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seithr · 8 months ago

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top 5 blazblue character designs

YIPPEE BLAZBLUE

I feel like my tastes are known but I still will take this chance to gush a bit about the characters and design philosophy of em that Ive always been real fond of :)

No particular order here or else I'll be here all night formatting on mobile. More under the cut!

HAKUMEN it goes without saying I LOVE HAKUMEN'S DESIGN SO MUCH. The taloned tabi, the silhouette of wide pants and closefitted shinguards/torso. The faces/eyes scattered across his armour while the face is totally blank—made more unreadable and inhuman by the slats of neck guard. Fox-ears built into the helm shape to feel both animal and mechanical like antennae...and obviously the longass hair to sell the "tailed" look.

I remember reading really early on into liking BlazBlue—I can't remember the source, come maul me if I'm wrong—I read that Hakumen as a character and design was made when Mori was in middle or highschool, the idea of "what is really cool," and much of those ideas stayed. I not only really respect that and think its charming as someone who still likes MY own designs from that time, but, as it turns out, middle schoolers are still right. Hakumen is very cool. Augh. Fucking? Time travelling fox-robot samurai who's here to kill his brother to save him and also himself because his old self wanted to do the same thing for the wrong reason and thay thought disgusts him. Also him and Tsubaki in general make me start to choke (positive). God ok I have four more guys to discuss. Yes i also like Susanoo but I feel like thats a copout, I like that he's both animalistic and brutal martial arts as the God of War. Anyways CONTINUING

VALKENHAYN R HELLSING I will admit that he is an old man in a suit and that speaks to me but that he's one of the strongest beings alive as a old man in a suit ohh. And he's a werewolf ohhhh. Shifting just his body parts to kick and rip with his claws, quickly leaping back and forth between a normal bone-breaking jab or knee or biting and snarling—the dance between raw force and refined precision and a brutal tear's always been sooo cool to see and think about. I also think his ribbon in his hair moving to his wolfy tail is very cute. A man of sharp extremes from refined to flashing his fangs, human and wolf, cool and very cute. I like him :)

TSUBAKI YAYOI her uniform is so nice uruururururugh. Big cape and the way it drapes around her in combat like wings... Her sword and buckler/Izayoi looking so unique for being a "basic sword and shield for the hero"-type of deal! The eye on her hat's always been really striking too—the only "cold" colours being her and her uniforms eyes.....................Sparing a glance at Hakumen's recurring red eyes for no reason here. Knightly angel women and her flower-like "tassets" hanging off her clothes. Its a uniform which plausibly feels like it could be a uniform—she doesn't have anything uniquely "hers" or "for this female character" while still being really standout and clean. Her design's just really good guys. You can do so much.

Really want to mention her masked look too at least really quick here. my girllllll...

RAGNA THE BLOODEDGE well of course I really like his design. Yeah him being here is partially obligation because I love his character a lot but both things inform each other in the end. Mr Grim Reaper, Enemy of the World, red-and-black with a demon's arm on one side and a rebuilt one on the other. His big red coat and the oversize shoulders! The massive baggy pants—I love the silhouette he has. Blood Scythe/Aramasa/His sword transforming and able to clack around and shift's just. Always been such a cool design. Seithr-powered man, devil-smoke powered man, ashes of your own old dead self-powered man. Ragna is fucking cool auauauuuaghrhg.

And it DOES only make it more charming that he has a good heart, has a bit of a Kicked Puppy charm about him if you can pardon uhh that implication. He is just some fucking guy and he likes barbecues. He is sweet and cares for stray cats. His dad is a cat. He blows up the government regularly. He's a rebel who visually looks really clean if "intentionally trying to look like someone you should think is cool", which is both dork-charming and cute and also actually yeah cool because it's not a visual mess.

I like that his arm underneath is all belts and bandaged—Bloodedge only wearing half his coat for example is such a good look and it shows his clean black shirt underneath, which feels a lot like... Under that big eyecatching rebel coat of his (personality), Ragna's... Ragna, I don't know. I hope that makes sense. Knowing his personality makes me like his design a lot more than if I didn't I think.

As mentionned in Hakumen's block of text however: I already really like chuuni-ass designs, so combined in Ragna he makes me unwell entirely.

And last (I am running out of images allowed per post :((((( )

Kitty peepaw. I am cheating slightly here. I like the Kaka Kittens' big hoods too and think they're very cute and very eyecatching and I adore them always—the kittens especially being stompy little things that travel in packs are really cute. I love that Jubei, actual strongest thing in the world, has the oversized paw sleeves too. There's cat claws bigger than his body stored in what looks like emo kids' oversize hoodie sleeves. He's so simple and still the imagery of that coat gets reused several times over and it looks good every time. Orange kitty peepaw. AND he has an eyepatch, how can I not like eyepatches.

There are my 5 favourite BlazBlue designs :> Sorry if them all being C series or smth is boring wauh. I can spend as long as I want thinkinh about it but I do always seem to come back to these guys, give or take one change depending on the mood. Unchanging faves are Hakumen and Tsubaki for sure and forever though.

#LONG POST #REALLY FUCKING LONG POST #IF MY READMORE BREAKS I AM SO SORRY EVERYONE. I AM PUTTING A BUNCH OF TAGS TO HOPEFULLY DISSUADE SHOWING UP IN MAINTAGS #JUUUUST IN CASE..... ANYWAYS #smellpelt #BB designs have an important place in my heart but these guys especially have a special place in my Brain #To the extent they're a sort of inspiration I jiggle around in there for fun in shapes and clothing and pushing it around/reusing/etc #I dont have much to say about them but I like to think about their design choice: Azrael Kagura and aforementioned Susanoo #Azrael's coat kick esp and the sort of. i guess wrestler aura around him. I can't pick it apart but like it. the pant leg sleeve is neat #Kagura I like holding him up to Jin comparatively. You can read his personality off the difference with the open shirt+I prefer #How Kagura's mantle+loose flappy sleeves look to Jin's. Is it the detail? It feels there's more to 'read' there. I like his ed. of uniform #And while Kag is wearing tight fitted pants I like them more than how thin Jin's legwear makes it look. just personal pref idk #Susanoo (MUST DIE starts playing loudly) it is known.#blazblue #Thank u for your prompt i lov and mis blazblue so bad forever mwah mwah I love you BlazBlue #My asks

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screampied · 9 months ago

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໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ F★CK ME LIKE U WANT ME ! ’﹒

𐚁̸ sum. how the jjk men fuck—feat. gojo, geto, choso, nanami, toji.

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, size kink, hair pulling, hitting it raw, face sitting, manhandling, impact play, degradation, squírting, faking it, spit, overstim, breeding, choking, mdni.

☆ NANAMI KENTO fucks like he’ll never see you again.

he loathes his dreadfully long work hours more than anything, spending time away from you was like a death sentence to him—all he knew at the end of the day was that he missed you, he missed his wife. the moment he’s buried deep inside you, interlocking his fingers with yours—it feels like pure bliss. “hey,” he’d breathe, and for a moment you feel his weight press against you. he’s hovering, you’re in the classic missionary position. he feels warm, tenderly hot inside. you then instinctively wrap your legs around his waist with your arms slinging around his shoulders. “my love,” he kisses near your neck, starting up a frantic yet sensual pace again. “oh, how i missed you,” and he kisses near your chin. “mwah,” he concludes before you feel his knees spread a bit more wider for a more better base. “keep those eyes up here—i missed my girl,” and he says it again and again until it sounds like a mantra.

“i missed you more.” you’d coo out in a soft voice, the back of your heel gingerly running down his back. your knees open, nanami’s kneeling between your legs and you moan at his sloppy yet erotically risqué thrusts. his sweet rotating rhythm was the icing on the cake.

“oh, honey that’s just impossible,” he’d purr in a honeyed voice, a big hand pressing against your tummy. “tell me one thing though,” he hums, and the more you listen to his voice—the more melodic it sounds to you. “when i press . . here, do you feel me or do you feel our future baby?”

a candied moan runs out your mouth before you cling onto his hips that continue to delve in and out of you. he’s piercing straight into you at full speed, you merely get whiplash from it all.

he was so thick, so hefty…

the stretch made your mind speed run, he knew just the right spots to drive into. your gummy walls clamp down on him tightly, and he bites his lip at the way your loving cunt keeps him continuously hostage. every time, he’s forevermore entangled with nothing but your warmth. bodies on bodies, he liked being on top of you—the shared warmth of his skin brushing against yours, it sends you and him both various amounts of secretive inevitable shivers.

“future baby?” you inhale with a sheepish grin, his body, the way it strenuously rocks against you in such sync makes you fall more and more and love with him. “you want another baby, kento?”

“i want a whole family with you,” he murmurs in a quavering breath, leaning up close to you to nip a few sugared kisses near the corner of your neck. glacé, a perfect word to describe your taste—in nanami’s eyes, you were the sweetest treat anyone could get their hands upon. to him, you never failed to taste so appetizing, he loves more than anything to softly run his tongue near the very inner parts of your neck. he gives it a few concise sucks, meanwhile he’s still got you right where he wants you. his cock’s idly jackhammering in and out of you and you’re holding him close with the most harmonic sounds leaving the back of your throat. “you’re such a good mommy. whenever this tummy’s all round ‘n plump, it’s so pretty,” and he brings another kiss near your lips. “you’re pretty, my love.”

the very back of your heel continues to skim down his back. nanami’s muscles tense a bit from your touch and he steadies his pace for a bit.

“let’s m-make another baby then,” you stammer, his cologne scent making you a bit dizzy. he always smelled so good, his fragrant was so loud, forever reaching your nostrils the more he’s getting himself closer and closer. nanami loves the feeling of your touch, the way your hands grab onto him—pulling him closer so he can be more thorough with his deep deep strokes. he adores it.

more importantly, he adores you.

he’s panting heavily, a few strands of sweat beads race down the corners of his forehead before he kisses you once more. after a lengthy amorous kiss, he departs with a cute flushed expression and you moan. “you’re always such a good daddy too, kento.”

“. . . oh, i try to be the best for my gorgeous wife, after all.”

nanami’s words dripped with tenderness and warmth. as the bed creaks, creating a mere harmony within itself—he feels himself coming close, he knows it. blond strands of his begin to stick and glue to his forehead from the sweat that already coats his skin. “m-my love,” he suddenly says, and his grip on your hand tightens, still intertwining his fingers with yours. “i’m gonna give you so much—sooo much,” and he kisses the top of your forehead. “you’re gonna look even more stunning once you’re done being f-filled.”

“k—kento.” you’d whine, feeling his heavy base thwack against you consistently. you could tell by the sheer hits against your cunt, he was full of incoming ropes of seed.

his breathing becomes heavy and as his kegals flex and flex. a few long extended amounts of seconds pass before he finally finishes. his tip radiates with a feeling of hotness, and once he starts to flood the inside of your pussy with strings of his load—he lets off a cute strained moan himself. “f-fuck,” he’d huff out in a short breath, and even his swears were cute. nanami’s hooded eyes stare at you, and he leans against your chest, still plugging you up. feeling his cum trickle into you furthermore, nanami then slithers a hand down your tummy. “oh, m—my gorgeous girl. now we wait.”

☆ GOJO fucks like it’s the end of the world.

“yeah so angel, we’re gonna like die in five days.”

“what?”

“i read this article earlier—the world’s ending ‘n i also just so happened to stumble across this position i wanted to try on ya.”

“……”

with gojo, it’s always abruptly unforeseen moments such as these. he’s so unserious, if unserious was a person—it’d be satoru gojo.

yet, that’s all it took because it doesn’t take long before you’re literally being stretched out to the very fullest. with your legs thrown up in the air, just dangling and dangling over your shoulders like an earring, you’re whimpering your head off.

“o-oh my god, s—satoruuuu,” you’d babble out, and he’s got you in a full nelson. in the flesh, this position was practically known for having someone feel everything. each nerve, each pulse, you felt it all.

with a clouded mind and a stuffed cunt, you felt like you’re residing in cloud nine. your mouth was just stupidly hung open—you were sure a few strands of your spit were about to run past you’re lips and you whine. “you’re so d-deep, ‘s good, more.”

he’s laid back all lazy like, manspread with you all on top of him. gojo feels his thighs ache a bit from the rough repetitive slams your cunt makes against him before he groans huskily. “s-shittt,” and his arms lock around your neck. the sounds your cunt makes in retaliation were so lewd. soaked and oh so sopping wet.

you were dripping profusely, drenching his lap with nothing but your pool of sweet arousal. “clampin’ all on me, such a nasty g—girl.”

each time your pussy flings down against his lap over and over, it sends multiple shockwaves all throughout your body—so many shockwaves. you’re hot and bothered, he brings a hand down to grab near your right tit, giving it a soft firm squeeze.

“so cute. how deep do you feel me, angel? grab my hand ‘n show me. i wanna know where my girl feels the most stuffed.”

hesitatingly, you grab onto his wrist leading it towards the very lower part of your tummy—he hums a sweet tune, nearly having you in a headlock before you mewl out.

“feel you here, ‘toru,” and you feel your knees sink. he’s so deep, the stretch has your mouth salivating before you gasp. the pointed tip of his cock prods near your clit, causing you to shudder within his hold. “s—satoru, fuck, f-fuckkk.” you’d whine out, and your voice pitches just a bit more. your entire body feels warm, it’s rising temperature the more he’s got your cunt buried to the hilt with his thick cock. a few specks of white hair that coats near his base tickles and titillates against your ass each time you mercilessly plop back down. the air’s growing heavy and stuffy. you can barely even process that a familiar feeling was concurrently arising.

“upsie fuckin’ daisey,” he groans, lifting you up just a bit more. he was so strong, well considering he technically is considered to be the strongest. the strongest in bed for sure—gojo’s got his legs parted, and he’s just dumping such mean inches in and out of your cunt. you swallow him up within your walls every time. his stallion-like stamina was purely out of this world, not showing an ounce of fatigue. “so w-hot ‘n cozy inside f’me, gonna make me cum quick, angel.”

his voice was starting to get a bit trembly and whiny.

breathing patterns irregular and picking up—he was close. although, your release ends up coming straight away, so abruptly quick to where you don’t even get a moment to breathe. it literally takes your breath away—it’s so quick you have to blink thrice.

your body, its first initial response was to vigorously shake upon impact. you gush out, and you hear yourself squelch—surprised that that even came out of you before you slump way back against gojo’s bare chest. he pauses, holding your hips in place before with a sigh, he snickers a cocky, “hm, did you just . . squirt on me, baby?”

alas, there’s no reply—cute.

so much volume came out, it felt incredible. the pressure makes you whimper out louder while still being laid back against him with his twitching cock hidden inside your pussy. he stood still, and yet you still felt the pure stretch mend your walls in place. gojo’s hand slowly reaches down between your legs before feeling near your now sopping wet cunt.

“well shit, you messy girl. you really did squirt on me huh,” and he sounds more playful than usual. gojo finally puts your legs down and then he lifts you up once more, making you rest against him. pressing a wet kiss near the corner of your neck, he whispers, a lengthy finger gradually inserting between your folds. with a hushed whisper, he murmurs, “now that i know you’re a little super soaker, do that for me again, yeah? let’s play with that little squirt velocity of yours for just a bit.”

☆ TOJI fucks like he hates you.

when toji fucks, he fucks.

toji’s mean—an asshole, practically the human embodiment of the seven-lettered word. sure, he loves you. but at this particular moment, it’s like he hates your guts. ironic, considering he was actually deep in them, stirring them up in such a rough spiteful way.

“arch the fuck over more. even i can do better than that, girl,” he indignantly grouses, a hand grips a good handful of your hair whilst he’s just rudely pounding into you. he could arch better than you? truth be told, as you’re moaning your head off while being pounded full of his thick inches from behind, you giggle. toji spanks you, his palm kissing against your ass and you bite your lip from the after-effect of the sting. “giggle giggle ass girl. the fuck is so funny,” and he deepens his thrusts—a gasp lets out from the back of your throat once he smushes his weight against you.

prone bone, one of his favorites.

if toji really wanted to, he’d lean up so close and do his most treasured move—simply putting a foot near the back of your neck. it was so lewd, you’d moan whenever you feel the very back of his sock run against your neck. such a lazy way, a foot pressed against the back of your head while he’s just gifting you with mean thrusts while you’re on all fours. “uh huh. yeah, ‘s what the fuck i thought.”

“you’re the one saying you can a—arch better than me,” you whine, your voice was shaky but he could tell you were holding back laughter. you were playing with fire, especially at a lewd moment like this. he’s deep inside, the tip of his angry cock mashing against each and every corner of your cunt before you’re about to burst. “if you can arch better than me then prove i—”

“. . . listen here bitch,” toji grumbles, feeling his eye twitch.

he tugs just a bit harder on your hair. your back arch was simply immaculate. sitting upright, your palms sat against the sheets of the bed, bawling them up before you felt his free hand grip your waist steadfastly. toji leans right up to your ear before muttering in a low raspy voice. “you know, babygirl. sure do got a lot of talk for someone who struggles to take me every damn time.”

he’s got you there, you swallow before feeling a brief sharp pivot of his hips.

everything was just downright filthy. his strokes had you gasping for air practically—meticulously, he makes sure to hit every spot. his aim was thorough and precise, making sure to hit everywhere like the insides of your cunt was his target. your pussy incessantly clenches every few seconds and it makes him groan. the necklace chain that wraps around his neck tickles your back, the way it runs against your skin makes you metaphorically fold. the material of it skims down your tense muscles and you think you’re so close you could taste your sweet release on the very tips of your tastebuds.

“c—cum, ‘m gonna cum, toji.” you suddenly whimper, feeling the brusque twitch of your right thigh. with your teeth shattering, he continues to maintain a firm grip—this time, his hand placement lowers towards your neck. it gives him a good amount of leverage before he tilts his hips forward. once he does that, he thrashes his angry plump cockhead against your folds and the whine you choke out was immaculate. “f-fuck, cumming.”

toji pauses—something wasn’t right, he knew your body and how it responded to him.

the silence was straight-up deadly. your heart races while he’s still inside, you feel him twitch whilst he’s still buried deep into you and it feels so raw. “oh, girl i know the fuck you didn’t,” he grits, and he pulls out almost immediately. literally the definition of a sassy man—you could hear the bitter annoyance lingering on his tone before he flips you over, making you stare right into his dark viridescent colored eyes. “faking orgasms today yeah? you’re on a roll today.”

“i— i didn’t fake it.” you pout, not fond of the way you were suddenly empty from him pulling straight out. you wanted to be full, but you also wanted to act like a bit of a brat. “it was real.”

“sure,” he rasps, and he suddenly gets up—you’re confused, actually quite close to your finish despite you faking it the first initial time and he casually just reaches for the remote, switching the tv on. “while ya work on making y’erself finish, i’m gonna catch up on shameless.”

“are you serious?” you pant, and he very much is. he’s getting all comfy underneath the silk sheets, lazily throwing his feet up before the dim ‘who’s watching’ prompt for netflix appears. he scrolls on his assigned name which was displayed of ‘old dirty bastard with a few racks.’

“dead serious. heh, now shut up, princess. fiona ‘n lip are speaking.”

☆ CHOSO fucks like it’s the last time.

it’s an ongoing thing for him.

he loves you more than life itself—so for him to have you straddling him, taking in every inch of your gorgeous figure, he had to give you at least one more orgasm. it was the least he could do.

“i love you.” he says, and he repeats it again and again.

once choso says those words—he never hesitates, not even once. with the way your hips rotate, he’s already about to lose all sorts of composure. big rough hands of his grip and attach near your waist to help slam you up and down his pulsating cock. “i— i love you. i love the way you always m-make me feel.”

“i love you too,” you’d say in a short breath, a snatching wind nearly takes your breath away as you feel yourself clench and tighten against him. “babyyy,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “you can touch me more, it’s okay.”

his lip quivers. with a needy look in his eyes, he cutely releases a surprised sigh of relief. “o-oh, thank you. i was gonna ask but i didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

“choso, you’re literally inside of me and you’re shy to ask to touch me?” you tease, sneaking a kiss near the corner of his lips.

a tint of sheer embarrassment rises to his face before he sheepishly smiles, softly running his fingertips against your hips. “oh yeah. r-right,” and you start to rotate your hips even further. your impactful rhythm has him weak, the grinding that you’re doing also has him in an utter chokehold. choso’s speechless—he’s more of a whiner than you, he tries to even suppress his moans by biting his lip but it’s to no use. you’re leaning forward, sliding your hands down his chiseled chest before he whimpers. “you’re so sexy when you touch me,” and then he cutely gasps. “ah, sexy—i mean, breathtaking.”

“you’re adorable,” you titter, and he feels the warmth of your own chest pressing all up against him. he really was though, he’s very gentle with his touch—the way his fingers wander, choso’s heart races a mile a minute. as he’s still massaging your gummy walls with the lengthy size of his cock, he sighs himself. “close, baby?”

he nods, literally melting from your touch.

choso feels abnormally warm—he only wants more of you, he can’t help but inch his face towards you before bringing you into an idyllically deep kiss. it’s passionate, a few poking out strands that ran down his face pricks against your skin and you moan right into his mouth. as you’re rocking into him at such a pace, he touches more. you do the same, a finger trailing down his v-line, his pecs, everywhere. further and further.

“. . . you touching me—” he breaks away, glossy lips starting to stain with his gleaming saliva. he looks so pretty, his dark eyelids start to lower and he whimpers once his cock sits still. you’re practically doing all the work like this, grinding back and forth while he lies back. “you touchin’ me, ‘s gonna make me cum, princess. i— i feel so hot when you touch me.”

“you’re always hot when i do anything,” you tease, sneaking another kiss near the edge of his mouth. choso’s breathing heavier than usual before he feels himself start to pulse—his dick twitches inside and you hear him gasp once he squeezes your hips forward. he’s about to fill you up, he even gives you a glossy eyed stare, pursing his lips as if he’s merely asking permission and with a stroke of a thumb near his lips, you murmur. “it’s okay, give it to me, baby. fill me up.”

he whines, mentally preparing himself before choso feels his thighs tighten. your cunt’s gripping down against him so tight, his jaw clenches. stingy, you had him in an entire hold.

“f— fuckkk, ‘s so much coming. you’re gonna milk me like you always do, princess,” and with his eyes shut, he’s hugging your body against him solidly before seconds later, he cums. it comes out in spurts— such sweltering stringy ropes, he’s taken aback and his moans against your ear only makes you more aroused. you could listen to choso whine into your ear all day, he’s shaking underneath you and he obviously needs a moment. his black hair was all ruffled and messy before he’s still feeling himself emit filthy amounts of seed into your cunt. “s—so good,” he groans, and for a second, his voice gets a bit raspy. “baby,” he swallows, feeling himself burn up—you straddling him like this, frail arms wrap around his shoulders whilst giving him the most sly stare. he felt like he was gonna explode, you were even more warm and toasty inside now that he’s stuffed you full. “marry me,” he suddenly says. “marry me, princess.”

“i’m already your wife, silly,” you tease, he’s still pumping you full of his never-ending amounts of hot cum. you kiss near the twitching right side of his lip before purring. “too worn out to remember?”

he moans, giving your ass a needy squeeze before he throws his head back. “let’s marry again, and again, and again then. s—so i can fill you up like this all the time. i— i want you, i love you,” and then he reaches between your thighs to feel against your cunt, skimming his fingertips against his own strings of cum that painted the inner entrance of your pussy. “i love her just as much,” and then he gasps. “oh … baby, you didn’t even finish.”

☆ GETO fucks like he hasn’t eaten all day.

“less talking, more sitting on my face,” is all he says with the most lust-driven gaze.

a good way for geto to rewind from a long day is to simply be between your plush thighs. it’s his favorite pastime, hell—probably his only pastime.

you’re barely hovering over his mouth by this point—sheeny glossy lips ready to slurp you dry before he hums, a few slender fingers of yours brushing against your hips before you speak, “only if you let me pull on your hair again.”

“ah, you know you can always do that. i keep it extra long just for you, baby.”

your heart swoons—you slowly sit down, positioning your pussy against his mouth, making sure he has a bit of room to breathe before geto gradually creates one single lick against your folds. sopping, you were already soaked and his moist tongue only made matters ten times worse.

“f-fuck,” you’d moan, keeping all eyes on his the entire time. irises of yours dilate immediately the moment you watch geto start to kiss all near the crevices of your shaky legs—only to then suck his lips against your swollen needy clit. he grunts, already feeling a tent creep up in his sweats. your hips move on its own, starting to slowly grind against his face.

back and forth, back and forth…

it was so hypnotic.

you were so hypnotic.

“mhm,” he grunts hoarsely, cupping his mouth near the very top part of your slit — he’s savoring your sweetened taste entirely, lapping the flat of his tongue everywhere. your entrance dampens his chin already and he sneers, licking near the corners of his mouth. such a sloppy man, his tongue then swiftly runs against your hood before it starts to flick and jerk at a much more rapid speed. “move those—hips, ride my fuckin’ face ‘n pull on my hair, pretty girl.”

he’s eating you out so good you’re already feeling a sudden rush shoot through you. you follow what he says exactly, creating a decent rhythm with your hips—he’s so pretty like this too, black lashes half open or just about closed.

geto was already pussy-drunk, that much was to tell. “o-okay, suguuu,” you’d whimper, and you grabbed an ample amount of his tangled strands, giving him a brief hard yank. he always gets hard once you tug on his hair, his head briefly forwards further into your cunt and he chuckles—warm breath fanning against your clit. “right there, sugu. s-spit on it.”

“anything for the princess,” he says between sharp breaths. you’re slowly rocking your hips against his face—feeling the soft tip of his nose brush up and down repeatedly against your dripping entrance before he departs just to spit right on your pussy. he brings a hand to smear it all between your folds, all the while a tongue slides against his own lips and oh he’s hungry. hungry for you. “damn. she just gets more sloppier every fuckin’ time. should be a crime to be this soaked, baby.”

and you whimper, watching with glossy eyes as he laps up his saliva—coating your slick entrance with a plethora of chaste kisses shortly afterward.

it's lustrous, so shiny.

geto makes sure to study your body if its entirety. the way your breathing dramatically picks up and the harder and sloppier your thrusts against his mouth becomes. you’re coming close and he’s much well aware, “yeah,” he utters, and it’s in the mere form of a question. “already, hm? you gonna make a mess on me so i can clean you right back up?”

“y— yes,” you moan, the tugging on his hair only getting rougher. pant after pant escapes through your lips before he starts to playfully nibble right on your clit. a finger of his slowly inserts into you and you clench around it, feeling a few steady pulses before that’s right when you gasp. ultimately, you end up finishing after a few minutes—so much so, that your eyes were all hazy, rolling to the very backs of your are and you whimper loudly, still grinding against his face.

“. . . ooooh,” he hums, a right hand of his that tucks behind you, giving your ass a concise squeeze. once he sits back up again, geto peers into you with a sly amused gaze before giving your cunt one more kiss. “now give me one more, ‘m still not satisfied with my meal, sweetheart.”

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sceletaflores · 1 month ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

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