with the rest of your body. "You were supposed to t-take c-care of me! You p-promised mom and dad," you sob, your thumb pulls the hammer of the revolver back and your index finger squeezes the trigger. "Hey, HEY!" He holds both of his hands up, a weak attempt to shield himself from whatever is about to happen. Shoot him, kid. He deserves it after what he put you through. He let those guys— The gun just goes off, you don't even feel yourself pull the trigger. All you see is a fine, red mist explodes from his forehead and the back of his skull— and then everything is quiet, everything is calm. Good job, Sugar. I'm so fucking proud of you.

That was the first time you ever heard the light voice, the sweet voice that says nice things to you.

And m'gonna be here for ya' forever, Sug.

“I know,” you sigh.

Mister blinks at you, “You know Tommy?”

You blink back at him, “No?”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy like the evening air at the end of the summer. Joel watches you, his eyes darting between your face and the jerky still in your hand. “Okay…”

“Did Tommy like Batman?” If Tommy likes or liked Batman or anything about that universe at all, he’s an okay guy in your book.

“He likes Superman,” Joel chuckles when he delivers the news. “I’m the one who likes Batman.”

You audibly gasp, “You like the comics and the cartoons?”

Joel's lips twitch at the corners, almost forming what looks like a smile. "Used to read 'em with Tommy when we was kids. " His eyes fill with sadness.

You lean forward, tilting your head to the side in curiosity. "Why’re y’sad?" you whisper, the pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten.

"I ain’t sad," Mister-man is gruff. "Tommy and I used to collect comics, argued about who was cooler. Obviously Batman, 'cause he ain't got no superpowers. Just pure skill. Tommy thought Superman was better."

“Both of ‘em suck— I just like Harley Quinn,” you nod.

You were going to say more but the very faint sound of clicking ticks in your ears. It’s far enough away that you can get upstairs and drop the metal gate that locks the store up nice and tight.

It’s never fun, and you don’t like having to do it— but thankfully you just made a haul, so you’ll be good for a couple day.

You just hope Puddin’ is okay. Ya' saw him yesterday, but he didn't sleep in the big bed with ya' like he normally would.

“Har—” Mister-man starts, oblivious to the terrors that are lurking just above your head.

“Shhhhhh,” you hold your finger up to your mouth and furrow your eyebrows at him. “Stay quiet ‘n I’ll give ya’ some more jerky, okay?” You whisper almost silently.

He nods and stays quiet because he knows how scary those fucking things are, and he probably doesn’t want to be tied to a chair if one every came around.

Standing up feels like a pack of sparklers— like the ones they used to have at the 4th of July parties when you were a kid, before all this— it feels like those, popping and sizzling up your leg. You have to bite back a moan as your body leans against the table for support. The table skids across the floor noisily as you hold yourself up on it and it makes your blood run cold.

You have to get up those stairs and drop that gate, Sug. Mister is countin’ on you…

It’s like time freezes and all you can picture is poor Mister getting torn apart.

You hesitate listening intently. The clicking grows louder, a sickening, bone-chilling sound that echoes through the abandoned mall. Your twisted ankle throbs, but adrenaline starts pumping through your veins.

“Gotta move, sweetheart.” He must have heard the clicking this time too. Joel’s whispering voice is even and calm even though your chest feels like it could cave in on itself, your ribs feel like they could explode inward towards your lungs like sending shattered bone fragments hurdling towards your delicate, soft insides. “Y’can do it. I know it hurts—”

The metal gate. Everything around you goes silent, and the only thing you can hear is the sound the gate makes when it closes and locks into the floor. You have to get to the metal gate.

You clutch the railing with a white knuckle grip and pull yourself up the stairs two at a time, biting almost completely through your bottom lip, grunting with each painful step.

The clicking is clearer, and closer now that you’re on the same level as the infected, and you can tell there is more than one, and they’re moving fast.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hiss as you limp towards the entrance of the store.

As you reach it, you can see the seven infected closing in fast. Your sweet, sweet Puddin’ is hauling ass towards you— the infected right on his little, scaly tail.

“C’mon Pud,” you whine, dropping the gate down for just enough room for him to run through, and possibly let one of the infected in if you weren’t quick enough closing it behind him.. “C’mon Puddin’!”

It’s like your words spur him on and his little legs kick into overdrive. He slips under the metal gate just as the infected slam into it, throwing you off your balance. You’re thrown back at least three feet, and watch in horror as the gate starts to rise on its own.

Move kiddo, come on! Get your ass up and fucking shut that gate!

Your body screams in protest as you scramble across the floor, your twisted ankle sending sharp bolts of pain through your leg.

Puddin' is playing dead right behind you, but you don't have time to think about him right now. He's safe and inside, that's all that matters. The gate keeps rising, inch by torturous inch, and the infected are pushing against it with stupid inhuman strength!

"No, no, no," you mutter, pushing through the pain. The clicking grows louder, more frenzied, as the first infected begins to squeeze its misshapen head underneath the rising gate.

Pulling the knife from your belt in one hand, you bring it down into the skull of the infected trying to slip through, and with the other, your fingers grapple for a hold on the handle of the metal grate.

The infected skull cracks open with a sickeningly wet crunch, dark blood and gray matter splattering across the floor.

Your hand finally grips the smooth metal tightly, even though now your palm is nearly dripping with sweat, and with a grunt that feels like it's being stolen right out of your lungs, you pull down with all the strength you have left inside of you.

The gate comes down with a crash that echoes throughout the mall, the infected on the other side of the gate screech and squeal loudly. Some of them stick their arms through the slots, and their skin peels back like overripe fruit, claws scraping desperately for any piece of you they can reach.

You don't even want to think about how grotesque they are, you flip the lock that secures the gate to the floor as their fingers grapple and scratch deep into your skin. It clicks into place and you finally exhale, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

So fuckin’ proud of you, Sug. Knew you could do it.

The shrieking cries of the infected fill the otherwise silent mall and the confined space you’re now trapped in. You can't help but glance back toward Puddin'—the little white and gray furball who is still playing dead.

“S’okay, we’re safe,” you sigh, letting yourself rest on your elbows and then on your back completely. You stare at the ceiling, and wonder how long the infected will stick around.

The sounds coming from right above Joel has his heart racing, and he’s trying to free himself from his restraints harder and more desperate than ever before.

With a roar of determination, uncaring of the dangers above him, he jerks one arm up and then down. It’s not enough; he can still feel them biting into his skin painfully, creating new rope burns.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he grunts as time stretches into an eternity. The picture of you being shredded by gnawing and gnashing teeth makes his stomach churn.

Just as that thought creeps in, he hears a metallic rattling, but the wailing of the infected are still clear as day.

The clang of metal echoes again, and for a moment, he thinks maybe you did it. Maybe you’ve locked them out. Maybe you just signed yours and his death certificates and locked some of them in the store.

He tries to twist his wrists again, then again, but each movement sends sharp, stinging pain surging up his forearms. “Fuck!” He exclaims loudly.

She’s up there, fightin’ them off all alone—

"I know, dammit.” His jaw is tense and he focuses all of his energy on trying to loosen the ropes enough, or rub them against the metal fame to fray it enough so he can snap them. The strain builds in his muscles, and he can feel the ropes biting deeper, but he can’t stop— the feeling inside him brings him right back to the hospital in Salt Lake when he was looking for Ellie.

He thought he had felt helpless then, he thought he had felt helpless when that girl and her group of friends had trapped him and Tommy in that cabin— but now he knows the true definition of despair. Tied to a chair, listening to you getting torn apart right above him, and then he’ll have to watch those infected come to tear his throat out.

The door to the basement opens slowly, and Joel’s heart almost stops beating completely. Bile rises in his throat at the uneven steps that start down the wooden steps. It’s a slow, clumsy sound accompanied by grunts and pained whimpers.

When your boots come into his line of sight, he exhales loudly. The sight of you, safe and still breathing sends a warmth through Joel’s spine that spreads into the rest of his body and he’s not sure why.

Awe shit, she’s hurtin’ real bad.

Joel fucking knows, he can see it with his own two eyes. You’re limping, worse than you were went you bolted upstairs and now you’re covered in fresh wounds, and blood trickles down your left forearm, wrist and fingertips, leaving little droplets in your wake. Your cradling something dead and furry in your right arm.

“Ya’ get bit?” Joel’s skin prickles as he asks, trying to get a better look at your arm, straining to see in the dim light.

“Naw,” you grunt at him, sitting in the chair you had been sitting in before you had run upstairs. “Just got scratched.”

Joel eyes you, unsure if he can believe you while you extend your left arm and show him the deep gouging scratches carved into your flesh. “S’bad,” Joel murmurs as you press your arm against your dirty jeans. He flinches at the sight, and turns his arms under the ropes.

What’chya wanna do? Hit her or help her?

Both? Joel synchronously wants to do both. He wants to lay you down on the mattress across the room and tend to your wounds. He wants to wash the blood of your skin, and wrap you up— watch your eyes glisten and sparkle as he cares for you. And then Joel would beat your face bloody, and bludgeon your chest in until it caved.

“M’fine,” you offer weakly. “Ain’t the worst that’s ever happened t’me.”

Somewhere deep inside of Joel twists painfully when the inflection in your tone tells him you think that’s true.

“How’s your ankle?” Joel doesn’t bother looking, he knows it’s bad by the way you limped down the stairs.

“Said m’fine,” you grumble, setting the dead animal down on the table very gently next to the shock collar remote.

“What’s that? Fresh meat finally—”

Joel doesn’t even see it coming, your hand moves so fast and the next thing he knows he is being zapped into silence.

“Ain’t fuckin’ fresh meat- you don’t ever speak about Puddin’ that way, ya’ hear me?” You zap Joel the entire time you’re speaking, and he can barely hear you over the screaming between his ears. It’s deafening and blinding, and making him feel fucking stupid.

“Fine fine.” Joel grits out through a jaw clenched so tight he might actually break his teeth.

You flick the remote off and toss it on the table as if it’s too hot to touch any longer. The buzzing in Joel's ears fades slightly, leaving only the thudding of his heart and the rasp of his breathing.

“I fuckin’ hate hurtin’ you,” you sob softly, wrapping your arms around what appears to be an opossum. You pull it closer to you, and nuzzle your face against his fur.

Joel recoils at the sight, but watches as the dead animal comes to life, and gives your cheek a gentle lick. “That’s your pet?” He asks, disbelief dripping off his tongue.

You don’t look at him, or even really acknowledge that you heard him— you just continue to snuggle the animal and cry quietly.

Joel doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to comfort you in a weird way, but he still wants to see you dead? But the thought you dying also scares him a little?

It’s ‘cause you wanna be the one snuggled up next t’her. Jealous of an opossum—

No the fuck he doesn’t! Joel does not want to snuggle up to you, he doesn’t want to feel your warm body pressed against his—

Even though she’d fit perfect right next to ya’. Picture it, ya’ got’chya arms ‘round her ‘n you got your legs all wrapped in hers…

The sight of you, vulnerable and fragile with that small, stupid animal, tugs at his heart in ways he hasn’t experienced in years. He shakes his head violently, as if he could actually dislodge the thoughts spinning in his mind. “You’re fuckin' crazy,” he mutters to himself under his breath.

Your chair scrapes across the floor as you turn quickly to the right so you can face him. Your jaw ticks and one of your eyes twitch. “I ain’t fuckin’ crazy— stop sayin’ that.” You whisper to him. “Why ya’ bein’ so mean? I jus’ saved your life…” Your face twists up like you might start crying again, and your eyes now are still wet with the tears you had been crying moments ago.

“Saved my life?” Joel scoffs through clenched teeth, the remnants of your electric assault still tingling faintly in his fingers and toes. “That’s what y’think you did for me?” He can feel his resolve faltering as the fat, wet tears begin to roll down your cheek, but he forces himself to stay angry. It feels safer— it feels better that way. “More like puttin’ me through hell, darlin’.”

He doesn’t even mean for the word darlin’ to come out of his mouth, he wasn’t even thinking it, at least— he doesn’t remember wanting to cal you darlin’.

But the moment it slips out, he watches your expression change. You wipe at the tears staining your cheeks, smearing dirt and blood across your face. A flicker of something warm and soft ignites in your eyes, like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. “Darlin’…” you echo him, a fractured smile threatening to bloom despite the pain etched across your features.

Joel’s heart sinks, and also bursts with pride all at the same time. You are in fact insane, but he made you stop crying.

Look’it that, she’s almost smilin’ now.

That warmth spreads through him again, against his will—against all logical reason. “I didn’t mean it,” he mutters, not really sure if he did mean it or not. Yet the sight of you still clinging to that opossum, caressing him carefully as he nibbles gently on one of your fingers. The sight draws him in deeper than he would like to admit, but he just wants to clean you up, wrap you in bandages and then let you fall asleep on his lap.

“Didn’t… mean it?” You repeat the words like you don’t understand them, and your smile falters just a bit as you study his face, searching for truth. “Liar,” you smirk at him.

There is a warmth in your crazy eyes that makes Joel want to sink as far into the chair as he possibly can, he wishes he could disappear but he doesn’t. He says, watching you like he’s frozen in place. “Nah, s’just the shock talkin’,” he whispers and nods his head to one side like there would be a video replaying the who ordeal that happened only moments ago. He wishes there was so he could watch it happen over and over, so he could build up the walls around him, keep you the fuck out of his head.

“Yeah…” There is a distance to your tone, like you’re not really there anymore, and you drop your gaze to the opossum nestled in your arms. “Ya’ made me do that though,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to him quickly— they’re darker, a little scary and Joel wishes he could hide inside his own skin.

“Made you?” Joel’s voice rises, anger flaring throughout him like a wildfire in a forest of dead, dry trees. It spreads fast before Joel can control himself.“Y’think I made you do that? You are a crazy fuckin’ bit—”

You zap him again with a jolt that sends white hot sparks crawling up his spine, and sucks the air right out of his lungs.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” you scream and clutch the opossum tighter.

Joel watches as it goes back to playing dead in your arms. He’s about to shout back at you, start a screaming war and hope those infected break through that gate upstairs and kill both of you— but then you whisper something quietly, and Joel almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’ do that, stop tellin’ me t’kill him.”

Joel’s blood runs cold like ice… who the fuck are you talking to? Or about?

“Are you still hungry?” Your voice is soft, almost sweet now. “I can get you more jerky… I got lots of whiskey—” you say, the fierce anger from moments ago melting away, replaced by a manic eagerness to please him. You reach for your bag again, your arm still bleeding badly— but you’re unfazed by it, or at least doing a good job pretending it doesn’t bother you.

You pull out a glass jar.

“Are those coffee beans?” Joel can barely believe his eyes. His mouth starts to salivate immediately.

You wrinkle your nose at him and shrug your shoulders. “Dunno— they look like some kinda bean— smell all burnt up to shit though,” your nose stays scrunched up as you begin digging around in your bag again.

“Lemme smell,” he can barely contain his excitement as he watches you unscrew the lid to the mason jar. There is a hesitation in your movements when you go to hold the jar under his nose, like you’re trying to figure out his game, the trap he’s set. Your eyes scan all around him, face and body unmoving. “I jus’ wanna smell it— I’ll tell you if it’s coffee or not,” he’s as close to begging for something as he’s ever gotten.

“You like coffee?” You sound so curious, and gingerly place the mouth of the jar under his nose. He takes in a deep inhale and the wonderful, deep and rich aroma of coffee fills his nostrils.

Joel groans loudly, and for a long time as the scent permeates his sinuses, he can almost taste it on his tongue for a fleeting moment.

“Take that as a yes,” you giggle and let him breathe in the smell a little longer. “How do I make it for ya’?” You ask, pulling the jar away and screwing the lid on tight.

“Gotta grind those beans up real fine— then let it brew in some hot water.” Joel explains, watching as you dig around in your bag for more of your loot. "They make special pots for it— percolators."

"Percolators?" You parrot him, tilting your head to one side—

Cute lil puppy.

You fucking are, Joel hates to admit it to himself but even all covered in blood, and muck— looking like you've been to hell and clawed your way back out by the skin of your teeth— your eyes are bright and alert, watching him intently.

"Yeah, keeps the coffee grounds out of your water—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"So you put those crushed up beans… in the water… to just not want them in the water at the end of it all?" You hold up the coffee beans and look at them incredulously, your eyes squinted and narrowed on the glass jar with one eyebrow cocked up slightly.

Joel can't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up at your expression, your face still dirty and tear stained. "Never had coffee before?"

You shake your head at him, and continue rifling through your bag.

The opossum on the table comes alive again now that you're calm and quiet, he pops his little head up and this is when Joel notices the small teal and pink collar around his furry neck. As you pull the rest of the things out of your pack, the little critter starts to lick and clean your wounds.

It makes Joel grimace at the sight of the wild animal trying to help you, take care of you, but again— it tugs at a place inside of him he hasn't dared venture in years.

You're in the small bathroom just off the main room cleaning up in the sink you filled with water from a jug you brought down yesterday. “Ya’ wanna sleep on the bed t’night?” You nod to the mattress pushed up against the wall across the room.

What the fuck?

Mister-man looks just as shocked as the dark voice in your head sounds. “Ya’ gon’ let me sleep comfortably- take these fuckin’ ropes off me?” His voice is bitter and bites at you, makes you furrow your brows at him.

Sug, he’s been tied up for a while now—

For good fucking reason, he’s going to kill her the minute she unties him.

He’s got the dang collar on now, he’s gonna listen to her.

What happens when she falls asleep? Huh? She’s been up going on almost eighteen hours—

How d’ya know how many hours it’s been? She don’t have a watch or a clock!! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ ‘bout.

She’s going to fall asleep and the minute she does— he’s going to strangle her.

The image of Mister-man with his hands around your throat makes you do two things— it makes your stomach flip, and it makes your cunt clench.

What the fuck was that?

She likes the idea of Mister-man chokin’ her a lil, dont’chya Sugar?

The heat rises from your chest and up your neck, behind your cheeks. You kinda do want Mister to choke you a little, but not with the intention to kill you!

“What’re you fuckin’ smirkin’ ‘bout over there?” Mister snaps at you.

When you look at yourself in the mirror, you are smirking and just standing in front of the sink frozen in place. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the images of Mister’s big, strong hands around your neck. “Nothin’,” you lie to him, which makes you feel bad— but you can’t tell him that’s what you were thinking about.

Tell him, see what he says…

Will you shut the fuck up—

“I figure you can sleep there ‘n I’ll sleep in the chair t’night— still gon’ have to tie you up, but least you can lay down…”

That’s not really what you want. You want his arms wrapped around you, and your legs all messed up in his. You wanna feel his warm breath on the top of your head because that’s gotta be the best way to fall asleep, feeling someone else’s warm body, feeling their heart beating inside their chest.

Let’s ya’ know they’re really there- ain’t a dream or something you’re imaginin’.

“Why the hell d’ya want me all comfy f’anyway, huh?” he asks, suspicion laced in his tone, but a hint of curiosity glimmers behind his dark brown eyes.

You shake your head and go back to cleaning your arm so you can bandage it. “No, I’m jus’ tryin’ t’be nice. Figur’d you could stretch out if ya’ wanted.”

He watches you, that suspicion still etched into the lines of his face, but the curiosity is unmistakable, swelling in the way his brow furrows deeper and his lips twist just slightly. “Why ya’ tryin’ to be nice?”

“I dunno… don’t want you hatin’ me no more—”

Stop it right now! Shut the fucking door and stop talking to him.

“Why would I ever stop hatin' you?” His voice is low, almost a whisper. Mister-man hones in his gaze on you like a hawk. “You think bein’ nice t’me is gonna make me forget that ya’ tied me up down here?”

You shrug lightly as you wrap a bandage around your arm, feeling the warmth of blood already seeping through the fabric.

Don’t listen to him, Sugar. He don’t mean it.

Sounds like he fuckin’ means it.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” you say softly, finally meeting his stare head-on. “I just wanna feel normal again…”

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Yeah Sug, keep that to ya’self.

You feel ashamed, real shame, uncomfortable for sharing too much, and now the voices are agreeing with each other? That’s never a good sign. You’ve done something wrong.

“Normal?” He chuckles, but it feels malicious. “Ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ normal about this, sweetheart.”

“Stop sayin’ that if you don’t fuckin’ mean it!”

His laughter dies down, leaving an awkward silence between you. The room feels smaller, somehow and it feels like Mister-man is right on top of you with judging eyes. “I do mean it,” he replies, softer now but still sharp and angry. “Y’think it’s normal t’be tied up in the basement by some—”

“Some what?” You interrupt him as the anger rises to meet the shame and hold its hand.

Mister stares at you, face unchanging when he speaks. “Some. Crazy. Fuckin’. Bitch.” He enunciates every word. “What is this? Some fuckin’ fairy tale to you? One of your stupid princess movies, huh?”

“They’re not stupid,” you snap back, your voice rising in defiance. “And I’m not crazy. I just…”

“Just what?” he presses, his tone challenging. “What do you want from me?”

Don’t fucking say it.

“I jus’ want ya’ t’like me,” you whisper- feeling small and insignificant. “Want ya’ t’not hurt me again,” you point to your still slightly blackened eye.

His studies you like you’re a problem that he can’t solve— the muscles in his jaw flex, and he pinches his brow together tightly. “Ya’ want me t’like you?” He echoes softly, he says the words like they might unleash an evil into the room.

You nod, feeling like you’re frozen and on fire all at the same time, it makes your stomach churn like you might be sick. The way he’s staring at you make you feel naked and exposed.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, breaking through the silence and makes you flinch.

“You’re handsome,” you let the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He shifts in the chair like you made him uncomfortable, confusion weaving its way into the creases of his hardened and in fact, beautiful face.

“Handsome?” he repeats the word like it's a foreign language, like it’s something he hasn’t heard in ages.

“I sure think so,” you nod again.

Your face is so hot it feels like it’s being held to flames.

Well, this is the most you’ve talked to anyone in a real long time, Sug… it’ll get easier.

You could just stop talking completely and go to sleep. You’re delirious.

No she ain’t. Mister-man is handsome, and she want’s him inside her again real bad.

Your walls clench around absolutely nothing at the thought of his thick, throbbing length plunging inside of you, stretching you to fit around him perfectly. The idea of it happening again makes you dizzy and you can’t help but bite your lip, your face somehow grows hotter than you thought possible.

The look Mister gives you- the half smirk, one raised eyebrow makes you think he can read your mind.“Handsome,” he snorts softly, eyes never leaving you, but now they trail down the curves of your body. “You trynna ‘sit in my lap’ again, sweetheart?” The words come out of his mouth slow like molasses, and that country twang he has sends a shock right to your core.

“Maybe,” you say, voice trembling slightly but unwavering, “maybe if you wanted to, I would.”

His face softens slightly, the anger and suspicion melting away like snow in the sun. He raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Why would I want that, honey?" he asks, his voice teasing slightly.

“You seemed to want it the other night,” you limp out of the bathroom and sit down in the metal chair beside his recliner.

“I was real drunk,” Mister explains, but his demeanor has changed, he looks relaxed, he’s resting his head on the back of the chair, looking at you through hooded eyes. “Ya’ took advantage of me,” he growls softly, but beckons you over with a nod of his head.

“Ya’ told me t’do it…” you snap. “I ain’t take nothin’. Advantage- I ain’t-- what? You asked me t’do it!”

He sure fuckin’ did ask you! How dare he say that bullshit ass—

I hate to admit it, but… he’s right—

The last thing you ever wanted to do was take something from Mister-man that he didn’t want you to take! It’s the worst feeling in the world- being held down and forced into—

Shhhhh, Sugar. It’s alright, s’all over now. It was just a misunderstanding.

“I ain’t m-mean t’do that,” you say weakly through the lump forming in your throat. “I thought ya’ wanted me t’do it— that’s why ya’ punched me?”

His eyes widen slightly, “I didn’t punch ya’ for that.”

"Then why did ya’ punch me?" Your voice cracks slightly as tears begin welling up in your eyes again; embarrassment filling every cell within your body once more.

“I was gonna try’n leave. Go home—”

“Ya’ lied t’me… said you’d stay,” you whimper, wiping the tears before they can fall.

“Please stop cryin’…” Mister-man's voice is surprisingly gentle as he speaks, and you feel your heart squeeze in response.

You sniffle, trying to regain your composure. "I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t ask me first," you mumble, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve.

"Why not?" Joel asks softly. 

Look'it that, ya went'n made her cry! For what!? She's just trynna be nice t'ya! Jus' like she said. She wants a lil boyfriend, someone t'snuggle up with at night-- like a normal person!

There isn't anything fucking normal about you, not at all. 

“I ain’t like stuff gettin’ taken from me,” you admit quietly, turning your gaze away from him.

Joel narrowed his eyes, sitting up a bit straighter in his recliner, the leather creaking underneath his weight. "What’ya mean by that?"

“Lets get ready for bed, ‘kay?” You ignore his question and stand up, wincing when you put any weight on your ankle. You hold the remote in your mouth gingerly as you begin untying him from the chair.

****

Joel watches you from the mattress in the corner. You have his hands still bound up in the oven mitts, and now you’ve tossed a rope over a pipe in the ceiling and tied up his elbows so he can move and lay down. Stretch out if he wants to, but he can’t walk more than five or six feet in either direction— and the pipes secured tighter than he had been hoping it would be.

Joel can hear you reading the Batman comic books to yourself and that opossum you keep calling Puddin’, but you haven’t looked or spoken to him since you tied him up an hour or so ago. Just left him with two things: a plastic bottle of water and metal flask with whiskey in it. He was silently thankful when you twisted the lids off without him having to ask.

He knows struck a nerve with his question, but he didn’t really expect you to shut him out completely. He takes a swig from the plastic water bottle.

Ya’ want that sad lil puppy t’come over here, dont’chya?”

He does, oddly enough. You being crazy was better than you giving him the cold shoulder, like he wasn't even there.

He wonders if you read to that stupid animal every night, and if you snuggle with him in the bed you sleep in upstairs. He wonders if you have to drink yourself to sleep every night with how many bottles of whiskey you brought back.

His mind just continues to race.

****

Joel can’t sleep. He thought for sure the minute he put his head down, he’d drift off and sleep better than he has since you tied him up down here, he’s got a blanket and a pillow now but they do nothing to comfort him into closing his eyes.

Call her over, see if she’ll come snuggle up next to you.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into the completely dark room.

“What?” You whisper back to him from the void.

“C’mere— it ain’t fair ya’ gotta sleep in that chair. I know s’uncomfortable.” What the fuck is he doing? He’s not going to willingly allow you into his space, is he?

“M’fine,” you murmur back to him. “Go t’sleep.”

“Can’t sleep— come sit in my lap again,” Joel smirks to himself because fuck, what he would do to feel your warm cunt enveloping him like you were made strictly for him, and him alone. It makes his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Joel holds his breath, waiting for you to respond. Then, finally, you murmur back, your voice barely more than a whisper, “Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I’m handsome…” Joel teases you, listening to the way the chair creaks as you shift on it. He wishes so badly he could see you. “I know ya’ wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too.”

“Y’just wanna punch me again, try’n escape—”

“Where would I go? Them infected are still up there, I ain’t gettin’ outta here anytime soon,” he’s being honest. He had thought about it, but the idea of having to share a room with your dead body— even if he moved you upstairs, the idea of having to wait around with your corpse until the infected cleared out gave him a bad feeling.

It’s ‘cause you don’t wanna kill ‘er. Ya’ wanna be deep inside that tight, wet, warm perfect hole.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath. His cock’s fully hard now, and it’s making a tent in the black sweatpants you put on him before bed. He rubs the oven mitt on his hand against the bulge in the fabric and groans loudly.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask from your place in the chair.

“Come find out, sweetheart.” He sighs, leaning against the wall the mattress is pressed up against.

Joel listens to you limp and shuffle towards him in the dark. Your hands hesitantly touch his shins before you crawl onto the bed with him.

“Take ‘em out f’me, baby girl,” he leans into you now that you’re sitting next to him, pushing his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply and takes in the heady scent of your sweat lingering whatever fucking pheromones that are making him just as insane as you.

“Ya’ really want this?”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you as close as he can get. “M’sober this time,” he moan quietly into your ear when you push his mitt covered hand, away and slip your hand underneath the waistband. He bucks his hips up into your fist as you begin to stoke him.

“You’re s’warm,” you sigh, turning your head to face him.

Joel wastes no time catching your lips in a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you, savor your flavor. You taste like whiskey and strawberry jam. The smell of cheap bathroom hand soap lingers on your skin from washing up in the sink. All of it makes him feel like hes intoxicated.

“Fuck, y’feel so good,” he growls into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip gently as you pull away. “Take these fuckin’ mitts off me—”

Your hand leaves his pants and the warmth of your body is gone from beside him. “It’s a trick?” You sound hurt in the dark, like Joel’s played some terrible prank on you and you just found out.

“No, no, no-” he’s desperate for your touch. It felt so good, and he wasn’t even thinking about trying to trick you or do anything shifty once you took the mitts off, he wanted to grip you and grope you. Plunge two or three fingers right into your wetness. “No, m’not trynna trick you— I just wanna touch you.”

“S’what you said last time,” you snap at him. He can tell you’re still close, probably still on the mattress. He shifts and tries to get closer to you but he hears your skin drag across the concrete floor.

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “I know, fuck— I know, but I mean it this time-”

“I don’t believe you.”

Of course you don’t believe him! He socked you right in the eye as hard as he could the last time he didn’t have at least 4 inches of padding on his fists.

“I wanna make y’feel real good, the way y’were makin’ me feel real good just then,” he’s inching towards the sound of you dragging yourself across the floor on his hands and knees slowly. The ropes stop him from going any further while you continue your retreat. “C’mon, baby…”

“Y’just sayin’ that, don’t mean it…” The sound of your body shuffling away from him stops though, and he wonders if he’s got you on the hook with the pet names.

Try it again, Mister.

“Please, honey… I wanna hear y’moan Mister’s name,” he coos to you, hiding from him somewhere in the darkness.

You let out a long, slow, shaky breath before you answer. “What is your name…”

He’s so fucking desperate for some sort of relief that he tells you before he can come up with a fake name— he’s learned the hard way about sharing his real name with strange women. “Joel.”

“Joel…” You whisper back to him. “My very own Mister-J?” You sound excited.

“Mister-J?” Joel cocks his head to one side, but is pushed back onto the mattress by the force of you barreling into him.

“That’s what Harley calls the Joker,” your straddling his waste again and without thinking twice, Joel wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. His forearms brush against the bare skin of your thighs and it makes him groan softly as he pushes you down into his lap.

“Ya' wanna be m'crazy girl? Like Harley Quinn?” Joel chuckles as he nudges his nose against your chin, tilting your head back to expose your neck.

You hesitate, and pull back from him slightly.

“I ain’t gon’ bite you,” he promises, leaning in as much as he can so he can press his lips to the column of your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, sinking into him like you’re melting. “Oh fuck,” it leaves your mouth as a whimper, and Joel’s cock throbs at the sound.

“Like this?” He nips at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and you shiver in his arms. He can’t hide the smile, he doesn’t care to. He loves that he’s capable of making you make those sounds.

You hum an almost silent ‘mhm’, and wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape.

Joel has so much more room to move around now that he’s unrestrained, so he rolls his hips up into yours so you can feel what he has to offer. You gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further onto him. He moans softly, his mitts trailing down your spine and cupping your ass cheeks as best they can. He can feel the heat between your legs growing and he has a nagging thought in his head.

Lay down, let her climb right on top—

Joel shifts and wiggles down onto the mattress so he’s flat on his back, with you still straddling his hips. “Take your lil shorts off,” Joel taps your thigh, and then lifts his hips so he can shove his sweatpants down his legs.

You don’t ask any questions. You roll off of him and Joel feels your shoulder touch his as you lay down to remove your bottoms. You go to crawl back into his lap but he stops you.

“Sit up here,” he grips your hips as best he can with the mitts, and tugs you up to his face.

“What!?” You sound distressed, “Ya’ want me t’do what?”

“Turn around, and sit down,” Joel growls up at you.

You hesitate, the uncertainty clear in your voice. "I-I don't know..."

"C'mon, darlin'," Joel coaxes, his voice low and husky. "Let me taste you. I promise ‘m gonna make you feel so good."

With shaky movements, you turn around and slowly lower yourself over Joel's face.

He inhales deeply, taking in your scent. "That's it," he murmurs encouragingly. "Just like that." Joel can feel the heat radiating from your core as you hover uncertainly above him. He lifts his head, nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh. "Lil lower," he nips at your supple skin.

With a soft whimper, you finally sink down onto his waiting mouth. Joel groans at the first taste of you, his tongue delving between your folds. Your sweet and tangy, a little sweaty and musky— it’s fucking heady and perfect. He can’t get enough.

“Oh fuck,” you shudder as Joel licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance, which is already dripping and Joel feels pride swell in his chest.

Without Joel having to ask, or prompt you in any way, you lean over and take his hard, aching cock in your hand. Joel nearly comes right there when he hears you spit on it noisily and palm your warm saliva around the throbbing, drooling tip.

“Fuuuuck,” Joel moans approvingly before his tongue pushes into your entrance.

"Oh god, Mister," you whimper, your hand still working his cock in long, slow strokes. Then you kitten lick the tip and he has to stop himself from bucking his hips.

Joel's mind goes blank as your warm, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations making you shudder above him. His tongue laps eagerly at your fold, drinking in your arousal as it flows freely.

You bob your head, taking more of his length with each downward motion. Joel's hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust up into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Instead, he focuses on pleasuring you, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

You whimper around his cock, grinding your hips down onto his face.

Joel pulls back slightly, his breath hot against your core. "That's it, baby girl. Ride my face," he growls before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit.

You pull away, your hand replacing your mouths ministrations and rest your head on Joel’s hip as you stroke him, never faltering on giving him pleasure. “Please d-don’t stop!” You cry out, your grip tightening around his shaft as you rock your hips. Joel's mitt-covered hands grip your thighs, urging you on.

"Gonna cum for me, darlin'?" he murmurs against your slick folds. "Let me taste it."

Joel feels you tense above him, your thighs quivering as you grind down harder on his face. He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with quick, firm strokes of his tongue. Your hand on his cock speeds up, pumping him in time with the rocking of your hips.

"Oh god, oh fuck," you whimper, your voice muffled against his hip. "I'm gonna-- I'm--"

Your words dissolve into a high-pitched moan as you come undone. Joel groans as he feels your pussy pulse against his mouth, a fresh wave of your arousal coating his tongue.

Your sounds, the way your hips continue to rock against his mouth as you unravel has his own release bubbling up to the surface. Joel groans deeply as his own orgasm crashes over him, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he spills into your hand. You stroke him through it, milking every last drop as he shudders beneath you.

Joel's whole body twitches as you clean him and your hand with your tongue, "Taste good," you mumble against his stomach, pressing soft kisses to the trail of hair between his cock and belly button.

Then, with shaky movements, you lift yourself off of Joel's face and turn around to face him. Even in the darkness, he can sense your uncertainty.

"C'mere," Joel murmurs, his voice rough. He reaches out, pulling you down to lay beside him. You settle against his chest, your breath warm on his neck.

“Don’t kill me in my sleep, ‘kay?” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his pulse point.

Joel murmurs something incoherent, already on the verge of falling asleep.

Sorry it was like 45 minutes late (two days early if you look at the master list ok?-- I may have had something to drink.... and of course thanks @pedrospookie for that adorable fucking mood board. I hope you all like this chapter-- it's a little domesticated (i think), but I have more crazy, unhinged antics coming next chapter!)

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories

(omg I think I got everyone but that's so many people, please let me know if I left you off or if you want to be taken out of the tag list!)

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

I know I already texted you about vampire!paz but I was half-asleep last time, so I just wanted to do this more properly now that I’ve finally got some down time!!

So a couple thoughts I’ve had while reading and since then:

ok so first up, I love the vibe of the speakeasy! Also the whole blood donation thing? Actually really relatable, at this point I would probably at least consider it if I got disposable income out of it (especially if I get paz with it…)

Also vampire powers are so fun to me cause I too would be really fucking confused if someone told me to just utter a safe word without explaining that they have some sort of superhuman hearing abilities

DIN DJARIN MENTION 🥰

also the part of ‚if you didn’t know better you’d have thought he’s a werewolf‘ ABSOLUTELY. I guess that’s stereotyping vampires but damn that man just is so broad it would absolutely make sense to assume 😂

NOT HIM IMMEDIATELY CALLING HER DARLING 🙈🫠

Also girl don’t be embarrassed, I don’t think anyone would be able to not zone out and stare at paz. But also not him being so smug about it 😭

On a different note, technically I can imagine how intimate feeding would be if it’s not … violent but somehow I also didn’t realise until reading this 🙈

NOT THE SMUT VISIONS 😭🫠 girly was so out of it that all potential embarrassment left her body and asked him to sit in his lap???? 10/10

also the surprise on my face when I realised that he was most definitely seeing all of that too???? I need him to stop being so smug cause it’s making me blush too much at this point

love the lore at the end!! Especially the concept of telepathic connection between them 😭

THE CAT!!!! I love biscuits already 🫶🏼

And finally… can I be stuck with him too?? 🙈

You know, when you told me the what this story was gonna be about, I was already intrigued but damn I wasn’t prepared for being even more intrigued after reading it. I’ve literally been thinking about this every day since you posted it !!

the fact that the London Meetup (tm) is confirmed makes this like the best time to answer it!! 👀😂 I am so so happy you liked vampire!Paz!

Honestly, I got the idea from a friend who always goes and donated blood or plasma because the fee you're getting is really good and I just sat in the train like ... "This ... but with Paz ..." and that is how vampire!Paz was born 😂 And like any version of Paz, he needs to have a fluffy companion! I really hope I will write more of him because the ideas I have about Bicuits' shenanigans are insanely hilarious, if I do say so myself lol

And the smut visions will only get worse better realer from here on out 👀👀👀👀

Thank you so so much for reading!!

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

I’ve read what if (part 2) yesterday and I’ve actually been re-reading a bunch of your old stories which is why I didn’t have time to send you a message yesterday 😅🙈 (btw.. roommate!paz is now once again living rent free in my mind)

Now, about what if: I’m just gonna jump right into talking about some of my favourite parts. Mind you, this is a non-conclusive list because (sadly) I can’t just quote every sentence back at you and tell you why I love it or find it funny and relatable, etc. because then this would probably take forever and be an even longer message than it already is 🙈

So here we go:

Somehow that kind of request made you even more nervous. […] You stepped against him, ignoring your shaking hands as you stood on your tiptoes and ran your nose over his neck. Yeah that is way more nerve-wrecking! Just being all up close to his neck? Intimate as fuck (where can I sign up?)

your nose brushing against the spot just under his ear and he groaned. The sound, low and deep, made you tremble. listen may, we’ve barely just started and I’m already going insane 😭 10/10 would love to make this man groan just by doing that.

Paz smelled so much better now that he had a hint of you on him, you found, and you made a mental note to keep up this scenting practice for as long as he would let you. oh reader, I get it. I, too, would fall in love with that man after knowing him for like a day. (Also love the lowkey possessiveness)

“So … no sex then,” you concluded, trying to keep your sadness out of your voice. „Disappointed?“ OH I KNOW HE FELT SMUG ABOUT THAT! The duality of this man to be a big softie and the cockiest man alive? 10/10.

“You are coming to my bunk tonight. You will bring nothing but your softest robe, your favourite snack. I want you naked when I arrive, understand? Naked and waiting for me. […]“ yeah I’m dead now. Following instructions has never been this easy actually. Also the snack part? Big teddy bear man. That’s why I love your Paz.

By now, you knew your friend long enough to know when he was teasing you. And the twinkle in his eyes told you that Chants was in teasing mode. “He is quite big, isn’t he?” way too relatable. if your friends don’t these you when you’re having the biggest crush on a man, are they even your friends? I can’t even be mad at chants cause friendly teasing your friends is funny as fuck 🙈

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “I don’t think any of the other alphas left their capes for their calmers. Maybe something is different about you two?” Oh he is in LOVE! Look at the two idiots just being down bad for each other, now they just need to tell the other.

daydreaming about what it could be like to be Paz Vizsla’s omega. Me too, reader. Me too.

You squeaked in surprise when you sank in way more than you had expected. Testing the softness, you found that not only was his bedding incredibly soft, no, but the mattress was much softer than the standard issue as well. Inevitably you smiled at the realization that Paz Vizsla just kept on surprising you. Your big warrior was a big teddy bear. yeah he is! I love the idea of establishing how soft he is via his choice of mattress. Also, there is something so deeply intimate about learning about a person by being in their room. And paz letting reader into his private space without him even being there? You can just tell they are really comfortable with each other 🥺

what if you accidentally had walked into someone else's room who had the same arrangement with their calmer? always funny when there’s a sentence where my brain goes „haha, my anxiety would say that too!“

“Believe it or not I actually like soft things, too.” JUST SAY THAT YOU ARE IN LOVE ALREADY. …Maybe I’m reaching but my brain went „oh soft things .. like LOVE and reader 🤨“

“Maybe I can see your nests, one day,” he suggested lowly, his mouth brushing over your jaw and down your neck. how do you expect me to be normal when I read this?? 🫠

“Someone too shy to say it?” he teased you, the slight mocking undertone making you wetter than you wanted to admit. How did this man have this effect on you? Strong, lovely and in charge? The perfect man actually. Never thought I’d ever appreciate a mocking undertone but damn…

“Now be a good girl for me and play with your tits,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for questions and you followed. OKAAY, that’s one way to effectively change the conversation 🙈🫠

“Use your words.” Hot. No further notes.

“You just love to embarrass me, don’t you?” […] „I do,” he agreed and could feel his breath on your folds, the breadth of his shoulder between your legs as he slowly thrust his fingers in you, “Something about corrupting a sweet innocent omega like you makes my cock so hard.” I think I might actually never recover from this story. This whole story will probably be stuck on my head for forever now.

Also, hitting me with „“Look at that,” he marvelled, “Yesterday you weren’t sure whether you could come on my fat cock, and now you are begging me to let you come on my tongue.” Another well-placed opened-mouthed kiss against your clit and you broke apart.“ and then „Are you crying, omega?” […] Fuck,” he murmured, his warm forehead falling onto your lower belly, “that shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does.” within like 3 paragraphs??? I don’t even know what to say, this is making me feel so many emotions!!

“You did so good for me,” he repeated affectionately, “’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Using your words, following my instructions.” Again, I don’t know what to say besides.. 🫠

“I want a kiss,” was all you could say and he chuckled, leaning in to give you a kiss that had you sighing against him, melting even more into the sheets. Idk why specifically this part (cause the smut was amazing) but this just gets me so much every time I reread it🥺🥺🥺

And despite the lack of words, it seemed to work.LOOK AT THEIR CONNECTION, THEY DONT NEED WORDS 🥺😭

This was how he was, it occurred to you, that Paz Vizsla did not need to secure his dominance in any sudden way because he was secure in his dominance. It was never even a question for him whether he would be able to pleasure you. oh i hope you know how good you are at writing because I went „oh yeah, 100%. Literally every action by this man so far has been proof of this“

You would let this man do anything to you. if he’s anything like the way you write him? Yes.

“Say it.” if you could see the way I’m blushing right now, I think I would have to disappear forever

„You didn’t take me to the negotiations this morning,” you stated, unable to help the insecurity that scratched at your heart. GOOD JOB GIRLY. Bring back the topic he made you drop by seducing you, now that you can think again!

“Make sure you are okay being seen with a Mandalorian like me.“ okay, what if I start to cry?

And the “Can I kiss you again?” after he gets reassurance? 🥺🥺 I love when characters ask for physical intimacy when they can’t put things into words. Which.. understandable cause words are hard.

So, to sum up my thoughts: 10/10 this is amazing! literally had to stop myself again from including more quotes because I can’t just keep saying „hot“ every two seconds. Actually need these two to realise they are in love and act on it.

So yeah, I hope you had a nice start of the week! Cause I certainly had one thanks to this story

Oh hello! Believe me, I completely understand - I am currently obsessed with roommate!Paz and working on three little things about him at the same time (when, really, I should focus on the last part of What If 😂)

Thank you so much for your lovely comments, I am so so happy that you liked this part! Paz really is just my dream combination of a big, dangerous giant of a man that is secretly very soft for his love 🥺 (That and his skill for dirty talk is 👀🥵)

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

Okay so first things first: I’m sorry about taking so long to do this! But I FINALLY got some time to write down my thoughts for what if (part 1)! Every time I tried to sit down things got hectic again and it’s been annoying me endlessly, cause I’ve been looking forward to this for like 2 weeks now.

I’ve decided to split this up into multiple posts because it got a bit long. I hope that’s okay! 😅 and I think I should also warn you that I’m not the best of putting into words how stories make me feel, but I hope this is getting my feelings across anyway.

First of all: mixing the Calmer AU with a fix it AU? Sign me the fuck up! (Side note: I am almost over what happened in season 3 but only because I’ve lowkey started to view their Paz as the fanon!version of your Paz 😅😅🙈)

Also, another sidenote: I love when your stories feature your characters like chants and briggs because my brain always goes „oooh I know that name“ (same goes for Dreks… who will forever be a dick in every universe). (Part 1/5)

Putting the rest of the asks under a cut because I am LOSING MY MIND THIS IS SO SWEET:

Okay okay, but now for the actual commentary:

“Maybe because they will use any chance they get to exploit the innocent omegas of other clans.”You frowned, not liking any of Axe’s implications. Were omegas of Djarin’s tribe not innocent? Did he think you were incapable of defending yourself?” EXACTLY. AXE NEEDS TO SHUT UP! I was so happy that you immediately noted that cause i legit immediately went „what are you trying to imply, man 🤨“

And about Paz.. him immediately being offended and also „What startled you most, however, was how big that man was.“?? 10/10 no notes, immediately the perfect vibe

And then, „When you heard your name called, it was like you were in the clouds. Far away from everything and everyone. Maybe you could still say no, maybe you could just go and disappear forever. […] What if you weren’t good at the whole claiming thing at all and your failure resulted in a war that was to last centuries?”That is such A MOOD. I, too, would sign up for something and then when it’s happening, realise that it’s real and have my anxiety kick in hard. and the way you describe the feeling is soo realistic??? My anxiety would yell those exact things 😅 (No seriously, I texted my bestie the other day that I’m not prepared for my tutoring session because what if people actually show up 🤦‍♀️)

“Paz Vizsla was a warrior through and through and it showed in the way he was sitting too. He took up almost all the space on the little bench and even when he was sitting down and you were standing up, he seemed so much bigger than you?” HOT. that’s it, that’s my notes on that. 10/10, the size kink for fictional men is clearly a part of my personality now and I am okay with that.

“taken aback by how gentle he sounded. He did not look gentle. He looked dangerous”. Again, 10/10. The appeal of someone looking tough but being a secret teddy bear is honestly always amazing and I love that it’s happening here. (2/5)

“I don’t bite, you know?” “I suppose the helmet would make that very hard,”. THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOUR WRITING 😭 (reason number 1 of ♾️). This genuinely made me laugh out loud. Like, it was funny and also immediately made me go “don’t say that to the intimidating guy, you dumbass 😂”

And then the “Do you not think I should know the name of the omega I am about to make very happy?”???. OKAAAY, no reason to be so cocky my guy. I do love the banter in your stories though. It makes the connection between your characters feel so fun, dynamic and honestly real.

And then you immediately hit me with “as an endearment,” […] “Not because I won't know your name.” I’m pretty sure if you listen closely enough, you can hear me swoon from all the way over here in Vienna, cause I’m now a puddle that is yearning for this man.

And just generally, I love how you make Paz so soft and considerate. (Like making sure that reader is actually fully on board with this). Because that is a big strong warrior and I feel like the obvious way would be to make him just cocky and this intimidating badass (which isn’t a bad thing, if someone wants to write that!) but you just make him feel so grounded and comfortable as a character.

Also, I’m rereading this in order to pull quotes from the text, and I just got hit with “are you wet” and DAMN MAY. I knew that was coming but the mood shift still hit me like it the first time. Again, 10/10.

“Maybe a little bit,” that’s such A LIE! I just know that reader is melting on the inside!

Also, I love when these ‘downplaying moments’ immediately get followed by getting a description of how it definitely affects reader more than they are letting on in that moment. It makes me feel like I have fun inside knowledge. (3/5)

PAZ WITH TATTOOS! PAZ WITH TATTOOS! I LOVE YOUR MIND.

“Shocked at your own daydreams, you tried to focus instead on what you could see and not the images your brain came up with.” Me too, reader. Me too. Very relatable.

“Stars,” he hummed, thick fingers settling on your tongue and pushing down, “I think we are going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we, omega?” genuine question… are you trying to kill me?

I was gonna comment on the next couple sentences as well but I cannot put into words how this makes me feel 🫠

“No one is watching us,” he assured you, pushing his fingers back in your mouth, “No one is looking at you, omega. Wanna know how I know?” […] Because everybody knows I don’t share […]” May, I may not have the words or the knowledge to give actual writing feedback to anyone but I hope you’re aware that your writing is incredible. Because this has me HOOKED.

AND THE “Thank the stars it was you,” he whispered, running his wet fingers over your lips, “I hoped it would be you.” don’t mind me, I’m just crying over here because this is the softest thing ever and I love gentle, sweet men more than anything 😭 and the reassurance that follows like three paragraphs later?? Such a sweet vulnerable moment between Paz and reader that manages the balance between smut and sweetness so well

The trope of “what if it won’t fit?” gf x “I will make it fit” bf? Made for Paz and I will stand by that statement. And just… the smut? I can’t quote it here because it makes me blush and stare at the screen too much but damn… I love your writing so much 😭

And lastly, the last paragraph: nothing better than having the gentle giant calling his partner “love”🥺 (4/5)

Okay, so this was my (not so) condensed review of the new story. I had to try very hard to not just quote every line and tell you why I love it and why I think it’s works so well 😅

Anyway, final thoughts because this is soo long already:

10/10. I genuinely love your writing and this story is just another example why I love it. The way you write makes me actually experience the emotions while reading and be completely submersed in the story. Also, I am not at all a reader of romance novels (or generally books where romance is the main plot), but if you were to ever write a full on romance novel (or any book for that matter), I promise I would be the first person in line to buy it and tell everyone about it. Just like I will always be excited to read any story you want to share here on tumblr/ao3! You’re truly one of my favourite authors and I hope you know that your work will always be appreciated 🧡🧡🧡 (5/5)

___ HOw dare you ask me how I am doing when this basically made me cry in public 🥺😭 Reading this is EVERYTHING and just reminds me every time why I love to share my writing with you all. It made my entire weekend!!!! I am so happy you liked and I am so so so so SO lucky to have people liek you engage with my little ramblings on the internet 🥺

[baronessvonglitter]

Thank youuuu! 💖💖

I broke a sweat writing the elevator scene 🤭 and Carol was really cheeky saying all that to her husband, almost like she wanted to get caught.

Hugs, friend! I am passed out from all the love

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 7

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 6,209

Summary: A friendship reaches a new level, Dave gets the truth about Carol, and a misunderstanding brings two people closer than they've ever been..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Fluff. One adorable dog. Mentions of food/eating, alcohol/drinking. Fingering. Oral (f&m receiving). Infidelity (but a certain someone was unfaithful first so.. Uno reverse?) More marital strife (sorry). Porn-shaming. A lovers' misunderstanding. Angst. Unprotected piv. (please lmk if I've missed anything)

Author’s note: This is where they finally hook up. Wave. Of. Relief. Also, the whole Tim scene was really just me thinking about that old show Cheaters. It really scarred me for future relationships lol.

Series Masterlist

Common sense tells you to stay away from Dave while the investigation is going on. He's vulnerable now, and as your attraction grows stronger with each passing day, you know it'll soon be impossible to hold back from the natural predilection for being close with him.

In short, you're not so sure you can keep your hands to yourself when you're around him.

On a sunny weekend you meet at a pet adoption agency and, true to your word, you choose a dog together, a beagle named Maple, and the first time you bring her home, Dave stays for almost the rest of the day, helping set up what she needs and playing with her. There's a light in his eyes as he spends time with your new pet, a gleam that you haven't seen before, and it touches your heart.

He's invited to come over anytime he wants just to spend time with her, and he happily takes you up on the offer, indulging in more late night dinners and movies. Maple's a good chaperone, much too cute to ignore, and she keeps you from lingering on the sinful thoughts you're having about each other. For the time being, anyway.

You become a great means of support to Dave, a lifeline, and in that commisseration of your wrecked marriages, you find not just solace but a profound closeness. You spend every lunch hour together, at your cafe or at his office, sharing meals and talking about your day. No subject is too mundane or too trivial to insitgate conversation about a million other things, discussions that Javier would easily get bored of, and that Carol would dismiss as silly.

In a white floral print dress that's intentionally too short and too tight to fully button up, you visit Dave on your lunch break, bringing homemade soup and sandwiches, knowing he has a busy day ahead with meetings and court dates, and wanting him to have some comfort food in the midst of it all.

Despite his feelings for you, he likes to remain above reproach. Your visits are never secret, and when you're in his office his blinds are open. Nothing inappropriate passes between you anyway. Your looks and your words are the most intimate things that you share, at least since the heated kiss not so long ago. (Even if anyone gives a second thought to your visits, most of Dave's coworkers and their spouses hate Carol and would keep mum just to spite her.)

Still, you look like the sweetest sin, and under his desk Dave has to shift to accommodate his growing hard-on, eyes feasting on the playful lift of your brow, the curve of your smiling lips, the graceful column of your neck and the bountiful billow of your breasts, practically on display. He knows it's just for him. Spending so much time, you don't have room for any other guy.

"Are you listening?" you giggle, your bubbling laughter doing not-so-innocent things to Dave's dick.

"Yeah. Of course I'm listening. And yes, we're still on for tonight. Carol's already said she's doing a girls' night with some of the women from the hospital."

"I can't wait," you smile. "It's so good to spend time with you and the girls. I wish.."

"Wish what?" he whispers, his hand reaching out for yours.

"It's selfish, but I wish it could always be this way. When I think about my life before you, it's a blank. I don't know how I managed to stay sane, but when I'm with you I feel.. alive. I don't want to know what it's like to not have you in my life."

Dave pulls your hand across the table, bringing it to his lips to plant a soft sweet kiss on the back. "Baby, you don't know how much that means to me. It's like I'm drowning, and then I talk to you and suddenly I have air again. You're the only thing worth staying above water for."

"I think we're saving each other from drowning," you tell him.

Dave walks you out, insisting as usual to escort you back across the street, and this time when you step into the elevator, there's a charge in the air, a new tension both of you know has always been inevitable.

The close, cramped space of the elevator, you in that dress, curves begging to be caressed, your sweet floral perfume beckoning him closer. There are no words exchanged as you share a look, communicating everything in that prolonged glance. He's thankful no one else is on, and his heart leaps right before he presses the STOP button.

You press him to the wall in a kiss full of longing, aching for his taste, for the feel of his tongue against yours. Your panties are sopping wet within seconds as his hands find their way under your dress, his large hands smoothing over your skin as your own fingers find their way under his jacket, hungering to feel his muscles and the heat of his skin under your palms. You settle for the cotton of his light blue button-up.

"We should stop," you tell him, pushing your panties to the side as his fingers slide between your warm thighs.

"Yeah, we should." He teases your folds, relishing in the sighs and tremors that go through you at his delicate touch.

"You're married," you remind him, a gasp leaving you as he pumps not one but two thick fingers inside your drenched pussy. Dave's head drops down, trying to contain himself, willing himself not to come in his pants then and there. Never felt anything so fucking wet in my life..

"A married man whose wife is fucking someone else," he says,a lawyer even when he's hot and hard for you. "I want you to come for me, baby. I need to know what you sound like, what you look like, what you taste like when you come." He pumps slow and steady, fingers scissoring to feel all of you, and imagine how well you'd take him if he could fuck you right now. "You're so fucking wet, I know you need to come, baby."

You grasp his wrist, feeling the strength behind his skillful touch as you greedily take every plunge of his fingers, crying his name in a shudder as his thumb swipes your clit.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby," he utters, giving your bottom lip a soft bite. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

Unable to speak, you nod, your high-pitched gasps and moans letting him know you're close. He crooks his fingers, too caught up in the surreality of the moment to even think about teasing you or edging you the way he fantasizes about. "That's it, isn't it?" he smiles as he takes a moment to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, his fingers finding that spot deep inside that is your undoing. You're squirming under his touch now, desperate.

"It's all you, baby, come for me," he whispers, holding your chin up so your eyes meet his. And as if they're magic words, you come apart under his touch, clamping down on his fingers, earning a deep, satisfied grunt from him. Just when you think one wave is over, another starts, his fingers continuing their blessed work inside your cunt.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs as you finally push him away, overstimulated, eyes glassy in fucked out bliss, some loose strands of hair caught in your lip gloss. He removes his fingers gently, your glaze sticky on them. With his eyes on you he licks off your essence, closing his eyes briefly at the taste of you, just as he'd imagined.

After, he makes sure you're okay, cleans you up with his handkerchief from his jacket, wishing he could wear the heavenly scent of your pussy on him all day, but he'll switch it out for a new one later.

"I'm not ready to go yet," you murmur, stopping him from pressing the elevator button.

Before he realizes what's happening, you're on your knees in front of him, fingers deftly working at undoing his belt buckle. He doesn't make a move to stop you. No man in his right mind, married or not, would deny you anything. "Here, baby," he says, handing you his jacket to give you cushion for your knees. He runs his fingers through your hair, heart pounding madly in his chest as you look up at him with those irresistible eyes, releasing his cock from its confines.

Thank you Jesus, I knew it, I fucking knew it! You glory in the big fucking dick that you always knew Dave was packing down there. Your mouth pools with saliva as you give him a couple teasing strokes, marveling at the swollen shaft, curved, ringed with smaller veins and one large one running along the top. He tips his head back against the wall, breathing heavily as you give little kitten licks across the head, scooping up his trickling precum.

Carol can have this every day and she chooses not to. What the hell is wrong with her? A victorious little smirk curls the corners of your mouth as you drag your tongue along the underside, your free hand gently palming his balls, feeling their heft in your hand. Just thinking about how much he's going to unload makes your cunt clench in anticipation.

"Stop.. teasing.." he begs, looking as if he's close already. "Not fair.."

"Good point," you tell him, unable to keep back a smile. You move the shoulders of your dress down, pushing it over your breasts and bringing your bra down as well, baring your breasts to him. Practically drooling at the sight, Dave fondles one in his large palm, his thumb rubbing avariciously over your nipple, bringing it to a tight little bud.

At last you take him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you slurp the first couple of inches, adding pressure by stiffening your tongue. One hand rests on his base against his neatly trimmed pubes, the other on his thigh, hard muscle and soft hair under your palm.

Taking him in as far as your throat allows, you alternate between using your mouth and your hand, spitting on his shaft to add lubrication, watching him innocently from below as Dave loses control little by little. His hands tangle in your hair, thumbs caressing your cheeks as you gag on him, pulling away and leaving a stringy mess of saliva between your lips and his cock.

Poor Dave hasn't been blown in ages.. I'm so lucky to be the one to give him this.. You use your fist and mouth in tandem, bobbing your head as your fist works the base, keeping your eyes on him as he tries desperately to hold back.

Giving his balls a little massage, you hear him groan and feel him shiver. Keeping your mouth suctioned to his cock, he cries out in relief as he pulses and shoots his load down your throat.

By the time you reach the ground floor you both look like nothing ever happened, not even a hair out of place nor a button fastened wrong. As you part ways in front of the bakery/bookstore you exchange a small, secret smile, with the promise of more stolen moments to come.

Dave almost regrets having to go home, but Molly and Alice are the only bright spots there, and he brings them a couple of brand new Squishmallows, loving the light in their eyes as they greet him home. They don't know that you're coming over later, just in case they accidentally spill the beans to their mom. So far they think of you as a babysitter who's also their dad's friend.

After dinner, Carol's quiet, like a ghost hating the place she haunts she goes about cleaning up the table, putting things in the dishwasher, putting an extra load of laundry in the wash, rejecting Dave's offers of help. This is something he'll be yelled at about later. It's nothing new.

He's counting down the minutes until she leaves and you can come over. He texts you some ideas of movies to watch with the kids, maybe more Disney classics, or even the older greats like E.T, The Princess Bride, Matilda, or Jumanji.

But when Carol sees him smiling at his phone, a light blush on his face because he's recalling the passionate encounter between you two in the elevator, her face sours.

"I think you need to get help. You have a porn addiction," she frowns at him.

He's too happy to argue back. "Yeah, sure, maybe."

She makes a sound of disgust. "I don't know what a man your age still watches that stuff for."

Again he makes no answer, choosing instead to cold-shoulder her anger, hoping she'll just complain her anger away while he texts you, in between reading work emails. Waiting for a quiet moment in her muttering, he asks, "So, how was work?"

"It was long.. and hard," she says, putting laundry away in the dresser.

Dave's knuckles grow white with holding back from telling her everything he knows she's done. Playing pretend has never been so damn difficult. He swallows the bile that dares to rise in his throat when he thinks how she's played him. "I bet. Sounds rough."

A little sigh from her, and when he glances up he swears he sees a little pink on her cheeks in her reflection in the vanity mirror. "It was pretty rough," she says lightly.

His eyes narrow and he can practically feel the blood pulsing through his body. How can she be so callous, so uncaring about the risks she's taking? Does she know how she's just stringing him along?

"I can imagine," he replies, voice tight.

Carol must sense his sarcasm, because she turns in her seat to glare at him. "You don't know what it's like for me. The long hours, the responsibility, the lives I hold in the palm of my hand."

He nearly snorts in laughter. "No, you're right, Carol. I don't know what any of that is like. All I do is go to the office and joke around with the guys, fuck the paralegals, and come home to a cold bed, spend my money on webcam girls, then go to sleep, only to start it all over in the morning. With you as the occasional guest star," he rants.

"You're outrageous," she mutters, slicking on some lip balm. "I don't have time for this. I'm going out."

To see Joel Dave finishes her sentence, hands fisted at his side as he tries to control his breathing. Only his wife can make him so hotheaded, so willing to damn everything to hell over a snide comment.

"You don't have time for what?" he repeats. "To talk to me?"

"What's there to talk about? We stopped talking and fucking a long time ago." She's in the closet putting on a silk blouse and looking for shoes to go with it.

"You always use work as an excuse. You do it deliberately to avoid being here at all!"

"I had a life before I met you! Excuse me for trying to find a little fulfillment apart from you and the girls. You don't define me!"

That comment stings. Dave hasn't realized until now how big a part of his life Carol's been, and how much of his youth he spent building a life she would love. Now here she is dumping all over it.

"I never wanted to define you. I just wanted to make you happy," he says quietly.

His sincerity does nothing for her. "Do you want a fucking parade?"

"You know what? A parade would be great because at least I'd be getting some attention. I-"

He's cut off as Carol grabs him and kisses him. Taken off guard, Dave freezes, his body unable to react to her lips on his. Finally he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently pushes her away, breaking the contact and stepping back. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you want to?" she asks, looking almost hurt. She comes close again and presses the flat of her palm against his crotch then takes it away as if she's burned herself. "You're not even hard."

The blood rushes back to his cock as he recalls the way your lips wrapped around him, tongue laving him as your beautiful eyes gazed up so innocently. Of course he's not hard when you drained every drop of him earlier.

"Of course I'm not," he says, turning away so she can't see the longing in his eyes, the obvious bulge when he does start to get hard again thinking about you in that elevator. "Do you expect me to be in the mood when we're arguing?"

"You used to tear my clothes off after every argument. Or have you forgotten?"

He remembers well the passion of their youth. Carol had always been feisty and tempestuous and that excited him before. Their arguments, no matter the subject, typically led to a passionate embrace. And now.. perhaps time has reshaped them.

"Will you at least lay down with me?" Carol's request comes as a surprise, given how demure she sounds. He looks at her, resting on her side of the bed, and he almost feels guilty for his earlier transgression with you. But he knows Carol has done worse, and likely has been for a long time.

But he's been with her this long out of habit, or maybe it's because she knows how to play him, and only recently stopped the game, tossing her cards aside and abandoning the rules when that stupid plumber came around.

What Dave can't resist is a little peace around the house, an interim white flag. And that particular white flag is in the form of laying next to his wife, watching her fall asleep as her eyes flutter shut.

You return to Dave's house, still under the impression that you're going to hang out, maybe make some dinner with the kids while Carol's gone. There are two cars in the driveway this time, and as you make your way to the door you wonder how to introduce yourself if Carol's actually here.

The girls let you in, hugging your legs as you come inside. Heart brimming over, you ruffle their hair, placing soft kisses on the tops of their heads.

"Mommy and Daddy are asleep," they tell you, bringing you to the half-open door of the master bedroom.

You're unprepared for the stab of jealousy as you see husband and wife resting peacefully, holding hands in their slumber.

Has he forgiven her? Has she somehow wormed her way back into his heart? Maybe he's loved her all this time and is willing to overlook her discretions, just as you secretly forgave Javier's for so many years. Maybe neither of you have any backbone when it comes to letting people walk all over you. Maybe it's a secret kink.

You can only control your own choices, and as soon as you sit alone in your car, you let the silence engulf you before you pull up the application for the culinary program in Paris, quickly entering your info before applying, sealing your fate.

Dave wakes before Carol, rubbing his eyes and stretching. It's nearly ten p.m. and he checks his phone, jolting up when he realizes he never texted you not to come over. The fight with Carol and the tenuous white flag raised between them had come so suddenly that he'd not given thought to the night in he promised you.

He gets out of bed, careful not to wake his wife. As soon as he leaves the room the girls are on him, telling him you came by but had already left. Dave quickly shuts the door as quietly as he can, to stop Carol from hearing them. He takes them out of the hallway and questions them.

"She told us not to wake you up," Molly says.

"Did she say anything else?" Dave's heart is in his throat.

"She told us to be good and that you and Mommy love us," Alice answers. "Can she come over every day?"

"She was crying," Molly added.

That's a twist of the knife already in his heart. He imagines how it must have been for you, walking in and seeing him with his wife, probably assuming the worst.

"Did she say where she was going?" he asks.

"No," they answer, already bored with the questions. "Can we go spend the night at Michelle's?"

"No, honey, it's very late," he says, heart skipping a beat when his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Tim.

With an ache in his gut, throat constricted, he answered, somehow able to speak. "This is David," he answers, quickly moving out onto the patio to take the call.

"Mr. York, this is Rockford. Do you have time to come in tomorrow so I can discuss my findings." The PI is pretty blunt, just what Dave needs to get out of the cloud of confusion he's in.

"Tomorrow? Can't you just tell me now?" The thought of having to wait another twelve hours is excruciating.

"That's not the way I like to do things, Mr. York. But if this is an ASAP kind of thing you can drop by my office." He gives the address which Dave quickly makes a mental note of.

Of course Carol makes a face when he tells her he has to go into work. A necessary lie, but he takes note of how much she seems to dislike having to stay home. He wonders if she misses Joel, if she even loves him. That's a thought he tries not to entertain for too long or it'll drive him crazy.

The PI's office is in a small room overhead a Korean grocery shop downtown. As Dave traverses the the entrance via the back alley and up a couple flights of stairs, he gets the notion that he's in a 1930s film noir, complete with dingy hallway with wooden paneling, and a door advertising Tim's services as a PI, the signage somewhat faded on the frosted glass. Dave expects the surly former cop to show up in a trenchcoat and a Trilby, but the man appears in the doorway, a loosened tie and white shirt, gray slacks. Tim looks ready to call it a day.

He offers Dave a drink, to which Dave firstly declines, then decides better of it. If he's offering alcohol, it's probably bad news. He thanks Tim for the proffered bourbon and fortifies himself with a sip as they get situated at Tim's desk.

"As you well know, you've paid me to keep tabs on your wife, one Carol Marie York, forty-four years of age, and have surveiled her comings and goings these past few weeks. This is what I've found."

He pulls out a manila folder from an accordion file index and presents it to Dave. "About eighty percent of the time she's not actually at work, as she gives you reason to believe. The other twenty percent she's definitely at the hospital, keeping herself shut away in her office. No visitors during those times."

There's a sinking feeling in Dave's stomach and he feels all the blood rush from head. He doesn't touch the folder, as if it'll burn him. "And the 'eighty percent' as you say? What's she actually doing? Seeing this.. Joel idiot?"

"I've identified her companion as one Joel Richard Miller, fifty years of age, a plumber with a company that services Mercy Memorial, the hospital where Carol works."

Dave leans back in his chair, his grip on his glass of bourbon growing tighter. "That must be how they met.."

"They are not seen together at the hospital," Tim continues. "Their typical MO is to meet at the Starlight Motel, less than an hour from here." He takes the folder and leafs through the info. There are photos of Carol and Joel meeting up in separate cars, going into the same room, smiling, kissing, holding each other while they think they're not being watched.

"I have photos and audio, if you want further evidence."

"Audio??"

Tim shrugs. "Just between us, I have a friend on the force who lends me better equipment for high profile cases such as yours. It's not always easy to get pictures through the windows."

"What.. what's on the audio?" Dave asks, almost timidly. He knows the ascertainment of such evidence by such means is toggling some very blurry lines of legality, but for once in his life he's not going to play by the rules. Forty five years of being good has earned him some legroom to forgo his typically heroic beliefs.

Another sigh from Tim. "You can listen for yourself, or I can tell you: they're definitely fucking."

"Oh, god." Dave puts his glass down on the desk and holds his head in his hands. Tim, used to such reactions, goes around his desk and gives his client a strong pat on the back.

"I'm never happy to pass on news like this," he comforts Dave. "But you have a right to know. You're not the first man whose wife stepped out on him. What you do with this information is completely up to you." He passes the brokenhearted man a box of tissues, letting him have his moment.

"Tell me more about this Joel guy." Dave's voice is strained.

"He's single, lives alone on the east side of town. Worked in the home services industry for almost thirty years. He's big. Strong. I'd say ex-football player."

Of course. Joel was the opposite of Dave, in almost every way. Maybe that's the kind of man Carol needs. Or maybe she's just slumming. Now faced with more questions than answers, Dave slams back the rest of his bourbon, all his senses buzzing.

"I don't usually do this," he says, coming back around his desk to face his client head on. "But you seem like a good guy. If you want, we can catch them in the act."

"How?"

Tim relays the evidence, the patterns of their meeting nights and times, the place already established. Dave doesn't know how he'd not been able to see the signs right in front of him. The late nights all matched up at the same hours, on the same nights, with rare exceptions.

"If all goes according to plan, they'll meet up tomorrow night at the motel. You can be there to catch them in the act, and I'll be there to make sure nothing happens that shouldn't."

It doesn't take a lawyer's imagination to think of every possible result from him catching Carol and Joel red-handed. It would be satisfying, despite the evidence Tim has gathered. He needs to confront them in person, demand answers. Maybe Joel doesn't even know Carol's married. Worse, maybe he knows and just doesn't care.

"Let's do it," Dave agrees.

After leaving Dave's, you drove straight to work, throwing yourself into doing some work after hours, handling the invoices and filling out supply orders ahead of schedule. Anything to keep you from thinking about what you saw. Soon you found your office too confining, and started moving packages to the front, refilling display cases and restocking shelves, making room for new books. Anything to keep you distracted.

A knock at the glass door snaps you from your spell and you see Dave, peering in, waving to you. With a knot in your gut you go and open the door.

"Hey," you say quietly once he's inside.

"Hey," he says back, stuffing his hands in his pocket, unsure what to do with them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you.. to talk. I went by your place but your sister said you were here."

"She wanted to get away from my parents for a bit, and keep Maple company."

"Good.. that's good." Dave nods.

"You could have called. You didn't need to come over."

"I wanted to see you." A ghost of a smile passes his lips, warming you a little.

"I saw you with Carol," you mutter. "In your bed.. it looked like you'd forgiven her."

A shard of guilt pierces him. "I know.. the girls told me. I am so sorry, baby." He makes a move to reach out for you but pauses. "Please.. look at me."

You reluctantly bring your eyes to his, brimming over with tears. He takes your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "I promise you, it wasn't what it looked like." He could kick himself for saying such a cliche thing. You've probably heard it over and over from Javier.

"Do you still love her?"

The question hits him like a kick in the stomach, and his immediate instinct is to say no, that he doesn't love Carol at all, and he wouldn't be going through all this if he did. But that's far too black and white, too easy of an explanation. And he doesn't want to lie to you.

"It's complicated," he mumbles.

You don't say anything for a long while, leaving him tense and worried.

"She's the mother of my children, and the first woman I was ever serious about. We fought last night," he continued, "and then I guess we just had no more fight left in us." He sighs. "I just came back from Rockford's office. She's having an affair with that plumber."

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "I'll send some condolence cookies to your office." You turn to go, torn between wanting to comfort him and needing to turn him away.

It's too tempting right now to start an argument, all your pent up passion needing to be externalized. "My own divorce wasn't nearly as messy as this situation is. I don't love my ex-husband. There's nothing complicated about it."

"Will you listen to me?" he goes after you, grabbing your hand and turning you to face him. "Yes, it's complicated with Carol. It always has been. The only uncomplicated part about my life is you!"

Now the tears fall freely. "Dave, I can't risk my heart getting involved any further. I have to protect it." You wipe your face with the heel of your hand, makeup smudged but you could care less. "You deserve more than being a cuckold. I would never do to you what she did. If I had you in my bed every night I'd have no need of satisfaction elsewhere."

That thought sets him ablaze, the memory of you on your knees in that cramped elevator, your tight wet mouth wrapped around him.. he could have that every night if he could leave Carol so easily.

"I know you wouldn't.. because you actually care about me."

"No, Dave. I fucking love you." Realizing what you just said is a jolt to your system, but you continue. "Please don't choose the woman who betrayed you over the woman who's madly in love with you."

He takes a breath and cups your cheek, gazing into your eyes as he speaks. There's a vulnerability in his voice. "Do you really mean that?"

Your feelings are laid bare, your heart open to him and there's nothing more frightening or more exhilarating. "Dave, I shouldn't have said-"

He shakes his head, silencing you with a firm but gentle touch. "Please, just let me say this. The fact is, I'd choose you. If if came down to it and I had to choose, there would be no contest. I'd choose you. Every damn time."

Your lips meet his in a crashing kiss, alighting both of you with need. Hands on your hips he presses you to the nearest flat surface, a large wooden bookshelf. Dave's kisses travel down your jaw, your neck, and he rips open the top buttons of your dress to get to the swell of your pretty breasts, pressing messy kisses and love bites on your supple skin.

"I need you," you moan, "right now." Your desire is growing out of control.

"God.. I need you too," he says breathlessly. He unbuttons his jeans, quickly pulling down what he needs to, while you hurriedly remove your panties. He grabs your thigh, hooks your leg around him as he presses the tip of him to your dewy folds, teasing you until you're squirming with need.

"This okay?" His breath is hot against your ear. "I don't have a condom. I can pull out.."

You shake your head. Even if you weren't on birth control you'd want to feel him in every way, want that glorious pump of his seed filling you. "It's okay, I'm good, I want it."

He eagerly lines himself up. "You're dripping already.. fuck, I don't think I can hold back.." He slides into you, slowly, savoring this moment he knows he'll look back on for years to come. "I love you," he moans, unable to help the last snap of his hips that delivers his full length into you. He's surrounded by you, warm and tight and oh so wet. "I wanted to be inside you when I said that," he confesses, thrusting home again, filling you deeply.

"Dave," you moan, looping your arms around his neck as he thrusts at a languid pace, shivering from keeping himself at bay. He's a stretch to fit, but he keeps his thumb on your clit, working in small circles as he fills you.

"Please, fuck me," you beg, nails digging into the nape of his neck as you break from a sloppy, delicious kiss. "We waited too long for this.. fuck me now and make love to me later."

He shakes his head, the pleasure already creeping up into his balls. "Gonna come if I don't stop now." He picks you up and carries you to the nearest sofa, both of you giggling as he tries to walk with his pants down around his ankles.

He places you on the sofa, legs spread apart for him as he settles himself beneath you, raising the hem of your dress over your hips. Hooking your legs under his arms he brings you to the edge of the cushion and places small, teasing kisses along the insides of your thighs, groaning as you run your fingers through his hair.

Dave looks at you like you're a miracle, breath warm on your soft skin, tongue dipping out to taste you. He'd had a taste earlier when he licked your cream off his fingers, but there's nothing like drinking from the source. "I love you," he rasps, saying it after planting each kiss upon your thigh, until he reaches his destination, blowing soft cool air on your clit.

"Dave," you groan again, hips eager for him to press forward.

"Payback," he reminds you how you teased him in the elevator almost twelve hours before.

"Mmm.. punish me as you see fit.."

He takes his time once he's there, languidly licking a stripe up your center, delighting in your sweet little moan as his tongue swipes over your clit. His tongue delves into your folds as if to memorize your shape and your taste. You sigh when he pays attention to one side, and your entire body tenses when he laps along the other. When he fucks you with his tongue the handsome curve of his nose rubs against your clit until you're a shivering mess beneath him, your essence all over his face.

Waiting until you're just on the edge, he pulls back, using his fingers just as before, knowing what it will take to get you to come all over his hand. He pulls the most beautiful moans from you, such symphonic sighs as you scream his name. And the cherry on top is when he purses his lips around your taut little clit and sucks as his fingers curl inside you, making you moan louder than he's ever heard anyone as you coat his face with your juices.

He's inside you again, your warmth clasping around him as if he belongs there, in your perfect pussy, buried deeply as he pistons his hips against yours, the culmination of every fantasy he's ever stored up about you now becoming real as you buck your hips up beneath him, demanding all of him, taking every inch because you're made just for him.

True to his word, he fucks you, makes you his in every way. There's nothing so perfect as the feeling of you coming on his cock, squeezing him and urging on his own climax. Once again ensuring that you want him to, he comes hard, painting your sweet cunt with his spend until it's spilling out of you while he's still inside. There's no doubt when you're screaming his name and it's ringing throughout the empty bookstore, you belong to each other and always have.

"Are you okay?" he asks sometime later when you've both caught your breath, holding onto each other for dear life.

"I'm wonderful," you answer, body still thrumming with pleasure, a lightness in your heart that nothing else has ever produced.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

(sorry it's a little later than I promised!)

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[maybege]

MISS MAAM YOU FUCKIN KILLED ME WITH THE HOTCHER BLOWJOB OF A LIFE TIME ON THE MF PLANE AND THE SEQUEL?!?!?!! Amazing, chefs kiss, 10/10. I will be patiently awaiting your next smutty goodness bc girl u got that shit down

Oh god thank you so much 🥰 I’m so happy you liked it!! And I will make sure to get some more Hotch goodness written soon 😌

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

I just opened tumblr cause I wanted to tell you something but I’ll do that in a second message in a second, because I saw your new stories and this has priority!

First, the new boba story??? Insane. Didn’t know I needed this in my life but I absolutely did 🫠 one of the things I liked best (you know .. besides everything) was how he initially turned the offer down, and only went for it after it was clear that this was more than that. Cause like.. the teasing but also the respect in that moment? 10/10.

And then I see the Paz idea about underwear modeling??? I hope you know that this will haunt my dreams for forever now 🙈🫠

Helloooo! Oh what a pleasure it is to see your name in my inbox, I hope you’re doing well! 🥰 I’m so excited you liked the Boba story and noticed the little rejection detail 👀 That was really important to me because we all know he is an absolute King when it comes to consent and I think it’s super important to know that Reader really wants it 👀👀

As for the Paz idea …. Girl, I just had another filthy idea for that which I’ll post in a second because it literally has me blushing 😳 (also not sure if it’ll belong to the model idea or just a separate one altogether, we’ll see …)

[ma1dita]

ky they'll get there i PROMISEEEEE HAHAHA three chapters left till i lose my personality on this hellsite

not your goddess

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 8k holy shit this is the longest fic for this series so far summary: (established relationship (uhhhh, well…)) The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. Change in perspective is always good, but it makes you and Luke see your futures quite differently—you wonder if you’ll be together in it at all. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: mmmyeah this is a songfic - goddess by laufey. references to waiting for godot by samuel beckett if you squint

—

[ it always goes like this, could've predicted it || i'm so naïve to think you loved me for me, kissed as I ran off stage || you're too old to play this game, guess you're still growing up at thirty nineteen]

Once you open yourself up to someone and bare your soul to them in honesty, they get a choice whether they want to be with you or not. It’s as simple and as convoluted as that. Normal humans are complex as it is—but to be a demigod must mean to endure all of that and then some. Luke has been especially hard to reach lately, and trying to understand him feels like grappling wisps of smoke. You let him build his whole life around you without either of you realizing and suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in. Though maybe he always knew that—Luke Castellan is always intentional, and always full of surprises. 

“We should run away from here.”

His voice breaks through the crunching of dead leaves underfoot on your trek to the stables. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking, even harder to decipher when your eyes meet in the dim light hanging above the Dutch doors that you walk through. 

The two of you move as if partners in an orchestrated dance, the steps routine and not needing instruction; you fill up the water troughs and he steps around you to grab the bag of feed while his other hand grazes your waist, beckoning you to the next task. Most days are like this now, plotted out perfectly from sunrise to sunset. 

To be content means that most of it is predictable, and some might call it boring, but it comes with the inner satisfaction that what the both of you share is only yours. 

It’s peaceful.

Neither of you has ever really had that—and in your own way, both of you want to hold onto it for as long as you have it. Like how comets are always predictable; the knowing doesn’t make them any less beautiful.

“Let’s go now then,” you chuckle lightly, not looking at him as you shut off the hose. Bowie, your pegasus, brays in thanks as he dunks his muzzle into the trough, splashing water at your ankles. The water is frigid, a chill crawling up your spine and when you look up, Luke’s already staring at you solemnly, almost blending in with the shadows that drape over the barn. He stands there leaning against the wooden fence with his sharp, stone-faced features carved out by moonlight.

“Baby?” 

Eyebrows furrowing, you take a step towards him and he’s eerily still, holding a hand out for you. His fingers don’t shake once you intertwine them with your own and he’s so sure of himself that his resolve is like a suit of armor. What a funny thought—him needing protection from you of all people, the girl he lays bare with most nights and who knows him at his most vulnerable. 

“What do you think? Do I look like I’m joking?”

Luke’s words creak like metal hinges—coming off abrasive at the sight of your resistant expression. Truthfully, he hates it when you look at him like this—like there’s something wrong about him that you’re convinced you can fix. You don’t do it on purpose, but he’d like to think that you don’t think of him as one of your little DIY projects. This is different, calculated—his plans for the both of you will map out the rest of your future.

“Are…are you planning to leave?”

Though you hate to make the comparison, he’s a lot like his father: a one-track mind with only him knowing what’s coming next. Luke just expects everyone else to keep up, and you’re left feeling like someone’s pulled the rug out from under you as he holds onto your wrists firmly in the dim light. He’s nervous, even if he doesn’t show it. You can still tell by the way his voice cracks, a melancholy sound like he’s pleading for you to understand a hidden meaning you must’ve missed in the past few months of bliss.

 “We are,” he corrects, before his voice begins to falter, “I mean we can. We…we should,” he says tentatively, and your arms jerk forward with the motion as you stumble into his grasp, “Think of it, babe. We could get out of here and do something great. Make a life for ourselves.”

You squint.

He’s not even asking, and that makes it worse, you think—it’s like he’s already got one foot out the door. You’re not sure if he even considered you possibly saying no.

Are you?

Entertaining frivolous conversations that your boyfriend has with you before bed is one thing—but acting on them? The truth is that you’ve never afforded yourself a future outside of the reality that you have now. You never thought you’d have this after everything—running across the country to find your father and make this family in nowhere New York. It wasn’t a possibility that your 14-year-old self would’ve ever dreamed of. 

But then it happened, and you count your lucky stars that it led you to Luke. This is your home; you built it from the ground up with him the day you both stepped into your roles and washed your hands of stupid pranks. And maybe what you’ve always dreamt of is something you already have now.

Is that a crime? To like your reality better because it’s tangible—not everyone needs to be the main character in a sweeping saga. You do have a life, and you’d like to say it’s pretty alright, all things considered.

“Luke,” you swallow, face scrunching up in the way it does when he knows you’re about to say no, “I mean what about our responsibilities? What about…”

It was cute back when you were fourteen, but he now finds that he hates the way your nose scrunches up when you disagree with something, and it always makes him feel stupid for even asking in the first place. Luke steps away, dropping your hands as he sighs gruffly, “That’s a shit excuse, you know that, babe.” Dust kicks up from under his feet and you think he looks like a child about to throw a tantrum. The pegasi whinny softly behind you, and if they could talk it would probably be something like, Oh shit. Like a flip of a switch, he’s erratic, something pent up inside of him is now uncontrolled.

“I mean what do you want me to say, Luke? You want us to leave? Just disappear and leave Annie and Grover… and my brothers? What then? We don’t have money or degrees, or anywhere to go to—”

“We could make do—I mean we’ve both done it before Trouble, and now we can be together without all this. We don’t need camp. Or the gods’ blessings, I mean what did they ever do for us?” 

He’s tired, you think—because the Luke standing in front of you right now isn’t anything like the one you know. Your Luke loves your campers as much as you do; he’s the type that gives piggyback rides and teaches the little ones how to swim in Canoe Lake. He prays at every mealtime—twice as long because you don’t see the point in it, and likes to fall asleep against your chest in the twinkly lights of cabin 12.

The Luke you know would never want to run away from the home you’ve both created for yourselves. Not without a proper plan. Luke always says that he loves making plans just as much as he loves you, which must mean a lot.

You already have what you want, for now. That’s the contingency of it—for now. You just don’t see it getting better than this; finding camp meant finding yourself, and that’s what your mother always wanted for you. Having a real shot of being a family, even if your dad drives you nuts, and the twins like to fill the bathtub with root beer, and Annie constantly demanding she prove that she knows the first 500 digits of pi comes with the path you chose. 

Family—it’s what you were promised.

“We’re not ready, Luke. I mean… the real world out there is a lot worse than getting a C in archery or avoiding bathroom duty. We’ve still got some growing up to do—what’s the rush?”

He’s testy now—jaw swinging the crick in his neck and he does this when he’s about to say something mean, like the words have to fight their way out of his mouth, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Luke watches you look cluelessly at him like nothing he’s saying is making sense and it’s so frustrating that it makes his head hurt. What happened to you—his free-spirited girl who would follow wherever he leads? You don’t know how crucial this all is—Luke needs to know…

He needs to know if you’ll still follow him wherever he goes, even if it’s away from everything you have here.

But maybe you both imagined growing old together quite differently then.

“You’re making it sound like I’m in over my head about this when I know you don’t like it here. Listen to what I’m trying to tell you,” he bristles, hand leaning over the wooden beam above your head, “This place is getting old. We’re getting old. I want everything with you. Can’t you see that?” It feels like he’s caging you in, and he makes it sound so simple that it makes you laugh.

“Of course I do. All I’m saying is we should think this through more. I mean…We’re demigods. I’m not saying we can’t handle it and I’m not saying no, but—”, you barely finish the sentence before Luke interrupts you again. 

The difficulty with Luke is that when he wants something, he wants it with his entire being. And he never goes down without a fight—even when its with you.

“But you’re not saying yes. Then what are you saying? That you wouldn’t be happy with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you swing yourself out from under his arm and start taking off your apron because clearly, work is not on the agenda tonight. You fling it onto the hook before spinning around to look at him.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I am happy with you. Here. Where it’s safe. Where we have beds to sleep in and food to eat and the only real reason I have to look over my shoulder is to see if my dad’s bribing your siblings to sneak him alcohol,” you say half-jokingly, and it so badly misses the mark as you see his brows furrow deeper into his forehead. 

“Give me a break,” he seethes, your name rolling out of his lips like acid and he has more to say but doesn’t know if he should. But he’s already started something and you’re just waiting for him to finish it. He has a habit of doing this, rolling the words around in his mouth for dramatic effect. 

This is gonna hurt.

“Oh just spit it out, Luke. Don’t whine like a baby.”

“Your dad? He’s a fucking joke. Can’t stand him half the time and I don’t know how you do,” he starts, pacing around you like a boxer in a ring. You stand still as a statue, eyes lit and tracking him in the dark as he continues, “You know I’m right. He’s just keeping you busy because now that he has you, he wants to control you. And you don’t even get a pat on the back.”

“You do not wanna go there, I can promise you that.”

“Well, I am. Because I’m tired of watching you waste your potential. You used to be so…exciting,” His arms swing around him like feathered wings and Luke shakes his head, turning away from you to look at the moon, “I need you to care about our future too, okay? Cut the shit and be a real fucking person for once and not whatever this little puppet show you put on for your dad is because it drives me crazy sometimes. All the time. I’m losing it, Trouble. Can’t you tell?”

It feels like a blow to the chest and you take a deep breath to placate your feelings in case they’re tampering with his—and you find that the anger is all his own. Your words shoot out like a lit cannon in rebuttal, “This drives you crazy? I didn’t know it was so hard on you, Luke. Poor you, picking up after me when you literally offer to help,” you scoff, stomping over to get him to look at you since he’s so intent on having this conversation, “Do you think you get granted immortality for checking off campers on your attendance log?” He can’t have thought it would be that easy, can’t have imagined you wouldn’t get defensive when things don’t go your way. Because it’s been like that for a while now, and Luke’s been falling off pace with life here. He’s not the all-star golden boy he used to be. Deep down, you know that too; he only likes it here because you do. They say with anything the first year is the hardest—and although he wouldn’t change a thing with your relationship, this took work. Loving you was supposed to be his reward, and it’s as if he doesn’t know you anymore. 

He’s not sure he knows himself that well anymore either.

“Of course not! That’s exactly what I’m saying—all of this won’t help us, so why are we exhausting ourselves instead of focusing on what’s important?” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the curls to anchor himself to this argument. And now you just want to strike back, to be damned with the consequences. Real love is a mirror, and although it's your first big fight…sometimes it hurts to be seen better than how you see yourself, and it hurts less to inflict it upon someone else instead of admitting that it hurts you.

“Oh so I’m exhausting to be with, is that it?”

He rips his apron off and tosses it at you, “Yes. Is that what you want me to say? You want a bad guy, you’ll get one. I don’t know what to—” His anger has always brewed like a storm—quiet and rumbling under the surface until he’s ready to strike. It comes down all at once and you’re covered in it with no way out but through. You bat the fabric to the ground angrily.

“You wanna repeat that?”

He laughs, a mocking, snarling sound, “You know what, it makes sense now—you’re just like your father. It all tracks!”

Your jaw tightens, pushing through by giving him another chance, testing him. Daring him.

“You wanna say that again?”

The wind picks up at his feet as he spins around you so fast it almost gives you whiplash, “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He’s tired and angry, but you’ve never seen this other side of him before—this ferocity that was unleashed at the idea of you wanting something he might not. Maybe you both are too similar then, too stubborn to give in until someone breaks.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Castellan. I’m warning you. Just because your dad hates you doesn’t mean that mine does.”

He laughs. 

Luke laughs like you’ve just told him you’ve put Chiron in another dress and that pigs can fly but then he looks at you… He looks at you with his chestnut brown eyes and they’re just empty, boring deep into your soul.

“What happened to you?”

It’s a weird feeling, to know someone so well that you can see the other side of them they can’t see for themselves. You haven’t got a single clue.

“I grew up. You were there, Luke. You helped me do it. I wanted to be just like you—the role model, the one that people like, and what, now that I'm not just some crazy idea in your head you’re bored?” 

Your voice cracks and so does a piece of Luke’s heart. You’re too tenderhearted, too good for him, and everything about you sends shockwaves through his being. This is what he told Kronos—even if you had it in you to force the gods to kneel and listen, would you be able to make the jump? Luke blinks, tuning back into your words.

“I mean you’re not even asking. It seems like you’ve made your decision for us. What does that mean to you? Us?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. His apology feels heavier than it should, and you can’t figure out why. He won’t let you find out if he even means it. 

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what you’re sorry for, and now as soon as we’re happy, you get bored. You wanna talk about fathers, you’re just like yours too. Happy?” 

The words come out almost explosive, a shot in the dark and you didn’t think you’d say it, but you did. Thoughtless, without care, until it sinks into him like a sharp blade. Luke’s face hardens and you’re not sure how long he’s been standing so far away.

“Are we?”

It’s almost lights out and you’re still here arguing with Luke, so today was not as predictable as you thought it would be. Unease grips you by the scrap of your neck like a merciless kitten, holding on for dear life. This isn’t a feeling you should associate with the love of your life.

“What did you say?”

“Like you said, we’re demigods,” he says whispering your name, “what do we do now that we’re happy? That usually means something worse is coming up ahead.” Luke scoffs, half in disbelief at his own realization, the other half in defeat, “We’re meant for more than just being happy—that…this isn’t enough. We’re meant for glory, not shoveling pegasi shit and taking care of children instead of planning for a future with our own. This shouldn’t be the end of us.”

Your lip quivers, tongue in cheek and you need to touch something, hold someone, to remind yourself that this is happening. But you don’t reach out to him because if you get too close he’ll see the tears in your eyes. Grabbing the dandy brush, you trudge over to Bowie and rake it through his hair, mumbling, “I’m happy. I’ve got you,” you swallow, turning to Luke, “I love you.”

He’s already in the doorway, swinging the bottom panel closed with his hip as he looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Bowie brays next to you and it sounds like someone blowing a raspberry when they’re tired of a situation—maybe you are going crazy and they do understand—but one thing you do know is that you can’t understand Luke right now. 

The truth is that love is a bunch of horseshit, really.

[ oh, were you surprised by me when you took me home? || When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone || i can't even tell who you want to know || i'm a goddess on stage, human when we're alone]

Your knees hit the dirt again, falling forward onto your hands as you dry heave. In the blink of an eye, you feel Maimer resting against the apex of your neck.

“Yield.”

Clarisse La Rue has barely broken a sweat during this spar, and yet here you are at her feet feeling like today’s breakfast will make a reappearance on the arena floor. The younger girl rolls her eyes as she pulls you up by the leather strap of your chest plate, sighing at the unnatural pallor of your skin as she flops onto a bench with your dead weight following suit as your knees buckle.

“You know, I knew you said you were bad at this, but are you even trying?” she scoffs, throwing a water bottle at you that you fumble in your hands. Winning never feels as good when the other person isn’t putting up a fight. You gulp down the icy refreshment, shutting your eyes for a moment to escape the blinding sun as you mutter, “Never been a fighter unless necessary, Risse. That’s all you.”

“Alright, enough of this.”

Your eyes wrench open as you lean back on your forearms to look at the daughter of Ares. At thirteen, she’s a force of nature on her own and unlike anyone else at camp, Clarisse would never mince her words for the sake of others’ feelings. You needed someone to tell it to you straight.

“You know everyone can tell when you and Luke fight, right? I mean it rarely happens but when it does it always feels like the world is out of balance until you both fix it.”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face and unintentionally hiding from her. That couldn’t be true—the world does not revolve around whether or not a daughter of Dionysus and a son of Hermes had their shit together.

But Camp Half-Blood does.

“You’re lying, La Rue. It’s really not that deep.”

And then she looks at you like you’re stupid, which might be her customary expression for anyone else but to you—well, she at least respects you. For now, unless you keep whining like a badly written love interest.

“Gods, woman. You were so much cooler back then, what the hell happened to you?”

“Clarisse, it isn’t that easy—-” you grumble, putting your face in your hands as you stare at the dirt. Of course, you know that everyone knows, secrets run through Camp Half-Blood like running water. It slips through your fingers easily, soaking through the ground until everyone’s stuck in the mud. Your boots sink slightly into the softening earth and Clarisse realizes you’re crying before you do. 

Why the fuck are you crying? 

It was a stupid argument and it probably doesn’t mean anything but for once, you don’t know what to do. It feels stupid that your body decided to cry before your brain could come to the conclusion. This all feels so stupid.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry, weirdo,” she mumbles, unsure of what to do with a crying head counselor. Her calloused hands rub small circles into your back, and she can’t help but think you need more girlfriends your age. Scooting closer to you, she says, “What I meant was that you were way cooler when you didn’t give a shit about what people think about you, much less Luke Castellan. You’re starting to sound like you’re from 10, and I swear Sil is the only tolerable person from that cabin. Stop crying, please…”

You sniff, “Ugh… This is so dumb. Just lost myself for a second.” The statement rings true, and it bothers you more than you thought it would. There is so much more to you than playing the part of the agreeable girlfriend, the caretaker, the perfect daughter, that if you stared at yourself in the mirror you might not recognize who’s staring back. So many parts to play, and so little of you left.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is,” Clarisse sighs, “and I’m no good at this feelings shit, but I think you need to remember that you’re allowed to be someone without him…without all of this. And you owe it to yourself to find out who that is.” You look up at her with watery eyes, tucking hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you absorb her words better. 

You can’t believe you’re getting sound advice from a thirteen-year-old, much less a child of Ares on matters of love. 

“It’s nice to be needed,” you mumble, “my greatest honor, I think. But it might also be my downfall.” 

Clarisse smiles crookedly like she’s watching you through a fresh set of eyes. There’ll be no words of this conversation once you leave the arena—the both of you have a friendship unlike most girls here at camp. Never touchy-feely, typical girl talk, but always what you need to hear. 

“How terrifyingly human of you. Yuck.”

“I can’t go on like this,” you groan, slumping further into your folded-over position and she sighs, going to take a sip from her water bottle before squeezing your shoulder.

“That’s what you think.”

[ you took a star to bed, woke up with me instеad || you must have felt so damn decеived when you made up a version of me that you thought you loved || but I am not your Aphrodite ]

When you were fifteen years old and he was just a month shy of it, you had somehow convinced Luke Castellan to run away from camp with you. 

This was back then. Just for a day—just for the tiniest taste of freedom. 

Luke had been at camp for almost a year, and Rye Playland sounded so much cooler than food service with the nymphs—which is one of the few things he would agree with you on. The both of you had kitchen duty for two weeks after getting caught attacking each other during Capture the Flag despite being on the same team, and it ended up with you ripping the fabric off the stick and chucking it into the middle of Canoe Lake. He’s lucky you didn’t lunge for his head, but the game was forfeit, and cabin 6 didn’t talk to you two for weeks because you threw the game. Including Annie, which was a surprising feat in itself.

After that day, you swore to never do anything Luke made himself in charge of and Chiron swore you two would never be on the same team again. You could remember D’s voice that day and how it boomed through the Big House, reminiscent of his father—a crackle of fury and impalpable seriousness that had Luke shaking slack-jawed in the chairs facing the mahogany desk. He’d never been told off by a parent before, much less an Olympian.

Taking it in stride even as the god threatened to turn you both into dolphins, you mimed the conversation when your father’s back turned, copying the odd quirk in D’s brow and conjuring a mouthful of grapes for teeth. You grinned at the son of Hermes like an idiot, a singular ripe sphere shooting out to make an audible thwack against D’s red Hawaiian shirt that made Luke laugh the loudest, ugliest guffaw you’ve ever heard him let out. He choked on his spit when the god jerked his head back to face the both of you like a comic-book villain.

Honestly, he might’ve peed himself a little. Just a tiny bit.

And the god of insanity himself was at his wits’ end—which is rare for him, very few things can get him to that point. Even less so with people. Pathetic, puny, little people he can drive to madness and violent death. 

But not his baby girl—you know every last nerve to step on, a lot like your mother sure, but still all him in every way it mattered. He loved it, even when he was mad at you like this. He just wasn’t good at showing it, and you knew that to some extent. Plus, you can’t take a man in a Hawaiian shirt seriously, much less a god.

So you and your self-proclaimed archnemesis (frenemy, Luke insists) find yourselves running down Farm Road before first light, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind you as you rush to catch the LIRR at a stop two towns over.

It was a small amusement park filled with different money-grabbing oddities, tooth-rotting confections, and rickety, squeaking rides that the conductors could fold into suitcases at the end of the day.

Sketchy, but so much fun. You made Luke go on all the kiddie rides with you and screamed your head off like a lunatic; he apologized to the parents of a toddler and said you had too much sugar—but that was a lie, this was all you in your natural state. Berry chapstick, wind-tousled hair, and a smile brighter than a spotlight. And your laughter, oh, your laughter shook the walls of the funhouse even after you crashed into the fifth mirror being too busy poking fun at the wonder in Luke’s eyes because it was the first time he’s genuinely done something for fun and not out of necessity. It was nice, and so were you, for once.

It was the first time you’d let your guard down for him, he thinks back—watching you toss a ball so badly off target from milk bottles set across the booth. You twisted in his grasp (he doesn’t remember getting so close, Luke still swears he was trying to help you aim) pouting at him with those pretty plum eyes and he sighed so deeply you smelled the cotton candy on his breath. For a moment you wondered if he tasted like it too—and then the worker asked if you’ll be trying again and you went, “Hmm? Maybe he’d be better at it!”

Luke rigged the shot with the snap of his finger, all the milk bottles falling to the ground with a crash and he swore on his life he’d sell out every single one of these stupid games if it gets you to bite your lip at him like that again.

There isn’t a single hint of regret that passed that entire day—you were already in trouble, so you both figured that you might as well enjoy it. By late afternoon, your legs felt like jelly and it felt less like you dragging him around the fairgrounds and more like holding onto him for support (because there’d be no other reason you’d want to hold his hand, your stomach just felt funny…that’s all!) Luke was wolfing down a funnel cake, the powdered sugar dust getting all over his shirt and he looked up to see you staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

Hand pointed in the air, Luke simply shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

But you always had a way of convincing him to do things (Luke is a sucker susceptible to double dog dares) and the both of you are surprised he let you because sooner rather than later, you’re sat knee to knee in a tiny, screeching Ferris wheel cart that inched 100 feet into the sky. The white paint was peeling at his fingertips and the air was warm—Luke tried to focus on that instead of the fact that he was in a metal death chamber in the sky.

“Never imagined a son of Hermes would be scared of heights,” you grinned, nudging him with your foot. You’ve folded into yourself, hugging your knees as you looked at him and he thought that he might be having a heart attack at the ripe age of fourteen and three-quarters. But the pink and purple rays of the waning sun framed you so nicely that he wished he brought a camera—he had the silly photobooth strips from earlier tucked into his pocket, but you looking like that; Luke had etched it into his memory for safekeeping. Not only was he able to breathe a bit easier, but if there was a memory he could materialize from today—it’d be you grinning maniacally through the bars of the cart, pointing at the city in the distance. 

“We’ve finally found something you’re not good at, golden boy,” you grinned, tilting your head to the side and inspecting him like he was a sad hamster in a glass ball.

“M’not scared of heights, I'm just scared of falling,” he reasoned, looking at the rusted floor. You were making your boots dance along to the beat of the fair music, tapping along to the cyclical rhythm. He was more scared of the lack of control he had at this moment—any of the other crazy rides, Luke had stood at the tiny gate next to the conductor holding the plush avocado he won for you, watching and hearing you scream for joy as the machines flung you into the air. The ones he did go on were relatively tamer, and by the third kiddie coaster, he realized that you probably whooped for joy just to make him feel better.

You kissed him on the cheek that day, so close to his mouth (but not close enough) when the Ferris wheel ultimately screeched to a stop. A necessary distraction, you said—but you weren’t sure for who. He tasted sugar-sweet and smelled like the late summer sun. You had never kissed a boy before, unsure if you’d even know how, or if Luke would even want to if you did.

The thought passed when you realized his fingers were clenched and white-tipped onto the guardrails and you…you’re terrible, so you started rocking back and forth, giggling until he yelled at you to stop, pulling you into his lap. 

The conductor thought you two were doing something way less innocent, and you both got kicked out of Rye Playland afterward—but you got your money’s worth.

Well, you both snuck in and Luke definitely pickpocketed someone’s mom.

All in all, it was a great day.

You fell asleep on his shoulder on the way back home, the Long Island Railroad car chilly with the AC. Watching you drool, he thought he might even like traveling again if it’s for fun like this, might even hate his dad less too. Luke threw his whole dinner into the hearth that night with a bright smile on his face even after Mr. D yelled at the both of you in front of everyone at the dining pavilion. After all, the only factor in his life that’s changed in the past year, an addition, if you must— was you.

[ you took me for a fool, you stole my youth, you wanted this so much || you watched me rise then killed my light || and now you know I'm not your fucking goddess ||  oh, i'm no goddess when i'm alone ]

Work is work.

That’s what you’ve both been telling yourselves throughout an already rough week gone even worse, but trying to avoid your significant other is an especially difficult task when you work together. 

It’s the simple truth—you can’t ignore someone you have to talk to primarily because of these two factors: 1. Capture the Flag teams need to be sorted by Thursday mornings to be ready to play on Friday afternoons, and 2. it is weird for campers to see you two not interacting with each other.

Well, it’s Friday now, and you and Luke haven’t talked since that argument in the barn. 

Kind of, but the times you have didn’t count—the past few days have been both of you talking around other people; not directly to each other. Last night at dinner, Chris stared at you like one does when their parents are thinking of getting a divorce, eyes flickering between you two and his cheeseburger. Luke was sitting next to you on the bench blankly picking the tomatoes off his sandwich and you were staring glumly at your slice of pizza.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

He was one of the few brave enough to be blunt about it. You and Luke were all-consuming, like a black hole. It’s hard for others not to notice the gravitational pull, but when it’s bad…. everyone and everything gets sucked in, whether they like it or not. 

“Lee was excited to hear that your cabin is teaming up with them tomorrow. It’ll be quite interesting, all of you with 7 and 9,” you said, wiping grease off the slice with a napkin. Luke’s head jerked in your direction at your words, “Dude what—Chris! I thought I signed off on working with 6? We don’t work with Apollo for a reason,” he hissed, leaning over the table towards his brother. Chris scratched the back of his neck, knowing Luke was right. Cabin 7 isn’t that good in all matters that involve stealth—the last time they worked with them, Austin was scatting under his breath and it got them ambushed by the red team. Opening his mouth to speak, you quickly interjected, “Well it’s about time to change it up—keeps things exciting, don’t you think, Chris?”

Luke sighed, redirecting his brother’s focus to him, “What do you think, man? I just think when it comes to battle strategies we should stick to what works.” Chris swallowed, raising his hand in the air; he was grappling at the edge of a cliff just trying to hold on to either of you—he looked around to see if there was a way out of this. Next to him, Ethan averted his eyes and played with his carrot sticks.

“Funny how that works for battle strategies and not other things,” you hummed around a mouthful of pizza, “Don’t you think, Chris? I just think that you never want to be predictable in these things. It makes everything boring. Or so I’ve heard,” you munched thoughtfully, daring the son of Hermes to break eye contact with you as Luke scoffed, tossing his napkin onto his plate before standing up. He walked off without a second glance, throwing everything into the hearth—plastic tray included, and stormed off toward the cabins. The rest of the table minded their business, shoveling food into their mouths. Chris choked on a french fry.

And you smirked, satisfied at the small win. 

But now, almost a day later tramping through the sodden dirt of the North Woods in heavy body armor, you remind yourself that it is so very hard to prove a point to Luke Castellan. He finds you halfway through the game as you hold onto the red flag post, standing tall at the vantage point and looking like a stone grotesque protecting the area you’re surveying. By the time you notice, a blur of cobalt whizzes towards you—knocking out the three Ares kids standing guard around the perimeter. You gasp, raising a hand sending vines hurtling toward the air until you see him hanging upside down by the ankles, wrapped in green leaves and purple bunches of grapes. Luke’s headwear falls to the earth with a clang.

“I’m not here for the flag!”

You rush over, dropping the pole and sighing, “Luke…you scared me! I thought you were with Beck today.” The blood rushes to his head as he looks at you all out of focus. Seeing you the other way around gives him a new perspective on things—the epiphany almost makes him ache, but that might also be the pressure pooling in his forehead. You brush your thumb against his cheek before letting him down slowly, and all he does is look at you.

“We need to talk.”

“Like, actually this time?” you mumble, hugging yourself as you watch the vines unravel from his limbs and sink back into the ground. You’ve always been a good actress and Luke was the best liar around—this shared penchant for fabricating the truth used to make you one and the same.

It is more obvious now that actors and liars are wholly different; actors live in an imaginary world given to them, while liars strive to create it for themselves. There’s that saying—don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Luke finds that he’s starting to hate all of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “we can’t keep ignoring this, Trouble.” It takes a special kind of sadness to feel lonely even when you’re with someone. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your spirit sink into the ground below you, almost resigning yourself to what will happen next. All the petty backtalk, the times you’ve crawled into bed with him already pretending to be asleep— it all comes down to this. There’s this French word that Annie had taught you a few days ago when you spent extra time snuggled up in her bunk, partially to catch up with your favorite girl and partially… to waste more time before going home to him. 

Énouement—-The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future and seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

“Luke…” you start, watching him sheath Backbiter with a casual flick of his hand, “Would you go back if you could? Before…” Barely able to string your words together, he notices your lip quivering, “Did you like me more back then?”

“Baby…” he sighs, going to wrap his arms around you and you hold onto him in return at arm's length.

“I’m really trying…” you choke out, pressing your lips to hold in the onslaught of things you want to say. To understand? To apologize? The words die out on your tongue.

“I know. You’re always trying, Trouble. That might just be the saddest part.”

Wind whirls through your hair, pushing you against him for shelter as you gather your thoughts. In the silence of the woods, you wonder how many moments you’ve spent drawn to him like this for comfort. Luke’s always there for you, whether you like it or not. For better or worse—you wonder if there won’t be a lot of chances to hold and be held, and you can’t seem to let go.

“I didn’t change, okay? I’m still me. People don’t change, just like the gods don’t. I just don’t see us away from this,” you swallow, tracing a finger over his bicep to distract your burning eyes, “we can’t escape who we are Luke. Me and you. Isn’t that enough for now?”

He lets out a sigh and you know his answer; his shoulders sink low enough that your hold on him loosens ever so slightly. At this rate, you think it’d be easier if he’d just pull the trigger—maybe it would hurt less than this.

“I’ll change the gods’ minds and make them agree. They’ll know us, babe. The glory—”

Everything around you blurs as you hone in on your anger. This whole forest could go up in flames and you wouldn’t give a damn,”Oh FUCK glory! Just love me and that’s enough! Why can’t that be enough? Why can’t you stop running from me for once, Luke!” Your plea comes out like a wail and you push him away, feeling disgusted by what’s come of this conversation. You were never a beggar—the only thing left to do was kneel in the dirt and beg him not to break up with you. Before you can think of the irrational thought any further he shakes his head, almost growling, “How do you still not get it? It’s because I love you is why I can’t.”

“Listen, I love you too, babe. I just…don’t know if I like you right now.”

That’s not fair. He’s sacrificing the entire trajectory of his life and you can’t figure out if you like him? You don’t know the lengths he would go to, can’t fathom the obstacles he would conquer just to make sure that you and him have it all. And you’re not even trying to see it his way—to even imagine that he could make it possible.

Things couldn’t stay the same forever, that you could both agree on.

“You’re all talk, you know that, Trouble? You’re just mad that I want this life more than you. And you know I’d actually do what I need to do to get it. Would you?” he nudges you roughly, “Talk to me! This is your time to get it all out of your system. Say that I wouldn’t do anything for you. You know I would.” Fat tears are rolling down your cheeks; he hates watching you cry. It’s the whole reason he signed away his soul—he wants the world you live in to be a place where gods bow down to you and dry your tears, not cause them. Luke would topple Olympus in an instant if it meant you wouldn’t look at him like he’s a lost cause.

“That’s not fair, you haven’t even answered a single question I’ve asked you. It’s like you’re not even listening to me, Lu—”

“Not fair?”

Groaning, you turn away from him. The flag post you dropped earlier is long gone now—the game is still on and the world keeps spinning whether you like it or not. But you’re disinterested in all that now.

“Do you even hear yourself? To you, I’m still the girl on the Ferris wheel,” you sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve. His hands squeeze your shoulders, begging, pleading for you to understand, “Is that a bad thing? You tell me you haven’t changed—I’m protecting her because you won’t. I’m getting her the hell out of here because I know she deserves more than this. Look around you,” he whispers your name against your neck, “We could forget all of this.” 

But that’s just not who you are. Your shoulders tremble as you hold them up under the pressure. Sure you could see what he’s saying—there isn’t a single future you can imagine without Luke in it. The house, the kids…but more than that you just want to belong somewhere. And Camp Half-Blood is where you belong. With him. 

“I don’t want everything, Luke. I just want you. And if you don’t want this, I need you to tell me now. Because I’m tired,” you warble, digging your nails into your palms, “ and I’m sick of this game. I feel like neither of us are winning.” You take a step back to look at him—sunlight filtering through his hair, eyes wistful and contemplative.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

And there it is. He’s already made his decision, whether he admits it or not. A horn blares overhead, followed by the sounds of cheering. You don’t know who won, and you don’t really give a shit if we’re being real right now. 

“Does it even matter?”

There’s a frozen look on your face like you’ve been struck by lightning, half between a crooked smile and subtle surprise. It’s a knowing look, Luke thinks, what he can see of you through half-lidded lashes and grief. He thinks years from now, if he even makes it that far, it’ll all come back to this moment in the North Woods, and you, the girl he was in love with at nineteen.

“It’s not even worth it now I guess,” he whispers. It makes you laugh—even your laughter sounds sad now. 

It seems that even breaking up with you is an inconvenience.

You sniff, wiping your face and looking around. Everyone’s gone already and Chiron will be looking for you two soon, “Then it’s not worth it. Because you say so… and we’ve got work to do.” Your watch beeps. 

Dinner service starts soon, but before you both head over to the pavilion, you and Luke are expected to set up the bonfire. He nods, loosening the straps of his chestplate, just something to do with his hands, “I know.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave this all behind yet. I’m still needed here.” Until your coming of age ceremony. Until your heart calls you elsewhere and your family can stand on their feet. 

Until then.

Somewhere, you hear Annabeth calling out to you, the melody of both of your names traveling through the trees. You and Luke turn your heads in that direction, before looking at each other once more. He licks his lips, “I know that. We should get back to it, then.” There’s no use doing this all alone, he thinks. And there’s a part of you that thinks there is no use for you when you’re alone.

“We should.”

Neither of you move. 

The winter solstice is tomorrow and there is much work left for the both of you to do.

—

I don’t understand how he grows colder from the same love that warms me. I didn’t know we loved differently—him partly, less and less, and I entirely. - JNH / @shatteredjuvenileday