#but if you're on the fence about beer then less beer-y beer could be an upside

[doedipus]

someone tagged this on a beer post. while you can't really get non-alcoholic beer, sometimes you can find what they call "session" beers that have pretty low alcohol content (<4%). for comparison, most beer is around 5%, wine is usually 10-15%, and spirits will be >20%.

[bldngiris]

꒰OKLAHOMA SMOKESHOW ꒱ . . . d winston !

pairing(s) : book! dallas winston x fem!soc! reader

in which y/n dreams of escaping tulsa but her dad is holding her back. however dallas winston listens and yearns.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : yelling, swearing, r's father is an ass, r is a soc but she doesn't like being one, discrimination. movie dallas used only for visuals even though i used blonde book dallas in mind!! mentions of religion, angst

robin chirps : happy easter!! this fic is inspired by oklahoma smokeshow by zach bryan :) bold is the song lyrics!

go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like.

y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror and took a look at herself one last time before heading out the door. if her father had caught her wearing anything other than appropriate soc attire, she would be done for. the amount of times she had been hit on by cocky high class boys who just wanted to get into her pants was numerous, alas her father didn't care. "you don't want to look like one of those greasy balls of garbage do you?" he would ask her. truth was y/n didn't want to be a soc. sh didn't want to be a greaser either. she wanted to escape tulsa and live in a city without labels and get away from all the hostility stored away in the streets of tulsa.

i know your daddy ain't home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears

y/n had made her way to the diner with her friends. however, her "friends" had left her midway through the walk home to go hang out with a group of other socs. it had started to rain and the closest place y/n could go to was bucks. y/ns feet subconsciously made their way to the building lit by neon beer signs, ignoring the voice in the back of her head saying, "if i catch you 'round one of them greaser places.."

she slowly opened the door to the place, as a mixture of tears, mascara and raindrops ran down her face, her hair sticking to her face, her dress drenched. many eyes were on her as barely, if any, socs came to bucks. whispers, some louder than others presumably by drunk men were heard as y/n sat on one of the bar stools.

them boys are out and they're angry and they're lookin' for blood In the back of a blue old pick up truck. you've got nowhere to go although you're all gussied up

y/n sat at the barstool, a shaggy, pale, blonde boy sat beside her, a malboro cigarette hanging out of his mouth loosely.

"hey man, what're you doin' out here?" he asked the soc, curiously, in a sluggish tone of voice. y/n sniffled.

"my friends left me when we were at the diner, n' i didn't wanna get jumped, it's dangerous walkin' home by myself, y'know." she sniffled again. "plus, it's cold and wet." she paused again. dallas listened, as he hummed and nodded, understanding what she was talking about.

there's so much whiskey in his coke it'll make her nose bend

"that really sucks man," he muttered taking a sip of his whiskey and coke, y/n could smell the drink from her seat. dallas did't turn away or ignore her after that. they spent the next hour talking.

but she swears that his love is a damn god send

don't get me wrong, dallas hated socs. but y/n was different, under the high class, hair done, pretty dress facade, she was a normal girl yearning for more than just a privilege title. the two could relate on another level which dallas had appreciated. dallas and y/n both wanted more or less the same thing, both wanted to escape tulsa, but more or less everything was holding them back from doing so.

she's known god since she was a child, she used to play in the yard and she would dream of one day

y/n played in the front yard of her house with a white picket fence. she saw two kids around her age, playing over by a park around the 'border' between the west and east side.

"hi! im y/n can i play with you?" she asked the three children. they were greaser children, as seen by the difference in their appearance.

'til the world came around and took her dreaming away. told her how to dress and act and smile.

"sure! im soda, thats johnny and that one over there is steve" one said. soon enough, y/n's father had come out of the house, soon following a burst of yelling came about. "y/n get over here and away from that white trash." he exclaimed. y/n wondered, how could a grown adult be so hostile toward children? y/ns father grabbed the little girls hand and took her back over to the freshly painted house on the block.

'y/n, sweetie, you know better than to talk to those type of people." he told her. "now, im sure mrs. sheldon and mrs. valances children would love to play with you hm?" he said. the little girl with pigtails and turned around to watch the greaser kids looking at her sadly, eventually cheering themselves up and laughing softly as they played on the monkey bars.

she's an oklahoma smokeshow. he's an asshole from back home. she'll never make it out alive.

that night, at bucks dallas and y/n talked for hours. y/n told dallas about her image and how she was forced by her father to keep up the good girl act, how every soc guy just wanted to get in her pants and how she's never going to make it out alive.

dallas told her about how he grew up in the streets of brooklyn, new york because his asshole father didn't give a shit about him. his mother and grandmother didn't have enough to provide, because his dad kept taking the profit to the bottle. he ended up in juvi by the time he was ten for theft, trying to provide for his family until he just left and ended up here in tulsa.

that small town bar scene, where small vices kill your big dreams. he'd take you home but he's too drunk to drive.

"but my dad will never let me leave, not until i'm 21 at least, and if i do, he'll list me as a runaway to the police and they'll come and find me." she muttered, solemnly. it was nearly midnight now. dallas way to intoxicated to drive. y/n had used bucks landline to call a cab as she made her way home, thinking of the boy who had changed her life in a mere few hours.

well, I've been here, I've been up all night. thinkin' 'bout a life with you and i. one you'll never know 'cause you're a small town smokeshow.

dallas layed there, head empty except for the thought of y/n. it was nearly 3 in the morning at this point, but all he could think about was the girl who he had just met but felt like they had known each other for years and there he continued dreaming, because unfortunately for him only one of the two got their 'escape' from the prejudice of tulsa, oklahoma. unfortunately, it wasn't y/n. unfortunately, it wasn't the way either of them planned.

[two-white-butterflies]

drug (two) | toto wolff

Description: He meets his girlfriend's parents, and they don't like him. (age gap.)

Pairing: toto wolff/horner!reader

part one

"We're trending, and not for a good reason." you chuckled nervously, browsing through the thick of social media. Darn Twitter's post viewing limits, there were at least a million posts mentioning you. "Bad publicity is still publicity," Toto responded - closing his eyes in his inability to fight against rest.

"Hm, will you tell my father's publicist that?" you teased him and all color drained out of his face. He reached for his reading glasses on the bedside table, eyes slightly narrowing against the sharp light. "What is it about?" he groaned in an attempt to have a clear view of your phone. "-ever heard of dark mode?" he humored, slightly freezing when he sees the article's title.

"They make it seem like we're a divorced couple," he joked again, but it was clear that he was panicking. He hoped that nothing would come out of Christian. He prayed that his rival would learn to accept the change sooner than the media could get a wind of it - but nay, Toto was always a dreamer anyways. "Well, aren't you?" you giggled.

"I'll have this wiped off the face of earth," he mumbled to himself, reaching for his laptop hidden under the bed. "Gods I hate it when sports magazines push out this non-sports crap," you rolled your eyes - contemplating on whether or not you should message Christian. He was the only person that could fix this.

A sigh escapes your mouth. He wouldn't understand.

"How did you get rid of that article anyways?" George couldn't help but ask while taking the cooler out of the trunk. "I had to convince a close friend to buy the company," Toto sighed.

"I can't believe that we're living in a reality where Wolff-Horner babies are possible." Lewis chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. Gods, there were a million ways that this one could go wrong. "You're thinking way too far into the future," you chuckled - helping George carry the ice creams inside the house.

Christian half-expected his daughter to show up around Toto Wolff's arms, but he was more surprised to see the man show up alone. "Nice seeing you again," Geri smiled, welcoming the Austrian with arms open wide. "I wanted to bring Y/N but she feels under the weather." Toto reasoned for his daughter, but he already knew that it was some half-baked attempt to evade this dinner.

"Rainy seasons always make her sick." Geri sympathized. Christian shook his head in disbelief. No amount of clarity would ever make his wife believe that you were anything less of an angel. "I'm sorry for being late," the man apologized, sitting on the chair parallel them.

A waitress comes towards them with a menu, but Toto ignores the sheet of paper. "I'm not really here to have dinner. I wanted to inform you of something," he started with a tone that told Christian that he wasn't going to like where the conversation was going. "What is it?" he couldn't help but ask - taking a sip of his lemon water.

"She asked me to marry her." Toto began with a sad smile. "No, no fucking way." Christian shook his head. If this was Toto's way of inviting them to the wedding then the wedding wasn't fucking happening. "And I redirected her." he added and Geri let out a sigh of relief. You were too young for marriage.

"Because I knew that you didn't approve the both of us." he breathed, looking to the far horizon. Toto was a traditional man. He dreamt of a house in Beverly Hills or Bel Air - beside some hot shot producer - inside a house that seemed like a cleaning nightmare. He wanted a small family, a white picket fence with fun neighbors.

He'd be willing to let that go - all for you.

All for your family that didn't love him in return.

"Is this your way of trying to convince us? Y/N's had her turn of older billionaires in the past - they're all the same. I'm not letting her make the same mistakes again," he responded with courage.

Toto stood up - fiddling with his Patek Philippe watch.

"I want you to think about it, Christian. I really love your daughter."

@oceandeepthirst2 @h-c-u @perihelioneclipse @fallwinterr @ohkapten @crimeshowjunkie @ironcowboycopnickel @clusidino-27 @luckyladycreator2 @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @champomiel @wavesnotfeelings @soph1644

[ill-skillsgard]

Comin' Back For More - Joel Miller x Reader

Title: Comin' Back For More

Characters: Joel Miller (The Last Of Us) x AFAB Reader

Warning: 18+ smut - handjob/blowjob/fingering/f receiving oral/so much dirty talk/Calling Joel "Daddy"/age gap/Joel being a cold bastard/graphic talk of sex. Mentions of guns but no violence. No use of y/n. No physical description of the reader except having long enough hair to grip. Intended for an adult audience. 5.4K words.

Summary: Long after the outbreak, you find yourself entangled in a trade agreement with increasingly salacious terms. All you want from Joel Miller is something he's unwilling to give, until you try backing out of the deal.

Note: It has been over half a decade since I wrote for a new fandom, so I hope this goes over well. I just cannot get enough Pedro Pascal and Joel Miller is Daddy, idec. I'm on this thirst train so damn hard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"You like bein' a fuckin' whore for me?"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

+

Life had stopped caring about the little pleasures long ago. There was no time to admire the Spring blossoms while you trudged through the wild landscape to the next pile of rubble, searching for pills. No room for new mouths when the ones around you went without. Even if you stumbled upon a cache of faded tin cans, celebration and indulgence only lasted until you were full, then it was back on foot.

You missed homemade apple pie, getting your hair done, taking time in the grocery store, and getting to know your neighbors. Card games, beer on hot summer nights, fireworks in July, soft vanilla ice cream... But all these things diminished in the shadow of what you missed most: a man's not-so-soft touch.

Sure, there were men around, but they wore assault rifles and army fatigues and had the same amount of time as everyone else— little to none and even less patience for flirting. Who could think of courtship when there were fences to mend, detritus to clear out, and those godforsaken mouths to feed? Not to mention a population of feral infected winding through the country, growing bigger each day in number.

All you had to distract you from the world's cruel fate were your memories, and even those had begun to grey.

In a place with no rules or structure, it was still all work, work, work.

A contact set you up with a new source of meat. They promised more than rabbits if you brought medical supplies and medicine to the trade. The details were murky except for the meeting spot—an area crawling with trigger-happy FEDRA keen on confiscation and worse. The location was far off the main streets, which made your job even more difficult. With only a backpack's worth of supplies, you set out to meet this new contact between an abandoned office building and a half-collapsed warehouse.

Under cover of night, you scurried through the back streets with a pack full of metaxalone and amoxicillin to the spot where the fallen law office billboard faced a mountain of scorched concrete shards. You had no idea who you were meeting, only that they were late. As the minutes ticked by, you worried you had been set up and kept your hand on your hip, near your pistol, ready to draw. Though the night air was cool, you perspired under your hoodie.

Scraping boots on the ground approached, and you snatched up your gun, pointing it into the shadowy alley. A single shape came into view— a man with a dirty bandana covering the lower half of his face. He held out two crossed fingers, and you released your pent-up breath. Crossed fingers were the signal among traders.

"You're late," you said.

"By my watch, you're early."

You threw down your pack, and he threw down his.

"Painkillers?"

You cocked your head. "That's not what was agreed."

"Ten pounds for antibiotics, muscle relaxers 'n painkillers."

"Well, your contact must have missed the memo."

The man studied your uncovered face, eyebrows pinched in the center, lines around his eyes deepened. You both stood rigid, waiting for the other to concede.

"You can put your gun away." His voice was gruff, his stance unyielding. You mirrored him. Showing weakness was not an option.

"I think I'll keep it handy," you said.

"Smells like this deal's gone rotten, then."

"I wasn't told about painkillers. Do you understand how hard they are to come by? I'd need double what you're offering."

"D'you know how hard it is to get fresh meat?"

You scoffed. "Raising livestock has nothing on what we do to find medication. Take the pack, or leave it. Keep your food, and I'll keep my supplies."

The man relaxed his shoulders and dropped his hip. Even with a gun pointed at him, he seemed unmoved by the threat of a weapon in your hands. This frustrated you even more. Traders were always cocky, always male, and always unwilling to budge. You gripped your pistol harder.

You stood in stalemate, stomach rumbling loud enough that he heard it and sighed.

"This can't happen again," he said.

"Guess that's what you get playing broken telephone."

"You can have it, but you owe me."

The nerve of this guy. You lowered your gun and shook your head, smirking indignantly.

"You think so? Well, how about this... I owe you fuck all because your guy gave me the wrong information. So either take the fucking pack and call it square, or piss off and stop wasting my time."

He drew his gun fast, pointing it straight between your eyes. "Looks like you're prone to makin' mistakes. You really wanna die for this, sweetheart?"

"Woah, woah... Easy now."

"Get me the painkillers." He was calm as stagnant water, inching toward you and the packs.

"I don't fucking have any!"

"Keep your voice down."

"Look, we can work out a deal, eh? You don't want to shoot your only source."

"You ain't the only one."

"How about this... We take a little walk behind that billboard there, and I can pay you some other type of way? How long has it been for you?"

"Not interested," he said.

"I get it. You're into men."

"No."

"Just not into me, then?"

He went silent. The barrel of his rifle trailed from your head to your neck, then your chest, and finally, pointed at the ground.

"Grab the bag and get the hell outta here," he dismissed you with a wave.

You stooped to grab the pack and looked up at him. "So, does this mean same time next week?"

"Make it two weeks, 'n bring painkillers."

"Yessir," you said, shouldering the bag and rushing away.

So began your bi-weekly encounters with the "meat man," as you referred to him only to people who needed to know. Every fourteen days, you'd meet him in front of the same rusty billboard and exchange food for medical supplies. He wasn't much of a talker and resisted any attempts at conversation on the nights you exchanged bags. That was alright. You were used to strangers rejecting niceties. After all, there was no time, no space, no room for new friends.

Things changed one night when you came to him short. The recent hunt had been paltry. You had ransacked every derelict town within a twenty-mile radius, leaving nothing behind—not even a single unbranded pill. Without a vehicle, you had to take off on foot for days on end, and your boots were wearing thin, your motivation even thinner. But you needed that food.

You lowered your head as the familiar gait alerted you to his presence. He wore no bandana this time. Struck by the unfamiliar face, you bit your lip and nodded at his crossed fingers.

"Why d'you look sorry?" He asked.

"I, uh... I couldn't get what you needed."

He reached for his gun, paused, and changed his mind.

"Why not?"

"Not sure if you noticed, but this side of the border has been pillaged beyond pillaged. I'll have to head up North to see what I can come up with. That'll take weeks."

"But you still have the usual?"

"Not the painkillers."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Yeah, I got the regular stuff."

His silence was extra frigid now that you could see his mouth beneath a full mustache. The same couldn't be said for his short beard. It was patchy and greying.

"Guess that means the deal is off?" You asked.

He stayed quiet, analyzing you, weighing his options. The question hung stale in the air. You itched but kept your arms at your sides while he looked around and considered the billboard—a convenient cover.

"So, you've had time to consider my offer from the first time we met?"

"Shut up and follow me."

Your heart slammed, skin buzzed with goosebumps.

The billboard offered an even darker corner to hide what was about to happen. His shadowed face was more obscured than before. You could barely see, but you didn't have to. He unzipped his pants, found your wrist, and before guiding your hand, stopped.

"You can back out."

"If this gets me off the hook without a bullet in my head, I'm all for it. Plus, you're kinda cute underneath the bandana.

"Shut your—don't talk. Just... Get it over with."

"Yes, sir."

"What'd I say 'bout talkin'?"

"Not to."

He led your hand to his groin and had you take hold of a warm fleshy mass that dwarfed your palm. He would have seen your eyes bug if you had been in the light.

You whispered a low "sheesh" to avoid angering him further.

The silence spread as you massaged up and down his shaft, feeling the veins and the ridge of the head. Muscle memory from the past told of his girth. You had never been unable to fully wrap your hand around a cock before. Under the makeshift lean-to, the world was so quiet it became a dream, eerie and detached from reality.

His whole body was rigid, almost like he wasn't enjoying himself, but that couldn't be true. He stayed hard and only grew harder. After an excruciating minute and wondering if you were doing it right, his arm shot out, and he planted his hand on the gritty brick wall. No sounds came from his mouth, not even a low grunt, a sigh, or a breath.

His flesh was warm, and the act triggered you between the legs. The meat man wasn't bad on the eyes. Maybe a little war-torn and tired, but who wasn't these days?

You bent at the knees, and he drew breath through his nose.

"What are you doing? No... No, no," Joel said.

"No?"

"No."

"You don't want a blow—?"

"Just," he spoke through his teeth. "Keep going."

You twisted and pulled, alternating between pumping his shaft and massaging the tip. Before your arm got tired, he stuffed two knuckles into his mouth and grunted, hips snapping back, though it was too late to save you from a handful of warm, stickiness.

He reached into his back pocket and handed you the bandana he used to wear on his face to clean up the mess. How gentlemanly, you thought, as he tucked himself away and reclaimed the soiled cloth square.

"How long will it take you to get the stuff?" He asked.

No thank you or anything. You both emerged from behind the board and stepped back into the murk.

"No clue. Like I said, I have to go up North, which could take weeks."

"I ain't got weeks."

"Good, because I didn't want to go up there anyway."

"Can you get peroxide and bandages?"

"Sure. On top of the usual, minus the painkillers?"

He nodded

"What's your name, meat man?"

He grimaced. "Joel."

"Good to formally meet you, Joel."

"Right."

Footfalls alerted you to a new presence, and Joel pushed you back into the shadows, his gun in hand before you could blink.

"Shit. Thought this place was clear."

"It was supposed to be," you said.

From the hidden spot, you watched two pairs of boots walk by, passing where you had dropped your packs. The two soldiers noticed the loot and picked them up. You winced as they rummaged through the valuable contents and laughed about their luck, making off with ten pounds of food and a healthy medicine supply.

"Fuck! That's two weeks' worth of work gone!" You said after the soldiers were long from earshot.

Joel wasn't outwardly upset as he assessed the situation. The meet spot was compromised, and your trade carried off into the night.

"You know where the old paper mill is?" Joel asked.

"Sure, I think I remember."

"Meet me there in a week. Same time. Bring what you can."

There was no use arguing. You had to save your defenses for those expecting you back with salted pork and venison, who would question how you misplaced your packs.

The handjob was a terrible idea, but it didn't stop you from touching yourself later that night when you returned to your bed, thinking about Joel and his warm thickness, a phantom sensation in your palm.

The paper mill still smelled like pulp and paste, despite its crumbling west wall and the birds who had turned the rafters into an aviary. Nature had forced its way into the mill, weaving through machinery, green tendrils decorating the metal staircases. The reclamation was beautiful and terrifying.

The building was too big to know where to wait for Joel, so you traversed the perimeter, checking behind doors with your gun ready, your new bag packed full and strapped to your back. You'd never leave your supplies unattended again after last week, just like you'd never enter a new place without checking for clickers. And when Joel found you snooping, he performed his own preliminary checks despite you saying the building was clear.

Without a word, you traded bags, his significantly lighter than usual.

"Woah, partner. What's the deal? This is nowhere near ten pounds."

"Yeah, I know."

"I went out of my way to find you a handful of painkillers and even threw in some extras because of last week. This... This won't do."

"Supply is short this week."

You chuckled, though you weren't amused. "If that were my answer, you'd already have your gun to my head."

"I can get you more in two weeks."

"Now you're fucking up my schedule."

"It's rough out there."

"You're telling me, buddy. But I seem to recall your pointed lack of sympathy when I said the same thing last week."

"Maybe we can come to an understandin'," said Joel.

Your mouth opened into an O-shape. Joel rolled his eyes.

"I see what's up. You've come back for more. You liked what went down last week."

"Sh—"

"And before you tell me to shut my mouth, let me just say... Boy, I had a nice time, too. Although most guys I jerk off in alleyways tend to say thank you and, uh, return the favor if you catch my meaning."

It had been a while since you made a man blush.

"Are you saying you want to add another layer to our arrangement? Maybe something a bit more permanent? Something just for us and not the people we provide for? Little bit more selfish. You know, something special just for you and me—"

"Enough, already," Joel cut in. "Are you willin' or what? Don't need to hear no speeches."

"You're certainly a charmer, Mr. Joel. Such a way with words."

"Hmph."

"Tell you what, let's make it mutual, and you have a deal."

"Fine."

"And I wanna blow you this time."

He shook his head slowly, the notion seeming like a joke until you pushed him.

"Sit on the step, and take out that nice big cock."

Carnality took over, like drops of blood in a shark tank. You were feral again, like in the past when you had brought guys home from the bar after a night of merciless teasing. This time, Joel didn't just slip it out of his fly. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down just enough that you saw the tops of his thighs, the hair on his groin... The whole package, balls included. Your mouth watered in preparation. Before you knelt before him, you kicked your bag beneath the first step for safekeeping.

His jeans acted as a barrier, and you grabbed them and yanked them down to his knees, exposing more skin than he was comfortable with. You looked up and licked your lips.

"Come on, Daddy. Spread your legs for me."

Joel was visibly disturbed by the words leaving your mouth yet obeyed all the same. He shimmied the denim to his ankles, and when you took hold of his cock, he leaned back on his elbows and watched, fighting his jaw to remain attached.

You kissed the tip first, all eye contact, and hummed against the frenulum. These kisses trailed down and were erased by your tongue gliding back up and over the head.

"Fuck, you have a great cock," you said before making the top half disappear.

Joel froze like the first time you touched him. After just a few seconds of watching you, he melted back against the steps, lashes fluttering, a ghost of the word "fuck," leaving him.

You couldn't help yourself. His taste was so familiar. It brought you back to simpler times when seduction was a game you played on the weekends, seeing how poignantly you could make a man explode and remember you as the girl who threw the bar to the sky for their new standard of blowjob.

Joel was a tough nut to crack, but once you incorporated your hand around the base and dropped to suck one of his balls into your mouth, he broke like all the rest.

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart."

"Mmhmm, eyes on me, big boy."

He pulled you off his balls with a wet pop and replaced you on his shaft, hand stuck in your hair as he drove one shallow thrust to the back of your mouth, then let you take the hint.

Watching him relax—his jaw tilted toward the ceiling, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat—made you want to take him down as deep as he could fit. You never let go of the base, and soon he was fully ensconced and fighting not to writhe.

"Good lord," he whispered.

You paused to say, "fucking cum down my throat, Daddy."

He threw you a warning look that he'd be talking to you afterward about your choice of words, but you just giggled around him and got to work pumping him into your mouth, moaning for extra sensation. It wasn't long before his balls tensed, and he bit down on his knuckles again, watching the last moments before he came with a low groan and shudder.

You made a show of playing with his cum in your mouth, a satisfied "aaah" proceeding the swallow. Joel looked angry, but only as angry as a man could be after having his cock devoured.

"You like bein' a fuckin' whore for me?"

The line slapped you, got your blood boiling, had you scrambling to pull down your pants just as Joel pulled his up and came after you. His fingertips, rough and ample, found your clit and drew just a few circles before dragging down to measure how wet you'd become. He backed you into a wall, caressing your outer lips before rubbing your clit again with two well-placed fingers. Joel pressed his forehead to yours and held your eyes. When you tried to kiss him, he pulled away but didn't stop teasing your pussy.

"Come on, Daddy, is that all you got?"

He pressed his jaw against your cheek, stubble scraping your skin, whispering, "for a lady, you have a real dirty fuckin' mouth."

"Well, yeah, I just sucked your cock, so what do you expect?"

Joel looked at you in disbelief, fingers stalling as he processed this new information. It was clear you weren't doing this for supplies. You were doing this because you wanted to. For pleasure. To remind yourself that you could still bring a man to his knees. Although Joel did not bend for you. He kept your eyes pinned, his left hand cupping your mouth shut as he pressed his middle finger into you, thumb resting conveniently on your clit where it rubbed in a fine, circular motion until your moans seeped from between his knuckles. Joel stoked a fire between your legs that spread throughout your body. The pressure on your mouth, paired with his dark eyes demanding compliance and the deft way his hand played with you, made your thighs shake. He pressed his weight against your torso to keep you from sliding down the wall.

"Mmmph! Mm... Mmm," your muffled groans vibrated his hand.

"Gonna cum for me now?"

You nodded desperately. Joel smirked.

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

He increased his motion, dragged his hand from your mouth to your collar, and gripped hard. With your mouth now uncovered, you were free to speak.

"Fuck, Joel."

"I know, I know, sweetheart."

"I'm gonna... Oh, I'm gonna—"

"Yes, you are. Cum for me."

It was less the direct stimulation and more how he commanded your stare, used his entire body to incapacitate you, the way he called you sweetheart. It was the decayed surroundings, the near stranger telling you to cum, the smell hanging in the air, and the amount of time it had been since someone gave you this kind of attention. It all amalgamated in your groin and peaked when Joel nodded, giving you permission, demanding your orgasm with no words.

You rutted your hips and ground against him until your nerves sizzled, snapped, and flared red hot. Lurching forward, you rode out your orgasm with your face pressed into Joel's shoulder until he removed his fingers and put a foot of space between you. Joel might have been finished, but you grabbed his hand and took his moist digit into your mouth. The whites of his eyes flashed while you sucked your juices, giggling.

"You're some kind of twisted, aintcha?" He said, pulling his middle finger from between your lips.

"Sorry. It's been a while. Did I get too carried away for you?"

"We should get out of here."

"When do we meet up again?"

Joel left you against the wall to retrieve your bag, swung it over his shoulder, and took in the sight of you before saying, "one week?"

Evil spilled over your face into a grin formation. "No more every two weeks?"

"Don't get too wet over it, sweetheart."

With that said, Joel left you to do up your pants and swoon in the paper mill among the overgrowth and puddles.

These weekly meetings continued, and you soon learned new, weaponizable things about what Joel liked. You realized he secretly loved it when you called him Daddy, but would never admit it, that his whole body would shiver if you kissed the ditch between his pelvis and thigh, that he'd bite his lip if you ran the tip of your tongue over his cock slit and that stroking his thighs would make him fuck your face with his hand on the back of your neck. The fourth time you met in the paper mill, Joel agreed to go down on you, and that was the closest you got to convince him to actually fuck you. When you had opened your legs and let him see the hole he had been fingering for the last month, he looked like he had seen God.

"Don't you wanna fuck it, Daddy?" You had said.

"Shut your filthy mouth."

"Maybe you can shut it with yours."

"Don't push your fuckin' luck with me, sweetheart."

No matter how hot the oral sex, it never persuaded him further. And Joel never kissed you. You couldn't figure out why until one night when an unprecedented event occurred in the newly erected town hall.

Your community had devoted a team of volunteers to clean up the once overrun building and converted it into a center where people gathered and participated in social activities. The building was still a little ramshackle, but there were arts and crafts for the kids and a few folks playing acoustic versions of old radio hits that got everyone dancing and smiling. It had been so long since you heard music or anything but your own singing voice, and as you danced on the warped wooden floor, old memories clouded your eyes with joyful tears.

Those happy tears soon turned to blinding salt when a split in the crowd revealed the man you had been fooling around with sitting on a bench next to a woman with her hand on his thigh and her lips pressed to his temple. Joel saw you too, and the hint of his smile evaporated. You dropped your arms, your heart sinking into the fiery pit of despair that was your stomach.

How had you not seen it before? Joel shunned all notions of romance whenever you tried to initiate a little more intimacy than just his fingers inside you. That's why he wouldn't kiss you. He had a girlfriend. Or a wife. Whatever she was to him, you were no replacement.

The cool night breeze whizzed past your ears, obscuring the rushed footsteps coming up from behind you. The town's power had been restored, so when you felt a thick grip on your elbow and whipped around, you saw Joel there, bathed in the orange glow.

"Get the fuck away from me, Joel."

"Listen—"

"The least you could have motherfucking done was tell me you had someone else, so I didn't spend every night wondering why you won't kiss me. Or... or—"

"It ain't like that, understand?"

"No! I don't understand."

"She's not... Look, I don't... Fuck. We ain't goin' steady, me 'n her. I don't kiss her either."

"But you'll show up in public with her."

"She found me, and we got to talkin'. That's all."

"So, you'll talk to her, but whenever I speak you tell me to shut my fucking mouth."

"'Cause you and I weren't ever supposed to start foolin' around. And you talk too damn much."

You backed away from Joel and relaxed your face as a couple walked by, enjoying the night, unaware of the squabble taking place. You waited until they passed to punch Joel in the chest. He absorbed the blow like it was nothing. This angered you, and you drew back to hit him again, but he caught your forearm in his grip and squeezed.

"Look, I don't need you thinkin' I'm gonna be your boyfriend or somethin'. I'm not gettin' serious with anybody. Hear me?"

"Then why do you do those things to me?"

Joel sighed and released your arm. "I'm only human. Who's gonna turn down a... Nevermind. It doesn't matter. You don't get what I'm tryin' to say, sweetheart."

"Explain then."

"You don't know how to just take what you get. You always want more."

You scoffed in disgust. "Excuse me? You don't know how to just take what you're given! You held a gun to my head, remember?"

"If we take it further, you're gonna get attached, and I can't have that."

"Oh, what? You think if you bless me with your godly cock I'm gonna melt like a popsicle and start following you around everywhere? Get over yourself, Joel. It's not that good."

"Not what you said last week when you were beggin' to sit on my lap."

The reminder lit a flame between your legs. You suppressed your immediate reaction to grin between your teeth, but Joel already knew he was right. You hated the smug look on his face. Why were you so enamored with the much older man? The answer lived in the back of your head where you banished thoughts you didn't want to bear fruit. But it was there. You wanted him because he was experienced. Because he had age showing all over his face, yet the stamina to rival any young guy you had ever fucked. You loved his salt and pepper hair, his stupid green-brown jacket, how his mustache felt when he whispered against your neck, how he called you "sweetheart" and how he bristled when you called him "Daddy." His big hands felt good in your pants, but you wanted them on your bare breasts, sliding down your naked back, gripping your ass. His facial hair tickled your cheeks, but you wanted the abrasion on your lips. The cock that made you salivate when you tasted it made you wet elsewhere. You wanted the stretch, the kisses, the spanks and slaps, and a hand around your throat and for him to lose control and take you like you were prey.

Fuck, it had been so damn long since you wanted someone this bad.

"We should stop trading," you muttered.

"No. We should go back to the original agreement. Goods and that's all."

"I don't want to anymore. I don't wanna see you, Joel."

"Why not?"

"Because you're right. I'll always want more. And I don't want to want more from someone unwilling to give it. I need to stay away from you. Give myself time to get over it. Maybe find someone else to... Whatever."

Joel flinched. He finally fucking flinched.

"I don't wanna stop," he said.

"W-what do you mean? You don't wanna stop trading, or you don't wanna stop doing... You know."

"Both."

"Well, I don't want to suck your cock if you're not gonna kiss me!"

"Would ya lower your goddamn voice?" Joel paled, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. "I'll do it. I'll kiss you 'n all that."

"What's 'and all that'?"

Joel sighed. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Because you don't know what I mean. I don't want no gentle little love-making. I wanna fuck. Hard."

"Good lord," he said, rolling his eyes. "Who made you this way, huh?"

You had him. You fucking had him, and you knew it, and the feeling tingled throughout your whole body. It wasn't Joel worrying about you catching feelings. It was him. Oh, the satisfaction, and oh, the way he tried to play it off. He looked worried as you stepped closer, trailing your finger down the buttons of his work shirt.

"I want you naked," you began. "I want you to fuck me like you're paying for it."

"Christ," he murmured.

"And I don't want you to call me 'sweetheart.' I want you to call me your baby girl, and I want you to call yourself my Daddy."

"You're fuckin' vulgar, you know that?"

"I know I am. And what else... Oh, I want you to get rough with me."

Joel was nearly sweating, his chin to his collarbone as he watched you touch his chest and pop one of the buttons. He clasped your hand to his sternum to keep you from undressing him further.

"Yeah? What else d'you want, baby girl?"

Your skin rippled like all your nerves had gone to sleep and awoke violently. TV static in your legs, a tingling between your legs so fierce your panties would soon cease to contain your liquid arousal, your chest inflated with intrigue. Joel now understood how to wield true power over you, and it wasn't a rifle. You had handed him the keys to your weakness, and he jingled them in front of your face.

"Want me to kiss you? Say your pussy doesn't belong to you anymore? Tell ya it's mine now."

You nodded mindlessly, swallowing drool as Joel continued.

"You want me to pound you nice 'n hard until you forget your name?"

"Yes, Joel."

"Yeah? 'N what should I do to that dirty fuckin' mouth?"

"Anything you want."

"Is that it?" He squeezed your hand, moved it down, made you feel him getting hard in his jeans. Now it was your turn to look around to make sure nobody was watching. "Eyes on me, little girl... Let me tell you what I'm gonna fuckin' do to that pussy."

Joel backed you off the street, turned the nearest corner, and firmly held your neck, but not hard enough to deprive you of air. He tilted your face to his and licked your lips. Before you could open your mouth to taste his tongue, he was already speaking.

"M'gonna split open that tight little cunt, hear me?"

"Yes!" You rasped.

"Gonna make you cum so hard on my cock you fuckin' cry. Then, I'm gonna fuck you even harder."

"Joel, please. I want it right now."

"No, no. You're gonna go home tonight thinkin' 'bout what I'm tellin' you now. Yeah, you'll ache for me. Gonna want it so fuckin' bad by the time I give it to you."

"Joel," you whined.

"M'sorry, what was that? The correct answer is yes, Daddy."

"Yes, Daddy!"

"Attagirl," He said, then kissed you long and hard. "Now, go home. Think about what I told ya. Play with yourself. I don't care. Nothin's gonna feel as good as when I finally have you on my dick, sweetheart."

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, but he swerved and cupped your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Now, now. No more kisses. Gotta keep you comin' back for more, right?"

[thesunmeltedthegrayaway]

The Good One: Preference

I kinda struggled to write this one, but I hope you all still enjoy it!

This is a request! If you would like to make a request take a look at (this post) for all of the characters I am currently writing for.

My Multi-fandom Masterlist

The request is...

Dallas

You know the saying opposites attract?

You two are the exact definition of it.

"Wait a minute... Did you use me as a decoy so you could steal a carton of cigarettes?"

Dallas just gave you a look and didn't answer.

"Dallas, it's a quarter to get into the drive-in. Do not go underneath that fence."

He of course didn't listen to you, you in followed after him very begrudgingly.

You just sat there for the rest of the night, the guilt you felt for sneaking in slowly grew larger in your mind the longer you stayed there.

So, the next night you ended up going back down to the drive-in just to give the man working in the booth a quarter before walking away.

The man just gave you a weird look as he watched your figure disapear.

And as much as Dallas would hate to admit it.

Your good behavior rubbed off on him.

One day he walked into a convenience store with the full intention of stealing a case of beer.

But as he grabbed them your voice popped up into his head.

Then he started to think of how disappointed or pissed off you'd get with him.

Which is something he'd never want to do.

"Damn it." He hissed out quietly before begrudgingly putting the beers back.

As he walked angrily out of the store and back outside, his annoyance slowly began to simmer.

He laughed to himself the more he thought about you.

"You really got a hold on me doll..."

~~~

Darry

You two are very similar in your ideologies.

Though Darry will lean off his rules sometimes (well at least for rumbles.)

But other than that you two blend well together.

You're a great influence on Soda and Pony, so in some strange way, you take a slight pressure off of his back.

They tend to listen to you a lot more than they did him.

Which kinda pisses him off but as long as you can somehow keep them out of trouble he isn't going to complain much.

He's honestly just thankful he found someone who gets how he thinks.

Someone who doesn't think he's a hardass but smart and careful.

Who won't give him a hard time just because he doesn't act like a "typical greaser"

~~~

Johnny

He's completely fine with the fact that you don't like to break the rules.

It's not like he willingly tries to break them. (Even though he does have his moments...)

And as much as he likes Dally, it is nice for him to go out and not worry about getting involved with the law in some way.

He'll try to cut back on smoking since he knows that it's not your thing.

But he'll fail miserably at that.

When him and Dallas go to hang out and Dally inevitably wants to break a law of some kind Johnny rejects his idea immediately.

"I can't Dal, Y/N wouldn't like it."

Dallas just stares at him in shock and slight disappointment.

You two make a good pair. Your good nature makes him relax in some strange way.

~~~ Ponyboy

You are two peas in a pod.

Even though he does sometimes do things due to peer pressure. (like sneaking into the movies or helping Dally out with stealing cigarettes.)

You help him not fall prey to that pressure all the time.

You'll help him not procrastinate as much with the school assignments that he doesn't want to do.

Darry's extremely thankful for your good influence on him.

They definitely have a lot less tension with each other now. (but it's never fully gone.)

You will definitely call him out if you think he took things a bit too far with Darry.

And he might not agree with your stance on the situation between him and Darry immediately. He'll eventually come around.

If he goes to do something that involves breaking a rule or crime of some kind he will now not only hear Darry's voice in the back of his head.

But yours now too.

So virtually never does anything out of line now.

You two help each other out in a way.

You help be a bit more structured and organized.

While he helps you let loose just a little bit.

You balance each other out well.

~~~ Sodapop

You two are pretty similar to each other in a way.

You two don't drink, you get a buzz on life.

You don't feel the need to break the rules, it makes your life a lot easier not to.

I feel you two would be the most at ease couple.

There's no pressure to try and impress one another or quit a habit that feels impossible to break.

You're just you and he's just him.

It's the perfect match.

~~~ Steve

Teases you on a daily basis about your good nature.

Even though he isn't a stone-cold criminal himself.

Will definitely hear your voice before he gets into a fight or is about to do something reckless.

So he tries to tone back on his need for adrenaline.

Though he doesn't always succeed...

He'll encourage you to let loose a little (and break your neck trying to do a backflip off of a car)

Despite your seemingly opposite likes and interest, you work well together.

You reel him in when he's acting like a nutcase.

And he'll encourage you to let your hair down and have a little fun.

~~~

Two-Bit

Opposites attract 2.0

This man will stress you the hell out with how much he drinks and steals.

He'll come over to your house and just show off all the stuff he stole.

And you're just in shock.

'Two, you are such a kleptomaniac!"

He'll just laugh heartily at you as you looked in awe at the pile of stuff he got.

His drinking on the other hand...

As much as you didn't like it, you couldn't try and stop him from doing that.

Because he technically isn't breaking the law.

You will however try to get him to stop drinking so much.

Which he has done a bit.

But he hasn't fully stopped. (don't think he ever will be honest.)

He wouldn't try and pressure you to do something you wouldn't want to do.

He respects the boundaries you have set for yourself.

You two are definitely a mix-match couple, but you make it work.