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polaroidpascal · 1 year ago

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lunch box || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : joel miller x f!reader

summary : joel’s stubbornness has him working at ungodly hours on your saturday morning. you decide to do something nice for him, but of course he would realize your absence in bed, especially so early when you’re supposed to be off…

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, reader briefly gets picked up and carried, no outbreak, domestic life with joel, sarah and ellie briefly mentioned, joel is mid-to-late-30s, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v sex (practice safe ofc!!), joel being big slightly mentioned once, lots of talking and praise (my man cannot shut up), creampie, cum eating (reader teasing joel lol), general sweetness from them both <3

WC : 2.7k

a/n : this is the first fic i've ever written and posted so enjoy !! :)

Ever since you met, you knew that Joel was the one. Talking with him is easy, like your souls have known each other in every lifetime. Being in his presence is safe and comforting. He feels like home. On top of that, after you had been seeing each other for a while and he let you meet Ellie and Sarah, they made you feel so welcome in their family. Life just makes sense with them.

Joel has been a contractor all his life. Even though he can set his own hours, he prefers to start working early so he can be home with his daughters when they finish school. Today — a Saturday — was weird, though. The project he had been working on needed to be rescheduled because of weather, but Joel decided to keep his hours the same. You could tell he didn’t really want to get up so early on a Saturday, but his stubbornness forbade him from changing that. Last night as you drifted to sleep in his arms, knowing he would probably not have time to get lunch tomorrow, you decided you would do something nice for him.

Sarah and Ellie spent their Friday night away at a friend’s house (which you and Joel definitely took advantage of the night before), and the house is eerily quiet when you stir awake in the wee hours of your Saturday morning. You can feel Joel’s sturdy arms draped over your sides, his entire body pressed against your back as if he’s scared you’ll float away if he doesn’t keep you close. You hear his slow, sleepy breathing in your ear and you know he’s still dead asleep. Carefully, you lift his heavy arms from you and slip out of his grip, kindly replacing yourself with a pillow, and resting his arm back down.

He stirs to adjust a bit and settles once again. Success.

You head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, Joel's life support in a cup, and pull out the things you need to make his lunch. After, you head back to the bedroom to grab a comfy change of clothes. You wait out the brewing with a quick shower hoping it’s less noisy than you think it might be.

While you shower, Joel stirs awake a little before his alarm. He shuts it off to avoid the noise and turns back over seeking your figure — but you’re gone. Confused and still groggy, he gets up searching for you. He hears the shower running and…

Is that… singing?

He puts his ear up to the door and hears you faintly singing the songs he plays on his guitar for you, trying to be as quiet as you can. His heart swells at your beautiful sound and he almost opens the door to join you, but then the smell of coffee begins to fill his nose. He walks into the kitchen to see the last drips fall into the pot and the ingredients for a hearty sandwich sitting on the counter. Putting two and two together, he nearly tears up realizing your plans and decides to sit to the side and wait for you, not wanting to ruin your surprise.

You throw on your comfy silk pajama shorts and one of Joel’s old band t-shirts that swallow you up and return to the kitchen.

You don’t notice Joel at all.

He watches silently from the dark living room as you pour a glass of coffee for him into his favorite owl mug and glide around the kitchen putting his lunch together. He admires your freshly washed hair, already air drying a little bit, the way his t-shirt, oversized on you, drapes over your curves perfectly, and how you continue quietly humming his songs. A small fire ignites deep inside of him, and as you turn around to pack his food, he rises from his chair.

He silently saunters over stealing two big sips of the coffee you poured for him. You hear the cup clink lightly on the counter and turn around just as his big hands glide over your hips, embracing you from behind. “And here I was thinking I was surprising you,” you tease as his face buries into your neck, his naked torso pressed completely against you.

He chuckles. “You did, angel. I just saw it before you were ready, ‘s all.” He kisses and nips your earlobe and you mewl at the sensation. He trails down to your neck while his hands gently guide your hips back into his, feeling him start to grow through his plaid pajama pants.

“Joel…”, you whisper as you turn around in his embrace to kiss him. You find his hungry lips waiting to invite you in. He tastes deliciously like the coffee you made for him and you hum contentedly at it. Your hands trace his bare sides and chest all the way up to his hair, and you run your fingers through his messy locks.

As if he’s not stiff from sleeping, he hoists you up from the floor carrying you as you straddle him, hands still dancing through his hair, and brings you to the couch. Without breaking your kiss for even just a second, he puts you down laying on top of you as you descend, a comfortable weight that he knows you love to feel. His kiss melts into yours and your lips feel like they become one. He breaks away despite your protesting whine and quietly teases, “You know you didn’t have to get up so early on your day off just ‘cause of me, right? I’d probably have time later to pick somethin’ up,” and his lips fall back to yours, one of his hands coming up to tease your breast.

You moan softly, “Well, with your luck, today would be the one day you wouldn’t find time. Besides, I felt like surprising you.” You smile coyly at him and watch as his pupils grow somehow even bigger at you.

He stares for a second trying to figure out how he got so lucky finding you, and a smile threatens to erupt at the corners of his mouth. “You’re so sweet, you might give me a cavity.”

Your chuckle is cut off by a small gasp as he kisses a line down your neck, his beard ghosting your collarbone. Once he reaches the collar of your — well, his — shirt, he descends lower, sticking his whole head under the shirt that engulfs you. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your chest, taking one nipple into his mouth and you gasp again. His tongue moves firmly over the growing bud at a quickening pace. “Yes, Joel…” you whimper, then suddenly whine as he bites you, quickly soothing the mark with his tongue.

His free hand rises up to replace his mouth as he moves over to give your other side the same treatment. You pant from both movements happening simultaneously, him drawing out more whimpers and moans from you. You squirm underneath him accidentally grazing his own growing member and he groans, already painfully hard for you. His sounds send a sudden rush of heat straight to your core. He continues at your nipple, one bite in particular causing you to cry out and you could swear you feel his cock twitch against you as he moans in reply, another rush of arousal already flooding within you again.

He kisses a line down your chest, down your stomach, until his hands find the hem of your shorts. Your legs spread making room for his broad frame as he drags your panties and shorts down, seamlessly replacing them with soft yet hungry kisses where they once sat. He tosses them to the side, licking and kissing his way back up your thighs, nipping at the sensitive inner skin.

Joel’s eyes practically look pitch black, his pupils so blown out with lust, when you see him eyeing your throbbing core and he groans.

“Good lord, sweetheart,” is all he can manage as he admires you glistening for him. His eyes trail up your body. He could come just from the sight of you: legs spread eagerly, eyelids heavy, pupils just as blown as his own, desire written on your face in big bold letters…

And you see how desperate he looks for you, but a sly smirk quickly spreads across his face, “Bet you taste even sweeter than you act.”

Unable to control his hunger any longer, he fiercely licks one broad, flattened stroke up your middle, tasting the fruits of his labor. He moans at your taste, sending vibrations over your clit. You let out a cry of pleasure and his hips subconsciously rut into the couch, desperately seeking some relief for himself. His tongue glides through your folds, broad strokes accompanied by tight circles around your clit and the occasional dip inside…

“Fuck, Joel!” you cry as he focuses at your hole, his thumb replacing his tongue at your clit drawing tight, fast circles as his tongue dips in and out of you. “Oh my god… yes, please… feels so…”

He can only moan in response, sending lightning through your body with every sound he makes. “Please… oh, my g-… don’t stop, Joel… I’m so close…”

He can feel your impending release and between gasps for air, he practically begs, “Let it go, angel… that’s it… come all over my face… doin’ so good for me…”

His words send you hurdling over the edge as you come — hard. Your hips drive up into his face, head dipped back, crying out in pleasure. Joel refuses to let one drop go to waste, lapping up your slick like an animal. He licks you through your orgasm until the aftershocks and twitching die down some. Then he rises back up to your face. “Taste so good for me…” he says as he kisses you deep, lips and beard soaked. You moan from his taste; like coffee but with a sweet hint of you mixed in, and he swallows every little sound.

He breaks from your lips, your foreheads touching and lips barely ghosting over each other. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, darling,” he whispers as he reaches down to free his cock from his pajama pants.

“Please…” you beg, eyes lazily gazing into his own. “Fuck me, please.”

He looks deep into your eyes as he rubs up and down your heat, coating himself and he slides in without any problem, going slow when you gasp so your body can adjust to his size. But your body seems to draw him in, swallowing him whole and pulling him into you deeper and deeper. “My god…” he gasps as he feels the lingering spasms of your soft walls choking his cock.

You can only manage to whine in response, your eyes silently begging him to move, and he obeys. He begins slowly moving in and out, already embarrassingly close to his own climax, but he desperately wants to feel you unravel on him. Gradually, he finds his pace, bottoming out inside of you over and over and over. Refusing to break eye contact with you, his free hand dips down seeking your clit as he furiously traces tight, swift, calculated circles round and round.

Your eyes bolt shut at the feeling of him filling you up and teasing your clit. You’re well past the point of forming full sentences, and he can tell. Breathlessly, he tries to coax more from you, “Look so pretty taking my cock, angel… so good… fuck, you feel so good… ‘m not gonna last, sweetheart…” His pace is unpredictable, plowing into you for a few thrusts and then slowing down to a near stop to avoid finishing too early. “Need you — oh, fuck… god, almighty… n-need you to come for me, darling… please…”

As he begs for your release and his hips begin to falter, he finds that spot that only he has ever been able to find within you, rapidly sending you over the edge again. Your walls constrict suffocating his cock. You writhe and whine, almost unable to even make a sound.

He works you through your orgasm, his own rapidly approaching as he watches your eyes roll back from pure bliss. “Yeah, just like that, gorgeous… shit, you’re soaking me… fuck me, dripping everywhere… fuck… Oh my god, I’m—”

He cuts himself off with his own grunting and groaning as he begins to paint your walls with his come. He whines and gasps, bottoming out with every wave of his orgasm until his cock twitches for the last time. He collapses over you, crushing you in the best way with his weight as he tucks his face into your neck. You’re both panting, your chests crashing into each other as you come down from your highs and try to recover.

Joel finally softens enough to pull away without completely overstimulating himself, grunting as he rolls off of you and brings you to your side, spooning you and leaving small, tender kisses on your neck. His hand rests over your waist just as it did when you awoke this morning, and you lay there for a little while your heartbeats return to a normal pace.

You feel his come slowly leak out with his absence but you don’t even care. Being in his embrace washes away any other thought from your brain. All you can care to think about is the strong man clinging to you as he comes back down to Earth, holding you close and never letting go. You’re listening to his breath trying to fill his lungs once more and feeling his raging heartbeat through his chest and against your back. This is your personal heaven. Wishing you could live in this moment forever, you close your eyes and savor the feeling in all its glory.

You feel your body threatening to drift back asleep, but one particularly deep and content sigh from Joel reminds you that he is, in fact, supposed to be leaving for work. Glancing at the clock, you gently remind him of the time, your smile audible as you say, “You have just enough time to clean up and put on your clothes. Good thing your lunch is already packed.”

He gives a breathy chuckle and hesitantly gets up with that classic dad groan he always gives. Even though all he would really like to do is spend the rest of eternity lying right here on this couch in this moment with you, duty calls. He glances between your legs and sees the mess he made. You catch a glimpse of his look, his ferocious blushing visible even in the dimly lit room as he stares quite obviously at your middle.

Feeling particularly mischievous, you reach down to collect what you can, scooping it up as it coats your fingers. Joel’s mouth drops open in a stupor, watching in disbelief as you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick your digits clean. You unmistakingly see his breath hitch at the sight and know that if time weren’t the major issue right now, he would pounce on the opportunity for round two.

“Goddamn, angel…” he says shakily, still in utter disbelief. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy. You’re lucky I have a job to go do,” he tells you with a dazed, fucked-out look and tone as he retreats to the bedroom to attempt to get ready for work. You get up and slip into the bathroom to clean yourself up some more before returning to the couch exactly the way he had left you.

Emerging from your bedroom dressed with lunch in hand, he spots you drifting off back to sleep and walks over to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. Before you completely succumb to the drowsiness, you manage a soft and sweet, “I love you.”

He smiles and bends back down to plant another, longer kiss right to your lips and whispers back, “I love you more.”

He sees you smile at that before he turns for the door and quietly leaves for work, already counting down the minutes of his shift left before he can come back home to you.

>> PART 2

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou one shot #joel miller one shot #this is what happens when the mental illness gets WAY too out of hand

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jackactuallywrites · 1 year ago

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Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

#jack writes #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod fic #cod ghost #ghost smut #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x female reader

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myveryownfanfiction · 6 months ago

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18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, Beetlejuice

“killing children is illegal right?” I asked as I slammed the door. Beetlejuice appeared with a pop. He looked at me for a second before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“I mean are we talking your own or someone else’s?” He asked, flopping on the couch. “Because if we’re talking your own, we’re gonna have to get to work on that first.” Beetlejuice grabbed his crotch and squeezed, raising his eyebrows seductively at me. I rolled my eyes and smacked his shoulder.

”don’t make me send you back.” I pointed a finger at him. Beetlejuice held up his hands in surrender.

“alright. Alright.” He said. “But unfortunately yeah it is. Why?”

“why?” I asked with a laugh. “Did you not see what happened? I know you were there. They destroyed the display. They scared the scare actors. And I swear to god one of them had a real knife!” Beetlejuice nodded with a frown. “If that doesn’t warrant it then I don’t know what does!”

“honey…don’t get mad…” Beetlejuice said, getting up and holding his hands up again. “But I think you should take a nap. Maybe things will be better later.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

“I can’t beej.” I shook my head. “I have to fix the display and…”

“hey. Leave it to me.” Beetlejuice put his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll take care of it. Make a few calls.” Beetlejuice kissed me softly, making me hold onto his shirt slightly. “Trust me.”

“I guess I could…” I said, brushing my hand through his hair.

“good. Good. Good.” He muttered. “I got this babe. Call in the finest contractors the underworld can offer.” I nodded as I headed off to bed. The next morning, I woke up to Beetlejuice sprawled out on top of me.

"Beej." I groaned as I climbed out from under him. He jolted awake and blinked at me sleepily.

"Wha?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and turning to snuggle into the pillow more. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to stop suffocating me in my sleep." I teased, poking his ass as I headed into the bathroom. "What time did you get in last night?" There wasn't a reply so I assumed he went back to sleep. Shrugging to myself, I quickly showered and went to the kitchen to grab something to eat. "Shit." I muttered when Beetlejuice looked up at me from his spot at the table. "Warn a person why don't you." I mumbled as I went about making myself breakfast. Beetlejuice slid a cup of coffee over to me with a small smile.

"What are you doing today?" He asked, sipping his own coffee. "Aside from me of course." I rolled my eyes as he chuckled at his own joke.

"Checking on the display. Seeing where you left off and finishing putting it back together." I shrugged. "Why? Did you have something planned?" Beetlejuice shook his head.

"When did you want to go?" He asked, voice surprisingly soft.

"How about after we eat?" I asked. Beetlejuice nodded, getting up and kissing me softly. "What has gotten into you today?" I laughed as he sat in my lap. He shrugged, smiling at me.

"Aside from the fact I'm dating the most wonderful breather ever?" He asked. I smiled at him and cupped his cheek. Beetlejuice kissed my palm. "I think I have a new appreciation for you after working most of the night to get the display back up. All the work you put into it. All the work you are still putting into it with the scare actors. All of it."

"Oh." I felt my cheeks heat up at that. "Well...I mean..." Beetlejuice kissed me.

"Don't sell yourself short sweetheart." He whispered. "You did a lot of good work and you deserve the praise." I nodded, accepting that he would keep going until I let it go. We ate breakfast like that, Beetlejuice sitting in my lap and trying to make me laugh so hard milk came out of my nose. He nearly succeeded but stopped when I gently shoved him off my lap. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers and the dishes were done. I stood up as he popped over to the bedroom. "Hurry up and get dressed. I wanna show you what I did." He rocked on his heels as he waited for me to get dressed. When I finally exited the bedroom, he took my arm and transported us to the display.

"I still hate that." I mumbled as I grabbed his arm to try to steady myself. "Always makes me feel weird." I shook my head to try to fix whatever it was I was feeling. Beetlejuice chuckled before covering my eyes. "Ah man! Come on Beej! I'm already unsteady and now you wanna do this crap?" I was slowly walked further into the park before he lifted his hands.

"Ok. Now look." I opened my eyes and my jaw dropped. "I know it isn't exactly the same but..." I turned around and grabbed his tie, pulling his towards me. Beetlejuice squeaked before his hands settled on my hips. I kissed him as hard as I could, trying to put all the raging emotions I was feeling into it.

"Fuck me Beej." I breathed out when I pulled away. Beetlejuice gave me a shit eating grin and a wink before turning to look at the display. "I love it. I can't wait to show everyone." He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and smiled.

"Yeah? You really like it?" He asked, voice going soft at the end.

"It's amazing Beej." I breathed out. "Now give me a tour." He nodded happily before leading me around the work he had done.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice imagine #michael keaton #michael keaton x reader #michael keaton fanfic #michael keaton fanfiction #michael keaton imagine #halloween #halloween fanfic #halloween fanfiction #halloween imagine #halloween 2024

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sugarlandglassandshower · 2 months ago

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youtube

Glass & Mirror Shop Pearland, TX

Sugar Land Glass and Shower is the go-to shop for high-quality glass and mirror solutions in Pearland, TX. They specialize in custom glass, mirrors, shower enclosures, and window replacements and offer expert craftsmanship and top-tier materials.

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#youtube #glass desk tops #shower doors #shower enclosures #glass replacement #custom mirrors #glass repair #window replacement #glass table tops #shower door contractor

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heavens-crown · 21 days ago

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And They Were Neighbors P.t2

{Master List}

prev / next

Warnings:18+ MDNI, eventual smut, angst, lots of flirty behavior

Robby groaned as he woke up uncomfortable as hell on his couch. Sitting up he tried to get the crick out of his neck thanks to the weird angle he was laying at. Checking his watch he saw it was 6pm, so he got up to make himself a pot of coffee. His sleep schedule was already destroyed and besides he was stuck on the night shift for the next month anyway. While the coffee brewed Robby opened up the windows to air the apartment out. When he did that he could hear someone talking.

“Woman, how the hell would I know if he’s single? We talked for a minute max, the most I got out of the conversation was that he works at the local trauma center.” It hit Robby then that it was his new neighbor talking. When he didn’t hear a response and instead heard her start laughing he realized she was most likely on a phone call. It took him a moment to realize what it was she had said and he had to fight the urge to stick his head out of the window to keep listening. Was she talking about him? As he pondered just who she could be talking about the coffee pot dinged indicating it was done.

He shook himself out of his stupor and set about making himself a cup before he showered and changed out of his scrubs. Something compelled him to sit out on the balcony instead of at the dining table, though he wouldn’t admit that it was mostly him wanting to be nosy. It was rude to eavesdrop on private conversations especially when it was a new neighbor. Yet he found himself opening the balcony door. Stepping out onto the balcony he looked over and saw Delilah saying her goodbyes to the person on the phone. Looking up from the phone she smiled brightly when she saw Robby.

“Hey neighbor, I'm surprised to see you already. You looked dead on your feet earlier.” She comments. Taking a sip of the drink in her hand Robby chuckles and turns his patio chair to face her balcony.

“Night shift will do that to you, thanks to so many years I've mastered the art of living off power naps and coffee.” Robby jokes. Delilah tips her head back to laugh.

“Thankfully my job is sort of a ‘whenever you get it done’ type thing. Though that usually leads to me being awake at ungodly hours though.” She glances down at her phone as it dings before rolling her eyes and putting it back down.

“What do you do for work?” He asks. She lights up at the question and pulls her chair closer to the railing so she doesn't have to shout. It's then Robby notices she’s now wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that are criminally short. He has to fight the urge to look over the tattoos decorating her skin.

“So I do a few things. My main gig is a contractor position doing Medical Coding which I've been doing now for five years. My side gig is art commissions.” She explained. Her being in the medical field was not what he was expecting, but he could see the art commission.

“What kind of art do you typically do?” He asked. He watched as her face flushed a bit and her drink became the most interesting thing in the world.

“Well it depends,” she starts. “Some people want pet portraits, family photos turned into paintings. Then there's the more original pieces people request.” He couldn’t help but think for a moment she looked adorable when flustered. Quickly he squashed the thought, she was his neighbor and probably a good twenty years younger than him.

“What kind of original pieces?” He was genuinely curious at this point especially since she seemed so hesitant to elaborate.

“You promise you won’t judge?” At his affirming nod she fidgeted a bit with her drink. “Well like i said it varies from person to person, but the bulk of the original pieces has been monster lover work or authors wanting work for their romance books.” It took his brain a moment to comprehend just what the fuck monster lover art would be.

“Monster lover?” He finally asks because his brain is still not fully online. Still not looking him in the eye she elaborates.

“It's stuff like werewolves, cthulhu, centaurs, stuff like that.” She gives a delicate shrug and meets his eyes clearly trying not to laugh when she sees the bewildered look on his face. “There’s a whole book genre dedicated to it. My personal favorite was the dragon with two dicks.” Her casual comment blindsides him and he chokes on his coffee.

“Two dicks?” He manages to cough out. She laughs so hard he thinks she’s gonna topple over. When she goes to answer she begins laughing harder at the horrified look on his face.

“Yes mister judgy. It’s a well written novel of a dragon falling in love with a human.” She giggles, wiping at the tears forming her eyes.

Robby still can’t process why anyone would want that sort of art, or what it would even look like when Delilah breaks the silence.

“Seeing as it's almost 7pm now would you like to join me for some pizza? Normally I'd be down to sit on a balcony and chill but it’s getting cold and I'd rather not freeze.” Blinking a bit at the sudden invite Robby takes a second to get himself to focus. Seeing his sudden silence she begins backtracking. “If you don’t want to, it's totally cool, i know you probably got better stuff to do and-” Robby cuts her off before she can finish.

“Let me take a shower real fast and I can come over. I slept in these scrubs and I desperately need out of them.” She looks relieved at his answer and gets up to head inside.

“What do you want on your pizza?” She asks. Stretching her arms above her head he’s momentarily caught off guard by the jewelry decorating her navel.

“Anything except pineapple.”

Pizza is ordered and a frantic ‘help the hot neighbor is coming over what do i do’ text is fired off to Cherry. It’s a second later when Cherry begins calling. Picking it up on the first ring all Delilah hears is Cherry talking at full speed.

“He’s actually coming over? What exactly happened? I need details woman.” Cherry demands. Taking a deep breath Delilah breaks down the conversation for her, not pausing when Cherry begins laughing her head off over the monster lover comment.

“Cherry what the fuck was i thinking? Why would I invite him over, especially after telling him I draw porn for a living.” Delilah can feel herself spiraling a bit. Men as a rule never made her that nervous or unsure of herself. But talking to Robby? That made her so nervous she almost word vomitted every thought she had bouncing around her skull.

“First off, calm down, you're making me anxious. Second, it’s not a bad thing to invite a man over, even if you think he’s hot. Especially if you think he’s hot,” Cherry chuckles to herself before continuing. “It’s not like it’s a date or anything. You’re just having dinner with your neighbor.” Cherry’s words release some of the tension gathering in her. She hadn’t hung out with a man solo since she met-

Delilah slammed a mental door on that train of thought. She refused to think about him and taint her mood. Cherry was right there was nothing wrong with having dinner with her neighbor who just so happened to be an attractive older man.

“You’re right. I think I just panicked and overreacted.” Delilah isn’t sure if she’s talking more to Cherry or herself.

She chats with Cherry for another five minutes before hanging up the phone. Just as she puts her phone down there's a knock at her door. She gave herself a internal pep talk just before opening the door and oh lord help her.

Robby stands there in a simple t-shirt and gray sweats which hang off his hips in a way that makes her almost start drooling. Jesus she needs to get it together she just met the man and she’s drooling over him like he’s a piece of meat.

“Pizza should be here shortly, do you want anything to drink?” She gestures for him to come in and shuts the door behind with a soft click.

“Water if you don’t mind,” He smiles down at her, making her stomach twist a little. “Thank you for the invite by the way, I hadn’t thought as far as food when I woke up.” He follows her into the kitchen as she fetches him a bottle of water from her fridge. Handing it over she gestures for them to sit on the couch.

“It’s my pleasure, I grew up in a super tight neighborhood so i guess inviting people over at random is a product of that,” She watches as he makes himself comfortable, his thighs spreading a bit in a way that makes him take up a good amount of space to the point where she could easily touch him if she wanted.

“What brought you to Pittsburgh?” He asks.

With that time flies by for Delilah. The pizza arrived and is divided between the two of them. Conversation is easy and flowing between them that she doesn’t notice when she props her feet against his thigh while telling him about some of the dumb shit she would get up to with Cherry. She also doesn't notice when his hand loosely collars her ankle, his thumb rubbing circles against her skin.

“Please tell me you don’t actually watch that shit.” He pleads. Delilah laughs at the look on his face.

“What's wrong with Grey's Anatomy?” She asks, trying hard to maintain an innocent tone. He sees right through her, shooting her a mock glare.

“You know exactly what’s wrong with it, I'd rather go through medical school again than watch it.” Shaking his head at her, Robby snatches the remote from her hand.

“Excuse you!” She exclaims with mock outrage. Robby simply laughs at her and starts flicking through movies.

“You can earn your remote privileges back if you apologize for watching that garbage TV show,” He says. Pouting a bit Delilah sits back with a huff crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’s a good show,” She argues. He takes one look at her and snorts out a laugh. Even she can admit she’s acting like a toddler but in her defense he insulted one of her favorite shows.

“Whatever you say Delilah,” Robby chuckles. A movie is picked and played, though neither of them pay much attention to busy bantering with one another. They settle into the couch to finish out the movie. When the movie ends and Delilah notices the time she feels a brief moment of panic.

“Oh shit it's like 2am, I'm so sorry to keep you here so long.” She half expects Robby to immediately make his exit but he doesn’t. He shrugs while taking a drink of his water.

“I didn’t even notice, remember I'm on night shift for the next month so late nights are my normal.” He says. She relaxes at that and then an idea strikes her.

“I got a batch of cinnamon rolls proofing that’ll be ready to bake in the morning, would you like to come by and continue our little hang out?” Delilah holds her breath for a moment, thinking she overstepped. But then Robby smiles and squeezes her ankle reassuringly.

“I would love that. I’m not gonna lie, sitting here with you has been the highlight of my week.” He admits, and Delilah tries so hard to ignore the fact that her heart skipped a beat.

“It’s a date then,” She says.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months ago

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2. climbed a mountain

Landslide | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you spend the next day with Joel and Sarah

Chapter Tags/Warnings: age gap (approx 13 years), past baby sitter, consumption of alcohol

Notes: Welp... i didn't anticipate a 6 month hiatus but here we are. Thank you for your patience and your love of the small fraction of this story you've read!

Shout out to @guiltyasdave for beta reading!

Words: 6048

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket with a pretty red ribbon tied around it and delivered right to the front gates for good measure. There’s no doubt about it.

His entire life, Joel has prided himself on being a decent guy. He does the right thing. He married Pam when she got pregnant, working himself to the bone to provide every opportunity for Sarah. He holds doors open for strangers. He doesn’t take advantage of his clients who are always suspicious of contractors. He’s an overall decent guy. Until today that is.

He tells himself it’s just out of concern that he watches you until you’re safely back into your parents’ home. He doesn’t look at your legs in those sinfully short shorts or the thin tank top that exposes an inch of midriff. He doesn’t see what his old eyes pin as a tattoo on your lower back. You didn’t have that last summer and- fuck, he shouldn’t even know that about you or remember last summer, the Randolph’s pool party.

He doesn’t just feel like a dirty old man. He is one, because a decent guy doesn’t let his eyes roam over the swell of your breasts in that flimsy tank top when he pulled that blanket over you earlier. A decent guy doesn’t feel relief when you decline the offer to stay the night because the moment it leaves his mouth, the picture of you sleeping in his bed fills him with desire, and a decent guy definitely does not replay the feel of your lips against his.

Joel Miller wants to be a decent man, so he pushes the thoughts out and goes to bed. He takes a cold shower in the morning because a decent man doesn’t jack off to images of the 23 year old across the street.

Sarah has the griddle already warming up when he makes his way downstairs. He heads straight for the coffee pot, the one he preps every night before heading to bed so it’s full and freshly brewed when he wakes up. “Sleep good last night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says. She smiles at him as he fills the coffee mug. “You look like shit.”

He narrows his eyes at the 15-year-old. “Aren’t you a little too young to be using that kind of language.”

“What age did you start?”

Joel rolls his eyes as he sips on the coffee. He doesn’t say a word. Sarah smiles back in victory. He doesn’t actually care if she curses. He’s surprised she hasn’t started sooner. He curbs his tongue around her to an extent, but Tommy sure doesn’t.

“Do you want the pancakes plain or with blueberries?”

“I think some of Denise’s peach pie filling is in the fridge,” he says. Your mom’s peach pie is legendary throughout the neighborhood.

“Do you know how much sugar is in that? Too much.”

“Do you know how good Denise’s peach pie is? Too good.”

And he wins this one as Sarah is already reaching into the fridge to pull out the reused cool whip container because even Sarah and her tireless pursuit to improve their diets can’t resist it.

She pours the filling into a sauce pan and sets it to warm over the stove top. Joel’s mouth is watering at the sight of it. Before Sarah can dump the first scoop of batter to the griddle there’s a knock on the door. She looks at Joel. “Who’s that?”

“Go answer it and see.” Joel motions toward the door with his head.

Sarah side eyes him but goes to answer the door. Joel takes this chance to top off his coffee without the watchful eye of his daughter. Sarah squeals out your name making Joel jump, almost spilling his drink down the front of his shirt. He survives with only a couple hot dribbles. Your laugh floats in with her excited voice. He can’t help but smile. Sarah always lights up when you come to visit.

“What are you doing here?”

“I ran into your dad yesterday. He invited me over for breakfast.”

“I just started warming your mom’s pie filling for the pancakes.” Sarah drags you into the kitchen.

“That sounds amazing.” You say.

Your eyes land on Joel the moment you round the corner, and Sarah drops your hand to tend to breakfast. He’s patting spilled coffee off his shirt like he’s still half asleep. Knowing Joel, he likely is. The man isn’t functional in the morning until he’s started on his second cup. You knew that better than most from the summers you started at 5 am so that Joel could finish up before the Texas heat got too bad and his afternoons were free for Sarah.

Before you can look away, Joel’s eyes flicker to yours. You’re not sure what to expect. He was so kind and assuring last night, but in the morning your embarrassment has only grown. You swear you imagine his eyes flickering over your form, one of your mom’s shirts tucked into the cutoffs you wore yesterday.

Before you can find judgment in his eyes, he looks away. He fills a second mug with coffee and sets it on the counter toward you. He pushes the sugar jar next to it but never looks back. You ease in just close enough to pull the offered items to the farthest point away from him. The awkwardness is better than the alternative you think.

Sarah’s back is to the two of you as she works on preparing breakfast. The space slowly fills with the scent of cinnamon from the warming pie filling and sizzling pancake batter.

“Would you like some help?” you offer as you fiddle with your coffee mug.

Sarah shakes her head. “No, I’m treating both of you today.”

She turns to face you leaning against the furthest point of the counter and Joel leaning against the sink. She doesn’t seem to pick up on the rigidity etched into Joel’s frame or the tension across your shoulders.

“Go sit down. Both of you.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest but Sarah cuts him off. “Sit down, old man.”

You laugh slightly moving to the table in the corner.

Joel rolls his eyes, following his daughter’s orders. He comes to a standstill when reaching the table. There are two options, sit next to you or sit across from you. You pretend not to notice, staying engaged with Sarah while Joel contemplates his options, but you do. It only solidifies the mistake you made last night or rather early this morning.

“Oh my god, Dad. Just pick a seat.” Sarah seems to notice his indecision. “I swear he’s going senile.”

“He must’ve stayed up past his bedtime last night?” You chime, pulling your coffee to your lips.

His eyes snap up to yours and you realize your blunder, suddenly feeling that insecurity creep back in. Sarah throws her head back in laughter. He squares his shoulders, sliding into the chair next to yours as if defiant about it. It’s far enough you can’t feel his body heat but your body aches for it, knowing what you’re missing now.

You keep your eyes averted, pinned to Sarah in the kitchen or the coffee mug in front of you. “When do you go back to school, Sarah?”

“Three weeks.”

“Got your class schedule yet?”

“Yup.”

“All AP and honors,” Joel chimes, a proud grin on his face as he leans back in his seat.

Sarah rolls her eyes, but you catch the embarrassed grin on her face before she can turn her profile out of view.

“Way to go. I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Sarah shrugs, putting the warmed pie filling and whipped cream on the table. She hands each of you a plate as well.

“That’s a lie,” you say. “It’s a huge deal, but we can change the topic if you want.”

“I want.” Sarah says.

You shake your head with a smile, taking another sip of your coffee. It feels so easy here with them, especially in the moments where you forget how much you screwed up the night before.

Sarah sets a stack of pancakes in front of the two of you, pride gleaming on her face. “Dig in!”

He looks at you expectantly, as if to say, you first. You nod at him, wordlessly telling him to take what he wants first. His eyes met yours, putting you in a position you’ve been trying to avoid, locked in a silent stalemate with Joel Miller and his dreamy brown eyes. Your heart beat picks up, and you feel the familiar heat climbing up the back of your neck.

Sarah’s brow furrows, looking back and forth at the two of you. “I promise, they’re not poisoned.”

It seems to snap the two of you out of wherever you were. Joel gives Sarah a sarcastic smile as he reaches out to take two of the steaming pancakes. “No egg shells?”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Only in yours.” She sticks out her tongue before walking back into the kitchen.

“Real mature, kiddo.” Joel chuckles as he begins to assemble his stack.

You smile softly, before preparing your own plate. Sarah slides into the chair across from you a few minutes later. “So what are we doing today?”

Joel shrugs. “Need to run to the hardware store at some point.”

Sarah looks at you. “What do you want to do?”

You freeze, coughing a little. “I’m just here for breakfast.”

“Do you have any plans today?” she presses.

“Well no…”

“Then you can hang out with us. I feel like I haven’t seen you much. You’re all fancy living in the city now.” She wears a teasing grin that looks exactly like Joel’s.

You flick whipped cream from your plate toward her. She gasps as it lands over her left eye. You feel smug, quirking an eyebrow at her. Next to you, Joel lets out the biggest, warmest chuckle that has your insides constricting and melting simultaneously.

She wipes it from her face, barely keeping the smile from her lips. “That’s so not cool.”

“I never claimed to be-” you’re cut off by a blob of whipped cream to your face. Sarah loses it as Joel wears a smug look on his face.

You turn to him, mouth agape. He smirks, licking the cream from his fingertips. You wish you could resist the way you zero in on it, catching the flick of his tongue as he wipes his thumb clean. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time. For the first time, you wonder if he is flirting with you. Your pulse quickens in your ears.

“Am I the only mature one here?” Sarah shakes her head.

Joel’s attention snaps back to his daughter, hand dropping as he’s back to the Joel you’re used to seeing. Your brain refuses to stop replaying the moment in your head.

“In your dreams, munchkin,” Joel says causing Sarah to wrinkle her nose.

Sarah turns back to you. “I still think you should come with us.”

“I don’t think you two want me tagging along.” You take a sip of your coffee.

“I just invited you.” Sarah crosses her arms.

“Actually, we’re going cause I need paint for your parents’ project.I could use some help pickin out paint colors,” Joel interjects, surprising you. “Your dad told me to ‘just pick something nice’.”

You can’t help the smile on your face and huff of laughter as Joel captures your father’s cadence perfectly. “Sounds about right.”

“See, now you have to come with us,” Sarah grins, giving you her signature puppy dog eyes. “Pleaseeeee.”

“Wow, are you four again?” You roll your eyes, uncertainty tightening in your chest.

“If it gets you to come with us, yes.”

You dare to glance Joel’s way, still affected by the whipped cream incident, the question evident in your eyes. Are you sure?

His eyes are soft and warm, the same way they drew you in last night. Your heart skips a beat and you want to curse yourself out. You need to get past this. You HAVE to put it behind you. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You know you’re imagining everything. It won’t ever happen.

Joel gives you the briefest nod, unnoticeable to Sarah. He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to make you feel better about the whole thing, but he does. You feel like you can breathe again.

Your head falls back to Sarah, smile already spread across your face. “I guess I can come.”

She squeals, wrapping her arms around your neck. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

“We’re going to the hardware store. That’s it.” Joel picks up his coffee cup.

Sarah’s eyes narrow at him as if to call him out on the obvious bluff. They both know she could talk him into a prom dress if determined enough. “I’m going to get ready.”

Once Sarah is out of the room, you feel the tension grow again. At least, it does in your body. Joel seems just as relaxed as usual. Upon finishing his coffee, he leans over, stacking your plate on his as he cleans up the dishes.

Your back is turned to him as he washes up. The running water and clinking correlle the only sounds filling the space as you look out the window. You shift in your chair, slowly gaining the courage to speak. “I can make an excuse to get out of today. It’s not a big deal.”

The facet cuts off. You hear a plate slide into the dish drainer. “You should come if you want.”

You circle the rim of your mug with your pointer finger. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not.”

You shift, not quite believing it.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have asked you over if it made me uncomfortable.”

You suck in a breath, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Promise?”

You don’t have to look at him to hear the sincerity in his voice. “Promise.”

Sitting shotgun in Joel’s pick up with Sarah leaning up between your seats from the back feels more domestic than you’d like to admit. The windows are down, the classic rock station playing on the radio. Joel’s left bicep rests along the open windowsill, his hand casually slung over the steering wheel as his right hand taps the beat against the center console. The AC blasts even with the windows down. Your eyes keep darting over from behind your sunglasses, mouth watering at the way his bicep pulls and stretches at the sleeve of his tshirt. All you can think about is having more, more of these moments. More of Joel.

Sarah blabbers on, catching you up on all the summer gossip you’ve missed around the neighborhood and among her classmates, many of which you also babysat for. It’s mostly about who's dating who now. One of the 10th graders cheated on his girlfriend. There’s a rumor that Anna Hanes, who turns 17 in December, is dating a college boy.

You scrunch up your nose. “That’s concerning.”

“Her dad lets her get away with everything.”

You turn, back pressing into the center console as you peer at Sarah over your sunglasses. Your shoulders brush against Joel’s arm. You ignore the thrill that shoots through you. “You ever do something like that, I’m locking you away in a tower and castrating the boy.”

Sarah lands somewhere between a scoff and a laugh of shock.

“I know how to do it too.”

“I don’t doubt you do, and where are you finding this tower?”

“I’ll build it,” Joel chips in and you can’t help but smile at him.

“The dynamic duo,” Sarah remarks as Joel pulls into the hardware store.

“What about this?” Joel pulls out a paint swatch in shades of beige.

You make a sound of disgust, ripping it from his grasp. “No way. My mom isn’t getting her dream updates after all this time for you to paint it renter’s beige.”

Joel shakes his head. “And that’s why I brought you with me.”

“It was my idea,” Sarah interjects, looking through paint colors more for herself than the task at hand.

You shoot her a smile, moving to the blues, thumbing through the wall of color. Joel stands behind your shoulder. You feel him watching you, just close enough to catch the faint whispers of his breath against your neck. Heat crawls up your back. You cock your head away from him to avoid the temptation to look back at him.

“Can I help you with somethin?” you say. Why is he standing so close? After last night, he should have enough sense to know what he does to you.

“No, just supervisin.”

“Supervising?” Your head swings around, meeting his eyes. He’s closer than you thought. “So closely?”

“It’s my name on the line, Sweetheart. Gotta make sure the job is done correctly.” There’s the briefest ghost of a smirk on his face.

You knit your brow together before rolling your eyes, both in annoyance and to break eye contact. It’s wild the way his eyes cut through you, driving all sensibility from your body. “Here,” you pick out a final swatch, pushing the cards into Joel’s chest. “Get samples of these.”

He grabs your wrists, keeping your hand pressed to his chest. “Sure that’s enough?”

Your heart leaps in your chest. His thumb runs over the pulse point in your wrist. Your body reacts, hair standing on end, nipples tightening against the pads of your bra. You bite your lip. It’s not fair. Doesn’t he realize even a fraction of what this does to you, what he does to you.

You’re not sure what he’s trying to accomplish here. He can't be flirting with you, but you’re not sure what to call this. It leaves you searching for answers, grasping at straws of understanding. You can’t escape that nudging in the back of your mind that there’s no other reason for him to be acting like this other than to tease you.

You square your shoulders with his. Yanking your wrist free, you grab a final swatch without looking. It slaps against his chest with more force than you intend. Joel raises a brow. You don’t care. You need to escape from his personal bubble.

Sarah’s head snaps your way, confusion painted on his face. “Y’all good?”

Your hand drops as you take a step back. “Yeah,” you put on your best ‘everything is good’ smile. “Your dad is just being annoying.”

Sarah shoots a glare at her father. “Be nice.”

Joel shakes his head, handing the swatches to the employee at the paint counter. Sarah shakes her head in a very similar manner. “I swear he has no manners. We’re working on it.”

You laugh, throwing your arm over her shoulder. You pray it seems natural, that she doesn’t pick up on body’s heightened state. “It’s not his fault he’s old and senile.”

Sarah’s sigh is overdramatic, mimicking a gossiping old woman at the weekly sewing circle. “Some people just never change.”

“You know my hearing still works.” Joel says over his shoulder.

“Oh look, he remembered his hearing aids today.”

Joel sighs, turning and resting against the counter. He crosses his arms against his chest, once again pulling your attention to his bulging biceps. You force yourself to look away, realizing that the sooner you’re out of Joel Miller’s proximity, the better. You need to go home, back to your apartment, but even the thought of getting in your car, leaving the safety of your childhood home, spikes your anxiety.

“Can we get ice cream after this?” Sarah says.

“We haven’t even had lunch yet,” Joel says.

“Then we should get lunch and ice cream.”

“We have lunch at home.”

Sarah rolls her eyes, looking at you. “That’s a yes.”

You laugh. “Didn’t sound like one to me.”

“But it is.” Sarah plasters a smile on her face, that irresistible one, for the second time that day.

Joel scoffs, turning around to pay for the paint samples as they’re set on the counter. “Believe it or not, I know how to say no to you.”

“But you won’t.”

Joel shakes his head, keeping his back turned to the two of you. Sarah winks at you, full of confidence, mouthing, watch this.

When Joel turns around, Sarah’s puppy dog eyes are on full display, the same ones she used this morning to convince you.

“No.” He says, plastic bag rattling in his hand. “Let’s go.” He starts for the door.

“Please, Daddy?” She stops in her tracks. You stifle laughter.

Joel sighs, pinching his brow. “Sarah.”

“Come on.” You join in. You’re playing with fire. You know you shouldn’t, but your self control comes in waves. You don’t want to be alone. “What’s the harm in lunch?”

“See! Pleaseeeee, Dad!”

“Yeah! Pleaseeeee, Da-” Your lips instantly zip before it can slip out. You pray that Sarah doesn’t catch it, but the way Joel’s eyes narrow, you know he does. You bite your lip, eyes darting to the floor.

Joel lets the silence sit for a few calculated seconds. Sarah bounces on the balls of her feet, curls bouncing in anticipation, hands clasped in front of her in a silent plea. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Providing you don’t have anywhere you need to be, Sweetheart.”

There’s an emphasis on the previously innocent endearment that sets your insides clenching. It’s almost threatening, but in the most delicious way, like you’ve reached the end of his control, the threads of it fraying until it splits.

The heat of it is gone in a split second, turning his attention to Sarah. “Where do you want to go?”

And just like that, you’re wondering if you just made everything up.

Joel knows he’s playing with fire. He knows he’s walking in dangerous territory, but the part of him that cares, the part that sets off sirens has been gone since you crawled into his truck, sitting shotgun with your legs exposed in short cutoffs..

You’re the one who kissed him. You’re flirting back, pushing at his buttons like you know exactly what drives him crazy. Better yet, you’re enjoying it, that easy smile on your lips. He knows it’s likely just a distraction for you, a way to make it through the day after the tumultuous couple of days you’ve had. He likes being that distraction, distracting you, making the heat of playfulness and annoyance, desire, spring to your eyes. He’ll do anything to make you feel better, to make you smile.

Joel opens the truck door for you this time, his hand at the base of your back as you step up. It burns all the way to the diner. He slides into your side of the booth, shoulder brushing yours as he flips through the menu, knee pressing against your skin as he shifts in his seat. You can smell his comforting scent, dirt and sawdust and hints of irish spring soap. It’s all Joel, all around you. You can’t even process the menu, he’s so distracting. When the waitress comes, you order the special without even knowing what it is.

Sarah and Joel chat back and forth, but you lean back, taking it in, trying to get your wits about you. It’s not fair the effect he has on you. Just as you think you’re starting work through the intoxication of him, Joel leans back in the booth, arm stretching over the back of it, millimeters from touching your back. The heat from it grazes your skin.

When you dare to look at him, his eyes are on Sarah. You want to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, demand answers. There’s no world that Joel Miller would ever consider you with anything other than the utmost propriety. It’s what you’ve told yourself for years, the only way to keep a handle on your feelings. It doesn’t stop the fireworks going off in your chest, but it does keep you restrained, from making the same mistake you made last night.

Throughout lunch, there’s a couple times Joel’s fingertips brush against your thighs. The first time is when he reaches for the napkin in his lap. He apologizes the first time when your head snaps toward him. The second time feels more deliberate, there’s more pressure in it. Your fork tumbles out of your grasp that time. There’s a deep rumbling in his chest that time that only you can hear. The third time, he’s reaching for his wallet to pay the bill once again leaving you to wonder if you imagined the intention behind his actions because you wanted it to be there.

Sarah talks you into a game of monopoly when you get back to their house. It rolls right into dinner time. The three of you are ruthlessly competitive. Even with you and Sarah merging your assets into a super corporation that has Joel grumbling about the rules, he beats the two of you. Joel offers up grilled steak for dinner and you can’t refuse, and then a movie is slipped into the DVD player. Before you know it, the sun has set and you’re stuck on the floor well past the ending credits as Sarah meticulously paints your toe nails.

Joel laughs, walking into the living room with two beers in hand. He holds one your way. You mouth a thank you, making him chuckle as he leans over. “That’s not the color you were using earlier.”

“It didn’t look right,” Sarah shoots back, hovering over your feet with the utmost concentration.

“I think she’s just holding me captive.” You tease, taking a sip from your bottle.

“Am not.” Sarah scrunches up her face at you, but you see the smile in her eyes. The one that tells you she’s been caught.

You simply shrug at her. “Better make sure they look professionally done then.”

Joel chuckles, setting his beer on the coffee table. He leans back, pulling his guitar from the corner. You avert your eyes as his t-shirt rides up, exposing a flash of his happy trail. You don’t notice it, you tell yourself. Apparently, you’ve taken up trying to lie to your own brain now.

Joel plucks haphazardly at the strings. You’re intently watching Sarah work at your feet, ears picking up on the music. Your heart warms up instantly and before you know it, you’re drawn in, watching his fingers glide over the worn frets. There are several scratches along the body, some deeper than others but non affecting the tone and sound. It’s the same one you’ve memorized over the years, the same one that feels woven into the fabric of your soul. Joel looks at ease with the instrument as if it’s an extension of himself. Sarah sways lightly, careful not to let it mess up her work.

Your eyes drift close. You’re glad you stayed, exhausted from the day in the best kind of way. Sitting on the living room floor with two of your favorite people tops it off beautifully.

Joel plucks at the strings, creating a familiar melody. Your head snaps to him with a slight look of disbelief that bleeds into amusement. He lifts a brow at you and winks. Sarah shoots up with a gasp, attention flickering between you and Joel. Excitement flickers in her eyes, and you know what’s coming next. “You have to sing!”

“No, not happening.”

“Come on! It’s our songgggg.”

“I’m not Stevie Nicks.” You laugh.

“No, but who is?” Sarah says very matter of factly. “You’re good enough and you should sing.”

“Good enough?” You hold back your laughter. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She shrugs, capping the nail polish container and fanning at your nails. “Don’t move until these are dry.” She stands, stretching out her back after being in the same position for well over an hour. “And sing.”

“Or what?” Dry laughter shakes your chest.

“I’m locking you in a tower,” Sarah says with a proud grin, disappearing into the kitchen.

You look over at Joel who wears laughter in his eyes. “If I’m found dead in a ditch somewhere, it was her.”

Joel fully loses it, his head tipping back as the laughter bubbles up from his stomach. “Afraid you have a stalker?”

“Did you see the look in her eyes?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make her release you eventually.”

“Tired of me, Miller?”

“Not yet.” He winks at you and your stomach dips as butterflies erupt.

“Hey, old man, why’d you stop?” Sarah walks back in with a full glass of milk and oreos.

“Old man? What happened to your manners?” Joel looks at her incredulously, but the humor underlying all their interactions is evident.

“Never had any.” She teases, popping a cookie in her mouth. “Now keep playing.” She says mouth full. You hop up, snatching one of the oreos from her grasp. “Hey!”

“You got awful ornery all of a sudden,” Joel says.

“That’s cause I’m the princess, you’re supposed to listen to me. Now play.” She turns around, looking you right in the eyes. You flashback to when Sarah was much younger, ordering you around in her princess dress. It’s not as endearing as it was when she was 5, but at least you catch the lilt of humor in her face now. “Sing.”

Joel starts plucking at the strings again. Sarah watches you expectantly. You shake your head at her, already swaying to the music, letting it permeate your bones. You let Joel play through the chord progression once and then twice, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, letting the long memorized lyrics to Landslide pour out of you.

I took my love, I took it down

Climbed a mountain and I turned around

Sarah joins in on the next line. You smile, opening your eyes as the two of you serenade one another. Joel smiles as he watches you together. He loves the way Sarah lights up around you, like you’re the sister he could never giver her.

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm gettin' older, too

The guilt topples over him, causing his fingers to stumble over the strings before finding his footing again. All that flirting, toeing dangerously close to the line earlier in the day, it had to stop. Even if he went against his better judgment, ignored the year on your birth certificate, it would jeopardize this for Sarah. He refused to let that happen.

Oh, the landslide will bring it down

You catch his eye at the end, probably linger a little too long. You smile at him, but the one he returns seems forced. Something’s shifted again. He’s probably remembering last night. Probably changed his mind about letting you hang around today.

Joel continues to mess around on the guitar. Sarah smiles content to listen to just the instrument now. Her head rests on your shoulder and you lose track of time like that. Sitting like this, your brain shuts off, anxiety melting away. There’s no right or wrong or mistakes here. It’s okay to sit and stare and listen.

After an indiscernible amount of time, Joel lifts his head from the guitar, smiling in your direction, but his eyes motion to Sarah. She’s asleep against you. You smile, feeling the sleep in your own eyes, the way your muscles have stiffened as you sat on the floor motionless for so long.

“Some things never change I guess.”

Joel smiles, setting his guitar to the side as he stands. “She can still fall asleep anywhere.”

He leans down, and you're shocked as he proceeds to lift her into his arms without waking her. He grunts softly.

“I can’t believe you’re still carrying her to bed.” You laugh. It’s a good disbelief. “You’re going to throw your back out.”

Joel shrugs. “I can’t bring myself to wake her up.”

He takes Sarah upstairs and you finally rise from the floor, muscles aching in protest. You gather the dishes that scatter the coffee table, taking them to the kitchen where you fill the sink with warm water and soap. It doesn’t feel right to just leave yet, and you’re not ready to return to your parents’ empty home across the street.

“You don’t have to do those,” Joel's voice holds a sleepy raspiness. It sends chills down your spine.

You shrug, trying to ignore it, but your body ignites, engulfed in everything you fought off throughout the day. “It’s the least I could do.”

You set a plate in the dish drainer to your right. Joel eases in on your left, hip resting against the counter top. You take a second before you look at him, but it doesn’t prepare you for how close he is, how close his brown eyes are. His lips. God, he’s beautiful.

You swallow, taking a steadying breath. It’s impossible not to catch the drift of his eyes down to your lips. You know you’re not imagining it this time. You wonder if he’ll actually do it. You remember the feel of his lips from last night as you lick your bottom lip. It lures Joel in a little closer. Your heart rate jumps. Is he- he wouldn’t- your brain short circuits, not letting any thoughts fully develop. Every interaction from the day floods back to you, everything you told yourself you misread. The flirting in the hardware store. When he brushed your thigh at the diner. Did Joel Miller actually want you? It was the first time you let that thought exist.

His fingers brush over your temple and behind your ear. Heat sears where he touched. He tucks the knuckle of his pointer finger under your chin, so much flashing behind his eyes. It’s like he’s weighing his options, the risks. You want to yell, to scream at him to throw caution to the wind, but you stand there quietly watching him instead, waiting for whatever he decides to do.

His forehead tilts toward you, almost pressing against yours, hot breath meeting your lips. Your eyes dare to flutter and then he’s gone, on the other side of the room letting out a ragged breath.

Disappointment fills your body, but you can’t help but be a little relieved. At least it’s over. At least he’ll let you down easy and you can move on with your life now. You look away, submerging your hands back into the soapy water as you pull the plug. The water gargles as it disappears, leaving only suds behind. You use the sink sprayer to wash those down the drain as well.

“The offer still stands, you know.”

You furrow your brow, looking at Joel whos still across the room.’What are you talking about?”

“If you wanted to stay here tonight. I can take the-”

“No.” You cut him off rather quickly. “I’m fine at my parents.” That’s only half true. You reach for a towel, drying off your hands and then grab the keys that sit on the counter top. It's the only thing you brought with you this morning. “Thank you for offering though, again.”

Joel nods. You can tell he feels guilty, but you can’t decide exactly what that is. Was if for almost kissing you? Or for not kissing you. You want it to be the latter. “I’ll be there for a couple days yet, but don’t let that stop you from working.”

“I’ll be there Monday to paint.”

“Sounds good.”

Joel walks you to the door without another word. It feels cold and awkward. Joel shoves his hands into his jean pockets as he opens the front door. Another almost. Another encounter to add to the quickly growing pile.

Your two steps out when his voice reaches you. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Your heart clenches as you hesitate, turning around just long enough to say, “Goodnight Joel,” before you’re darting across the street under the cover of darkness. Once again Joel watches your fleeting form.

When you reach your parents door, letting it swing wide, you turn to wave and then disappear inside.

Joel’s heart does a summersault.

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk@joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa @untamedheart81 @readingiskeepingmegoing

@goodvibesonly421 @mandeepandee1997 @mellymbee @dancinglotusbud

I carried over the taglist from Woman. If you were tagged and no longer want to be, please let me know! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

#landslide (joel miller)#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro stories #pedrostories

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skywindowsaluminumproducts · 2 years ago

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 days ago

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They told her she was just spending the night in Miami.

No warning. No lawyer. No time to pack. Just steel cuffs wrapped around her wrists, cinched tight across her chest, chained to a waist belt so snug she couldn’t breathe. A bus with no food, no water, no bathroom—just a puddle of piss soaking the floor. The guards told her to go ahead and urinate where she sat. She did.

Then they pushed her into Krome.

Krome, the Miami processing center where men with criminal records are supposed to be held—not immigrant women with no charges, no convictions, no voice. Krome, where she and 26 others were stuffed “like sardines in a jar,” forced to sleep on concrete, offered one three-minute shower in four days, and told by guards to pretend to have a seizure if they wanted medicine. One woman actually had a seizure. They came for her. The rest they ignored.

Three people are now dead in ICE custody. Three. In just over a month. Genry Ruiz-Guillen, 29, from Honduras, died January 23. Serawit Gezahegn Dejene, 45, from Ethiopia, died January 29. Maksym Chernyak, 44, from Ukraine, died February 20.

No convictions. No due process. No protection. Just death under fluorescent lights.

And while the bodies pile up, the architects of this system are laughing.

THE ARCHITECTS OF SUFFERING

Tom Homan—now officially Trump’s Border Czar—is no longer just shouting from Fox News panels. He’s in charge. And he’s promising “deportations every day,” vowing to expel millions. He’s pushing to build new detention camps on military bases and at Guantanamo Bay, to outsource incarceration to local jails, and to lower federal detention standards across the board. He wants to hand over human lives to any sheriff with a cage and a budget. This isn’t law enforcement—it’s a national purge.

Kristi Noem is no longer the governor of South Dakota. She’s been promoted to Secretary of Homeland Security, overseeing ICE, CBP, and FEMA. She’s already begun reshaping disaster policy and immigration enforcement with the cold efficiency of someone who never cared about the human cost. She’s toured detention centers abroad and proposed funneling more power and funding into the machine that’s already killing people. This is the woman now in charge of protecting the homeland—and she’s treating it like a battlefield.

And Stephen Miller—the alabaster goblin behind Trump’s first wave of xenophobic terror—is back inside the West Wing as Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy and Homeland Security Advisor. He is not hiding. He is not softening. He is laying the groundwork for mass deportations, family separations, and the total militarization of immigration enforcement. Miller’s strategy is simple: flood the system, break it, and make cruelty look like order.

This isn’t mismanagement. This isn’t politics. This is state-sanctioned human suffering.

ICE has 46,269 people in custody—far above its legal bed count of 41,500. Congress just rewarded them with another $430 million. Detention centers are overflowing. Guards are whispering, “It shouldn’t be like this.” But they keep turning the key. They keep locking the doors.

Because this system wasn’t designed to rehabilitate. It wasn’t designed to deter. It was designed to break people.

And it’s working.

CORPORATE PROFITEERS OF THE GULAG

Akima Infrastructure Protection—remember that name. That’s the private contractor running Krome under a $685 million federal contract. Your tax dollars. Your country. Your name on the invoice. And Akima didn’t just ignore the reports of overcrowding, abuse, and death—they didn’t even respond. Because they don’t have to. In America’s immigration gulag system, accountability is optional, profits are mandatory.

Akima isn’t alone. The privatized detention racket is a booming business. The worse the conditions, the higher the margins. More detainees equals more beds, more guards, more federal payouts. These aren’t just prison contractors—they’re war profiteers in a domestic war against the poor, the brown, the undocumented, and the disposable.

And while three human beings die in government cages in thirty goddamn days, ICE puts out a statement saying they can’t verify the abuse without the women’s names. That’s like watching a house burn down and saying you can’t help unless the flames file a formal request.

What ICE really means is this: unless you hand us their names, we can’t retaliate.

FEAR, SILENCE, AND THE NEW AMERICAN NIGHTMARE

These women are afraid to speak because they know what happens to people who tell the truth in a system built to erase them. Their fear isn’t paranoia. It’s wisdom. Because in Trump’s America, the immigration system is no longer civil. It’s punitive, predatory, and lethal.

And while this slow-motion horror show unfolds behind steel bars and security checkpoints, the rest of the country scrolls past it—too tired, too numb, too wrapped in talking points to see what’s right in front of them:

The United States is running concentration camps again.

Not in secret. Not in shadows. In Miami. In Arizona. In Texas. With full congressional funding. With bipartisan indifference. With the open approval of a political movement that cheers cruelty like it’s patriotism.

And unless we name it, scream it, and rage against it, it’s only going to get worse.

Because this administration has made it clear: they don’t want to fix the system. They want to break more people. Faster. Cheaper. Louder.

And if that means more body bags? So be it. To them, that’s not a failure.

It’s the plan working exactly as intended.

WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO?

We stop pretending this is normal. We stop calling it a “broken system” and start calling it what it is: a weapon.

We hold the names. We name the dead. We say Genry. Serawit. Maksym. Not as footnotes, but as proof that silence is complicity.

We pressure Congress to defund ICE, to end private detention contracts, to shut down Krome and every facility like it. We demand independent investigations, criminal accountability, and media that covers these stories like lives are on the line—because they are.

We support immigrant-led organizations. We raise hell at town halls. We show up with signs, with lawsuits, with cameras, with righteous fury. We flood their offices. We write until our fingers bleed. We organize, we protest, we resist.

And if you’re in a position of power—if you’re a staffer, an attorney, a journalist, a human being with a platform—you use it. This is not a drill. This is not a moment to stay neutral.

The machine is killing people. The people running it are proud of that. And history will not forgive anyone who stood by and watched.

Raise your voice. Wreck their silence. And don’t stop until the cages are empty.

[Bill Adkins]

#illegal #rule of law #immigration #ICE #defund ICE #Architects of Suffering #Krome #Stephen Miller

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souliebird · 1 year ago

Text

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there.

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast.

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it.

Coffee. Bagel. Orange.

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN.

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out.

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home.

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot.

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen.

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body.

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you.

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face.

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.”

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about.

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things.

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about.

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep.

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today.

But you don't want to.

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel.

You just don't want to.

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't.

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in.

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness.

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent.

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong.

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you.

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again.

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings.

You just are.

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness.

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again.

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns.

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food.

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change.

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up.

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk.

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text.

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight.

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain.

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way.

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.”

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour.

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly.

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit.

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention.

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything.

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.”

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you.

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself.

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice.

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat.

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear.

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste.

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him.

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this.

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs.

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time.

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him.

You need him.

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.”

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours.

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together.

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's.

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead.

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you.

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone.

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter.

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt.

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.”

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.”

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.”

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like.

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up.

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him.

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this.

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil.

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise.

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.”

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow.

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale.

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky.

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what.

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you.

You are of no interest to anyone.

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen?

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it.

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed.

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing.

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it.

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another.

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.”

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die.

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper.

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed.

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.”

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded.

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you.

Nothing to ever hurt you.

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up.

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again.

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of.

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust.

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that.

You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you.

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips.

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you.

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now.

You just need Him.

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows.

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in.

He's covered you in his blood.

You're coated with him.

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #gently places this down

283 notes · View notes

yeollie-plz · 1 year ago

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Fix Me

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Synopsis: Joel fixes stuff around your house, until Joel fixes you.

Genre: fluff, angst, smut

Warnings: Age gap (reader is mid twenties, Joel is mid thirties), kissing, crying, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of trauma, oral f! receiving, 18+ smut, porn with plot, slow burn? (ok not really but), reader is a hot mess!, insecurities, unprotected sex (don't be like them!), spanking, masturbation

Gif credits to owners!

The first time you met Joel was about a week after you moved in. Your house was directly across from his and for that week you would see him here and there. You had to admit you found him a bit attractive. You eventually wanted to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself, instead he surprised you by coming knocking at your door.

Having just finished showering you weren't really prepared for visitors, wearing only a robe and your hair wet and stringy draped on your shoulders. So when the heavy knock rang on your door, you sighed, glancing down at your appearance. You debated if you could just ignore the knock, until another sounded.

Rolling your eyes, you decided there was no other choice but to answer. You swung the door open a bit too aggressively, finally looking at who was standing there. It was the neighbor that you had all but stalked this past week. Okay, you found him very attractive!

You blushed at your actions, seeing that his eyes widened at them as well. It seemed as though your neighbor also noticed your disheveled state, his eyes scanning over your figure. His held at your chest for a second longer before he met your eyes.

"Sorry, I'm Joel, I live across the way there." He motioned towards his place. "I just noticed that there was a hole in your porch and well I'm a contractor so..." He trailed off.

"Okay?" You said trying to urge him to get to his point so you could get back into your house. No matter how cute your neighbor was, he was not worth standing basically naked in your doorway for.

"I...um...thought maybe I could fix it for ya. I can just get it done quickly now. No charge, if I'm honest I've wanted to fix it for a while now."

"So, you came all the way over here to fix my porch?" You tilted your head in confusion. He nodded.

"I guess I have. So, darlin', do ya mind?" You tried to ignore the term of endearment and shook your head.

"I mean sure, that's fine...I guess." You whispered the last part, trying not to come off too taken aback. "I'm going to go look more presentable, you can go ahead and start." You motioned at your robe and Joel's eyes lingered once more.

You ignored it and stepped inside, closing the door behind you. You quickly sorted out your appearance. Before returning outside you stopped in your kitchen grabbing a cup and filling it with ice and water for Joel.

You silently opened your front door so you watch Joel work for a minute. You had found Joel attractive the moment you laid eyes on him, but something about watching the man work. The bead of sweat that rolled down the side of his face as he concentrated on fitting a board into the hole. The bit of skin that showed at the hem of his shirt as he reached further to grab a tool. You shook your head ignoring the growing heat between your thighs and cleared your throat. Joel's head snapped up to you, whipping his brow as he stood.

"I brought you some water, its a bit hot today." You handed him the cup. He took it was a nod of appreciation.

"I'm Y/N by the way. I never introduced myself earlier."

"Nice to meet you darlin'. I've been waiting to finally learn your name." You tried to hide your shock at his statement. He chuckled and sat the cup on the little table you had there.

"I'm 'bout done here. You can go ahead and cool off inside. I'll clean this up. Let me know if you need anything else fixed, you know where I live." He said. You could've sworn you saw his eyes drop to your lips at the mention of fixing something else. No, that can't be, you decided. You had just met the man!

"Uh, sure. Thanks Joel." He winked at you and went back to his project, leaving you not only confused but also a bit hot and bothered.

The weeks that followed, part of you wanted something to break so that you could talk to Joel again. You would see him go to work and come back, but you had no reason to really approach him. Some days you would sit out on your porch and watch him leave. His eyes would lock onto yours. This would earn you a smirk and small wave. To which you blushed and waved back.

One evening you got as bold as to check your mail around the time that he would be home. Lingering by your mailbox until you saw the familiar truck pull down the street into his driveway. That day he called out your name with a hello and you didn't stop thinking about it all night long.

You couldn't believe the way you were behaving. You barely knew Joel and yet you were entranced by him. He was almost your every waking thought. There was something in that manifesting though, as one morning you were making breakfast and a cabinet door came off one of its hinges.

You almost shrieked in excitement as you left the door hanging there. Later that night, you saw Joel's car pull up once more. You grabbed the plate of cookies you had made earlier and made your way across the street. This time you knocked on Joel's door. He answered with a surprised look on his face.

"Y/N?"

"Joel, hi! Um I wasn't sure how serious your offer to fix things was but my cabinet came off its hinges earlier and I don't have the correct screw so...I brought cookies." You held out the plate to him after your rant.

He laughed, "It was serious. Uh, I can come over Sunday to do it? It's been a long day." He rubbed the back of neck awkwardly.

"Oh! Of course! No problem at all!" Calm down, Y/N, calm down.

Another chuckle, as he finally took the plate of cookies from your hands.

"Thank you for these. Sarah will love 'em."

"Sarah? Your..." Your stomach twisted, did he have a wife? You had never seen a woman around.

"My daughter, chocolate chip is her favorite." Relief washed over you.

"Well, I hope you both enjoy them! My grandma's recipe, they are amazing, totally not biased!" He laughed and leaned against his door frame to take you in. A look of content on his face. Almost like he was weighing his options.

Fire sparked through your body and met between your legs at the look. Clearing your throat you spoke quickly, "So, I'll see you Sunday then! Have a good week, Joel!" You rushed back across the street just barely hearing his "You too!" being called out behind you.

Sunday couldn't come soon enough. In the days between then and now you had been very very frustrated. Yes, sexually frustrated. Something about the way Joel looked at you went straight to your panties. He was very easy to fantasize about.

You fantasized about him coming over, the full intention of fixing the cabinet, but nailing you instead. Digging his fingers into your hips as he lifted you onto the counter, teeth nipping at your neck. He would drop to his knees, dragging your panties down with him.

You fantasized about pulling him by his collar into your bedroom, lips connected the entire time. Passion radiating off the two of you as you pushed him onto your bed. You swung your legs over his hips, straddling him. As you continued to crash your lips into his, grinding onto his hardening member. The feeling of his jeans through your thin panties, driving you insane.

You fantasized about taking a shower together. You fantasized about him taking you on the dining table. You fantasized about him taking you on that very porch you met, for all of the neighborhood to see. God, you fantasized about him fucking you anywhere and everywhere.

It was becoming a problem.

How were you supposed to face him when your toys had gotten the most use they ever had at the expense of him? You were fucked. Royally, officially, in every way.

So, when Joel finally did come over on Sunday the only thing that ran through your mind was an image of him inside of you. Which was causing a few attention issues on your part.

"Y/N?" He called through your daydream. He was leaning on your kitchen counter staring at you with his head cocked in amusement. You dragged your eyes down him muscular arm, following the veins to his hand. Your breath caught as you pictured him eating you out there, those fingers pumping in and out of you.

"You feelin' alright, sugar?" His amusement was now changed to light concern as you still weren't responding. Goosebumps rose on your skin.

You blinked and shook your head, attempting to wash the images out of your head. Shifting your weight, you pulled at your collar, suddenly feeling too hot.

"I-yeah, I'm fine. It was just a long week." The first excuse you could think of, yet it was sort of true. A long week of touching yourself to the man that was now standing in front of you.

"I hear that! Well I'm done here so I'll just head out and let ya relax." He smiles and pushes himself off the counter, collecting the last few of his things.

He had almost made it to the door when you called out his name, stopping him in his tracks. You weren't sure what had possessed you in the moment to give you this confidence.

"Can I, uh, ask you a question?"

"Sure, sugar." He smiled at you once again.

"Are you dating anyone?" His smile stayed but something different flashed behind his eyes.

"No, I'm not. What made you curious?" He was trying to read you now. He had that look on his face again like he was debating closing the distance between the two of you.

"Darlin'?" The question came when you didn't answer, he took a step towards you.

"No reason, really! I just..." You searched his eyes like he would give you an out.

A laugh, "Well if you do find a reason, let me know." And with that he left, leaving you cursing yourself in your living room.

Spring came with the next month. And with spring came the thunderstorms. You had never been a huge fan of them, something about the booming sounds and sharp sparks of light always made your skin crawl. Your therapist was convinced there was a deeper reason behind the trauma but you hadn't been able to uncover it yet. All you knew was with thunderstorms came panic attacks and sleepless nights.

You would get up later in the morning, missing the opportunity to watch Joel get to work. And you were too busy bundled into a cocoon hiding from the storms at night to watch him return. Although you didn't know it, Joel was missing seeing you. So like a few nights before this he was watching your house, trying to catch a glimpse of you.

He had been jolted awake by a particularly loud crash of thunder, and after tossing and turning for a bit, he sighed and got out of bed. Originally going downstairs to grab a glass of water his eyes caught on your house when he noticed your bedroom light still on. Joel glanced at the clock on the wall. 2:45? What were you still doing up?

Watching your window for a minute, to see if you would switch the light out. That's when a big strike of lightening struck, knocking out all the power of the neighborhood. Joel rushed to his front door, not even bothering to put on some shoes and ran across the street to your house. He wasn't even sure why he was doing it but his body moved as if being controlled by someone else.

He got to your door, out of breath and soaked. That's when another bolt struck, the thunder following closely after it. But over all that he heard your scream. Without a second thought he turned the handle of your front door, finding it not locked.

Joel rushed through your house to your bedroom, following the sounds of your sobs. Opening the door without a second thought. You glanced up quickly, letting out another scream.

Joel held his hands up, "Sorry! I heard a scream and instinct kicked in. Your door was unlocked. I just...wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Joel." You whispered his name. Tears slid down your cheeks.

"Doll." He whispered back, testing the waters.

"I'm fine, just thunderstorms aren't my favorite thing in the world."

His eyes searched your own. "I can stay and talk with you if you need. That usually helps me."

You smiled, "Sure, that would be nice."

He walked towards the bed, about to sit on the edge of it when you stopped him.

"Wait! You're soaking wet, let me run you a bath!" You pushed yourself out of your cocoon and moved towards the bathroom. A hand around your wrist stopped you. It sent a spark through your body.

"Hate to break it to you, Sugar, but no power means no hot water. I should be the one drawing a bath for you anyways." His grip was light, like he was scared to hurt you. He noticed you looking at it and let go. "Sorry."

You shook your head, "You'll get sick all wet. Let me at least get you a change of clothes." Returning soon after with a stack of clothes.

"Here these are my dad's, should fit. There's towels in the closet if you need it." Handing them to him, you shrugged.

"Your dad's?" He took them with a bit of reluctance, insecurity washing over him.

"Mhm." You nodded, not noticing his change in demeanor and sat back on the bed. Eyes watching as he went into the bathroom and closed the door.

You looked up when he came back out, "How did it go?"

"It was a bit difficult in the dark but I managed." He stop there nervously, something still brewing in his mind.

You patted the bed next to you, silently telling him what you wanted. He took the hint and settled in close to you, but not touching. Sitting there in silence for a few minutes.

"I thought was were supposed to talk." You finally spoke up, intending for it to come off as a joke.

"You're right, sorry I just got in my head for a minute there."

You shifted your body closer to his, finally feeling his body heat radiating onto your own. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Cold?" He asked. You shook your head no.

"Nope-" you cleared your throat, "-what were you in your head about?" An awkward silence washed over you as if he was debating telling you the truth.

Finally he sighed, "It was you giving me your dad's clothes."

"My dad's clothes?"

"Yeah, it just made me remember how much older I am than you."

It took you a second but you laughed. He gave you a sideways look. The look made you stop and blush at your inappropriate reaction.

"Sorry, but its a little funny. Its only like an eight year difference!"

"Nine." He corrected.

"Fine, nine. One year doesn't change that it isn't a big gap. The heart wants what it wants, isn't that the saying?" You hadn't realized what you said until it had slipped past your lips. "Uh-I mean..."

That's when Joel's lips crashed into yours, his hands fumbling around the sheets trying to find purchase of your hips. Your own finding their way around the back of his neck. His cold fingers made contact with your warm skin, causing a gasp to escape your lips. He took this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, taking control. Your fingers played with the hairs on the back of his neck.

Your lips moved in synch for a while, just feeling each other. The sexual tension that had been building for the past months finally coming to the surface.

"Do you want this?" He asked as he pulled away to trail his kisses down your neck. You nodded aggressively.

"Words, darlin'."

"I want this. I want all of you Joel." It came out breathlessly, you were barely able to find your voice.

He smirks into your neck, "Dirty girl."

At the name, you let out a whimper. His lips return to your own as he grinds his hips down. You feel his hard member graze your clit and you jerk up to meet his hips. You need him.

"'m not gonna last long, darlin'. I've been wanting to fuck you for weeks."

"Me too." You confirmed, blushing at his confession.

"Yeah? You been touching yourself to the thought of me?"

You nod.

"Show me." Normally this request would make you nervous, but something about the way Joel looks at you gives you confidence. And if this gets him to touch you then you'll do anything.

He backs off the bed to give you room. He towers over you now, watching you with hungry eyes. You pull your shirt over you head slowly. You want to give him a show. You stand now, pushing your pants and underwear down with a sway of your hips.

Turning around, you bend down to get your feet out of your pants, shoving your ass into Joel's crotch. He growls, actually growls at the action and lands a hand on your ass. Not enough to leave a mark or cause any real pain, but enough for you to lose your balance and fall onto your stomach onto the bed. His body now covers your own as he pulls your earlobe with his teeth.

"You gonna be a good girl for me or am I gonna have to punish you?" The whisper is so gruff that it almost doesn't sound like him but goddamn does it turn you on.

"Mm, I'll be a good girl."

"Good, now show me how you touch yourself." He lifts his body off of yours and you flip over. Running your hands down the swell of your breasts, letting them linger slightly at your nipples, toying with them. Joel watches intently. You move them down your stomach and finally to your soaked lips.

Your index finger slides easily with the amount of slick you produced during your make out session. If you're being honest most of it is probably from when he whispered in your ear just now but!

You toy with your clit for a second, letting a moan push past your lips at finally receiving what you really need. You let your fingers tease your lips before pushing one inside yourself. The stretch being exactly what you need. Actually, exactly what you need is standing there palming his erection.

"Joel, need you." You moan out as you add another finger inside yourself. This is all he needs to pounce onto you once again and replace your fingers with his own. Now fucking you with his two digits, the stretch being so much more delicious than your own. He reconnects your lips.

"Baby, I need to be inside you now." He admits.

"Please." You are almost begging now. He pulls his shirt over his head quickly. Rising to his feet he undoes his pants and pulls them down. Leaning over you again, he kisses you, rubbing himself onto your wet core.

"Do you have a condom, sugar?" You shake your head no. "Fuck."

"It's okay, I'm clean and on birth control."

"I'm clean too. Are you sure?" His previous dominant attitude is now replaced with concern.

"Yes, I'm sure, I just need you now." He takes your word for it and pushes into you in one swift motion. Usually your wetness as to easily push in. He stretches you out completely, causing you to grab his bicep in a search for support.

"You okay?" He askes.

"Yeah, just need a moment. You're bigger than my toys." You give yourself a minute to adjust to his size. You feel your walls contract onto his member, your body wanting him to move. "Okay, I'm ready. Ruin me."

"With pleasure." And he does just that. He fucks you at a speed that almost feels inhuman. His hips meet yours roughly, sliding his cock almost fully to the tip and then bottoming out inside of you. Part of you thinks you'll have bruises tomorrow from how roughly he is thrusting into you, but honestly it will be worth it. Especially with how good you are feeling right now.

His pace falters a bit when you clench around him, "Fuck." He mutters. Regaining his pace quickly. "Told ya I'm not gonna last. Need to make you cum, baby."

You moan at his words and clench onto him once again, earning a slap to you thigh. His hand reaching up and fondling your breast, quirking the nipple with two fingers, causing your hips to jerk up meeting his trusts.

"Come on, baby, I know you're close." Those fingers now make their way down to your clit, working it in circles. You moan at the feeling, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

With one particularly hard thrust, he hits that spot inside of you. The mixture of that with him toying with your clit causes the coil to snap inside of you and your body warms in your orgasm. Shuddering your hips move involuntarily as he fucks you through your orgasm. Only letting go of your clit with he decides you have had enough.

"There it is." He kisses you and begins to chase his own orgasm. "Where do you want me?"

Inside of responding you open your mouth and stick you tongue out. His eyes go even darker as he speeds his hips up. Joel gets himself to the edge before pulling out of you. You quickly sit up and wait for his cum. He grunts and shoots all of himself down your throat. You swallow dutifully.

He smirks, "Pretty girl. Don't let any go to waste." He runs his thumb across a bead of his spend on the corner of your mouth pushing it inside. You lick all around his thumb, sucking lightly.

"Fuck, darlin', you're gonna get me started again."

"Maybe I want you to." You look at him with hooded eyes, smirking.

"You're in for it now." He grabs your hips and pushes you down onto the bed, attacking your mouth with his own.

You didn't sleep that night either.

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