#PPCU fics

[pedroscurls]

forever, with you (one-shot)

summary: you tell joel how you really feel... during karaoke night at the tipsy bison. and to your surprise, he does the same.

pairing: jackson!joel x fem!reader content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY, MDNI) established relationship, alcohol consumption, joel is singing y'all (i think that's the only way he knows how to express his emotions), joel lives!!!, grinding, heavy make-out session, groping and hair pulling (both from reader and joel), cowgirl, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, no use of y/n. word count: 4k a/n: so sad that there's no more tlou and no more joel, so the only way to fix that is to write ;) anyway, i've been listening to a lot of country music lately and every time i do, joel's always on my mind lol. these two songs came on and this idea just couldn't leave my head. so please enjoy and if you like it, leave a comment - it really does make my day <3 (also the song in case you didn't know will forever be the song that reminds me of joel bc it just fits him so well.) fyi - this isn't proofread, just wrote this in like 2 hours and wanted to post it lol songs: how do i live by leann rimes | in case you didn't know by brett young

“When are you gonna sing for me?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes up at him as he’s leaning against the counter of the kitchen island with a mug of coffee. 

“I don’t sing,” he answers, bringing the mug to his lips. Joel moves his gaze to you and lets the corner of his lips lift upwards at the sight of you. He loved his mornings, especially since you had moved in. It was easier to fall asleep with you next to him and he loved waking up every morning with your body curled against his own. 

“Liar,” you pout. “Ellie told me that you wanted to be a singer when you were younger.” 

“Doesn’t mean that I can sing.” He sets his mug down and then moves an arm to wrap around your waist, pulling you between him and the kitchen island. Joel smiles when he feels your arms snake around his neck, lacing your fingers at the nape of his neck. 

“But you play guitar,” you answer. “You’ve got this whole cowboy vibe going on and—”

“Baby,” he chuckles. “Just because m’from Texas don’t make me a cowboy.” 

“Are you saying you don’t identify as a cowboy?” 

“Well, no, I ain’t sayin’ that.” 

“Ah, so you do think of yourself as a cowboy?” 

“Okay, enough of that,” Joel says, leaning down to press his lips along your neck. He hears you giggle quietly, wrapping your arms tighter around him. 

“There’s a song I heard the other day… Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” You grin mischievously. 

Joel pulls back to look down at you, eyes darkening at your implication. “Don’t start, baby. I gotta be on patrol in ten minutes.” 

“How about tonight then? Can you save me a ride?” You wink, moving a hand to cup his cheek. You brush the pad of your thumb across his facial hair, biting your lower lip. 

“Tease,” he growls. “I’ll save you a ride as long as we skip karaoke night.”

“No,” you shake your head. “We’re going to karaoke night and then I’ll ride you, cowboy. Sound like a deal?” 

Joel narrows his eyes and moves a hand down to squeeze your ass, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “Fine, but I ain’t singin’.” 

You move your hands to his chest and grip the lapels of his jacket. You pull him flush against you. “Deal. Now, you gonna give me a kiss before you go or just grab my ass—”

“You are feisty this morning, baby.” Joel chuckles, leaning in to press his lips firmly against your own. He wastes no time in moving his lips with your own, feeling your fingers card through his hair. He lets out a low groan when he feels you tug on his lower lip, pulling away slowly to look down at you. “Okay, gonna have to stop or else I’m gonna miss my shift.” 

“Yes, sir,” you tease, gently pushing against his chest to give yourself some distance. “I’ll see you later, cowboy.” 

Joel nods, leaning back in to peck your lips. Neither of you had been able to say those three words—both afraid that admitting what you both already feel will somehow make things more difficult, more scary. You both had lost people that you loved and cared about, and neither of you can ever fathom losing each other. 

“See you, baby.”

Later that night, you’re leaning against Joel—laughter echoing the Tipsy Bison with other patrons. You’re both sitting at a table with Tommy and Maria, Ellie and Dina, and Benjamin sitting on his mother’s lap. Joel smiles to himself, keeping his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders as he looks around—contentment and peace overcoming him. 

You’re nursing your second glass of wine and Joel stares down at you, getting lost in the sound of your laughter and the way your smile meets your eyes. He never thought he’d ever get another chance at this—at having a family—especially not in this world where it seemed to take everything from him. 

Joel leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple and it causes you to look up at him with a smile that only seems to be reserved for him. His hand brushes along the back of your shoulder as you snuggle up close to him. 

“Hi, cowboy,” you whisper. 

“Hey, baby. You havin’ fun?”

You nod, moving your hands to rest over his lap. “I’m gonna sing.”

“You’re what?” 

“Alright, who’s next?!” Someone exclaims, holding the microphone in the air. Joel looks down at you, eyes slightly wide and his head shaking already. You stand up and raise your arm in the air, grinning down at Joel who looks visibly shocked and concerned. 

“Baby, what are you doin’?”

“I told you—I’m gonna sing.” You walk over to the front stage and take the microphone, swaying slightly on your feet as you point at Joel. “This song… It’s dedicated to my man over there.” 

The entire table hollers and cheers, causing Joel’s cheek to heat up as he clears his throat uncomfortably. Everyone’s looking at him now, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. My man—a sense of pride pools in the pit of his stomach as you announce to possibly the entire town who you belong to and the corner of his lips lift upwards. 

Tommy and Ellie look over in his direction, grinning to themselves at the look on Joel’s face. He shifts in his seat when the music starts to play—How Do I Live by LeAnn Rimes—he knows that song anywhere and he feels his breath catch in his throat. He doesn’t know if you can sing, but that doesn’t matter. The words of the song—the meaning behind it��shakes him and has the tips of his fingers itching to reach out for you. 

Because yes, he loves you too. 

So fucking much that it scares him. 

Just as much as it scares you.

“Joel, baby,” you begin, your voice echoing throughout the entire Tipsy Bison. “I just want you to know that I love you. Have loved you… and will always love you. So, this is for you.”

You grip the microphone—liquid courage coursing through your veins. All you can see is Joel and everyone else just fades into the background. You just told this man that you loved him for the first time in front of the entire town and it terrifies you—what that means now—and the possibility of ever losing him.

How do I Get through one night without you If I had to live without you What kind of life would that be?

Joel’s brows shoot upwards at the sound of your voice filtering the entire room. You can sing and it just makes his heart beat even faster. He feels Ellie gently wrap a hand on his shoulder and he brings his own hand to rest over it. Momentarily glancing away from you and to the younger girl, he smiles—truly smiles—and Ellie whispers. 

“Holy fuck, she can sing.” 

“M’surprised too,” he answers. 

“Now you have to sing too.” 

Joel bites the inside of his cheek and shrugs, pulling his eyes away from Ellie to look back at you as you continue singing. Your eyes never leave him and he can see the way it glistens with unshed tears. 

How do I live without you? I want to know How do I breathe without you if you ever go? How do I ever, ever survive? How do I, how do I, oh, how do I live?

You slowly walk over to him and Joel straightens up in his seat. His eyes move along your frame and once you’re close enough, he reaches out for your hand and you take it without hesitation. Slowly moving to sit on his lap, arm draping over his shoulder, you continue to sing as you stare directly into his eyes.

Without you, there'd be no sun in my sky There would be no love in my life There'd be no world left for me

Joel’s arm wraps around your waist as he keeps his eyes focused solely on yours. He wasn’t usually the type of person who liked to publicly display any kind of affection, but right now, he doesn’t care. He’s fueled by those three words that have since echoed in his mind—you love him too. 

Please, tell me, baby How do I go on if you ever leave? Baby, you would take away everything, I need you with me Baby, don't you know that you're everything good in my life? And tell me now

He reaches up with his free hand to cup your cheek as a fallen tear slides down your cheek and hits his thumb. Joel nods in understanding as he stares into your eyes—he knows you’re scared too, knows now what this means. The fear of losing you to this world—it scares him too. 

How do I live without you? I want to know How do I breathe without you if you ever go How do I ever, ever survive? How do I, how do I, oh, how do I live? How do I live without you? How do I live without you, baby? How do I live?

The song slowly comes to an end as you lower the microphone to wrap both arms around him, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Joel smiles to himself and holds you tightly to him, hand slowly rubbing your back as the microphone is taken from you. 

“Well, that’s gonna be hard to top,” someone says with a quiet chuckle, speaking into the microphone. “You’re one lucky sonofabitch, Joel.” 

Joel nods in his direction before he gently pulls back to look at you, hand still cupping your cheek. “That was one surprise,” he whispers. Everyone else’s attention diverts away from the two of you once another person begins singing. 

“I blame it on that second glass of wine,” you smile nervously. “And you don’t have to say it back. I just—”

Joel interrupts you by leaning in to press his lips softly against yours. “You amaze me, y’know that?” he mumbles, pulling away slowly. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?!” Ellie exclaims and you climb off Joel’s lap to sit back in your seat next to him. She’s grinning at you, arm draped over the back of Dina’s chair. “Now you and Joel definitely need to start a band.”

“Well, he doesn’t sing,” you tease, leaning back against him. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“He’s lying. He sang for me once.” 

“Ellie—” Joel begins.

“Oh, he did?” you ask, brow arching. “Was he any good?” 

“You know, he didn’t sound like shit.” Both you and Ellie erupt into a fit of giggles and Joel can’t help but smile to himself. Despite him being the main center of the teasing, he didn’t mind. You and Ellie had always gotten along and having you move in with them just made everything feel complete—like you had been the missing puzzle piece in both of their lives. 

“He used to sing all the time,” Tommy chimes in, grinning over at Joel. “He always had a guitar draped around him, singing songs he’s made up… All the girls loved it. Ain’t that right, big brother?” 

Joel rolls his eyes as he brings the glass of beer to his lips and takes a long swig. “That was a long time ago.” 

“So, what I’m hearing is that you’ve sung for other girls, but you can’t sing for me?” you tease, biting your lower lip. 

“Ain’t like that,” Joel answers. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because he loves you,” Tommy and Ellie say simultaneously. “Those girls—he just wanted to sleep with ‘em. But you… Well, you’re different,” Tommy adds. 

You grin broadly, staring up at Joel who won’t meet your eyes. You lean up and gently kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. You finish your glass of wine and Joel finishes his beer. He kisses the crown of your head and stands up from the table, pointing at the drinks. 

“I’ll get us all a refill.” Joel squeezes your shoulder and disappears into the crowd to walk towards the bar. He glances over his shoulder to see your attention focused on Dina and Ellie, laughing to yourself as he feels a pang in his chest. He knows he has to sing and there’s a lingering nervousness that sits in his belly. Joel walks over to the emcee of the event and whispers into his ear, the younger man grinning and nodding. 

After a few minutes, the music stops abruptly and the lights dim until it shines only on the front stage. With a shaky breath, Joel steps onto the stage and takes a seat at the stool, reaching for the guitar as he looks down at it. This was his comfort zone—playing guitar and singing. 

“Oh shit, it’s Joel,” Ellie whispers. 

Your eyes widen and you look over at the stage, the light illuminating his presence as he adjusts the microphone in front of him. Then, he speaks into it.

“Guess I can’t have my girl showin’ me up,” he says with a quiet chuckle, his voice filtering the room. “So, baby, this is for you. I know it ain’t easy loving me, but I thank God every day that you do.” Joel begins plucking the strings on the guitar expertly, a small smile lining his lips. “And I just—I want you to know I love you, baby. More than you’ll ever know. You and Ellie—you saved me.” 

Joel leans back and away from the microphone to take a deep breath, his fingers moving along the guitar as he glances down to watch what he’s doing. You glance over at Ellie who’s grinning so broadly as she reaches for your hand and you squeeze it tightly. Tears sting your eyes as you watch him, his singing voice now echoing the entirety of the Tipsy Bison. 

I can't count the times I almost said what's on my mind But I didn't And just the other day I wrote down all the things I'd say But I couldn't I just couldn't Baby I know that you've been wondering Mmm, so here goes nothing

Joel then looks up to lock eyes with you. His lips lift upwards as he continues to play the guitar, continues to sing. Everything else around him but you fades into the background and all he can see is you.

In case you didn't know Baby I'm crazy bout you And I would be lying if I said That I could live this life without you Even though I don't tell you all the time You had my heart a long long time ago In case you didn't know

Joel doesn’t look away from you. The smile that lines his lips remains, his dimple on his right cheek appearing almost instantly. He’s overcome with so much emotion and he wants so badly just to take you away from here and back home to give you the love and care you deserve. 

All of the things that I've been feeling Mmm, it's time you hear em You've got all of me I belong to you Yeah, you're my everything

Joel continues singing as he now sheds a couple of tears. He continues to pluck the strings of the guitar until the end of the song and the lights turn back on. Everyone in the Tipsy Bison stands up and claps as he sets the guitar back on its stand, his ears and cheeks burning up at the sight of praise everyone in the town is giving him. 

He pockets his hands into his jacket as he steps off the stage and walks directly towards you. You stand from the chair and meet him half way, arms immediately snaking around his neck as Joel pulls his hands out of his pockets to rest on your waist. You stand on your toes and peck his lips, hands running through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you, baby,” Joel whispers. 

“Take me home?” you ask quietly, holding him close to you. 

“Yeah, let’s go home. I did promise you a ride,” he smirks. 

Both you and Joel don’t get home until an hour later—not wanting to look suspicious amongst the rest of the group. The lingering touches, the soft kisses in between… Joel needed you just as badly as you needed him. Ellie had told the both of you that she would be spending the night at Dina’s, giving you and Joel much needed uninterrupted time. 

The moment you both walk inside, Joel pulls you to him, arms snaking around your waist as he lowers his head to press his lips firmly against your own. You whimper against his lips, feeling him walk you further back to the couch until the back of your knees hit the soft cushions. Pulling away from him briefly, you look up at him and turn him around, hands pressing firmly on his chest as you push gently. 

Joel falls back against the couch with a quiet grunt, legs spreading wide as his hand reaches for your own. Gently tugging you down, you straddle his hips and wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders. 

“So, you love me, huh?” you tease, rolling your hips against his own as you brush your lips against his. 

“Yeah, baby,” Joel grunts. “I love you… so fuckin’ much.” 

You grin, fingers carding through his hair as you feel his hardened bulge beneath you. A quiet moan escapes you as you close your eyes. “I love you too, Joel.” 

He growls at that and brings one hand to your hair, pulling you against him as his lips crash against your own. Joel moves his lips urgently against your own—messy and rushed, desperate and fueled by need, by relief that you feel the same way he does. His other hand rests on your hip, gripping it tightly as he darts his tongue out to flick against the roof of your mouth. You gasp and feel his tongue slide past your lips, tangling it with your own. 

You reach down to bunch up your skirt to your waist, the wetness pooling between your legs and staining your panties. You brush your clothed sex against the fabric of his jeans, his bulge hard and prominent underneath you. He growls and moves the hand from your hip to your ass, squeezing it tightly into his palm as he urges you to rub against him faster… harder. 

You pull on his hair, causing his lips to pull away from yours as you stare at him. Dark eyes filled with lust stare right back at you as you tug on his hair again, causing him to tilt his head back, exposing the length of his neck down to his chest. You let out a quiet groan, leaning in to brush your lips across his jawline and down to his neck. Joel’s eyes flutter as he keeps his hand entangled in your hair, feeling your teeth graze his skin. 

“Fuck,” Joel whimpers. “Gonna cream my fuckin’ pants if you don’t take me out right now and sit on it,” he growls. 

A loud gasp escapes your lips as you gently bite down on the side of his neck, wrapping your lips around the mark and sucking roughly. He bucks his hips into your own and tightens his grip around your hair to pull you back and away from him. He stares up at you, licking his lower lip hungrily. Joel feels you move back against his knees, giving you enough space to reach down and undo the button and zipper on his jeans. He lets out a sigh of relief when you lift yourself enough for him to push down his jeans and boxers to his ankles. 

You clear your throat at the sight of him—so hard, so girthy, leaking already with precome. 

“You wanted to ride a cowboy?” Joel whispers lowly. “Then take me for a ride, baby.” He reaches down and pushes your panties to the side, running the tip of his finger along the length of your sex. He growls to himself, a smirk lining his lips at the feel of your wetness. “Oh, baby—I’m gonna slide right on in, ain’t I?” 

You nod, lifting your hips and taking a hold of his length. You stare deeply into his eyes as you brush the head of his member against your sex, eyes fluttering at the feel of him brushing against your opening. “J—Joel…” 

“I got you, baby,” Joel nods, hands placed on your hips as he slowly lowers you onto him. 

Once he breaches your opening—the fat tip of his length sliding into your tight, wet heat—your eyes flutter, forcing your eyes to remain open. “I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, slamming your hips down firmly against his own as he fills you to the brim. Your hands move to his chest, gripping the fabric of his flannel as you stare into his eyes. 

“T—This might be my new favorite position,” Joel groans as you begin to lift your hips only to slide back down onto him. His hands move to your ass, gripping each cheek tightly in each hand as he guides you along his length. “Fuck, look at you…” 

You lean forward—forearms resting on his chest as you begin to bounce along his length. Every time you come down, he feels deeper and bigger. You can feel how wet you are, how easy it is to move up and down his girthy manhood. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your ass as he tilts his head back against the couch, your breasts bouncing from beneath the fabric of your fitted white t-shirt. As you slam yourself down onto him, you feel the hair at his base brush against your clit. Yearning for more friction, you lean back and rest one hand on his chest and the other on his knee as your hips roll forward and backward. 

“Oh f—fuck,” Joel growls, eyes staring at your movements. He can feel the pit of his stomach tighten as your walls tremble against his throbbing length. “That’s it, baby… Fuckin’ use me…” 

“Joel!” you moan loudly, the feeling of being so full of him as his hair at his base tickles your clit repeatedly bringing you closer and closer to the edge of release. Your eyes fall shut as the hold on his flannel tightens. “Oh god, baby… I—I’m gonna—”

Joel growls lowly and sits upright, leaning forward as his arms wrap around your waist. He keeps you firmly held against him as he pushes his hips forward once you roll your hips into him, the tip of his length hitting your cervix just right. You release his hold on his knee and flannel, wrapping your arms around his shoulders tightly as your body shakes with the orgasm that overtakes you. You can feel your arousal dripping onto him and he reaches down to lift your hips just slightly to give him enough room to piston his hips into you. 

“Fuck, baby…” Joel groans, burying his face against your chest as the sound of his balls slapping against you once he thrusts repeatedly into you echoes throughout the entire house. “You feel so fuckin’ good—like you were made for me… This pussy—it’s fuckin’ mine.” 

Joel feels your breasts bounce against his face as he slams your hips down firmly onto his lap in time with his thrust upwards. You can feel his come paint your walls, filling you warmly as he shudders against you. He rolls your hips forward and backward slowly, panting heavily against your chest. You keep a tight hold on his shoulders, hands playing with his curls at the back of his head as you breathe heavily—body still sensitive and trembling. 

Joel slowly ceases your movements and pulls back to look up at you—a dazed and truly fucked look on your face with a small smile lining your lips. 

“I think I like riding you,” you whisper, leaning in to peck his lips. 

“I think I like you ridin’ me too,” he agrees as his hand comes up to rest on your cheek. 

“I love you, Joel,” you say quietly. 

“I love you too, baby,” he answers without hesitation. “Forever sounds really good with you,” Joel admits. 

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yeah, it does.” 

[arcane-fox]

Don’t Make Me Ask Again

DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader Explicit 18+ MDNI | 2.2k WC | AO3

Summary: Teasing your dad’s friend has its consequences. (A filthy PWP for your merriment)

Warnings: DBF!Joel, Undisclosed age gap (but its pretty big, reader is college aged and Joel is late 40’s/50’s), Dubcon, Finger Fucking, Edging, Somnophelia, Cum Play, Masturbation, Depravity. Joel is an asshole.

Notes: Huge thank you to @whocaresstillthelouvre for being an outstanding beta editor. Also huge thanks to @magpiepills for reading and giving me courage.

M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3 | N O T I F S

You knew you were playing with fire, but it didn’t stop you. In fact, the taboo of it all gave you a high that you couldn’t stop chasing.

Once you caught him looking at you it was game on.  

You were home for summer break and found out that your dad’s new buddy also happened to be irresistibly handsome. He was always over at your dad’s house. Having a beer (or six) together after work or sitting by the pool on a hot evening, watching whatever game was on. He lived just down the street, so it was nothing for him to come over. He would even spend the night often enough, falling asleep on the couch after too many drinks or a game that went too late. 

He was a total asshole too, just like your dad. You liked the challenge. It gave you something to do while being stuck there all summer.

Night after night you shot those flirty eyes at him. Teasing. Dangling yourself in front of him when your dad wasn’t looking. Wearing the sluttiest of outfits and brushing up against him whenever he was in the way of where you suddenly needed to be. Sure, he was polite being a guest in your house, but he firmly removed himself whenever you got too close. 

You saw how he’d look away with a flushed face. How his jeans would tighten whenever you bent over in front of him to tie up your hair. How he’d stir in his seat when you were teasing him with your suggestive conversations on the phone that you knew he was within earshot of.       

You wondered how far you could push him before he couldn’t help but put his hands on you. 

You never thought he would actually do it. It was all harmless fun to pass the time.

Sooner or later you were going to find out.

Tonight was it. 

–

He hovered over you, caging you against the bed. He was still fully clothed except for his unzipped jeans with his cock straining against his boxers. 

“Gonna teach you a lesson,” he grunts as he pulls out his thick cock and it slaps against your stomach. It was already swollen as he stroked it and sat back, straddling your waist. 

He was massive and you eyed him with an insatiable want. His gorgeous, girthy shaft complimented his firm and broad body. The greys lining his patchy beard matched the messy thatch that trailed up to his lower belly and disappeared under his shirt. He was easily several decades older than you. Time had been kind to him, rewarding him with a body that just got better with age.

And you did want him. You wanted him badly. You thought about him night after night while you got yourself off. Now that he was on top of you in your own bed you had to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

But he really was such an asshole. Holding his cock in his hand in front of you to tease and watching your eyes widen with want.

“Nah, you ain’t getting this. Not for how you been actin’,” he scolds as he shifts his weight off of you and kneels between your legs.

You're lying in front of him, helpless and fully at his mercy, wearing just an oversized t-shirt and some modest cotton panties that are lacey around the waistband. Eyes still hazy from being abruptly woken up in the middle of the night. You weren’t exactly expecting company. 

Your bedroom wasn’t very dark with the streetlight peering in your window and the full moon bathing you both in its radiance. 

He uses his knees to press your legs open and make room for himself as he drags his free hand down your thigh, pushing you open wider. You don’t know what his exact intentions are but you know he is the one in control.

“Joel…” you whine, and he doesn’t like that. 

“What are you gonna do, call for daddy?” he taunts. “Let him see what a slut his little girl is?” He stops and looks between your legs, dragging his finger along the seam of your panties. “And how you’re dripping for my cock?” 

No, you weren’t going to do anything but take what he gave you and he knew it. 

He sits up between your parted legs and looks down at your pathetic, needy body begging to be filled up. 

He pumps his cock. “Show me,” he demands, mid-stroke. The way his wrist flicks as he tugs on his shaft is mesmerizing.

He sits back on his legs while you shimmy out of your panties and toss your shirt onto the floor. As you lay back on the mattress his eyes scan over you, taking in your perfect breasts and the softness of your youthful skin. 

He lets go of his cock and leans down, putting his face right in your cunt. You can feel his hot breath hovering just above your clit but he is careful not to touch. You writhe towards him, begging for some friction. He gives you nothing.

He smiles a wicked smile as he picks his head up to look at you. His eyes lock with yours and you can see the darkness spreading over him. He wasn’t going to give you what you wanted and he was taking great pleasure in this payback. 

He crawls back over you slowly, letting his cock press against you as he hovers face to face again. His broadness caging you in and sending shivers through your body at the sight of his dominance. 

He uses his hand to engulf your own and guides it to your clit, pressing your fingertips into it and rubbing. He never loses eye contact with you, studying the way your mouth hangs open as he forces your hand.

A moan escapes your lips at his perverse control over you. His throbbing heat searing into you, daring you to grind against him. And oh how badly you want to take the bait.  

“Show me how you touch yourself, little slut.” His voice is intimidatingly low and gravelly. He lets up the pressure on your hand once he is convinced you will play along.   

He maneuvers back down the bed to get a better view as you circle your clit. He grabs your legs roughly and pulls you up close to him so they are wide open and hanging over his thighs. His swollen cock standing at full attention just inches from you. Just out of reach. A tease. A prize if you play his game. You slow down your movements, as you start to feel the heat inside you surging. 

“Sweetheart, you can do better than that,” he taunts as he pulls off his shirt, generously giving you more of his body to drink in. The ridges in his lean muscles catching the moonlight. He looks sinfully delicious and you ache for his body against yours. You want to make him happy, give him a reason to reward you with his touch. 

He leans forward and puts his weight is on his palms just by your hips, his cock pushing against your wet hole. His broadness looming over you. Leering at your neediness. The sight of him. The feel of his spongy head knocking at your entrance. It was too much. 

It was embarrassing. Degrading. It turned you on. 

“Don’t make me ask again,” he threatens, grabbing your hand again. “Wanna see you stuff that pretty hole.” He pushes two of your fingers together and brings them to his mouth, sucking them slowly and getting them good and wet. It sends shivers through your body imagining that mouth on your pussy instead.

He’s rougher this time, guiding your hand back down to your entrance. You can sense his patience running out. He pushes your pliant fingers inside without warning, fucking you in and out. Slow and hard. Until he lets go and watches you take over.

You can see from the glint in his eyes how much it is turning him on, watching you finger yourself in front of him was intoxicating to him. Your innocent moans singing into his ears. 

“Those pitiful little hands can’t get shit done” he grunts, dragging his hand up your thigh and curling around your stomach. The rough pads of his fingertips leave you trembling in their wake as he drags them lower.

He pulls your hand from its warm haven and eyes your swollen clit, begging for touch. He presses his thumb into it and circles it, making you moan. Finally giving you something. 

“Please…” you beg. Eager to feel him on you.

“Needy thing.” He stops circling and brings his hand lower, dragging his middle finger along your entrance and then spreading his fingers through your slick. 

“Go ahead.” He positions your hand around his and presses his middle and index fingers together like a gun. “You can use mine,” he commands. 

You realize he still isn’t going to fuck you. No, he wants you to move his hand and use his body to get off. He knew you would do it too because he was making you so desperate for any way to release. 

You wrap your hand around his wrist and guide him towards your entrance. Your other hand grips just above his watch in a desperate attempt to hold on. 

You are already so close, your body sucks him inside. The thickness feels so good as your pussy stretches to take him. You wince as you take in more and more of him, underestimating how thick he is. Everything about Joel Miller is so damn thick.  

“Goddamn you’re tight” he smiles crookedly as he feels your walls clamping onto him as you thrust him in and out.

You can sense a shift in the room that's palpable. He was having his fun with you, but he was getting greedy. Getting off on watching you struggle to take his fingers. He wanted to stuff you with his cock and show you what a real tight fit is, but he has no intention of giving you that satisfaction. You had to learn a lesson about teasing. 

He couldn’t resist curling his fingers inside you, prodding at your fleshy walls. Your hand was still around his but he was the one moving it now. His free hand rapidly stroking his length, thumbing over the swollen tip and God you need him so badly.

“Joel, please!” you beg. 

You are on the edge, ready to come harder than you ever have before. 

“Bet you can’t handle three,” he challenges, giving you no time to respond. He’s already decided it's happening whether you want it to or not. You do want it. You want anything he will give you. 

He groans as he adds a third finger and you flinch at the stretch. You hold  onto his forearm for dear life as his fingers fuck into you hard while he fucks into his own fist.

Now he can’t help himself from taking over entirely. He thrusts into you, deeper and deeper. Feeling your walls convulse around him as you reach your limit.

Finally he gives you permission.

“Come. Come now,” he snarls at you. Your orgasm has you gasping for breath as he relentlessly fingers you through it, chasing his own release. You soak his fingers and moan his name, your walls fluttering around him. Your nails claw into his skin, as you’re fucked out and overwhelmed by sweet ecstasy.

He comes hard and loud and you are certain your dad is passed out drunk since he hasn’t broken down your door yet. 

Joel’s hot spend hits your stomach and pussy. There is so much of it, he paints you in his release. Claiming you. 

A primal need surges inside him, desperate to leave you with his seed. You see the shift in his eyes and he can’t stop himself. His cum drips and pools around his knuckles as he fucks it inside you in a frenzy, needing his  spend as deep as his fingers will let him. 

“Joel, fuck,” you protest at the initial shock of what he is doing. He doesn’t even ask if you are protected, he just uses his brute force to thrust his cum inside. 

It’s obscene.

And it feels so good. You are as depraved as he is. You welcome him inside your body wanting more, swallowing up whatever he gives you as you come down from your high. 

His cum leaks out of you as he withdraws his fingers, but he stuffs as much back into your gaping hole as he can until his primal drive wanes. 

He gets off the bed and puts his shirt back on, leaving you laying there in his mess. 

“Next time you pull that shit again, I’ll make you sorry.” he threatens as he zips up his pants.

You smile in the dark and close your legs tightly, feeling the ache from his rough touch.

“I’m counting on it.”

Dividers @anitalenia / Banner by me

WIP Taglist: @lotusbxtch @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @megangovier @vickie5446 @baronessvonglitter @covetyou @evolnoomym @milla-frenchy @getitoutofmymindwrites @giowritess @almostfoxglove

Tagging fellow Joel girlies and mutuals I hope will enjoy this or know a friend who might 🙏🏻 Please anytime if you don’t want to be tagged just let me know. Thank you and love you all 🩷

@pedgito @slimybeth69 @syd-djarin @wheresarizona @frannyzooey @jolapeno @joelsdagger @joelmillerisapunk @for-a-longlongtime @tightjeansjavi @bonezone44 @wethairjoel @fuckyeahdindjarin @beefrobeefcal @aurorawritestoescape @beardedjoel @hellishjoel @toxicanonymity @galaxyedging @perotovar @pearlessance @pedropeach @cavillscurls @sawymredfox @moonlitbirdie @mothandpidgeon @604to647 @yourcoolauntie @jessthebaker @ozarkthedog @iamasaddie @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @itwasntimethatdidit40 @sin-djarin @schnarfer

[baronessvonglitter]

I’m having a really rough day and the only thing that will make me feel better is a story about Joel tying me up and devouring my 🐱🐱 for an hour until I’m happy again.

I’m sorry is that too much 🤣😭

I was very happy to step up to this challenge! Hope your day got so much better, hon! 🩷

kiss it better

joel miller x f!reader | wc: 1K

summary: after an awful day, you turn to Joel for help to de-stress

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Light D/s tones. Soft dom!Joel. Reader is tied up at her request, so.. subby reader? ❤️Joel is a cunning linguist (aka f receiving) 😏Pussy pronouns. Fingering. Squirting. Also Joel comes in his pants because I said so. Reader is not much described besides female anatomy. No use of y/n EVER and not beta read because I live dangerously. If I've missed anything please LMK!

a/n: still gonna add a fun fact to this request! Hi, I'm Adriana and I cannot play video games because I will get addicted to them 😞

Please enjoy this, Anon, I wish I could have written it sooner for you 🌹

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 👑

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Had a bad day, huh?" Joel's deep voice sends a thrill through you as he stands at the headboard of his bed, expertly yet softly tying your hand to the bedpost in a black silk scarf. He tests to make sure it's not too tight, and when he asks you tell him it's perfect. Satisfied, he goes to the other side, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before securing that one as well with another scarf.

"Need me to kiss it all better?" he asks, and you tell him yes because words are important, and he only has you like this when you really need to give over your power.

You're spreadeagle on his bed, naked, your wrists tied as per your request to Joel. He's played out this scenario with you a few times before, and he was more than happy to fulfill your need once again when you showed up on his doorstep after an agonizing day.

His bare hands smooth back your hair, caress the curve of your cheeks, and stop teasingly upon your lips before gliding down over the hollow of your throat and in beteween your breasts where his palm rests a moment, feeling the beat of your heart.

Now he moves slower, his touch more calculated as he cups the heft of each breast, giving each a good squeeze before flicking his tongue against your nipples, the flat of his palm on your torso to keep you still as you writhe under him. He knows you can come from just sucking on your nipples, but today you need something stronger than instant gratification, and his mouth is already watering at the thought of getting to taste you.

Your belly trembles, your cunt already constricting around empty air as his hands and lips travel south, pressing soft kisses into your skin, worshipping the curve of your hips

"Lift up them pretty legs," he softly orders you, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your wet core as you lift your knees, thighs spread apart exactly as he likes them. You're sopping wet already, your sweet and musky aroma greeting his nostrils. "Cryin' already," he murmurs. "You're havin' the shitty day and she's the one with the tears."

You muffle a giggle at his rare show of playfulness.

"Into each life a little rain must fall," he continues, thumbing your folds with the rough pads of his calloused thumbs. Your viscous slick is thick, more pouring out as he spreads you open. His eyes look up to meet yours. "Ever heard that song before? It's an oldie, so probably not," he says, so conversationally as though he's not in between your thighs, spreading your pussy juices all over your mound.

"I like when you're hydrated," he says softly, as if to himself, and gives a kitten lick to your clit, smoothing your thighs when they start to shake.

"Easy, now," he murmurs, sitting up to take off his shirt, leaving his jeans on, the top button undone just enough for his paunch to be free. You want to rub your hand across that little belly, feel the kitten-soft hair that rests on it and have his erect cock tap your hand when he's fully ready for you. But right now it's about you, not him.

Your hips lift off the bed and a sweet moan flies from your lips as he dives in, tongue roving languidly over your cunt. He laps up your nectar, wiggling his tongue into every nook and cranny, then stopping to press soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, edging you.

"Joel," you whine. He puts your knees over his shoulders, large hands cupping your ass. There's a pillow beneath you to keep you at an angle so he won't hurt his neck giving you head. Last time he had a crick for a week, and he plans on being down here for awhile.

"Patience," he soothes you, his kisses now on the crease between your thigh and your pussy, taking in your scent. "Got all night, don't we?" His own body is desperate for release, his cock rock hard, straining against the denim of his Wrangler jeans. He's humping the mattress as he eats you out, needing to relieve the ache building up inside.

Time seems to still as he goes back to devouring you, using the flat of his tongue to lap up every drop and the pointed tip of his tongue to tickle your clit. He leaves you guessing at every turn, fucking you with his tongue and suctioning his lips around your clit, keeping your orgasm out of reach until he feels you're ready, despite your pleadings, your bound hands clawing at nothing.

"We're not through until ya soak me," he grumbles. "Wanna be able to smell this cunt in my mustache for days." With that, he gently inserts two fingers, softly curving them, tickling that spongy part deep inside that makes you forget your own damn name.

"Fuck! Joel!" Your thighs threaten to constrict him, your back arches, offering all of yourself. You lose yourself in the sweet pleasure, gasping and sighing, calling out his name as his skilled tongue licks a wide stripe across your drenched cunt. He delves inside of you, tasting you like he needs it to survive, all while his fingers pump into you steadily.

"You taste so good.. I could do this all night."

All the warmth that has been gathering in your core now threatens to spill over, and your eyes go wide when you realize what's about to happen. "Joel! Joel, wait.. I think I have to pee!"

He lifts his head, an amused little smile on his lips. "Nah, baby, you're gonna squirt, and I want you to do it. Come for me.."

You're powerless to stop the huge wave of pleasure that engulfs you, your muscles tensing right before you squirt, the warm liquid gushing out, covering the sheets, covering Joel, who stays where he is, continuing to finger you through your climax as you pulse and choke his fingers.

You come down at last to view the aftermath: a soaked bed, and Joel pulling off his jeans, his cock now softening. You made him come in his jeans.

"Better, baby?" he asks, concerned with you before himself.

"Well.. it was a really bad day." Your eyes glisten with mischief, matching the glint in Joel's. "I might need another round."

no pressure tagging some joel babes: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @joelmillerisapunk @tateypots @probablyreadinsmut @joelalorian @joelmillerswife9

@evolnoomym @cxrsed-angel @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

@letsgobarbs @everybodylovedcontractors @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @untamedheart81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @sunshinehaze1 @604to647

@rav3n-pascal22 @axshadows @inept-the-magnificent @ohhoneypascal and probably others, forgive my goldfish brain

[shaunasrabbit]

Not Yours | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI. Part III.

Summary: You end up hurt and Joel's not too happy about it.

Tags: No use of y/n, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, some physical descriptions (reader has hair that can be pulled, has a bush because #bushnation, and is curvy if you squint), comfort (can you believe???), canon typical violence, alcohol consumption, bratty reader and mean!Joel, dom!Joel, verbal degradation, spit, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, spanking, fingering, rimming (ass eaters, this one is for you), use of good girl and other pet names, choking, oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), a dash of face fucking, light biting, hair pulling, finger sucking, sex in a public bathroom, rough sex, unprotected piv. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~5.5K

Read on AO3

A/N: I guess this is a series now! This could potentially be read as a standalone, but I recommend reading the other installments. You can find my masterlist here. This installment is inspired by a post that said something like, “I'm mad at you, let's fuck about it.” Lightly proofread, so all typos are on me. As always, any and all feedback is welcome! Please like, reblog, or comment if you enjoyed. Thank you for reading! Divider by @/saradika-graphics

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Adrenaline courses through your veins as the knob to your dingy front door rattles. You had just finished dragging the chest over the loose floorboard that you hid your pistol under, and you knew there’d be no time to excavate it. Bolting to the kitchen, you claw open a drawer looking for a kitchen knife sharp enough to defend yourself with. 

“It’s me,” Joel’s voice calls out from the entryway. 

You rest your hands on the edge of the counter, letting your head drop between your shoulders as you catch your breath. The thump of Joel’s boots on the worn, splintering hardwood calms you, knowing that no real threat is approaching you. 

“Sure, Joel, c’mon in,” you mumble and slam the kitchen drawer shut. “Make yourself at home.”

“Glad to see ya remembered pants this time,” he jokes, although his voice is deadpan and you don’t crack a smile. Joel leans against the doorframe and you can feel his eyes trained on the back of your head or, more likely, your ass. “You got my cut or are we playin’ games today?”

“That doesn’t seem like something you’d be glad about,” you say, trying to sound lighthearted despite the lump in your throat. Taking a deep breath, you spin on your heels to face him. “But, uh…about that…”

“Christ.” Joel’s next to you in an instant, inspecting your bruised and battered face in the light that’s filtering in from the open window. You glance away so that you don’t have to see whatever look he has in his eyes. “Knew I should’a gone with you.”

“It’s all good, Joel,” you mutter, taking a step back.

“Yeah, y’look real good, sweetheart,” he replies with a scoff. Joel nods his head toward the compact kitchen table. “Sit.”

If you had more energy, you’d argue with him, find something snarky to say, or roll your eyes, but you don’t have it in you. It’s only noon, but you spent the night sneaking back into the QZ alongside Joel and your morning? Well, your morning was filled with flying fists and a chokehold. So yeah, you’re exhausted to say the least. You follow Joel’s instructions and take a seat on the wooden chair that wobbles under your weight, paint chipping and flaking onto your jeans. 

He disappears into the other room and once you can hear him rummaging through drawers in your bathroom, you let your façade slip ever so slightly. Bracing your fists against your thighs, you curl your fingers inwards with such force that you can feel your nails dig into your palms. You hold your breath, knowing that if you let yourself exhale, the tears forming in your eyes would fall. 

Returning late with the supplies meant you were fucked. There was no way around it. If Joel had accompanied you when you went to meet up with Wade, you would’ve made it out unscathed with the entire payment, but you also probably wouldn’t be getting any jobs from him in the future. Wade doesn’t like Joel or, rather,  Wade feels intimidated by Joel. You’ve seen it manifest in some weird dick measuring contest that Joel doesn’t even engage in. So, showing up with Joel as your guard dog would blacklist you from working with Wade forever and you couldn’t afford that. Besides that, you don’t want Joel to think you need him. Even more than that, you don’t want to need him and really, you don’t need him. Sure, you’re a little banged up, but you’re alive. You can hold your own. 

Joel comes back into the room holding a first aid kit that’s likely missing half of its contents. Tossing it on the table, he pulls the chair from the other side of the table and positions it directly in front of you, sitting down and parting your legs with his knee.

Heat sears your cheeks from Joel’s intense gaze. His rich, brown eyes flit over every inch of your face like he’s cataloging each distortion. Joel looking at you usually rouses something deep and primal in you, but right now, you feel like a bug under a microscope and it makes your fucking skin crawl. Still, you try to hold his stare even with one of your eyes swollen half-way shut. 

When Joel’s thumb and index finger meet your chin, you instinctively flinch, but his touch carries a tenderness you didn’t think he was capable of. Your breath hitches as his thumb ghosts over your lip, barely grazing the broken skin. His fingers trail from your swollen lip down to the tender flesh of your neck that’s already starting to bruise; the sensation of his warm touch on your skin sends a shiver down your spine. Pursing his lips like he’s deep in thought, his hand drops and opens the first aid kit, finally breaking the eye contact that you think could’ve suffocated you if it lasted any longer. 

He sets out various medical supplies—isopropyl alcohol, gauze, antibiotic ointment—and you shift uncomfortably, staring past him at the outdated calendar pinned to the peeling wallpaper. You should get up, tell him you don’t need his help, kick him out, but you don’t. You just sit there idly. 

“Gonna burn,” Joel grumbles, lifting an alcohol soaked pad to your lip. You hiss at the sting as he gently dabs at your cut, disinfecting it and wiping away the dried blood. “I know,” he practically coos in an attempt to soothe you, “M’sorry.” 

There’s something about the way he’s cleaning your wounds, tending to you, that’s too intimate. Even Joel’s softest moments with you have never been like this. It’s a fucked up time for you to get turned on, definitely, but heat pools between your legs as you watch his brow furrow in concentration and maybe a hint of concern. Those hands, worn and weathered from years of work and violence, moving so delicately and so prudently make your toes curl. You want them inside of you, around your throat, in your mouth—anywhere at all.

Once Joel finishes up, he sits back to look at his work. Of course, your face is still fucked up, but it’s clean and looks a whole hell of a lot better than it did. 

Setting down the now crimson gauze, he says flatly, “Don’t think you’ve ever been that quiet.”

“I guess you know how to shut me up next time I piss you off,” you reply, tilting your head with a half smile, that’s all you can manage. “Just takes a few punches.”

“And a hand ‘round your throat.” He nods, gesturing to the handprint on your neck. “Reckon I already knew that.” 

You let out a short, breathy laugh. “Yeah, I reckon ya do,” you mock in an exaggerated, shitty Southern accent. “But uh…thanks, Joel.” 

Joel rolls his eyes and sucks his cheek in between his teeth, biting back a smile. Your chest tightens with a mix between affection and satisfaction. When he doesn’t say anything, you reach into your pocket and slide a plastic bag filled with pills in his direction.

“Wade shorted me,” you explain, “but you should take it. As a thanks and as an I’m-sorry-that-I-got-us-stuck-in-the-city.” 

Joel looks down at the bag and then back up at you before shaking his head and sliding the bag back in your direction. 

“Keep it,” he mutters as he stands up. “Y’need it more than me.” 

“Joel—” you begin, but he’s already halfway out of your apartment. 

When you hear the front door slam shut, you lean back in the chair with an exasperated sigh. You open the bag, fish out a pill, and break it in half. Popping one half into your mouth and swallowing it, you throw the other half in with the others. You’ll bring it over to your neighbor later. First, you need to relieve the ache between your fucking thighs before you burst.

The swelling around your eye has finally started to go down, the bruises are fading, and the cuts on your face are healing nicely after a week or so. You wish you had been able to drop off the medication at Susan’s without her seeing you, but your luck has been shit lately and she caught you trying to sneak away. She questioned you, you lied, she pretended to believe you. The two of you have been lying to each other for years, always for the other person’s sake. Just because something’s a habit doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting.

You’ve been laying low, taking as little work as possible around the QZ, just enough to eat for the week. Mainly, you’ve been avoiding Joel. Maybe it’s embarrassment or maybe you’re trying to prove a point—you don’t need anyone to take care of you. You don’t need anything from anyone, but especially not Joel. Plus, though you’d never admit it, you’re hoping you look better the next time you see him. Knowing Joel, he’ll probably just take credit for that. Look how good I did patchin’ ya up. 

With your ration cards running low, you decide it’s time to go out and see if you can secure a job from Wade, one that you will absolutely not be inviting Joel to help you with. This time of day, you can find Wade outside of the old barber shop, smoking cigarettes and scaring teenagers with his signature scowl. 

The sun is high above Boston and the city is starting to defrost after another brutal winter. It’s not hot by any means, but you manage to work up a sweat on your walk over. When you realize your hands are shaking, you consider going back to your apartment, but you power through.

That’s when you see him. Wade, leaning back against a tattered patio chair. He is, in fact, smoking a hand rolled cigarette, loosely holding it between two broken fingers. Looking at Wade is like looking in a funhouse mirror. The same bruises, gashes, and swelling, but his are more exaggerated, fresher. 

Joel, you motherfucker.

This is exactly what you were hoping to avoid, but again…fucked either way. Wade hasn’t seen you yet and you take the opportunity to tuck yourself in an alleyway to think. You could turn around, hunt down Joel, and give him the same black eye that you and Wade have, but you can’t because as upset as you are, you’re also sort of…flattered? 

Thinking back to the night in the dilapidated apartment, you remember Joel saying that you’re more useful to him alive and that’s why he wouldn’t let Wade touch you, but you are alive. Joel knew that when he decided to rough him up. 

Violence and love walk hand-in-hand in a world like this. You’ve seen it happen a hundred times—people fighting for, killing for, the people they care about. You shake your head like you can physically expel your thoughts with the movement. There’s no reason to play mental games like this. Joel’s just being the tough guy. Just throwing hands like he always does. You picture those hands, bloodied and bruised. You picture them pawing at your tits or fucking your cunt. Again, you shake your head. Not the time, not the place.

You move because if you don’t, you’ll lean against this brick wall thinking about Joel and how badly you want to hit him and fuck him at the same time. When Wade sees you, he throws his nearly finished cigarette to the ground. You both stare at each other for a moment in silence and you feel like your skin is on fire. 

“What do you have?” you ask flatly. 

Wade cocks his head to the side and some twisted version of a smile plays on his lips. “Where’s your bodyguard?”

“What do you have?” you repeat, slower this time. Your jaw is tight, shoulders tense. 

“For you? Nothing.” 

“Wade, fucking…come on. I didn’t tell Joel to fuck you up,” you explain, raising your eyebrows. “Look, I’ll do the next run for free. You keep it all. No payment.”

“I know,” he says with a nod. “No one tells Joel what to do.”

You throw your hands up and clap them together. “Great, glad we cleared that up. Now, tell me what you have.”

“I have…a black eye, a split lip, and a broken rib.” He walks towards you, coming close enough that you can feel his breath on your face. Reaching into the front pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a match. “And I’ve got no reason to make a deal with you, honey. You’re good, but you’re a dime a dozen.”

Finally, you break eye contact and start to walk away. 

“Pussy must be special, though,” he calls after you. You stop dead in your tracks. “You know, if you’ve got Joel Miller swinging for you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you shoot back, whipping around to look at him. Fists balled up at your sides, you stomp toward Wade and rip the cigarette out of his hand. You take a long drag before throwing the freshly lit cigarette on the ground and stomping out the flame. “Fuck off, Wade.”

You storm away, feeling silly and childish as tears burn your eyes. When you see Joel, you’re going to kill him.

You’re grateful that you haven’t run into Joel in the last week, but he’s occupied most of your headspace which isn’t that unusual, but you’re generally thinking about screaming his name and not screaming at him. 

Now that your face is more or less healed and you’ve started to look like yourself again, you decide to go to the speakeasy that operates out of the basement of an old laundromat. You’ll get drunk, blow off some steam, and hopefully forget about how pissed you are at Joel for fucking up your formerly symbiotic relationship with Wade.

The wall of smoke and mildew hits you hard as you make a beeline for the makeshift bar, doing a quick scan of the room as you go. No Joel. Good. The bartender is an older man who, luckily, owes you one, so he wordlessly slides you a glass of whiskey. Downing it in one shot, you wince and give him a small nod to ask for another. 

After your third drink, you make your way toward a group of acquaintances. You’d call them friends, but your socialization only goes as far as smuggling shit together and drinking in the basement of this laundromat, conversations strictly about work and bitching about the state of the world. You wonder if that’s all that it takes to qualify as friends in a broken place like this. 

On your way over, you run directly into a wall of a chest, spilling some of your whiskey down your shirt. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, trying to dry off with your sleeve before the stickiness sets in. “Thanks a lot—”

You look up and see Joel staring down at you with an unreadable expression. It’s cold, even blank. In return, you give him the look. The look that says you better follow me or I’m going to kill you. Without a word, you turn and walk to the bathroom. Joel follows. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?” you exclaim as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

“You ran into me,” he defends himself, crossing his arms.

The fucking nerve he has to act like that’s what you’re upset about almost sends you into a blind rage, but you maintain some composure. Even if it’s a struggle. 

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. Your stare is intense, sharp, but your vision isn’t thanks to the alcohol. It takes you a second to focus on Joel’s face. “Wade won’t give me another job. You fucked shit up for me.”

“I’ll find you other jobs. S’not a big deal.”

“I don’t want you doing shit for me, Joel,” you snap, taking a step toward him.  “And that’s not even the fucking point! I don’t need you to protect me and I don’t want people thinking I’m your…your little bitch or something.”

Your voice wavers at the end and embarrassment creeps up your body, starting in your toes before settling in your throat, a thick and suffocating lump. Swallowing hard doesn’t get rid of the feeling at all.

Joel closes the gap between the two of you so that you’re almost chest to chest and you have to crane your neck up to look at him. “Yeah? Well, you kinda are, darlin’.”

“What?”

“You do what I say when I say it. You come when you’re told to. You fuckin’ drool for me.” His voice is low and his eyelids are heavy as he looks down at you. “Sounds to me like y’are my little bitch.”

Trying to focus on how angry you are doesn’t get rid of the growing ache between your legs and the dampness of your panties. You’re supposed to be mad. You’re not supposed to want him like this. The line between lust and hate has always been thin for you, and right now, you seem to be straddling it. 

“Why are you here?” you ask softly, eyes shifting away. “You never come here.”

“No, but you do.” Joel shakes his head. With a gruff, low voice, he commands, “Turn around. Walk to the sink.”

Before you even get the chance to think about it, you’re already following his instructions. Your hips are pressed against the sink as you watch Joel in the mirror, walking up behind you and taking a long, hard look at your ass. He takes your hands and places them against the edge of the sink, his hands rest atop of yours as he leans forward, his breath is hot against the shell of your ear and you can smell the alcohol on him. You hope the roar of the crowd beyond the bathroom door drowns out the sound of your heavy breathing.

“I’m mad at you.” You manage to get those four words out without your voice shaking, without giving away how badly you want him inside of you. 

Joel hums, hand moving to lightly brush against the exposed skin between your shirt and your jeans. “Mad at me, huh, sweetheart? So your cunt won’t be drippin’ for me if I reach in?”

Your breath hitches at his dirty words. Joel’s mouth—always so fucking filthy. Tilting your head down, you train your eyes on the rusty faucet in front of you. His fingers toy with your waistband and you hate that he’s right. You’re soaked just from his Southern drawl and big hands touching you. It’s fucking embarrassing that it takes so little to get you so worked up.

“You fucking wish,” you spit back at him, knowing it’ll drive him to give you what you want. You still aren’t looking at him in the mirror.

Joel unbuttons your pants with ease and drags your zipper down torturously slow, like he’s giving you the opportunity to tell him to stop or maybe he’s daring you to. You don’t though, you let it happen and tighten your grip on the sink. When he finally dips his fingers under the damp fabric and runs his middle finger through your slick folds, you whimper and lean your head back against his shoulder. Joel lets out a breathy laugh.

“Nice try, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your lobe. He begins to rub light, languid circles around your already swollen clit. “This pussy can’t lie to me, even if that pretty mouth does.”

“S-Still mad.”

“S’alright, you always fuck better when you’re mad,” he rasps as he pulls your pants and underwear down to your knees. You spread your legs and push back against him to feel his erection straining against his jeans, biting back a moan at the contact. Desperate, needy. For a second, you’re more angry at yourself than you are at Joel, but you remember that you’re drinking and you did say you were going to blow off some steam. What better way to blow off steam than taking Joel’s dick?

Joel ruts his hips into you and you finally look up at him in the mirror. His brows are pulled tightly together, lips parted, and you can tell he wants you as badly as you want him. After all, he’s the one that initiated only moments after getting you alone. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s settling in nicely or maybe it’s desire, but warmth pools in your belly. Joel’s hands explore your hips, squeezing as he goes, until he gets to your voluptuous ass. He grips a handful of your flesh, kneading it between his thick, calloused fingers. Muttering something under his breath, fuck or maybe shit, Joel bends down and you can hear his knees crack. You spread your legs as much as you can with your jeans around your knees to give him better access, fully leaning forward so you’re at a 90 degree angle. Joel notices your restricted movements and pulls your pants down to your ankles. 

Spitting on your tight ring of muscle, he watches it drip down to your pussy, running a finger through the absurd amount of wetness. He rubs your clit for only a teasing moment before sinking a finger inside of you, working you open and curling just right to hit that sweet spot inside of you. You let out your first earnest moan at the delicious pressure.

“She’s fuckin’ soaked, baby,” he growls, biting into the plush of your ass as he fucks you with one finger. It’s not enough and you push your hips back into him, using your body to ask for more. Joel delivers, sinking a second finger inside of you. A sharp smack lands on your ass before he asks, “That better?”

You throw your head back and cry out, thankful that the bar is loud enough to dampen the sound of your pleasure, although you’re not sure you’d give a shit anyway. His pace is steady, controlled, and you feel pressure building in your lower belly. 

It’s the dependable sort of tempo that guarantees you’ll come, but you’re thrown for a loop when you feel Joel spread your cheeks and teases around your rim with his tongue. Instinctively, you tense up at the foreign sensation, but after a few seconds, you melt into it. He’s never done that before and fuck, it surprises you how good it feels. Joel removes his fingers from your heat and begins to play with your clit using his thumb, tongue dipping into where no one has gone before.

“Joel,” you say again and again like you’ll forget his name if you don’t keep saying it.

The way his tongue moves over your asshole combined with the expert movement on your clit is unmatched and distinct, the perfect combination to send you over the edge. Your orgasm builds quickly, washing over you and causing your legs to tremble. Joel’s arm that’s wrapped around you so he can access your clit holds you upright as you shake through your orgasm, expletives and his name tumbling out of you. It sounds like complete nonsense and maybe it is, but you’re too busy paying attention to the spasms of your cunt to feel self-conscious. 

Once you come down from your high, Joel licks down to your pussy and laps up your juices like he’s dying of thirst. You’re a shaking mess and you’re gripping the counter for dear life, for any sense of grounding. 

He stands up and you hear him undo his belt, the sound alone making you clench in anticipation. 

“You know, that kind of made me feel like you’re my bi—”

Joel slams into you with such force that you can’t finish your sentence, cut off by your own cry. It’s brutal, the way he’s fucking you, the head of his cock repeatedly kissing your cervix. He’s holding you against his chest, his arm tight around you so that he can grab at your breasts, pinching your nipples through your shirt.

“You sayin’ something?” he asks, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your jaw.

Shaking your head, your eyes are glued shut, head hanging forward as you take in the feeling of Joel’s cock catching the ridge inside of you, ultimately pressing against the spot inside of you that makes you nearly see stars. A hand tangles in your hair and forces you to look up.

Behind you Joel grunts, picking up the pace. “Eyes open,” he commands. You obey. You always do. “Look at yourself, darlin’.”

In the cracked mirror, you see your fucked out expression and parted lips as you pant and moan. Joel looks equally wrecked with a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his pupils blown wide from lust. 

“Takin’ it so well f’me. Think you are my little bitch.” Joel’s hand wraps around your throat, eclipsing the hand print from Wade that’s nearly completely faded. “Maybe I should get ya a collar, baby.”

“Oh fuck, go fuck yourself.”

“Why would I do that when I got this pussy right here? She’s squeezin’ the hell outta me,” he rasps, grunting and groaning as he slides in and out of you with ease. “So damn needy it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

His words alone almost make you come. There is no one else you’d let talk to you like this, but anything that comes out of Joel’s mouth sounds like symphony to you, even the most fucked up shit. Your moans are broken, strangled as he tightens his hold on your throat and continues to fuck you with fervor. Joel can tell you’re close, your walls choking him like a vise grip.

“Maybe if you let Wade fuck you like this,” he begins as he moves from your throat to your mouth, tracing your lips with his fingers, “he wouldn’t’ve busted these sweet lips a’yours.”

You open your mouth to shoot something back at him, but Joel shoves two fingers in, gagging you. The sudden intrusion makes your eyes water. Spit trickles out of the sides of your mouth as his fingers slide in between your lips in time with his thrusts. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking his fingers with force, you make eye contact with Joel in the mirror. He looks mesmerized by you, wild eyes trained on your swollen, wet lips and you moan at the sight of the two of you—fucked out messes in rundown bathroom. 

It’s disgusting yet undeniably sexy. 

“Fuck,” he says with a groan as he pulls his fingers from your mouth, “I’m gonna count and when I get to three, you’re gonna be a real good girl f’me and come. Understand?”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you keep moaning and pushing yourself back into him, just needing him closer as if it were even possible. Joel grabs your face, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and his soaked index and middle fingers.

“Words, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

Furrowing your brow, you nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Repeat it.”

“Joel,” you whine, “fuck, fine. I-I come when you get to…to three.”

“Good girl.”

Joel shifts his hips so he can fuck you deeper and the new angle makes your entire body feel hot as you tumble toward your second orgasm. 

“One…”

Fingers find their way back into your mouth, muffling your moans. 

“Two…”

A solid, strong arm holds you up because Joel knows that you’re going to fall apart when you come.

“Three.”

Your eyes close and let the pleasure overtake you, your brows pulled tight and your legs buckling beneath you. When your orgasm peaks, you let out a high pitched whine, unintentionally biting down on Joel’s fingers. As you come down from your high and Joel’s thrusts slow, you begin to notice the way wetness clings to your inner thighs. His fingers slip from your lips and his arm comes up across your chest.

“Was that your way of apologizing?” you ask as you try to catch your breath, your voice sultry but with an edge to it. 

Joel stills inside of you, holding you to his chest and resting his chin on your shoulder. Something between a laugh and exhale comes out of him. Looking at him in the mirror, you can see the way his graying curls are sticking to his forehead from sweat and the way exhaustion paints his face. You like seeing him like this—it’s almost vulnerable. 

Pressing a featherlight kiss to your pulse point, he pulls out of you. “Ain’t nothing for me to apologize for.” He shakes his head and spins you around to look at him. Joel wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest, his mouth just inches away from yours. “Had to teach him not to break my toy.”

“Make up your mind, Joel. Am I your little bitch or your plaything?”

“You’re whatever I need you to be, sugar.” A hand comes up to cradle your face and your heart starts to race. Joel always makes your heart rate increase, but especially when he shows any hint of care or affection. For a moment, you think he may kiss you. “And right now, I need you quiet and on your fuckin’ knees.” 

His hand moves from your face to your shoulder, pushing you down toward the cracked tile. Your bare knees hit the grungy floor and you’re disgusted by it, but almost more disgusted by how willing you are to do what Joel asks of you. All is forgotten when you’re face to face with Joel’s swollen, hard cock. He begins to fuck into his fist feverishly as he looks down at you, eyes dark and filled with want. As he jerks himself off, his breathing becomes ragged. He looks so damn good hovering above you like that and you just want him inside of you again—fucking you, filling you. 

“Open,” he demands. 

You do as he says, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. Joel smacks your tongue with the flushed head of his cock a few times and you can taste yourself on him, making you exhale and whine with need. Sliding into your warm and wet mouth, Joel hisses at the sensation. You take him inch by inch until he’s nestled at the back of your throat and your nose is nearly touching the patch of hair at the base of his cock. The depth makes your eyes water, but you do your best to blink back the tears. You start to bob your head up and down and, surprisingly, Joel lets you set the pace. Your movement is fast, but contained, although you’re not sure how long you’ll be the one in control.

“Jus’ like that, baby,” he praises, bringing a hand to the back of your head. “Keep goin’—fuck.”

Joel’s practically panting and moaning as you continue to suck his dick with intent. When you hear your name fall from his lips, you hum around his cock, looking up at him from under your lashes. His lips are parted, one hand on the back of your head and on the sink to brace himself. 

Just as you suspected, Joel rips the reigns from you and starts to fuck into your mouth erratically. The sudden change shocks you and you gag on his cock as he forces himself past your point of comfort. Tears well up in your eyes as you focus on your breathing. You love when he gets like this, so desperate and turned on that he just takes. 

“Look s’good like that. Knees on the dirty fuckin’ ground f’me,” he says between grunts. “Gonna reward you for it. My good fuckin’ girl.”

With one final thrust, Joel finishes and groans, his warm, salty cum filling your mouth. Breathing heavily, he pulls out and looks down at your wide, glossy eyes. 

“Swallow.” You do. You even lick your lips for good measure.

Joel extends a hand to you and you accept his offer, letting him help you up. Silently, he tucks himself back in his jeans and uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. You look away from him and sheepishly pull your pants up, trying really hard not to think about how badly you want to shower right now to wash away the grime of the speakeasy. 

“Leavin’ on Wednesday for a job. Probably be gone about a week,” he says casually as if you weren’t just on your knees for him. 

“I’ll meet you outside of the market. Dusk?” you ask.

Joel nods and goes to say something else, but is cut off by a loud banging on the bathroom door. You’re surprised it took this long for someone to knock. 

“We’ll split it. Long run, but good pay,” Joel replies and opens the door.

In the frame, you see Wade, face still banged up, but healing. Heat spreads across your face as the embarrassment sets in. 

Just my fucking luck, you think to yourself. 

Joel walks by Wade, shouldering him aside. Refusing to look in his direction, you follow behind Joel—like you’re his little bitch or something.

[gracieheartspedro]

welcome to my mid-year fic rec list!

here you will find some fics i've enjoyed from january-june! we are officially halfway through the year and I've read some incredible fics thus far!

to the writers- thank you for sharing your work with us! to the readers - please send these writers your love by commenting, reblogging, and liking! also - these are not marked as to what's smut and what's not. please read the warnings of every fic before you decide to read. thank you! beautiful dividers are made by @saradika-graphics

alright! now let's get into it!

stranger things

eddie munson

back to friends by @amanitacowboy

troubled cure, for a troubled mind by @levanswrites

all hope is gone by @trashmouth-richie

invisible lovers by @mediocredreams

when she was bad by @elegantpaperoperatormaker

damsels and debauchery: the d&d chronicles by @mrsjellymunson

do it for me by @pedgito

the hat rule by @ghost-proofbaby

my my those eyes like fire (ft gareth) by @the-unforgivenn

the dos and donts of fake dating by @joequiinn

bruises by @lonelysatellites

the devil in me by @writhingg

steve harrington

body to flame by @stevenose

don't delete the kisses by @stevenose

broken promises by @supernovafics

your biggest hater by @hellfire--cult

american engine by @rebelfell

steddie (with reader)

hurry up and wait by @rebelfell

the slut, the prince, the freak by @maroon-cardigan

dick measuring contest by @pedgito

gladiator 2

emperor geta

servant x reader series by @getaapologist

violent hearts by @lonelysatellites

the last of us

joel miller

strangers by @pedgito

in the backseat by @/pedgito

lover's patrol (crack fic with eddie) by @/pedgito

little lamb by @chaotic-mystery

hotline to heaven by @chaotic-mystery

untitled by @stellamarielu

catching flights and snowflakes by @hellishjoel

idle hands by @honeyandruin

born again by @kedsandtubesocks

jesse

lovers fever by @aureatelys

holster by @pedgito

ellie williams

lunch by @eddies-ashtray

ppcu

dave york

keystrokes by @mothandpidgeon

harry castillo

a prize i'd cheat to win by @whoevenisjavier

stuffed by @pedgito

javier peña

plus one by @chaotic-mystery

poison either way (ft dave york) by @guiltyasdave

dieter bravo

cowboy like me by @chaotic-mystery

never have I ever by @wannab-urs

din djarin

beg by @amanitacowboy

marvel

bob reynolds

leave the gentle things behind by @lewmagoo

bucky barnes

we'll be alright by @hauntedhowlett-writes

johnny storm

the flaming hearts fan club by @glassbxttless

lesson learned by @prettycalla

graphic made by me (;

again these amazingly beautiful dividers are made by @saradika-graphics !!!! please go check her out, she makes amazing graphics and dividers!!!

thank you to all the writers again! i hope to have a big list like this at the end of the year, too! <3

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

good kitty

Dave York x f!reader | wc: ~2k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

warnings: smut, no y/n, established relationship, d/s dynamics, pet play-ish, soft dom!Dave, dick pronouns, handjob, a sprinkle of cock and balls worship, a dash of spit play, petnames (kitty, duh, baby x1), cum play, cum eating, daddy kink

a/n: i'm back on my Dave bullshit, let me hear you say wayo. btw i am the kitty in question, in case anyone wondered. forever grateful for @guiltyasdave's help and beta, she, too, is the kitty in question <3

His apartment felt awfully empty with no wife and kids around. It did not only feel empty but also lifeless, loveless. So Dave thought about a pet. He needed something more self-sufficient than a dog.

Maybe a cat then? He half heartedly started walking down the path of getting a pet and at a crossroad he stopped. It was either adopt a cat from the shelter or take home that cute girl that works at the shelter.

He chose you. You're so much better than a cat but unfortunately not as self-sufficient. You demand a lot of attention. And care. And reassurance. Yet he loves coming home now. Loves finding you in his apartment, giddy from whatever mischief you got yourself into that day, happy to see him again, hungry for every ounce of attention he is offering you.

He always thought he'd be more of a dog person, concerning every aspect of pet keeping. Snapping his fingers, whistling, a scoffed command and a dog obeys. They love to serve their master. A cat? Not so much. 

Snapping his fingers at you only makes you roll on your back and yawn. Whistling to get your attention only gives you zoomies and giggly fits. Trying to discipline you lets you hiss and shove glasses off the table. Pushing you off his chest to get up lets you sulk and brood.  

You are a handful. Two handfuls really and Dave is amazed by the patience he can muster for you. He is convinced that you need a spanking every single day but that would just make you leave. And it would turn his apartment into a life- and loveless space again. He has to become a cat person for you.

That's how Dave slowly learns to appreciate the big and small joys you bring him. The scratches on his back. Your pretty mews. The grace with which you arch and bend and stretch for him. Around him. 

He loves when you busy yourself with your favorite toys. Like his zipper. Up, down, up, down it goes the moment he sits down on the couch. Dave doesn't know who trained who because the moment one of your fingers disappears in the gaping fly he feels himself twitch. Every single time. And when you paw at him, curious as ever about what wondrous thing might be hiding inside of his pants this time, he feels himself swell and grow hard. Every. Single. Time.

And every time you look up at him then - with your eyes wide and your mouth agape - he feels special and truly wanted.

“You've been good today? Been a good little kitty?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod your head eagerly and muffle an of course into his palm when he cradles your face in his hand.

“That so?” He gently pinches your earlobe, just to draw one of those adorable hisses out of you.

You hiss - like always - and he smiles.

“Behave yourself. Only good kitties get a reward.”

With a smooth movement you slide off the couch and end up kneeling, nudging his legs apart just a little more. Perhaps he was successful with training his precious pet, he thinks while he is shifting to the edge of the couch. You're already pawing at him again, slightly grazing over the button of his pants.

Dave tuts, “Ah ah ah, what did I tell you about being respectful?”

“Please,” you grumble, clearly not caring about being respectful at all. Until he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives you a little shake.

“Try again. Or you're going to bed tonight without the treat.” He shakes your chin again before he leans closer, looking down to you. “And you want your treat, right?”

“Yes, please,” you answer, sounding more convincing now. You really do want that treat. You fucking love that treat. You lick your lips, your eyes flicker down to Dave’s inviting looking bulge right in front of you. “Please, can I take him out and touch him? I'll be good, I promise.”

“That's better,” he hums and leans back, his arms crossed behind his head. “Go get Daddy's dick. You can have him.” He thrusts his hips upwards, just enough to make you lick your lips again. Such a hungry little thing. “Make Daddy proud. Show him how good you are at playing with him.”

You don't need more permission than that. With practiced moves you peel layer after layer of fabric away to uncover your favorite toy. He is already hard enough for you, slightly curved, the dim light of the room catching on the tiny spot of wetness right on top. 

You tap Dave’s cock with a finger, smiling when he swings a little. Your hand wraps around the shaft and squeezes until he throbs and Dave grunts. It's your favorite game, to make Daddy's cock bounce and bob and throb and leak. You shuffle closer, the carpet biting at your knees but you don't mind it. Slightly bent forward you open your mouth and let your saliva drivel onto him. But it's not nearly enough to start jerking him off. You whine, the frustration carved between your brows as you look up at Dave.

“I need your help, please,” you say, smearing your drool over the blunt head of his dick. "Please?"

He groans at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, your mouth wide open for him. One of these days you might kill him with how perfect you are. He leans to the front with one hand reaching out to hold your head still.

“There you go,” he husks and spits into your mouth. “What a considerate little kitty I own.”

His warm spit tastes so tempting that you are considering swallowing it. But he wouldn't like that and probably not let you have your treat. So you roll it around on your tongue instead before carefully drooling everything all over his cock. 

You're not allowed to take him into your mouth, that's only for when you've been extra good. But his balls, daddy likes those being licked. And while you slowly start spreading your mixed saliva with a few lazy strokes you also nuzzle his balls. Another one of your favorite games, to feel Dave squirm every time you make his balls tighten and move and shrivel. You give them a kiss - each one gets its own - and a few kitten licks.

“You smell so good, Daddy,” you murmur and look up at him from beneath your lashes, licking his balls again, this time with your tongue flattened.

Dave knows he probably doesn't smell too good after 12 hours in the same briefs. But he found himself a special little kitty, one that seems to really like him. Or is perverted enough to enjoy a pair of sweaty balls. Perhaps it's both.

“You think so?” He exhales through his nose and bites back a groan when you try to suck him into your mouth.

“Mhmm,” you hum with Dave’s one ball now in your mouth and your hand moving up and down his cock. You know how he likes it: first firm, slow strokes, then faster pumps of just the upper half, twisting and flicking your hand over his pretty tip until Dave’s hips twitch and he starts hissing.

You are doing him in today. Usually he is good with holding back and letting you have your little fun with him. But not today. You are getting too good at this, your hands working him good, both hands now. He can barely hear the obscene slurps coming from you over the squelching pumps and his own groans. You suck harder on his balls, now that they start to tighten and announce the inevitable. 

Dave can see that line grow between your brows as they knit together. You know it too, playtime will be over soon. You don't like that, and just when you're thinking about complaining Dave snarls.

“Don’t. You promised to be… fuck… promised to be good,” he says through gritted teeth. Your hands slow down - just a little bit - and Dave bucks into your tight fists. “You’re going to make Daddy cum. Is that-...” One of his big hands pushes you back into his crotch when you were just pulling back. “... understood?” 

He feels your head bob up and down, your mouth already latched onto his balls again. You whine against his spit-wet balls - mouthy as ever, Dave thinks and pulls you a little deeper between his legs. 

“That's a good kitty. Nice and…” He cuts himself off with a grunt when you find the perfect pace and pressure with your hands. Christ, he's going to cum so hard.

You jerk him off meticulously now. Your eyes are fixed on his face, each one of the little twitches and snarls he can’t hold back have you rutting against nothing. Each one of his moans and hissed fucks lets you answer with a needy mew, your hips rocking back and forth in the same rhythm as your hands pump him.

Dave loves it, to have you reduced to this wanton, needy grown woman. He'd let you have a pillow to hump, but you gave him too much attitude. You will have to learn the hard way: no respect, no release. For you at least. Because he is right there.

“Ready for a treat from Daddy?” A sheen layer of sweat shimmers on his forehead when he husks the words out. You nod your head again, letting go of his balls and open your mouth, ready to jerk Dave’s cum right into it.

“Not like that,” he chuckles and it sounds a little mean. “Off,” Dave commands, the urgency clear in his voice and the speed with which he takes over and fucks his fist.

You love it, to be able to make him moan. To watch him jerk himself off right in front of your open mouth is a close second though. You clamp your thighs together, squirming on your knees, ready to feel Dave cum all over your face. One of your hands cradles his balls and gently tugs and squeezes them.

“Fuck, that's perfect,” Dave growls and with a few hard jerks he tips over the edge. Your eyes are shut tightly, expecting to feel spurts of hot cum landing on your face. But there's nothing, just Dave panting and grunting and the unmistakable squelches of him milking himself. Hell, you can smell him. You blink your eyes open only to feel your pussy ache even more at the sight before you.

Dave jerks his load into his free hand, it’s a bit messy, running between his fingers, but most of it sits in the palm of his hand, warm, opaque, thick. He loves coming in your mouth, loves to feel you sucking him dry. But every once in a while he likes to handfeed you.

“C'mere,” he rasps and holds his cupped hand out for you. “Daddy’s got your treat.”

A choked whimper comes from you, your tongue slowly sticking back out until you feel the warm cum on the tip of it. You pull it back into your mouth, mewing when the first note of saltiness spreads in your mouth.

“I know, baby,” Dave croons, still stroking himself. “Be good and drink up. Daddy really made an effort for this, hm?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper and look at him as if he just gave you your favorite thing in the world. Then you lower your head even more, your pink tongue dips back into his cum before it disappears in your mouth again. The quick, rhythmic lapping and slurping sounds fill the space between you and Dave, accompanied by your quiet purr.

“Such a good kitty for me,” he sighs softly while he watches you drink from his hand.

Clear droplets gather at the edge of your chin, glistening before falling back into his palm. After more sips, you start licking his hand clean, then his fingers, making sure to get every single drop. Finally you lift your head, blinking lazily, satisfied, hiccuping.

“No need to be so greedy.” He chuckles, his cleaned palm now cradling your wet chin. He leans in and kisses your forehead. “Daddy’s giving you some more cream tomorrow!”

comment and reblog to be handfed by Dave (or to let me know you liked this story, whatever you prefer!)

wanna read some more kinky Dave? then you might like exhibitionistic! and degrading!Dave in let them see

Dave York masterlist here

general masterlist here

dividers: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

[iamasaddie]

don't go

Joel x reader

summary: The image of the man you loved, helpless and pained, woke you up with a scream. warnings: fix-it fic(let) ; unedited word count: 360 a/n: he's okay. he's safe. and it hurts to cry because my face is already raw. dedicated to every gentle soul that's gone through the torments of the last few days with me. i see you, and i hold your hand.

His face, covered with blood that wasn't a stranger's. The greys of his hair that turned dirty red. But worst were the eyes that looked, but didn't see. The image of the man you loved, helpless and pained, woke you up with a scream.

The back of your t-shirt was drenched in sweat, salty rivulets flowing down your neck, and you jerked up, trying to breathe in more air than your lungs could fit.

"Baby? Baby, what's going on?"

You turned your head, there he was. Joel, with his flannel still unbuttoned, stood in your bedroom in the dim light of the morning. His eyebrows were knitted together in worry, and he sat on the bed, trying to find your eyes.

"Where are you going?" You barely whispered, your eyes still trying to see the difference between your nightmare and reality. You couldn't shake off the horrifying image like it was glued to your retina.

"Patrol, I'm taking the early shift with Dina."

"But you weren't supposed to-"

"I want Ellie to sleep in, she had a rough day yesterday."

You nodded dumbly, recalling the past evening and how you had to coo Joel to sleep, as tears of confusion clung to his eyelashes.

A knot formed in your stomach. Intuition, paranoia or the remnants of your bad dream, you didn't know. The only thing you knew was that Joel couldn't go. Something bad would happen, you felt it.

You looked him in the eye, your lower lip trembling as you pleaded. “Please, Joel, don’t go. Please." You grabbed his hand in both of yours, trying to drag him towards you, make him crawl in the bed next to you and stay there forever. "Stay with me.”

Tears prickling the corners of your eyes brought unsureness to Joel’s browns. He scooted closer to you, the old mattress creaking under him, and scooped you into his arms. Your sweaty t-shirt unpleasantly clung to your skin, but neither Joel nor you cared about it. You inhaled his familiar scent, your heart rate finally evening out.

“Okay, baby,” Joel pressed his lips to the crown of your head, leaving a gentle kiss there. “I’ll stay.” 

[syd-djarin]

she's my collar - frankie morales x f!reader

**reupload**

Frankie gets jealous of your handsy boss at your work gala. He’s got an idea to remind you that you’re his (and that he belongs to you). 

tags/warnings: EXPLICIT 18+, newly established relationship, special Max Phillips mention, they're in love!, slight age gap (frankie is 44, reader is 35 in my mind) use of LEASH + collar (on reader), a jealous and possessive Frankie, first big "fight", sex in front of mirror, fingering, a lil rimming/butt play action, eating it from the back, Frankie is a NASTY DOG so he's doing it doggy style, cowgirl position, excessive use of pet names(baby, bebita, etc.) a few sluts sprinkled in, use of spanish, creampie (unprotected p in v sex), healthy communication and healthy relationship dynamics, frankie is a loverboy, love confession

 *reader wears makeup & a dress but isn't really described so use that beautiful imagination! I wrote this with a plus size reader in mind, but NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS are used. No skin tone, ethnicity or race descriptors used, she is YOU.

thank u to my beautiful babes @almostempty, @gothcsz and @myownwholewildworld for being my cheerleaders and for matching my freak! <333

wc: 2.5k

resources: consulted spanish use here by @urmomsgnocchi and here by @myownwholewildworld, inclusivitity in fandom

smut below the cut ;)

“What is it, Frankie? You've been quiet since we hopped on the elevator.” 

“It’s nothing, I promise.”

”You’re a terrible liar,” you lightly tease. “ I know you don’t love crowds, I’m sorry. I should have checked in with you throughout the night…. I was just—”

”its not that—“

”— excited to bring you to the gala, I’ve never had anyone to bring and I wanted to show you off to everyone… oh my god, is the room too much? We don’t have to stay, I just figured it would be late and it was comped by the company so it made sense.. even though neither of us drink I just thought ya know we could have a mini staycation for a night… I mean we made it official like, last month. Fuck, I’m sorry, I mean you had to rent a suit! I—“ you ramble your hands wildly punctuating your thoughts.

You’re overthinking the entire night.

”No, no, s’not that.” He grabs your hand and squeezes three times (for I love you). “I’m happy to be your plus one any time, any place,” he kisses your knuckles. His beard tickles your fingers, making you giggle.

“I….ahem..” he clears his throat. “Was a little jealous,” he admits, looking down at his shoes.

Shame swirls in his gut, deep down, he knows this is just an insecurity rearing its vicious head. He learned the difficult and very hands on way that burying his feelings eventually makes the wounds fester. So, he’s keeping the wounds clean, so to speak. 

“Jealous?! Jealous of what?” 

“I don’t like being the guy who gets jealous when another dude even looks at their partner… I didn’t think I was that kinda guy but…”

“But?…”

 “I don't like that sleazy motherfucker you work with,” 

“Who?”

“You know, the clean shaven douche canoe who kept touching you all night.”

”Max? My boss?”

”Matt, Max, whatever his name is. Didn’t like the way he looked at you…kept putting his hand on your shoulder…”

You’ve had jealous boyfriends before and it's not an experience you’re looking to have again. It has your nerve endings on edge and you feel heat rise from your chest to your face. 

“I appreciate your honesty but I can’t help it, okay? I mean he’s just...like that.”

“So you let him get away with it?” 

“Get away with it??!” You rip your hand from his and scurry to the adjoining bathroom. ”What do you want me to do? I need this job, Frankie.” You hastily start removing your evening glam, using too-aggressive-for-your-face circles with the cleanser, ignoring the way your heart is racing, a bit from anger and a hint of something else...

He follows you, leaning against the doorframe. Even though your back is to him, you know he looks ridiculously hot right now.

“Look… I didn’t mean to be accusatory or blame you. I know it sounded that way and I’m sorry. It's just…”

“Just what?” you avoid his eyes taking advantage of the sudsy wash covering your face. 

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re it for me, baby. I get scared though… of losing you.” 

Frankie has never been this vulnerable before. He's a lot more open and laid back than he used to be, and he’s not shy about telling you how he adores you, all the things he loves about you, the future he sees with you. But candidly speaking about his fears and doubts, the insecurities that threaten to swallow him whole, well, he’d rather be swallowed up by a giant fish. 

Despite the annoyance of his jealousy, you hate to admit you feel your clit jump and the palpitations are no longer from anger, but from arousal.

“I understand. Completely. I have fears, insecurities too… but Frankie,” you sigh, “I don’t like a jealous partner. In my experience… it just escalates and…”

“So you wouldn’t feel jealous?” 

“There a reason I should be?” You feel like you’re going to rip out of your skin. Your attempt to deflect is doing little to mask the ferocity bubbling within you.

“No? I was hoping that us talking about it would, you know...help.” Frankie says, a little softer and a bit more disarmed than his previous words. 

“Well it didn’t help, you just…just pissed me off,” you snap back, so flustered and tumbling over your words, one of your tells that you’re turned on. 

It’s then it clicks for him. He grins wickedly.

“Wanna know what I think? I think you like it.”

“What? Frankie—“

”I think…” Frankie steps closer, crowding you against the bathroom sink. “You like that I’m jealous. I think that it makes your little pussy wet. And you don’t know what to do about it.”

“No, I don’t like it—“ You try turning your head away but his hand finds your chin and turns you back to him.

“It’s okay if you like it baby… Maybe, this is the first time you've been turned on by it, perhaps it's because I'm not one of these fucking dipshits you've dated before... or,  you’re a filthy slut…” he leans even closer, his breath tickling your ear. “I should put you on a leash.”

He beckons you to follow him to his overnight bag. He pulls out a leash and collar made of smooth black leather and adorned with metallic hardware. He must have seen the sites you were browsing clandestinely in preparation of sharing your fantasy with him. He’s so attuned to you, your emotions, your thoughts, it’s no surprise he caught on so quickly. 

You’re dizzy from the emotional whiplash, you were ready to throttle him moments ago and now you need him to fuck you to tears. 

He gently fastens the collar around your neck. “How’s that feel?”

You’re momentarily stunned, your brain desperately trying to catch up. 

“Mírame, bebita,” he turns your head to face him in the mirror hanging directly across from the bed. You knew Frankie would take advantage of the ceiling to floor mirrors adorning the room. 

 “Good girl. keep your eyes forward for me, okay?”

“G-ood,” you rasp out, unable to form any other words.

“Want you to get used to just the collar then we’ll add the leash, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Need your words, honey.”

“Y-yes, Frankie. Sounds good to me.”

He kisses your temple. “Good.”

Frankie’s big hands cup your breasts, massaging them, thumbing your nipples. He’s slow and methodical in the way he builds up the sensations. 

“F—fuck, feels good,” you moan. 

“I love these tits… love the way they feel in my hands, love them in my mouth…” he punctuates his point, slightly pinching and pulling  your hardened nipples. “Hard to keep my hands to myself, especially around others…”

The thought of Frankie claiming you in front of others, especially your boss, makes you moan involuntarily. 

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? Showin’ everyone how sweet you beg for my cock, how much your pussy drools for it?”

He’s got you on all fours close to the edge of the bed and he’s behind you. 

“Fucking love your ass, baby.” He kneads the soft flesh of your cheeks, spreading you open. Cool air hits your dripping core, goosebumps raising on your skin. 

Frankie lowers his head closer to your ass and spits. He groans watching the trail of saliva drip from your asshole down to your clit. You clench around nothing, desperate to be stuffed full of him. 

“Pussy’s droolin’ just for me, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan. 

Frankie lands a smack to your right cheek. “C’mon, tell me, baby. Tell me who makes your pussy gush like this?” 

“Yo-you, only you, Frankie!” 

He swats your other cheek. “That’s right.”

“Fuck I’ll never get over this pussy,” he growls into you, he licks long stripes from your clit to your soaked entrance, caressing you with his tongue. 

He’s said on multiple occasions his love language is eating pussy. You can’t argue with that. 

He knows how hard to suck on your clit, where you like the tip of his tongue, where you like the broad strokes, when to alternate between all the motions. 

Normally he’d take this part slow too, but the jealousy that’s lodged itself in his chest is still calling the shots. 

“Bet your asshole tastes just as sweet.” he pulls back to give you space to consent. 

“You want to–?” you turn your head to peek behind you and look at Frankie directly. 

“Yeah baby, but only if you want it,” he says, caressing the backs of your thighs. 

“Yes, please.” 

“My pretty girl is sweet too, asking so nicely…tell me what feels good and what doesn’t, okay?”

You manage to you choke out a yes, baby.

He ghosts the tip of his tongue around your asshole, the lightest of pressures, swirling it to ease you into the feeling. 

The new sensation has you reeling, thankful Frankie is focused on your ass more than the way you look in the mirror right now — truthfully you almost didn’t recognize the hazy, ravaged woman staring back at you.

Two of Frankie's thick fingers enter your dripping hole, curling them to hit the spot that makes your legs shake.

"Oh-fuuuuuuck!" You squeal when his tongue continues lapping at your ass and his fingers are hooked, pumping in and out of your pussy. "Please, Frankie I need to come, pleeeaase."

“You filthy girl... you want to come on my fingers?"

"Uh-huh.”

"Show me what you got, bebita. Soak my fingers and I'll put the leash on, c'mon, you're so close I can feel it."

His encouragement, talking you through it never fails to hurl you over the edge. You're warm and tingly all over, breath in shallow pants - the first orgasm with Frankie is always a gentle one that preps you for what comes next. 

 Frankie peppers kisses on your lower back, the back of your thighs, murmuring praises against your skin. Did so good for me, my pretty girl, love watching you come, always wanna make you feel good…

Frankie clips the leash onto the collar. He tugs gently to bring your back to his chest. 

“Feelin’ good, baby?” His lips ghosting your temple. 

“Yeah, s’good,” you slur.

He chuckles - it's adorable how cock drunk you get. 

Frankie taps the thick head of his cock against your clit, sliding it through your lips a few times. 

“Please, Frankie, I need you…” you whine. 

He lands a swat to your ass. “Yeah? And what is it that you need from me?” 

Normally you’d have a rejoinder for him, but your head is hazy and all you want is your Frankie and his big cock inside you. And because you like getting what you want, you play along. 

“Need you to fuck me, baby. I need your cock inside me… wanna be full, please baby…” you whine in a syrupy tone he falls victim to every time. 

His cock bottoms out in one sweet push, your moans harmonize, stars form on the edges of your vision just from the fullness.  

“Fuck, gimme a minute.” He nearly busts prematurely– the pent up feelings, the way your eyes gleamed when he pulled out the collar, the privilege of being vulnerable with you.                                 

You push back against him, seeking friction and movement. This earns you a spank and a tug, pulling your head back so he can groan right in your ear. 

“Needy girl…Balls deep inside you and it’s not enough for you is it? Always a slut for this cock aren’t you baby?” A shiver runs up your spine. Slut is a new one. Must have come with the leash. 

“Yeahhh, I know you like being my pretty slut.”

He begins deep, slow thrusts before picking up a steady rhythm, hitting that spot each time. 

Frankie's been edging you - bringing you so close to release before cruelly and deliciously taking it away. Tears, drool and your juices have drenched the hotel comforter.

"Frankie, please I can't, I need to come, please please, Frankie!" You beg.

He abruptly pulls out of you and situates himself against the headboard. He pulls the leash, guiding you into his lap.

"Wanna watch you cum on my cock...wanted these fucking tits in my face baby," he moans, taking a pert nipple in his mouth. You sink down onto him, every nerve ending in your body on fire - you're already on the verge of release, just from being filled at this angle. 

Frankie's free hand finds your clit and begins calculated circles, all while tugging your head to meet his. Sweat drenched foreheads pressed together, Frankie's hips meet your movements, his hips bouncing off your ass in each thrust.

"I'm close–” you’re dazed, floaty, absolutely wrecked.

“Whose pussy is this?” He growls.

“Yours–!”

“Say it again. Whose fucking pussy is this?” this time louder, more raw than before.

“Yours, Frankie! O-only yours.”

“Again, say you’re mine, baby..” His voice trembles.

 You know he needs this –needs reassurance, and this is his way of asking for it. 

“Only yours, only ever yours–” grind. “forever baby… not–” grind. “Going–” grind. “anywhere…”

“Come for me, show me how pretty your pussy creams for me. Godddddddamnnn baby, fuck—“ Frankie groans. 

If he had to choose how to go out of this world, it would be just like this. 

OhmygodFrankiefuckI’mcomingohfuckohfuck is the jumbled chant that escapes your lips when you soak his cock. He’s mesmerized by the way your pussy lips spread open for his cock, how divinely sinful your pussy looks covered in your cum, how your cum looks on his shaft – creamy rings of your cum adorn his cock. He’d keep it that way forever if he could, a type of lecherous jewelry he’d wear in pride. 

“Cum for me, Frankie, baby it's your turn.”

“Where? Quick–”

“Inside! Inside me pl–” 

“Oh ffffffuuuuuckkk, baby,” he whines as cum spills into you. “Oh, I love you so fucking much…” he declares before burying his face in your neck. He swiftly unhooks the leash and collar before collapsing into each other's embrace, and you wrap around him koala bear style.

I love you so much. 

The first time it's been uttered in your relationship. You’ve both felt it, knew what you both share is a once in a lifetime love, but, both of you bring past baggage. Neither afraid of loving again, but afraid of what happens when you name it as such. It feels silly now that he’s said them. 

You tug on his curls to gaze into his sable eyes. “I love you, Francisco. More than you know.” 

He smirks – the coy and sheepish one he gets when he doesn’t know how to accept a compliment. The irony that he just put you in a collar and rearranged your guts, but is shy about confessing your love to him is not lost on you.  

“Yeah, I get the general idea.” 

“Hmm, maybe if you’re not convinced, I should put you on the leash next time.”

tagging some frankie babes: @hellishjoel @for-a-longlongtime @jolapeno @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @kirsteng42 @studioghibelli @katiexpunk @thedilfdiaries

[slowdrawl]

| Everybody Loves Contractors | AU NO OUTBREAK| JoelMiller X f!reader |

| 1/? | | The Walkthrough | 4k words | 18+ minors dni | masterlist |

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. This is going to go great. "He hums, and he’s so close that you can practically feel the vibration on your ear. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the proximity between you. He’s practically got you caged between him and the wall; the realization makes you light-headed. A shiver rolls down your shoulders, landing low in your spine. You shrug it off and turn around." a/n Here's the start of a new series because of there's one thing I'm gonna write it's flirty!Joel with lots of banter cuz it's my AU and ur just livin' in it (if u want 2)

| Warnings | Explicit language, sexual tension, mutual pining, age gap, a little angst, mentions of DV (not described, not Joel), mentions of PTSD, mentions of death, Joel being Joel, etc. Please read responsibly.

.

The house smells like mildew and anger.

It’s written in the walls, literally. Holes punched through drywall, baseboard peeling at the edges. There are cat scratch marks on the inside of the laundry room door, it still smells like ammonia. The smallest bedroom has pencil marks in the doorframe, little ticks with dates scrawled next to them. Someone’s poor kid grew up here. You can’t help but wonder what kind of trauma they took with them in the moving van.

Five months ago, you changed the locks on your old rental and promised yourself never again.

Three months ago, you got the protection order.

Two months ago, they accepted the offer, and you quit your job in Seattle.

And now here you are, two thousand miles away from everything you’ve ever known. Standing in the middle of the living room of your new home, sweating, maybe regretting. Your whole life…or what’s left of it anyway, stacked in boxes along one wall.

You don't know what you expected. Some kind of relief. Maybe. A break in the clouds. One of those cinematic moments where a breeze rolls through the window and the sun hits just right. The kind of moment that makes life feel bearable again, that makes the future look bright and tangible.

Instead, the air is thick, dusty, humming with someone else's ghosts.

You wipe your forehead with the hem of your t-shirt and mutter, "The fuck did I get myself into," to the drywall, like it might actually answer you.

You jump when you hear a knock. Not on the door, but on the siding. 

Heavy, loud, maybe a little annoyed.

It makes the whole wall rattle, like it's got opinions or something. You’d almost forgotten that the contractor you hired was supposed to swing by today.

You peek through the window, squinting. He’s already walking backwards away from the door. Clipboard in hand, scanning the place, a frown set into his face like it’s been there since before you were born. He’s in a t-shirt, jeans, work boots. Built like a load-bearing wall, and if you had to guess, probably as friendly as one, too.

You open the door a few inches, and leave the storm door shut. "You the contractor?" you ask, for some stupid reason. Of course he is.

He responds, deadpan, rough Southern drawl, "No, I’m actually here to talk to you about our Lord and Savior." Half a smirk tugs at his mouth, but it settles quick.

"Funny." You let out half a laugh. "God don’t want nothin' to do with me. If you come back with Girl Scout cookies, maybe we can talk." You shake your head, open the door wider. "Miller, right?"

He glances up at you and nods once. "Yes, ma’am. You can call me Joel. You the one that hired me?" Do I look old? Ma’am feels old. I’m like a decade younger than him. Oh god, I need to moisturize.

"I guess so, Sir. You were the only one who answered the ad."

He huffs through his nose. "Figured it’d be worse. Place looks better than it did in the photos, at least."

You raise a brow. "You haven’t even seen inside yet."

"True. I never will if you don’t open the door, darlin’." Oh. Okay. That’s better. Darlin’ is definitely better.

You reach out your hand toward him, introduce yourself. He takes it. His hand engulfs yours. Calloused, hairy, fucking massive. You try to shake like you mean business, your dad’s voice echoing in your head about strong handshakes.

You step aside to let him in. He surveys the place like it’s a crime scene. Probably because it honest to god looks like one.

"No offense, ma’am," he says, looking around. "This place is a mess."

You shrug. "A mess was about all I could afford to buy. Besides, she’s got character." You cross your arms. "That’s why I hired a contractor."

He nods, dragging one of those big-ass hands down a particularly banged-up corner at the living room entrance. "That so?" he laughs. "Maybe we need Jesus to get involved after all—might need a carpenter who knows how to perform miracles."

You huff a laugh. "Well I got cash, not faith. Let’s see what that buys me."

He keeps walking, slow, deliberate, like each creak in the floorboards is telling him something. His eyes scan the water-stained ceiling, the slumped couch you haven’t had the guts to toss yet, the leaning doorframes.

You trail behind him, arms crossed, suddenly aware of the sweat under your bra and how empty your stomach feels. Saltines and gas station coffee aren’t holding up.

"Previous owner leave in a hurry?" Joel asks, toeing a half-unpacked box near the back door.

"If by hurry you mean five years of divorce proceedings and a nervous breakdown, then yeah. Real Irish goodbye."

That earns a quiet chuckle. You glance at him. His expression stays unreadable, but his mouth twitches like it wants to smirk.

He heads to the kitchen sink, turns the knob. The pipes groan. Nothing.

You wince.

He looks over his shoulder. "You been livin’ here without plumbing?"

"I’ve been surviving, thank you very much. It’s called character building." You laugh, “Maybe don’t get too close though.” You pick up the collar of your t-shirt and pretend to sniff it. The joke barely lands, you are indeed visibly sweaty. This is going so well. I love this for meHe looks you up and down, giving you a questioning look. It makes your pulse jump. Something about him is making you even sweatier, and you’re not being very fucking cool about it. “I’ve been staying at an AirBNB. I promise I’ve showered this week.”

He turns to face you fully, arms folded now. Broad as hell. The kind of man who fills a room without trying. "You planning to do any of this work yourself?"

You lift your chin. "Some of it."

He snorts. "You got tools, princess?" Oh… 

Wait, no, nope. Not a princess, not into a man being patronizing, even if he looks like this. Get it together. THINK OF THE PATRIARCHY.

"I have… a hammer. Somewhere."

"Mmhm.” he tilts his head, “it pink n’ glittery or what?”

He kneels down, already pulling a multi-tool from his back pocket. "I’ll get some measurements. But just so you know—houses like this? They got a way of showin’ people what they’re really made of. Sooner or later." You sigh, rubbing at your temple, feeling defeated already. “if you don’t want to take the job I understand, just let me know. Because I don’t exactly have time to fuck around here.” “I can do it. Just gonna take time is all.” He stands back up, putting the tool down on the kitchen island, pulling out a measuring tape. “You wanna talk numbers?” What you want to say is, ‘Yes. Yours. Cellphone preferably,’ but you can already taste the rubber from putting your foot in your mouth during this whole damn interaction. So you don’t. You settle on, “Yes, please don’t bankrupt me, I’m fragile.”

“Alrighty then, show me the rest of the place. We can give you a ballpark after I see how fucked up it really is.” You lead the way down the hall, you were smart—or maybe annoying, enough to mark a lot of the things you’ve found to be extra janky with sticky notes. He followed behind you, on your heel, too damn close, making notes on that fuckin’ clipboard the whole time. “Three bedrooms, huh? You got kids back at the BNB?” He asks you as you’re pacing the smallest room. You laugh, shocked. “Nope, no croch goblins, just dreams of somewhere for my friends from back home to stay in when they visit.” You look back at him, “Thinking of turning the other one into a ritual room or something, somewhere I can sacrifice goats n’ shit.” He doesn’t respond, doesn’t flinch. You laugh, awkward this time “I think it’s haunted anyway.” GIRL. WHY ARE YOU THE WAY YOU ARE? “Well, ’m not a witch, or warlock or whatever. But, I might know an exorcist if you really need one.” He replies with a wink. You stutter, “Noted,” and usher him into the bathroom. The bathroom is small, and he follows you in instead of standing in the doorframe. It’s a tight fit for two people, there are probably two feet between you as he surveys the place. He lets out a heavy breath, “Well fuck.” You groan, “Oh god, what is it? Wait. Actually…don’t tell me” You say as you turn around to see what he’s looking at. He’s just staring past you toward the wall beside the shower, the expression on his face tells you he sees something expensive to fix. “You see that?” He says, moving in a bit closer, pointing and reaching his arm past you, placing it on the wall, dragging a finger down. God, I am touch starved.

“There is, or at least was a leak in this wall. Probably why the waters turned off. Did your husband…boyfriend, whoever, not get an inspector here before you bought the place?” “See, that would involve having one of those.” “An inspector?”

You pause. “A boyfriend. Last one ended in a protection order and a move halfway across the country.” You laugh, say it like it’s a joke, but it’s not. He doesn’t need to know that , though. If you laugh about it it’s not so real, not so scary. “Didn’t have an inspector either.” He hums, and he’s so close that you can practically feel the vibration on your ear. Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the proximity between you. He’s practically got you caged between him and the wall, the realization makes you light-headed. A shiver rolls down your shoulders, landing low in your spine. You shrug it off and turn around. What in the pornhub is going on? I need some fuckin’ air. You pratically trip over your own feet getting out of the bathroom, you duck under his arm, tossing some half-hearted, vaguely-human sound over your shoulder like “Okaycoolthanksnoted.” Joel says nothing again, just watches you spin away like roadrunner or some other cartoon character with a trauma response. You stumble down the hall, leaning against the opposite wall, trying to look casual and not like you just got a full body flashbang of a panic attack from a MAN explaining water damage. Baby calm the fuck down, he’s just tall!! You grab a loose piece of paper off the ground, fanning yourself with it. It has “TO DO: 1: TRY TO SURVIVE. 2: DON’T CRY” written on it in sharpie. The irony is honestly cinematic. A few seconds later Joel emerges from the bathroom, he’s got his eyes down, scribbling something onto the clipboard. He looks unfazed, like he has no idea that you feel like he was about to go 50 Shades of Plaid on you. “You good?” He asks, low, unreadable again. You freeze. He knows, he fucking knows. You clear your throat. “Oh yeah. Just, uh…tight bathroom. I’m claustrophobic, and allergic to mold, and men. You know, just girlie things.” He stares you down, one brow arched high. You decide to pivot. “Okay, so like…give it to me straight, doc. How bad is it? Realistically. On a scale of one to ‘the screen door is actually a portal to the underworld.’” Joel flips a page on the clipboard. “Well. You’ve got a lot of issues.” “Okay, ouch, didn’t have to just say it like that.” You chuckle, “Now what about the house?” “Couple walls need gutting, bathroom for sure. You got some foundation issues we need to check into, obviously the plumbing is fucked.” He sighs, tracing a line down the page with that dumb pencil, “Obviously it needs new trim, paint. I guess you could do most of that…I can get you the contract ready by Monday.” “Monday! Cool. Everyone loves Mondays, can’t wait.” He huffs something that might be a laugh. Nice. Then it’s silent for a moment, it’s thick and warm and low-key awful. Neither of you is saying anything; the only sound is a ceiling fan rattling its chain around. You catch yourself zoning out on his forearms, watching the veins pop out when he flexes slightly and flicks his tape measure closed. He notices. You know he notices. He finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice is lower now. Not condescending. Just… careful. You consider lying. About saying yes, of course, you’ve got it all handled. About pretending like this isnt a last-ditch attempt at rebuilding your life from the ground up after everything else burned down. But you’re tired. And this stranger is looking at you like he understands the version of you that doesn’t have it together. So you say, “If I'm being honest, not really. But I don’t have too many options.” Joel nods. “Well, seems like a decent place to start, then.”

Before he leaves, the two of you migrate to the back deck—if you’re even allowed to call it that. It’s less porch, more ominous wooden death trap. You already know this bad boy needs to be re-built. It’s really not on the top of your priority list. Joel takes one look at the wood rot, trails the warped boards and groans heavy from his chest. “You know this whole thing is rotted right?” “Do I look stupid? Mr. Miller?” You reply to him snarky, you’ve given up all grace at this point. Fuck it. Being off-putting and kind of mean is my new thing. You drop yourself down onto a broken pallet, sighing dramatically, swiping your hand across your forehead. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Joel. She’s got character, we’ve been over this.” You hear him mutter something about termites and OSHA violations, then watch as he lowers himself onto the step. He groans like a dad. It sounds like old injuries and unresolved tension.

He flips the paper over again, then, like Blues fuckin’ Clues, he’s listing things off like you didn’t hear it the first time. Plumbing, rewiring, subfloor replacement in the kitchen, and a new water heater. Your ears start ringing with the sound of a cash register, dollar signs flooding your mind. “Then labour?” you ask, voice very brave and not shaking at all. He gives you a number. A rough, but real number. Like five digits real. You nod. “Cool, cool. Totally doable. I’ve always loved bankruptcy, I think it's sexy, honestly.” Joel tilts his head at you like he’s still trying to figure you out. Good luck old man. You see the gears turning in his head, trying to feel out how much of your sarcasm is actually just fear. Scanning your face like he doesn’t know if you’re only half joking, or seconds away from tears. The Joke’s on him. Two things can be true at one time. “I can probably… get a bigger loan,” you mumble, mostly to the coffee can filled with cigarette butts next to you. “You only need one kidney, right? Also, I’m a regular plasma donor, you know where the blood bank is by chance?”

This time he gives you a real look, softer. Something that has dad energy behind it, care mixed with a bit of pity. “I can work with you on the schedule, ‘specially if you’re doin’ some of the demo yourself. Knock her out slower, cut down on the labour cost.” You blink. “Are you offering me a payment plan? Or trying to get me to weaponize a sledgehammer for your own sick enjoyment?”

He shrugs. “Both, mostly.” You watch him stand, groaning again, tucking his clipboard under his arm. The afternoon sun is hitting his hair just right. He pulls the pencil out from behind his ear and walks over to the doorframe like it's his handy dandy notebook. “Hello, Sir, are you about to deface my property?” He writes ten digits down, right onto the trim, no paper. Just rawdogging the wood with graphite. The number is definitely bigger than the estimate he just gave you. He looks back at you, proud like he was just tagging a masterpiece. Or warning the house. “Text me tomorrow,” he says, stepping back and admiring it like it’s something hung in the Lourve. “We’ll go over the schedule then, ok darlin’?” I know it’s just for work but like… Is he into me? I love being delusional. You stare at the frame. “You need me to…make you business cards, set you up an instagram account or something?” He shrugs again, giving you a salute as he walks out the back gate toward his truck. “Fresh outta cards. Pencils don’t need WIFI.” “You need to expand your horizons. Get hip with the kids!” You holler at him, just as you hear the door of the truck slam closed. Jesus, he’s literally one hundred years old. As the afternoon drags into dusk, the cicadas start screaming, signaling you to call it a day. You glance over at the boxes lined up against the wall, spotting one with ‘TOOLS’ written on it in sloppy print. You giggle as you pick it up, you hoist the box up onto the kitchen island, and rip off the tape. When you look inside, you start laughing harder. On top of the pile of junk in there is a hammer. It looks practically brand new, and the base of it… is pink. Joel was right. God I hate that guy already. You put the hammer own onto the counter beside the measuring tape and pause. Joel must have forgotten to grab it on his way out. You grab your phone and car keys, flicking off the lights in the house, double-checking that the front door is locked and head to the back.

You walk onto the porch and squint at the phone number written on the door trim, punching the digits into your cell. You add the new contact, and then hesitate over the message box for a moment before pressing the home button and tucking it away in your pocket.

The Airbnb is quiet, save the aircon whirring in the corner of the room. It’s a pleasant sound, and feeling after a long day sweltering in the house. It’s 9 pm, you’re starving and exhausted. You start to think about the price of the renovation, and the conversation you have to have with the bank tomorrow, sighing. Now that you have an estimate, you realize that you absolutely have no budget to rent this place anymore. Looks like you’re moving into the house ASAP. You groan at the thought of losing your A/C. You'll miss it, but not as much as you’re going to miss a functioning bathtub. You make a mental note to tell Joel tomorrow that you need to start with the plumbing. You walk into the kitchen, throwing your keys down on the dining table, and walk over to the fridge. You scan the shelves and settle on the leftover sitr-fry you ordered yesterday from some hole in the wall, you pull it out along with a beer. You mumble “Please do not give me food poisoning,” like a prayer, as you throw the box into the microwave. When you’re done with your food, you throw the box into the garbage and grab one more beer from the fridge, before dragging your feet toward the bathroom. You run a bubble bath, lighting some candles you picked up from the dollar store the other day. You lower yourself into the water and let it wash over your aching muscles, letting yourself relax into it. You sip your beer and scroll your phone for half an hour, you keep thinking about him. His phone number is there, in your contacts, taunting you. You, along with the help of two beers and a calorie deficit, convince yourself that you should text him. (9:45 PM) You: You forgot your tape measure, genius. It takes him a few minutes to respond, the perfect amount of time for you to start spiraling and regretting hitting send.

(9:51 PM) Joel Miller: You’re bad at listenin’. Said text me tomorrow, instructions too hard, darlin? You roll your eyes at him through the screen. (9:52 PM) You: Fuck u too!! I was just trying to be nice 🙄 (9:54 PM) Joel Miller: sure you are. Don’t need it. (9:55 PM) You: dont need me to be nice? I’ll remember that. Three dots pop up and then, (9:58 PM) Joel Miller: don’t need the tape measure, got more than one.

You hum to yourself, flipping through your brain like a rolodex, trying to find a witty enough response but you arent quick enough (9:59 PM) Joel Miller: don’t remember askin you to be nice, but if this is it im scared to see the opposite. What the fuck does that mean? Fuck it. (10:04 PM) You: see, you say that like you wouldnt secretly love to see me come unhinged. Sounds like a challenge to me, joel. You: Kinda funny you think you’d survive it, though. Most people don’t stick around long enough to see the full show. You stare at your phone for too long, thumb hovering over the unsend button like its a detonator. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t text back. You’re left with the slow, creeping awareness that you said too much. Again. Very on brand.

You dunk your head down into the water, and you immediately regret that too. You sit up, coughing and blowing bath water out of your nose. You really are the epitome of a calm, collected hot girl today. You start to crash out. Is he joking? Flirting? Warning you? Testing your boundaries? Is this just his weird version of small talk? Are you overthinking this? Yes. Absolutely

Is he in bed right now? Reading your texts over and deciding whether he's going to just send you an invoice for a consult and never step foot in your house again? Oh god, is he going to send YOU a restraining order? You pull the plug in the bath, let the water drain out, and turn the tap on, pulling up on the little lever to let the shower pour over your body. You’re lying there, like you're reenacting some dramatic scene in a movie or music video, where someone's lying in the middle of the street getting rained on. Except you’re just on the floor of a tub, contemplating your very existence, considering moving back out of Texas, maybe you could fake your own death. You turn the tap off, and stumble out of the tub, wrapping yourself up tight in a towel, heading for the bedroom. You throw on an old t-shirt and flop into bed, mind still going in circles as you stare up at the ceiling. You go over the texts one more time and cringe harder. Idiot. That last one truly came out sounding a little too honest, even for you. Like a confession, cosplaying as a dare. You put the phone face down on the nightstand and try to rationalize it. Maybe he’s asleep, he’s old, right? Maybe he’s watching some stupid movie. Maybe he read it and is just… stunned silent by your off-putting yet endearing charm. Totally, that's the one.Or maybe, he’s now just deeply, deeply, concerned that his new client has both abandonment issues and a God complex. You silently scream into your pillow, giving up on the Airbnb ceiling, that bitch had nothing to say. Waiting. Still no reply. Sleep starts to take you, as the sound of the aircon and your own heartbeat mixes like white noise, a little too loud in your ears. You fall asleep thinking about baseboards, leaky pipes, and his hands

ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing!

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day fourteen: "i love you."

ᰔ pairing: javier peña x reader

ᰔ summary: when the party's over, who do you call for a ride home? your good old fashioned lover boy.

ᰔ author's note: happy valentine's day! much love to you all 🥹💙 i can't believe this series is already halfway through. i'm thinking about making a din or oberyn series, along with some one-off ficlets. tbd, but until then, fourteen more days left to find love

ᰔ content warning: f!reader, fluff, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of bar setting

"Babe, are you sure you wanna leave so soon? We still have three more places to hit, then we're going dancing!" One of your girlfriends pouted as you nodded. It was hard to hear her over the loud noise of the bar.

Your girlfriends celebrated Galentine's Day every year with a bar crawl. Sometimes there was clubbing afterwards, which you rarely ever missed out on.

"I think the drink from that last place really did me in," you admitted. "I'm gonna call for a ride, but I'll text you when I get home."

As much as you loved the themed drinks and free covers to get in, tonight just wasn't the same. It wasn't anything specific. Your friends had made the whole night fun with conversation and company. Work had been getting to you, but the drinks made the sharp sting in the back of your mind ebb away with every sip of some hot pink concoction.

"Alright, baby. Be careful, okay? We love you!" Your friend kissed your cheek before she scampered back to the bar. From where you stood, you were in viewing distance of your friends for your safety. They watched as you stood at a nearby payphone and slipped a few quarters in.

You dialed the number you knew like the back of your hand. It rang twice before the other line picked up.

"Peña."

With a small sigh of relief, you hugged yourself.

"Hey, baby. The offer to pick me up still on the table?" You asked. You already knew the answer, which was confirmed by the sound of keys jangling in the background.

"I'll be there soon, cariño. Where are you?"

You turned back towards the bar and read the name, followed by the street he needed to turn down. Javier promised he would be there in no time.

True to his word, Javier's white mustang pulled up to the curb you stood on after fifteen minutes. You waved to your friends at the bar and blew a few kisses before you turned back to the car.

Javier hopped out of the car and slipped his jacket around your shoulders. Without missing a beat, he opened your car door for you before he helped you in.

You weren't sure if it was the drinks or Javier, but your head felt as if it was swimming. The two of you had been dating for a few months, and he had gone above your expectations, or at least what you had expected after the last few men you had dated. He was always the one to hold the door open, or keep you tucked at his side when places got too crowded.

As soon as Javier sat in the driver's seat, you leaned over to kiss him. He was a bit surprised, but he didn't miss a beat as he kissed you back. His hand cradled the side of your face, and you leaned into his warm touch.

"Thanks for picking me up," you murmured as you pulled away. Javier's hand lingered, his thumb brushed against the curve of your cheek.

"Of course, mi vida. I thought you would have called later," Javier admitted. He pulled his hand away to grab the steering wheel as he guided his car back onto the road. Once down the road, his hand found your skin again, this time on your inner thigh. It had been the spot he always rested his hand, but the tequila haze made your skin prickle where there was contact.

"I tried to stick it out. I really did," you sighed. "The drinks were good and I had so much fun with the girls. I just, I was ready to go home." You tried to pick up when had played through the radio. No doubt, it was some cassette tape of the four bands Javier actually listened to, but the music was too low for you to pick it up.

"No need to explain yourself. You know I'd rather keep you all to myself." Javier squeezed your thigh as his sentence finished. He looked to you while stopped at a red light.

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, the sight before too good to look away from. Javier was bathed in the glow of the red light, an earnest expression on his prominent features. Before the light had changed, you leaned over and kissed him quickly.

"I love you, Javi," you whispered before you pulled away.

"I love you too," Javier returned. He admired you, the soft look in your eyes and sweet smile on your lips. He was so distracted, he almost didn't notice the light change.

The trip back to his home took no time, which you were thankful for. As he had before, Javier opened your door for you and took your hand to help you out of the car. He escorted you inside with his hand on your back. He always had a hand on you in some way, and it meant more to you than you had realized.

You shedded Javier's jacket off and hung it by the door, followed by your heels being kicked off. A sigh of relief slipped from your lips once both feet were firmly planted on the ground.

"I'm going to shower, if that's alright." You turned to Javier, who had lit a cigarette. He took the first puff and nodded.

"I'll get it started, mi vida. Get your clothes," he told you. When you started to shake your head, to argue that you could do it yourself, he began to walk out of the room.

"Javi—"

"Go get your pajamas." It wasn't harsh– instead an endearing command. You watched as he stalked towards the bathroom, determination written all over him.

Instead of protesting, you concede and gather your clothes. Sure enough, the shower is ready for you by the time you stepped into the bathroom. You thanked Javier with a kiss before you stripped down and stepped into the shower.

Once you were cleaned and curled up with Javier in bed, you closed your eyes. It had been a fun day, but you knew why you wanted to go home. Out of everything you had experienced in life, nothing beat this. Wrapped in Javier's arms, surrounded by warm blankets and a content feeling in your chest.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Javier broke the quiet. You looked to the clock and read that it was just past midnight. You leaned over and kissed him softly.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

[hellothereobiwankenobi]

yellow ribbon on the door | chapter three

⟢ summary: You are questioning the dynamic between you and Joel, when he suddenly shows up to the flower shop. Again.

⟢ pairing: joel miller x afab!reader (femme but not descriptive as to actual features)

⟢ wc: 2.7k

⟢ tags: no outbreak au, flower shop au, angst, idiots in love, small age gap (joel is 35 and reader is 29 about to be 30), trauma related to the loss of a love one, operation desert storm mentioned, reader is a single mother to ellie, no beta reader we die like men

ꕥ previous │ navigation │ao3 │ next ꕥ

Joel lets Tommy get him obscenely drunk that night. He had accepted the pounding headache he would have the following morning as his penance for how he had treated you. Every sharp look, every clipped response, everytime he had denied your kindness ran through his head like a movie. Joel had been cruel to you in an effort to disguise the emotions he had been trying to repress since your first meeting. The shame and anger he had for himself as he developed feelings for his younger brother’s girlfriend being projected onto you.

But if you weren’t really Tommy’s girlfriend… Joel was just a dick.

The two stay until closing and stumble down the two streets to the elder's house. By the time they enter the home, Sarah has been asleep for hours. Both brothers struggle up the stairs and separate into their respective bedrooms. Tommy in the guest room, and Joel in the master.

Joel tosses and turns until sunrise. Every time he closes his eyes, his tortured mind finally allowing him to find sleep, he sees snapshots of your brokenhearted expression from that morning. He screwed up, and he knew it.

Joel wakes with a start at a loud banging on his door.

“Alarm!” Sarah shouts through the thin barrier separating the bedroom from the hallway. Joel turns his head and sees the digital clock on his nightstand reads 6:30 AM. He slams a fist down on the snooze button, silencing the screeching alarm, and buries his face back into the pillows.

Joel can smell bacon sizzling on the stove as he eventually makes his way downstairs. He squints, trying to block out the golden morning light flooding in from the kitchen window.

Tommy alternates his attention between two frying pans before him, cheerfully pushing around bacon and eggs in each “Mornin’, sunshine.”

Joel can only grunt as he opens the cabinet housing his assorted collection of coffee mugs. His fingers wrap around the ceramic handle of a canary-colored one, and he brings it to rest on the counter. Joel fills his mug from the freshly brewed coffee pot. He can’t understand how Tommy could be so chipper after the night they had, and so few hours of sleep.

“You’re all outta pancake mix. Was lookin’ forward to havin’ a stack this morning.” Tommy takes three plates from the cabinet and sets them on the circular dining table opposite the kitchen.

“You can always sleep at your own place next time.” Joel glares at his brother half-heartedly, bringing the mug to his lips. He savors that first sip as if it could make everything from the last twenty-four hours better.

“And miss the look on that beautiful face first thing in the mornin’?” Tommy flashes Joel the same devious smile he’s had since they were boys, grabbing the frying pans and bringing them to the table. He places equal portions of bacon and eggs on each plate. “Nah, I’m fine right here.”

Joel didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with Tommy this morning. No amount of coffee could stop the hangover rattling his skull and the guilt pulling tight in his chest from draining all his energy. “What am I gonna do?”

Tommy knew he wasn’t referring to the hangover. He calls up the stairs to Sarah before turning back to the older man. “Don't know, big brother. But it sure is gonna be fun to watch.”

That following weekend, the smell of blueberry scones fills the air of your single-story, ranch-style home. You stand in your kitchen, hip leaning against the white tile countertop, drinking your third cup of coffee this morning. You had woken up before sunrise to prepare for today.

It is your turn to host the Gold Star Widows of Austin bimonthly brunch. Three quiches in wide glass baking dishes, a rectangular fruit platter, large serving trays stacked with pillowy crepes, crunchy bacon, scrambled eggs, pitchers of juice for the children, and sangria for the adults cover every horizontal surface in the kitchen.

In about an hour, the members of Austin's GSW chapter and more children than you can count would be packed, shoulder to shoulder, in your modest three-bedroom. You had helped the other spouses host in the past, but this was the first time you held your own. It quickly spiraled into more work than you had anticipated. Thankfully, you have backup of your own.

After you had learned your husband had been killed in action, the Army provided you with several resources to help you transition through the mourning process. One of these resources was a local support group for grieving widows of U.S. servicemen and women. Daniella Harris had been the first friend you made while attending meetings.

Dani had a natural sense of confidence—the kind you had to be born with. She was unapologetically herself. You admired her straightforwardness, honesty, and lack of fear for speaking her mind. Despite all the darkness losing the love of your life brings, she never let it consume her.

Dani watches your hands as you bring the coffee mug to your lips.

"Heaven above, how long has it been since you had a fill?" Of course, she noticed the sizable gap between your acrylic nails and cuticles.

Dani had been working as a nail technician since she was in high school. While her husband was on his first deployment in Iran, she had opened a small home studio in her spare bedroom. Over many months, she gained a small following in the Austin area. "I'm puttin’ you on my books for next week. Sure I got an openin’ somewhere."

"I'm working every day at the shop. Wedding season is almost over, and I need to squeeze in as many orders before things slow down in the Fall." You curl your fingers and stare down at your nails. "Even if I did have some time off, I don't have anyone to watch Ellie."

Dani grabs one of the large serving dishes from the counter with both hands and carries it to the dining room. She calls over her shoulder, "What about that handsome handyman you been seein’?"

"Dani, don't be gross. You know me and Tommy are just friends." You scrunch up your nose and set down your coffee mug. Grabbing a tray, you follow after her. "And last time he watched Ellie, she came home with a new favorite four-lettered word."

Tommy had come back into your life after your husband's funeral. The two men had lost touch over the years, but you had heard countless stories about the bond they formed in Kuwait. You felt it was only right to invite him to the memorial service.

"Oh, not him." She shakes her head, flashing a teasing smile. "The other handsome handyman in your life."

You realize she's referring to Joel. You could count on one hand how many times you had brought him up in conversation. The most you had told Dani about him was that he's Tommy's brother, he is a single father of a teenage daughter, and he acts as though being in the same room as you causes him physical pain.

That is, until about a month ago. After putting Ellie to bed, the two of you were sitting on your couch enjoying one too many glasses of sweet red wine. In your alcohol-induced haze, you had confessed to suppressing a primal urge to rip Joel's clothes off and fuck him until neither of you could walk straight the following day.

"Oh, the asshole." You were failing to hold back a sneer. The memory of your last interaction flashes in your mind. You had mistakenly thought Joel was finally warming up to you. Instead, he left you standing on the curb in front of your flower shop, feeling like a fool.

When Tommy had first told you about his brother, you were excited to meet him. He had explained Joel was on the quiet side, which some people can find a bit off-putting. Behind the stoic facade, he was a big softie. He was protective, dependable, and had a type of southern charm only men from Texas had. You had hoped to befriend him as he understood what it is like to raise a daughter alone. The way Tommy spoke about his brother made him seem like a kind man who was trying his best. The image you had made of Joel in your mind was nothing like the man you met.

"Still that bad?" She offers you a sympathetic look.

"I just don't understand him." Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a long sigh. "He refused to even look at me at his daughter's birthday party but shows up two days later to fix something in the shop. Then, as soon as he's done, he acts like he can't leave fast enough."

The corner of Dani's mouth curl upward "Sounding like a hate fuck waitin’ to happen."

"Trust me, there is no chance." You immediately shut the thought down. "Not with him."

A twisted pang of guilt hits you dead center in the chest. "Not with anyone. Not yet, at least."

Dani closes the gap between you and gently squeezes your upper arm. "You're allowed to be happy. Movin’ forward with your life don’t mean you love him any less."

Dani understood the mix of complex emotions you were experiencing better than anyone else. She had lost her own husband, Staff Sergeant Kenneth Harris, in 2001.

Whenever you thought you were ready to start dating again, a wild vine of shame would wrap around your heart and squeeze. Why do you get a second chance at love when your husband would never have the same opportunity? You don't believe you deserve the happiness moving on would give you. You told yourself you certainly don't deserve all the compassion the other widows have shown you.

Not after what you did.

Tears well up along your waterline, threatening to spill onto your cheeks. Dani pulls you in for a warm hug, stroking your back. You wrap the gesture and force the nausea-inducing guilt that plagued you to the back of your mind. The two of you stay like this for a long moment.

The timer on the stove announces that the scones are ready to leave the oven.

"I'll grab them." Dani pulls away first. "Go clean yourself up. You know how us Texans are about lookin’ presentable."

Entering the master bedroom, you see your reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. You are quite the sight. A streak of flour runs across your cheek, and your eyes are red and puffy. You splash cold water on your face, washing away any evidence of your labors, and calming the crimson encircling your eyes.

Taking a deep, centering breath, you reach for your teak wood jewelry box. Pulling the lid back, your eyes focus on what you are searching for: a modest, single-diamond engagement ring and matching yellow gold band. You pull the set out and slide them on your left ring finger. Even when your husband was alive, you rarely wore them. When asked, you would explain you were afraid to lose them in the garden or drop them down the drain while doing dishes. You always believe love shouldn't be proven by wearing jewelry but by your actions toward those you care for. You only wear them now around the other widows, who all still wear their own.

The replacement copper pipe for your A/C unit arrives Wednesday evening of the following week. On Thursday morning, Joel is stepping into your shop, carrying his navy tool bag. You're helping a young couple, allowing them to mix and match different peony colors for the centerpieces of their wedding reception.

The silver bell above the door chimes, bringing your attention to the entrance. Your friendly smile falters momentarily when you see it is Joel. Your expression returns to normal as you turn back to the couple. "I'll be right back. If you'd like, you can look at the vase options in here." You lay your hand on a white three-ring binder next to the register.

Walking over to where Joel is standing, you offer him a stilted "Good morning."

You're wearing the same floral sundress from Sarah's party paired with your sunshine yellow apron.

"The part came in." Joel holds up the hand holding the little copper pipe as though showing it to you was enough to explain his reasoning for being here.

"Uh huh," You nod your head slowly. That still didn't explain why it's Joel who's here. Your last exchange made it pretty clear to you that he had no interest in coming back.

"Can I—" he gestures to the door separating the storage room from the main storefront.

Stepping to the side, you allow him to move past you and enter the backroom. Joel grabs the handle of the walk-in cooler and gives it a good tug. Nothing happens. He pulls again, and still nothing. He tries for a third time, and the latch finally clicks open.

As he enters the cooler, a panicked thought enters his mind. What would happen if you were here alone and the door accidentally closed behind you? What if you can't get the door open? You’re trapped inside, at the mercy of a faulty door handle. No one would know you were back here. The linen sundresses you are so fond of are fit for the Texas sun, not a 35-degree refrigerator. He sees flashes of you running your hands up and down your bare upper arms, desperately trying to stay warm as hypothermia slowly sets in.

He couldn't have that.

Joel sets down his tools and returns to his truck to retrieve his ladder. He flips the shut-off switch on the cooler's outer wall and gets to work.

It only takes Joel a few minutes to install the new coolant pipe and restart the A/C unit. After he is satisfied with his work on the walk-in, he turns his attention to the faulty handle. He's able to disassemble it and find the issue. A tiny metal spring housed in the locking mechanism is bent to an awkward angle. Pulling his smallest pair of needle nose pliers, he meticulously bends the spring back into place before reassembling the handle.

When Joel returns from the backroom, the young couple has left, leaving the two of you alone.

"All done?" You don't bring your eyes to meet him as you dust around a shelf of leafy house plants.

"Yeah." Joel nods his head once, "All done."

In the past, on the rare instances Joel decides to grant you a word, he would stare disinterestedly at something across the room. But this time, he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. Now, it’s you refusing to meet his gaze. A painful ache grows in his chest as he mentally begs you for just one look.

A long silence hangs between the two of you. It's him that breaks it.

"That coffee shop still there?" He has to stop himself from recoiling at his own question. That was probably the dumbest thing he had ever asked. Of course, it was still there. It's not as though they had packed up and moved in the past ten days.

"Could use a cup right 'bout now." Joel adds, "My treat."

Your surprise at the offer finally breaks your gaze from the task before you and to Joel. Your eyes search his face for any reason why he would say that. All you found was a look of tortured sincerity in his brown eyes.

You have to look away. The feeling manifesting in your chest at that sight was threatening to overwhelm you. Crossing your arms over your chest, trying to find comfort, you tell him, "Maybe another time. I have a lot of orders to prepare for this afternoon."

"Oh," He breathes. He isn't sure what he was expecting your answer to be, but it wasn't this.

Remorse claws painfully at your ribcage. He was finally trying to be civil, but all you could think of was the memory of his tail lights leaving you alone on the street. "Is there anything?"

"No, ma'am." Joel gives you a polite nod of his head before exiting the store.

You take a moment to catch your breath. You decide it's best not to dwell on whatever just happened between the two of you. Entering the backroom, intending to get back to work. Pulling on the walk-in cooler's handle, the door opens on the first try.

Oh.

⟢ authors notes: I know I say this every time, but I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has read and interacted with the story so far. I can't overstate how much each reblog, like, and comment means to me.

I originally wasn't going to write the first Joel/Tommy scene, but I felt the chapter needed something else. Also, with Reader going through it, I figured we could all use a silly little scene our two favorite brothers. I felt so bad for breaking Joel's heart like that. He's a sweet little puppy, but he needs to put the work in to win over out dear Reader.

I have a number of future scenes written, including the first to smutty scene. I am just adding the in between parts. I am also cooking up an unrelated Old Man! Joel one-shot, but YRotD is my main priority.

Lastly, I have had a couple lovely users who requested to be tagged as the story updates. If you would like to be add to the tag list, please comment or inbox me.

⟢ tag list: @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @damneddamsy @legoemma

[arcane-fox]

The Warden.

GameWarden!Joel Miller x F!Reader Explicit 18+ MDNI | 3.8k WC | AO3

Summary: Your hike into the woods doesn’t go as planned when a depraved Game Warden catches you breaking the rules.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Power imbalance. DUBCON (could be considered NONCON). Reader is into it but she still doesn't have a choice. Reader is smaller than Joel and has hair he can grab. Explicit smut. Oral (male receiving). Fingering. Violence. Manipulation. Unprotected P in V. Cum talk. Creampies. Dark!Joel.

Notes: Please read the warnings. HUGE thanks to @joelmillerisapunk for beta'ing (love you, Odi!) Also FYI Game Wardens (also sometimes known as conservation / wildlife / DNR officer) can have broader authority than police and can even search your person / property without a warrant, are expert marksmen and usually work alone.

M A S T E R L I S T | A O 3 | N O T I F S

You saw the sign and ignored it, like you always did, as you walked down your favorite hiking trail. The one that few people knew about. The trail that was always peaceful and quiet and you rarely met another soul. Your hidden secret that you loved to escape to. The one that had been marked as “Trail Closed” for months now for reasons you could never quite figure out.  

As the forest thinned you finally reached the majestic bounty you sought. A quaint pond, nestled in the pines. The waters edge pebbled with rocks and ferns. Water lilies sparsely decorated the surface. What once was a sprawling picnic destination was now overgrown. Serene and abandoned to nature.  

You knelt down and ran your hands over the stones, picking up and admiring their unique beauty of the ones that caught your eye.

You were so preoccupied taking in the comforts of the world around you that you never heard him. Never even considered there were eyes on you, watching you from behind some overgrowth.

“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as you stand quickly and turn around. “You’re in violation of State Park rules and regulations.”

“Huh?” Your words come out sounding dumb and caught off guard. You quickly scan for the source of the voice and see some movement in the bushes, revealing a man. 

He walks towards you, emerging from his hiding spot. A tall and broad man, head to toe in the standard olive green uniform that the wardens wore. A tactical belt and vest and a scoped rifle slung on his back. His toned physique mesmerizes you with each step forward.    

“It’s my sworn duty to enforce the law and enact justice as I see fit.” His words were robotic and rehearsed. 

As he got closer you could see he was an older man and incredibly handsome with some greys in his beard along his jawline. His hair was shorter with wavy curls, pushed back neatly with some silver catching in the sunlight. His skin weathered by the sun. His aquiline nose made his face look even more intense and powerful, matching his words. Broody and serious. This was a man who was in control.

“And you’re trespassing,” he lowers his voice, “in my territory.” 

You were trespassing. He wasn’t wrong. You felt your body flush with a wave of panic, with a hint of arousal crawling somewhere deep inside you. Lurking and waiting with intrigue and fear.  

“Area’s posted.” he says as he now stands in front of you. You are at a loss for words, caught doing what you thought was harmless.

He senses your panic and it rallies him to toy with you. 

“This is a protected wildlife conservation that you’re messin’ with, sweetheart.” He pauses and changes his tone to intimidate you as he leans in close. “And you see, I don’t like that.” 

You feel your heart race. Were you actually getting in trouble for taking an innocent hike in the woods?

“You know who I am?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest while he waits for you to speak. His veiny, chiseled forearms distract you. He looks so scrappy and dangerous. 

“The Game Warden?” You hesitate.

“That's right.” he nods with a cunning smirk. “Name’s Joel, but you’re gonna call me Sir.” He enunciates it firmly.

You feel your body overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. You were scared but also felt a pulsing go through you when he spoke. You didn’t want him to be upset with you. Everything about him was screaming: dangerous, do not piss off.  

“I’m sorry about trespassing. I didn’t know… Sir.” You added his title for good measure.

But you did know. You knew every time you walked past the sign at the entrance telling you not to. Bullshit was not going to fly here and only fueled him more. 

“Lying to an officer too?” He shakes his head as it hangs low. He circles you with intimidation, looking you up and down. Lecturing you with silence and waiting for your reparations to be determined.  

You can’t fight off that lukewarm feeling inside you that grows warmer. Slowly it gnaws away at your resolve. Seeing him with the tactical vest on that snuggly accented his chest and left his belly exposed with nothing but his green shirt covering it. The only spot that was vulnerable and soft. The rest of his body was strong, protected by his excessive gear, lean muscles and mean looks.   

You see his name badge embroidered with ‘MILLER’ and accidentally whisper his name out loud like it's a question. Wondering who this man is and what his intentions are. In the peaceful calm of the woods in the middle of nowhere, your whisper may have well been a shout.

“Officer Miller.” He corrects with authority in his tone as he leans over you. “And I’m gonna have to discipline that mouth of yours.”

You’ve never been in trouble with the law before, and certainly never had a run in with a Game Warden. You knew they were essentially lone wilderness cops with a god complex and few restrictions. Still, you knew this was far from acceptable behavior. Everything about how he was acting was wrong. You open your mouth to protest, but hesitate on his threats. He relishes in how you work it out in your head that talking back isn’t going to get you out of this. You can only bite your tongue so long.

“I’ll report you.” You threaten back, acting like you have some moral upper hand to hang over him. 

“Go ahead. Ain’t nothing you can do about your situation right now, sugar plum.” He scoffs. “Not to mention, s’your word against mine.” He stops circling and leans into your ear as his southern drawl makes the words sound smooth and buttery. Hot and melting on his breath as they drip out of his mouth. 

“Wanna take a guess who wins?” He says deviously and you can feel his patchy beard scrape against your jaw as he pulls away. A shiver pulses through you, right down to your pussy. Beating to his unsought touch. 

Why is this turning you on so much?

“You see darlin’, I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.” He circles again. “And you keep breaking the rules.”

Your heart races. This was getting serious. The realization hits that he can do whatever he wants and get away with it, and that is exactly his intention.

“On your knees, and hands where I can see ‘em.” he barks. 

You obey, folding under his commands. Hoping your obedience would lessen the blow. 

You drop down gently unsure of what exactly he was playing at, treating you like a violent criminal. You stretch your arms out to your sides with your palms up in submission. He stops just in front of you, scooching down so he is eye level. A tiny grunt as his knees bend. Tobacco and leather scents accompany him. 

“I’ll let you off with a warning… if you promise me you won’t be doing it again.” He offers. Sweet words coming out slow and sticky like honey.  

“I won’t. I promise. It won’t happen again.” You quickly plead. Foolishly hopeful this was it. Ignoring the conditional implication of his terms.   

He stands back up with his arms crossed before raking one of his hands through his hair, thinking. He wasn’t buying what you were selling. 

He paces in front of you. The obscene bulge in his pants was impossible not to notice as he parades it past your sightline. Back and forth, back and forth. He was packing more than just a firearm. 

He stops directly in front of you so your eyes are mere inches from it. You look all the way down to his feet in an attempt to hide the red that flushes your face. Trying to dismiss your own arousal that was getting louder and wetter. 

He reaches down to your chin and cranes your neck up to look at him with an urgency. 

“Gonna’ need some convincing, sugar plum.”

Fuck...

He releases you and walks to the nearby weathered picnic table and lays his rifle down. He unsnaps his utility belt that was strapped over his waist and leg and tosses it along with his handgun in tow. It made his broad shoulders look even wider with his waist unhindered by the bulky gear.

The uppercase “WARDEN” embroidered on the back of his green tactical vest serves to remind you that he is an officer of the law. It taunts you as he takes his sweet time laying out his things neatly on the table while you wait with anticipation for whatever was happening next.  

As he turns to walk back towards you, snatched in his vest, he tries to conceal the smirk pulling up from the corner of his mouth. You hate how good he looked, as if it could ever excuse how disgusting he was behaving.  

He stands coolly just a foot in front of you and unbuckles the modest leather belt. The metal clasps clank loudly as he lets it hang down and unzips. He clocks your reaction as he pulls up his shirt enough to show his messy thatch of hair trailing down his lower belly.   

He can’t be serious… 

Reaching a hand inside his boxers he pulls them down slowly as his cock peeks out. Big and fat and leaking. Aching to be touched. 

He is serious.

His eyes are focused intently on yours, watching them widen as you take in his cock. It's just in front of your nose as you look up and sit back on your haunches.

“Go on,” he growls and lowers his voice. “Convince me.”

He reaches his hand around his cock and pumps it. The broad head glistening in his precum as he drags his hand down his shaft. You wonder how long he had been watching you and if he had been stroking himself before he approached you. Maybe this interrogation was all foreplay for him. In fact, you were certain it was.   

The hot feeling surging in your core surprises you. You were actually turned on by this pig. Still, you knew this was beyond fucked up. You hesitate with what to do next, conflicted by his abuse of power and the inappropriate way your body was betraying you.     

“You gonna disobey a warden?” He threatens, getting impatient. 

You wonder what if you refused? What if you didn’t play his game? What would he actually do? It still didn’t feel like there was an option other than what was right in front of you, demanding your obedience. 

This was only ending one way. His way. 

“No, sir.” You swallow and fight back the tears. You place your palms and claw your fingers into his thighs as you sit up straight. You start to open your mouth and look up at him with glossy eyes. Conceding to him. 

You catch that spark of darkness igniting in his eyes. Burning hot and formidable as it spreads through him. Your misfortune was making him harder.

He parts your mouth open with the tip resting on your bottom lip. He teases it in and out, letting you feel the weight as the ridge catches on your lip. 

God he was big.

“Give it a kiss first and be real polite.” 

You close your lips over the tip and appease him with your gentle touch. Polite even. You suckle it delicately, drawing out beads of saltiness as it drips onto your taste buds. You can’t stop your natural impulse to flick his slit with your tongue and it makes him stiffen even more, twitching in response.

“Good girl.” he praises as he tangles his free hand in your hair. You wince as his firm grip pulls you closer to him. He pushes into your mouth. Inch by inch. The hand on his cock held it steady until you were adjusted to his size. He lets go and slides his hand above your nape, letting you take the full weight of his cock as you hollow your cheeks.

He was so thick. 

You decide to give him something he wants without asking, attempting to entice him to be kinder. His roughness was starting to hurt when he pulled at your hair and dug into your skin. Relaxing your mouth he pushed further in without your protest. Nestled tight in your warm and wet paradise. You notice his urgency shift.  

“Nice and slow. No need to rush.” He commands as you take him deeper. This order sounds more like it's for himself so he doesn’t cum too early. You can feel how close he is. He was ready to burst the moment you dropped to your knees. 

You gag as the head hits the back of your throat.   

“Oh, you sound pretty like that.” He moans as he closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Choking on my cock.” He makes a guttural sound as he nudges his cock even deeper into your throat. He was impossibly large as he fights to stuff you full.  

“Hold still.” He fucks into your mouth. Harder. Harder. Harder. Pulling your hair too tight and pushing your head too far onto him as he bucked into you.

With tears in your eyes making your nose run you can hardly breathe. Gasping and choking  and a cock stuffed in your mouth, bruising your throat with each plunge.

He snarls as he looks down to you, locking eyes. Blown out. Feral. Dark and desperate like he was giving in to his wildest, forbidden desires with no regard for you. It was a selfish need he was taking for himself and only himself. You were nothing. A wet hole for his cock to fuck.  

He was coming undone. His moaning and panting echoing across the serene pondscape and tainting your safe escape forever. Even that memory he was taking from you. 

You were waiting for it. Bracing for his hot spend to pour into you but instead he slowed. Thrusting deep into you with a grunt before dragging out his wet, dripping cock. He winced as it popped out of your mouth and you gasped for air.

This sick fuck was edging himself. 

He wanted more. Needed more. 

“Get up.” His haggard, breathy words bite at you.

He lifts you up by your hair. You quickly comply to relieve the pressure on your scalp as you stumble to your feet. A whine escapes you as he lets go roughly. 

“Gonna make sure you learn your lesson today.” He gestures to the picnic table just a few steps away and you shamefully go to it. 

He pushes you to lean over the bench and bends you in an ‘L’ shape. You press your arms against the seat to hold yourself up. He drags his hand down your back and around to your hips, admiring your delicate form laid out before him. He wanted to lose himself inside you.

He drags a hand between your legs and feels your cunt hot and wet against your shorts. He lets out a growl as his fingers get soaked along your seam. 

You hate how good it feels to have him touch you where you ache for friction.

“Mmm…” he groaned as he breathed in your arousal on his fingertips. “Knew you wanted this cock inside you.” He ruts his hardness against your ass. 

He slides his hands over your back. Over your hips. Down the sides of your legs until he stops abruptly. Fingering at something jagged in your pocket. Something you forgot was there. 

“What's this?” 

Your heart stops. You can tell from his tone that he knew exactly what it was.

He slips his hand in your pocket and pulls out two shiny stones you had collected from the waters edge.

Fuck.   

“Caught stealing from the cookie jar.” He clicks his tongue to scold you. He was stacking his case with further evidence to hang over your head.

“Oh, Darlin.” He fakes a sympathetic tone. “You’re in big trouble now.”

It was then you realized he knew all along. He was watching your every move. He was waiting for the right moment to manipulate you to his will. 

“Bad girl. Larceny is gonna cost you more than just an apology.” He drops the rocks carelessly and grabs your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down to your ankles in one motion. You gasp as he makes you step out of them as he pushes you forward so your knees are on the bench seat. You catch yourself on the edge of the table. Half naked, exposed and totally fucked. 

“Spread 'em nice and wide for me.” He knocks your legs apart with his knee as he stands behind you, his cock notched against your entrance and it sparks an adrenaline surge inside you when you feel his tip press into you. 

“Please!” You beg him. “Please stop. I’m not letting you fuck me!” You spit out with an attitude. This was a line too far. A line he was intentionally pushing to see how far he could go before you fought back. 

Unsurprising to you, he liked playing with fire.  

He reaches out and grabs your neck with his wide grip, roughly pinning you prone against the table so you can’t move. He leans over, and hovers low to your ear as his shaft drags against your seam. 

“Ain’t making you do nothing, sugar plum.” He pauses and breathes in the sweet scent of your shampoo as he prods you gently with his nose. Tantric and hungry with his movements. 

“I can take you now and then we’ll be done with it, or I can take you in. S’your choice.” He loosens up his grip on your neck and sits back slightly. He feels the way you tremble under his touch, and the way your cunt throbs against his heat still pressing against it.

You feel it too. Something you can’t explain. A primal feeling of desire. Surrendering to your most basic human needs. That having him inside you might not be so bad. A rationalizing in your brain that you did wrong after all. It’s only sex. 

Only sex. You’ve certainly done worse with lesser men under the guise of alcohol. 

“I can promise you, they won’t be nearly this forgivin’ at the state prison.” He traces his finger down your spine, being delicate and gentle. Tracing until his finger runs into his belly pushed flush against you. He leans back and grabs his cock. Painfully hard and still soaked from earlier. He presses the head right against your swollen clit and rubs it against you. 

You let out a moan and he knows he has you.  

“Tell me you don’t want this. That you don’t want to cum all over my cock.” He strokes your clit with his head again and again. Knocking at your door and waiting for you to answer. 

“I’ll make it real good for you, sugar plum.” Your clit pulses on his cock. Needy and hedonic. Forsaking any restraint you have left to say no.

You take a deep breath and curse under your breath, curling your fingers around the edge of the table as you sit up and face forward.

“Get on with it.” You concede. 

He smiles wickedly. He was always going to get what he wanted in the end.

With you still sitting on your knees he locks his body against yours, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and wraps a hand around the front of you, rubbing and pinching at your clit with his rough fingers and dipping them into your hole. Spreading your slick. Stretching you open as he scissors his fingers.    

His body against yours was so much bigger. Broad and strong. You were the mouse and he was the lion about to pounce. His heat piercing through your skin. You felt him line up at your entrance, nudging you with his tip. 

There is no more patience or preparation. He needs to fuck you now. Needs to have that friction choking his cock that has been rock solid for too long. Without warning he thrusts into you again and again and again. Each time a little deeper and harder. His fat head catching on all your ridges as your pussy grabbed onto him.

It felt so fucking good and you hate it. You hate him.  

He stretches you more than you’ve ever felt before. The initial pain subsides as he rubs your clit fiercely with his fingers. The pleasure inside you builds. He kept his word that he would make it real good for you.  

He puts his leg up on the bench for leverage and bottoms out inside you with a grunt as he pulls you down on his cock. Fucking up into you and impaling you with his cock.   

Your moans run away from you, loudly filling the air with obscenities. You feel your climax building up inside you. You’ve never been fucked so hard in your life and you are soaking him. You know he won’t last much longer.

“Please..” you beg him between moans. 

“Please what?” he snarls as he fucks you harder, his cock ready to spill. 

“Please... Sir. Pull out,” you beg him.

He laughs at your ridiculous request and ignores you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you hard against his body. One hand wrapped around and splayed over your belly and the other curled around your breasts and pushing on the front of your throat. He had you held so tightly to him there was no way you could stop him. 

Your climax tears through you. 

“Carry in… Carry out.” He recites the most basic of park rules between grunts while you brace for it. “Leave nothing behind.”

He releases into you. His hot cum coating your deepest walls as he empties into your cunt with the loudest orgasm. He pushes you down prone and fucks it deep inside you before he starts to soften, making sure you know he was deliberately filling you up with his seed.

He collapses on you and you breathe together for a moment. He leaves an unexpected kiss on your shoulder and another on your neck, silently thanking you for letting him use your body. 

“Next time pay attention to the game cams, sugar plum.” he nods up at a nearby tree and he gives a side smile. Mocking your mistake. 

He withdraws his cock from you and lets you fall forward, his cum already running down your legs. He eyes your mess with a smirk, pleased with his conquest. 

“I’m always watching.” He says with a wink.

Tagging some cool people that I love very much and fellow Joel Hole comrades (please note if it’s too dark for your taste it’s totally ok to skip!)

@magpiepills @for-a-longlongtime @milla-frenchy @itwasntimethatdidit40 @youandmeand5bucks

@toxicanonymity @wethairjoel @evolnoomym @almostfoxglove @beardedjoel

@aurorawritestoescape @hellishjoel @lotusbxtch @murder-wife @joelstummy

@pearlessance @pedropeach @tonysopranosrobe @sawymredfox @macfrog

@slimybeth69 @whocaresstillthelouvre @joelsdagger @baronessvonglitter @covetyou

@chronically-ghosted @skbeaumont @yourcoolauntie @yopossum @beefrobeefcal

@sp00kymulderr @moonlitbirdie @wheresarizona @syd-djarin @punkshort

@sin-djarin @guiltyasdave @strang3lov3 @frannyzooey @tightjeansjavi

@cavillscurls @gasolinerainbowpuddles @pedgito @survivingandenduring

@ozarkthedog @mountainsandmayhem @schnarfer @pedrospatch @penvisions

[baronessvonglitter]

Masterpiece

Harry Castillo x f!reader | WC: 1.6K

Summary: Getting to know the wealthy man who's taken an interest in your art, you find out he has a dirty little secret.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Oral (f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected piv. Mentions of food and drinking alcohol. Exhibitionism. Harry is a gentleman with a kinky side. Could be implied he's bi. He's a little bit of a sleaze I'm so sorry. (I'm not sorry.) Reader is an artist and has female anatomy, but is otherwise not described. Reader is younger than Harry but the age is also left up to your imagination. (we find out later that Harry ain't picky.)

A/N: allow me to introduce my submission for @toomanystoriessolittletime fucking with a view smut writing challenge 🖤I have never written for a character before seeing them onscreen, so I may be way off about Harry's whole personality. I keep seeing romantic stories about him and while they're wonderful, I wanted to give him kind of a secret, darker side. While I love when he's written as a perfect gentleman looking for love, I just wanted to write him as a little bit of a sleaze. But he's a nice sleaze, I promise!

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The best view of New York City is from Harry Castillo's Upper East Side penthouse apartment.

Below, Central Park sprawls like a lush green ocean between the steel and stone of Manhattan. The city lights frame the darkness of the park. Slow-moving traffic dots the streets with white and red and amber lights. Above, the elegant apartment buildings stand guard in the night like gargoyles, silent witnesses to the inevitable movement of time.

While the panoramic view is spectacular it's hard to focus on as Harry's large hands squeeze into your bare ass, his tongue licking wide stripes across your slit as he eats you out from behind, exploring every inch as you give a strangled moan, fingernails scraping the glass as you hold onto it for purchase. Your eyes roll back as his hands grab your ass, lifting your cheeks to get better access, stiffening his tongue and fucking you with it.

"God.. yes!" you gasp, pressing your forehead to the cool glass, not caring about leaving prints behind. You're high up enough so that people below might not see you, but there's a chance they could, and they'd see your entirely naked body pressed to the glass, writhing in ecstasy.

He's murmuring behind you, praising your taste, unable to get quite enough of you. His fingers are inside you, coaxing your first orgasm of the night out of you as his tongue flicks steadily over your clit.

"You're drenching me, sweetheart," he purrs, soft lips still caressing your skin. He rises, still behind you, to cup your chin and kiss you, your arousal still coating his mustache and lips. His free hand on your hip, he lines himself up, the tip of him tickling your still-sensitive clit.

"You want it?" he asks, gently biting down on your lip. Your reply comes hastily, a breathy yes before he sinks in, his cock buried to the hilt within your warm wetness. he starts to move, slow at first, enjoying the way you're wrapped around his impressive length.

You'd met him at a charity auction just a week ago. He'd been in a bidding war with an old and famous socialite for a piece you'd made, an oil-on-canvas that was inspired by a rainy night in Midtown Manhattan. You hadn't imagined anyone with any real taste in art would want it, but after Harry kept his paddle up, eventually winning your work and insisting he take the artist out for dinner, you got to know he was quite the connoisseur of art. Over Maine sea scallops and filet mignon you discovered Harry had a love of art, and had his own artistic ambitions when he was a younger man. 

"You should always find time to do things you love," you'd told him, sipping the finest champagne you'd ever tasted.

"I don't mind leaving some dreams in the past," he'd said, a twinkle in the handsome, brown depths of his  eyes. "Besides, I get a little painting done now and then."

By the end of the night you were sure he'd ask you to come back to his place for a nightcap. You didn't think about bringing him to yours with your roommate probably crashed on the couch watching Netflix on your tv that was held up off the floor by milk crates.

He dropped you at your apartment, only pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your hand before you left the car. Thankfully you'd exchanged numbers and hoped he'd want to see you again. That call from him came just last night. 

He'd asked you up to discuss some other pieces he was considering purchasing from a wealthy collector in Dubai, desiring your personal opinion on them. Over a couple glasses of Cheval Blanc you perused the catalog, showing interest in Harry's personal style. He embraced the new and innovative while maintaining a love for the classic and traditional. He was a bit of a mystery to you, but less so as the night unfolded.

Somewhere along the way you sat a little closer, his hand lingered longer on your knee, moving up to your thigh, and when you opened your legs slightly he took the initiative to slide his hand under the hem of your dress.

The kiss, when it happened, was soft and sweet at first, even as his thick, ringed fingers plundered your pussy, your panties hanging off the ankle hanging over his shoulder. You never move that fast, but there was something about Harry's beguiling sense of sophistication and self-worth. He went after what he wanted and what he wanted was you..

"Have you ever been painted, sweetie?" he asked, undressing you as he led you to the window.

The glass mists over with each puff of your breath as Harry pumps into you, his length dragging tauntingly along your walls, every now and then pulling out just enough to tease your clit with the tip of his cock. You mewl in response, rubbing against him as your hand reaches back and holds on to his ass cheek, grinding against him. He hisses at your needy contact and turns your head to kiss you, his tongue pillaging your mouth as he lined himself up and thrust into you again, slowly.

His name leaves your lips in a moan, clenching around him as he sheathes himself deep inside you. "You're dripping down my balls, sweetheart," he mutters in your ear, his tongue flicking out to lick it. "And you're taking my cock so well.."

You can't get enough of the filthy squelching sound you make together with each drive forward of his hips, his dick relentless as your essence cascades around his cock. "So good.. so good," you're whimpering, knees buckling as his hand comes around to tease your clit, rubbing in soft circles.

"Soaking me," he grunts, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades as he bends you over, bringing your hips back, keeping his gaze on his cock disappearing inside you then reappearing, your sweet cream ringing the base of his length as you get him all messy. "Gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you sob, unable to hold back as he grips your hips and slams into you. He watches your ass ripple with each thrust, his tongue peeking out between his plush lips. "Good girl.. let go for me, pretty thing."

He thrusts in deep, with intention, stilling when your pussy flutters then throbs around him, and he's tempted to flood your sweet cunt with his cum, but he closes his eyes and lets the moment of need bypass him. 

"Gonna paint you now, beautiful," he rumbles, pulling out and stroking himself while keeping you bent over. Cursing, breath catching in his throat, he paints your ass with his sticky white spend, enjoying the way you twitch with each splatter. "That's it," he growls, pumping until there's nothing left. "Stay there," he commands, finding his discarded pants and retrieving his phone. You don't know what to think as you hear the telltale sound of a photo being taken.

Harry runs a bath for you in his en suite bathroom, and you shed the plush white robe he'd given you after he'd cleaned you up earlier. Sinking into the perfect temperature water, your tense muscles start to relax. You're surrounded by luxury bath products, a Diptyque jasmine-scented candle burning demurely, and the softest L'Occitane bath oil softening your skin.

It's heaven, pure heaven.

There's a magazine rack next to the tub, and you indulge yourself in reading the latest Vanity Fair, reading an article about an actor who bears a striking resemblance to Harry.

Wearing the freshly laundered joggers and hoodie he'd set out for you on his bed, you wait in his room, your Uber ride already called. Part of you is disappointed, hoping he'd ask you to stay, but you assume he's a busy man and doesn't want to leave you alone in the morning. After he excuses himself to take a call in the next room, you meander around his finely decorated bedroom. Muted color palettes and designer brands create an aura of wealth and style. Whoever Harry hired as his decorator knew what they were doing.

There's a book sticking out from under his bed, the corner of a leather-bound album, you realize as you pick it up. You expect it's family pictures, and you smile to think you'll see a young Harry in diapers, on a school sports team, or graduating from university.

But that smile disappears.

Inside are photos of other people, nude, their asses on display just as yours was not long ago. Each one has a splattering of jizz. Checking to make sure Harry isn't coming back yet, you huddle yourself in the corner and continue to thumb through the pages. Each photo has a name, age, and date attached. There's all different types shown, all shapes of asses, all colors, even the ages are disparate. Harry's had multiple trysts and decorated his lovers in his cum. While you were in the bath he managed to add you to his secret erotic gallery.

"It's not nice to go through other people's things," Harry chastises from behind you, a musical tint to his voice. Hands on your shoulders he gently spins you around to face him. "I'm no artist in the means of Henri Matisse or Artemisia Gentileschi-"

"More like Pollock," you add.

Harry smiles. "I enjoyed painting you, just as I enjoyed painting these others." He casts a loving glance over the photos, and it dawns on you just how many there have been. 

"I trust you to keep my secret, darling. I think you will, considering how much I shelled out for your piece." His words hold no venom, only a discreet warning. "It's time for you to leave now. Your ride is here."

tagging those interested when this was just a wee baby wip: @inept-the-magnificent @milla-frenchy @bergamote-catsandbooks

@tateypots @ppascalrain @604to647 @aurorawritestoescape

@itwasntimethatdidit40

[slimybeth69]

"i'll be here."

rating: explicit- for drinking and joel's dirty thoughts. This is pure fluff NO SMUT and it's probably kinda corny but I DON'T CARE.

summary: Joel wants to make sure your New Years Eve isn't lonely.

tags: jackson!joel, Joel's POV, no use of y/n, no physical description (just an outfit) fluff, so much fluff, pining, age gap, him being handsome and perfect, mentions of food, drinking, being intoxicated so maybe dub-con (but not really)

w/c: ~3.6k

a/n: the holiday was hard as hell this year and it really didn't feel like christmas at all, so i wrote this for myself because i was sad. i hope any of you all that needed Joel to come and sing you songs and play gui-tar find some comfort in this.

thanks for @creepycorbeaux for reading this over. thanks to @thelastofgala for those beautiful gifs and thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Joel wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing walking to your house with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his guitar in the other, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had said last night on patrol. 

“Whaddya end up doin’ f’Christmas?” 

The face you make when you look over at him almost makes Joel smirk for a split second. The way your nose scrunches and the corners of your mouth turn down slightly. Like you’re confused and upset with him ,and all he did was ask you a simple question.

Then you respond, “Whachya mean?” 

Joel doesn’t know how to answer that because… what do you mean? Your eyes are still squinted— like there is some sort of distrust in your soul. Like Joel is playing a joke on you right now.

“Uh, well… Ellie and I went to Tommy and Maria’s...” Joel is uncomfortable suddenly; he forgets that not everyone is as lucky as he is to have family here in Jackson. He doesn’t know you nearly well enough, so now he feels like an ass. He shouldn’t be asking you anything like that.

Or anything at all not pertaining to patrol. 

You don’t say anything for a while, you just hold onto the strap of your rifle over your shoulder, and then adjust your grasp on the reins with your other hand. “I just stayed home,” you answer him quietly, almost like you don’t really want him to hear you. “Made myself a nice dinner, read a book and went to bed.” 

That ‘put your foot in your mouth’ feeling creeps into Joel’s stomach and he wants to ask if you’d like to give him a nice rocket to his left jaw. He doesn’t stay quiet for too long, he doesn’t want you sitting in this awkward smog he’s created. “That doesn’t sound t’bad, honestly. Whaddya make?” 

Joel watches you out of the corner of his eye as you once again adjust the reins in your hand, waiting for you to either respond to his question or tell him to shut the fuck up. 

He wishes you would tell him to screw off because he never tries to make small talk, and this is why! He always regrets it!

“Just a venison roast with veggies from the greenhouse.” You finally tell him with a little more life in your voice this time, like you were actually proud of what you cooked yourself. “What did you and Ellie do at Tommy and Maria’s?” 

“Had a few drinks, ate some food. Nothin’ crazy.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that Tommy and him spent most of the day drinking and reminiscing, laughing about being young, stupid kids. Or that Ellie and Maria baked all day, listening to Christmas music someone had found a while ago. He didn’t wanna subject you to all that, knowing now you were home alone.

Since that night on patrol, Joel can’t get the image of you sitting at home on a holiday all by yourself. 

Probably being sad. 

There isn’t any particular reason why he feels so compelled to come knock on your door, there are plenty of other lonely souls that spend every holiday with no one else around. 

There was just a pull. Something inside of him that said go go go. 

Go to her.

He doesn’t really even know what he’s going to say to you if you decide to open the door for him. Hell, he’s not sure you’re even going to let him in! You’ve only ever gone on two patrols together. Y’all never really talk outside of that, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t see you around.

Not like he’s looking for you, or anything. 

When he knocks, it’s like his heart might hammer right out of his chest. Why is he so nervous? He’s just here to offer you a couple drinks so you don’t have to ring in the new year all alone. 

Ellie was with Dina and the rest of her friends, Tommy and Maria wanted to call it an early night because of the baby, and so Joel had two options: the bar, or sitting at home alone. 

It’s not that Joel didn’t like being alone. He had been alone since Tess, and that was still something he didn’t like to think about too much.

Too much loss for not enough of — whatever they had been. Losing her had almost been the final nail in the coffin, and if it hadn’t been for Ellie -

Don’t think about it.

Now Joel finds himself on your front porch, holding the screen door open with his large frame, and knocking lightly with the ass end of the bottle of whiskey.

From inside he can hear you moving around. His breath hitches in his throat when you finally open up for him. Joel watches your eyes scan him very quickly, taking in the picture in front of you. Your eyes go wide for a second like you don’t understand why he’s here.

Joel Miller on your front porch with a bottle of whiskey and his guitar. 

“Whaddya doin’ here?” 

Joel holds the bottle up for you to inspect closer as you wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to hide from him. 

Joel’s never seen you without your winter jacket, hat and gloves. Right now in your house, you have on a blue sweater, a pair of tight elastic tights that Joel wishes he could see you in more often, and the warmest looking socks he has ever seen.

His eyes scan the length of your body again involuntarily. His gaze lingers on your pants once again– so tight and they hug your curves (that Joel didn’t even know you had) in all the right ways.  

“Well, I reckon I came over here hopin’ you had cooked another roast, since it sounded so damn good when you told me ‘bout it on patrol–”

Joel continues his bullshit rambles about why he came over here as you start to smirk, and take a step back so the door can swing open a little wider and he can make his way in.

“The guitar?” You ask as Joel toes off his boots so he doesn’t track snow through your house. He hands you the bottle of whiskey, shifting the guitar between his hands as he takes off his jacket. 

“Figur’d if you wanted to share any of the food you made– I could share the whiskey… maybe play a lil gui-tar for ya.”

The last time he played the guitar for anyone besides Ellie– Sarah was still alive. 

Who is this man?

There was just something about the way you said ‘I just stayed home’. Joel was thinkin’ maybe you didn’t read a book and go to bed. 

Maybe you cried a little, missing whatever you remember from home. 

Joel knows all about that, all about the sleepless nights when you just can’t turn your brain off. You can’t stop thinking about the people that are no more, about how different things are now and how you’d give anything for them to go back to the way they used to be. 

Joel has Ellie and Tommy. Who do you have?

“You’re in luck because I did cook tonight,” you’re smiling at him and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile, too. 

So many firsts for Joel, he feels like a teenager as you lead him further into your house - which is clean and smells phenomenally good - and into the kitchen. 

Joel hadn’t expected you to actually offer him food, he didn’t know if you cooked dinners like that for yourself all the time, or only on special occasions. 

You take the guitar from him and pull out a chair at your kitchen table. For a moment he feels like his brain malfunctions and he’s not sure how to react. 

“You can sit,” You’re already in your living room. “I’m just gonna…” Then you trail off. 

When Joel peers around the corner to check on you, you’re very carefully leaning the guitar against the wall, holding your hands out to catch it in case it leans too far one way or the other.

Joel feels heat creeping up his chest and neck as he watches you, slightly bent at the waist. The tightness of your pants— 

Nope.

Once you’re satisfied that the guitar won’t fall, you turn around and smile at him, even though he’s just standing there watching you like an idiot– blushing!

Blushing?

Part of him thinks this was the worst idea he ever had. How could you be doing this to him and you’ve done absolutely nothing? 

He should go home. 

“Sit!” You urge him to take a seat at the table while you basically prance into the kitchen to start serving him a plate. Everything is still sitting on the stove in the pots you cooked in.

You explain that you already ate because you weren’t expecting company. 

Joel almost tells you not to worry about the food, but then what would he do? Play guitar for three hours? Getting drunk and talking all night seems like a terrible idea. 

What the fuck was he thinking? This was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, it really was. 

He shuts his mouth though when you set down a plate of steaming food in front of him. 

“Dig in! I have more than enough if you want a second plate.” 

The way you talk so casually, like you’ve known Joel your whole life while you walk back into the kitchen makes him jealous. 

How are you so nice? Sweet? 

You haven’t even been here for four months and this is the first time either of you have said more than ten words to each other that didn’t have to do with patrol. 

It’s the way your body moves when you walk without all your winter gear on. You sway… almost like you’re floating.

Knock it off, old man. She’s half your age. 

Joel has to squeeze his eyes shut for two seconds until he hears your feet padding back to the table. When he opens them, you’re pushing one of the glasses in his direction.

“You brought the booze, so you have to pour it.” 

The smile on your face makes Joel feel a mix of pride and guilt. 

What are you expecting of him? He can’t give you more than just tonight. He knows that, he hopes you know that too.

Joel opens the bottle and pours each of you a decent, sippable glass.He should have poured himself less. 

Probably should have poured you less.

The food tastes better than Joel’s had in years. He even finds himself asking for seconds, something he rarely does.

You’re making small talk as he eats, asking about his travels and how long he’s been in Jackson. If he likes it here, how old is his daughter.

Joel decides not to tell you that Ellie isn’t really his daughter, because biologically she isn’t, but it hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

As he eats, and you chat, Joel starts to relax a little. Your presence is calming, and he finds himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would. He pours both of you another drink, his regrets of pouring less last time completely forgotten.

The food is gone and you’ve cleared his plate. But the two of you are still sitting at the kitchen table. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that this is another first— seeing you up close like this. In the light of your kitchen Joel can really take in your features; your cheeks when you smile, and the way your eyes light up when you laugh at some dumb joke he tells.

You ask him about his life before the outbreak, and Joel hesitates before giving a very brief summary of his past. He doesn’t like talking about it all, and he avoids bringing Sarah up completely.

Not tonight. Probably not ever.

You listen attentively and ask Joel questions that show you’re actually interested in what he’s saying.

Joel continues to pour the two of your drinks each time your glasses are empty and you never tell him to stop. You suggest moving to the living room where it’s more comfortable, and Joel agrees without hesitation.

Go home. This is going to end badly.

There is a fire going in your fireplace, and Joel can’t sit down until he puts another log or two on, and he has to move some things around to get it going again.

“I can do it myself,” you say from directly behind him, sounding a little offended.

Joel doesn't even look at you when he responds, "I know you can. Just helpin'."

When he finally turns around, you quickly look away. Joel can’t help but smirk and feel that familiar in his lower belly.

Had you been staring at him?

Joel watches as you sink down into the brown leather couch, curling up with your feet underneath you. He settles beside you with just enough distance to be polite.

“What songs do ya’ know?” Your voice is soft and your words are slightly slurred. The alcohol has definitely started to affect you, but Joel doesn’t think you’re that drunk yet.

Joel looks at the clock on your wall and it reads 10:45 PM. He can do this. An hour and fifteen minutes left, then Joel can escape.

Not that he wants to. He has to or something bad is going to happen. Something he regrets. 

Something you might regret. 

But when you ask him about songs, he can’t help but smile. The alcohol is going down too easily, way too easy for both of you.

Joel clears his throat. "Whaddya wanna hear?"

You shrug, your cute blue sweater sliding off one shoulder. Joel has to fight himself to keep his eyes on your face as you mindlessly tug the sweater up. It’s like you didn’t even realize it happened. You kept your eyes on him the entire time.

"Somethin' that makes you happy."

The fact that you’re moving your feet to tuck your toes underneath Joel’s right thigh is sending electric shocks to his brain. He leans and grabs the guitar off the wall– careful to not move too much so he can keep the contact between the two of you. 

Shit. What is he getting himself into?

Joel holds the guitar, fingers tracing the old wooden curves. It's been a while since he's played at all. The strings feel ice cold under his calloused hands.

Joel strum a couple cords, “Know a few songs,” he says, clearing his throat. “Might be a lil rusty though,” he smirks at you and gives you a sideways glance. 

You smile from behind your whiskey glass and Joel feels something shift inside him. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Something dangerous.

Your eyes are glittering in the firelight— different than they had looked in the artificial light of your kitchen. It casts a warm glow across your face, softening the edges that Joel has only ever seen sharp and alert on patrol.

He clears his throat once again and continues to move his fingers along the frets. The first few notes come out slightly off-key, but Joel quickly finds his rhythm. He starts with a Garth Brooks song.

Joel knows he’s not the best at the guitar and he doesn’t play it nearly as often now that Ellie is so busy with her own life. 

You don’t seem to mind, and sometimes Joel misses a chord or messes up completely because he can’t stop glancing over to watch you watching him.

He starts to sing, his voice low and gravelly. It's not a perfect voice - never was - but there's something raw and honest in the way the words tumble out.

… Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair The last one to know, the last one to show I was the last one you thought you'd see there

You shift slightly, your toes still tucked under his thigh, and Joel catches you watching his hands. Even as he continues to sing. You never take your eyes off of him. Not once.

… 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away And I'll be OK Yeah, I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places

Joel's voice falters for a moment when he notices the concentration of your gaze. His fingers momentarily stagger on the guitar strings, creating a clashing note that lingers in the air for a moment before he continues.

You don't seem to notice, or care. Your eyes are locked on his hands, watching how they move across the guitar with a kind of reverence that makes Joel's breath catch. 

Joel finishes the song, letting the last chord ring out softly in the quiet room. For a moment, neither of you moves. You're still watching him, your eyes heavy-lidded from the whiskey, but there's something else there too.

Joel’s eyes fall on the clock on your wall and it’s only 11.

He’s completely fucked.

Joel becomes acutely aware of how close you are.

Your toes are still tucked under his leg, and the warmth of your body seeps through the denim of his jeans. Joel swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.

"Another song?" you ask, your voice soft and slightly husky from the whiskey.

Joel clears his throat. "Sure," he manages, repositioning the guitar.

Joel starts strumming again, this time a slower, more mournful tune. His fingers find the familiar chords of an old country ballad, something he used to play for Sarah when she was real little. Before the weight of being a single dad started to apply pressure.

The memories threaten to overtake him, but he forces them down, focusing instead on the way the light flickers across your face. He can feel the heat of your body against his leg, the whiskey making everything feel soft and blurry around the edges. His voice is lower now, almost a whisper, like he's singing just for you.

Joel sings a couple more songs, a few at your request.

"That was really good," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. There's something in your gaze that makes Joel shiver - it’s a weakness, a longing that mirrors something deep inside himself.

When he looks at the clock again it’s 12:30.

“We completely missed new years,” Joel points to the clock and chuckles. He had completely forgotten that’s why he came over here originally. Once the music started, everything else kind of faded away. 

It was just the two of you while the rest of Jackson, and possibly the rest of the world stopped existing in that short time. 

“I was havin’ a good time,” you’re still smiling at him and now he can see how glassy they are from the whiskey. 

“Y’look like y’were havin’ a good time, darlin’.” Joel smiles and starts to stand up from the couch. It’s not until he’s standing directly in front of you realize what’s happening, Joel watches your eyes shift and change. 

Are you panicking?

“Are… were–” you cut yourself off and shake your head, waving a hand at Joel dismissively. “Nevermind. Thank you for coming over.” When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed with a glossy sheen. The whites of your eyes had turned a hazy shade of red.

“S’wrong?” 

You shrug your shoulders, your sweater falling off your shoulder again. You don’t notice and twirl your whiskey glass in your hand slowly. “Nothin’. I had a good time… just sad you gotta go.” 

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but he gently replaces your sweater, his fingers lingering on the warm skin of your collarbone for a moment before he pulls away. “I’m all outta songs, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Joel swallows hard and then cuts you off, “For what?” Joel whispers it and you snap your head up to look at him, almost as astonished as he is. Joel knows that the liquor and the way you had been looking at him all night is a recipe for disaster. 

Make me leave, please. Kick me out. Don’t ask me to stay again because I won’t be able to say no.

You finish the last of your whiskey before setting your glass down on the coffee table in front of your couch. 

“You know what.” 

“I do… but we’ve been drinkin’... ‘n I don’t want ya’ regretti–”

“What is there to regret?” you whisper. Your hand snakes into his and Joel doesn’t pull his away or nothing. “You gotta know more songs.”

Joel sits down beside you again, sighing loudly like this is a giant inconvenience to him, but a part of him knows that this isn’t going to end–

Not at all. 

Once he takes you upstairs, it’s over for the both of you. It’s like he can taste it in the air. 

“One more,” Joel nods his head at you. “Then I’m leavin’.” 

He and you both know that’s not true. 

His fingers find their holds on the neck of the guitar and he looks over at you before he strums the first note. 

You shy away from him, tucking your toes back under his thigh. Joel lifts his leg slightly so you can slip them deeper under his leg. 

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows Down a lonesome railroad line No prettier sight than looking back On a town you left behind There is nothin' that's as real As your face that's on my mind

Joel changes the lyrics just a little, and he doesn’t know if you notice, or even if you know this song. He's not ready to sing about love, not at all.

He confidently sings you the next part though.

Close your eyes I'll be here in the morning Close your eyes I'll be here for a while

hopefully y'all had a better time than I did.

love you all so so much

[cuppajoel]

Rating: E 18+ only MDNI | Pairing: modern-day! Marcus Acacius x fem!reader Word count: 1.8k CW: modern day!Marcus Acacius, light brat-tamer vibes but not really, mostly just smut, v fingering (hey! Bring back fingering!!), one (1) p slap, p pronouns, Marcus likes roleplaying?, slight anal play, Marcus spits on ittt, grinding, he calls her my lady, legal age gap, no physical description of reader apart from she has a vagina and some pubic hair?

Summary: You start being a brat about how Marcus is old and he shows you why you should respect your elders.

a/n: hey! This is the first one shot from my “Where my Lore Started” series. This is an age gap fic based on the relationship between Monica and Richard from the TV show Friends. (See here & here for my inspo) If you’d like to take part in this wee prompt/ challenge pls do and tag me so I can see where your lore started!

graphics: @saradika-graphics

tysm to @iknowisoundcrazy for beta-ing this. This is my first fic back after like 5 months and I am real nervous to start posting again and you were so kind and encouraging! <3

Read on A03 | Fic challenge | Main Masterlist

“How’d you get this one?” you trail your finger back and forth across his collarbone, your head resting on his chest, the thump thump thump of his heartbeat soothing your relaxed body. 

He exhales softly, lifting his head slightly to get a better look at the healed, raised skin. “Ummm…” His chest rumbles. You can tell he’s nearly sleeping but wants to answer your questions, just because you are the one asking them. “That one was when I broke my collarbone after jumping off the peer… the water was more shallow than first expected.” He kisses your head, his worn hand trailing up and down your arm. 

“Ouch…” you chuckle on an exhale, nuzzling your face into the patch of greying hair across his chest. You let your fingers trail circles around his bare upper half, noting which spots are more sensitive and which make him twitch. “You go peer diving a lot? I guess there wasn’t much else to do in Ancient Rome…” you shift, glancing up to his face with a smirk of defiance, and begin to brace for the consequence of your teasing comment. 

His eyes are still closed, the greying curls crossing over themselves around his ears. A steady, soft chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Let me tell you something about Ancient Rome…” he starts muttering into your hair, the hand that was soothing your arm stopping on your hip, his grip pulsing. “You see in Ancient Rome, people at my old age would be seen as knowledgeable… respected…” Marcus rolls off his back, flipping you both so that his weight and size hovers over your own. 

“I would probably be in a position of power…” He grabs your wrist and lays it above you, pinning it to the pillow. “A position of authority- a politician… a general, maybe.” He grabs the other wrist, repeating his actions and holding them together in one of his giant hands with ease. You watch as his breath becomes heavier, his pupils dilating so that his brown eyes somehow seem darker. Your breathing deepens, chest heaving up and down. You clear your throat, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“And yooooou…” he draws back, his eyes raking down your naked form, stopping at your now stiff nipples, down to his hardening cock which rests against your stomach, and then back up to your face. “…you would be my lady, waiting for me to get home each night…” He pumps his hips slowly, the sensitive pink crown of his dick dragging across your belly button. 

”And when I get home…” he releases your wrists, dragging his blunt fingernails down your forearms, down each of your shoulders and palms you heavy breasts in his hands. He stops there for a moment, feeling the weight of them before pushing them together, fitting his head snuggly between them. “You would have ached for me. You would’ve felt so empty without my mouth and cock… and I would be famished after a hard day saving the empire.”

He flattens his tongue, dragging it slowly across your right nipple before sucking and then tugging with his teeth, only to switch and repeat the action on your left. You open yourself up, pushing your breasts further into him, causing him to exhale with a chuckle. 

Using his teeth he forges a path down your sternum to the softness of your stomach, his fingertips continuing to caress your ribs, hips and pelvis, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So being the kind and considerate person that you are…” he presses a kiss to the curls of hair on the mound of your pussy. “…my lady would feed me…” 

He draws his cheeks together, gathering the saliva in his mouth before spitting directly on your clit, using his middle finger to spread it around in deep, deliberate circles. Your body tenses, all feeling and concentration now pulled to your swollen bud. Your breathing deepens, as you stretch your arms further above your head, savouring this feeling.

“Marc-“

He stops, moving his fingers away from the spot where you need him the most, causing your brows to knit and a pathetic whine to fall from you. You crane your neck forward to meet his arrogant expression. You stick out your bottom lip, hoping to appeal to his charitable side. “Nuh, uh, uh, my lady… I’m the general. Let me hear you say it.” 

“Please, baby…”

Smack. A tight, sudden, sting rings through your wet cunt, sending waves of warmth through your legs and hips as Marcus smacks your pussy.

“Who am I?” He demands with a deep rasp in his voice.  He cocks his head to the side, his eyes twinkling sadistically, as he tries, and fails, to hide a chuckle. Asshole.

“General, please…” you exhale, raising your hips to try and meet his mouth which hovers just above you. 

“Please, what, my lady? Hmmm?” He wears a shit-eatting grin. “You need to tell me what you need. You need to feed your general. I’m starving.” He places the pad of his thumb on your now pulsing clit, not moving it, just placing an even pressure. His fore and middle fingers circling your entrance but not entering. They hover and torture. 

You open your eyes and shift, placing your hands on the bed behind you and pushing yourself up onto your elbows. You steady your gaze to meet the eyes of the man who’s enjoying this way too much. “General, I need you to eat me like I’m your last meal, please…” 

Without a word, Marcus begins moving the pad of his thumb, side to side like a joysick. He spreads his spit all around your clit as he groups his first three fingers together and pushes them inside you. You moan from your chest, your elbows buckling from under you, your head and neck crashing into the plush pillows below.

Marcus’ thrusts are steady, not fast and not slow- almost painfully regular but they’re deep; every time he enters, he curls his fingers to reach that spot inside of you that makes your bellybutton tingle. Still holding your gaze, Marcus lowers himself so that his face hovers above your aching core. “Ohhhh she’s so pretty.” He places a wet, opened-mouthed kiss on your clit, suckling it into his mouth. 

As he pulls away, he pulls at your clit with his mouth, swirling his tongue in short, lazy circles. You plant your feet on the bed, pushing off to lift your hips, trying to follow his mouth. 

With his free hand, Marcus grips you hip, pushing you back down to the bed. The three fingers inside of you still, him flexing them slightly which brings a deep, hot burn, making your stomach flip. With a whine, you stop wriggling, knowing you’ll get what you need if you follow your general’s rules. 

With deliberate slowness, Marcus withdraws his fingers from you, the sounds created signalling how unbelievably wet you are for this man. One at a time he sucks your wetness from his digits, eye-contact unwavering. 

He hums, eyes fluttering and smile growing before scooching himself down the bed. He lays flat on his stomach, adjusting your legs so that they hook over his shoulders, and drags you by your hips closer to his mouth. “You get so fucking wet for me, my lady… you’ve made such a mess already.”  His hot breath coats you, right where you need his mouth, causing you to writhe. 

Marcus flattens his tongue and licks up one side of your outer pussy and down the other side. Using the grip of your hips as leverage, he pushes his face further into you. His nose brushes your clit as his tongue circles the opening of your cunt. He holds it tense, pushing and pulling it in and out of you. 

You try gripping onto the sheets by your sides to keep grounded. Don’t cum yet, don’t cum yet. It’s so good that you can feel yourself clenching around his tongue. Shifting, Marcus holds your clit in between his lips and licks using the tip of his tongue. You gasp, your hands releasing the sheets and grabbing two handfuls of his hair, pushing against him more as your orgasm comes to its peak. As you clench, you roll your hips against his face. He again finds your fluttering opening, enjoying the fruits of his labour.

The earth feels like it’s stopped and like it’s moving too fast at the same time. You lift your neck to see the artist at work just as he lifts his gaze too. He gives you a wink and you feel him smile against you before returning to his feast. “Shit Marc- general…” His eyes lock to yours, dark and still full of amusement. “I don’t know if I can keep going…” you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling so that you might have a moment to recover. 

His brows furrow as he gives a simple shake of his head. “I’m still hungry… one more at least my lady.” He returns licking and sucking at your clit and you tug harshly on his locks to which he quickens his pace.

Looking past him to his tight, round, ass you can see his narrow hips shifting up and down as he grinds his cock against the bed. You feel his thick, grouped fingers push slowly into you again. They’re quick and move at the same speed as his hips. 

Marcus shifts, one of your legs falling from his broad shoulders as he uses the strength of his full arm to fuck his fingers into you. 

“Yes, General Marcus…” you almost laugh, the heel of the foot around his shoulder digging into his back.  This seems to inspire the general. Using his pinky finger, he slowly strokes the tight muscle of your asshole, causing you only to keen further into him. 

Faster and faster, Marcus thrusts his fingers deep into you whilst lightly teasing your ass. You can feel his thrusts on the mattress below you, his rhythm becoming more choppy. As if you weren’t already floating, he again sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth and your ears begin to ring. Your hips raise and you push your man further into your pussy as you fall further and further into bliss. 

Marcus continues to suck as you come down from your high. Then shifting, he straddles one of your legs as he strokes his swollen, weeping shaft slowly as he cums all over your spent pussy. He wets his lower lips with his tongue when he comes, savouring your taste as he brings himself to the brink.

You shift up onto your elbows once again, looking down at the mess he’s made. You now wear your own shit-eating grin that rivals the one staring back at you. You cock your head to the side and shrug softly. “Not bad for an old guy…” you let yourself fall backwards again, ready for another lesson in respecting authority.

[stardustrebels]

Fathoms Between (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader WC: 5.5k Rating: M/ 18+

Tags/ warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, injured reader, injury/ blood, violence, death (minor character), hallucinations, mild language, emotional distress, mentions of unwanted touch/ manhandling, emotional whump. no use of y/n, reader has hair that can be braided and that’s long enough to be caught in the breeze, but no other detailed descriptions. 

AN: My entry for the WTTS challenge hosted by @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality ! Big thank you to them for organising the challenge, and for their absolutely stunning and inspiring moodboard!!

My prompt was “Please leave your taste on my tongue” (Summer, Angst, Din Djarin x Reader). While it was so, so nice to write Din again, oh boy, is this angsty. I hope it fulfilled the brief, and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! NB: There is now a sequel series to this story- Fathoms Beyond

Divider credit- @saradika-graphics

You had been travelling with him for months now, the Mandalorian. Long enough to learn how he moved, how he thought. Long enough to read meaning in the smallest tilt of his helmet, to know what he deigned worthy of a response when you spoke. Long enough that he’d trusted you with his name. 

You never talked about how you ended up here, part of his orbit, following him across the galaxy as his only companion. A crew member in all but name. At first, it was necessity— an agreement made in the middle of blaster fire, a deal struck in blood. You saved his life, and he offered passage off-world. He’d muttered ‘This is the Way’ with a curt nod and that was that. Since that night you’d never found a reason to leave. At least not one that felt good enough.

Adjusting to life aboard the Razor Crest was easy. You were used to the loneliness of space travel, you’d just never experienced it with another living being existing beside you. 

In those first days, the cockpit was filled with long, stretching silences. Sometimes, you’d check the slow rise and fall of his chest plate, the only proof there was a living being under all that armour. Once you were satisfied he wasn’t some sort of advanced droid, you busied yourself with rummaging through and fixing the tech in the durasteel bin at the back of the cargo hold— items taken from bounties that he had no use for, he said. You were just keen to have something to concentrate on other than the faint hum of the hyperdrive and the occasional creak of the pilot’s chair in the cockpit above you. 

On a couple of planetary pit stops, you’d actually managed to sell some of the pieces for extra credits, and Din had seemed appreciative when you’d split them with him. It had made him less guarded around you, but no more talkative. 

It was five standard weeks before you caught a glimpse of skin— a sliver of tanned wrist as he lifted a crate back up to its position in the hold, demanding your attention away from the broken comlink in your hands.  It was a further two before he instigated a conversation with you longer than a couple of sentences; questions about what you were working on and a comment about your skills. He’d made it back up to the cockpit with his rations pack and closed the door before you realised he’d paid you a compliment. 

A couple of days later you’d been settled in your usual space- the low travel cot that you slept on was the only padded surface available to you in the hull of the ship, and the only place you could sit comfortably while you worked. It was a little cramped, but you didn’t mind. The comms system had crackled on above you and Din’s voice had broken the silence. 

“Hey, can you…” he trailed off and there was a pause, leaving you to wonder for a moment whether he’d changed his mind. You tilted your head up to the speaker as if it would encourage him to finish his request. 

His voice finally rang out, clear and steady despite the two levels of filtration on it. “Can you take a look at something up here?” It wasn’t first time he’d asked for your help, but he’d never hesitated before. 

When you opened the cockpit door, he was leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair, arms crossed as best as he could across his armour. He gave a head tilt of acknowledgement and then one towards the controls behind him. 

“The sensor array’s off. Can you check the wiring? I can’t get the angle.” He asked, offering you a small Imperial glowrod that had seen better days.

You took it and nodded, sliding round him to position yourself under the console. You’d been under here a few times, but usually when he was away from the ship hunting a bounty. You felt the weight of his gaze on you as you slid through the open hatch and into the guts of the controls. 

The wiring had dislodged from the terminal, but only slightly. An easy enough fix, and one that you’re sure Din should have been able to accomplish himself. You fiddled with the wire for a moment and adjusted the port around it with ease, tightening it so that the wire would stay put, no matter how many bumpy landings you had. You frowned through the beam of light at the wiring on either side to adjust them too, just in case, but they’d already been tightened, and you hadn’t touched them the last time you’d looked under here. 

You paused for a moment, double checking to back up your assumptions before you shimmied out of the hatch. You sat up and were met with a gloved hand in front of your face. When you hesitated, Din twitched his fingers in a silent offer. You accepted and allowed him to haul you to your feet, a breathy thanks filling the space between you once you were upright. 

He dropped his hand from yours but didn’t move away. The sheer bulk of him was overwhelming at the best of times, but wedged between him, the edge of the pilot’s chair and the console brushing against the back of your thighs, he was all you could see as your eyes adjusted back to the light in the cockpit. It was small, sure, but it had never felt this cramped before. 

Heat began to prickle up the back of your neck as you realised just how close he was and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than you’d thought it could be through a modulator. 

“There’s space for you to work in here,” he said, gesturing to the empty seat to his left. “If you’d like to.” 

What you offered him in response wasn’t supposed to be a knowing smile, but it happened too fast for you to rein it back. 

“Yeah,” you said, glancing up to the visor to guess where his eyes were, “Okay.” 

And so, a new routine had taken shape over the last month. The days unfolded much as they always had. You worked, you overhauled tech and you travelled. But the silence between you no longer felt like something to fill. It was comfortable. Companionable, even.  The conversations you had were far from sparkling— you weren’t sure Din was actually capable of that— but when he did speak to you it was with a gentle tone and when he looked your way, head tilted just slightly in interest, you couldn’t help the swell in your chest at the attention. 

After a while, the planets started to blur together, and other than the stops on Nevarro to pick up more bounty pucks, every day travelling with the Mandalorian was much the same. A solid, consistent routine that suited you down to the ground. You found comfort in it, and, if you were honest with yourself, meaning too. 

The newest planet loomed ahead. Nothing more than a brief stop, Din had said. An easy job. You knew this type of planet well and Din favoured them. Backwater moons buried deep in lesser-charted systems. The clusters of civilisation upon them were often true skugholes, their few occupants knowing better than to ask questions. Fleeing to a place like this was a bounty’s last-ditch effort in the galaxy’s quickest game of hide and seek. 

The port was so close to the cliffs that it made your stomach swoop when you landed. The sea stretched out to an endless beyond, churning and melding on the horizon with a darkening sky dotted with heavy grey clouds. This was the type of planet that was perpetually dreary, no matter what season it was. You looked to see if Din shared your uneasiness, but he didn’t seem to notice how ominous the surroundings seemed. When he made it to the cockpit door and you hadn’t moved, he turned to look at you. 

“Are you coming?” Was all he said, not waiting for an answer before disappearing down the ladder to the hull. You gave one last frown out of the viewport before following him. 

The gangplank was already open by the time you made it down, the waves below the cliffs pushing air around you that was so salty you could taste it, cutting through the ship’s usual sterility. The cold sea spray sank under your skin and in to your bones; mingling with the breath in your lungs. It pulled at long-forgotten memories stored in the space underneath your ribs, worryingly close to your heart.

You stood at the threshold of the ship and watched as Din got ready for the hunt. The reverence with which he armed himself was often mesmerising— a long-practiced routine of worship, a sacred act between a warrior and his weapons that you could never hope to understand. You turned away, allowing him a moment of privacy as you checked your own weapons: a vibroblade tucked in to the top of your boot and the smallest blaster you could find, hidden under your shirt in a holster on your waistband. Nowhere near as impressive as Din’s, but necessary as a last-resort to keep yourself safe. You brought your attention back to the sea ahead of you. 

This planet was wild— its jet-black cliffs and sands jutting out from the shoreline, sturdy against relentless waves. It unsettled you— The sky felt too big, like an ocean of its own, inky and endless. The breeze seemed to reach inside of you and tug at the discomfort until you could name it.

“This place reminds me of my home.”

You exhaled, unsteady, wishing you’d caught the words before they’d slipped out. You didn’t want to feel the pull of things left behind.

If you closed your eyes you could have been back there, on the shores where you spent your childhood. You would see your brothers wrestling each other, covered in sand, your mother’s laugh mingling with the sound of the seabirds overhead as she spun her threads in to nets, half an eye trained on the horizon, ever-watchful for the first sign of your father’s return. In those days before you knew what grief was, you had never wished for anything different. You forced your eyes to stay open. No good could come from nostalgia. If there hadn’t been a bounty to catch here, you would have asked Din if you could leave and never come back.

Din moved to stand beside you, visor following your eyes to gaze at the space of the sea beyond the cliffs, but helmet tilted to the side, acknowledging your words with silence, as he often did. He never asked about your past, and you never pried in to his. Not because you weren’t curious, but because you both understood: some things were too sharp to touch. 

You were both silent as you left the ship, and you fell behind, unable to match his determined pace as you made your way through the port and into town. You were happy for the distance, and for the sea to swallow the words you should never have said.

You had nothing with you to sell, but the idea of returning to the ship so soon felt stifling. Din had taken his leave from you with a nod, a touch to the arm,  and the same thing he said every time you parted: “I’ll be back soon.” 

He never specified how long ‘soon’ was, and you never asked for clarification. The unofficial rule that you had was whoever was back to the ship first would just wait for the other. It had worked for you both so far. It had never bothered you before, but today it unsettled you. 

You told yourself it was the uncanny resemblance of this place to your home, to the memories it stirred up, nothing more. 

You wandered without a destination. The town was quieter than most places you’d been—the marketplace was closed and the streets were almost empty. It only deepened the familiarity. 

A gust of salty wind tangled your hair and left a faint taste on your lips, even this far from the cliffs. You clenched your jaw, resisting its pull, fighting against it as it sent your hair flying in wild tendrils. You used to wear your hair in braids to avoid this. You wished you’d braided your hair before you’d left the ship. The notion made you want to laugh. A few hours in this place and you might have stepped back into an old version of yourself.

The breeze was insistent, and wrapped around you again, carrying with it scents and sensations that softened your edges. Despite yourself, you let the breeze push you forward, sandy loam crumbling under your feet as you walked. 

You stopped when you saw a bundle of fishing nets, piled in the corner next to a closed up vendor’s stall. The course fibre was the exact kind your mother had taught you to mend when you were young. You resisted the urge to reach out and touch them, curled your fingers in to your palms and squeezed. You breathed in, the tension from your shoulders dissipating on the exhale. Perhaps you could allow yourself an indulgence of illusion— the feeling that you belonged here. Even if you didn’t. 

So you walked— through the town, toward the outskirts and back again— taking it all in, settling in to a comfort you hadn’t allowed yourself in a long time. You replayed some select memories of home, of your family, and let your thoughts run away with you. By the time you turned back to the port, the sky had deepened to hues of twilight. 

That was when you felt it. The prickle at the back of your neck. The shift in the air. 

The realisation that you were being watched was slow to settle in. At first, it was just a lingering doubt, an unease that had reclaimed its position in your mind now that you’d allowed yourself to indulge in your surroundings. 

You weaved through streets you’d walked before, making unnecessary turns, but the feeling didn’t fade. 

You weren’t just being watched. You were being followed. 

Your blaster was gone. You weren’t sure where it had landed—small enough that it was lost in the scuffed up dirt during the fight. Your wrist throbbed from where he’d twisted it, a vice-like grip that you hadn’t expected.

You pressed back against the alley wall and sucked in breaths through clenched teeth. His voice still scraped through your mind, low and rasping.  “Your shiny friend can keep my guy. Or he can keep you. He can’t have both.” 

This bastard thought he could use you to bargain with Din. You could still feel his hands on you, the way he’d yanked your wrist when you’d tried to twist away, pulled you so close to him you felt his breath hot and rancid against your ear. 

But he’d miscalculated. Perhaps desperation had made him sloppy, or maybe he just underestimated you. You’d slammed your elbow in to his ribs— maybe you broke one, judging by the strangled noise he made. The surprise of it was enough for him to drop your wrist, but not enough to give you time to run. 

He was on you again before you could breathe, slamming you back against the wall. The impact rattled you— pain bloomed sharp and bright along your spine. You lashed out with another elbow strike, this time aiming for his face. It landed with a satisfying crunch, but his own strike came right after. 

It hit you hard across your side, sudden and scalding. Your entire body jolted but you managed to kick out, even as your legs trembled beneath you. 

He stumbled backward with a snarl and your fingers found the vibroblade tucked in to your boot. When he lunged again, you drove it up and under his ribs with all the force you could muster. 

The blade hummed as it cut through flesh. His body jerked once, then sagged forward with a gargled groan. 

Your ears rung against the sudden silence before it was broken by the rustle of his cloak as he crumpled to the ground. Your fingers were still wrapped tight around the handle of your blade, trembling even after you stilled the vibrations. 

A sharp, burning sensation radiated from your side and you touched your fingers against it. Warmth spilled over your fingers, the torn fabric suddenly too slick to be anything but blood. You winced as the salty air made contact with the broken skin and took a few breaths through gritted teeth before you stumbled away. You had to get back to the ship.  

You almost made it— the outline of the Crest hovered on the horizon, alone in the port against the fading daylight, and you trudged toward onwards. The cliffs behind it melted in to the sky, black crags swallowed by an endless dark. The ground lurched beneath you— no, you were the one falling. The waves roared in your ears, impossibly loud. Louder than your own heartbeat— drowning out everything but the sound of your name, cutting through the wind. A gloved hand moved in to view, pressing firm against your side. Din had made it back before you. He was here. 

You clung to him, staring down at his hand pressing in to your abdomen as you told him what had happened, that you’d killed your attacker, that you didn’t know if there was anyone else looking for you. For him. His free hand brushed the hair from your face and rested against your cheek. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

You turned your head toward him, but your vision wavered and the world around you started to slip out of focus. You knew that if you slipped under now, if you closed your eyes and let the pain take you like the tide, you might not come back.

You licked at your dry lips only for your tongue to be met with the tang of salt water again, even at this distance from the cliffs. You blinked sluggishly and frowned. Ahead of you, just behind Din there was a figure, fading in and out of focus. Someone sitting on the ground, serene despite the chaos in front of them, hands folded in their lap. Someone who looked an awful lot like your mother. The thought barely had time to settle before you heard her voice in your mind, soft and familiar. You blinked and the figure was gone, but the hazy memory of a song took her place, and the words tumbled from your lips, the tune lost to the groan of pain that carried them. 

“Please… Please leave your taste on my tongue, before the crest pulls you astray.”

The pressure against your wound stayed firm, but you heard Din’s breath catch. 

“What?” The word was barely audible, strained through the modulator. His hand pressed down harder and you hissed against the pain. 

You tried to focus on his visor, vision tunnelling in and out. Maybe you were imagining things, but you mused for a moment that you were able to see past it, and that he was staring back down at you with dark brown eyes and a furrowed brow. 

“A song… from home,” you murmured.

“We need to get you to the ship.” Was all he said in response. 

Din guided your hand to the wound. “Press,” he ordered, before lifting you. 

He was trying to be gentle, you knew that, but the pain when you jostled against his beskar pulled you between consciousness and oblivion. 

Fragments of memories re-surfaced. Your mother’s hands, adept at twisting threads of any kind, humming while she sat behind you and tied off the braids she set in your hair, still wet from the sea. The low light of dusk reflecting through the jar of shells you’d collected for her, stored safely on the windowsill. Learning to fish with your father, the warning in his voice when he told you that the ocean always gives, but it also takes. The day the sea took him, the worry on your mother’s face as she barged through the crowd at the docks, staring down in to the water at broken pieces of his ship bobbing below. 

Something mechanical whirred above you, and the clang of Din’s footsteps vibrated through your body, making you wince. You barely registered that you’d been set down again until you tilted your head and the cold durasteel of the Crest’s floor touched your cheek. Through groggy blinks, you watched Din move around the hold with a fervour you’d rarely seen before. He gathered multiple medpacks up in his arms and when he dropped them to the floor and sank to his knees beside you, his hands were trembling. 

“It’ll be okay,” he insisted, perhaps more to himself than to you. You reached out, fingers brushing against his vambrace, the blood streaked across it already drying. You opened your mouth to reply, but your vision blurred and the ship around you darkened, as if the power generators had rebooted. You tried to hold focus on something, even if all you saw was the stretched reflection of yourself in his visor. 

“Hey, no. Stay awake,” Din barked down at you as his fingers slipped against the fastenings of the pack in his hands. He swore under his breath, throwing it down to the floor beside your head to remove his blood-soaked gloves. 

“Tell me about what you said before,” he requested, voice almost pleading. His bare fingers dug through the pack until he produced a field cauteriser. You blinked at the sight of it, and it took you a moment to realise he was about to use it on you. Din must have noticed your breaths quickening. When he spoke to you again, his voice was softer. 

“The song. From your home. Sing it to me.” 

You blinked away the darkened blur at the edge of your vision and tried your best to remember the song. You should remember the song. You formed the words with difficulty through short, sharp breaths, tune barely present as you steeled yourself for what was about to happen. 

“Please leave your taste on my tongue, Before the crest pulls you astray. The depths will take what they are owed, And the stars will light the way.”

You cried out the second the heat seared your skin. Din’s free hand reached to yours and he squeezed it, soothing you as best he could. 

“Keep going,” he said, stilted through concentration or concern, you couldn’t tell. You continued through gritted teeth. 

“A touch beneath the darkened sky,  A promise you will stay.  Kiss me now before it breaks,  And you are cast away.”

Your face was wet from tears; they rolled down your cheeks and gathered in your hair, leaving damp paths streaked behind your ears. You focussed on Din’s fingers, wrapped securely around yours, adding to the overwhelming heat that radiated through you alongside the pain. You let out a sob and tried not to writhe around under the weight of it. Din’s thumb tapped against the back of your hand and if his helmet hadn’t been so close, you’re not sure you would have heard him.  “You’re doing good, cyar’ika. Come on, keep going.” 

You took a shuddering breath against the sobs wracking your lungs and your eyes clenched up, trying to remember the rest of the words. 

“You carved my name in to the helm, To… To keep me near and dear.”

The words faltered, too difficult to recite through the fresh wave of pain that hit you when Din reached the worst point of the wound. The breath that left his helmet made you wonder if he was sobbing too. You cried out and squeezed his hand harder and tried to envision your mother, as you last remembered her— gaunt and pallid from her grief, rocking slowly on her chair next to the window, her once beautiful strong voice reduced to a whiny murmur as she recited the song over and over. You heard these words so many times, they shouldn’t have evaded you now. Your breath caught around the words as you forced them from your throat, strangled around a painful groan. 

“But ships will rust and marks will fade, And names will disappear.”

Your body shuddered with the effort of taking a few quick, shallow breaths. A new sensation ripped through you, through the searing painful heat, making your stomach swoop and your hands twitch. Din looked away from his task for a second when he felt your hand convulsing under his. Your adrenaline had well and truly worn off. The swooping gave way to something you hadn’t felt in a long while, landing in the pit of your stomach —weighty and immovable: fear. 

“Din, I- I don’t know- I can’t-” you managed, trying not to jerk too violently underneath him. His gaze flicked between where he worked on your wound and back to your face every couple of seconds, the helmet exaggerating the movement to the point where it looked like he was shaking his head. He shushed you, thumb tracing firm circles against the back of your hand, but his voice was distant when he spoke again.

“I’m almost done. Stay with me. Tell me the rest.” 

The next part tumbled from your lips in a frightened plea, more of a haggard prayer than a song, its words joining together as you sucked small gasps of air in to your lungs. You sounded just like your mother. It did nothing to ease your panic. 

“The taste you left upon my tongue, Now only salt and air. The wind will carry what remains, but you’re no longer there.”

You felt weak, and your body seemed to catch up with this notion. The twitch of your hands eased somewhat, only trembling in bursts. You were out of breath, and your lungs burned with every gasp of air you forced in to them. 

“The… the depths have claimed what they are owed, and the stars will fade from… view.”

You were vaguely aware of Din urging you to stay awake from beside you, the sound of your name called out in a frantic plea, but your eyelids felt heavy, and you were spent. You weren’t sure if you even managed to say the last line of the song aloud, but the words and its solemn tune echoed around your mind before your vision went dark and your body stilled.

You are lost to me, my love. 

And I am lost to you.

When you blinked awake, the light stung your eyes. 

It filtered through a frosted window to your left, casting pearlescent reflections across white durasteel walls. A monitor beeped from above you, and your eyes flicked over the wires attaching you to it. The crisp white linen over you was cool, but your skin felt hot. The dull ache in your side triggered the memory of what had happened. 

You turned your head to look around, wincing at the stiffness in your neck. The room was small but clean— the nicest med bay you’d ever seen. A chair was set against the far wall, a few bags neatly stacked upon it. It took you a second to realise that the pile was all of your bags from the Crest. The sight caused a sense of unease to settle over you. 

You were alone.

You shifted your weight and tried to sit up just as a medical droid glided in to the room. It came to a stop beside your bed, adjusting the levels and taking the readings on your monitor. 

“You are awake,” it observed. “This is a positive development.” 

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “Where am I?” 

“You are in med bay one hundred and thirty six in the Med Center” the droid answered. “In the Capital City of Lothal.”

The beeping from above you quickened in time with your pulse. “Where is the Mandalorian?”

The droid continued its work, unfazed. “He paid for your treatment in advance. He has not returned.”

Your unease grew along with your confusion. “How long have I been here?” 

“Five standard days.” 

The droid whirred out of the room again before you could ask it anything else. You swung your feet out of the bed and stood on shaky legs, hissing as pins and needles surged through your muscles from the sudden use of them again. You pressed your heels in to the floor and tentatively made your way to the chair with your bags on it, testing the length of the wires attached to you as you stepped. You barely reached, but you were able to stretch out your arm just enough to grasp at the handle of the bag on top of the small pile. As you moved it, the comlink you’d fixed months ago clattered against the floor. You scooped down to pick it up, and as you did, it began to play a voice message. 

You barely breathed as it crackled to life, Din’s voice filling the small med bay. He said your name first, and you picked up the soft beep in the background of it within the first few seconds. He had recorded it here, in this room. 

“It’s me.”

His voice was flat. Detached. There was a beat of silence. You imagined him standing where you were now, looking down at you as he spoke in to the mic. You wondered if he’d held your hand while he did. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it. I patched you up the best that I could,” His tone was measured, all emotion forced from it. He sounded more like himself to you like this. The Din you’d gotten to know for all those months. You let out a breath as he continued. “But the droids said you would pull through. I guess if you’re listening to this, you did.”

Another pause. This one felt heavier. 

“I left credits in your bag. Enough to get by. More than enough. There’s work if you want it— spoke to a salvager near here. They’ll take you on. You’ll find all the information on this comlink.” 

He exhaled sharply, and your stomach dropped with the realisation of what this was. The finality of it. 

“You’ll be safer here on your own than you ever were with me.” He continued, voice cracking. It was subtle—barely there— but you heard it. A fracture in the cold detachment he was trying to hold on to. Your fingers curled around the comm and your heartbeat pounded in your ears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Those two words cut deeper than anything else he could have said. You heard the same fear that had laced his voice as he pleaded with you to stay awake. The same urgency that had seeped through his touch when he clutched your hand, bare fingers against yours, anchoring you to him as he fought to keep you from slipping away. 

Your breath matched his— sharp and unsteady. 

“Take care of yourself.” 

There was a beat, a rustle, and the message cut out.

You stared down at the comm in your hand, willing it to crackle back to life. For him to say something else. For another message to play, for him to tell you to disregard everything, to tell you he’d be back soon. But there was nothing. 

The only sound that cut through the silence around you was your own hurried breathing. You clutched the device so hard your palm ached, as if holding it tighter might tether him back to you. A weight pressed heavy in your chest and tears pricked at your eyes. 

Din was gone. And he wasn’t coming back for you. 

A lump rose in your throat. You swallowed against it and forced an exhale from your lungs, shaky and uneven. It came out more as a scoff than anything else, and you tried to fight against the grief that twisted inside your chest. The fact that he’d pleaded with you to stay with him, had all but begged you to sing him the song to keep you awake, had fought so hard to save you only to abandon you here made your head spin. 

You glanced over at your ruined clothing draped over the arm of the chair, several shades darker from the blood that had dried on them, and sank back down on to the bed. The song rang in your mind again and you trembled at the thought of it. 

It was the ghost of a melody, and you’d never sing it again.