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milla-frenchy · 1 year ago

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The only fic where I wanted them to kiss, more than I wanted them to fuck (even if I wanted them to fuck, of course 😏 because it's raider, right? 🖤)

When one of the men walked in your direction on his way to the woods, the dog jumped in front of you and growled. Joel looked impressed.

I don't remember if I ever said I loved this dog, but I love him ❤️🐕

Now the fire is keeping you toasty as the sky fades from blue to black.

I love your writing 🖤

“I thought you’d like that one since it’s a type of gun,” you explain.

I felt bad for both of them, for different reasons. She wanted to please him, and he's hurt? about Tommy

You have Joel wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never been like this before. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never made a girl his in the years Carter’s known him. Joel’s always been a man of focus. He’s always been a tough guy. He’s always had a temper, but at this point, he’d tear a man to shreds just for looking at you wrong. It’s scary, and it’s a lot of mess to clean up. Carter’s seen Joel do some crazy shit, but never as crazy as turning one of his own men into a scarecrow for an off-hand comment. Carter knows Joel better than anyone, and it’s clear to him that Joel is crazy about you.

I had to quote this entire paragraph because… it's incredible how much it says about Joel, via Carter. How much Joel loves sweet pea, would do anything for her. You have no idea how much it made me emotional to read this. So, thank you SO MUCH for writing this. I love him even more now (yes, it's possible, even if I didn't know I could). I would defend this man against the whole world if I had to.

the fact that they’re siblings makes you hate her.

I feel you, sweet pea 😁

"Bet ya could handle anything that comes over that hill," she purrs at Joel. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes are glued to her. You don’t blink. She looks at Joel’s pants and wets her lips.

No way, Jill you bitch 😮😦😤

his eyes sparkle [...] It doesn’t take long for a familiar bulge to twitch under you.

Good boy, baby, I love you raider 💕💕💕💕💕

“That can’t be comfortable,” she laughs.

“Lemme see it,” Ron demands.

Excuse me but wtf man? What makes you think you're in charge here?

“I'm only his,” you snap back. She laughs. “And he’s mine,”

I love you so much baby pea 💕💕

“God damn, you're both losin’ it,” Carter mutters to himself.

Yes and it's beautiful 😏🫠❤️😎 (loved how she didn't want Joel to touch her, the same way he didn't want Harold's blood on her 🖤)

You turn back toward the mirror and stroke the ‘J’. “Making it better?” “Makin’ it. . .”

I could have fn cried when he repeats what she said, at this moment, Toxic 🥹

In his bed, in his arms, you finally feel like you can breathe. His arms feel like home in a way that nearly overwhelms you. These are the arms that took you. They hurt you and pushed you away. Would they still? These arms hold you and care for you. They comfort you and kill for you. You hope they never let go. [...] the look on his face says you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

🫠🖤🖤🖤

You savor the fullness and the way your body makes space for him.

Fuck that's so hot (also, he let her ride him, holy shit!)

He pulls his head back, and your heart barely has time to sink before he leans his forehead against yours and cradles the back of your head.

Oh my fn god... 🫠🫠🫠

You take a deep breath through your nose as his tongue slowly thrusts into your mouth and finds yours. His cock is in your tight, wet cunt, and his tongue is in your soft little mouth. You throb and twitch on his cock, and you're nearly overcome. Your whole body simmers. He wraps his arm tighter around you, and your tits smush against him as he kisses you hungrily, and you kiss back. It’s real, it’s really–it’s real. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck as your mouths move together, drawing each other in, deeper and deeper, like you need it to live.

Fuuuuck I'm gonna cry it's so sweat and so hot, I can't 🥹

You’ve never seen his face so peaceful. You rest your head and half your body on him. You rest your hand on his chest. He strokes your back. Then, he lays his other hand on top of yours.

Fuck, fuck, fuck 🖤🫶 (omg can't believe I wrote all that...)

Bodies.

7.8k, raider!Joel x f!reader

reader has no physical description, pics are for mood

raider master | playlists: raider, sweet pea (smut) SUMMARY: Uninvited guests make a nice evening devolve into disaster, but it recovers, and Joel takes a big step. xoxo A/N: Ty to this ask about flirting; arm anon; @gracieispunk for the B/W pic; @xdaddysprincessxx, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, and others who've discussed his name, @javier-penas-wifexx420 for asks, @milla-frenchy for listening, everyone for your patience and support. This would be too long but I appreciate so many of you. @toxicfics for notifications, @toxicrecs for fic recs. WARNINGS: I8+ canon typical violence, tension, possessive/aggressive reader, self-harm scare, references to skin carving scars, hurt/comfort, Joel is a little grumpy, exhibitionism, grinding, dacryphilia, leather choker, bj with ball sucking, unsafe P in V, creampie, obsessive unhealthy toxic dynamic, Joel can hold reader, reader can hang onto Joel. LMK if I missed any.

The dog has stuck around for more than 24 hours now. He's a good dog. He’s working on a duck foot while you, Joel, and Carter eat by the fire. The evening air is cool but mild. The sky is clear.

Joel and his men spent most of the day working on the van and looking for parts. The dog sat with you while you read a book. You made a wildflower crown and put it around the dog’s neck. When one of the men walked in your direction on his way to the woods, the dog jumped in front of you and growled. Joel looked impressed.

Now the fire is keeping you toasty as the sky fades from blue to black.

“Tommy!” you call out to the dog to see if he reacts.

Carter chokes on his food, but quickly recovers. His eyes are wide.

“What’d you say?” Joel asks, ominously quiet. When you don’t respond, he reaches over to gently turn your head toward him. The look on his face makes your stomach turn.

“I thought you’d like that one since it’s a type of gun,” you explain.

“No.” He shakes his head, “I don't like it.” He lets go of your face. “Namin’ the goddamn dog,” he grumbles under his breath. He puts down his plate and stands up.

You’re afraid to ask, but when Joel silently walks off toward the woods, you look at Carter. He asks, “He tell ya anything about his family? His brother?”

Your face is hot and your tummy feels dizzy. “He said he didn’t have any family.”

Carter raises his eyebrows, then he's quiet for a moment and stares at the ground. His face becomes studious.

“What,” you ask.

“Ain't my place,” Carter looks down apologetically.

A few seconds later, watching your face, Carter adds the obvious: “I wouldn't go there.”

"Yeah," you whisper. Anything about his family. The question weighs on you. You really don't know Joel, do you?

Carter changes the subject. “He’ll come around on the dog.”

You perk up. “You think?”

Carter nods, then adds, “Sorry ‘bout Daisy,” squinting solemnly.

“Thanks,” you nod, then can’t resist asking, “Joel wasn’t. . .married, was he?”

Carter shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate. At least there’s that. But still. His family.

You're unsettled, and you try to distract yourself with other dog names, mentally going through a list. Bullet. Clover. Duck. Joel doesn’t have to know he has a name.

Apparently, Carter is thinking about the same thing. He tries to cheer you up. “Gun names, huh? Pistol, Rifle--”

“--Rifle??” You crack a smile.

“Hey, there's no bad ideas,” Carter laughs, and you giggle.

“What about Bullet–”

“--Shh,” Carter nods toward the tree line. Joel is on his way back.

As you finish eating, Carter tries to make small talk with Joel to break the tension. Joel doesn't say much. You ask Carter how he makes his jerky, and he walks you through it. It doesn't sound hard. You could probably do it yourself.

—--Carter—--

The three of you are sitting outside by the fire after dinner. You’re on Joel’s knee, and Joel slides his hand up your dress a little bit. Carter averts his eyes and watches the dog work on his duck foot, making happy little growls and wagging his tail. Hard to say whether you and Joel are about to go inside and fuck, or if Joel’s just copping a feel like he does twenty times a day.

The dog drops the duck foot, growls and barks, then takes off and runs toward the back of the trailer. You get off Joel’s knee to go after the dog, and Joel’s arm around your middle stops you. As Carter stands up and puts on his rifle, a high-pitched shriek comes from behind the trailer. Joel grabs his rifle off the log, and Carter says, “it’s cool,” holding his hand out. He won’t hesitate to yell if he needs Joel. “Go inside, sweet pea,” Joel tells you. You take your time going.

Carter goes around the back of the trailer and trains his rifle on two figures cresting the hill. The dog has stopped short of them and is keeping his distance, but he’s still barking and looks ready to pounce, like he’s holding himself back.

“DON’T MOVE,” Carter booms, then keeps his rifle fixed on the pair and slowly approaches them. When Carter reaches the dog, the dog’s barking fades into a low growl.

They drop their backpacks and put their hands up.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Carter asks.

The woman clears her throat and follows it with a demure smile. “Went huntin’, came back ’n our house was taken.”

Carter nods and looks back and forth between the two of them. They’re both decent looking. Some resemblance, maybe siblings.

“What do y’all want,” Carter asks, then spits over his shoulder.

“Nothin’,” the man claims. “Just cuttin’ through on our way to the road.” His eyes pan down Carter’s shoulders and arms. Carter squares his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the gun.

Carter nods hesitantly. “Can ya hang tight for me? Don’t want ya walkin’ into gunfire.”

They nod in agreement with a hint of fear. They shouldn’t be trouble. They aren’t carrying much.

Carter walks backwards for a few slow steps, then nods and turns around toward the trailer. Carter sees you spying in the kitchen window and gives you a reassuring nod as he goes around the trailer to talk to Joel.

"They're alright, I think," Carter tells Joel.

"What do they want," Joel grumbles.

"Nothin'. . . Cuttin' through on their way to the road."

Joel nods.

“Lost their house, didn’t say who took it.”

Joel’s brow furrows and he nods. “Armed?”

“Not heavily,” Carter answers.

“Bring’em around. Let’s find out who took their house.”

“You got it,” Carter says.

—---- 🌸you 🌸 —---

You move to the window facing the yard and the fire pit with logs around it. As they walk around the trailer, you overhear that they’ve been traveling most of the day. When they stop by the fire, you wait a few minutes, thinking they’ll leave. Then they take a seat, and the woman sits on the log next to Joel’s, on the end of the log closest to him. Your chest tightens. When she smiles at him, you scoff out loud to yourself. You start to go out the front door, then stop and go to the bathroom. You look in the mirror and open the flannel. You run your finger over the faint, healed letters on your skin, and you leave your chest exposed. You adjust your thigh holster, then go outside.

When the door opens, Carter looks over his shoulder and announces, “There she is.”

Joel introduces you. “This is, uh. . .”

“Jill,” she pipes in.

“Ron,” the man nods at you.

A couple. They must be a couple. They look a little alike, but not enough to be siblings. Joel leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped, connecting with your eyes for a moment, sharing something near a smile before his eyes fade back to serious.

Joel doesn’t make room for you in his lap, but he doesn’t tell you to go back inside either. He looks alert and on guard. There are four logs and five of you. You sit on Joel’s log and feel satisfied when he doesn’t scoot toward Jill to make more room. He doesn’t mind you being right up against him. Carter’s on the log to your left. Jill talks about their house and what was going on when they got back from their hunting trip. Ron is quieter. He glances at Carter a few times. Jill keeps looking at Joel. She talks too much.

Jill says they saw Infected behind the trailer park. Joel and Carter look at each other. Your stomach twists, but you study her face, and you don’t trust her. Attention. She wants attention. She wants Joel’s attention. Joel is better than Ron – bigger, stronger, better looking. There were no Infected. She’s making it up for attention.

Everyone is quiet for what feels like a full minute. You look her dead in the eye and break the silence with a soft, matter-of-fact, “No you didn’t.” Joel gives you a cautionary look, and you add, “We would’ve seen'em. We were there yesterday.”

Jill raises her eyebrows, bemused. “Just one,” she admits with a little smile. “My brother took care of it.” She nods to Ron, and the fact that they’re siblings makes you hate her.

“Where,” Joel asks flatly. You wish he wouldn’t speak to her at all.

“Woods behind the junkyard,” she answers. “Thought ya’d wanna know,” she shrugs. It’s quiet again. Nothing but the fire crackling and the dog growling happily.

“Thanks,” Carter mumbles.

Jill’s gaze lingers on Joel. She seems pleased with herself. Joel looks away, sits back, and crosses his arms. Now she’s checking out his arms as they bulge out with his hands under them. Your heart races. Anger simmers under your ribs.

"Bet ya could handle anything that comes over that hill," she purrs at Joel. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes are glued to her. You don’t blink. She looks at Joel’s pants and wets her lips. Your heart skips a beat. It feels like a personal attack. You pop up from the log.

Joel makes room in his lap and looks at you as he replies, "Carter here could handle'em, too,” with a nod to his left.

Joel must have expected you to sit on his knee like you were before they showed up. He clears his throat as it becomes clear you’re going to fully straddle him. His nose twitches and his eyes sparkle. He puts his arms around you loosely. His hands rest on your back to help you balance. You scoot closer and he helps you settle in so your crotch rests on his. Your head is in the crook of his neck, facing toward Jill to keep an eye on her. It doesn’t take long for a familiar bulge to twitch under you.

Your arms are around Joel. Your hand runs over the handgun in the back of his pants, and he tenses.

Jill has the nerve to speak again. “That can’t be comfortable,” she laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” you snap back.

“Shhhh,” Joel whispers into your hair. “‘S’okay, baby.”

“I’m comfortable,” you tell Joel.

“I know, sweet pea.” He nuzzles his nose at the top of your ear. “‘s’okay, baby,” he whispers. You rock your hips into him, feeling him grow harder. He pulls you tight, adjusting your weight. He moves one hand to your thigh. You grind yourself into him and he lets out a little “mm.”

“Um, okay,” she mumbles in disgust.

You snarl and turn your head away from her, back toward Joel. Then you turn your head toward Carter. Carter is absentmindedly examining the bite on his hand. Ron is spaced out, watching Carter’s face. Then, his eyes fall down to Carter’s lap.

“You’re bit,” Jill announces. “Ron, he’s bit!”

Ron snaps out of his daze, sits up self-consciously, and when his eyes fall on Carter’s hand, his face hardens.

Carter protests, “It’s not–”

“--It was the dog,” your head snaps back toward Jill. “It doesn’t look anything like Infected.” She just wants attention. She wants drama.

“It was the dog,” Joel repeats, unamused. It sounds like a warning. Joel’s hand on your thigh nudges the gun loose from your holster. Your hand wraps around the handle of the gun in the back of Joel’s pants.

“Lemme see it,” Ron demands. He stands up and points his gun at Carter. He snarls with a look of disgust. His face has completely transformed since a moment ago.

“SIT DOWN,” Joel booms and grabs the gun out of your holster.

Carter starts to offer, “I’ll show-”

“No ya won’t,” Joel snaps as he stands up with you still wrapped around him. Joel points the gun at Ron. “Come into my yard, orderin’ us around?” Joel’s deep voice vibrates in your ear, then he whispers, “Go inside,” as he tries to let you down. You take the gun out of the back of his pants. “Inside, now.” You put your feet on the ground.

“Nobody owns this land,” Ron laughs.

“C’mon, man, y’all know how it works,” Carter seems to try to de-escalate. “Show some respect.”

You slowly, carefully recede into the shadows, but you don’t go inside.

Jill points her gun at Carter and demands, “Show us.” With everyone else’s eyes fixed tensely on each other, you can approach her from behind, undetected. Two guns are pointed at Carter and one at Ron. Carter reaches for his rifle, and Ron braces his own gun with both hands. Ron cocks the hammer, and you quietly approach Jill from behind.

Ron adjusts his finger on the trigger, and Joel shoots him in the head.�� Jill screams.

It all happens in an instant: You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground, making her drop her gun. You could shoot her in the head, but something makes you toss your gun aside. You can't stop yourself from putting your hands around her throat. She claws at your chest and breasts. She slaps you, and it stings. You elbow her in the face, keeping one hand on her neck. She keeps clawing at you. “Stupid whore,” she spits.

“I'm only his,” you snap back. She laughs. “And he’s mine,” you pant and put your palm over her face, covering as much of it as you can, putting all your weight on her. Before she can bite you, Joel’s massive hands are firm around your arms, pulling you off. You resist, and he wraps an arm around your middle.

“‘S’okay,” he repeats as he pulls you off, and lifts you into standing. “Go inside.”

You hesitate and he firmly adds, “Now. I'll handle this.” He gives you a look that says he means it. Then he turns his attention to Jill. She coughs as you walk away. She whimpers and plays up how injured she is. Pathetic.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice softens for her. “You’ll be alright,” he tells her. You glance back and he’s what? He’s straddling her. He has his hands on her face. Is he . . .stroking her hair? You can’t see well enough. Your chest burns, and you start to turn around completely, wanting to approach them.

But Carter whispers, “C’mon, let’s go,” and gently takes your elbow.

Maybe it’s for the best. You walk with Carter in a daze. Maybe you were seeing things. No, Joel is comforting her. Your Joel is straddling and comforting the woman who just slapped you and called you a whore.

“It's okay,” Joel reassures Jill again, then you hear the loud crack of her neck snapping.

You feel a lot of things. Joy, relief, guilt–not for being happy, but for doubting Joel.

Carter opens the trailer door and you go inside.

For a few minutes, you just sit at the table. Your relief at Jill’s demise quickly fades when you realize she died thinking Joel liked her. Joel acting sweet with her even for a few seconds was more than she deserved.

Now you can't calm down. All your muscles are tense. You start to cry, then you go to get a glass of water. Your hand is shaking and you can hardly hold the glass. You want to throw it, but you put it down, still empty, on the counter. You take a deep breath, bury your mouth in your shoulder, then scream as loud as you can, until you're out of air and your throat is sore. You cough and spit over the sink, nauseous from the effort. Then you slump down onto the kitchen floor in tears.

Almost as soon as you hit the floor, the front door opens. It's not Joel, it's Carter.

“What happened?” Carter rushes over to you.

“Where's Joel?”

“Haulin’ a body.”

“Which body? Don't let him touch her!”

He looks at you, stunned for a second, then says, “Not hers.”

“You promise?” you try to choke back tears.

“God damn, you're both losin’ it,” Carter mutters to himself. Then he hesitantly reaches for your shoulder. “Shhh, it's okay.”

You lunge toward him on your knees and let yourself fall onto his chest. He looks over his shoulder then hesitantly hugs you. “Okay,” he whispers with his hands very lightly touching your back but not resting their full weight. He gives you a moment, then clears his throat. “I've gotta. . . ” He lets go, stands up, and fills the glass of water. “Here.�� He puts it on the table, then comes back to you.

“Been a long day, huh?” Carter asks. He squats down and takes your elbow in his hand. “C’mon.” You wipe your eyes on your flannel and stand up. He guides you to the table with his hand on your back and pulls out a chair for you. He leaves you at the table with your water.

—--

You sit there for a minute, sipping your water. Then go to the bathroom to splash your face. You stop crying. You fix your hair. But your eyes are still misty. You look at your chest in the mirror. She scratched you. You can see a couple of her scratch marks better than Joel’s name. Your chest heats up as you stare at it, and your heart beats faster. You take calming breaths. You want her to go away. You don’t want anyone on your skin but Joel. You dab your chest with a cold washcloth. The worst scratch is right over the ‘J’.

You open the medicine cabinet, don’t find anything useful, and close it. You go to the kitchen and find a pocket knife in one of the drawers. You bring it back to the bathroom and open the sharpest blade. What if you just. . .if you make the ‘J’ a little better, maybe. It’s like she goes away. How should you do it? You look down at yourself. You can’t really see. You look in the mirror and bring the knife to your chest. The hand-eye coordination is hard in the mirror.

You’re looking in the mirror, holding the pocket knife in your hand, when the front door opens and slams shut. Joel’s boots thud, then stop. He says your name. “You okay?”

You sniffle. He approaches the bathroom door. It's not shut. You move toward the door to shut it, but you're too late. Joel stops it from closing. He's so much stronger than you, he pushes it open with ease, then his arms wrap you in a hug and the force of it walks you backward toward the sink.

You still have the knife open in your hand. As his arms tighten, you whisper, “Careful,” and hold your hand away.

He pulls away, looks you over, and looks at your hand. “Hell are ya doin’,” he mutters.

You turn back toward the mirror and stroke the ‘J’. “Making it better?”

“Makin’ it. . .”

Your eyes water again as you face the mirror fully. Joel turns toward the mirror, too, standing behind you. You run your fingers over your chest with one hand and hold the knife with the other.

Joel's face changes when he realizes what you're doing. He grabs your wrist so hard you reflexively drop the knife and it clatters into the sink. “No.”

He picks it up, closes it, and puts it behind the faucet. He looks at your face in the mirror. “Can't let ya do that.”

“You said people can’t see it.”

“Told ya we’d figure somethin’ else out.”

“Like what?”

Joel runs his hand over your chest, and his thumb lingers on the scratch over the J. His nostrils flare, his head tilts down, and his eyes darken under his brow. “This from her?”

You nod.

Joel sighs and steps over to the bathtub. He starts a shower. He takes his shirt off over his back. You back away toward the door, and start to give him some space.

“Whoa, nuh-uh” Joel stops you. “Did I say leave?”

“Sorry.”

“Take your clothes off.” He sits on the toilet to untie his boots, then slips out of them and takes off his socks.

“Ya know, ya came out there. Got her all worked up,” he grumbles. What? That’s not fair.

“I just wanted you.”

“You were starin’ right at her, sweet pea.”

“I just wanted to be on you, wanted to touch you,” you insist.

“She wanted her grubby hands on you.”

“You think that's what she wanted?”

“And she got it, didn't she?” Joel asks rhetorically, eyes fixed on your chest again. He clenches his jaw at the sight of her touch. He nods toward the shower. “That’s yours.”

“Can I have a bath?” You know it’s a long shot. He’s not in the mood to wait for water to boil.

“Fire's out and we’re outta gas. Gonna be cold either way.”

You brace yourself for the water. Joel remains seated on the closed toilet and holds your hand to help you balance as you step into the tub. You're far enough back that the water only hits from your abdomen down. It's not quite as bad as you expect, but gives you a chill all over. He scans your body as it prickles in goosebumps and your nipples pebble. He reaches behind you for the soap, then lathers a washcloth. He starts with your chest. The scrape stings.

“She wanted you, not me,” you mutter, wincing at the echo of your own words under the light beating of the water. Joel slows down and you continue, “She was looking at you, not me.” He stops the washcloth on your clavicle. Lather pours between your breasts and trickles down your sternum.

Joel squints at you, looks from your mouth to your tits, swallows, and refocuses on the task, adjusting the washcloth in his hand.

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that, sweet pea,” he murmurs and begins to slide the cloth slowly across your skin.

It’s nice to hear, but it’s not enough. Your eyes feel weak. “Well, I do worry about it,” you croak and feel the tears coming back.

He adjusts himself, then sighs. “You always cry in the shower?”

The coldness stings.

“Are you mad at me,” you ask shakily.

Joel curses himself under his breath. His brow furrows at your breasts and he braces his wet hand on his knee. “No, baby.” His eyes rise to meet yours, and he cups your cheek. “No. . .Just tired. . .” He searches your face. “Too many bodies in those woods. Gettin’ old.” You sniffle. You start mentally going through the bodies, and your head hurts at the thought. Joel says, “and ya can’t get in my shot like that, sweet pea.” You relax a little more. Your tears wane at the thought that he was already planning to kill her.

Joel stands up, hands you the washcloth, and starts to undo his jeans. You watch his pants come down over his crotch, a sight that always makes your breath hitch. “Face the water,” he mumbles, and you obey, staying far enough back not to get your head wet. He braces his hand on the far wall of the shower and steps in, squeezing between you and the back of the tub. You inch forward to make room. His feet are spread around yours and his hands rest on your hips for a moment. He presses his lips into the crown of your head, then reaches around your front to take the washcloth from you.

Joel presses himself up against your back, then continues to wash your chest. He soaps up your breasts again, then cradles one with his bare hand as he washes your trunk. You look down and watch the suds slide down your body. He washes your hips, your thighs. You’re grateful for the warmth of his groin against you. He turns you to the side and washes your sides, under your arms, your back, your ass, your legs. Then he tells you to rinse off while he washes himself. He steps all the way under the cold water without so much as flinching. When he’s finished, he rinses off, turns off the water, and wraps you in a hug. The water rolls off your skin and the faucet drips as you stand there in his arms.

After a few minutes, Joel’s deep voice slices through the silence. “Carter's stayin’ tonight. Wait here.” This unsettles you because you imagine Joel must be worried about something to have Carter stay. Did he believe her about the Infected?

Joel wraps a towel around himself and leaves you in the bathroom with your own towel. You look in the mirror for a moment, then quickly avert your eyes from your reflection.

Joel returns with clothes for you. He’s in plaid pj pants and a white t-shirt. Both are too small on him. His pockets are puckered. You smile at the sliver of skin between his pants and shirt, and he asks, “What?”

You shrug. “You’re wearing pjs.”

“Yeah? Well I ain't wearin’em long,” he murmurs and you feel a twitch of need. “You're gonna finish what ya started out there.” He looks at you darkly. “Got it?”

You bite your lip and nod as desire throbs between your legs.

“That means I ain't doin’ it, you are.”

Your chest flutters with butterflies.

He rests a flannel on his shoulder, while he holds up your nightie for you. You lift your arms and he puts it over your head. He pulls it down and pats your butt. “Want it that bad. . .” He holds the flannel up for you and you stick your arms in. He brings his mouth to your ear. “Gonna show me how bad.”

The front door opens and shuts.

“All good?” Joel yells.

“All good,” Carter answers, then exaggerates a loud yawn.

“Blankets in the closet,” Joel yells.

Joel brushes his teeth and leaves you to get ready for bed.

Joel returns just as you're finishing up. He shoves his hand in the puckered pocket of the pj pants and pulls out something brown and strappy that looks small in his hands. It looks like a piece of your holster, but thinner, more delicate. His brow furrows at it and he swallows. He sits on the closed toilet seat again.

“What is it?” you ask.

“It's. . .” He looks at your chest. “C'mere.” You step forward. He holds the object against his thigh and with his other hand, he traces the letters on your chest. “It's better than tryin’ to . . .” he trails off. He looks at your face, then back to your chest and caresses it again. “Better than this.” Your heart swells. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want you to hurt you.

He looks at the object in his lap.

“It's for me?”

He nods. He takes a deep breath and fiddles with the belt-like closure. “Can wear a sweater or whatever, and still. . .”

“Lemme try it on.”

He searches your eyes. “Really want to?”

You nod.

He stands up and guides you to the sink. He stands behind you as you both look in the mirror. He wraps it around your throat. Your breath hitches when you see his name in careful, bold lettering, clear but imperfect. It’s an odd sensation, having something around your neck, but the back of it is soft against your skin. It’s smoother and more delicate than the holster is on your thigh.

“It's beautiful,” you tell him as he concentrates on putting it on you.

He's gentle and careful. He fastens it with enough room to breathe and swallow. You look at it in the mirror, and the fact that he made it makes you emotional. “You made it,” you whisper.

He nods. “Don't gotta wear it all the time, but-”

“I love it.”

“Yeah?” he turns you around with his hands on your hips, and his gaze devours your form from head to toe. “Well, God damn. . .Looks good on ya, too.”

You wrap your arms around him and he hugs you close. He leans back to see you wearing the choker. “Let's go to bed.”

—-—--

You take off the flannel and get in bed. You bury your head in your pillow. Joel wraps you in his legs and arms, muscles straining his pajamas as he holds you in the dim room. His big, warm hand strokes your back. His body is like a furnace. You take deep breaths. In his bed, in his arms, you finally feel like you can breathe. His arms feel like home in a way that nearly overwhelms you. These are the arms that took you. They hurt you and pushed you away. Would they still? These arms hold you and care for you. They comfort you and kill for you. You hope they never let go.

It doesn't feel like you were ever really home before him, and it's impossible to imagine an after. There is no after. You're his. In the cruel, awful world, he carved out this space just for you. He kisses your forehead. You pinch your eyes shut and a tear runs down your cheek. It's a tear of relief. You press your cheek into his white t-shirt and his warm package twitches against you. He pushes his hips into you only slightly, and keeps holding you. You focus on his breathing and the beat of his heart.

You wedge your hand between your bodies. Your knuckles slide down your abdomen, and your palm skims his tummy on its way to his pants. You cradle the warm bulge in his flannel. You press your palm into it and he grunts softly as he presses his hips forward. Then he wraps an arm over you. He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You're on top of him, and your heart flutters as his words from the bathroom echo. That means you’re doin' it.

You come to your knees, and he watches you curiously as you straddle him. You lower yourself so your panties meet his flannel, and the warmth of his bulge sends a shock to your chest. You lightly grind against him and watch his chest rise and fall as his cock swells against your neediest place. His hips lift and his eyes gloss over as he watches you move on him. You must be a vision – swollen, misty eyes, scratched up chest – but the look on his face says you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

That means you're doin’ it.

You scoot back so you’re straddling his thighs. You bring your hand just above his waistband, and your thumb traces his happy trail up under his t-shirt to his belly button, bringing the shirt up with you. You use both hands to push it up and he asks, “Want this off?”

“It's okay,” you shake your head. “Just like to see this. You slide your hand down his stomach, once again running your thumb through the hair leading to his groin. You run your hand slowly up and down it a few times and feel his muscles tense under the light padding of his tummy. The bulge in his pants becomes more of a tent. His tummy flexes as he rises up enough to take the shirt off anyway.

“What else ya like?” He asks. By now, he knows. Oh God, does he know. But he must want to hear it. He must want to see it, feel it. He wets his bottom lip. You back up down his legs and take his flannel pants down. His cock bounces free, and for a moment, you dismount him entirely. Once the pjs are down below his knees, he kicks them off the rest of the way as you take off your underwear. He sucks in air through his nose as he watches you. He's still, and he’s quiet, but the look on his face is more pain than patience.

You straddle his legs, bend at the hips, and rest your elbows on either side of his hips. You take his cock in one hand, then bring your lips to the head. He's still not at full mast. Not for him. For another man, this might be as hard as it gets, but not Joel. You suck the tip into your mouth. A masochistic part of you imagines how many women might have sucked this cock. You have, too, of course. But you want to outdo them all. You suck as much of it into your mouth as you can, and he sucks in a shaky breath as you furrow your brows and close your eyes. You suck from the back of your mouth, and your throat gurgles obscenely as his tip nudges it, then you gag. His hand rests gently on the side of your head. “You’re okay.”

You lock eyes with him as you slowly let his shaft out of your mouth. A string connects your lips to his tip until you wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. You hold his shaft in a loose fist, thumbing his dorsal vein as you turn your attention to his balls. You cup his balls, then lick a stripe up the seam of his sack, and his hand grips the fitted sheet. When you look up at him, he releases the sheet. Your tongue circles his left nut and he closes his eyes. You have your free hand braced on his upper thigh, near where it meets his torso, and you can practically feel the blood rushing to his cock. His eyes meet yours again, and his brows are furrowed.

“Can I have them in my mouth,” you ask and he nods encouragingly.

You take one into your mouth and circle your tongue around it. You let it rest on your tongue then give it a gentle suck and he breathes, “oh God damn.” It’s fuzzy and soft and feels nice in your mouth.

You pinch your eyes shut and sigh, “Mm,” with your mouth full. You move to the other one, careful and gentle. “Ohh,” he moans a little louder than you expect, and you pause.

You look toward the bedroom door nervously, and take your mouth off. You’re about to remind him about Carter, but he cuts you off, “Shhh,” before you can.

You lick all around his balls again, and his cock throbs angrily in your hand. You suck a ball into your mouth. You want both, but there’s no way you can do it without scraping him with your teeth, so you don’t.

Instead, you return your lips to his tip and feel yourself throbbing as you suck his shaft into your mouth. When you look up, he’s shaking his head no.

“This aint what ya wanted, baby.”

“Is it good?” you ask.

“Yeah. It's good, sweet pea. . .The best.” His thumb brushes your temple. He moves his fingers to tilt your chin up to look at him. “But this ain't what ya want *really* want.”

“Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah? You were bouncin’ on my cock out there, just to make me feel good?”

You twitch and swallow and your chest flutters with desire.

“What’d I tell ya in the bathroom?”

“I'm gonna finish what I started”

“That’s right,” he nods.

His cock is raging hard. You’re throbbing and gushing for it. You give the tip of it one last kiss, then get up on your knees and take your time positioning yourself over it. You press his tip against your most sensitive place for a moment and let out a whimper. The contact makes you ache for him.

—

Joel cradles the backs of your thighs as you hold his cock. You look down as you move forward just a little more, then nestle his cockhead at your dripping hole, the very tip of it prodding just barely inside. You’re more than wet enough. You brace your hands on his tummy, near the bottom of his ribs. Then, you begin to sink down with a whimper, letting his cock spread you open. He growls, “God damn.” You're biting your lip, with his big cock stretching you already.

He nods, “go on, you can do it.” You lift yourself up and bend slightly forward, tilting your hips. He sucks in air through his teeth. He grabs your hips, and you groan as he pulls you down. “Fuck,” he breathes heavily. He loosens his hands on your hips, then moves them to your thighs. You sit still on his cock with your body angled slightly forward, your clit pressing into his pubic hair. You savor the fullness and the way your body makes space for him.

You brace your hands on his chest and begin to move yourself. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle thrust of his hips. You whimper as his length nudges deep inside, and his hips lift you.

You lift your ass and let most of his length out, before swallowing it up again and moaning with the delicious stretch. You slowly move yourself, and when you whimper, you feel his nipples harden under your hands. You palm his pecs as you ride his cock. His chest rises with deep breaths as you fuck him. His eyes keep drifting to his name wrapped around your neck.

You try to be quiet, biting your lip, but you still let out little moans, you can't help it. So does he. “Ohhh, baby—ohh.” His sounds are desperate, from deep in his chest.

“Ya do it good,” he whispers. He cradles your ass in his massive hands and begins to move you on him, a little faster than you were going. He watches your breasts move under your nightie. He lifts up the hem of your nightie to watch your cunt swallow his length, and he groans softly. You pause and take it off, then start moving again.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then his hands return to your ass, gently guiding your rhythm. He clenches his jaw, and you can tell he's trying not to take over entirely.

“C’mere a minute,” he murmurs.

His tummy pudges and wrinkles over his flexing abs, and his fingers dig into your ass cheeks as he sits up. He wraps his arms around you and turns to face the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off. “Hang on,” he murmurs. “Hang on, baby.” He holds your back with one arm, stands up slightly, and pulls at one of your thighs. You adjust your position so you’re seated instead of kneeling and your bent legs wrap loosely around him. Without the leverage of your knees on the bed, it’s up to him.

You have your arms around his neck and your face against his cheek. Your lips pull like a magnet to the skin just below the dark, curly hair on his head. You plant a kiss on his neck and suck lightly. He exhales vocally. He hugs you into him and moves you up and down. He’s doing it all now. You both sigh and moan as his cock fills you up.

Then, he loosens his arms and slides his hands to your shoulder blades. He hooks his thumbs under your arms and breathes, “Lemme see ya for a minute.”

You hesitantly let him pull you away from his body, missing the heat of his chest against yours.

“Ain't gonna drop ya, sweet pea.”

You relax some of your weight into his hands, and he brings you all the way down so you're lying face up with your lower back on his lap. His hands under your arms hold you steady as he thrusts into you, like your body is a warm, wet sleeve for him. You let your head fall back in pleasure. He grunts as he moves you, and you look again to see him snarl. He looks down and watches his cock disappear again and again.

“God damn you feel good,” he whispers. His eyes roam from your eyes to your lips, to your choker, to your tits. He watches where your bodies are joined as he keeps thrusting into you, making you feel like no one ever has. Then his eyes drift up your body again. He slows down. His hands tighten, and he grunts as he brings your body upright again. Your breasts meet his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck again as he hugs you. Your cheek rests against his jaw, and his scuff scratches you pleasantly. “Always so good,” he breathes, moving you on his cock. His breath is warm against your ear. “Ohh baby,“ he sighs.

He tilts his chin to look up at the ceiling, and you latch onto his neck. He braces a hand on the bed and his hips lift under yours as you grind your body into his. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Oh, God, baby. You're–you’re so good for me,” he pants, barely above a whisper. “Ohhh–so good, sweet pea.”

You release his neck with a whimper. He cradles your head with one hand, and his cheek returns to yours.

As you ride him, his head slowly drifts back, so his breath is on your cheek instead of your ear. Your lips are dangerously close, and Joel doesn't pull away. Your mouths get closer while your bodies move as one. Soon, the corners of your lips are touching. You breathe and moan against each other's mouths. Your lips tingle at the closeness, and all you want is his mouth on yours. It feels so close. The sides of your mouths move against each other. It’s enough, just feeling his lips. You want more, but it’s enough, for now. He pulls his head back, and your heart barely has time to sink before he leans his forehead against yours and cradles the back of your head. Your mouths loosely connect, with his lower lip hitching on your upper lip every time you slide down his cock. You breathe each other’s breath. Your noses touch. His bottom lip tenses, and his mouth follows yours, not letting your lips slip away. You moan softly against his mouth, pinching your eyes shut, resisting the urge, resisting it.

Then, Joel presses his open lips against yours. His lips drag lightly, clockwise, then they truly embrace you. As your mouths seal together, you half-moan, half-whine, “Mmm.” His lips are strong and desperate, pulling on yours like a hug. You can feel him taking your air and your spit. He sucks it right out of you, replacing it with an even more desperate need for him. You’re having him, you’re having all of him, but you can never have enough. Arousal floods your body. It gathers deep in your gut and bubbles up to your chest. You take a deep breath through your nose as his tongue slowly thrusts into your mouth and finds yours. His cock is in your tight, wet cunt, and his tongue is in your soft little mouth. You throb and twitch on his cock, and you're nearly overcome. Your whole body simmers. He wraps his arm tighter around you, and your tits smush against him as he kisses you hungrily, and you kiss back. It’s real, it’s really–it’s real. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck as your mouths move together, drawing each other in, deeper and deeper, like you need it to live.

“Mmmm,” you whine at your imminent peak.

“Mm,” he grunts into your mouth as you twitch again on his cock. His tongue slides against yours, and the tension boils over violently, erupting from your core out to every inch of your body. Your walls clench, and you don't want to let go of his mouth, but your body jerks. Your lips begin to break away with a moan as you spasm on his cock. He holds you there by your neck. Your mouths stay half connected, and you breathe and moan against each other. Time freezes and waves of pleasure ripple through your core. Then, Joel’s thick cock twitches in the embrace of your spasming cunt. “Ugghh,” grunts, then his lips take yours again. “Mmmm.” He erupts, and you're still not finished. He holds you still, holds you tight. His hips lift slowly into you as his cock pulses. Massive bursts of warmth flood your core, and he kisses you slowly but needily as he comes. The kiss becomes sloppy. You both breathe through your noses, but your mouths still disconnect for split seconds, breathing each other’s humid breath.

When Joel finishes emptying his load into you, he gently pulls his lips from yours to take a deeper breath. He leans back and collapses on the bed. You sit there on his cock, still twitching, and your hand drifts to your tingling lips. His hands rest on your thighs. You watch his chest expand with air, and you watch his face. He opens his eyes, then silently motions c’mere with both hands. You fold at your hips and hug him. As you settle in, he strokes the nape of your neck. His chest rises and falls under your cheek. He unfastens the leather choker for you. You were planning to sleep in it, but now that he’s kissed you–and it was more than that, it felt like more–you don't feel quite as desperate for the tangible reminder that he wants you. You have it. Your lips are buzzing. Your whole body is. You can feel it in your bones.

After a few minutes of caressing you, Joel murmurs, “Let's get some sleep.”

You both get under the covers. He lies on his back. You’ve never seen his face so peaceful. You rest your head and half your body on him. You rest your hand on his chest. He strokes your back. Then, he lays his other hand on top of yours.

Soon, you drift off to the sound of him lightly snoring.

----

So, I was writing this one when I took the detour to let Carter jack off lmao: He's only human.

I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not getting a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. I really appreciate your support and patience and love for these characters. Out of all my characters, it means so much to me when you engage with raider Joel because I pour a lot of myself into this one and have been writing it for >8 months.

Love you all so much! I can't respond to everything without spamming but I appreciate all of your commentary so much and often revisit it when I need inspo.

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @neobanguniverse@quietlyignoringyou @gab-thelamb-onthemoon

#raider!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#jmrecs

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user-name-not-found5 · 4 years ago

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Interrogation Techniques pt.9

Previous: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8

Kylo Ren is determined to get the map out of the Resistance Pilot. By any. Means. Necessary.

Even if that means exploring new ways to sexually psychologically manipulate his victims into getting what he wants.

AU where the map leads to Luke’s new Jedi Temple, where he is training the next generation of Jedi. Poe is a Resistance pilot, who General Leia Organa has put in charge of running the transport routes in order to bring force-sensitive younglings to the temple where they belong. The First Order is headed by Kylo Ren, a fallen Jedi just as Count Dooku was, and he is determined to end the Jedi for good.

Warnings overall: non-con, torture, violence, manipulation, smut, absolutely filthy smut, degrading language, abuse

Warnings for this chapter: Mild violence/references to violence, lingering drug effects, Poe is a bisexual icon

“-and then I couldn’t do anything but run after him, and he runs straight into the Captain!” The trooper grinned as Poe hobbled along, following BB-8 as he sped ahead, leading them back on the shortest path to the freighter. “I couldn’t understand him, but she did, and somehow he got us by her! He’s a brilliant droid man, I just wish I knew what he was saying.”

BB-8 pivoted his head as he continued rolling. I’m glad you don’t.

“What’d he say?” The trooper pulled hard on Poe’s arm as he started slipping as they rounded a corner.

“Uh… he said he wishes you could too.” Poe grunted as he stumbled, putting a bit more weight on his leg than he meant to. The trooper caught him, and wrapped his free arm tighter around his waist. Poe probably would have blushed if it didn’t hurt his ribs. “So, uh, what’s your name?”

“They call me FN-2187.”

Poe snorted. “That isn’t a name.”

“Only one they ever gave me.”

Poe mused it over for a minute. “FN… how’s Finn? I’m gonna call you Finn.”

The trooper- Finn- grinned at him. “You can call me whatever you want if you can pilot us out of here.”

“I think I might be able to give you a hand with that.”

Finn froze, skidding to a halt and making Poe wince as he glanced up at the unfamiliar figure in the corridor. BB-8 was already bumping and beeping at her happily, and Poe’s face spread into a wide grin.

“Rey you crazy fucking spawn of a bantha, how the hell did you get in here?!”

Finn started. “You know her?”

Poe laughed as Rey rushed forward, crushing him in a firm hug. “Only the best damn Jedi Knight to come out of Luke’s academy!” He grinned. “This is Finn, Rey- he’s been helping BB-8 with the rescue mission.”

He has not! BB-8 whirred down the corridor, checking ahead and letting out a soft string of expletives. Rey grinned. “Good thing you brought a big ship.”

Finn let out a sigh of relief. “Thank stars.”

“Don’t thank me just yet- we have a flight to catch.” She grinned, drawing her saber. It hummed, the blue glow illuminating the polished tiles of the floor. “BB-8 says he can get us to the hangar.”

“That’s where we were headed- again, how did you get here?” Poe winced as she took his other side, increasing their pace after the droid.

“The youngling you were travelling with sent me a vision. I was able to figure out that you guys were farther along the course than we thought, and from there? Some damn fine intel, some stolen data, and…” She trailed off for a second. Poe’s brow furrowed, and Finn glanced past him at her.

“What is it?”

“Ben,” The name ghosted between her lips. Poe grit his teeth, and Finn’s brow furrowed.

“Who’s Ben? Oh no, do we have to rescue another-”

A mechanical scream echoed in the corridor and the trio stopped dead. Ahead of them, a black-robed figure stood at the end of the hall, his arm extended. BB-8 was frozen in place, screaming for them to run as Ren prevented him from getting back to them. Rey’s lips set in a thin line, and Poe snarled.

“Let the droid go you bastard.”

“Not without the map.” Ren cocked his head to the side, his voice cold and mechanical now with his mask. “I see you’ve brought a friend- and, made one, it seems.”

Finn shuddered under the intense stare, glancing at Rey and Poe in a silent plea of what now?

“Finn,” Rey’s voice was calm. “Take Poe.”

The trooper protested a bit as she handed off the pilot’s weight, and Poe reached to grab her shoulder as she moved forward, but stumbled, forcing Finn to catch him again. Rey paced forward, extending a hand of her own. In one swift motion, she wrenched BB-8 out of Ren’s control, nearly throwing him behind her towards her companions. She kept her eyes locked on Ben.

“Go.”

“Rey-”

“GO.” Her saber hummed, and she leapt forward. Ben’s came to meet her.

Finn was half-sprinting, half-dragging Poe along with him, BB-8 spinning rapidly through the holo-map to find the hangar bay. Poe spit a bit of blood to the side, reaching his free arm up to wipe his mouth. If Finn noticed, he didn’t say anything, ducking his head around corners and occasionally pulling them up short, letting a patrol down an attached corridor stalk across their path. Poe’s vision was going fuzzy, black spots dancing across his vision as he struggled to remain upright. He heard something distantly, only registering it when Finn started to shake his shoulder.

“Poe? Did you hear me?”

Poe glanced at him, watching as his face split into several, fuzzier versions of it. “Uh huh…”

Finn balked. “Are you going to be okay to fly?!”

“Just get me behind the controls, and I’ll put it in autopilot,” Poe grunted. Finn opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, pulling them both back against the wall, and clamping a hand over Poe’s mouth. Poe grinned. It was warm, and surprisingly soft- his hand smelled like his leather gloves, and faintly of blaster residue. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

“Uh… Poe?”

“Mhmm?”

Finn’s hand wasn’t over his mouth anymore, and he frowned, cracking his eyes open. Finn was staring at him, his cheeks a bit darker than Poe thought they’d been a moment before.

“You’re not… passing out, right? Or like, drugged up?”

Poe slumped his head back against the wall, his head rolling as Finn pulled him up and over his shoulder. “Nope, all good.” He grinned. Finn was handsome, and it felt different to be held by him. It felt nice. He was saying something again- he had a warm voice, and under the brighter lights, he glowed.

They were moving faster now, up a ramp, and he breathed in deeply. He could smell the engine exhaust, and the dull metallic smell that ships always seemed to hold onto, no matter how weathered they were. He glanced around as Finn helped him through the ship’s narrow corridors, into the cockpit, and down into his pilot’s seat. He whined as he was dumped into the chair, but falling quiet as Finn plopped down in the co-pilot’s seat beside him. BB was saying something, and muscle memory took over as his hands flashed across the dashboard, flipping the engines on, bringing life into the buttons and switches in front of him.

“Woah woah woah, what about Rey?”

“If I know her, she came on her X-wing,” Poe slid his chair forward, his head clearing up a bit now that he and Finn weren’t touching- something he’d have time to digest later. Leaning towards the windshield, he pointed through the glass. “Yup. And here she comes.”

The pair watched as Rey’s robes flashed by, the blue glow of her saber vanishing as she sprinted, vaulting up into the cockpit of her waiting vessel, glancing in their direction and flashing them a big grin. Poe gave her a salute before the freighter’s engines roared, and he followed her X-wing out of the hangar, crowing with Finn and BB-8 as they shot out into open space.

#poe #poe dameron #finn #finnpoe mention #finnpoe #tlj #tros #tfa #canon offshoot #star wars

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iishamlet · 5 years ago

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The events following Kylo Ren being stabbed, rebirthing as his former self (Ben Solo) in the waters of Kef Bir and seeking redemption aboard the ship of his father, Han Solo: A Star Wars Fanfic

The cockpit was cold.

That at least, thought Ben Solo, is the same.

He cleared his throat, nervous.

“What was that?” Poe Dameron called from the front of the cockpit – barely looking over his shoulder as lightspeed blurred by in the windows of the Millennium Flacon.

“Nothing,” Ben said, still dripping wet and salt smattered from the oceans of Kef Bir. “Just clearing my throat.”

In the co-pilot’s seat next to Poe, FN-2187 shifted, uncomfortable.

Ben remembered a time where he had sat in that chair as his father took the Flacon to lightspeed. Chewbacca had sat where he was sitting now, but Ben now felt a lot less jovial than Chewy had during those flights.

He gritted his teeth and gripped the wound at his side where Rey had stabbed him. It had been largely cartelized by the lightsaber and the scar itself healed by Rey, but it still hurt.

“Do you have any bacta onboard?”

“What was that?” Poe called again, not even turning his head a little.

Ben opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. “Never mind.”

FN-2187 was still silent, staring at the dash of the Falcon.

“By the way,” Ben said, this time speaking against his better judgement. “Thanks for the ride. You can drop me off wherever. Coruscant, Kessel, you’re secret resistance base.”

He counted fifteen seconds of silence before adding: “Honestly, whatever works best for you.”

More time passed in silence – only the familiar modulating hum of the Falcon and the blues and greys of hyperspace showed time was passing. As he was sitting there – barely feeling any dryer than before – Ben began observing the interior of the cockpit.

Some nerf herder bypassed the compressor, he thought, noticing a missing modulator.

“Flip that switch for me.”

Ben turned, thinking that someone was speaking to him, but it was just Dameron, telling FN-2187 to push the ship a little harder via one of the levers on the co-pilot’s side of the ship.

“Interesting,” Ben said, without thinking.

Poe fully turned around at that. “What?”

Ben shook his head and looked at the floor.

Don’t force choke them and fly the ship yourself. Don’t force choke them and fly the ship yourself.

When he looked back up, Poe had turned his attention back to hyperspace. FN-2187 seemed to have sunk further down in his chair.

I should tell them, Ben thought. It would be rude not to tell them.

“It’s just not the decision I would have made,” Ben said. “And not the decision I’d have expected from the best pilot in the resistance… might overclock the ship. She’s an antique.”

Poe cleared his throat and cocked his head a little. “Well, I think she’s had some repairs since the last time you were aboard.”

“Uncle Klaud’s efforts?” Ben said, thinking of the slug-like Trodatome who’d been spotted on multiple occasions on board the Falcon over the past few months. “I wouldn’t trust his work…”

“Sorry,” Poe said. “I should trust who?”

“Listen, I understand that was a jab at me,” Ben said, “but Klaud doesn’t have any hands so even his best work tends to be mostly just passable.”

Poe took a long breath, then pointed to the same lever FN-2187 had pressed up earlier.

“Take that up a few notches would you, Finn?”

Finn?

The former stormtrooper complied.

Ben nodded in understanding. “So you’re going by Finn now?”

FN-2187, remained silent.

“Good name,” said Ben. “Strong name. I’m going by Ben now. So… you know, if you pass me in the hallway at the resistance base—”

“We’re not taking you to the resistance base,” Poe said.

“—you can call me Ben… Or Solo… or Mr. Solo even, though Mr. Solo was my father.”

“Yeah,” Poe said, looking back at him again. “How is your relationship with your dad?”

The wound in Ben’s side hurt a little more.

“Okay, I get it,” he said. “You’re mad at me and yeah I did some bad stuff—“

Poe laughed dryly.

“—but in my defense, I had a rough childhood.”

Now FN-2187 spun around in his chair, staring vibroblades at Ben.

“Sorry!?” he spat. “You had a rough childhood?”

Ben had one of a hundred prepared personal anecdotes he was ready to hurl back at the traitorous stormtrooper. But as he opened his mouth to launch into the particular tragedy of his forgotten 12th birthday, he remembered the conditioning chambers aboard the Finalizer.

Now Ben stared at the dash of the Falcon until he felt Finn’s eyes slowly slide off him.

“I mean,” Ben said, at barely a whisper. “It could have been better.”

The ship shuddered as it was taken out of hyperspace. (The kind of shutter Ben associated with an overclocked motivator.) He glanced out the windows.

“You’re dropping me on Corellia?”

“Yep,” Poe said. “It’s where you’re dad’s from right? Thought you might have some family there and I figure they’re probably worried sick about you.”

“Actually,” Ben said – even though he was 90% sure Poe was being facetious—“My closest living family member is on… whatever planet your secret resistance base is located on.”

“Really?!” The mock surprise in Poe’s voice couldn’t be missed as he entered the planet’s atmosphere. “Anyone we know? Anyone you didn’t blow into space?”

“Yes, because, technically, that wasn’t me.”

As Poe landed the ship, he smashed his hand against a button and the sound of the Falcon’s ramp lowering could be heard in back.

For a few more seconds, they all sat in silence.

Poe looked back at Ben again – his shoulder muscles clearly tense. “Well, are you going?”

“Oh… uhm… I guess… I just thought…”

“What?”

“Well, this is my father’s ship... so…”

Silence.

Ben continued. “I know I killed him, but I had a conversation with his memory earlier and we’re totally cool now.”

Poe closed his eyes. “Do you want to keep talking or do you want to get off my ship?”

“Right,” Ben stood up, trying his best to remind himself that he was not Supreme Leader Kylo Ren – feared and dreaded across the galaxy – but cool, smooth talking, regular guy Ben Solo who would never force choke a high ranking resistance officer and a turncoat of the highest order before throwing them through the glass of Han Solo’s ship… no matter how much part of him wanted to.

“When you get back to your secret resistance base,” Ben said before leaving the cockpit, “could you tell my mom where I am so she can pick me up?”

“We’ll think about it,” Poe said. “Now get moving.”

“That was horrible,” Finn said as Kylo left the ship. “He was just looming back there the entire ride.”

“I know, buddy,” Poe said, piloting the Falcon back into the air. “We’ll get out of here and you won’t have to think about it anymore.”

“Say which of us you think he wanted to kill more on three,” Finn said.

In perfect unison the two counted: “One. Two. Three – Me.”

They looked at one another.

“Really?” Poe said.

“I mean,” Finn shrugged, “why would it be you?”

“His mom loves me. Loves me.”

“I used to work for him.”

“He tortured me.”

“He sliced my spine like a stuck gooberfish! The entire trip my spine was tingling, not because I was scared, but because I kept on worrying he’d slice it in half the entire trip!”

Poe nodded in concession. “Okay, yeah that’s fair. Though we did see him throw his lightsaber into the ocean.”

“I don’t care, I’m still not gonna mess with that… We are going to tell the general we left him on Corellia though, right?”

“Course,” Poe said. “She’d want to know.” He flipped a switch and launched them into the cold blue swirl of hyperspace.

#Fanfic #star wars #rise of skywalker #ben solo #sequel trilogy #kylor ren #Poe Dameron #fn-2187 #finn #My Roommate made me write fanfic #I haven't done this in almost a decade #Look what you have wrought

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krinatheladysnake · 4 years ago

Text

Lady Snake (and the Jedi Killer) Chapter 4

Summary: The galaxy calls her Lady Snake- a quick and merciless killer. Kylo Ren calls her a nuisance. Krina, a Commander and the only other Force user of the First Order, despises what the dark side has become and wishes to return it to its true state of power but what she hates the most is the naive man-child ruling over it.

Chapter 4: Excrucio (To Cause Great Pain)

Words: 1,415

“Guard the door and don’t mind the screams,” Krina ordered the set up stormtroopers that stood at attention right in front of the interrogation room as she swiped two fingers effortlessly and stepped inside. Her whole body was tingling with anticipation, knowing she was going to be doing some real damage to whoever this poor Resistance scum was. The door closed as soon as she was fully inside. She used the same two fingers to will the interrogation chair to swivel around and face her. The sight in front of her caused the most feral noise to escape her lips.

“Oh look, the traitor’s girlfriend is paying us a visit!” She cheered, flashing a sinister smile at Rose Tico. The prisoner looked up at Krina through droopy eyelids with the most disgusted expression resting on her bloodied face.

“Oh look, the less important version of Kylo Ren is here," Rose bit back.

“Careful, scum. I don’t think you’d want something so polarizing to be your last words,” Krina shook her head as she spoke. Rose didn’t answer again. How could she? Krina had thrown her hand up in anger and was crushing Rose’s windpipe.

“How did you get yourself captured again, little wretch? You and FN-2187 just caused quite a stir on the Supremacy and now here you are, back in our grasp. You really are so inexperienced and naive. It’s a shame. You have the potential to be so useful,” Krina never really did know when to stop talking, she found it fun to torment and taunt. It was just a game to her: how many words could she fit in before the scum was only an inch from death. She watched as the fear grew in the poor prisoner’s eyes. She couldn’t tell if Rose was afraid of death or Krina herself. Maybe it was a mixture of both. Maybe Krina didn’t care. She let go of her hold on Rose’s throat. Gasps and deep, strangled breaths filled the air. Krina took the time to saunter on over to the chair. She stopped inches from Rose’s face, outstretching her gloved hand. The side of her palm slowly moved down Rose’s face, causing the girl to thrash away.

“Get away from me, you monster,” Rose screamed, earning a giggle. Krina was delighted to hear such words and it showed in the way she smiled, the corners of her lips curling. Rose looked absolutely mortified.

“Monster?” Krina repeated the word to taste how it felt coming from her own lips. “Most refer to me as a snake but I like monster.” Krina practically sang her words as the Force tingled against her skin. Her eyes slowly scanned up and down Rose’s face, silently and nonchalantly pulling at her mind.

Krina was met with the memory of Captain Phasma. They weren’t friends, per say, but they stuck together. Being a woman in a higher ranking position in a place like the First Order wasn’t easy and they didn’t need to make it any harder on each other. Krina felt a shift in the Force. The same one she felt when the traitor killed Phasma. As anger shook through her core, Krina prepared herself. Rose struggled, shook, screamed, and did anything she could to get away from the inevitable, even as Krina connected a few leather covered fingers to her temple.

Green. Bright tints and dark shades covered everything. Vines wrapped up tree trunks that were adorned with branches covered in luscious leaves. The rich brown of the planet’s natural soil was stark in contrast to the vegetation. Resistance starfighter ships were all docked on a makeshift landing zone.

A limestone cave, carved out and littered in supplies. A large ship sat in the middle, hooked up to wires and buzzing the entire place to life. A command center, makeshift quarters, a training spot. Books, supplies, resources.

A girl, wearing pure white and wielding a staff, stuck out against the terrain. She spun the staff and stabbed a small droid, smirking at her progress. She repeated the motion over and over again, attacking at the air.

Krina blinked and was staring at a defeated, exhausted Rose. She soaked in all the information she just pulled out of the weakling's mind. A new Resistance base. The scavenger, looking so different from the last time Krina had caught a glimpse of her. She had grown, learned the ways of the Jedi. She was far more of a threat than she ever was before. That just meant Krina was going to have to kill her. But first, she had someone else to slaughter.

“A new base? Hux is going to be elated to hear about this. Such a pity you won’t be alive to watch it burn to the ground,” Krina spoke as she retreated from beside the chair and stepped in front of it.

“Rey would never let that happen,” Rose retorted, weakly.

Rolling her eyes, Krina shot down the pitiful answer. “That's if she can even hear the attack coming. Your little boyfriend seems to be shouting her name all the time.”

Rose seemed more bothered by that statement than she wanted to be. Trouble in paradise. She could feel the girl’s heartache, but quickly dismissed it. Krina did note that this was a sore subject, possibly usable in the future, and continued on.

“I suppose it's only fair to kill you the way Phasma would have wanted.” Krina ignited her saber and twirled it effortlessly before striking. Krina pushed the blade against Rose’s neck, only applying the smallest amount of pressure so that it didn’t sever right through her, branding her prisoner.

The smell of burning and slowly rotting flesh burned Krina’s nostrils and she smiled. She always loved the times when it wasn’t her own body being cooked and torn through. Rose’s scream tore through the room but honestly, Krina was hoping for more pleaing and thrashing. These Resistance fighters really did want to take away the thrill. Then again, she had overworked Rose’s brain twice over. She pushed down a little more, feeling the blade slip just an inch further.

Krina’s control over her lightsaber was something to behold. She had been wielding it since her very beginning days of being Snoke’s apprentice. Her connection with it had grown alongside herself and her connection with the Force. It was practically an additional limb.

Just as she was going in for the kill, Krina was interrupted by a bang on the door. With a grunt she stepped away from Rose, who was grateful for the pause in torture. As soon as she stepped outside, she immediately felt disdain for the sight before her.

“Ah, a Knight of Ren. Which one are you? I always get you all mixed up,” Krina mewled, cocking her hip to the side. She sifted through their wide display of helmets in her head and matched names. Vicrul. The Knight stayed quiet. She wondered if anyone of them even knew how to talk.

“Ma’am, you instructed that no one be let in,” One of the stormtroopers spoke out hesitantly.

“I did, yes. And so far, you’ve done your job.”

“This Knight claims the Supreme Leader sent him to collect you,” That same trooper finished his explanation and Krina could see right through it. She eyed the Knight, searched his mind for any sort of information and yet, he was blank. A trick Kylo Ren must have taught him. Though, she didn’t care much. She was sure the emotional nuisance wasn’t satisfied with the insufficient amount of annoyance he was able to add to her day. It was usually way more than even that intense, melodramatic moment.

“Tell Supreme Leader Buckethead that we’ve done enough talking for the day,” She dismissed, ignoring the stormtroopers that simultaneously tilted their heads in curiosity. For supposedly well trained and properly brainwashed fighters, they really did have their own personalities. Vicrul was quick to turn on his heels and walk away as if he was actually going to listen to Krina’s orders for once. She stared at him skeptically for as long as he was in view.

“Finish off the prisoner,” Her words came out in mumbles as she began to follow Vicrul’s path, almost step for step.

She traced just about what she thought was his every move, recording the path in her mind. She turned the corner where she had lost sight of him and was met with nothingness: just an empty hallway, a dead end.

#daily reblogs #kylo ren x oc #kylo x oc #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren imagine #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo x oc #lady snake #lady snake and the jedi killer #krina #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars fix it

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traitxr · 5 years ago

Note

FN-2187 or Finn? I'm Rin Mags Bridger or you may have known me as RN-9934, you're not the only former First Order member that defected to the Resistance. I see since the war is over, a man with your talents is needed everywhere now that the First Order is no longer a threat. Now we have terrorist cells popping up, I'd like to have you in Armistice Security, we're a PMC or the media would like to call us an "Empire For Hire." What do you say? We're made up of former stormtroopers.

Finn cocked a brow, looking over their shoulders at his comrades as they filed out. They were right, the war was over. The First Order was no more, but war didn’t change people’s mind’s overnight. The thought of First Order splinter cells didn’t sit right with Finn, but Finn was no leader. That was General Organa, or General Dameron. Finn clasped his hand on their shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Maybe I can introduce you to my friend, Jannah.”

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milla-frenchy · 1 month ago

Text

Ok, so. This is one of the hottest fics I've ever read. Like??? gurl??? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

“Is staring me down part of your ex-cop deal? You come here uninvited to interrogate me or something?” Joel accuses with annoyance in his eyes. “I don’t need to interrogate you,” Javier answers, mellow and cloying, “already know what you want.” He shifts, leaning forward, speaking quieter. “Just wanted to see if you’ve figured it out yet.” Joel works his jaw as he crosses his arms. A brick wall of resistance. The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Fuck meeeeeee

Javier’s hand had moved between them, palming the bulge in Joel’s jeans, his fingers pressing against his erection through the denim. Joel’s lips part, his whole body jerking forward instinctively, and a low groan rumbles in his chest before he can stop it. Javier’s smirk deepened. “That’s what I thought.” For a moment, Joel’s mind blanks out, lost in the haze of physical sensation. His body reacts before his brain catches up. “The fuck are you doing?” Joel snaps, grabbing Javier’s wrist and yanking it away. His voice is hoarse, breath ragged.

This Javi is so fn hoooooot

“You think they won’t take orders from you if they hear the noises you make for me?” He knows Javier is running his mouth to provoke him. But it works on him anyway. Joel huffs dismissively, without a thought, “You think I’d make a sound for you?” “I think you’ll beg me to stop before you do.”

This man's got a damn mouth

“On your knees,” he orders, his voice cold, flat, and restrained. Javier’s eyebrow raises, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Why, Joel?” he asks, voice playful. “You know why.” The presumption is underscored by the sound of Joel’s belt clinking before he unzips his jeans. He grips the base of his thick cock, menacing and erotic, as he keeps his hard gaze on Javier. He accepts the challenge, kneeling slowly, never breaking eye contact.

And that was it. My soul left my body. 🫠🫠🫠

“You’re gonna be good now,” Joel orders, “For me.” His voice is rough dark, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide the anger—or the heat—coursing through him. He can’t deny it right now, not when it burns so intensely.

I'm DEAD. This is so hot

Curling over Javier’s body, Joel presses his fingers to Javier’s mouth. “Suck.” Javier complies, allowing Joel to slip two fingers past his lips. Javier lets a hum vibrate around Joel’s fingers that causes Joel to roll his hips, grinding his still-clothed erection against Javier.

🥵🥵🥵

A strained chuckle comes from Javier, his body tightening with every twist of Joel’s fingers. “You still think you’re in control here?” he breathes, voice challenging and raw. “You’ve got no idea.” Joel pulls his fingers out abruptly, letting out a throaty growl as he shoves his jeans down just far enough to free himself. He spits in his hand, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, his mind focused on the sight of Javier bent over his desk, waiting for more, begging for it. “Let’s see if you can keep running your mouth with my cock inside you,” Joel’s voice is layered with satisfaction. A challenge. He’s firm, gripping Javier’s hips and lining himself up. The room feels still, their ragged breath the only sound filling the air. He feeds his cock into Javier slowly. The tight heat of Javier’s body draws a guttural noise out of Joel, and he pauses for just a moment, letting the sensation wash over him. Then he pushes in deeper, inch by inch. Javier lets out a sharp moan, hands balling into fists against the flat top of the desk. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time there’s no teasing edge, just raw need.

As I said

One of the hottest fics I've ever read. This is SO good. Thank you so, so much for sharing 🙏🫡🫡🫡

Paris, Texas pt. 2

aka: 2 Texans, 1 Lady 🎀 The joel x javi x reader threesome PART 2!!

WC: 8k | Other fics | Rating: 18+ | Read on Ao3 | PART ONE

this one goes out to my fellow mlm fans and voyeurs, i hope it’s everything you wanted and more <3; dedicated to everyone that gets a tag bc i love you 5ever

Summary: Joel, still struggling with his conflicting feelings about the threesome with Javier, gets a surprise visit at work from the man himself that leaves him even more confused. After a week of seeing Javier in his dreams, he gets another surprise visit at work.

Note: it’s pretty heavy on the m/m action so if that’s not ur thing no worries you can still have a forehead kiss from me

Tags/warnings: pwp, smut on smut on smut, internalized homophobia, dubcon joel/javi, infidelity, oral (m and f), consensual f/m sleepy oral, m/m anal, it’s not exactly a cuck chair–but there is a chair and u get to watch from it, top!joel, bottom!javi, but also switchy/vers in the future bc, respectfully, i would to experience the best of all worlds, i do not have a dick (i’m just a member of the fanclub) so if any of the m/m action is wildly inconceivable or something pls let me know i’m happy to receive feedback (spit as lube just pretend ok), some angsty guilt and shame in between the smut bc joel is still in denial, uhh dom!joel, idk if contractors have offices and i spent too long googling about it before remembering the point was the porn so pls forgive if that ruins ur immersion, tell me if i forgot something important

standard almostempty warnings at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise no descriptions of skin tone, blushing, hair, idk tell me if there’s something that takes you out (physically); everyone is probably bi; no y/n, no beta just fueled by the power of adhd and delusion, if u see a mistake it was the gremlins i’m sorry

PLEASE TELL ME IF U LIKE IT OR IF U HATE IT OR IF YOU WANT MORE

Joel is buried in paperwork. Permits and invoices are stacked up on his desk in organized chaos. The week has been a disaster. He blames his low-grade headache on the deadlines and number crunching, but he knows something else makes him uneasy. He rubs the pads of his fingers between his brows as if he could massage away the stress or erase the permanent worry line carved into his features.

The noises outside his office blend into static as he recommits himself to getting caught up.

He rolls up the sleeves of his worn plaid shirt, sighing to himself before he resumes. His pen scratches across a form he doesn’t care much about when the door to his offices creaks open.

His head snaps up, looking across the room with a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for interruptions, and he's already irritated at being stuck behind a desk playing catch-up. He isn’t expecting the man that enters the room. Stifling a surprised noise, he narrows his eyes to a sharp glare. He’s not in the mood for work-related afternoon interruptions, let alone a surprise visitor.

“So, this is the boss’s office?” Javier’s voice is smooth like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere and uninvited.

“Yep,” Joel mutters, grip on his pen tightening in his fingers. Dropping his eyes back to his work, considering ignoring the man. Maybe he can will away the pest by avoiding eye contact and ignoring the intruder sizing up his space.

Javier scans the sparse office. Empty walls, bare bones, and practical.

Joel assumes he’ll have a snarky comment about the size of the room or the view. He keeps flipping through the paperwork in his hand, braced for Javier’s attitude. Joel is tense and prepared to snap back, but his shoulders are tight and stiff as if he’s been sleeping on concrete for a week.

The signature scent of Javier, spicy and smoky, fills the air. The fragrance stirs Joel's memories and causes a visceral reaction. It makes his gut churn and fingers itch with restlessness.

The last–and only–time he’s seen Javier plays out like a well-edited montage. New images flash every time he blinks. Dark eyes. Sweat glistening on Javier’s chest. Lips, tongues, and teeth, he tries to subtly shake the thoughts out of his head.

Javier drops into the chair in front of the desk, eyeing Joel with a casual bravado. He crosses one leg over the other, resting his ankle along his knee in his dark jeans and rusty red button-down. He links his hands behind his head as if he’s prepared to settle in and bask in Joel’s discomfort.

Javier’s eyes roam over Joel’s desk. “You don’t have a secretary for all that paperwork?” he muses. A smile pulls at the corner of Javier’s mouth that Joel could sense without looking at him. He can feel the heat of Javer’s gaze pouring over the desk between them, making the air feel heavy, thick with something unsaid.

Joel can feel his pulse jump in his throat, chest constricted. “Nope.” He hoped his clipped tone would push Javier out of the room, but that hope flickers and dies when he takes in the nonchalant sight. Irritation spikes in Joel at the whole disturbance. He’s not interested in letting Javier take up residence in his office. Or his mind.

“You need somethin’?” Joel’s throat feels dry as he spits out the blunt question. He flips through the next invoice without processing a single word on the page. He’s tired and has a low threshold after a week of poor sleep. Though, he’d never admit, except maybe to you, that he’s easily irritated even with a good night of rest. But you always slice right through his grumpy shell.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Javier drawls, “thought I’d stop by.”

“Right.” Joel rolls his eyes, ”We supposed to be friends now?” Or what? Something more?

Javier shrugs casually, like that’s up to Joel to decide.

Joel tosses his pen and paperwork onto his desk. He takes a breath, forcing his features into something neutral. The night you brought Javier into your home, and your bed has haunted him. Made it so he couldn’t think straight. Tortured him, not with regret, but with the messy, tangled knot of shame and desire.

Now Javier is here. In the flesh. Self-satisfied and content, watching Joel and waiting expectantly. Waiting for what?

“Is staring me down part of your ex-cop deal? You come here uninvited to interrogate me or something?” Joel accuses with annoyance in his eyes.

“I don’t need to interrogate you,” Javier answers, mellow and cloying, “already know what you want.” He shifts, leaning forward, speaking quieter. “Just wanted to see if you’ve figured it out yet.”

Joel works his jaw as he crosses his arms. A brick wall of resistance. The fuck is that supposed to mean?

He clocks when Javier’s eyes lower, tracing the line of his arms, the same way you do when you catch Joel in a mood. You so easily diffuse his anger, disarming him with your wit or completely dismantling him with your body, unlike the instigator in front of him, who seems to only get under Joel’s skin.

Joel lets out a deep sigh. Javier isn’t here to be friends.

“It was what she wanted,” Joel says, his eyes hard, his voice firm. It felt like a weak excuse the second the words left his mouth. Shit.

Javier can taste the blood in the water. His eyes glint at the thrill of the chase. “Is that all?”

The room feels like it’s shrinking. Heat crawls up the back of Joel’s neck, anger entwined with something else he refuses to name. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he replies, standing up from his chair, trying to tower over Javier in some pathetic attempt at dominance.

A move he immediately regrets.

Javier also stands, circling around the side of the desk to look Joel up and down. Boldly. He admires Contractor Joel. The way he fills out his well-fitted work jeans, the way his deep green plaid hugs his broad shoulders and strains around his biceps as he crosses his arms again.

The workwear suits him. A strikingly masculine figure. Powerful and seductive. Tempting Javier just by existing. “I get it,” Javier murmurs to himself, understanding what you’d mean when you first described Joel. The disgruntled expression, the furrowed brows and sharp eyes–he only makes it worse.

“Always thought the whole construction thing was a cheesy porn gimmick,” Javier admits, “you could pull it off though. You got the toolbelt and the hat?”

“You can leave,” Joel replies dryly.

Ignoring Joel, Javier steps closer, “I’m just saying,” he rests a finger on Joel’s shoulder, drawing a line down towards his chest. Joel’s body is rigid, the contact searing his skin even through the soft material of his shirt. “You look good. This is your color,” he tugs at the dark green fabric below Joel’s throat. He drops his hand, and Joel feels like the earth could swallow him whole.

Javier’s mock compliments make Joel’s stomach flip before he steels himself again. Javier flashes a diabolical smile, catching the flare of Joel’s eyes and the hard swallow of whatever retort he couldn’t muster.

“You’re really trying to convince yourself, aren’t you?” Javier’s voice is dripping with mock sympathy.

Violent, intrusive thoughts race through Joel’s mind—socking Javier in the jaw to wipe that smug look off his face, grabbing him by the collar and running him through the wall, slamming him onto the desk. Face down so he could lean over his body and tell him, hot breath on the back of his neck, that he’s about to learn to watch his mouth.

Joel’s hands flex, knuckles popping, and heat stirs at the base of his spine at the dark desires. Suddenly, very aware of their close proximity. Close enough to feel the heat of Javier’s body, and to see the unwavering confidence in his face.

Amused by Joel’s volatility, Javier scoffs gently. His warm breath fans between them, and a smirk spreads on his face. Out of context, it’s only a gentle tease. A flirty smile and charged moment. But to Joel, strained like the last barricade holding back a beast, it’s too much. He snaps, and the beast gnashes its teeth.

“Get fucked,” Joel’s voice is a rumbly, low growl.

Javier’s smirk blooms into a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’d ask if you were offering, but I don’t think you’ve got it in you.”

Blood pounds in Joel’s ears. Drowning out the voice that wonders why Javier can rile him up so easily. The reminder that he’s got no reason to be jealous. That you’ve done nothing to make him worry.

“You were only doing it for her, huh?” Javier’s voice was quieter but still laced with danger.

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight when he replies, “Yep.” It doesn’t carry the conviction he needed to convey.

“Shame she isn’t here now, then,” Javier keeps pressing. The honesty in his tone throws Joel off.

“Would do anything for her,” Joel adds, softening fractionally at the truth in it.

“Anything?” Javier repeats.

“S’right.”

“For her.”

“For her,” Joel nods in agreement. Letting out a breath, he didn’t realize he had been holding. Javier rocks back on his heels like he’s about to turn and stroll away, satisfied by God knows what part of that interaction.

But he pauses.

Time feels weighted until Javier moves in closer. Another smile breaks across his face at how easily he can shock Joel into a trance with his audacity. Acting in defiance of all of Joel’s words.

His hand snakes up Joel’s chest until his fingers are slipping between the curls at the base of his skull. He leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of Joel’s ear, “Is this for her too?” He shifts back half a step, and with the hand on the back of Joel’s head, he urges him to look down.

Javier’s smirk deepened. “That’s what I thought.”

For a moment, Joel’s mind blanks out, lost in the haze of physical sensation. His body reacts before his brain catches up.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joel snaps, grabbing Javier’s wrist and yanking it away. His voice is hoarse, breath ragged.

“Anyone could walk in here.”

Javier didn’t pull away; he didn’t flinch. His head cocks in contemplation at Joel’s specific reasoning.

Leaning in closer, Javier’s voice drips with amusement. “You’re afraid of them?” he nods towards the door. “Worried about what? That your crew is gonna find out their boss likes cock?” he laughs softly, a dark, teasing sound.

Joel’s chest heaves, heart pounding. Anger, lust, and frustration all swirling together inside of him.

“You think they won’t take orders from you if they hear the noises you make for me?”

He knows Javier is running his mouth to provoke him. But it works on him anyway. Joel huffs dismissively, without a thought, “You think I’d make a sound for you?”

“I think you’ll beg me to stop before you do.”

Before he can dwell on the ramifications, Joel acts on impulse. Stepping back, his face hardening as he stares Javier down. That smug bastard. He’s consumed with a defiant urge to remove that smirk from Javier’s face.

“On your knees,” he orders, his voice cold, flat, and restrained.

Javier’s eyebrow raises, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Why, Joel?” he asks, voice playful.

“You know why.” The presumption is underscored by the sound of Joel’s belt clinking before he unzips his jeans. He grips the base of his thick cock, menacing and erotic, as he keeps his hard gaze on Javier.

He accepts the challenge, kneeling slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“Yeah,” Javier murmurs, “you look even better like this. All frustrated and desperate to be touched.” His voice is thick and low, like molasses. Almost reverent, but at the same time gloating, as if Javier’s only proving himself right. It’s infuriating to Joel that the man can so freely express his desire and rile Joel up further with the same words.

Javier’s hand covers Joel’s as he gives Joel’s cock an experimental stroke. Joel hisses through clenched teeth, slamming his eyes shut and tilting his head up to break the eye contact. To sever the intimacy. He’s taut, impatient, and ready to snap.

Until Javier’s lips wrap around his weeping tip, and they both groan in unison at the sensation. The wet heat of his mouth sends a sharp throb of pleasure through Joel. The intensity causes his hand to shoot out to his desk, fingers digging into the edge in an attempt to ground himself.

But it’s no use.

Javier knows exactly what he’s doing, taking him deep, fast, his mouth warm and eager. His hands work in symphony with his mouth, twisting around his length, massaging at his thighs and hips, deliberate and competent. He has nothing to be shy or restrained about.

Sinking into the pleasure, Joel starts to reason with himself. A mouth is a mouth, he can allow himself to have this, to let himself enjoy it.

And he does.

Javier’s tongue teases underneath the sensitive head of Joel’s cock before he slides past his lips, along the flat of his tongue, and deep into his throat. It’s good. Why is it so fucking good? Joel’s head tips back down, blinking his eyes open. His body shudders.

It’s not just a mouth.

Seeing Javier’s head bobbing, his cock disappearing past the man’s lips, it stirs something wild and untamed within him.

It’s a mistake to finally look. To really watch, taking it all in. The handsome features on Javier’s face, the unapologetic pleasure he takes from every reaction he pulls from Joel’s body. The strength and finesse of his hands are so different from you. He’s drawn to follow the movement of Javier’s hand dropping to readjust himself, to ease the pressure on his own aching cock.

The brief friction looses a moan from Javier, vibrating around Joel’s length. It’s undeniably fucking hot. Joel’s control slips, possessed by his urges.

He reaches for Javier’s face to cup his jaw and hold him still. And he gives in. Fucking into Javier’s mouth, hips jerking recklessly. It’s a desperate strain to tamp down the groans clawing at his throat, and it doesn’t help when Javier watches him with his half-lidded eyes. No.

“Shit,” he admonishes himself. Suppressing the captivating draw he feels. He tries to find focus, to keep it together–but there’s a loud knock that staggers him.

A voice, muffled outside of his office door, shouts to him, “There’s a vendor here, says he needs your sign-off.”

Joel’s breath hitches, “Fuck,” he spits, hands grasping the desk and Javier’s jaw, forcing out a coherent response. “Be there in a minute!” he calls out, voice strangled.

Javier doesn’t stop. He doubles down, hollowing his cheeks and greedily coaxing Joel to lose control. And, of course, he does. Joel’s climax hits fast and hard. His last attempts to stifle any noises falter. He gasps, body jerking as he comes, spilling into Javier’s mouth.

Dazed, he can only blink as Javier pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“Seems to me like that was just for you.”

Joel is wrecked, leaning against the desk, his heart racing. He doesn’t have time to process anything before Javier kisses him—brief, chaste, leaving behind the taste of himself on his lips.

“Better get out there before anyone worries, boss,” Javier whispers with a wink before walking out of the office, leaving Joel standing there, stunned, unable to move.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Joel isn’t sure if the knot in his stomach is anger, guilt, or worse, wanting more.

Seems to me like that was just for you.

It echoes, slowly settling over Joel.

He nearly doubles over when the reality finally hits. His thoughts race, consumed by the thought of you. What did he just do?

…………..

Joel is wracked with guilt and misery for days. Suffering in his own self-imposed torment.

He needs to tell you, but he can’t figure out how. There’s no version of, “Hey baby, you know the guy from the threesome? The one that I threatened to kick out of the house? Well, he showed up to my office, and I may have come down his throat before he disappeared without a trace like a dick-sucking fairy.” that he can come up with that sounds redeemable.

Worse, he still can’t get over the guilt and shame of how it even happened. Seduced by another man? He can’t fathom the reality that another man could turn him on, refuting the way he felt when he watched Javier sink to his knees. And rejecting the truth when his cock stirs at just the memory. Joel is at a complete loss for how to explain it away.

It fucks with his sleep. He jolts awake in the middle of the night, aching and hard and furious that Javier has invaded his dreams. He sits up in bed, dragging his hands over his face. And you stir, always attuned to him.

You’re warm and sleepy, but concern washes over you in the moonlight.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmur, reaching out to pull him towards you. “What do you need?” Always so grounded, so considerate. It twists the guilt inside of him. He tries to erase his self-loathing and reassure you, to ease you back to sleep.

You aren’t quite conscious enough to listen, but when you shuffle beneath the sheets to cuddle up to your man, you gasp when you accidentally brush over his hard cock. Not because it’s a shock to find, but because in your barely lucid state, you’re uninhibited. Earnestly expressing the desire his arousal sparks in you.

“Use me,” you whisper, slow and syrupy. Difficult to deny.

“No, baby, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” Joel argues softly.

You roll over, muffling a low whine into your pillow, before turning back towards Joel. You can make out his profile in the dim glow of the room. You can feel the resistance, but you give it another shot.

“It’s not okay,” you grumble, and his head jerks towards you, “can’t go back to sleep now, you’ve got me all wet already.”

“Okay,” he gives in like he could ever hold out on you anyway. He pulls back the sheet, exposing your sleep-warmed skin to the cooler air. Running his palm down your spine as you melt face down on the bed. He crawls overtop of you, straddling behind the curve of your ass, before lowering himself, caging you under his body.

The skin contact is overwhelmingly intimate as he presses soft kisses to your neck and shoulders. You settle with ease and whine softly into the dark room as he rubs his cock along your slick folds. He continues, grunting in his own pleasure, as he glides along your seam, soaking in the sensation of you. Wet and needy from his touch. Until your legs are twitching and your whines grow louder, impatient, and sharp until he hears you say his name. When you plead for him to fuck you already.

Then. He adjusts and sinks slowly into you, filling you inch by inch, grinding languidly against your plush body.

You’re soft. Warm and wet. You take him so well, and he knows how to find the angles to make you shake and cry out for him. Now he chases it, needing to please you, to give himself to you. He plunges into you deeply, whispering praise against your skin until you’re shuddering and gasping beneath him. He nearly comes with you, but when the thought of Javier pops up, he falters. He pulls out of you and gently flips you over.

“Sleep,” he commands as he settles between your legs, and you let it take you. Drifting off before you can process that he didn’t finish. Content to dream about Joel’s tongue dipping into your fluttering entrance and his hands spreading your legs wider.

Joel stays between your legs, making your dream a reality. Trying to purify himself by worshipping you. Pouring his sins out between your thighs. Seeking forgiveness through your pleasure until he’s too tired to dream.

He’s convinced this method will work. That eventually, he’ll forget about Javier altogether. But Joel underestimates how deeply the other man has sunk his claws into the back of his mind. It’s unsustainable, and his exhaustion becomes more and more apparent throughout the week.

Despite thinking he’s able to cover up his internal torment, you always seem to know when something is wrong. You don’t push. You’re patient and gentle with him. It adds to his guilt.

You help out in any way you can. Commenting that he seems stressed and tired but never asking for an explanation. You let him stew on his own emotional nightmare in solitude. As he prefers.

For now.

When Joel admits to you on Friday night that he’s behind at work, you simply nod. He doesn’t argue when you offer to bring lunch to him the next day. But he can barely meet your eyes when you smile and trail off about how you know just what will help him get through the day.

You tell him decisively that he deserves to finish up early if he’s going to the office on a Saturday. He can only nod. Determined to spend the morning figuring out how to confess to you. With words.

He’s still in a haze of fatigue the next day. Despite the rest of the office being quiet, his head is loud and buzzing. Likely the reason he’s so taken off guard when the door to his office swings open.

“Working on the weekend?”

Joel’s pulse spikes as the sound of Javier’s voice fills the room, smooth and mischevous.

Anger floods his bloodstream and cuts through the fog of shame that had been clouding his vision. Joel crosses his arms and levels a ruthless glare at the man leaning against the doorframe.

Javier should be the one that looks out of place. Overdressed for the occasion, in the wrong place. But he stands confidently, neatly groomed, and polished. His dark blue collared shirt and fitted jeans highlight his broad shoulders. He looks like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, and his expression says he knows it.

“No,” Joel says gruffly. Unperturbed, Javier sails into the room.

“I don’t have time for this. Get out.” Joel says, his voice low, dangerous. He stands, hips leaning against his desk, prepared to back up his threat. His tolerance is already out the window for Javier.

Javier shrugs, movements so fluid in relation to Joel’s fixed demeanor.

“You didn’t say please.” His smirk is maddening. Joel’s fuse is short. He’s not interested in games. Not interested in having anything to do with his surprise guest at all. But he doesn’t move. Words caught in his throat.

“Besides,” Javier continues breezily, “you aren’t very convincing. I told you last time, I like this look on you, all mad and–”

Joel feels thorns clawing at his throat. Furious that his nerves flutter in response to Javier’s backward flattery. He can’t be thinking straight, that’s all.

In fact, it’s damned near impossible to think when Javier keeps running his mouth, pushing every button he’s got.

“Fuck you,” Joel hisses, vibrating with frustration, cutting off whatever Javier’s next words would have been.

Amused by the interruption, Javier’s smile widens, eyes gleaming. “Mm,” he purrs, stepping closer, “You would like to, wouldn’t you?”

That’s it.

Joel snaps, his hand shoots out, grabbing Javier by the front of his shirt and shoving him roughly against the nearest wall. The loud thud of Javier’s back hitting the drywall echoes in the small office. But the smirk on Javier’s face only deepens.

“Touchy today, aren’t you?” Javier teases, breath coming out in a soft laugh. His body is pinned between the wall and Joel’s, but he doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, he looks pleased with the predicament.

Joel’s breath is coming out hard and fast, fists still gripping the fabric of Javier’s shirt. This is the last person he wants to see right now. He seethes. Pent up and compressed into a dangerous coil.

“You think this is funny?” Joel snarls, his face mere inches from Javier’s.

Javier’s smile softens into something darker, more intimate. “A little,” he admits, leaning in just enough that their noses almost brush. “But, you seem to be taking it pretty seriously.” Javier shifts under Joel’s grip, his hands skirting up Joel’s waist. “You’re so worked up.”

Joel grits his teeth, a ferocious-looking expression that only eggs Javier on.

Dropping to a whisper to demand that Joel listens closely, Javier adds, “Maybe you’re not mad at me at all.”

Before Joel can snap back, Javier shifts, movements effortless and exact.

In an instant, Joel finds himself flipped, his back flat against the wall, slammed with a force that he wasn’t expecting. Javier’s arm presses across Joel’s chest, and his hips press against Joel’s in a way that sends a hot wave of need shooting down Joel’s spine.

“Maybe,” Javier murmurs, lips to Joel’s ear, “you’re just mad at yourself.” Javier rocks his hips into Joel’s, grinding against his body in a slow, deliberate motion. A shudder ripples through Joel’s frame, even as his mind rebels against the thrill. “Denying the truth.” He emphasizes his point, pelvis pressing into Joel’s hardening cock, rolling his hips again. “Denying the pleasure.”

No. Joel holds out. He isn’t going there. Not now, not ever.

But damn, the way Javier has him, the heat of his body against Joel’s. It tugs at the tangled knot of confusion in his chest. The knot that’s close to unraveling.

“Fuck you,” Joel spits again, but it lacks the venom from earlier. His voice is a little shaky, resolve crumbling the longer Javier stays this close.

Javier smiles, his lips brushing against Joel’s jaw. “Say it, Joel.” He’s all-consuming, like a tidal wave crashing over and destroying all of Joel’s hastily constructed defenses. Javier is a relentless force.

“Say it,” Javier demands. “I already know. Knew the first night we met,” he murmurs. “Just need to hear you say it.”

Joel’s heart pounds against his chest, and his mind races. He wants to shove Javier off, wants to do anything other than stand there and feel his body respond to every damn word Javier says. Instead, he can’t seem to do anything. Can’t stop the muscles spasming in his core, or the way his chest heaves under Javier’s arm.

“You can’t, though,” Javier whispers, his voice a dark, teasing rumble. He drops his arm, releasing Joel from his hold. “Such a shame. I wanted to know what you could do with that pretty cock of yours.”

That was the last straw.

Joel grabs Javier by the waist, roughly spinning him around, and shoving him face-first onto the desk.

“You wanna know what I can do with it?” his voice is harsh and wild.

A reckless energy blazes between them. He pushes Javier down, leaning over him, chest pressed into Javier’s back. One hand snakes down Javier’s side, stopping at his hip. The other hand firmly planted on the back of Javier’s neck, pinning him down.

Javier catches his breath. He doesn’t resist. If anything, he leans into it, arching his back, breath coming out in soft pants as Joel’s firm body boxes him in. With their bodies pressed tightly together, Joel’s straining erection isn’t subtle. “That’s more like it,” Javier murmurs, breathless but still smug.

“Shut up,” Joel’s voice is hoarse. He is losing himself in it, the heat, the tension. Javier’s solid, toned body beneath his. He doesn’t want to think anymore. Doesn’t want to feel. He just wants to take control. To push past all the noise in his head.

His body is on fire. Adrenaline, testosterone, and arousal all surge through him. Heightening every sensation, forcing him to be present. Rooted in his physicality.

Gritting his teeth, Joel’s hands grip Javier tighter, a bruising force.

He shifts his stance behind Javier, grinding his hips forward and feeling how Javier’s body responds. How he invites the contact and braces against the desk. Sweet, thick satisfaction pools at the base of Joel’s spine.

Javier is still mouthing off, taunting Joel. Despite his voice sounding more breathless, it still brims with arrogance. “For you,” Javier repeats Joel’s words. “I thought it was all just for her? Have you changed your mind now?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He’s too far gone. His hands move to the waistband of Javier’s jeans, yanking them down roughly, exposing the curve of his ass. Javier lets out a small gasp but doesn’t protest. In fact, Joel can feel the anticipation humming in Javier’s body, and he’s amused when Javier presses back as if he needs to dare Joel to go further. As if he could stop now.

Losing the war with himself, Joel takes out his resentment on Javier. He hooks his fingers into Javier’s cheek–jerking his head to the side. He glowers at the signs of arousal on Javier’s face. The undignified hunger.

Remnants of disgust curdle in Joel’s gut. “You’re fuckin’ sick,” he accuses in a husky whisper, removing his fingers and straightening, breaking the eye contact that stirred something fierce and hot in his veins.

Accusations aside, Joel continues. He watches, smirking to himself, as Javier tenses at the sudden contact when Joel runs his hand over the curve of his ass. He takes his time. Enjoying his own exploration of Javier’s body. Smooth skin and firm and muscular.

When he slowly pushes a finger inside, Javier’s body tenses at first, but Joel is persistent, working in deeper and stretching him open.

Javier lets out a soft moan, still managing to sound smug even with the sharp gasp that follows. “You act all pissed,” Javier’s whispers, “but you love this.” His voice drips like warm honey with a teasing bite.

Joel grunts, ignoring the taunts, focusing instead on the way Javier’s body relaxes beneath him, allowing him to add another finger. Javier’s breath hitches and he drops his head onto the desk.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, “you like that.”

His words on encourage Javier to continue, “Know you wanted this,” he breathes, “that you’ve been thinking about it since last time, since the first time.” He continues his murmuring, words spilling over Joel’s desk, “I know because you’ve been in my fuckin’ head since that night.”

“You’ve got an awful smart for someone in your position,” he continues, mindlessly flipping the attitude back at Javier, pointedly ignoring his confession.

Joel pulls his fingers out abruptly, letting out a throaty growl as he shoves his jeans down just far enough to free himself. He spits in his hand, slicking himself up with rough, hurried strokes, his mind focused on the sight of Javier bent over his desk, waiting for more, begging for it.

“Let’s see if you can keep running your mouth with my cock inside you,” Joel’s voice is layered with satisfaction. A challenge. He’s firm, gripping Javier’s hips and lining himself up. The room feels still, their ragged breath the only sound filling the air.

He feeds his cock into Javier slowly. The tight heat of Javier’s body draws a guttural noise out of Joel, and he pauses for just a moment, letting the sensation wash over him. Then he pushes in deeper, inch by inch.

Javier lets out a sharp moan, hands balling into fists against the flat top of the desk. “Fuck,” he breathes, and this time there’s no teasing edge, just raw need.

Holding still while they both catch their breath, Joel’s hands dig tightly into Javier’s hips, anchoring the two of them together. He buries himself to the hilt, savoring the overwhelming sensation of heat and friction.

And then he starts to move.

Slowly, at first. Deliberate. He moves with measured control, hips snapping forward, pushing deeper with every stroke. Javier groans beneath him, then manages to mumble something about Joel being desperate, about how much he wanted this, but the words are broken, breathless.

“Yeah?” Joel growls, picking up the pace, his movements growing rougher, harder. “That’s what you think?”

Javier’s body jerks with each powerful thrust, breath coming in short bursts. “I know it,” he rasps, his grip on the desk tightening as Joel relentlessly continues. Slamming into him harder now, control beginning to slip.

“You talk too much,” Joel decides, pounding harshly into Javier, reveling in the sweet clench as his pelvis meets Javier’s ass. He’s entranced by the sensation, the skin-to-skin contact, the heat, sweat, and musk.

Joel feels reckless. Intoxicated with the rush of adrenaline and dopamine. Chasing an escape and taking it out on Javier. He is distantly aware that Javier has stopped with his taunting. The only sound either of them makes are low groans and throaty grunts as he pounds into the man beneath him.

So absorbed with the immorality and the thrill he’s blind to the rest of the world and the rest of the room.

Until the door opens.

Joel freezes, his heart dropping into his stomach.

It’s you.

You shut the door, locking it, before turning back to face both men. Joel’s mind goes blank. His body is still pressed against Javier, his hands still grip his hips, his body flush against his.

For a split second, he thinks he can pull away and cover up the situation somehow, but there is nothing that can explain this away. No excuse. No cover story. His body runs cold, at a loss for words, mouth agape.

Then he sees the look on your face.

You stand still, like a prey animal caught in the line of sight of two apex predators. You can see the fear in Joel’s eyes, and your heart lurches, aching to comfort him. But the rest of the scene has you stopped in your tracks.

Joel sees your eyes widen; your breath is shallow, but there’s no shock. No confusion or hurt. Just a raw, undeniable hunger. You aren’t prey.

You stand, taking in the sight of Joel fucking Javier into his desk, and your lips part in a small, breathless sigh.

Javier turns to take you in, noticing the shift in the room, but he doesn’t pull away either. He is glowing, flashing his teeth with a wicked smile. The locks of hair on his forehead are damp with sweat, and his chest heaves as he remains braced atop the desk across from you.

“Look who’s here to watch. Her own private show.”

Joel swallows hard, still buried deep inside of Javier, his heart races. Adrenaline and arousal tangle together in a haze that leaves him unsure and adrift.

You step further into the room, your gaze never leaving Joel’s as you cross the room. Setting down the lunch you brought, you perch on the edge of the chair that sits in front of the desk.

“Don’t stop,” you encourage.

Joel still looks like he’s forgotten how to blink or breathe.

“The deli had a long line, and I couldn’t get parking,” you trail off a little breathlessly, watching the confusion on your man’s face.

Statuesque and still, Joel is dumbfounded that you’re talking about being late for lunch while he’s balls-deep in the man bent over his desk. Is this real life? He’s been plagued with dreams of Javier for the last two weeks, waking up hard and sweating. But they weren’t like this. None of them were like this.

“Don’t stop,” you repeat, voice dropping, sultry and encouraging. But he’s still locked in a trance.

“Can’t perform for an audience this time?” Javier quips, and Joel can hear the eye roll in his tone.

Joel swallows hard, his mind spinning. He doesn’t know what to make of this. How to handle the fact that you’re here, watching. But with the heat in your eyes and the lack of surprise, you seem so relaxed–no, you’re enjoying this.

That does something to Joel.

Something dangerous.

The invitation in your eyes sets him off.

“She said don’t stop,” Javier continues on, smirking playfully at you, pushing back against Joel.

Slowly, Joel regains feeling in his body. His hold on Javier constricting, his breath steadying, “I won’t.” He starts to move again, indulging in the sensation as he slowly drags his cock almost all of the way out before burying himself deep with a harsh snap of his hips. The motion forces a gravelly moan out of Javier that makes your cheeks hot.

Joel continues, unhurried, fixed on the expression on your face and the depravity of the situation. You have a sparkle in your eye that he’s familiar with. “You knew,” Joel states. You nod in affirmation, a grin spreading on your face.

“I set it up,” you whisper.

Your admission hangs in the air. The sex-filled, debacherously thick air. Joel's remaining hesitance dissipates as it all sinks in. Washing away the fear of being caught or ashamed. He can see the glow on your face, your eyes dark--blown out with lust, wetting your lips as you wait for more. He can ask questions later.

For you.

He tells himself, dismissing the last of the voices in the back of his mind.

You can see the gears turning in Joel’s head before something settles in, and the dark look he gives you makes your body burn up. Joel grunts, and you nearly melt, knees weak at the eroticism. It’s a good thing you’re seated.

Joel slams harder into Javier, giving in to the primal heat driving him forward. Every broken breath from Javier feeds Joel’s growing need. His intensity shoots straight to your core. Your cunt throbs between your legs. You settle back into the chair, savoring the fruits of your labor.

Your eyes trail over both men. It’s better than you could’ve imagined. You only wish you’d been in the room last week. However, getting the details from Javier kept you aching all week, even with Joel’s newly acquired midnight oral fixation.

You feel the hungry look on your face, gaze darkening as you marvel at the lewd scene. You don’t wait for Joel’s approval. Hand dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, slipping over the seam of your pussy, already needy and wet from the debased view of the two gorgeous men.

“Oh, shit,” Javier’s eyes nearly roll back as he watches you, eyes flicking from your hand disappearing beneath your shorts and up to your face.

Your lips part, arousal flooding your body at the dynamic between both men. You watch them in awe, like your very own porn starring your two favorite men. It’s indescribably hot to see you Joel so unraveled, his teeth clenched in a feral snarl as he continues. And to see Javier so blissed out beneath him.

“Show me,” Joel’s plea sends a tingly thrill down your spine. You remove your hand from between your legs to show off the tips of your fingers, glistening from tracing your slick folds. The way both men are glued to your display gives you a different thrill, something powerful and bright that starts in your chest and flows through your body. “Show me everything, baby,” his gruff voice is irrefutable.

You slip the shorts off, spreading your legs wide and parting yourself boldly to give your men their own private show. You trace your fingers from your entrance to your clit, drawing circles and seeking relief from the pulsing need that has you already feeling precariously close to the edge.

Joel’s breath comes in harsh pants now, body slick with sweat. The desk rattles beneath them as he drives into Javier, losing himself in the rhythm, the heat, the friction, and in the sounds Javier makes–those desperate moans, ragged breaths, the way he was trembling beneath Joel, taking it all.

And all the while, Joel’s gaze flicks back to you, watching the way your breath quickens, the way you touch yourself more urgently. Like a live wire had been lit between the three of you, charging the room with an intensity Joel had never felt before.

You’re spread out in front of both of them, a vision he’ll never forget. You freely let out soft whimpers and sweet whines that drive him wild. It all surges through Joel like a fever, threatening to consume him and driving him harder into Javier, who lets out a strangled moan.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you sound frustrated. “You have no idea how fucking hot you are like this–shit.” You watch them with rapt attention, your hand moving quickly between your legs as you touch yourself. Joel can hear the soft, slick sounds of your fingers working and can see the way your body shivers with the same need that builds inside both men.

Your soft moans fill the room, blending with Javier’s broken gasps and Joel’s deep, gruff groans, creating a symphony of debased pleasure.

“Let’s see,” Joel encourages you in a hoarse voice. You can feel all of the need radiating from both men, it’s salacious and empowering. Joel’s gaze stays on you as he pounds into Javier, watching as you arch your back slightly, fingers working faster. Your parted lips and breathless noises make Joel’s pulse pike.

“I’m gonna come,” You can’t stop drawing out deep and bright waves of pleasure as your eyes dance in a flurry between Joel and Javier, taking in every detail. You can vaguely hear Joel’s praise as you work through the sensations. Panting shallowly, you’re fixed back on them as you start to relax.

Joel’s cock throbs inside Javier as he watches you, and for a brief moment, his rhythm falters, overwhelmed by how much it was turning him on to see you like this, to know you were getting off watching him like this.

Having caught on to Joel’s shift in focus, Javier lets out a choppy laugh. His own voice cracks with need. “She likes watching you fuck me,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure. “Look at her,” he begs in earnest.

“Shut up,” Joel grits out.

But Javier only laughs again, his voice still jagged. “Can’t blame her,” he continues, testing Joel’s patience. “Told you already, that sexy angry look you get–”

Joel doesn’t let him finish. He slams forward, thrusting into him deep and hard. Cutting Javier’s words off with a loud, choked moan. “Talk too fuckin’ much,” Joel spits out roughly as he leans over, his chest pressing against Javier’s back.

Joel catches the telltale hitch in Javier’s breath, the sharp, desperate moan that slipped from his lips as his need builds, coiling tight in his gut. He slides a hand over the curve of Javier’s ass, snaking around his hip, tracing over the curls at the base of his cock, and finally wrapping his fingers around his length.

Javier’s entire body jolts, clenching tightly around Joel at the contact. Joel strokes Javier’s cock firmly, matching the rhythm of his own thrusting. He revels in the delicious sensation of Javier tensing beneath him, and his breath catches in his throat.

The display of dominance and ego keeps you enthralled. Skin ablaze as you can barely keep up with the intensity of the two of them. You sink two fingers into your throbbing cunt, aching to feel filled and as wrecked as Javier seems.

Javier’s body clenches tightly around Joel as he watches you come in front of them, for them, but Joel isn’t about to stop. “You,” Joel growls as he pulls Javier’s head back just enough to hear him better. “You’re next.”

“Just–fuck,” Javier groans, hips pushing back to meet every thrust, practically vibrating under Joel, the usual cockiness faltering and replaced with something more intimate. “Don’t stop.”

Grinning through clenched teeth, leaning forward, breath hot against Javier’s ear, Joel’s voice is velvety smooth, “I know.”

“You gonna come for me?” Joel asks, his fist tightening as he jerks Javier’s cock, his other hand holding him steady by the hips.

“Please,” you add, desperate to see them fall apart.

“You–” Javier’s head drops forward, his voice a ragged gasp. He can’t finish the sentence as Joel slams forward, his hand moving faster and harder as he feels Javier’s cock pulsing in his grip.

“Come on,” Joel taunts now, rough and demanding. “Do as you’re told for once, Javier, come for me.”

And with a sharp gasp and cry, Javier’s body tenses, his cock jerking in Joel’s hand as he comes. The sheer intensity of his release is all too much.

Javier slumps forward, panting and spent, Joel’s gaze shoots back to you. The sight of you–the way you are losing yourself in watching them–makes Joel’s entire body light up with a new intensity.

You let out another soft groan, your gaze locked on Joel’s as you touch yourself, your fingers glossy with slick arousal. “Fuck, Joel,” you whisper. “Please.”

His body reacts immediately to the sound of your voice, the sight of you so undone, and he knows he’s close. He can feel the way his cock throbs inside of Javier, the heat of his release building in his gut, tightening with every rough movement. But this. Having you here, watching pushes him to the edge in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Hips stuttering, Joel’s orgasm tears through him. Groaning deep within his chest, his body jerks forward as he comes inside of Javier. His fingers dig so hard into Javier’s hips that he knows he’s going to leave bruises.

Javier shudders beneath him, panting, body spent, but still bracing himself against the desk as Joel rides out the last of his release, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. He looks at you, and a grin spreads on his face. The wrung-out expression really does it for you.

Your eyes are half-lidded, face hot with arousal, fingers desperately reaching for the sensitive spot inside your cunt that Joel reaches with ease. Both men’s dark eyes rake over your body, spurring you on. Writhing under your own hands and their heady expressions.

“Goddamn,” Javier breathes raggedly, but his tone is laced with admiration as he watches you. It makes you glow. “So pretty like that.” You moan louder, body arching as you ride the edge of your release.

“Such a good girl,” Joel says. “Come for us.”

With a shattered breath, you come–moans filling the room as your core contacts in waves. Until you’re cursing and panting softly. Letting the praise flowing from Joel and Javier wash over you. You giggle softly, acknowledging you feel more cockdrunk than the two of them look despite only watching.

You feel a warmth settling between the three of you.

It makes your limbs feel loose and floaty as you smile lazily, watching both men tuck their softening cocks back into their jeans. You swell with pride. For your own luck, snagging two incredibly gorgeous men. And for successfully executing your plan.

You know there’s more work to do. You catch the awkward pauses and shuffling, but you can only allow your heart to swell as Joel helps you to your feet as if your legs stopped working. A deep-seated contentment unfurls in your chest when his arms wrap around you. And when he releases you, watching as you pull Javier towards you, you remain hopeful.

You’ve got more in mind for your two Texans.

divider: @cyberangel-graphics

lomls:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

@94namkooksworld

@gothcsz

@thundermartini

@magneticecstasy

@witchofthedeepwoods

@txlady37

@oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff

@bitchesuntitled

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@tobethlehem

@amanitacowboy

@lotusbxtch

@qveerthe0ry

@ace-turned-confused

#jmrecs #jprecs #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #javier peña x reader #joel miller x javier peña #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #mlm smut #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier peña smut #pedro pascal character fiction #almostempty

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once-and-future-alaskan · 5 years ago

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scarletlotus182 replied to your post: GUN ROAST

roast the digimind vote winners, M14, and the Famas

Ok so since I don’t actually know anything about the Micro Uzi other than it’s pretty unexceptional, already yelled at the M14, and I genuinely can’t think of anything negative to say about Famas other than it can’t take optics very easily, We’ll do the 1911.

BOOMER GUN BOOMER GUN BOOMER GUN BOOMER GUN BOOMER GUN.

GO DRINK SOME MONSTER YOU OLD FUCK.

BOOMER GUN BOOMER GUN BOOM-

Now that that’s out of my system, let’s begin.

So the 1911 was designed by John Moses Browning, aka that guy who designed basically every fucking gun ever, in the early 1900s and chambered in .45 ACP. During World War 1 the United States was the only nation in the Entente to field a semi-automatic as it’s main sidearm. For the time it was absolutely and unquestionably exceptional.

For the time.

It continued to serve into World War 2 where it was still more than on par with everything else available, would continue into Korea, and then into Vietnam...and into Panama and-

I’ll cut to the chase because not every post needs to be as long as the M14 one. The 1911 was obsolescent by the end of World War 2 and outright obsolete by Vietnam. It had no right to persist as long as it did. The action is fine sure, but the gun is primarily being held back by three key factors.

Cartridge. .45 ACP sucks. It’s slower than 9mm and stopping power is bullshit and not really a thing.

Capacity. Due to the 45 cartridges large size and single stack magazine, the 1911 only has a mag capacity of 7 shots. This is unacceptable for any service weapon made after 1970.

Single Action. The fact that the 1911 is Single Action only, meaning the hammer has to be cocked for the gun to function, encourages some very bad carry habits that can be outright dangerous to the shooter.

In the modern-day, there is literally no reason to choose a 1911 over anything more modern. Want a steel frame, hammer-fired gun? Beretta 92FS/M9 or the CZ75 family of guns. Want a .45? H&K USP .45 or the FN FNX .45 tactical. Just want something with capacity? Literally any Glock, as painfully boring as they are, or similarly derivative gun. Fucking anything is better than the 1911 and that includes the modernized double stack ones because at that point just buy a Hi-Power.

TL;DR the 1911 is an old design that got taken way further than it ever should have, it’s kinda like the AA-12 in that regard.

In Girls Frontline 1911 is an incredibly boring 2-star handgun who has a rivalry with M9 because originality is dead. Her Mod 3 design is...fine. It’s just, fine.

#scarletlotus182 #taka writes #i got worked up on this one

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postedbygaslight · 7 years ago

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You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 19: The Rebel

It’s long overdue. Our first chapter in the shoes of the rebel formerly known as FN-2187.

The man who had, in a different life, been known as designation FN-2187 walked briskly down a corridor inside the Vedic III Resistance base with a newly reassembled and optimized blaster rifle slung over his shoulder. He walked with a feeling of direction and purpose, two things he had never had in his life beforehand. The Resistance against the First Order had offered him a vehicle for purpose and a promise of direction, and, though initially slow to accept the call, Finn had thrown himself heart and soul into the cause.

But right now the conversation he’d just had with Rose weighed on his mind. She’d come into their room seeming so troubled and lost. The answer to her question hadn’t helped anything. Finn had managed to revive her mood by asking her about repairing the lightsaber. Once she got talking about that, Rose had become so excited and animated that both he and she managed to ignore, if not forget, what they’d discussed when she’d first walked in and sat of the bed.

Rose had wanted to know Kylo Ren’s real name. That was information that Finn happened to have. And the way Rose had reacted, with a mix of confusion and dawning horror, gripped him with a sunken kind of nausea as he walked toward the tarmac of the airstrip and flight deck.

Memories of Kylo Ren were not among those Finn valued highly. They haunted him most days. And he still woke sometimes thinking he was just snapping to consciousness after falling at Ren’s feet in the snow. Finn was a soldier. He’d been trained to fight. But the kind of combat he’d faced when Ren brought his lightsaber down on Finn’s borrowed blade, smashing through his defenses, stalking him like some beast defending its territory, was the stuff of nightmares and legend. The long scar Finn bore on his back, where the volatile red blade had chewed a searing line through his flesh, was a constant reminder of that nightmare, and of his failure to protect his friend.

When he thought on it, Finn had to step back and marvel at what Rey had accomplished where he’d failed. She’d been knocked unconscious when Ren flung her against a tree, but she’d been able to snap to, make her way to where Finn had fallen, retrieve the Skywalker lightsaber, and had then bested Kylo Ren in a duel. She’d even gifted him a scar of his own, an angry, snaking line from his shoulder to his right eye.

Despite that, and despite the fact that Ren was figurehead and champion of the enemy they’d all sworn to defeat, Rey never wanted to talk about him. Not about her victories over him. Not about her abduction by him. Not about the brief stint she spent as his prisoner in the hours before Admiral Holdo destroyed the Supremacy.

Telling Rose about Ren’s identity wasn’t something he felt guilty for doing. He had known he would tell her eventually. Still, hearing it couldn’t have been easy for her. Learning the truth had been disorienting enough to learn for him, standing on a viewing platform in the oscillator shaft on Starkiller Base.

He and Rey had both watched as Ren had lured his own father out onto the catwalk that spanned the shaft. They had watched Ren remove his mask to reveal the young, dark-haired man beneath. And they’d watched as the man who had once been Ben Solo ignited his lightsaber, sending a rippling beam of red plasma through his father’s chest. The way Rey had screamed— a tortured, desperate cry of grief— would stay with him forever.

Those were his thoughts as he climbed the stairs from the barracks to the airstrip, and started across the tarmac to the cluster of buildings that made up the command center. The sun was high, and the white sky and gray tarmac combined to make for a blinding glare. Finn squinted, letting his eyes adjust.

About half way across, as he weaved between the X-Wings and support craft that were scattered about, he saw a blue and white Quad Jumper, its engines still cycling down after planetfall. He could already see the hulking form of Chewbacca, hauling large black crates down the boarding ramp, and could hear BB-8’s distinctive beeping. He headed over in that direction, but when he got close, he heard something he definitely hadn’t expected.

“Well, if it isn’t the big, bad rebel himself!”

Finn scanned around, and dropped his gaze to waist height to see Maz Kanata beaming up at him.

“Maz? What’re you doing here?”

The diminutive woman, with her finely wrinkled skin and custom goggles, approached him with a sly grin.

“I told you I liked that Wookiee,” she said, winking. “I heard things didn’t go quite as planned on Cantonica.”

“Yeah, we found your codebreaker. Then we got thrown in jail. And had to make do with—“

“DJ. Yes, I know. I wish I could say I was surprised, but, really, Finn, the man named himself ‘Don’t Join.’”

“Wait,” Finn said, the realization of it dawning on him. “DJ stands for ‘Don’t Join?’”

Maz raised her eyebrows and looked up at him, tapping her cap with her finger. It was then that Finn remembered DJ’s own cap, which had been fitted with a metal plate bearing the words, “Don’t Join” in standard Aurebesh.

“I feel really stupid now.”

“Maz!”

Rey’s voice rang out from across the strip, and she jogged the short distance to where Maz stood, dropped to a knee and gave her a welcoming hug.

“Now I know what took Chewie so long,” Rey said, pulling back from the embrace.

“Child, look at you.” Maz regarded Rey with a motherly smile. “All grown up now.”

“Come on,” Rey said, smirking, “it’s only been a few months.”

“Yes, but you’ve come of age. You’re not the frightened girl I saw on Takodana. Then, when I told you to take that,” Maz nodded toward the lightsaber hanging from Rey’s belt, “you ran from it like it might bite you.”

“I wasn’t ready. You told me to feel the Light, that it would guide me. And I think it has.”

Maz took a half step closer to Rey, raising her small hand to the younger woman’s chin.

“Did you ever find him?”

“Luke? Yes—“

“Rey,” Maz said with a purposeful tone, peering at her through her goggles.

“Yes,” Rey responded after a moment. She was smiling softly, her voice hushed. “I found him.”

“Oh, child. Does she know?”

Rey nodded and said, “I told her.”

A few moments passed, and Maz cocked her head, favoring Finn with a sidelong glance.

“Well, it’s hot,” Maz announced, straightening to full height. “I’m going inside.” She cupped her hand to her mouth and shouted, much louder than it seemed should be possible for someone so small, “Chewbacca! Are you really going to make me walk all the way across this airfield?”

Chewie responded with a plaintive sound in shryiiwook, bent down, and Maz scurried up onto his shoulder.

“I feel like I just eavesdropped on something I wasn’t supposed to hear,” Finn said as Chewie and Maz disappeared into the base.

“Maz is over a thousand years old, Finn,” Rey said as she stood up and dusted off her trousers. “She probably views secrets and privacy as something quaint. Temporary.”

“Was that something secret?”

“Everyone knows about Luke. I suppose not everyone knows I went to find him, despite Poe’s best attempts.”

“I heard about your argument.”

“Finn, it’s fine.”

“Poe’s only trying to look out for everyone. You, too. He just gets a little... passionate about it.”

“I know that. I’m— I feel much better now.”

“Rose told me you guys almost blew up the Falcon a few times,” he said, nodding in the direction of the old freighter. “She was way too excited about it.”

“We didn’t almost blow up the Falcon,” Rey said, then paused, thinking. “All right. Maybe once.”

Finn looked down at the lightsaber. It hung from the clip on her belt like it was the most natural thing there was. The weld she and Rose had done was hardly noticeable, and the chromed durasteel gleamed with flashes of white as she moved.

“How’s it feel to have that back?”

“It feels great,” Rey said, glancing down. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.”

Finn was thinking about having used the saber. The heft of it. The droning vibration from the center of the hilt. The way it sang and whined as it burned slashes of light through the air. It was, without a doubt, a beautiful weapon. But Finn also remembered that from the moment he’d ignited the blade, something had felt wrong, and the hum of the blade had sent subtle tremors convulsing up and down his arms. He’d switched back to a blaster the first chance he got.

“Finn,” a voice called from the entrance to the base. A crewman in a flight suit stood there, waving him down. “General Dameron wanted to see you in the command center.”

Finn acknowledged the crewman and gave Rey a parting smile.

“Duty calls. I’d better go see what that’s about.”

***

The Resistance was preferable to the First Order in almost every conceivable way, but there was one category in which Finn was constantly frustrated by the fledgling rebellion: chain of command. The First Order’s command hierarchy was rigid and absolute. Every stormtrooper and deck officer knew exactly to whom they were accountable, and that chain extended in a direct line all the way from mess cook to Supreme Leader.

Here, however, Finn rarely knew who was in charge of what, and duties were assumed, transferred, and neglected seemingly at random. That hadn’t improved with Poe taking over command decisions, as the former pilot was the kind of leader who preferred to see things done as he needed them, and couldn’t be bothered with the menial tasks that kept the lights on.

The command center was similarly disorganized. Much like the same facility on D’Qar, it was a dusty and beaten collection of old tech, customized terminals, and countless different devices that had seen one too many uses over their lifetimes. Poe kept a small office off to the side of the open design of the main center, but it was little more than a place for private conversations, because the general didn’t even have a permanent terminal installed. In fact, when Finn walked in, Poe was standing by the table, leaning over a mobile terminal.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, Finn, close the door.”

Finn pulled the door closed and came around the table. Poe was looking at a gallery of reconnaissance photos taken from one of the hyper-light speed probes the Resistance had dispatched throughout First Order controlled space.

“What’s up, Poe?”

“We got a hold of recon footage from some First Order installations on Naboo. I didn’t want anyone else to know about it until we had a chance to figure out what they were. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Finn leaned in and looked closer. The photos showed a spherical space station in high orbit above the planet. It had odd depressions evenly spaced over its surface, and looked to be the size of a small moon. Beyond that, on the planet below, was a ring of structures that Finn couldn’t quite make out.

“Looks like the Death Star.”

“But smaller,” Poe said, rubbing his chin. “A lot smaller.”

“Do you have any higher res images of those surface structures?”

“Yeah, hold on. Here.”

“Looks like a command center for the orbital station. But, wait. Look. There.”

“What? I don’t see—“

“Move your finger. I can’t see— the one you’re pointing with.”

“What, here?”

“You’re not going to be able to see it if you— do you have a bigger picture?”

Poe moved his hands entirely out of the way and punched up some images with surface recon in higher resolution. The structures were spaced evenly in a circular ring, and they were all connected by massive cables that looked like spokes on a wheel. At the center was a tower of some kind, but it wasn’t immediately clear what its purpose could be. The other structures, however, were much more straightforward for Finn.

“Yeah. Look. Those spires. There. And there. They’re like the beam containment array from Starkiller.”

“You think they’re turning Naboo into another Starkiller Base?”

“It’d be a surefire way to make sure no one ever tries to blow it up. How many people live on Naboo? A billion? More?”

Poe’s mouth had dropped open, and his usually ruddy face was suddenly ashen.

“Even if they are,” Finn said, quickly, “and I’m not saying they are, it’ll take years to drill to the planet core. They haven’t even started. And anyway, they’re not going to drain Naboo’s sun for power. It doesn’t add up. Plus, what’s with the station in orbit? It looks like it’s geosynchronous to the tower on the surface. It’s got to be connected in some way. First Order technologists aren’t about showy artistic displays.”

“Under Snoke, maybe. With ‘Hugs’ and Ren running the show, I’m prepared for anything.” Poe sat down on the single chair in the room. “So, what, you think it might be something else? A shield generator, maybe? Like on Endor with the second Death Star?”

“Could be. But you’re right. That station looks pretty small to house the kind of reactor you’d need to produce one of those beams.”

“I don’t like it. Something seems funny about the whole thing.”

The door opened, and Connix peered around the corner.

“Gener— Poe, there’s an incoming transmission,” she paused, taking a second to glance at Finn before continuing, “from our munitions depot on Taris.”

“Patch it through,” Poe said without a beat.

The transmission came through to the mobile terminal. A Resistance officer Finn had never seen was broadcasting from a very dark room, and the holo-projection was garbled with static.

“General, a First Order Star Destroyer has— of light speed in orbit— location.”

“How the— did someone talk?”

“I don’t know. They— any moves yet, but if they do, we don’t— manpower to hold them off for long.”

“Are the compound shields active?”

“They are, General.”

“Hang tight, Captain. We’re sending a team to extract you.”

“Sir— area— difficult to navigate. Advise any landing party to— we haven’t had— old rail terminal—“

“We’re losing them! Connix, why are we losing them?”

“Jammed at the source,” Connix shouted from the other room.

“Son of a bitch!” Poe picked up the projector and chucked it against the window.

“We have a munitions depot on Taris?” Finn asked. It was the first he’d heard of such a thing.

Taris was an Outer Rim planet dominated by large cityscapes, like Coruscant. Unlike Coruscant, however, Taris’ affluent population lived in soaring high rises, above a smog line that covered most of the planet’s surface in a permanent haze. Below the smog line was a tangled sprawl of crumbling cities, starship wreckage, uncharted swampland, and junk and miscellany from all over the galaxy. If you wanted to lose something, putting it on the surface of Taris was a pretty safe bet.

“It’s— it’s a long story, Finn. We have to get those people out of there.”

“Poe, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Finn,” Poe began, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll see when you get there. I— how many people will we need to counter a First Order ground assault?”

“In an urban theater?”

“It’s more like ruins, or wreckage, but there are civilians in the area.”

Finn thought a moment. The conditions could allow for a smaller force to be more effective. But, knowing the First Order, they’d land as many troops as could be spared, and have them fan out through all the structures in the region.

“A hundred. Preferably more.”

“We have fifty.”

Finn furrowed his brow. It wouldn’t work. Fifty men in that kind of place could get bogged down, easily split, boxed in by superior numbers in tight spaces. It wasn’t like they could just blast walls apart or clear rubble on a whim without—

“We have fifty,” Finn said, his face brightening. “And one Jedi with a working lightsaber.”

#reylo #reylo fanfic #star wars fic #finn #rey #maz kanata #poe dameron #naboo #taris #kylo ren

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milla-frenchy · 10 months ago

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Chapter 4 here I come 😍

Each slap of his hips against you is a rebirth.

This. This is the kind of sentence that makes me melt when I read your fics ❤️

“Be good,” he said, dragging his knuckles down your cheek.

(💔)

“I’m a creep, huh? Then why are you so wet?” You flushed, heat crawling across your cheeks and ears. “Who says I’m wet?” It was the wrong thing to say. He pinned you against the door and shoved your pants down, plunging three fingers right into your cunt. You yelped at the stretch and pinch, but had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, as he brought them up to your face, coated in slick. “Looks pretty wet to me,” he said, the words rumbling from somewhere deep and dark within. “Open.”

Asshole 😏🫠

He slapped your ass, watching it ripple. “Don’t be rude, sweetheart.” “Oh, were you gone?” you huffed between thrusts.

😂 I love her 😄

“Awfully quiet now,” he drawled. “You just needed all your holes filled, huh?”

Holy shit Joel!!! (but that's so hot 🥵)

The kiss was mostly teeth and spit, but it was euphoric. He felt the way you tightened and tensed, and he smiled against your lips. “Cum for me,” he said, and licked into your mouth to gobble up your scream. When you convulsed on his cock, he lost control, and almost didn’t pull out in time. He spilled against the bed, swearing deep and low.

Fuuuuuuuck that's so fn hot 🫠🫠🫠

you know you never stood a chance - chapter four

you know you never stood a chance series

four: beg me to take care of things

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You continue your free use arrangement with Joel in exchange for shelter, but it hits a little snag.

Warnings: qz life comes with its own warning, dub-con due to power imbalance, trading sex for shelter, free use, vaginal sex, anal play, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, whoops there's more plot, Joel is mean/bad at feelings, no y/n, despite what it looks like this is NOT going to follow canon

also on ao3

“Not a fucking sound,” he whispers, stifling your moan with his hand. Ellie is asleep in the next room over, but the glass of the door between you is broken. It’s the only reason he feels comfortable leaving her in that room: the sole entrance is in his line of sight.

He’s got you pinned to the grimy tile, his whole weight atop you as he fucks into your cunt. You can’t make a sound if you wanted; you can hardly draw a breath. He’s not a small man by any means. But it feels so fucking good.

It’s been weeks. Ever since you got roped into this mission, ever since you left the QZ, he hadn’t touched you once.

It hurts in the best way, though just a little past the point of pleasure. There wasn't the time for prep. But your whole body is tingling just from finally having his hands back on you, his thick cock inside you, feeling like more than just a burden.

Each slap of his hips against you is a rebirth. In the six months before you started on this horrible trek, you had known very little outside of Joel’s touch. You went to work each morning, collected rations, and came home. He’d come home an hour later, always on edge, always looking for an outlet.

For six months, you had been little more than Joel Miller’s live-in fucktoy, and honestly, it was probably the best six months of your life since the outbreak. You wanted for nothing (at least in the realities of post-apocalyptic life—in the grander scheme of things, you wouldn’t have said no to some fucking McDonald’s french fries). You had protection. You had shelter. You had company.

Well. Okay. You sort of had company. You could count on him to speak at least a few words in the evening. He almost always made sure you came, too. It had been hard at first, relying on him, but there was no use for a martyr complex these days. The only one who’d suffer by turning down assistance was, well, you.

He doesn’t make sure you cum, this time, but you think he can tell you don’t need any help. The relief of having him inside you is enough, and you can’t spare the energy to be embarrassed about it.

After he pulls out, having covered your ass in his cum, he stands up immediately, knees cracking. He tucks himself away and nudges you with the toe of his boot. “Up, get dressed.”

You scramble up, tugging your pants back into place, and watch him for a moment. His jaw is ticking, and he’s scowling at the wall behind you.

You open your mouth, and he cuts you off. “Shouldn’t have done that. Not gonna happen again.”

You’re aghast. “What?”

“Wasn’t fair of me. Y’don’t owe me anythin’ out here.”

You take a hesitant step closer. His jaw twitches again, but he doesn’t move (or look at you). “You’re still protecting me,” you offer.

“I made you come out here. Kinda have to protect you.”

“You don’t, though,” you say, feeling emboldened enough to slide your hand up his arm to his bicep.

He knocks your arm away and grabs you by the chin. “Why’d you even come? You just do whatever I say, even stupid shit?”

“Well, yeah. Didn't really have a better offer.”

“Christ.” He drops his hand from you and wipes it down his face.

“How ‘bout you get some sleep?” you say warily. The bags under his eyes are deeper and darker than ever. “I can keep watch.”

“You learn how to shoot a gun when I was takin’ a piss earlier?”

“No, but I can still keep watch. I can wake you up if anything happens.”

You’re shocked when he seems to actually consider it. It’s the safest you’ve been in weeks, here in this abandoned high-rise. There are no signs of Infected or hunters.

“Fine.” He grunts. “But you wake me if there’s any sound. I don’t care if you think it’s a rat or the wind. You fuckin’ wake me, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you joke. Something darkens behind his eyes just for a moment, until he blinks it away. You file that away for later.

He hands you a pistol and a knife, just in case. Not that you’ll know what to do with either, but he can’t just leave you unarmed. You nod, understanding passing between you.

He sucks on his front teeth, staring at you for a moment like he wants to say something. You’re not sure you want to hear it, though, so you say, “Goodnight, Joel.”

Nothing happens. You stand, leaning against the door frame, Joel’s pistol in your hands. Despite his paranoia, there’s not even a squeak out of place, and he sleeps for four full hours before getting up. He moves more nimbly than he has since, well. Since Tess.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious to know what was between them. She had, after all, seemed very aware of what function you served to Joel, but there was no jealousy in her eyes. Maybe when he fucked her, it was like making love, and she was fine to leave all the rough, angry moments for you to absorb.

Or maybe it was nothing. It hardly mattered, and she was nice to you, so you respected her memory by leaving it alone.

Though you do wonder if that’s why he wouldn’t touch you anymore.

Dawn hasn’t broken, and Ellie is still asleep. When he comes out to check on you, you offer the only other comfort you can.

When you sink to your knees, he closes his eyes for just a moment and sighs. “Yeah, okay,” he says. His body had worked ahead of his brain, already undoing the button on his jeans, and he lets you ease him into the morning.

After, when he helps you stand, he holds you against him for a moment, and even presses a kiss into your hair almost absentmindedly. You figure maybe he’s forgotten his promise that it would never happen again.

And he does, for a little while.

When you first moved into his apartment, it was so incredibly awkward. Like, worse than a school dance awkward. Worse than walking in on your sister getting railed by some scrawny FEDRA officer awkward.

Eventually, you tracked his habits and rhythms and used the information to stay out of his way. You stopped wearing underwear when you were home, as it ended up on the floor anyway. After a while, he just started leaving you a couple of his shirts, and you gave up on sweatpants entirely.

You’d be lying if you said you were uncomfortable, and he tended to leave the shirt on you when he fucked you, so there was no need for dressing and undressing.

He left first in the morning and came home last, so the key quickly became your responsibility. He had shoved it into your hand the second evening.

“I’m leavin’ for a couple days. Lock the apartment. Don’t talk to anyone, and don’t tell anyone I’m gone.”

Before he left that evening, he ordered you to your knees and fucked your throat, wiping away the tears after he finished. “Be good,” he said, dragging his knuckles down your cheek.

And then he was gone. You locked the door behind him and sat on the dingy carpet, legs folded pretzel-style. The yellow fluorescent bulb overhead had a faint pulse to it, a barely-there dimming and brightening that started to hurt your eyes. What the fuck were you supposed to do here, in this flat you were haunting?

You didn’t dare look around. You ate the rations you had earned and left everything else alone. You knew there were pills, guns, and alcohol somewhere. You weren’t keen on learning where, though. Plausible deniability and all that.

Joel came home in the middle of the night three days later. The key issue became apparent when he had to pound on the door until you woke up to let him in.

“New plan,” he snarled when he came in. “From now on, when I’m gone, I’m lockin’ you in here until I get back.”

“Fuck no,” you said.

“The fuck did you say to me?” he said, stalking closer.

“What if you don’t come back soon enough? What if I fuckin’ run out of food?”

“You think I’d go to all this trouble to keep you safe and then let ya die in here?”

“I don’t know!” Your heart struggled to keep up with your irrational fury, and stumbled at his words. Why did he go to all this trouble? You were about to ask, but of course, he ruined it.

“What good’s your pussy to me then, huh?” He was chest-to-chest with you, towering with a venomous glare.

“I don’t know, Miller, you’re kind of a creep. Maybe you’re into that.”

“I’m a creep, huh? Then why are you so wet?”

You flushed, heat crawling across your cheeks and ears. “Who says I’m wet?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He pinned you against the door and shoved your pants down, plunging three fingers right into your cunt. You yelped at the stretch and pinch, but had nowhere to go, nowhere to run, as he brought them up to your face, coated in slick.

“Looks pretty wet to me,” he said, the words rumbling from somewhere deep and dark within. “Open.”

You did. God help you, you did. He smirked and pressed his fingers in, wiping them on your tongue.

“Suck,” he murmured.

You closed your lips around him and sucked until your cheeks hollowed around them, saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth. He pulled his fingers out and patted your cheek with the same hand, leaving a wet trail behind.

“Go get on the fuckin’ bed.”

"Which bed is the fucking bed?" you said before you could control yourself, and darted into his room before he could register your words.

You were hardly in position when his hands gripped the sides of your hips, and he licked into your cunt. “Fuckin’ slut, trying to say ya weren’t wet and waitin’ for me,” he grumbled, and nipped at your thigh before diving back in.

Your orgasm came embarrassingly quickly. His derisive chuckle brushed against your clit, which he sucked at until you were spent.

“Seems like ya missed me,” he said, standing and wasting no time before stuffing his cock in. “Well? Did ya?”

You didn’t answer, whining into the sheets as he set a slow but harsh pace, slamming in only to draw back out inch by inch.

He slapped your ass, watching it ripple. “Don’t be rude, sweetheart.”

“Oh, were you gone?” you huffed between thrusts.

He brought his hand down again. “What did I just fuckin’ say?”

“Y’know, come to think of it,” you couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t shut up, “there was a distinct lack of grouchy old creeps hanging around.”

He grabbed your hair and craned your neck back so you could see the way his eyes were blown dark, teeth bared. “Watch yourself, sweetheart. I’ve had a real bad couple of days. Here I thought I was comin’ home to a sweet cunt.”

You opened your mouth, though you didn’t feel a retort dancing on your tongue. You figured by the time you came up with it, you’d have already said it.

He didn’t give you the chance. His other hand came up, and he hooked two fingers into your cheek. The hand in your hair released to dip into your mouth, swiping his thumb through the pooling saliva. He dragged it down and pressed the wet thumb into the cleft of your ass, firm pressure against your tight hole.

You were breathing heavily around his fingers, back arched. He didn’t stop fucking into you, hissing as you clamped down when his thumb pushed in, just enough to make you feel the pressure.

“Awfully quiet now,” he drawled. “You just needed all your holes filled, huh?”

You thought you might die from the humiliation, if only the pleasure didn’t take you first. You squirmed, pushing back into him.

He jostled your head by pinching the fingers in your mouth and shaking your cheek. “You gonna be quiet if I take these out?”

You nodded. He withdrew the fingers and brought the hand down to your hip, holding you steady so he could chase his orgasm. Each rough thrust knocked a quiet cry from your lips, and he pulled away from your asshole to tangle his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back again.

When you convulsed on his cock, he lost control, and almost didn’t pull out in time. He spilled against the bed, swearing deep and low.

That memory and the many others get you through the lonely nights on the journey, your hand down your pants and gasps muffled around your fist when you can catch a moment alone. If Joel notices, he doesn’t show it. Except tonight, when you look back on it, you realize he was only making good on his promise not to let you rot in his apartment. Whatever delusions you had about being brought along get left behind in the shitty high rise.

next chapter

*title from "Send the Pain Below" by Chevelle.

#jmrecs

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