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macfrog · 2 months

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birth of venus sex on fire chapter twelve

these two mean the world to me. thank you for coming on this journey with them. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: if you love something, you let it go.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, lurve, fingering, masturbation, cum eating, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, size kink, daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, some angst, soft!joel, cocky!joel (we missed him!)

word count: 12.6k

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“Alright, let’s get into it.”

He sits on the other side of the table, legs crossed and balancing the notebook on his knee. Twirls a pen around his thumb, catching it without looking. He’s too busy scanning the page in front of him, the list of questions he’s about to drill you on.

Let’s get into it, he says, and then stares silently at the scribbled lines.

Your shadow splits a shard of sunlight across the office. Knee jerking, palms clammy and fingers twisting around each other. You glance down at your outfit – the pointed heels Martha swore went with your dress, the jewelry she promised didn’t look tacky – and straighten your skirt.

Let’s get fucking into it.

“What are your responsibilities in your current role?” he asks.

You swallow. It feels like sandpaper. “Well, uh…”

He doesn’t look up. Not to ask the question, not to wait for your answer. Just stares down, spins the pen, bites his lip until it turns white.

Focused. Razor sharp. You’re not even in the same room.

You turn on your heel and begin pacing. “I manage my boss’s schedule, from nine a.m. Monday to nine p.m. Sunday. I get everything in order, plan out his days, make any bookings. I take calls, I answer emails, I…”

He’s still not looking. He bounces his foot, leather shoes catching the sun. His watch face leers back at you. There’s not a mark of ink on the paper in front of him.

“Hey,” you click your fingers, “Are you even listening to me?”

Joel shakes the frown from his face. “Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, straightens in his creaky chair, “Yeah, I’m listenin’. I’m…I’m here.”

“Come on, man,” you huff, “You said you’d help me out.”

“And I am. I’m helping you out.”

You glower. “What did I just say?”

His shoulders wriggle. “You know…paperwork, and…Is this –? Is this really what they’re going to ask?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, collapsing into the couch opposite. Your arms cross, like some crumpled tantrum of a woman. “I found it online. They’re all art director questions, supposedly.”

He turns the notebook around. The first sheet flops over.

“Describe yourself in three words,” Joel recites.

“I was gonna go creative,” you count on your fingers, “driven, and then I couldn’t decide between perceptive or observant.”

He squints, tongue clicking against his teeth. He stares at your raised fingers. Thoroughly unimpressed.

“Right,” he stands, “Yeah, I don’t know, kid. A company like this, taking on a new art director, and this is what you think they got waitin’ for you? I mean, what’d I ask you?”

You scoff, twisting to watch him cross over to the window.

Between the sun and your deflated spirit, he stands like some kind of god. High up on the top floor of his skyscraper, towering over the streets. Towering over you.

He’s haloed by the blazing sun. Light arrowing from behind, spilling all over his wide shoulders and dipping in every fold and crease of cashmere. The northern compass point, the magnetic pull turning everything towards him.

Joel’s fingers snap, a hair away from your nose. “Tip number one: don’t stare at the interviewer like that. Asked you a question.”

“Wasn’t staring,” you mumble, shifting when he sinks down at your side. “You really don’t remember what you asked me?”

“Of course I do. I’m asking if you do.” He fiddles with a thread on the couch at your back.

You straighten as though his hand might be iron hot. “I remember…remember you asking what success looked like to me.”

Joel nods once.

“Remember you asking why I wanted out of my old job.”

“Yep.”

You flick a finger around the office. “I remember you asking what I’d change in here. How I’d make the office better. But I don’t know what interior design has to do with being an art director, Joel.”

He smiles. “This,” he shakes the pad, “is generic bullshit.”

“Generic bullshit,” you echo, pinching it from his grasp. You read over the bullet points – your strengths, your weaknesses, how you do under pressure.

“Yes,” Joel says. “Doesn’t tell ‘em a thing about you. Well,” his eyes widen, “I guess it tells them you tried searching their damn questions, the morning of the interview.”

A small, tired sigh falls from your lips. You melt back into the couch, horizontal under Joel’s extended arm. “I just want to be prepared,” you whisper. “I want to be the best person they meet.”

“What makes you think you ain’t already?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t even know which three words describe me.”

He chuckles. “How about more than capable? Hm? The dream assistant. Future art director.”

“Cheesy,” you mutter, batting him away. “I just…I really want it. I want something that feels like mine, you know? And I know I’d be fucking good at it.”

He falls quiet. He thumbs the corner of the pages, knuckles brushing against yours in a way that feels deliberate. Feels familiar.

It’s as though he might turn his hand, open his palm for yours to slip safely into. Lock his fingers through yours, squeeze once for good luck, twice to double it – and a third time, to tell you something he knows would make you flee.

But you don’t flinch, and neither does he.

Instead, he pulls himself up – a mighty groan as he straightens.

You bite back a snark about his age. Stupid fifty-year-old boss, stupid old bones. Stupid smartass.

Joel whips open the bottom drawer of his desk – the one you’d come to know as his junk drawer – and heaps diary after diary on the mahogany surface. Their leatherbound covers and splintered spines, the warped pages packed between.

With a tiny ha (and a click in his joints that you notice even from across the room), he pushes himself back up.

“September, September…” the pages flutter between his thumbs, “…September second, right?”

“What are you –?”

“Here,” he says, and reclines back beside you. He slides the diary into your lap. “September second, two o’clock.”

Your eyes narrow, following an inky trail linking geometric sketches and games of tic-tac-toe; the words college and assistant, a crude drawing of a house.

“So…” your lips purse, “…on September second, you were doing no work and doodling in your planner. What about it, Joel?”

He taps the top of the page, finger settling right below a name.

Penned in his neat handwriting – the trademark font that, after three years, you’re used to finding on sticky notes and signed with the letter J. It’s underlined, then boxed in by more scribbled lines. So familiar, you barely even take it in at first.

You blink twice.

It’s your name. Your full name.

“This is the day of my interview?” you ask.

Joel dares one fleeting glance at your lips. “Mhm. These are the notes I took, the day we met.”

You look down to the diary and back again. Almost an entire page of nonsense scribbles, hieroglyphic trains of thought bleeding from one drawing into another.

You frown. “You really didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, did you?”

He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head. “You had the job before your ass hit that chair, genius. All that interview was, was playing ball. Seeing how hard you could swing.”

But you’re more confused than you were before he emptied his desk. You flick through the book, spine dangling loose from the pages.

There are no other notes, no other candidates’ names – only reminders for Lunch with Mom and Massage 10AM. Meetings with past clients, deadlines long gone. One obnoxious, hot pink gel pen autograph in May, marking Martha’s birthday.

Yours is the only name he bothered to jot down. The only interview he thought to memorialize – in a gallery of distracted doodles.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

He plays with his tie as he admits it. Nervous schoolboy, avoiding your eye like he did back on Maple Street. It’s a side to him you didn’t know existed, not until a few weeks ago – and seeing it again, you realize how much you missed it.

“There were four other interviews before yours. Every single one of them sat in that lobby waiting for Martha to call down. You –” he taps your hand, “– you got in the elevator and brought yourself up. You remember how shocked Martha was to see you?”

Sure I do, you think.

She stared you down the entire walk over to her desk. She stuttered and stammered her way through a sentence, once she realized who you were. She kept peering over the top of her monitor to steal glances at you when she thought you weren’t looking.

“I…I just thought I looked a nervous wreck,” you tell Joel.

He hums. “Well, you stood up when I opened my door. You held your hand out first. You were scared shitless – I knew you were – but you never lost your footing. You got no idea just how impressive you are, all by yourself.”

He taps on the sheets in your lap. “Now – find me a question on your list that tells them all that.”

It’s not as if you don’t know how these things go. You’ve sat in on plenty of interviews with Joel before – catching anything each quivering candidate says that might’ve slipped through his net, placing bets with yourself on who he’ll pick.

After a few months, he started asking what you thought.

You came to notice the discarded resumes of men you’d deemed sycophants, ladder-climbing leeches in tight, tawny ties – in piles to be shredded. There wasn’t a suit in the building that you and Martha hadn’t been asked to screen, before they were even considered for hiring.

Joel has the sharpest bullshit detector you’ve ever known. You don’t get to where he is without the radar for it. He knew exactly which guys were assholes of the highest order – he was just making sure you always did, too.

Stupid, stupid smartass.

A polite knock at the door interrupts your thought.

“Joel?” Martha calls, “Joel, your ten o’clock is here.”

He curses under his breath. His eyes shift sideways. “Who the hell is my ten o’clock?” he mumbles.

“Salazar,” you whisper, lips closing around a giggle. “Quarterly, remember?”

“Goddamn it,” he groans. He stands up, holding a hand out to pull you to your feet. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ll be an hour, tops. We can pick straight back up.”

“It’s okay,” you slot the diary and notepad under your arm, “I should get back to work anyways.”

“Calmed your nerves, at least?”

You smile. “Sure.”

“Liar.”

“Tip number two: don’t ask dumb questions, Miller.”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “We’re starting a list now?”

“Mhm. Three can be: don’t doodle during the interview.”

He elbows you towards the door, leaning close. “Four,” he murmurs, “Don’t get yourself fired.”

You grin as you slip outside.

“You couldn’t handle this place without me.”

Mr. Salazar loves to tell a story.

Joel’s still stuck with him, almost two hours after the guy showed up. With a pointed finger and something that felt as sacred as a blood oath, Martha made you promise you’d leave on time.

Whether we’re still in that office or halfway to Timbuktu, do not wait up. Just go, alright? Or I will hand you your ass, sweetheart.

Thirty minutes out, you’re pacing back and forth. Body humming with jittery nerves, what feels like a glass ball of anxiety rolling around your stomach. A text from Rand weighing down the phone in your blazer pocket: Ready when you are.

You suck in a ticklish breath. “Fuck,” you exhale, jamming your knuckle into the call button for the third time.

The wall rumbles as it delivers the elevator straight ahead. The doors part, and your distorted reflection stares sheepishly back at you.

You blink.

She blinks back.

Your shoulders life with another fractured inhale – and so do hers.

Some tiny, half-there version of yourself. Shrunken and shriveled. She moves when you move, only with half the confidence and double the pressure on her shoulders. She looks like she needs a wine date with Martha.

Scared fucking shitless, you think. Three words to describe me.

The doors close again, swallowing her whole, and –

“Nope,” you decide, spinning on your heel.

The shades are tilted enough to obscure the three figures to shadows: Joel, rocking mindlessly in his chair, Salazar talking with his arms, and Martha hunched at the other end of the couch – losing the will to live.

She’d probably welcome the excuse, to get the hell out of there.

Your knuckles rap against the door.

The investor’s lively cadence never slips – where there’s an audience, there’s a show to be had. He twitters on even over the grounding bass of Joel’s voice, the quick click of Martha’s heels.

Her shadow crosses over to the door and she whips it open. Her voice is a sharp whisper.

“You swore to me, you’d –”

You shake your head and grab her arm. Nervous, you mouth, trying to pull her over the threshold.

She won’t fucking budge. She plants herself in the doorway. Her chin lifts, eyes narrowing to study you down her pointed nose – and then she glances over her shoulder.

One second, she exaggerates the shape of the words, holding a finger up.

“Martha –” you hiss, but the door is already closing, and her shadow is already retreating.

You spin around, dragging yourself over to your desk. Another breathe squeezes past your hammering heart, trembling as you let it go. Your phone buzzes again.

This is pathetic. It’s pitiful. You bulldozed your way this far – against all your good sense. Red wine antidote, all that courage now feels more like a weak-kneed hangover.

You fiddle with a pen holder. Your body feels flimsy like rubber.

The door opens again.

“Hey,” Joel says, turning you to face him. He doesn’t look you in the eye – just slips your purse from your shoulder, squeezes your hand. “Walk with me.”

“No,” you wobble in his grasp, “Your meeting –”

He links his arm through yours, locking elbows. “Martha’s got him talking about some ski trip. We got ten minutes. Walk with me.”

Your breath sputters. “I can’t – I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?”

“I’m flapping, Joel.”

“Flapping,” he repeats, and the word never sounded more ridiculous than it does with his Texan twang. “What are we flapping over?”

He sways as he walks. It’s no different, no less comfortable than it was a few weeks ago. Just you, Joel, and the Parisian sunset. The light swimming in the Seine, the sweet air circling you both.

Your heel scuffs against the carpet. “You know,” you catch yourself, “just this potentially life-changing job interview I have in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Huh,” his brows quirk, “No big deal, then?”

Your eyes roll. “It wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t given me some big speech about not losing my footing. Now look at me. I’m all over the goddamn place.”

“Take it in baby steps,” he says. “Let’s just get you there first. All you gotta do is walk in like you’re already part of the furniture. Like they’ve been wondering what goes at that little desk.”

“You said the CEO is nice?”

“She is,” he reaches for the call button, “Likes red wine and racecars.”

Your brows flinch. “She likes…What?”

Joel smirks. “I didn’t say we talked for long. That’s all I got on her.”

He drags you into the elevator, hitting the button marked P. Your reflection stands a little taller, little straighter next to his. Mimicking his posture; the still stance and level head. The coolness you’re sure wouldn’t slip even if the world ended tonight.

“Look at that,” he mutters. “You made it to the elevator.”

“Shock,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You face each other, inches apart. Nerves and momentum upsetting your equilibrium. The bones of the building drum up your spine as you plummet, floor numbers blinking down to zero.

Joel rests his ankles either side of yours. He knocks your feet softly, smiling fondly when you lift your head.

“Read over their website on the drive over,” he says, in the same polite voice he uses with clients. “Their values, the way they operate. Names and faces, all that shit. Keep it fresh, okay?”

You force your cheeks into a flat smile. “Okay.”

“Look at that,” he says. “Killer smile. Getcha any job anywhere.”

“Gross,” you giggle. “Did you wonder, before you found me?”

“Did I wonder what?”

You tilt your head. “What went at my little desk.”

He itches his nose, laughing into a closed fist. He’s blushing, though he’s trying hard to hide it. “Sure,” he shrugs, eventually giving in, “Knew it must be somethin’ pretty special. And you were.”

The elevator dings, and the doors rattle open.

Joel taps your heel and you sulk, leading him out into the garage.

Rand catches sight of you instantly. He jumps out of the Rolls, a wide grin on his lips, and balls his fists. “How we feelin’?” he asks, giving them a hearty shake.

“Little nervous, aren’t we?” Joel replies, patting your arm. “But we’re almost there.”

You’re holding onto him again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re still in the building,” you utter, tracking Rand’s kiddy jog around the car.

Joel turns, lips at your temple. “Closer than you were five minutes ago, baby.”

The driver grabs the door, turning his palm to usher you inside. “Figure we’ll get there with ten minutes to spare. Always good to be early to these things, right?”

If it weren’t for the six-inch heels on your feet and the seven-figure man on your arm, you’d reach to tighten backpack straps that aren’t there. It’s the same feeling: first day of school, walking into the unknown. Pushed off by grownups who know better.

You’re a grownup, too, you remind yourself.

The same feeling, and the same determination, too. The resolve to walk in there – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – and be the thing they’ve been waiting for. Be the thing you’ve been waiting for. So –

“Fuck it,” you decide, slipping free from your boss’s grasp. “Let’s do this.”

“Attagirl!” Rand claps his hands and dances back to the driver’s side.

Joel helps you into the backseat, passing your purse over when you’re settled. “Okay?” he asks, one arm leaning on the roof.

“Yep,” you chirp – a crack in your voice that you both ignore.

“Call on your way back if you feel like it, let me know how it went.”

The strip lighting in the garage strains your eyes. “What if you’re still hearing about Salazar’s ski trip?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t ask dumb questions, remember? If you call, I’ll answer.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper.

He clicks his teeth. You’re welcome.

“Next step, little tiger. Go get ‘em.”

After you interviewed with him, Joel took all of twenty-four hours to offer you the job. He said he would’ve called sooner – that afternoon, if he could’ve – but there had been a holdup with the paperwork. His next question was how soon you could start.

He was that sure.

On your first day, you were shown to your new desk. Wiped clean, drawers bare. A bloated water stain in the wood – the mark of a fern plant Martha thought was treated a little too much like an actual child by your predecessor.

She offered to have Joel order a new desk, but you told her you loved it – water stain and all.

You loved the view on each side – the sprawling city, the sun needling between buildings. You loved Martha’s company, and Joel’s daily ritual of strolling over to stretch his legs and, more importantly, gossip.

The job made you feel grown. A little kid in the big city – yes, sir and no, sir, caffeine for breakfast and paperwork for lunch. It was big enough that you wondered whether you’d really fill it – like you wondered if you’d ever fill your desk.

What supplies did a personal assistant need? You spent more time on your feet than sat at your desk. What knickknacks would you collect?

Well, looking at it all now: a jumble of pinched pens and hand-me-down magazines from Martha. A Wonder Woman stationery set your mom bought you; the chipped Kandinsky mug you make coffee in every day.

A plastic ruby ring, from a riverside stroll in Paris.

Looking at it now – you wonder how it ever all fit. Almost three cardboard boxes, plus an oversized Swiss cheese plant. Your desk is empty again, back to the way you found it.

Because you got it.

You got the job.

Junior Art Director. Jesus fucking Christ.

You were in Joel’s office when the call came through. Laying out travel plans for a business trip, organizing documents into the order he’d need them. Busying yourself purely to distract from playing the interview back in your head.

The entire thing was a blur, the interview – film reel already burning in your memory. One second you were traipsing into the building, the next – strolling back out, sun on your face and spring in your step.

It came back in flashing vignettes: the creative director’s cropped bob, her scarlet lips. The rhythmic dunk of her teabag into her mug, her quiet mhms as you spoke.

Her smile grew wider, the longer the meeting went on. Her tea went cold. She asked to see pictures of your artwork – made some passing comment about your skill being of some use for an upcoming project.

She liked you. Better yet, Joel noted – you liked her.

He walked back into his office just in time to hear the tail end of the phone call. Your shaky thank you, the teary goodbye. He waited until you turned, one hand lingering on your shoulder, and gasped when you broke into a giddy grin.

He pulled you into a bear hug, beats of raucous laughter through his chest. You sniffled into his shirt, staining the material with wet mascara.

What’d I tell you? he murmured into your hair, rocking you side to side. What’d I fuckin’ tell you?

A clumsy mash of work blouses and party dresses fills the office.

Glitzy gold and pressed linen, heels and loose ties. A bottle of champagne on a spreadsheet coaster, an overfilled balloon knotted around your chair. The word Congrats swirled in glitter pen.

Martha fills the latecomers in. She orders everyone to drain their glasses and grab their coats. There’s a dive bar not far, she says, with karaoke and a jukebox. Cheap drinks and heavy measures.

A dive bar. The dive bar. AC/DC and all.

You linger over by your desk, alone, swirling the bubbly in your glass. A little more than awkward, what with the gold party hat your coworkers forced over your head – and the heavy heart it’s doing little to soothe.

Your last day as Joel Miller’s personal assistant is over. As of five-thirty, you don’t belong in this office. Come Monday, you’ll have a whole new job, a whole new title behind your name.

It’s as thrilling as it is utterly terrifying.

Martha had your leaving party organized less than an hour after she heard the cheers from Joel’s office. Proof, you told him, that she’ll be just fine on her own.

Proof, he countered, that she has a very selective work ethic.

He’s in good hands, if her current crowd management is anything to go by. She rounds everybody up like cattle, corralling them into a buzzed herd.

“We are leavin’ in five minutes, alright?” she yells over their babble. “Five minutes!”

Rand dips between the bodies, smiling when he catches your eye. He wanders over, tactically dodging Martha’s waving arms.

“Hi, baby,” he says, arms wide.

“Thanks for coming,” you mumble into his suit jacket, wrists crossing at his spine.

He wriggles his tie straight, keeps one arm tight around your shoulders even when you pull away. “Of course,” he says, a dutiful nod. “You were always my favorite. Don’t tell the general over there.”

You smile, feeling it dampen when your eyes slip back over to the sliver of light under Joel’s door. He’s been locked in there all afternoon – the only proof of life the pacing his shadow has done.

Rand cocks his head towards the shuttered office. “He not coming?”

“No idea,” you pick at a hangnail, “Some emergency, apparently. I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

He frowns, watching as you shot what’s left of your champagne. It’s bitter – a sharp sting all the way down.

“I mean,” you gulp, “he’s my boss. He’s at every other party we have. What’s the difference this time around?”

Rand’s eyebrows wiggle. He swallows his first answer. He knows the difference as well as you do.

Still – he says, “He’s a lot of things, is Joel, but he ain’t an ass. He’ll be there.”

Across the room, Martha lassoes the party – leading them over to the elevator. She pauses, beckoning you over their heads. A thin-lipped scowl on her face, before she’s distracted by stragglers.

“Good Lord,” Rand scoffs, a gentlemanly arm through yours, “Bet you ain’t gonna miss that.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Surprisingly, I think I’ll miss her the most.”

As you hover at the back of the bunch, waiting for your very sternly instructed turn to step into the elevator, you glance back at Joel’s office.

The shades are split, pierced somewhere like six feet up. Sliver of lamplight peering through; silhouette of something – someone – staring back.

Come on, you want to call. We’re heading to the bar. Let’s pretend I never broke your heart and you never broke mine. We can dance and kiss like nobody’s watching. We can be okay, you and me.

Martha claps three times as the elevator announces its arrival.

“We’re up, comrade,” Rand quips, and pulls you out of Joel’s sight.

The bar looks the same as it ever did. All chipped mahogany and distressed leather; secret messages etched in secret corners. Slipping between shadow and tacky neon light to order a drink, feeling it hit the back of your skull before you’ve even swallowed the first sip.

It’s no Oasis Wine Bar, but it’ll do.

You’re crammed into a booth opposite some blotchy intern. Kid doesn’t look a day over twenty-one. Martha nudges you closer and closer to the lacquered panel wall, her elbow knocking into yours and splashing your drink over your knuckles.

The group is already a colorful spectrum of drunk: a couple suits slung over the bar, a handful screaming at some vintage arcade game. Rand cuts a merry figure at the bottom of the table, swaying as he garbles to Martha and Deb.

Like a replica of that first night – a playlist of dusty rock tunes, fingertips salty from picking at peanuts. The buzz of conversation fueled by swigs of bitter vodka.

You don’t remember it feeling this shitty, though. This lonely.

The intern leans over the booth, quickly yanking his tie before it folds into a flickering candle. He forces a relieved laugh, then asks, “Are you having a good night?”

“I guess,” you raise your voice over Martha’s cackling, “It’s a little bittersweet, you know?”

His head bobs in a tipsy nod. He looks from face to face, trying to latch onto any conversation that’ll take him. But they all turn away, distracted by some guy in a tropical shirt and his cryptocurrency conspiracy.

The intern stares down at his drink, thumbs tapping the glass.

Poor kid.

You knock on his beer, trying not to look too pitying. “How’s the internship? Liking it?”

He brightens, straightening in his seat. “Yeah, it’s been good,” he chirps. “I’m learning a lot. Mr. Miller is a great boss.”

It’s like being sucker punched by a toddler. Huge blue eyes and rosy cheeks, an unsteady grip around his Budweiser. If he didn’t look so much like a fucking Disney cartoon, you’d lose your nerve.

The alcohol sours on your tongue. “Yeah,” you mumble, sinking back into your seat. “Yeah, he’s – he’s a good guy.”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?” he asks.

“He’s – uh…” You throw a helpless look to your coworker – but she’s too busy showing off pictures of Henry. “…He’s busy tonight, I guess.”

��I’ll bet,” the kid replies. “He’s an important dude.”

“Uhuh,” you elbow Martha’s waist, “He sure is. Would you excuse me?” you ask, and the intern raises his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

Martha and Deb shuffle out of the booth, drinks in hand. You edge your way through the horde to the back of the bar – stopping to refill on the way.

As the muscleman behind the bar tops off your glass, something catches your eye.

Lit only by a flickering Coors Light sign – the red and blue melding into streaks of violet – an iron staircase lingers in the corner. You didn’t spot it last time – or if you did, you were too busy flirting with your boss to pay it any mind.

You drift over, evading the sloshed stagger of one of Joel’s mailroom guys, and click up the steps towards the glowing red of an EXIT sign. Your hip swings into the push bar. The heavy door groans open.

It’s no cooler out here than inside – but it’s deserted. Beer dripping from the lips of toppled bottles, candles wavering in clear pools of wax. A gentle hum from overhead – the string light canopy.

A kitschy little rooftop. A humble hideaway.

Alone, you cross your arms and amble over to the parapet.

The street snoozes, a story below. Leaves flutter along the curb, crushed by the scuffing soles of strangers. Their footsteps echo as they wander off into the dusky night.

No Rolls, you notice. Nowhere to be seen. Not parked on the road, nor in the lot across the street. Nothing but a couple of guys on bikes, standing in the cold light of a store front.

He’s not here. He didn’t come.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Whatever emergency he’s dealing with, it’s taken half his day from him. Martha didn’t even bother to ask if he needed coffee, or to fill him in on her neighborhood politics since the new couple moved in next door.

Still – there’s never been anything he couldn’t drag himself away from. Not where you’re concerned. He abandoned an investor for a solid ten minutes last week, just to walk you to the parking garage and tell you shit you already knew.

He could find a way to make it to this, right?

You scoff into your glass, swallow a heavy sip. Swallow back the quiet disappointment, the burden of a broken heart trying desperately to remember the shape it used to be. Before private jets and business trips, before work parties and closed office doors.

Before Joel.

But he swaggered in, didn’t he – suit and tie and that signature smirk. He changed everything, overnight. He fit in all the spaces you thought no one ever would – nestled his way behind your ribcage, kept you warm, kept you safe.

You can’t remember the shape your heart used to be. You don’t fucking want to.

At least, even when you were fighting, he was still in the game. At least he was still sat on the other side of the checkered plain, nudging his king closer to your queen. You never intended on letting him win – but he never intended to in the first place.

He was only ever in it to watch your eyes light, any time he got close.

Now, the board is cleared. Pawns split in two, knights crumbled to dust. And you miss it.

You miss him.

And missing him is – feeling the absence of him in every room. The empty seat next to yours, your empty hand at your side. The weight you know by heart around your waist, the name always on the tip of your tongue.

Missing him is coming up with a million ways that every other man isn’t him. They don’t make you laugh the same, they don’t make you ache. They don’t know your favorite movie; they won’t pull over just to pinch the greasy bacon from your breakfast sandwich.

Missing him is looking for him. Everywhere. Hoping – Jesus, praying you’d walk out of your interview and he’d be stood, arms crossed, leant against the car. Wishing he’d show up again at your door – flowers in hand, kiss on your lips.

Missing him is existing in the negative space he left behind. Flecks of color fluttering in the breeze, fading as though they were never here in the first place.

The door chunks open over your shoulder, and falls closed with a slam. Right on cue. You don’t even flinch when he rolls a chilled beer against your arm.

Missing him is knowing him. Better than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will.

He’s here. He was always going to be here. Because it’s you, and because it’s him.

Joel holds for all of three seconds, then places the beer between your elbows. He leans back against the stone wall.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, taking a sip. His rugged, twelve-hour-day form softens before your eyes.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Missed you too, pretty girl.”

You lean in, face smushing into his chest, and snake your arms around his waist.

Joel takes the weight of you like it’s nothing; kisses your head and rests his chin there.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you mumble, feeling the strange chill of tears on your cheeks.

“Are you kidding?” his voice rumbles through your skull. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that.”

The alcohol lining your gums sweetens. It might just make the initial hit worth the trouble.

“I had a pretty shitty night,” you admit, sneaking a glance at him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “You ‘n me both. Pretty shitty month.”

His cologne is fresh; woodsy and clean. His rough beard on your skin, his tired collar between your fingers. The landscape of a man you know inside and out.

Joel’s hands lift from your waist, past your ribs and around your shoulders. He lifts the broken heart charm from your chest – so tiny in his large hand, nervously twinkling in the light.

You don’t flinch, this time. Barely even notice his eyes on it.

His expression stiffens. His jaw clenches. His eyes are glassy, lined with tears behind his stone-set snarl.

“I’m sorry for what he did,” he grits, swallowing thickly. “I wanna kill him for it, you know that?”

You lift one shoulder, dropping it with a sigh. “He did what he did,” you hush, “He was a scumbag.”

Joel’s upper lip twitches. Twists, then settles when you trace it with your thumb.

“You didn’t deserve it,” he says. “You didn’t deserve none of what he did to you. You were just a kid, you –”

He lifts his head like coming up for air. Sucks a ragged breath between his teeth, shakes the tears from his vision.

“Hey,” you take his jaw, turning him back to face you, “Look at me. Look.” You flash a cheesy grin, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “I’m okay, Joel, look.”

His laughter betrays him, breaking from his chest and shattering the wolfish glare. He cups your head, cradling you against his chest again.

There’s nothing between you, now. No spiteful words or suffocating tension; no hurt and no blame. One heart broken and the other bruised, still beating the rhythm of a language only they know.

Still seeking the other out, through all of it.

“What we had,” Joel says softly, “it can’t have been nothing to you, right? Was it really just…?”

“No,” you shake your head, squeezing him, “It was never – You were never just anything to me. I think…” you sigh, “…I think you just pressed on a bruise I had. A bruise I thought I’d gotten pretty good at hiding. And you just…you twisted your thumb into it.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know about no bruise,” he says. “It wouldn’t’ve mattered if I had, darlin’, I –”

You take his wrists, following the sleeves of his jacket up to his collar. “I know,” you hold his cheeks, “I know it wouldn’t. But you saw straight through me – and the more you saw, the more you cared. And that scared me.”

He blinks down to your lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s never like that, Joel. No one has ever been like that. I was so scared that I’d fuck it up – that you’d figure me out.”

“You gotta fill me in a little here. Figure you out?”

“All my shit. Blake, my dad. All of it.”

Joel frowns. “You think I don’t got shit I didn’t want you seeing, too? My dad, Avery – that ain’t exactly dating profile material, baby.”

You can’t help but laugh. As raw as an open wound, the most vulnerable conversation you’ve ever had – on the roof of a dive bar, with your boss.

And he’s as fucking breezy as though you just handed him the forecast for the day.

“You’re a better man, Joel, than all of them. You mean more to me than anyone. And before I knew it, you had me wrapped around your finger, and…”

“…And I was pressing on that bruise.”

You wince. “Little bit.”

His tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. He scans the rooftop, glimmers of gold in his eyes, and nods.

“Listen to me,” he says, holding onto you. His thumbs swipe your tears away. “I would not hurt you for the world. I wouldn’t. That goddamn email – I just – I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked, and I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to –”

“Shut up,” he smiles, “I never meant to scare you. I never meant to hurt you. And if we never go back to what we were, then – I guess I gotta live with that. But you? God, baby, I miss you.

“I miss hearing you laugh. I miss being the one to make you do it. I miss talking to you, miss hearing what you think on things. Miss your goddamn Bart Simpson socks ‘n all.”

You turn into his palm, masking your giggle. “Asshole,” you murmur.

“All I want to do is take care of you,” he says. His shoulder jerks, an earnest shrug. “’s all I want. And you don’t make it easy, that’s for sure – fightin’ back at every damn turn. But – I don’t know,” his eyes thin, “Sometimes I reckon it’s what you want, too.”

“Oh,” you wrestle a simper, “You reckon, do you?”

“I reckon,” Joel repeats, bending the word in an exaggerated drawl. “See what I mean?” he tickles your waist, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

Your head tips back with laughter – the first real laugh you’ve heard pass your lips in weeks. Since you were rolling around your bed, poking his ribs for not being able to use chopsticks. A silly, girlish giggle.

The world bursts into color again.

Joel chuckles, too, as you squirm in his grasp. His hands plant on your waist, forehead rolling against yours.

Your lips brush. Your body ignites.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers. “That okay?”

“Shut up,” you echo, letting his lips crash into yours.

He tastes exactly the same as you remember. Strawberry and lemongrass. Sweet, in a way that wakens you. Brightens you, full of life and full of color.

It’s as though only a second has passed since you last felt him like this. Felt his scruff on your cheeks, the warmth of his tongue slipping past yours. Your skin feels like satin on his; your body filling in all the worn gaps that time has taken from his.

Fitting against him like you were carved with him in mind. Chiseled from the same slab of marble, finally found one another through the opaque stone.

He pins you to the parapet; one hand firm on the small of your back, the other at the base of your skull. He leans in, claiming every sense in your body as his own – and you offer them over gladly.

He kisses you like it’s all he’s thought about since that last morning at your place. Like he’s making up for lost time.

Hell, you’re both making up for lost time.

Joel breaks for air, panting against your lips, then instantly kisses you again.

Your hand threads through his hair – the soft salt and pepper, the feathered flicks at the nape of his neck. “Joel,” you kiss him once, twice more, giggling, “We’re like teenagers.”

“I love you,” he replies, kissing down your neck. “So much. So – goddamn – much.”

He trails down to your collarbone, where your chest lifts to meet his hungry lips. He drags teeth and tongue between your cleavage.

There’s a delay in the time the words take to sink into your skin. Like they’re stopping to light every atom of your being first, before they reach your brain. Every bone, every muscle and every cell.

“You…” you breathe, pulling him upright. “…You what?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “That scare you?”

Oh.

“N-no,” you press your finger to his swollen lips, “You…Say it again.”

He pauses. Nods, when he seems to make it up in his mind. His eyes flit from yours down to the mess of your lipstick, and back up.

A man possessed, so it looks, he admits it between labored breaths. “I’m in love with you,” he says. “Have been for a while, I think. You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.”

Oh, shit.

You knew it already. This isn’t news.

He as good as told you in the copy room – and before that, in his office. He told you in Martha’s dining room, told you in your kitchen. He told you every time his lips found yours in Paris, and every time his eyes met yours before that.

If you went back and looked, there’d probably be a trail of clues jotted down in his diary – September second, two o’clock. Great AP score, enthusiastic and friendly. I think I’m in love with her.

He’s always loved you.

It’s just different hearing him say it.

Different to how it felt the last time someone said it to you. Different to how it sounded. There’s no ringing in your ears. There’s no focal shift in your vision.

There’s no…fear.

Joel takes hold of your shoulders. “Don’t run off on me again,” he says, kissing your cheek.

“No, I’m not…I don’t – want to,” you burble, playing with his collar. “You’re just…You might be a couple steps ahead of me.”

“Baby,” he says, a little laugh to it. “That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good where I am.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, and leans in again. “I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

You melt into him; his strong hands and steady chest. Teeth taking his bottom lip, releasing it with a little pop. Your fingers twist around his hair, tugging lightly.

A low growl sounds from Joel’s throat. His hips rut against yours, fly of his jeans catches on the material of your skirt.

It nestles somewhere between your thighs. Solid, swollen. Blood hammering beneath denim, grinding into your body. He’s hard.

“We keep goin’ the way we’re goin’,” Joel hints, “and we’re gonna have a problem that ain’t solved so easily.”

You release him, licking your lips. “You think I can’t feel it already?”

He sucks on the skin over your carotid. “You think I ain’t been dealin’ with it for the last three weeks?”

“Poor Mr. Miller,” you pout, “Let me deal with it.”

His cheeks lift, brows drop. Cocky. The Joel you’re used to. The Joel you want.

The Joel you fucking need, right now.

“C’mon,” you slip a hand down his front, cupping the weight of him, “I miss my daddy.”

He squeezes your ass, catching you in a rough kiss when you writhe forward. His teeth graze your ear. “I wanna touch you, baby. I wanna feel you again. This little cunt,” he slips a hand between your legs, “She’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about.”

Fuck.

It was a feeble attempt, anyway – matching his ego. Utterly futile. The guy makes you lose your fucking mind.

You’ve done things for him that you’d never dream of doing for anyone else – would wring their necks for even asking – and here you are, keening into Joel, grinding your dripping pussy into his palm for all the street to see.

“She’s all yours,” you whine, the words tearing from your throat in a desperate plea. “All yours, Daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmurs against your temple. “I’m gonna take you home, okay? Fuck you nice ‘n hard, make you feel better.”

You moan against his shirt. “Can we go back to yours, Daddy?”

It throws him for one heavy beat. He pauses, breath hot against your jaw, and then presses a barely-there kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, darlin,’” he whispers. “Let’s go back to mine.”

You push off his chest, cunt throbbing with each step towards the fire door. Fingers locked through his – a siren leading her sailor down the wrought iron stairs of Sam’s Saloon. Swimming through bodies, bathing in neon light, breathing in tobacco and tequila.

Joel eyes the booth where his employees sit – folding spinning tops out of beer caps, wagering bets on who’ll still be hungover come Monday.

He turns to whisper in your ear, when a voice strikes like lightning between you.

“Hey!” Martha yells, waving from the corner booth.

You’ve never wanted her to fuck off so badly.

“Just where the hell do you think you two are goin’?”

Joel stumbles into your side, hiding a teenage sort of glee behind your back. It’s contagious – and it riles Martha even more.

You throw your arms in the air, eyes bulging. Take the fucking hint, Martha. “Home?”

“It ain’t even eleven,” she protests, making to stand. “This is your goddamn leavin’ night – what are you doing?”

But you’re already retreating, following the pull of Joel’s hand around yours. Skin like fire, spattering with every touch. There’s nothing – man, myth, or Martha – that could stop you from following him.

You yell it as you swing through the doors.

“Grabbing a paddle!”

Joel leads you with his hands and with his lips down a neighboring street, where his Lamborghini sits at the side of the road. It blinks to life, headlights blinding.

A bruiser of a car – all bulk and brawn and bullish, like the thing is actually rearing. Something of a sharp smirk to it, the same devilish grin its owner so often wears.

He opens your door, steady hand lifting you into the passenger side, and strides around the car. His hand is back between your legs before he’s even switched the ignition on.

“Get – your damn – seatbelt on,” you giggle, slurring the words against Joel’s lips. “I am not letting you drive me home without one.”

His breath is hot and heady, spilling over your tongue with each punch of laughter from his chest. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, clipping the belt into place. He holds his hands out, awaiting your approval.

When you nod, his fingers slip between your thighs.

“You whore,” you snicker – though the sound scatters when he finds your clit. You grab your own belt, yanking it loose from its holder. “Jesus, Joel –”

“There she is,” he coos, pulling out into the road.

He circles her gently at first, massaging over your panties. Middle finger pulsing over the hood, matching the rhythm of your heartbeat flocking south.

Your back arches; nails dig into his wrist. “Daddy,” you gasp, knees parting. Heat quickly soaking through lace and onto leather. “’m gonna – make a mess,” you croon.

“Make a mess, darlin’, it’s okay,” Joel beckons, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Driving me crazy, watching you like this. Dirty little girl.”

“Let me…” you reach for his thigh, “…Wanna touch you, Daddy.”

He grunts – a sound of refusal. “Give me one first, baby. Here,” and he hooks the slippery lace to the side, fingers parting your folds, “Let Daddy feel you right here.”

Your knee lifts, leg folding against the door, and Joel pushes inside. Two fingers knuckle-deep in one thrust. You yelp.

“Oh, baby,” he tuts, “She’s so wet. She miss her daddy that bad?”

“Yeah,” you whine, watching the thick shine he draws from your cunt. You lift your hips to open wider – and he slots a third finger in.

“Look at her,” he growls, “desperate little cunt. That feel better, darlin’?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you mewl, though you’re not fucking listening to a word he’s saying.

You watch, boneless and blathering, as your hand lowers – replacing where Joel’s was on your clit. Rubbing little circles while he fucks you with his thick fingers. Your back curls again, tits threatening to spill out of your dress.

“Keep doin’ that,” Joel instructs, wrist jacking faster. “You’re close, ain’t you?”

“Shit,” you gasp, walls clenching around him. “So – close, Joel – fuck.”

The car slows to a stop. A red glow seeps through the windshield, lighting your smirk in a dangerous tinge.

Your pussy drools onto the leather seat, throbbing over Joel’s hand. Syrupy and honey-sweet, coating him in a glistening mess the harder he fucks you. A sticky sound, the slap of skin on skin, the beats of your moaning in between.

“Look at me,” Joel says, and you tear your eyes from between your legs. “Keep playing with it. C’mere.”

He tilts your jaw with his free hand and slips his tongue past your lips – the taste of him more dizzying than any drink from that bar. He kisses you until you’re right there, sucking on his tongue, teetering on the edge of your first climax. Crying into his mouth to stop from screaming at the ceiling.

“Daddy, need –”

Joel’s wrist pounds against your clit. He laughs across your tongue.

“Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me feel her.”

“Say it,” you beg, your head lolling on his shoulder. The streetlights begin to bleed into the car. The light flicks to yellow. “Need you to – to say it.”

He nuzzles his nose against yours, turning to let you taste the words.

“I love you,” he whispers, and you break wide open.

The car rolls off again as you come with a violent shudder, crying into Joel’s chest. Daddy Daddy Daddy, fuck me fuck me fuck me.

“I know, I know,” Joel says, riding your high out to the horizon. He stares at the road ahead, only daring a glimpse at the sodden mess between your thighs when you start to come around again.

He works your swollen cunt, fingers gleaming with your orgasm. Slips them over his tongue, licks them clean – and then pushes them back between your sensitive lips.

You rock with the moving car, pulse still rattling your lungs. Your eyes drift down, down: Joel’s spread legs, the shape even bolder in his jeans than before.

You got a terrible habit of driving me fucking insane, pretty girl.

Weak and still quivering, you slip your hand over his belt – feeling his stomach jolt the second you touch it. The dark trail of hair from his navel, the thicker it grows – the harder he tenses.

“Easy,” he clips, adjusting in his seat. “Alright, darlin’. We’re…You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“Good,” you shrug, “I bet you have a good lawyer.”

You slump into his lap, the armrest solid against your ribcage. Trembling fingers loosening his belt, picking at the button of his jeans, husking them loose when he lifts his hips.

“Jesus,” he clears his throat, “Won’t let me drive without a seatbelt, but you’re – you’re fine with – fuck.”

He’s heavy and rock solid, so wide you can barely hold him. Big enough that it takes no effort at all to pull him free. Shaft silky smooth, tip flushed red and leaking deliciously.

Fuck, he’s so pretty. He’s so –

“– pretty, Daddy.”

Joel lifts his hand and holds you at the back of your neck, grip tightening when you dab his head along your bottom lip. “Prettier when you’re playin’ with it, angel.”

Your tongue circles his tip – salt and sweat stirring you from your orgasmic haze. You dribble down his cock, spit racing to the twists of thick hair at his base.

The sound he makes is guttural – a roar of a groan from his chest – when you sink down on him. He fills your mouth instantly, nudging the back of your throat in one.

The car swerves some. Joel curses over your head.

You slip back up – slow. Let your tongue trace every ridge, every vein along the way. All of it perfect perfect perfect – all of it him. Chasing streaks of saliva, the pearly shine of precome beading from his slit.

One hand stroking his hilt, lips suckling around his tip. Kneading his weighty balls – massaging them in your palm, dragging your tongue down to kiss the cushiony skin.

“Pretty girl,” Joel rasps, hips canting to meet every lick, every stroke. “You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.”

Mhm, you mumble, gagging around the intrusion. Tears sear across your waterline, spilling from the corners of your eyes. So big, so pretty, so perfect.

He nuzzles deep, stretching the column of your throat wide. “Baby,” he warns, voice sharper, “Baby, you gotta – you gotta stop now.”

Maple, he’d said – that day in your shower. If you say it, I stop.

Say it, you dare him silently.

“I’m gonna – c-come, darlin’,” instead.

Say. It.

“You want that?” he growls, hand surfing over your hair to cup your skull. “You wanna make your Daddy come?”

Your voice flattens, mutes under the strain of his cock. You moan instead, the sound weak and muffled.

“Shit,” Joel says, stomach tensing tensing tensing. “Shit, angel, just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He twitches deep inside. He’s there. Right there.

You slacken your jaw and lick up his shaft, two hands wrapping around it. They slip around the sticky spit, swirling and squeezing while you kiss his tip.

He holds you steady, slowing the car to watch as he fills your mouth.

Two, three warm spurts across your tongue, dripping down the back of your throat. You lap up every drop, tongue swirling the salt around your lips before you swallow it down.

Joel rasps as he steers the car into a dim lot. He strokes your head, jerks when you play a little too much with him.

“Attagirl,” he sighs, “Careful with it. Tryna fuckin’ kill me.”

You giggle, swiping kitten licks at his tip before you slip him back into his underwear. You bat Joel’s hands away, buttoning his jeans and threading his belt back together. Planting heavy kisses into the plush of his tummy.

When the darkness is pierced by flickering fluorescents, you push yourself up.

“Where are we?” you ask, twisting in your seat.

“Home,” he says simply.

A plain man in a dark suit strides over to the car as soon as it parks up. The click of his shoes bouncing off the walls.

Joel swipes at your chin with his thumb. He slips the digit past your lips and you suck it clean. “Dirty girl,” he utters, stealing another hasty kiss before swinging out of the car.

You hop out the other side, tottering around the Lamborghini to meet him at the back.

The attendant’s name badge reads Owen. “Long day, Mr. Miller?”

Joel pats his shoulder in greeting, reaching for your hand. “Long day,” he agrees, and makes for the elevator.

Your head swivels, taking in each lavish vehicle parked under luminous light. Emblems with horses and bulls and wings – plenty more than you don’t even recognize. Each car polished to perfection, groomed within an inch of its life.

Joel flicks the button at the top of the panel. The doors glide closed – smooth and silent. You barely feel it as it scales the building rapidly.

“Wait a second,” you stare at the dazzling PH, “Do you live on the top fucking floor?”

He bites his lip. “Might do.”

You step back. “So you let me bring you into my – my shitty little apartment, and meanwhile you’re –?”

“Woah, woah,” he cuts in. “Your apartment is not shitty.”

“It’s not a fucking penthouse, Joel.”

“It’s a nice apartment!” he protests, squeezing your shoulder. “Do you always gotta be so goddamn dramatic?”

“I bet you could fit my entire place inside your living room. Right? Am I right?”

He clicks his teeth and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Naw,” he says, like a little kid. Twisting his toe into the marble floor. “Dressing room, more like.”

The doors part just in time for him to escape your drumming fists – his boyish snicker filling the cream hallway.

You spill out after him, pulse fluttering dangerously through your veins.

“You know what my place doesn’t have?” Joel says, fishing for his keys. “A poster of Richard Gere. I could use one of those.”

“Oh,” you feign amusement, “Well, you can have mine. I won’t be able to look at it now, anyways.”

He slots the key in the lock and turns. Drinks in the sight of you – on a comedown from only the second-hottest car ride you’ve ever taken.

“Your apartment,” he lifts a finger, “has you in it. It wins, every time.”

Your jaw clenches. Your heart begins a warning drum in your chest. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fall.

Too late, you think.

The door sweeps open, and Joel beckons you forward.

“Ladies first.”

You slip by, stepping into a regal hallway. Smooth stone on either side, dark wood under your heels. All marble and mirror, classy, glassy décor. Golden spotlights which glow to life overhead, the deeper your footsteps echo.

It’s dark, and a little moody. Manly. The perfect marriage of masculine and chic. Cold steel and warm wood.

It looks like him. Classy and luxurious – but homey, warm. Everything that draws you to him, and everything that makes you want to stay.

Joel follows silently at your back, much the same as he did in his little white house. Looking to his feet when you turn back, fiddling with the strap of his watch.

You wander to the end of the hall, where the apartment widens. A towering living room – sylvan and rustic, the same muted tones bleeding through. Cityscape backdrop, pristine glass fire. A coffee table homing ornate vases and books on woodworking; a faux fur blanket over the couch and beside it, a worn flannel shirt.

You love it. You love all of it.

And loving his apartment is probably a bit of a copout, right? The easier way, the safer way to admit something much scarier. It’s just fragments of Joel, after all. It’s all the parts you’ve come to like best.

His heart, his soul. The kid with the freckles and scruffy hair, all grown up. Thrown into a big city, thrown into a big job. Thrown into a million-dollar penthouse – and still, he turns everything he touches into…home.

Joel presses his lips along your shoulder, perches his chin on your collarbone. Quiet, a little bashful – hiding from every secret he’s letting you in on just with being here.

Your eyes catch a brushed-gold frame on the sideboard, and you float over.

Faded by the sun and the years in between, there’s a peachy tint to the photo. A dreamy lilac sky, dark cedars fringing the background. A squint mailbox, cherry red with the name MILLER printed on.

Two boys, one as filthy as the other. Matching denim shorts and lanky limbs. Smeared with paint, in the midst of a brawl which nearly blurs their figures into nothing more than one head of dark hair, the other sandy.

You’d recognize him anywhere, though. Even with his arm hooked around his little brother’s neck.

“Tommy started it,” Joel says, elbowing your side. “See that smudge on the mailbox? He pushed me headfirst into the thing.”

Your chest leaps. “Who won the fight?”

He takes the frame and dusts it with the sleeve of his jacket. “Mom did,” he replies. “Threw the camera down ‘n dragged us inside. Grounded us for a week, made us repaint the entire thing.”

“How is your mom?” you ask.

Joel nods. “Good. She’s askin’ after you.”

“She still asks about me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “’cause I still talk about you.”

It prods low in your chest. Aching, stitching itself back together thread by thread. A wound twelve years in the making, the doing and undoing of everything you ever knew. Family and love; hurt and loss.

It’s okay to lose some things, you reckon. It’s okay to let them go. To watch that beat-up Toyota tear off for the horizon. To leave that man and his ring and the promises he’ll never fulfill.

There’s someone better waiting down the line, anyway. It starts with a page of doodles; it ends with your heart in his hands.

The safest place it’s ever going to be.

You cross your arms around Joel’s neck and pull him against your body. Pull him against the wound.

“I want to go see her again, tomorrow.”

“I think she’d like that.”

“Then I want to come back here and spend the whole weekend with you.”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that, too.”

You kiss him softly.

“And I want you to take me to bed right now, and show me how much you love me.”

The twinkling city is the only light left on this side of the apartment.

Half-drunk in a half-dim room, you stumble in backwards – tripping over thin air and collapsing onto the bed, pulling the six-foot shadow of your ex-boss-now-something on top.

The laughter rumbles from Joel’s chest. “I’m too old for this, pretty girl,” he says, sucking a mark into your neck.

“No big deal,” you titter, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll keep you going.”

He hovers over you, watching as you peel the clothes from his body. The heavy clink of his belt on the floor, the ruffle of slacks down his legs. He shakes the shirt from his arms and your lips connect again in the darkness.

Hips between yours, he drags your dress from the hem up over your arms. A hungry glimpse, tongue dabbing at the corner of his mouth – like it’s Monday morning all over again, and you’re on your knees in front of him for the first time.

Back when flirting was as harmless as delivering coffee and running errands. Back when he was one third of a fuck, marry, kill debate with Martha and Deb. Back when neither of you knew these versions of yourselves even existed.

Joel lowers – taking your nipple in his mouth.

“Shit,” you pant, fingers searching for the elastic around his waist.

He helps you tug his boxers off. His cock sways between his legs, smatter of come and damp saliva across your stomach as he guides you up the mattress. He takes the lace from your hips in his fist and rids you of it in quick motion.

“See what you do to your daddy?” he asks, tapping the weight of his cock against your mound.

You reach down, wrapping your fingers around him. He’s stubbornly solid again – throbbing under your touch. He shudders when you swipe a gentle thumb over his tip.

“Already came once ‘n you got him hard all over again,” Joel adds.

You take your lip under your teeth, stroking his cock. Your clit flutters at the thought of him pushing in. The stretch that feels so impossible, the punch of pain each time he reaches the end of your pussy.

It steals a sob from your lips. “I wanna ride you, Daddy,” you sputter, a solid shove on his shoulders.

He rolls onto his back, hands finding your hips as you mount his waist.

“Let me ride you,” you’re panting, lowering onto the dense muscle of his stomach. Quickly coating the trail of pubic hair with a pearly sheen. You rock back and forth, taking the stalk of him in one small hand.

“Let me ride – just wanna ride –”

“Alright, alright,” Joel hastens, sitting upright. He slips an arm around your back.

You whine. “You never let me, Daddy, I just wanna –”

“Shh,” he holds your jaw, “I’m gonna let you. I’m gonna let you, baby. Just gotta go slow, alright? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it,” you tell him, hands on your hips.

“I know,” Joel replies, “I know you can. Always do, huh?”

He slides his tip through your core, teasing your entrance. So wide that you can already feel your little hole struggling with just his head. He’s covered in you – your slick blending with his, your breath swapping.

“Three weeks, angel,” he fusses, beginning to edge you down. “Too goddamn long,” he adds, “You know how much I missed this pretty cunt?”

Your pussy sucks his length in, blooming for him. Warm and snug, spongey walls pinching every inch as he penetrates her. Like they’re made for each other, the same way you and Joel are.

“She missed you more,” you gasp, head tilted back to the ceiling. “I missed you more.”

Joel’s teeth pluck at the column of your throat, still raw from the memory of his dick. “Doing so good for me,” he hums, “Little more, okay?”

You collapse forward, boneless and weeping against his chest. The pain and the pleasure hammering through your veins – Joel’s thunder and your lightning. Every nerve on fire, every hair on your body standing to attention.

He holds you steady, hands still locked around your waist, cock still filling you up inch by inch. When your clit reaches the coarse hair at his base, Joel kisses from your chest up to your jaw.

“You feel that, baby?” he asks, two fingers lifting your chin. “Feel Daddy inside you? All of him, darlin’, you got all of him in there.”

You wiggle in his lap, hips aching with the effort of holding his full length. “So big, Daddy.”

Joel tenses, teeth gritting. “I ain’t gonna last long,” he admits, grip firm on your hips.

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo, nudging him back into the mattress. His cock slips from your slit, drizzled with slick. You feel so empty without him – electricity fizzling into nothing, walls clamping around nothing.

You brace yourself over his torso – reaching between your legs to guide him back to your entrance.

Beneath hooded lids, heavy with lust, Joel watches as you drag his tip through your folds. He presses his thumb to your clit, rough circles around the swollen hood, and parts your lips with his fingers.

His cock lines up, and you sink down.

“Christ, darlin’,” Joel groans. He flicks at your clit, his other hand coming up to pinch your nipple.

“I – Fuck,” you moan, bouncing on him. “Feels so – good, Daddy, I –”

You fall forward into the headboard – staying upright only with your fingers locked around the wood. You’re slipping, already barreling your way towards another orgasm.

You grind forward, rutting into Joel’s palm, falling back on his cock. Your spine curls; hands drop to claw at his chest, ground yourself there.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. It’s not like this, it’s never like this. No one has ever fucked you this good, this rough and this loving.

Joel’s balls slap against your ass. He bucks his hips, knees lifting to bump you forward.

“Attagirl,” he says, slipping a hand around your neck. He brings you down, nips at your lower lip. His forehead slides against yours. “Can feel you closing, darlin’,” he chuckles, “You gonna come for me?”

“D-dick,” you hiss.

He smirks. “Always look so pretty when you let go. You don’t wanna show Daddy how pretty you are?”

You writhe over him, biting down hard on your climax.

“My beautiful girl,” Joel murmurs in your ear. “Come for Daddy.”

And it throws you under.

Blinding, deafening. Every nerve in your body overcome, each one flipped to feel only Joel. His cock, buried deep inside, your walls clamped around him; his teeth on your skin, tongue soothing the scrape.

It’s never like this.

Never so euphoric, never such a perfect meld of bruise and bliss. The feeling of your body changing, altering down to the very last atom – blossoming anew. Fresher, purer, lovelier.

When you come back around, you’re on your back.

Legs wrapped around Joel’s waist; arms linked around his neck. He must’ve flipped you, the second you came.

He slips back inside, suckling on the skin beneath your ear, and drives his hips into yours. Ignores your yelps, your short breaths – just fucks into you like you’ll be gone in the morning.

Fucks into you like he’ll never get to do it again. Like he hasn’t been doing it for weeks. He fucks you so hard that it hurts; an ache already burning that you know you’ll still feel walking into work on Monday.

“Good girl,” he chants, over and over. “Daddy’s girl.”

Like a fever come over him – beads of sweat dotting his skin, flush in his cheeks. He fucks you mindless, senseless, wordless. Sobbing beneath him, each word soaking into the next.

Good girl. Good girl. Daddy’s girl, that’s it. Daddy loves you so much, baby. Gonna fill this little cunt up so good.

When your walls pull tight again, your third orgasm flooding from every pore in your body – Joel’s movements halt.

He comes with a painful jolt – his cock shunting into you once, twice, until he’s pumping you full of his come. Twitching deep within you, pulsing warm and messy inside your pussy.

He comes with a sound like song. Your name, entangled in a throaty groan – lips tucked somewhere between your neck and shoulder.

You finally hear it – for the first time in your life.

How it’s supposed to sound: low like thunder, Texan in its swing. No one else, you realize, has ever gotten it right – this right – before. As if only his lips were meant to speak it, his tongue designed to carve around the letters. His vocal cords strung to send the sound to your ears.

It’s his, you decide. Your name – and every other piece of you. All of you. It all belongs to him, now.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, one hand on the headboard to steady himself. He lets it rain down over you: “I love you so much, you know that?”

“Come here,” you whisper, and he falls into your body, “Come love me forever.”

Half-conscious and full bliss, you laze in Joel’s bed – all fucking night.

Strong arms hooked around your shoulders, heart to heart. Breath shared, whispering nothings and everythings in the space between your lips. He’s still buried deep inside, still tucked between your legs.

Bundled in satin sheets, kept warm by his body around yours. Talking shit, poking fun, flirting and fucking around. You play with his hands, sizing your open palm against his. You compare the scars and scrapes on your skin, spill the bloody story behind each one.

“Alright, big girl,” Joel yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m beat. You killed me.”

You snuggle under his chin. “Get some sleep, old man.”

He takes a second to respond. He’s already going. This is probably the closest he’s been to actually sleeping for a good three weeks.

“Love you,” he exhales then, like the thought just lapped past his lips again.

You smile. Take his big hands in yours and lift them closer to your chest, tuck your chin over your interlocked fingers.

Something deep inside you lurches. Tries to escape. You tighten Joel’s grip, as if choking the words on their way up.

Joel’s breathing slowly begins to draw out – tiny sighs passing his lips. Your thumbs trace the short hair between his nose and top lip, combing it, nail ghosting over the lines on his lips.

A warm feeling floods through your body. Suddenly – it starts in your chest and washes over in waves, dousing you and the world around you in a dreamy rose. Like a sunset paints its way across the walls, the glint of gold where the light catches on the tower in the distance.

Peace, you think.

Only – there’s no end to it. No sleek black car to drag you away. No broken promises and half-truths. The ache in your chest pulls gently – a reminder, no longer a threat.

This will never leave. He won’t let it. It’s as safe as you are, now, wrapped in his arms. Nothing and no one to break you apart.

“Joel?” you whisper.

His eyelashes flutter, like even asleep he knows it’s something worth hearing. Like everything you could possibly say – What should we have for breakfast? My foot itches. Did you know Martha box dyes her hair? – it’s all worth hearing.

You gulp. “Joel, I wanna – I wanna tell you something.”

He crackles to life, words melting into one another. “…What is it…darlin’…?”

Your lips morph around voiceless words. Your tongue lifts to the back of your teeth, trying to force the sound out.

It’s everything, you think. You’re everything. Say it. Say it say it say it.

But he’s already dropping off again. He’s already being swept away somewhere you’re too tense to reach. And you’re not brave enough to push through the fog on your own, stick a trembling hand into the unknown and swipe for his.

So you let it go. Watch the words float off somewhere Joel can’t hear them.

You shrink yourself, slotting your head beneath his jaw, your cheek to his chest. He sighs into the crown of your head. His heartbeat thuds a familiar bassline into your ear. Hi, old friend. I missed you.

Maybe in the morning, you can swing by your place and grab a bag. Pack a few days’ worth of clothes, spend the first few mornings of your new career drinking velvety coffee in bed next to Joel. Sharing the mug, sharing the newspaper, sharing the shower when it’s time to get up.

Maybe you should call Martha, and apologize for skipping your party. She can fill you in on the night – the drunken dramas, the secrets spilled. She won’t ask about you and Joel – she’ll just know. And that’s enough.

Maybe you’ll throw the phone to the end of the bed after you hang up, discarded amongst the tangle of sheets, and lie back down next to a still sleeping Joel. Lay your head on his chest, like it is right now. Listen to his heartbeat, run your fingers across the dark hair.

And maybe you’ll think over the same three words currently racing through your head. Maybe you’ll try to piece together a sentence for him to hear, when you’re ready to say it out loud.

Maybe by morning, you’ll be brave enough to admit it to yourself, first.

That…yeah.

You love him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #fic: sex on fire

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fishnapple · 1 month

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Channelled message: Things they wish to tell you (lover/partner/future spouse)

This reading is about things that the person you have in mind wishes to tell you but find it hard to do so. I don't know why, but the tone of this reading sounded so angsty. I had to fought back the urge to comment on every sentence as I was typing.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. Amethyst

I feel like a kid whenever I'm near you. It's hard to hide, I feel so vulnerable. You stripped me of my armour. You made me afraid but I liked it. I want to tell you that you can strip whatever is left of me, and I will be willing to stand there and let you do it.

But before that, you have to catch me. I like the game of hide and seek, running and chasing. Every time I had to chase you, every time you had to chase me, it gave me the satisfaction that I'm not proud to tell you. Don't give me that look, you and I both know that whatever game we are playing, in the end, the loser gets to win, the winner gets to lose. You know you can catch me, because I let you.

I love whispering things into those pretty ears of yours. Feel them so close that my lips can almost touch your skin. Sometimes you will laugh, sometimes you will stay silent, your skin getting more red, sometimes you will turn around and let your lips touch mine. Your reactions are my goal and I'm an over-achiever.

Teetering between pure love and pure lust, what to choose? Sometimes we are so close to being enemies to each other, then we fall over into lovers. I don't know how we do it but I like to keep it a little ambiguous. The suspension, the uncertainty, those uncomfortable feelings make me feel alive.

Not to mention that people are so confused about us. I bet they can sense something between us, those flustered looks, those closer than necessary touches, those innocent exchanges. They can guess but they will never know the depth of our connection.

I actually love the feeling of sitting on the couch, waiting for you to come home to me. Once we've built our nest, I don't want to leave it. I don't want you to leave either. But I know your free spirit well enough not to tell you my wish. But you can't blame me if sometimes I use some "tactics" to entice you to stay with me. Hey, I can hear your snicker. You think someone like me saying this kind of thing is probably lying. Well, I do lie, but about the opposite thing, I lie to the world that I'm not a home-body, that my life is a constant motion, moving here and there, that I'm someone who always takes charge. My lies will be so convincing that they can even fool you. Yes, I know I like to change things, but look closer, you will find something that stays the same no matter what. I hope you won't give up finding it because I won't make it easy for you to find it. But I know you like a good challenge.

2. Rose quartz

I have so many things I wanted to tell you, but the moment those words arrived at the tip of my tongue, they took a U turn and went back. I don't know why I like to betray myself like that.

I would tell you how this ice cream tastes good, but all I could think about is your taste. I would tell you I like the feeling of warmth when sitting near the fire, but all I could feel is your heat. Same old stuff, same old stories, same old jokes, repeated again and again. What am I trying to hide? Why can't I just say what I want? What am I so afraid of?

I feel like a yellow rubber duck, floating forever on the surface, can't never get deep enough. Well, at least I get to be with you in the bathtub, not complaining. Here I go again, using light words to camouflage my feelings and desire for you. I don't want to be a tease, I want to be an arrow, striking its target at lightning speed.

Use your finger and sink this duck down into the water, and keep it that way. Hold me down, keep me still, until I'm drown in you.

Giving and taking, holding and embracing, I want it all, I don't want a single experience to slip through my fingers, I want to salvage everything, to savour slowly then to devour swiftly.

I want you to be the cold, harsh truth to my soft lies. The punishing force to my innocent crimes. But I also want you to be the embrace that I can fall into, the laughter I long to hear in my darkening days. Greedy, I know. And you can be greedy with me too. You ask and I will give.

Will you say no to my dreams, saying they're just pipe dreams, forever should be in the land of the unreal. Or will you say yes and applaud them? I know I can make them real, I know I can turn my thoughts into things that others can see and feel. I have faith. I just want you to have that same faith with me. Wouldn't it be nicer to have two who dream the same dreams? And nicer still when those two can create something together. I suggest a family, kids, pets, just a few examples.

I wish to take you everywhere, to meet everyone I know and everyone I haven't known. The feeling of a community, of connections always warm my heart. I hope you understand that. But it's okay if you don't, because there are probably lots of things I don't understand about you either. And let's keep it that way.

3. Tiger's eye

I have so many plans for our future. Since the first time when I met you, probably in some corners of my mind, I've been drawing up our plan together, our imaginary home, our imaginary kids, even our imaginary pets.

Talk to me, tell me your own delusions, give me more fuel, rile up my imagination. Delusions create the world. Or so they say, or so I say. Doesn't matter. Because I'm actually nurturing these delusions of mine into reality. Just so you wait and don't act surprised when they do come true. I have the divine on my side. You can't beat it, I can't beat it. And believe me, I've tried.

I've tried to go against the nudges, the little push behind my back so many times. It usually didn't end well. I still found myself in the exact place that I needed to be, whether I wanted to or not.

Please don't misunderstand, I'm not saying this to tell you that being with you is against my will or I want to fight back our connection. I just want to explain the way I do things in general. I do bizarre things, say bizarre things sometimes, a lot of times, actually. You would think these are all jokes. They are. When you're viewed as a weirdo, it actually gives you lots of freedom to do things your way without people exclaiming disappointment or shock. What's there to be shocked and disappointed if they already viewed you as someone capable of everything, even unhinged things. This is the way I deal with the world. Quickly, so they will be out of my sight and let me focus on other important things.

For example, you, the sight of you, up close, inching ever closer, faraway, walking away but never be out of my sight. Curate an art exhibition for me. With pieces of art showing your myriad expression and sounds. Showing you in different clothes or without. I'd love to just stand there to watch and listen. Then, when I'm brave enough, I will be an art thief.

4. Carnelian

Let me tell you upfront, I'm not the kind to forgive easily. And I know with each pain I'm getting, I'm also dissing out more pain towards others and myself.

I get easily obsessed about everything, good or bad, mostly bad things. They've burnt a piece of me. I've been betrayed in the past. So many betrayals that made me angry towards the world, towards myself. I just wanted to go away. No, not to hide, but to gather my strength again and come back and confront. I used to be the one that is caught in other's claws, now I know how to catch them in my claws.

But this kind of behaviour ruined my soul. I want to sweep away all these pains and anger, to lighten my existence. It's almost a wish that I've been keeping to myself for all this time. And now you know about it too. And I'm glad that you can help me make it come true. Pull me out of this destructive cycle. Help me breathe and look for the light.

I say hurtful things sometimes, you probably will fall victim to that some day and I want to ask for your forgiveness beforehand. I let my pride get in my way a lot of times. To prove my point, to prove my worth, to prove that I'm strong, that you can't hurt me. But you can, you just choose not to. I know I'm at your mercy. This makes me uncomfortable, but it's actually not so bad. I'm getting used to it. Thanks to your humour and gentle touches. For every hurtful word of mine, you replaced it with your kiss. If I ask you to cry for my pain, will you do it, in my stead?

You sure know how to tame me, or just anyone ever met you feel the same way? Stop, I won't let myself go into that direction of thinking. Let's just focus on us. Teach me how to dismantle someone's defence like you did to me, step by step. Just so I can understand what's being done to me. I want to know everything, grab everything in my hands to understand it.

Don't worry, I won't do it to you, because you will come to me defenceless. Is that how you will win? Will I take all I can and leave you with nothing, or will I give you all and be a part of it? You decide.

Note: I usually pull one oracle card to read their energy better. With this group, three cards wanted to come out. I looked at the cards, the fish, the bear and the scorpion, then tried to put them back because that's too many. Right at the moment I put them back into the deck, I felt a sharp pain in my rib-cage for a split second, so I decided to put the three cards down and read them for this group. And guess what, a part of the stone layout does resemble the scorpion's tail.

5. Aventurine

I'm putting my best behaviour for the world to see, for you to see too. In this world of everyone fighting to get to the top, I just want to honour a softer energy. To nurture and harmonise everything, everyone. But I pursue that desire with the mentality of a soldier, a worker, diligently getting closer to my goal every day. I don't know how to do this, to be honest, I'm properly doing it wrong. Shall I just agree with everything to keep the peace, or shall I fight back?. Is it possible to honour something that I don't understand?

I have a dilemma of being a little people-pleasing. I like to hide and push my individuality to the back. Let my own compass take a back seat while letting others dictate what's good for me. I can't deny that a part of me wish for this. To let others lead me and I will do what was told. And I just want to trust you with that responsibility, putting myself into your hands.

The only thing I want to control is how I do things, those small details to get the job done. I guess I'm just overwhelmed by the large responsibility of life that I fuss about the details. When can I stop putting my mental energy into banal things and think about the bigger picture? Will I ever meet my calling, my destination?

But good news, I'm learning. Those days that I hid in my house, alone, probably did me some good. I'm learning to be with myself. So that I can be with others. You will get an early access, of course, with special service.

I'm glad that I can feel safe with you, enough to whisper in low voice about my spiritual belief. It's always there, with me, protecting me. The last thing I want is to be called strange. Especially from you, and lucky for me, you won't. You will never do that to me, that's your kindness. To other people, they can see me getting upset at our carpet being spoiled by coffee. They probably will think that I was upset because of the cost of getting it cleaned, the ruined aesthetic. But to you, you will understand the reason immediately. You will know that I believe a spirit lives in that carpet and spilling the coffee will hurt them. Keep it a secret for me, okay? Pinky promise.

6. Prehnite

The first time that we met wasn't the first time I saw you. I had seen you ways before that. I just needed time to build my strategy, to infiltrate into your life as smoothly as possible.

I was patient, time was on my side. There is no need to rush. You had your guard up and I didn't want to scare you away. Heck, I sound like a predator, circling its prey. Or maybe I was? You tell me.

But I do know that you didn't make it easy for me to approach you. I have to confess, I almost gave up. I have a habit of letting go too early. A sign of things derailing, then I will be up and going. I couldn't be bogged down by anything, or so I thought. Love was never the end goal for me. It was just a side effect. Even lust had not much meaning to me. I just sped up ahead, leaving them behind. I was pursuing total freedom. I viewed everything as an object to be studied, to extract information from, to help build my personal library. I basically lived in my head.

What's mysterious force that kept my patient in pursuing you, I don't know. Maybe you are the biggest mystery that I've yet to solve. And that thought was the beginning of my demise. At least, my old self's demise. I'm enjoying myself right now, with you.

But you also didn't make it easier when we're together. What are you? Divine punishment? It's not like I have the option to pack by bags and go back to my old way again. I've already burned the bridge leading to it. No coming back now.

You push me to the edge, and I will pull your hand with me. Let's fall together then soaring up again. When our wings are tired and broken, plunge me back to the depth, and I will show you how enticing it is to be with me down below. You're afraid, but you're also brave. I won't do something that I know you can't do or don't want to do. That's our unspoken oath.

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pomefioredove · 2 months

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If you still take req for the event (if not ignore 🙏), could we pls get "I can't stop thinking about you." With Sebek

RARE SEBEK REQUEST 🙏🙏🙏

summary: "I can't stop thinking about you" type of post: short fic characters: sebek additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

You are a problem.

Not because you're always getting yourself into trouble, not because of your poor temperament, not even because of that direbeast you carry around with you.

No. Sebek couldn't have cared less about all that.

If that's all it was, he could have tolerated you. What's one more bothersome human to him?

You would have been no different from the others.

If not for...

"Ah, young love," Lilia sighs. There's a dreamy current in the stream of his voice that makes Sebek stiffen.

"It is NOT... love,"

The elder fae chuckles. "Yes, I remember what that was like. Denial is the first stage, you know,"

"That's grief, father," Silver mutters, keeping his head down to avoid being dragged into the conversation.

"And what is grief if not love?"

"Again," Sebek is tense. "I am not interested in such things. I have already devoted my life and service to Malleus."

Silver and Lilia give each other a look.

"You know, Sebek, it's okay to have these kinds of thoughts. You're young! You have the rest of your life to guard Malleus. You should have some fun," Lilia says.

"Father is right. Maybe you'll loosen up a bit. You're too stressed,"

"YOU'RE NOT STRESSED ENOUGH!"

Lilia sighs that certain familiar sigh.

"I admire your focus, Sebek. If you really want to rid yourself of these feelings, the fastest way to do so is confessing. That way, you won't spend months toiling over them,"

Sebek's expression flips forthwith, and he beams. "Thank you for your wisdom!"

Silver raises an eyebrow, and Lilia dismisses him with a wave. It doesn't matter, anyway; Sebek takes his words to heart.

It's long past dark when he pounds on Ramshackle's door.

Nonetheless, you answer, bleary-eyed and sluggish, a thumb-sucking Grim tucked in your arms like an infant.

"Sebek?" you ask. "Is... everything alright? Are you okay? Did something happen to Malleus?"

Your words of concern are like an arrow through his heart. Worried for both him and his liege?

But also... worried for him...

He better get this over with fast.

"Malleus is well, do not worry about him. This concerns us,"

You stare in disbelief, as if you hadn't heard him right. "Us?"

"Did you mishear me? I am here because I cannot stop thinking about you!"

"...Oh!"

Oh?

"...Me?"

"Am I not speaking loud enough for you? I said, I CANNO-"

Your eyes widen. "No! No, I heard you! I'm just confused. What exactly does that mean?"

Sebek crosses his arms. Of course. Sigh...

"Lilia said I might overcome my feelings for you if I express them. So? What do you have to say for yourself?"

You blink. You're clearly still tired, he thinks, otherwise you would have understood, accepted his words, and been gone by now.

Right? Nothing more.

"Um... I don't know," you finally say. "Maybe I can come to training tomorrow?"

Hm. A strange response, but not an unwelcome one. Sebek grins.

"Finally taking up the offer? Of course. Anyone who spends time with Malleus should know the basics of combat,"

You hum, looking up at the sky behind him. "I wasn't really thinking about spending time with Malleus, but... okay. Tomorrow,"

"Tomorrow!"

And with that, he's gone, with a warm feeling in his chest that wasn't there before.

Lilia must have been right about confessing- he suddenly feels much better.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #queued

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elusivewildflower · 11 months

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Do Be Careful | Astarion x Reader Drabble

Summary: Astarion saves you from a trap and scolds you afterwards. GN!Reader.

Word Count: 746

A/N: Based on my idea that I posted here. I might make this into a little series if I get inspired and come up with more scenarios.

“Heyy-o.” Came Karlach’s voice, capturing the attention of the entire party. “This place is rigged.” She continued, pointing out a tripwire that was a few paces ahead of her.

Astarion sighed heavily. “Everyone keep your eyes open and be careful. I don’t particularly feel like getting blown up today.” His vermillion eyes met yours and narrowed. “Especially you, darling.”

You raised your hand to your chest, feigning hurt by his words. “I’m always careful!”

The pale elf scoffed. “You’re about as careful as I am honest.”

Brushing off Astarion’s words, you turned to the left and began walking. As the rest of your party split off into different directions, Astarion trailed behind you. It seemed as if every inch of the dimly lit cellar you were exploring was covered in dust. You felt as if you couldn’t breath already, and you had only been down here for twenty minutes. All you wanted was to find the amulet you came for and get the hell out. You certainly hoped the reward for this item was worth all of the trouble. As a sneeze sounded from the elf behind you, you smiled. At least you weren’t the only one suffering.

As you wandered through the dank cellar, your thoughts were plagued by the man behind you. Ever since the night of the tiefling party, Astarion had become your shadow. Sure, you were the self-proclaimed leader of your group and everyone followed you, but not in the same way he did. Every move you made he copied, and he never strayed far from you in a fight. His trailing after you has only gotten worse since the time you unknowingly stepped on a live trap. It’s only happened two other times, but Astarion will never let you live it down. A part of you was endeared to know the elf must care for you, even if you often questioned that matter. After all, he hadn’t been fully present with you during the night you shared. Yet, here he was, always two steps behind you, ready to pounce in case you needed saving. A heavy sigh resounded in your chest. Your relationship with the vampire was confusing to say the least.

Too swept up in your thoughts about the shadow behind you, you didn’t spot the trap you were walking into until it was too late. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt a tripwire brush against your shin. It seems whomever rigged this cellar had a particular type of trap they favored.

“Sh—“

You didn’t have time to finish your expletive before a strong arm wrapped around your waist from behind and yanked you out of harm’s way. As you tumbled to the ground, you watched an arrow shoot out from a dark corner and sail through the air right where you had been standing. A cool and lean body cushions your fall, the both of you letting out a grunt upon impact.

After taking a moment to process what just happened, or rather, what almost happened, you rolled off of your savior. Embarrassment flooded through you as you shot him a bashful grin.

“What did I just say?!” Astarion scolded you exasperatedly.

This was now the fourth time your resident vampire has saved your hind, and he didn’t look too pleased about it. Perhaps a compliment might distract him from his anger? You batted your eyelashes, feigning innocence. “You’re so pretty, Astarion.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere right now, darling.” He chastised before heaving a sigh. You watched as his features contorted with a hint of concern. ”You could’ve, oh, I don’t know, died?!”

Your shoulders slumped as you realized the truth of his statement. “I’m sorry….”

“You should be!” He brushed himself off as the two of you got to your feet. “I’ve saved your life, yet again, and all I get are aches and bruises.”

It was your turn to heave a sigh as you rolled your eyes. “You can feed on me tonight for your repayment.”

Astarion grinned wickedly at the sound of that, his demeanor changing instantly. “Well, at least something good will come of this after all.”

When you began to resume your, now-cleared, path, Astarion was quick to stop you. His arm splayed across your chest as he stepped in front of you.

“Oh no, no, no. I am going to be leading us now. It’s clear that you cannot be trusted to actually use those pretty eyes of yours.”

#Astarion #Astarion Ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion drabble #my fics #bg3 fic

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redheadspark · 4 months

Text

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhysand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhysand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of his mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time.

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhysand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall.

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhysand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhysand’s eyes shot back to his Commander. Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhysand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhysand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else,"

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhysand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhysand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhysand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern.

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed.

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her. Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father. Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more.

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him.

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all. I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment.

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through.

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young. To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier.

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja.

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough.

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise. I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form. He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart.

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room. His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away. Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him. So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125

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marlenesluv · 6 months

Text

Bad Decisions. (LS)

Summary: After Logan isn’t able to compete in the Australian Grand Prix, his girlfriend shows everyone just how amazing he is. Which leads to a major turn of events.

Note: Used the indent feature instead of copy and pasting that arrow I usually use, lol. Hope you guys don’t mind too much, it’s much easier for me.

Warnings: None

Masterlist here -> Masterlist Link

^ Check my list for all posts! ^

Liked by: logansargeant, lilymhe, and 67,139 others

y/n.user: he may not be able to race this weekend, but that just means he can hangout with me and lily in the garage and heckle the other drivers🙃

view comments…

alex_albon: do you heckle me??

y/n.user: not usually, but this weekend…maybe

alex_albon: ??????

user7: i love how supportive she isssss

logansargeant: i love you❤️

y/n.user: i love you too❤️😙

f1wags: williams has the BEST wags 🙏

ls2editsss: he’ll come back stronger next weekend💪

user3: CUTEST COUPLE EVER!!!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Liked by: y/n.user, oscarpiastri, and 104,194 others

logansargeant: disappointing weekend. but at least i have my girl ❤️

view comments…

y/n.user: lo🥺

logansargeant: 🙃❤️

y/n.user: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

f1editpage: awwww, they are so soft

oscarpiastri: sorry about this weekend mate. next week will be better👏

*liked by creator*

user1: loveee their love

alex_albon: i owe you😣

y/n.user: alr. give it back.

lilymhe: AHHHAHAHAHAHA

alex_albon: 😐

wagpagee: y/n is sooo angelic

user6: anyone else find it weird that like the whole grid follows y/n and not logan?

user2: i guess, but y/n has been friends with lily since they were little🤷‍♀️

user6: eh so?

user2: well lily and alex have been together for around 5 years, so she’s been around the paddock for 5 years instead of the 1 logan has

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

twitter:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

your instagram story:

seen by: logansargeant, landonorris, and 46,924 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Liked by: logansargeant, flavy.barla, and 68,902 others

Tagged: logansargeant

y/n.user: appreciation post for my my favorite person in the whole world, my own personal captain america❤️🤍💙 i love you, logan. thank you for being the best boyfriend, best friend, and person ever❣️

view comments…

f1wags: well, that’ll do it. the waterworks, oh my🥹

logansargeant: don’t make me cry right now. i’ll make you mrs. sargeant

y/n.user: 😳

logansargeant: unmmm shit

y/n.user: i would say yes. just saying 🤷‍♀️

user6: she would WHAT

flavy.barla: this is so cute and all, but the comments? you married now, girl?

y/n.user: not yet😞 i’ll lyk

flavy.barla: 🙏💓

oscarpiastri: excuse me? logan? answer your PHONE??

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

your instagram story:

(psa, this is 2 weeks later!)

seen by: logansargeant, danielricciardo, and 178,294 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

twitter:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Liked by: oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 301,185 others

logansargeant & y/n.user: We liked each other and put on a ring on it 💍❤️ And finally got Logan in a race car that had a chassis 🙃😉

view comments…

lilymhe: congratulations guys!!!💓

f1wags: AWWW STOP

user8: this wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card, but i am so here for it

alex_albon: funny joke y/n😐 but congratulations!!!!!

oscarpiastri: not sure why you guys waited so long

lilyzneimer: you’re talking?

y/n.user: aw shit, you tell him lily👏

lilyzneimer: thank you, congratulations btw❣️

*liked by y/n.user*

user3: mother and father🙏😮‍💨

landonorris: CONGRATSSSSS

maxverstappen1: congratulations! p wants to be the flower girl, i told her i would ask…don’t feel obligated

y/n.user: 🥹tell p yes. she’s the cutest ever

logansargeant: im the cutest ever. but ok

scottjames31: you will soon learn that once you’re married, you aren’t the cutest anymore and kids come first

logansargeant: 😐

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated ^-^)

#f1 #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x y/n #ls2 #ls2 x reader #ls2 smau #logan sargeant smau #ls2 imagine #ls2 fic #ls2 fluff #logan sargeant fluff #f1 smau #smau #fluff #williams racing #williams f1

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ellieslittlewh0re · 1 year

Text

chapped lips - seattle! ellie x wlf reader

summary - you’re kinda new to the wlf and when your group gets taken out by scars, you’re left alone… at least that’s what you thought until a girl knocks you unconscious and holds you hostage.

wk - 5k

additional tags - revenge! ellie, interrogation play, canon game violence, blood! mention, gun play, name calling, mean! ellie, rough lesbian sex, fingering (e! and reader both receiving) humping?, reader! is a little off her rockers bc she me fr, use of the word daddy (im sorry), degrading (e! to reader), thigh riding, name calling (crazy bitch, slut, whore), this is literally canon seattle! ellie in all her glory, no physical description of reader

It don't know how it happened. I was supposed to go to my post and take out any scars that I came across. Basically, it was suppose to be a normal, average day. I got up at the usual time, ate what I normally would eat before heading out and hell.. I was even was with the usual group that I was always working with. Posted up in a less trafficked area had us comfy, cocky even. My group had their guards down. Me included. Sneaky assholes got the high ground on us.

I don't know if I was the only one who made it. In the chaos of guns firing, arrows flying and the screams of my people being slaughtered, I had ducked into a building in downtown Seattle. Up until now I didn't even know this building was here since we never bothered to send anyone out this far from base.

"Fuck." I take a deep breath, steadying the gun I clutched in my hands. I draw it, pointing it towards the front door and windows that lined up facing the street. I scan with my gun looking for anything really. Scars, anyone from my group that may have survived. Any movement at all but it was silent. Bodies littered the street. I recognize a comrades body that laid lifeless on a hood of a rusted taxi.

I can't stay here. I thought to myself, cowering behind a counter still squeezing the pistol in my hands.

"C'mon. You got this." I take a few deep breaths to gain to courage to get the fuck out of there. I squeeze my eyes shut for just a moment when a slight squeak of the linoleum floor alerted me. I snap my head to the direction of the noise. A flash of color and something came down heavy on my head then everything went black.

"Hey-"

Was I dreaming?

"Wake up."

Who's voice is that? Did I dream the whole thing? I am waking up for the first time and my whole grouped didn't just get killed in front of me.

*slap*

My eyes fly open and my head is pounding. I blink repeatedly trying to take in the surroundings. It didn't look like my barracks room. My cheek began to sting and I go to touch it, but I couldn't.

"About time."

I follow the voice looking up. It was a girl. A girl I didn't recognize.

"What? who'r you?" I groan in agony. My head felt like it was going to explode and my wrists started to go numb. I look up to my hands that were cuffed to a drawer above me. Skin red around where the metal was digging in. This definitely wasn't a dream.

"Where's Abby?" She knelt down in front of me using a bat to steady herself. Her voice was raspy, demanding and didn't sound like she was looking to make a friend.

"Who?" My voice went up a pitch from annoyance. Who the fuck is this girl and why the fuck is she holding me hostage.

"Don't play dumb. Abby Anderson. She's one of you." She takes her index finger and moves it up to the patch on my jacket.

"You think I know every wolf? There's fucking hundreds of us." I shove my shoulder into her hand, forcing her touch away.

"For your sake you should probably think a little harder." She stood and hovered over me, adjusting the grip on the bat she was wielding.

"Or?- What? You're going to kill me?" I let out a humorless chuckle. I furrow my brows at her, puffing out my chest trying to come off as intimidating even if I was the one restrained.

"It's your last chance." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her knuckles turning white from her firm grip on the bat.

"Fuck you." I spat. Yanking on cuffs, but it didn't help. I felt the stinging around my wrist intensify and a warm trickle down my arm. I didn't know why I was fighting anymore. I didn't want to be apart of the this group in the first place but they had guns and food, things necessary to survive and I wanted to keep living. It felt like it was going to be cut short anyways when I notice her bring the bat over her head and throw it down towards my face.

"WAIT!" I flinch and scream just before it could make contact causing her to pause. I take a few deep, shaky breaths as she crouched down in front of me once again.

"You said Abby... Blonde hair? Works out a lot?" Too scared to make eye contact I keep my eyes fixated on the girls shoes. Dirty converse that were worn and stained with blood.

"Where." She wasn't asking she was demanding. Her tone was sharp and cold which made me flinch.

"No- no one has seen her since yesterday..." a tremble could be heard in my voice. I shut my eyes and brace for the wood. Either she's not going to believe me and kill me or it wasn't what she'd want to hear and kill me.

"Bull-fucking-shit." She chucked lightly but it wasn't out of humor.

"It's the truth. She left without permission yesterday and hasn't come back." I gain the courage to look in her eyes and stand my ground. Hoping that she'd just believe me and let me go.

She stood, pacing back in forth dragging the bat behind her.

"Please- just let me go.... I won't say anything. I'll just pretend-" I was cut off by the shattering of glass. I got on my feet and peek over the counter at the front windows. Familiar whistles and people in homemade leather jackets start to flank the building.

"Fuck me." The girl cursed under her breath, taking cover behind a shelving unit a few feet from me.

"Unlock it." I demanded. Pulling at the cuffs.

"Fuck no. You'll just kill me as soon as you get the chance." She held her pistol firming by the side of her head, peaking around the shelves. A arrow flew past her, missing by a few centimeters.

"No... I'll help kill these fuckers and then I'll try to kill you." My patience was wearing thin and she seemed to appreciate the honesty. She readied herself, taking a few steps back and then running across the open fire, sliding herself next to me.

"Don't move."

"Wait- why?-" I was cut off by the sound her gun firing and I felt a burning sensation in between my wrists. I felt my hands free from the awkward position.

"Give me my gun." I held my hand out, peaking over the counter in a frenzied state. She hesitates making me look at her in frustration. My eyes widen in a 'what the fuck are you doing' kind of way.

"We kill these fuckers first. Yeah?" She raised her brows at me with a nod. I roll my eyes at her and huff.

"Oh my fucking god-" I was cut off by the sound of more glass shattering and gun fire, casing me to flinch.

She slapped down the weapon in my open palm and give me a look of 'you ready?' and I nod back to her.

She fires gun shots at the entrance as I make it over to the other side of the building. I keep myself concealed, ducking and sliding behind furniture as I try to take them by surprise. I find a broken window and jump out of it and take cover behind the same taxi except now blood poured from the hood. I peak from behind the car and take aim at a scar that was further behind the rest. I steady my hand and shoot casing him to go down. The sound of my gun alerting another one. He aims his rifle at me, but it was too late I let another bullet fire, hitting him in the chest. The girl who was once my captor was now my partner for the time being. She proved herself useful and skilled. She'd taken out a few that were closest to the building, making more flood the front which just made it easier for me.

The sound of gun firing had stopped, leaving the sound of wind that rustled the trash in the streets. I scan the street and slowly start to stand up from behind the car when I felt a hand throw me backwards by my hair.

"AH!" I scream, trying to pry the hands from my scalp. A large man with a machete crawled on top of me. I reach for my gun that fell to my side but he tosses it out of reach. I hit and claw at the bald man's face which made him put his knees on my arms, leaving me completely helpless against his strength.

"Such a pretty little thing." The man sneers and I felt him wrap his hands around my throat. I gasp and flail trying to loosen myself from him, but I couldn't. He squeezed harder and harder, making my vision go blurry and I heard ringing in my ears. It started to go dark again but I heard one last *pop* and the tension around my neck relaxed. I gasp and cough, not really sure what happened. I felt warm liquid pool down my neck in chest. I look down to see the now dead man partially on top of me, open wound to the back of his head. I push him off and crawl out from underneath him.

"What the fuck is wrong with these people." I continue to try and catch my breath, wiping away the blood splatter and sweat off of my face.

"You're welcome."

My state of adrenaline induced shock was interrupted by the girls voice. I turn to her in disbelief that one: she killed somebody to save me and two: she had the nerve to crack a joke right now.

"I didn't ask for your help." I pick my gun off of the ground, shoving it into the waist of my jeans.

"Oh? So you wanted him to kill you?" She sounded annoyed that I didn't kiss her feet for the favor.

"What does it matter? You're going to kill me anyways!" I throw my hands up as my voice grew louder. I hear her sigh and suck her teeth. I didn't understand her. She was fully intended on bashing my head open, but then she had a change of heart and saves me?

"If you're done here can we get this over with?" I snap at her and start to walk back into the building.

"Not here. Not safe anymore."

I paused briefly, confused by her words. 'Not safe anymore' what does that matter if you're just going to kill me?

I follow her a few blocks away making sure to hang a few feet back. I would be so easy to shoot her right now and she'd have no idea. I should shoot her. I mean she knocked me unconscious, cuffed me and threatened to kill me. It's clear she has issues with the WLF and specifically this Abby chick. Whatever it is, I don't care. I have my own personal beef with the WLF and this girl she's looking for isn't my friend or anyone special to me so maybe that's why I didn't shoot her.

"Seriously where the fuck are we going?" I break the silence and my voice echoed throughout the street.

"Somewhere secure." She answered but continued to look straight ahead.

We continued to walk for another half hour or so, the only noise was the sound of our feet shuffling pebbles and debris that littered the roads.

"How much further?" My agitation grew with each passing minute. Growing more anxious that I had no idea what this girl plans to do with me.

"Stop bitching. We're here." She stopped in her place making me almost run into her.

I look up at the sign on the front of the building that read 'Pinnacle Theater' and scoffed.

"Is now the best time to watch a movie?"

"It's safe." She snapped, turning back to shoot me a glare.

Safe? Safe from what? The only thing that's a threat to my safety right now is her so why did she bring me here?

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and follow her into the building.

I take in the surroundings of the theater. The large burgundy curtains that hung on the walls gave it a gaudy, over the top feel. Once fancy chairs and couches were now coated in a thick layer of dust and mildew. My attention to the interior of the large room was diverted to a rattling behind me.

"What are you doing?" I furrow my brows at her in confusion as she was putting the legs of a chair in between the handles of the doors.

"Do you want more of those assholes showing up?" She spit back, sounding annoyed that I had the audacity to question her. I roll my eyes once again at her attitude, crossing my arms over chest in a way to shield myself.

"Sit." The seriousness of her tone snapped me out of thoughts and caused me to look at her. Her brows were slightly furrowed and her jaw was tense, making her bone structure more defined than it already was. I was scared of her so I obeyed, slowly lowering myself on a nearby couch while keeping my eyes on her. If she was going to make a move I didn't want to be caught off guard.

"Where's Abby?" She took a few steps closer to me and maintained a hateful stare.

"I told you... she left."

I watch her face contort from my words. The slight flare of her nostrils and the curl of her lip made my heart start to pound faster. She started to pace again... forward a few steps and turning around and doing the same, repeating her movements. A fuse was being snapped the longer I watched her, a switch within that was half-way being flipped. She stopped her pacing and lunged at me, whipping out her pistol out of her back pocket to point it at my face.

"Where?" Her voice became course and there was a slight tremble.

"Pl-please.... I told you already. I've just joined the WLF a few months ago... I don't know anything." I flinch. Breaking the eye contact turning my face away, squeezing my eyes shut.

I hear her take a quick breath and then the cocking of her gun. I let out a whimper, squeezed my eyes even tighter and braced for what's to come.

"Fuck-" She breathed heavily and I hear her take a few steps back lowering her gun. I timidly open my eyes and watch her as she sits on the ground. Her head hung low in between her legs that were propped up. Her hand was still clutched around the handle of her gun but I noticed the tremble of her free hand. She breathed heavily, slowly like she was trying to sooth herself. The tough act that she put on up until this point was now crumbling beneath her feet.

I didn't know what to do. Part of me wanting to flee and another part of me wanted to comfort her which confused me. I don't know her and our first time meeting each other wasn't really all that pleasant, but she was hurting and that was something that I could connect with. I hear her sniffle and she quickly goes to wipe the tears.

"Hey-" I start to get up but was rudely stopped by her pointing her gun as she stood and took a few steps back.

"I-I'm not going to hurt you if you don't hurt me." I held my hands up high for her to see as I slowly reach into my waistband as she followed my movements with her gun. The sound of mental hitting the carpeted floor bounced off the walls. Maybe I'm trusting her too much by discarding the only weapon I had to defend myself, but I felt like she didn't want to hurt me she just felt like she had no other choice.

"See?" I lower my hands back down to my side as she looked at me with confusion, the grip on her weapon tightening.

"You think I won't?" She took a few strides forward, now leaving me at arm's length with only a few inches between the tip of her gun and my chest. My teeth clench and I break out in a cold sweat.

"No. I don't." I take a small step forward allowing her gun to dig into my chest. I felt coldness of the barrel through my clothes. My breath hitched and a shudder ran up my spine. The girl looked at me in disbelief, glancing at my partly opened lips and the contact of her gun.

"You're fucking crazy." She chuckled lowly.

"Maybe." I whispered as I tilt my head to the side. We stood in this position for what felt like hours but in reality probably only a few seconds had gone by. I noticed her breathing pick up as she fixed her eyes on the cleavage that poured out the top of my low cut shirt. A realization hit me when I noticed what she was looking at. She was turned on by what she saw. I didn't know if it was simply because she found me attractive or the whole holding me at gunpoint and at her mercy was just a fucked up kink of hers.

Getting a closer look at her face she was quite beautiful, handsome almost. Bright green eyes framed by dark long lashes, freckles dispensed unevenly across her face, full lips that had a scar that ran through the top corner and how her dark auburn hair was tied up messily in a half up- half down style. Her sharpe bone structure making her seem more masculine and how she carried herself was much more of a man. She was a type of girl I hardly came across and she was exactly my type.

I grab her gun slowly and push it down and to my surprise she didn't retaliate. I take one last step forward until we are chest to chest. I didn't realize it before, but she is much taller than me. She could easily overpower me and I just hoped it didn't come down to that. I subconsciously bit down on my lip as I look at her parted mouth, I felt her breath brush against my own.

"What are you doing?" She breathed, leaning in slightly looking perplexed.

"If you're not going to kill me then what else are we going to do?" I blink wide-eyed at her, cocking my head slightly as a whininess took over my voice. The corner of her lips tugged up into a devilish smirk.

Her hand gripped tightly on arm, forcing me backwards. She pushed me down on the couch, pining my back against it as she got on top and straddled my legs.

"You really are fucking crazy." She gritted through her teeth before I felt her lips clash against mine. Her lips were chapped and felt rough against my own. The aggression and desperation of her kiss caused me to moan as her tongue slipped into my mouth. I felt fingers tips drag over my thin fabric top before she squeezed my breast harshly.

"Fuck-" I break the kiss, looking at her through half hooded eyes. I was panting looking up at the girl as she looked down on me with hunger. I felt a heat building in my core making my decision making fuzzy. I roll my head to the side and noticed her hand still holding onto her gun. Dark green-blue ink that came together into a delicate looking drawing covered almost her entire forearm.

Her fingers were long and small cuts and scrapes covered them. I imagined what she would feel like inside of me which caused a small whine to leave my lips. Maybe I am crazy...because why the fuck am I having these thoughts when she is holding a gun this close to my head all the while making out with me? She glanced to where I was looking and caught me deep in my thoughts.

"Does this turn you on? Huh?" She lifted her hand that held the weapon and swayed it in front of my face, almost in a way of trying to shame me.

A whimper escaped my lips unintentionally and a deep-rooted desire was coming to the surface. I don't know if it was the stress or how attracted I was to her, but being scared of her just made me all the more aroused.

"You're so fucked up." She humiliates me like she was on a power trip as she pressed the tip of the gun to my temple. My body shudders as I felt the icy metal brush against my skin.

"Pl-please..." I whine at her, begging her to do something about the heat building in my pussy. I squeeze my thighs together underneath her as tears start to form in my eyes.

"Please what? Use your words princess." She kissed slowly at my neck.

"Touch me." I breathe out, my voice trembling.

I hear a giggle and her breath in my neck.

"Name's Ellie. Use it." She sternly demanded. Her voice rough and almost hoarse.

"Ellie- I need you t-to touch me." My hips started to grind the air, desperate for some sort of friction.

"Good girl." I felt her teeth dig into my neck before lifting herself back up to look down at me. She kept her eyes on my own as she placed her gun down, probably making sure I wouldn't try to grab it. Her hands move down to unbutton my pants and I lift my ass, allowing her to remove them completely. My breathing hitched as she cupped my pussy, gently rubbing small circles over my underwear.

"Fuuuck- you're so fucking wet for me even though I tried to kill you. You're such a crazy bitch." Her choice of words made the throbbing more intense.

I moan as I move my hips against her hand, head rolling back as I focus on getting myself off but she pulled her hand away before I could.

I watch her confused as she lifts herself off of me and then sitting back down.

"Get on top." She sounded impatient, patting her leg.

I hesitantly crawl further down the couch, lifting one leg over her thigh and holding her shoulders to steady me.

I felt her fingers wrapped behind my neck pulling me in to reconnect our lips. Her tongue forced its way into my mouth as I let out another moan. The thin fabric of my underwear, now soaked, made the ridges of her jeans more apparent.

"Mm fuck- el-lie." My hips started to rock back and forth against her leg.

"That's it. Use me, slut." She gritted, molding various parts of my exposed skin in between her fingers.

I felt her hands grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. She kissed and bit at the delicate skin between my breast, but it wasn't enough. She pulled my bra down so the straps hung off of my shoulders, leaving my chest exposed. Her mouth enveloped my nipple, sucking and then biting it gently.

"Fuuu- mmm-" Biting my lip to silence my wines as I felt goosebumps form on my exposed skin.

My hand wondered down to the button on her jeans as steadied myself with the other.

"C-can I?" I ask for permission through wet eyelashes, eyebrows furrowed upwards but was already unzipping her pants and slipping my hand inside. Her hand that harshly gripped my side came up around my throat causing me to pause. I felt her fingers squeeze around my neck but she didn't say anything. I study her expression trying to understand if she wanted me to stop. Her eyes were dark and filled with lust, lips parted as her chest rose and fell from her rapid breathing. I cautiously slipped my fingers in between her folds, feeling the slickness of her arousal.

"Fuck-" She leaned her head back against the couch and adjusted her hips, allowing me easier access. She rocked her pussy into my fingers as I did the same on her thigh. Seeing her in this submissive position and at mercy to what I was doing to her made my heat burn hotter. She must have felt the way I was watching her and switched back to her more controlling behavior, slipping her hand in my underwear.

"Mmmm-" I bit down on my lip, throwing my head back while still trying to keep my rhythm on her pussy. I dragged my cunt against her fingers. My hole dripping and coating her hand and letting her slip her finger in easily.

"Ahh... Fuck.. yes Ellie- j-just like that." I started to bounce my pussy on her finger, leaning back and grabbing the back of my calf with one hand to keep me stabilized while the other sloppily encircled her clit.

"Keep doing that baby.." She breathed heavily and her words broken while still trying to maintain her position of power, but she was weakened from my touch. Her aggressive, harsh tone was now much softer and feminine. Her whimpers and moans sounded like honey coated candies, sweet and sounded like music to my ears. Her breathing quickened and the distance between her cries were getting shorter. Her eyes squeezed shut as her head tilted back, signaling she was close.

"Fuck- I'm-" Her jaw hung open and her body tensed underneath me.

"C-cum fr' me Ellie.." I bounced lazily on her fingers, wet sloshes and strained moaning filled the room. I slowed my pace against her clit as her hips stilled and then buckled, leaving her limp for a few seconds.

Her chest rising and falling deeply as she caught her breath. She looked at me with wide eyes then shifted back to the girl I first met. Her eyes darkened and her jaw tensed, lifting herself as she held into my thigh putting me beneath her once again. I look up at her with sex drunk eyes, pulling her down to feel her chapped lips on mine. I held onto the sides of her face as we tasted each other, savoring every last drop.

"You're so f'ckn sexy baby." She panted, reaching down and rushing to tug my underwear out of her way.

"Mmm Fuuu—" I moan, bitting my bottom lip as I felt her fingers slip between my folds.

"M' not gonna go easy on you." She mumbled into my neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses behind my ear.

"G-good." My voice trembled as I felt a finger enter and a second follow shortly behind. Her pace quickened and my eyes start to fill with tears. I look up at her through wet eye lashes, pitiful and dazed. I pull her head down and kiss her deeply, moaning into her mouth.

Her fingers pounded into my cunt without mercy, leaving my body limp and unable to control myself. My moans turned to screaming as her wrist slapped against my clit with each thrust. The fingers of her free hand dug into my leg that was draped over her shoulder as she gently placed kisses to my calf.

"M' so close..." I cry out, tear stained cheeks as I study her face, her watching how my pussy takes her fingers. Her brows furrowed, her mouth hung open ever so slightly. The sweat glistened on her nose and forehead from the rigorous movements. The milky fluid of my sex coated her knuckles.

"You like it rough- huh?" She gritted through her teeth, grabbing the back of my thigh and pushing it forward, allowing the pressure to dig deeper.

"Oh- ohhh Fuuck.. y- yes daddy.. mm-" I barely can make out, eyes rolled back into my head as she fucks against my cervix.

"Be a good girl- Cum fr' daddy." Her raspy, sex driven voice ricocheted through my body. My back arched, my head fuzzy as I grabbed the couch cushion. The air was sticky and thick as my hips rolled and twitched sporadically, not being able to control my movements. I watch her through blurred vision, the silhouette of her hazy from my tear filled eyes. My jaw falls open, my eyes squeeze shut and my climax rolls throughout my body like waves. Bolts of electricity course through me causing my hips to jolt. She slows her pace against my cunt, riding me out until my body stills.

I lay motionless, body splayed out on the couch as I catch my breath. My pussy continued to throb from the sudden absence. I felt her sit down on the couch just below my propped-up knees, causing me to look down at her from my horizontal position. She examined her fingers, still wet, and brought them to her mouth.

"You taste so good baby.. I need more."

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