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endlessthxxghts · 1 year ago

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You Better Jump... (part 2 of 2)

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈9k

Summary: Your neighbor fixed your lock for you. How can you ever repay him? [read part 1 here]

Warnings: Canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). Partial physical description of reader (having a thick/curvy body, wears a dress/feminine). Reader is a polyglot but no explicit mentions of race/ethnicity. Feminine pet names (sweet girl, darlin’, etc.). Flirty/awkward interactions and heightened sexual tension. Reader’s unhinged bestie <3. Implied age gap, but no explicit mention as to how big. LATINO JOEL MILLER (😫). An oddly weird amount of sweetness for 2 people who just met LOL. SMUT 18+ MDNI: Joel gets turned on at reader being a polyglot LMAO. Overall dirty talk/vulgar language. Dom/sub undertones (not heavy or established but definitely present). Vaginal fingering, p in v unprotected (I’m not sorry), semi-public sexual activity, thigh riding, bit of exhibitionism kink, oral sex (f receiving), squirting (blink and you’ll miss it), spit kink, choking, hickeys/marking… please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!

A/N: HERE'S PART 2 (THE FINAL PART)! ENJOY, MY LOVES!!💚

MASTERLIST

You and Joel make out like that, with your front door wide open, until you hear a loud meow from what you immediately know to be the neighborhood cat who likes to visit you once in a while. You two break away from each other, breathless, startled from the feline just sitting at the foot of your door.

You look back up to Joel with a cheesy grin on your face, and he mirrors your expression, bringing one of his hands up to run along your red and swollen bottom lip. “Sorry,” he chuckles breathily, “got a little carried away.”

You slowly lean forward into his touch and take his thumb into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue. “Don’t apologize,” you say. You pull your mouth off his thumb and leave a little kiss to the pad of it, “I liked it.”

He groans, his eyes completely black and the grip on your waist tightens, “Darlin’,” he warns, “I need to take you out properly first.”

You slowly back away an inch with a smile full of trouble and put your hands up in a surrendering motion.

His jaw clenches, “You’re trouble, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Maybe.” You fall to your knees in front of him, slowly, and pick up the tools he dropped before your little makeout session. You stand on your knees, head in line with his hips, and look up at him. You reach around and tuck his tools in the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing onto his belt loops to pull yourself back on your feet, “Thank you for fixing my door for me, Joel.”

Before you can break away from the close proximity, his arm snakes around your waist yet again and pulls you in, his other free hand going straight for the underside of your jaw. “Pick you up at seven tonight, hm? Wear somethin’ pretty,” he says, leaning in for a deep kiss that sucks all the air out of you, “Somethin’ that gives me easy access, yeah?”

And with that, he walks out (the cat in tow), shutting the door in the process.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s 5 o'clock by the time Joel left you completely speechless at his last words, and it’s 6 by the time you call your best friend to get your ass over here right now and update her on everything that happened, including her stupid ass comment that made it right into Joel’s earshot. Of course, she laughs hysterically at that, slapping the shit out of your arm with every deep breath she takes at an attempt to calm herself.

“Alright, bitch,” she says, wiping the edges of her eyes from any residue tears, “Let’s get ya dressed, so you can jump-”

“That’s enough,” you say, slapping your hand over her mouth.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Holy fuck.

All your life, you were never really confident in yourself. You were secure enough in your identity that you knew you weren’t that bad to the average eye, but you also very much knew that you weren’t jaw-droppingly sexy. That is, until Joel made you feel like the hottest person on the planet with how he couldn’t control himself with you. Mix in your best friend’s way of hyping you up, and fuck did you feel unstoppable.

You’re not much of a dress person, but you did have a silk, dark green spaghetti strap dress that you bought on a whim a year back. You were slightly skinnier then, but the way it hugs you now accentuates all the right curves and you’ve never felt so fucking beautiful. The dress is also very flowy, having a long slit on both sides, stopping at your hip. Standing, sitting down, no matter what angle, anyone is bound to see a slip of your underwear. Which is totally the reason why you make the executive decision to not wear any, and not because of Joel’s words ringing in your ear since it left his mouth.

You enter your living room once again, giving your best friend a bit of a show before you kick her ass out, and just as your laughs settle down, you hear a knock at your door.

No fuckin’ way it’s been an hour already, you think to yourself. Your eyes go wide as you look at your best friend, her expression mirroring yours. You frantically look at the clock on your television stand, and, it has been an hour already, fuck.

You tell your best friend to hide in your room for now because there is absolutely no way she’s meeting Joel yet. She frowns, but ultimately she listens and runs to your room while you run to grab the door.

You’re already out of breath from the show you were giving your best friend, and the nerves that were building with Joel on the other side of the door you were about to open is not helping one bit.

You planned on just side-stepping him and making it straight for his car, so he doesn’t come inside, but as soon as the door opens, your breath hitches. Joel is so fucking sexy, Jesus fucking Christ, you want to swallow him whole right fucking now. As your eyes give him a full sweep, you make it down to his sleek black shoes, and in your peripheral vision, you see that your feet are still bare. Shit, there goes your plan.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight,” he says, also looking you up and down, matching your energy, wanting to devour you just as bad. You smirk up at him and muster up a bashful thank you, but you’re still in a trance from how good he looks. Finally, you feel the outside air tickle your feet, so you start stepping backwards into your apartment, beginning to kneel down to reach the heels you set aside earlier.

He notices where you’re headed and stops you by gently grabbing you by the hip, “Here, may I?” And before you can even think to decline (which you never would), he’s already on his knees for you, for the second time today, and you can’t help the pooling arousal in your core. Your panty-less core, to be exact, which is now only inches away from him.

He grabs your foot and situates it on his knee while he works to unclasp the strap. When he does, his rough hands are grabbing your ankle so contrastingly soft and situating your foot into the heel. He makes sure the strap wraps perfectly around your ankle, and seeing how big his hands are, you would think he would struggle with such a tiny buckle. But no, he clasps it faster than even you would, and he finishes off by leaving a sweet kiss just above where the strap lays on you. He hears your breath hitch at that, so, like the menace he is, he places three more soft kisses, making the journey higher up your leg. And before you can beg him to keep going, he’s already switching your feet around, and repeating the exact same process to your other foot. Including the three kisses up your leg. He looks up at you, a smug smile and a playful sparkle in his eye, “Ready, pretty girl?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m ready,” you stutter out, eyes already glossed over. He stands at full height now, his hand falling to your lower back as he guides you to the front door. He pauses, though, and you look up at him slightly confused. “I reckon she won’t be here when we get back, but, uh, aren’t ya gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

Your eyes go wide, “How-?” You begin to question, but his fingers are already at your chin, guiding you to look at the black Jeep, backed into a parking spot next to your car, with a bumper sticker of a half set of butterfly wings. It perfectly matches up to the sticker on your car, making a full butterfly. “Oh,” you say defeated but also impressed he picked up on such a little detail. It makes your heart warm a little.

He lets you go from his grasp, and you turn your body in the general direction of your room and yell, “Bitch, get out he-”

It’s as if she had her ear to the door the entire time, waiting for the moment she could dart out because she doesn’t even give you a moment to finish your statement. She’s already in front of you both within seconds.

You give her the eyes that she immediately translates as please play it cool, but you both know she won’t. “Hi, Joel, right? I’ve heard lots about ya,” she spits out at the speed of lightning as she holds her hand out for him to take, and she quickly follows by introducing her name. Joel chuckles at her eagerness and his date’s obvious embarrassment. It’s endearing. Reminds him of his relationship with Tommy. It warms him to know you have a true ride or die in your life, it’s rare to come across these days.

Eventually the introductions are over, your best friend is headed back to her home, and you and Joel are headed to some restaurant that he refuses to tell you the name or where it is, just that the “Drive is worth it, I promise.”

“A 40 minute drive?” you say jokingly just to rile him up, “This better be the best goddamn thing my mouth is ever gonna taste, then.”

His stare breaks from the road for a moment to look at you, then it’s back on the road. But he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “We might as well turn around then, huh? Because the best goddamn thing that mouth of yours is ever gonna taste is not available in any restaurant, no matter how far or fancy.”

It takes you a minute to register, but when it does, you can feel your cheeks and ears heat up, spreading down to your chest, and eventually his dirty implication forces the heat to settle in between your legs. “Christ,” you say under your breath as you shift your hips in his passenger seat, not wanting your already soaked pussy to get anywhere.

Maybe you should’ve worn some panties after all.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You guys are on the last stretch of your drive, about ten minutes left, and Joel’s hand has found his home on your thigh, thoughtlessly rubbing his fingers up and down. However, your mind is completely racing because fuck you just wish he’d move up a little higher to where you are absolutely begging for him the most.

As if he hears your plea, his hand goes higher and higher, but then he stops. His hand goes rigid, grip gets a little tighter, and his breath gets a little heavier. His hand is high enough to where he should be feeling the hem of your underwear, or at least that’s what he was expecting to feel.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?” you say as innocently as possible.

“Are you not…?”

“No,” losing the innocence in a matter of seconds.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, baby,” he grits out as his hand resumes his path to your wetness. The closer he gets, the more your hips try and angle upwards so he can reach you better, and as soon as his fingers are running through your folds, you’re fucking done for.

“We’re not leavin’ this car ‘til you cum at least twice on my fingers,” he says, his voice completely dark now. “Ya hear me?” He questions as he applies pressure to your clit.

“Fuck! Yes- yes, please, Joel,” you whine out. You shift your body slightly towards his direction, and you open your legs as much as his truck allows you to. Immediately, his fingers slide from your clit and come down to your entrance, spreading your wetness all over you.

He dips into your hole, just one finger in and slowly starts pumping in and out. You’re so turned on by him that just one finger is enough to make that wet squelching sound from going in and out of you. You let out a moan at the action, your one hand shooting to grip the handle of your door and the other gripping onto his bicep. “You make the sweetest sounds for me, darlin’,” he says to you, southern twang increasing in line with his own arousal.

“Please, baby-” you mutter as your head falls back. His one finger speeds up at your words, “Oh, c’mon, use those words,” he teases a second finger at your entrance.

He’s only using one finger right now, and you’re already fucked out, unable to speak or think. You so badly want more of him, though, so you will yourself to talk. “Oh, p-please, an- another finger, Joel, please.. n-need you so bad, please,” you beg.

“That’s right, baby, usin’ your words for me,” he slides his second finger in, “Dámelo.” Give it to me.

“Oh my god,” you damn near scream out, his words spurring you on more than you’ve ever felt. More slick leaks out of you at his Spanish command. Of course he’s fucking sexy and has the filthiest mouth, in multiple languages, known to man. His two fingers are coming in and out of you at a delicious rate, the thickness and length of him hits that sweet spot in you without even trying. “Touch your clit, baby,” you barely hear him say with how blissed out your head feels. Slowly, you let go of the door handle beside you and bring your hand to your clit, rubbing messy circles on your center, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Joel, your fingers-” you say as he works you open. “My fingers, what? Go on, lemme hear you, trouble.”

Your breathing speeds up to an erratic pace, hot and heavy, “t-too fuck-” your moan cuts you off as your orgasm approaches. He makes his fingers bend in a motion that hits you right where you need it, and- “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Joel.”

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, his movements slowing momentarily.

In your foggy haze, you find yourself peaking at the time, and- It’s only been four fucking minutes? Never has a man ever been able to make you cum that fast. Your past girlfriends, absolutely, but the men you slept with? They’re not even worthy of the label boyfriend if you’re being completely honest. Whatever the case is, you just know Joel has you absolutely fucked. You knew this from the start, of course, but it’s finally setting in. When he’s knuckle-deep inside you while less than ten minutes out from your mystery date location. Chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?

You’re brought back from your slight distraction when you feel him pull out of you. You whimper at the loss, your hips raising for more. “I know, sugar, I know,” he comforts, “I just have to get a taste before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” His fingers disappear into his mouth, licking and sucking every last drop on him like you’re some lifesaving nectar he’s been searching all his life for. He lets out a pained groan, “I need to taste ya for real, fuck.”

He gives you no time to react to his words because his fingers are back inside you in no time. This time he pumps into you with a steady pace but a deep pressure that has you unable to take a single breath in. Your eyes are rolled back, and it feels like you’re drowning. Like you’re being consumed in everything Joel, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sweat is dripping down your neck at this point as the heat spreads from the apples of your cheeks to the swell of your breasts all the way down to your core. The sounds flowing out of you are uncontrollable and pure filth, and it’s riling him up so much that he is in literal physical pain. His hand that’s on the wheel is gripping so hard that his knuckles are ghost white, and his entire face is flushed with the utmost amount of pained self control you’ve ever fucking seen.

“C’mon, my filthy fuckin’ girl,” he grunts out, “almost there, baby, need one more from you,” his pace finally speeding up in the way that he knows, from your first climax, will end you. He tried keeping his pace slow on purpose, so he can draw out all your beautiful moans and gasps and drag you further into that floating state of mind, but you’re nearly at your destination now and he so desperately needs to get out of this car before he drops his gentlemen promise and pulls over to take you right here in his truck. Unbeknownst to you, he pulls into a parking space that is completely excluded from the general population, and he leans over to bring his hand on your jaw to make you meet his eyes.

“You look at me when I make you cum, yeah, trouble?” he asks, though it’s not much of a question. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him and you try to answer him, but you’re feeling too good that as soon as you starts, “Anythinforyou, Jo-” your orgasm cuts you off and your mouth falls open with the most desperate and needy moans you’ve ever heard yourself make.

He continues his movements as you let yourself fall deeper and deeper, and only until the overstimulation begins to hit you do you realize where you are. “W-when did we park..?” you groan out as he removes his finger from your spent pussy. He chuckles at your cluelessness, “Few minutes ago, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his fingers up to his mouth yet again to lap up your arousal. The action alone has your pussy clenching for something more.

As if he can read your mind, “Later,” he smirks at you. “Let’s eat,” he adds as he gets himself out of the car and walks to your side, opening your door and guiding you out. “Thank you,” you say shyly, unable to look up at him and as you stand on your jello legs.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The restaurant he takes you to is absolutely gorgeous and lively. It’s an Italian restaurant, small and homey, and it seems like a locally owned business. It’s extremely dim, and the main sources of light are purple and red, pointing in the direction of the live music. You two are sitting in a booth in a dark corner, intimate and excluded.

“This place is really beautiful,” you tell him with a smile that makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. “You eat here often?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. Why is he nervous now when he just had you coming apart on his finger merely moments ago? Human emotion is a peculiar thing. “Actually, sorry-” he blurts. You sense his nerves, but you don’t mention it. It warms you that he’s actually nervous. It shows you he’s actively wanting more than just your lust-filled endeavors. You rest your arm along the table, your hand resting palm up near his own, offering him comfort. Silently telling him you’re nervous, too, for whatever it’s worth. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers with one another. You can see him physically relax. “I don’t really eat here often, but my daughter has dragged me here once or twice. The food is really fuckin’ good.”

“I’m excited,” you squeeze his hand to reflect your excitement. You’re usually the one making the pasta or any Italian dish you’ve been craving because cooking is what you were bred to do. Cooking is the way to the heart, your nonna always taught you. No matter how traditional the sentiment was, it was one you carry with you always. Naturally, you were a bit reluctant to indulge, but the entire atmosphere here screams authentic Italian culture, reminding you of your nonna and soothing your reluctances.

You both scour the menu for a moment, but you both settled on an option fairly quickly, your waiter comes right on queue. “Ciao! Can I start us off with anything to drink?”

Too enraptured by your food options, you forgot to decide your beverage. Before you can even begin to think, Joel is already on it. “Could we get two glasses of red, your house blend, please?”

“Right away, sir, I’ll be back with those in a moment and take your order, then,” he says as he steps away. Immediately then, another individual appears with two glasses and fills them up with water while you wait.

Joel’s focus is on the water being poured, while you’re still devouring him with your eyes. You and him never had a chance yet to talk about your backgrounds or your interests, but so far he’s doing a damn good job at dissecting you: your favorite food being Italian and your drink of choice always being red wine, and he got that, all unprompted.

Finally, his eyes meet yours and the sultry look you’re giving him makes him immediately heat up, his red flush making its appearance again. “What?” He gives you an amused grin.

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean back in your bench seat, “I just- you’re really impressing me. It’s quite the turn on.”

His expression turns from amused to aroused in seconds. “Oh?” He leans forward. “Tell me more?”

Before you can indulge, your waiter is back, placing a wine glass in front of each of you and pouring your glass a little over a third way full before he sets it down to begin taking your order.

“What can I get started for you guys?”

You signal for Joel to go first. The look on your face screams mischief, so he doesn’t question it. He orders the filet mignon gnocchi, tonight’s special. The waiter turns to you.

“Buonasera! Vorrei la carbonara, per favore,” (Good evening! I would like the carbonara, please) you say as you beam up at the waiter. His expression brightens tenfold as he realizes what language you just spoke to him. “Perfetto, la carbonara,” (Perfect, the carbonara) the waiter writes down, then looks between the both of you, “I’ll get these in right away.”

“Grazie,” (Thank you) you say, and you hear a small thank you coming from Joel as the waiter walks away. You and Joel meet each other’s gaze.

“You-” he breathes. He looks really shocked. And utterly turned on. “You speak Italian?” You don’t remember when, but his hold on your hand switched to running his finger up and down your forearm. Chills fall down your spine. “Mhm,” you respond with, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while you reach for a sip of your wine, as if you don’t know how much you just completely rocked his world.

“Fuckin’ trouble, I tell ya,” he says under his breath as he tries to casually adjust himself under the protection of the table and the dark lighting.

After your meals come out, the next 45 minutes are spent in easy conversation. You ask him questions that prompt responses ranging from telling you about his daughter to him being a single father to his contractor business with his younger brother, Tommy. In return, he asks you questions about your family, your best friend, and the question that’s been burning him all night, “Where the hell did you learn Italian?”

You chuckle at his eagerness. Who knew Joel Miller would have an auralism fetish? You wonder what else could spur him on. “I can ask you the same about your Spanish,” you say as you wipe your mouth from any pasta sauce. “Throwing your words at me while you have me wrapped around your fingers, literally.” You say it so casual yet bold that it does nothing but fire him up more. His self control slips more and more with every flirty and filthy word your mouth utters.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Grew up bilingual,” he offers.

Southern drawl with a Spanish tongue? Yes, please, you think to yourself. You hum in agreement. He picks up on it. “Ah, I see.”

“Not bilingual, though,” you clarify with a smirk, mainly to test out just how turned on he’ll get at the prospect of your tongue being versed in a variety of ways.

One hand of his tightens as if he’s trying to really hold onto the string that’s keeping his self control at bay.

You sit and think for a minute. You grew up in a mixed ethnic household, so you have a few options you could choose to reveal right now, but there’s one in particular that you know will make him snap.

The waiter hands the bill directly to Joel. He’s writing down the tip and total as he murmurs to you, “What else do you know?” The waiter comes back and offers you both pleasantries and bids you goodnight, in Italian to you and English to Joel.

You lift your napkin up off your lap and begin to stand. He starts, but freezes as soon as you begin to speak, “Bueno,” you breathe out. “Me encantó la comida, pero tenemos que ir a la casa, ¿qué piensas?” (Well, I loved the food, but we have to go home, what do you think?) You begin to walk in the direction of the exit, but you don’t feel his warmth radiating from you, so you turn back around. He’s sitting back down at the edge of the seat. You go back to him and put your hand on his shoulder. “Joel…you okay?”

“Yep,” he says strained, “Just, uh- need a minute.” Both his hands are situated on his knees and he’s leaning over a little. Your eyes drift to in between his thighs and god damn he’s hard. Painfully hard. His bulge is so big it has you holding back a whimper at the sight of it.

You can’t help but make this situation worse for him, it’s in your nature. So you bring your mouth down to his ear and in a low whisper, “Faster we get into the car, the faster I can take care of that for you, big boy.”

He stands at full height now, his body completely flush and towering over you. He takes one look at you and his hands are on your waist, spinning you around and guiding you to the car without a word.

You can feel yourself walking faster than you’ve ever done in your life, and thank Heavens you do because as soon as you reach the car, he wastes no time in turning you around and pinning you between the driver’s side door and his body.

His lips meet yours in a frenzy, it’s a clash of hot breath and tongue, and you take all of him in fervently. His tongue passes over yours in a way that has your knees buckling. He clocks it immediately and before you know it, his thick thigh is slotted between yours, nudging your core. You moan into his mouth at the pressure, and he pulls away to grab your jaw, forcing your attention onto him. “Gonna give me another one, baby?”

“Joel-” you start, but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna give me another one, right here, right on my fuckin’ thigh,” he demands, his grip on your jaw tightening with his words, “Am I understood?”

You nod your head frantically as much as his grip allows you, followed by a “Fuck, fuck, yes, Joel, yes, I understand,” and your hips start moving on their own accord. “That’s it,” he chuckles, eyes blown out in his arousal for you. One hand wraps around your waist while the other bunches the front of your dress so he can see the mess you’re creating on him.

If anyone were to walk by right now, they would get a full view of your sobbing cunt rubbing all over his dressed thigh. It’s lewd, it’s pornographic, and it would definitely get you arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. And even though those reasons should be enough for you to stop what you’re doing and tell Joel you want to just get home first (which he’d be more than willing to oblige to for your comfort), you don’t want to. The prospect of someone walking by to witness what this hunk of a man can reduce you down to is enough to push you to the edge that much faster.

He slightly rocks his thigh back and forth in time with the grind of your hips, the now wet fabric catching enticingly on your clit. Joel’s grip on your waist tightens, encouraging more pressure into you. He lets go of your dress to slip his fingers in between your cunt and his thigh, adding more stimulation to the bundle of nerves as he pushes himself into you to meet you in another wet kiss. His lips leave your mouth and make its way down your jaw to just below your ear, and he bites. Hard. The searing sensation mixed with everything else makes your vision go white, and you’re literally creaming all over his black dress pants. He soothes that part of your neck with more sucking and licking as your hips come to a halt, his fingers still rubbing slowly, ever so often teasing them at your entrance.

Your full weight is leaned against his truck, and the only reason you’re still standing right now is because of his hold on you. He knows this, so keeping his one arm around your waist, he slowly pulls away from you to bend down and bring his other arm under your knees. He picks you up and cradles you to the front seat of his truck. He sets you down gently, buckles you in, and before he steps away to the driver side, he uses his pointer and thumb to nudge your chin up to his level, and he kisses you so sweetly, the butterflies in both your bellies fluttering like crazy at the feeling. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers.

“Then take me home, cowboy.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ironically enough, your car ride back to your apartment is filled with the sweetness of each other’s presence, your main conversation of getting to know each other from dinner picking back up. The first few minutes of pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the main road was you bringing yourself back down from your orgasmic high. You wanted to take care of Joel, so that’s what you started to do as soon as you gained your consciousness again, but he stopped you.

“Trust me, darlin’, I want you to so fuckin’ bad,” he says as he regretfully puts your hand back on the middle console and engulfs your hand in his. “But, at least, for tonight, I need to get you off before I do.”

You look at him even though he can’t meet your gaze. The gesture is heartwarming, you’ve never had anyone like this before. And although pleasing your partner is equally as pleasing for you, you don’t argue—but you are confused. “You did get me off, though…three times already?”

He smirks and meets your eyes for a moment before turning back. “That was just your appetizer, baby,” he lifts your hand up to his mouth and leaves a kiss to the back of it.

Your eyes go wide, “Oh,” you squeak out. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Okay then.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As soon as he parks, he’s out of the car in an instant, opening your door and guiding you out again. You walk up to your door, fumbling for your keys to unlock it. He’s behind you, lips hungrily kissing up and down your neck and your shoulder. As soon as you get it open, you turn around to face him, your lips smashing into his and tugging him into the house as you walk backwards towards the direction of the nearest piece of furniture possible. He kicks your door shut and swiftly locks it, his one hand only leaving you for an unnoticeable second.

You were trying to lead him to your living room, but somehow you ended up crashing into your dining table. He doesn’t care though because his hands are grabbing at your hips, hoisting you up. He breaks the contact with your lips and you whine at the loss, but immediately he’s kneeling. Third time today, you think to yourself, could definitely get used to this view.

“Told ya, I needed to taste you for real, sweet girl,” he says as he runs his hands up your thighs. “Spread your legs, baby.”

You gather the front of your dress and let it pool beside you, your bottom half completely bare to him. You spread your legs and bring your hips to the very edge, your core completely at his mercy. His eyes grow completely black at the view, your wetness dripping out of you.

He secures his hands at your hips, borderline grasping at the globes of your asscheeks, and your thighs hooked on his shoulders. He leaves warm, open-mouth kisses up your thigh, alternating between both. Once he reaches your sex, you realize there is absolutely no stopping him until he’s had his fill. Your one hand stays behind on the dining table to hold you up while the other flies to the back of his head, gripping the curls at the base of his neck.

You’ve never felt anything like this before. His plush lips kissing every place vulnerable to you with such a velvety sensation, his tongue pushing into you and nudging areas you didn’t know a tongue could reach, and his nose—My God, his fucking nose—providing life-altering sensation directly on your clit.

The only noises in your apartment are the sounds of his slurping mixed with your high-pitched moans and occasional dirty praise, and you’re sure your neighbors can hear you, but you’re feeling way too fucking good to even care about that right now.

“Just like that, fuck-” your hips start grinding into his face, “-shit, you feel so fucking good, Joel, yes!” You gasp out as his rhythm changes, forcing you to the edge for the fourth time tonight.

He pulls you in impossibly closer and shoves his face impossibly deeper, and at that moment, your orgasm crashes into you. Your arm that was holding you up gives way and you fall back into the dining table, back arching while your thighs tighten around Joel’s head. The feeling of being completely consumed by you eggs him on so much that he can’t bring himself to stop. He continues devouring you like his life depends on it, his moans and whines vibrating you deep within. You don’t know if it’s another orgasm hitting you or an aftershock from the one you just had, but all you know is that your ass is completely off the dining table and he’s holding you into his face drinking every last drop.

You use all your strength to pull yourself back up, both your arms behind you to hold you up. You try and scoot your ass back onto the table, but Joel is still gripping onto you, spoiling the entire area with slow, deep kisses. He gives extra attention on your thighs, sucking bruises that’ll flourish through the night. Loving the sensation but not loving the way your ass is hitting against the table, you softly call his name with a smile full of adoration, “Let’s take this to my room, maybe?”

He stands to his full height while scooting you back to be able to sit properly again. His smile mirrors yours. He grabs your face with both his hands and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, but tasting yourself on him is a taste you don’t think you’ll ever tire of. Your tongue caresses his bottom lip, and he opens, pulling you in, his tongue embracing yours in an all-consuming dance.

Your hands begin to roam at his sides, making your way to the buttons of his dress shirt, and it’s then that he pulls away, remembering the question you asked. “Wait, wait,” he says. He opens your legs a little more so he can step in between. His hands are underneath you once again, and he nudges you forward, wordlessly telling you to wrap your legs around his waist. So you do, and he picks up, chuckling at the squeal you let out when your body reaches the air, and he leads you to your bedroom.

He lets you plop onto the edge of the bed and get yourself situated in the center. He finishes what you started and starts undressing himself. His shirt is the first to go, unbuttoning, untucking, and letting it fall to a random place on your floor. Looking down at you ready for him, he takes a step closer, unbuckling his belt, pulling them out of the loops, letting it follow the same path as his shirt.

He’s been catching the way you’ve been admiring all day, so he indulges in your fantasy a little in the way he undresses himself for you. With every article that gets removed, he watches your eyes grow hungrier, your breathing heavier. You’re too occupied at the sight of his body, you don’t make any move to pull your dress off, but that’s okay. Joel wants to be the one to unwrap his dessert.

Joel removes his pants and boxers in one go, and you let out an involuntary gasp at the sight in front of you. He is fucking huge. His length isn’t overbearing, but it’s his fucking girth that’s throwing you in for a loop. Your anxiety starts to rise a little; you have never been with a man as well-endowed as Joel and no strap-on you’ve taken could ever resemble what you’re about to take right now.

You fell into your overthinking, not realizing that Joel has made his way over you. He grounds you with a kiss, stealing all your worries. He grazes his finger over your forehead, pushing a hair away. The action makes you melt. Oh, there goes the butterflies, again. He guides your head to angle down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and back to your lips once more. He makes sure your eyes are on each other before he says, “We do not have to do anything more if you are not ready, sweet girl.”

He’s been pretty dominating all night, which you don’t mind at all, but this coming out of his mouth at the fire of your anxieties completely distinguishes them. You know you’re safe with him. Your eyes tear up and before you speak, you snake your hand to the back of his neck and yank him into you for another kiss. As he pulls away, a tear falls, but his thumb catches it.

“I trust you, Joel, I need you,” you say as you lean into the warmth of his hand, “Please.”

“Sit up for me real quick then, darlin’,” he says, sitting back on his haunches and pulling you up with him. His hands find the hem of your silky dress, and he slowly guides it up your thighs, up your torso, and you lift your arms off so he can guide it off completely. Now it’s his turn to admire. It’s as if his eyes don’t know where to look first: at your luscious thighs, your beautiful tummy, your full chest. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, not meant for you to really hear, but it makes you flutter all the same.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he says as he continues admiring you. You lay back down again, reaching your arm up to drag the pillow below your head. You spread your legs, inviting him in, letting him know you’re ready. But what he does next absolutely surprises you. He grabs your leg at the ankle and lays kisses everywhere. Up your calf, the bend of your knee, all around your thigh in the areas he marked earlier. He reaches your mound and makes no move to dive in. Instead, he lays kisses in the area, even a kiss is placed directly on your clit. You moan at the feeling. He mirrors his actions on your other leg. Then, he bends forward and begins kissing your tummy. Kisses in the general vicinity of your belly button, your ribs, making his way up your sternum.

Granted, your body is buzzing in arousal right now, and you’re making a puddle in your sheets, but mentally, the way he is appreciating your body has you feeling utterly content.

Your hand finds its home again in his neck just as Joel reaches your breasts. He continues his journey and kisses all around, his tongue swirling around your nipples. Your back arches at this, and you feel him smile against you as his hands wrap around your ribs, his thumbs caressing underneath your boobs. His mouth makes its way to your neck.

His mouth transitions to longer, wetter kisses, leaving trails of spit on the valley of your breasts and on your neck. The cooling of his spit coaxes a whimper out of you, wanting more of him. Wanting to drink him. His mouth finally meets yours and it’s slow but desperate, your hips lifting to meet his at an attempt for any kind of relief. His tongue massages yours and you can feel the spit build up; you eagerly try and lap it up.

You pull him away for a moment, slightly bashful to ask, but you need it so bad. “C-can you…” your gaze slips from his. His hand on your rib comes up to rest on the lower part of your neck, his fingertips grazing your jaw but also softly guiding you to look at him again. His eyebrow quirks up at you. Go on, he’s telling you. “Can you, uh- I-” you completely fumble. “Words, trouble,” he smirks, the nickname eliciting a sense of comfort within you.

“Canyouspitinmymouth, please?” You rush out with your eyes clamped shut, scared of what his reaction would be. He doesn’t say a thing, waiting for you to come to your senses and open your eyes. As soon as you do, he’s on you again, kissing you like before you pulled away to ask your question. Except this time, his fingertips secure themselves on the hinge of your jaw and nudge you open. Your lips but a whisper apart, his spit falling into your mouth, as your tongues’ tips dance around one another.

The moans you let out for him are sounds he never wants to give up. He’ll let you drink him dry if this is what he hears in his last breaths.

He pulls away, a spit string connecting you both. You lean forward, attaching to his bottom lip for a moment more before you let yourself pull away, then you swallow.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you breathily giggle. He smirks at your antics, leaning in for another kiss to distract you. He reaches for another pillow above your head, and as your kiss becomes more heated, you grind your hips up into him, giving him perfect timing to slot the pillow underneath your lower back.

You pull back, “Wha-” you start to question, but he’s quick to respond. He sits back up for a sec, “It’ll help,” he says, and he brings both your legs into a bent position, like frog legs, in a way. Your confusion immediately fades as you physically feel your pelvic floor open up. Oh.

“I thought you were a contractor, not a chiropractor?” you tease.

“Watch it,” he warns. “You know, I could just,” his fingers graze your glistening entrance, “force it in,” he slips a finger in, slowly. You gasp, teasing demeanor gone in an instant. “No preppin’ this tight little thing,” he pulls his finger completely out, you whine in response. “How ‘bout that?”

A barely audible please escapes your mouth, unsure of what it is you’re begging for, and you feel your pussy clench at his words.

His eyes darken, “Oh, she likes that idea, huh?” He’s leaning over you now, kissing your jaw and neck as he grabs himself by the base and lines his tip up to your warmth. “Maybe next time. Right now, trouble, I’m takin’ my damn time with you.”

He grabs himself by the base and guides himself to your entrance, his other hand at the side of your head. He lets his cock grind against your wet folds for a few moments, covering himself in your earlier climax, and then his tip catches at your entrance. You both let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, and he slowly starts pushing in.

“Oh, fuck,” you let out.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he whimpers, “so fuckin’ good, fuck.”

Your pussy clenches at his tone of desperation, and his one arm moves to situate underneath the curve of your back, accentuating it. He’s halfway in you and the painful yet pleasing stretch of your pussy has you closing your eyes at the sensation.

“Baby, eyes on me, need t’see you,” he says, reaching down to nip your bottom lip. Your eyes shoot open and your brows furrow, your pouty face doing nothing to ease his yearn of just pushing completely in you with no remorse.

Finally he bottoms out, both your hips flush with one another, and being completely engulfed in you like this, he can’t hold out any longer. “Look, doll,” he rasps. His hand beside you snakes underneath your head and he’s lifting it for you to look down. “It’s like you’re made f’me, huh?” He says as he begins to pull out of you until only the tip is in.

Your eyes are fixed on the sight below you. Your pussy absolutely stretched out, his dick completely covered in your juices. You don’t have the mental capacity to form anything coherent. Joel knows that, so giving you no time to acknowledge his filthy words, he pushes inside you again. This time much faster and much harder.

He continues that rough and fast pace for a while, kissing and biting everywhere his mouth can reach, relishing in the constant moans and whimpers spewing from your mouth.

“S-so big,” your voice quivers.

“But you’re takin’ it so well, sweet girl,” he replies, voice husky and strained. He sits up a little to stand on his knees, his pace faltering momentarily. His arm from your waist moves down to the underside of the bend on your knee. He pushes your leg higher, opens you up more. The angle makes you flutter around his cock, and he can’t help but speed up.

“Fuck,” he grits out, “not gonna last with that, sweetheart.”

His hand beside your head moves to rest at the base of your neck, his fingers splayed wide across you, giving him more leverage to rock in and out of you. You feel your body wanting to arch up into him, but the hold he has on you and the angle you’re in gives him complete control over you. The thought brings you higher, and you can’t help what spills from your mouth next.

“‘S okay, Joel, p-please,” you moan, “Use me, use my pussy, daddy.”

His hand trails a little higher and now he’s completely wrapped around your neck, his thrusts sloppy, but harder than you’ve ever felt before. “Say that again, sweetheart?” he rushes, hurtling towards his release.

You let both your hands come up to grab ahold of the hand wrapped around your throat. You pulse your grip, hinting at him to squeeze. He gets it, and within seconds, his fingers are right on your pulse points, applying pressure and giving you a yummy dizziness.

Your breath hitches and your voice picks up in pitch, “U-use me, daddy, I want your cum, please.” His other hand reaches for your clit. You gasp out. Immediately then, a lightbulb turns on in your mind, and a dazed smile forms across your face.

“Yeah, baby, that what you want?” he says as his ministrations on your clit picks up, his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you, over and over again. “Wanna be pumped full of daddy’s cum?”

“Ay, dámelo, papi, dámelo.”

It’s as if you two were really standing on an edge of a cliff, and you pushed him off with just your words. He roars out an addictive moan, and his release coats your walls. The warmth flooding in you and the pulse of his cock mixed with his fingers still circling, and you’re getting pushed off the cliff with him. His fingers begin to slow, and he’s letting go of your throat. He leans back over you to meet your lips, and you take him in. Quite sloppily, though, you’re doing the best you can with the feeling of his hips still slowly rocking into you, the overstimulation milking both of you for all that you’re worth.

You both stay like that for a few minutes longer, basking in the softness of him on your lips, inside you.

But then immediately he pulls away — and pulls out. You both hiss at the feeling.

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry-” he starts blabbering, but you cut him off with a finger on his lips.

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” you say as you take a deep breath for him to mirror, “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, calmer this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask where you wanted-” he gestures to his cum beautifully dripping from your entrance, “I know how risky that was- and we didn’t even use protection, I-” his panic starting to rise again.

You put your hand on his sternum and put a little pressure, figuring if your anxiety sits there, it’s worth a shot to see if that’s where his sits, too. It does. He looks down at your hand and back up at you, kind of shocked but not more than the situation at hand to question how you know that would help.

“A few things,” you say as you keep your hand on him. “One, I never stopped you, we both took the risks. Two, luckily enough for the both of us, I’m on the pill.” He smiles at that. “And three, even if I wasn’t on the pill” you continue, “I wouldn’t mind picking up a Plan B if it meant I got to feel you like that inside of me again…” your voice trails off and immediately he pulls your hand away from his front up to his mouth to press several kisses on your palm, bursting in lighthearted laughter, his anxiety fading away.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Joel laid in bed, tangled up in each other, for a little while longer, but he could sense the mess started to make you a little uncomfortable. He pulled both you and him off your bed, guiding you with his hands on your hips but ultimately letting you take the lead to your bathroom.

He guides you to your toilet and starts scouring your bathroom to find your washcloths. Once he does, he soaks it in warm water, and falls down to your level, so he can clean you. You reach out to grab the washcloth, thinking you’re gonna be the one doing it, but he’s quick to swat your hand away with a smile. He asks softly, “May I?”

Your eyes meet his, and all you can see is a genuine softness and a genuine yearn to take care of you. It makes you breathless. “Yeah,” you return his softness.

Being the pretty kinky and adventurous person that you were, aftercare always existed for you. Albeit, some of your past partners were more tender than others, but none of them treated you in a way that made you feel like you two were endgame. There’s something about Joel and the way he can be so soft, warm, and appreciative. He’s so experienced and considerate that you know he’s probably had his fair share of lovers in his past, but the way he treats you makes you feel like everything back then was solely leading him to this very moment. Like he spent years searching, and now that he’s found you, he needs to make sure what’s his is truly being taken care of in the way it deserves.

The thought and his actions should scare you, but they don’t.

There are people who spend years dating each other, still trying to figure out if they’re meant to be. There are married couples filing for divorce because they learned that they weren’t for each other after all.

There are others who get married after six months because they just know. Then, there’s you and Joel. Obviously you’re not going to marry him tomorrow but as you sit here, letting him care for you in such a way you’ve never felt before, you feel it. The rightness. The belonging. He’s gonna be in your life for a long, long time, and one of the most important people in your life at that. You don’t say any of this, though. You can’t. It’s too soon.

So, for now, you’ll just let your actions speak louder than words, and show him just how much you need him in your life.

“I’m cooking for us next time,” you say, pulling Joel from his own thoughts.

“Okay,” he says without a second thought. Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the exact same thing as you.

He feels it, too, and just like you, for now, he’ll let his actions speak louder than his words.

He reaches over and plops the washcloth into the sink, his eyes on you.

“Only if we christen the dining table before dinner.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks go hot.

Yeah, you are absolutely fucked. And so is he.

I hope you guys enjoyed!🥹 As always, feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. is extremely appreciated! Thank you to every single one of you for welcoming me with open, loving arms. I'm giving all of you forehead smooches right now. I love you all. So much.

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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fanfictilltheend · 8 months ago

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❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 2: ♪Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

Hi I apologize that a lot of these reference pics are just of white girls. I tried to find "aesthetic" images that go with the story but so many of them are just of white people and I want to call myself out for this because in the fic's only descriptors are that she has hair and is AFAB -- nothing about race. I also realize that all of the girls in this are skinny too and Y/N's body type is never specified. Sorry fam!! These images are just to get the creative juices flowing and don't truly depict anything from the fic!!

A/n: It’s here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I’ve ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (smut this time tho!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. SMUT and feelings <3 Also check out this playlist of music that’s in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, pov change, Infidelity, threats, age gap, dressing Joel up (swear I wrote this before he wore that outfit to the SAG awards — the mr.Darcy-core one), racist comment (from Y/N’s douchey boyfriend), douchey boyfriend, confidence issues, feelings, voyeurism, masturbation (m and f), kissing, penis in vagina sex — unprotected (wear a condom), lightest hint of ass play, scar worship?? kinda??, daddy issues, daddy kink, using music lyrics to move the plot, multiple orgasms (m and f), religion and god discussions, stepcest (kinda bc technically he is divorced from her mother), tagging psuedo-incest just to be safe!!, use of y/n

Word Count: ~13k

PART 1

AO3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a little crush on Joel Miller. How could you not have? The first day you’d met him had been like some kind of fucked up yet extremely satisfying whirlwind of a daydream. He’d come in, broad and tall and strong, and saved you from your evil (though you do love him somewhere deep, deep down) older brother’s onslaught. Protected you like a knight in shining armor from his punching, beating fists. Treated and touched you so tenderly, so many miles different from how your own father did that you’d been hit with whatever the pleasant opposite of whiplash is. And the way he finally punished Aiden after years of his reign of terror, the violence of it, the justice of it. You didn’t have words for it then, but the way you looked into Joel’s eyes when he was doling out that righteous punishment became some kind of strange secret understanding between the two of you. Maybe it was the first sign of love? You aren’t sure.

As a kid, he’d given you what you like to think of as quiet butterflies. They were always there when he spoke to you, looked at you, touched you, beat the shit out of your father and brother for you, but they were faint enough that you could ignore them. It was a comforting, fluttering kind of love, a gradual understanding of your loyalty to one another. But then puberty hit and the insects became incessantly loud when you thought of, wrote to, or talked to him. They ate at your heart day after day while Joel was in prison – the longing, the missing. Aiden told you that you were obsessed with him. Your mother told you to forget him, that he would forget you. But somehow, he didn’t. You wonder if those bugs live in him too. You wonder if they are quiet or loud and if they gnaw .

You think that they are probably loud. You think this for a few reasons. The first is that you know for a fact, you can feel it in the lining of your soul, and from the evidence of his constant correspondence and care for you, that he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him. The second reason is the fact that you think but aren’t one hundred percent sure is that the last time you’d hugged him he’d gotten a little hard (you don’t want to think too much into that because he is only a man who had been deprived of touch for a long time – but still you wonder…). And the third is the way he looks at you like you are the universe like you are the last drop of nectar and he is the last butterfly left on Earth in a famine.

That’s how he’s looking at you now in the passenger seat of his old, clunky pickup. You know that he wanted to drive, but you wanted to show him how well you could because he had never seen. Never had the chance to see how well you had fixed, maintained, and took care of his baby and of course he gave into you like he always does. He's smiling at you quietly, but his eyes contain multitudes. Right now mostly pride at your driving.

Joel is a bit different than how you remember sitting near him in the truck the last time you were together, him as a free man, you as a little girl. Somehow, even though you are obviously bigger now, he still seems massive and broad and stronger than ever. His biceps are huge – probably from all the time he had to work out in prison – and peeking out under his blue t-shirt that you brought for him, you think you see the outlines of some tattoos. You look a little closer. On his right arm is text in curvy black ink. You think it reads, “Sarah.” You smile softly at that. On his other arm is a strange orange shape that you have to squint at to understand. The edges of the object are jagged but they form a shape like a badge – and then you know what it is! It is the guitar pick you made for Joel as a child. The one that had pricked his finger and drawn blood and he stuck it in his wallet. You can’t articulate how honored you feel that Joel loved you enough to tattoo something you made for him on his body, permanently, forever.

“ Well , the light only turned green damn near eons ago,” he complains about your driving, but you know he is just teasing.

There is hardly anything wrong you can ever do in Joel’s eyes. He grins at you a bit lopsidedly and you smile back. You also can’t help but notice the greying of his brown hair. It’s a bit longer than it used to be too and the length gives it a little bit less of a shaggy look. You think it suits him, makes him look a bit older and more distinguished than when he first came into your life twelve years ago.

Objectively, you know it’s weird to think that your ex-stepdad who is a convicted felon is hot, but it’s just something you’ve always known and thought like that the sky is blue or that orange is your favorite color. You know it’s weird to think of someone who was? – is? – supposed to be a father figure to you that way, but it’s already second nature at this point. You’ve had a few boyfriends (luckily all of them had treated you right), but none of the feelings you’ve ever had for them have compared to the cosmic-sized love and affection you have for Joel and you’ve never known anything different. The years you spent longing, missing, loving, obsessing over, and aching for him in every way under the sun, can’t be healthy, you know this, but they have eclipsed practically every other relationship in your life. No one has ever made you feel as safe and protected and loved as Joel has. No one else has ever looked at you the way he does. No one else’s entire existence has revolved around you the way his has. The sheer devotion in his gaze is enough to make the butterflies inside you scream and beat their wings against your insides like hungry bats.

And you especially know you shouldn’t have these feelings about another human being violent enough to be capable of taking a life – inebriated or not. You’re grown now and know the man he killed was a scum-of-the-Earth child predator, and secretly you’ve always wondered if there was more to the story than Joel told the police in the official court transcripts you’d read as an adult, maybe even something to do with you since you had been there that day in the repair shop when they met , but you haven’t pressed because you’re sure the whole thing is quite traumatic for Joel and if he ever wants to tell you, you know he will. And more importantly, you don’t really care. Drunken, violent idiot or not, you were already deeply invested and never intended on wavering in that. You’re not sure there’s anything Joel could do to get you to stop loving him and that both terrifies and excites you.

“Okay, whatcha wanna eat?” you ask, reaching out to rub Joel’s shoulder gently. “Now that you’re free you can have whatever you want! On my mom’s credit card of course. Swear I won’t tell her.”

Joel grins.

“Deal,” he tells you. “I was thinking of a nice steak dinner.”

***

You pull into the fanciest restaurant you can find in the tri-state area and sit down to order a regal, all-American, full three-course steak dinner (though you’re both woefully underdressed – not that you care – though the host gives you a dirty look). All the while, you tell Joel about your major (psychology) and how you want to become a counselor for abused children.

“That’s sort of beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you with a genuine smile that used to be so hard to coax from him, but now seems to float over to you so easily and gently like a kiss from something as soft as the wings of a butterfly. “Wanting to help defenseless children. You’re kinda like a guardian angel for them, ya know? Damn proud of ya! Also, these mashed potatoes are goddamn delectable!” he exclaims after taking an experimental bite. “Have I mentioned that prison food is shit?”

You smile bashfully and want to tell him that he is your guardian angel (you wonder if he thinks the same of you) and inspiration in a backward sort of way for wanting to help kids in the first place since he was so good at protecting you for the most part (though you obviously don’t believe violence is the correct answer in your line of future work). But kids need protectors. Somehow you know that deep down you forgive him for all of the violence he caused because you would forgive him for anything. And him being proud of you? You don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than that! You burst with pride. Your real father never said that to you, but Joel doesn’t feel like your father now. He is something different entirely. Something that entirely belongs to you.

“And you’ll meet my boyfriend, Max, tomorrow,” you nod as Joel moves onto the steak and lets out a soft moan at how good it tastes. “He’s heard a lot about you.”

Joel’s face flattens.

“And who is this kid exactly?” he sneers a little, attacking the steak with his knife.

You smile internally at the obvious jealousy he’s trying to hide from his voice.

“Hey, Max is a decent guy!” you insist in his defense. “He’s pre-law. Real smart. He’s gonna be an important person someday, I know it. You’ll get on.”

That last part is a bit of a lie since you’re not sure the two will actually like each other.

Joel examines your face, looks deep into your eyes.

“All I know is, just because someone is important, don’t mean they’re good to you or for you for that matter.”

You can’t help but think of your father, the most “important” man you know and how much of a degenerate he is compared to someone ostensibly average like Joel who didn’t even have a status symbol like a college degree and how perfect of a man you think he is, despite his obvious flaws. You blush a little, scrunching up your nose.

“Just lookin’ out for you, sweetheart,” he continues, smiling at the way you do. “He ever fuck with you – he ever break your heart, you know just where to send him, alright?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grin. “Don’t need you getting any more jail time though, alright?” “You may have made a valid point,” he concedes with a smirk.

***

When you two enter your shitty, one-bedroom apartment it’s already dark outside. Joel actually grins when he notices his and your guitars have both been mounted on the wall.

“We can play ‘em tomorrow,” you tell him excitedly. “If you want to, I mean…”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Joel smiles. “Wanna hear ya singing for me, honey. I missed that.”

You smile to yourself.

“You can have my bed, and I’ll take the couch,” you decide, getting back to business.

“No way, babygirl. I ain’t taking your bed.”

“Joel, you’ve literally been on a prison mattress for eight fucking years! Can’t imagine that’s been very comfortable.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t mind the couch. That’ll feel like heaven to me. Don’t want you messin’ up your back, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth, but Joel beats you.

“And that’s that,” he insists.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, knowing by the look on his face he’s not budging. If one thing, Joel has always been stubborn, but you like that about him. “D’you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, baby, if ya don’t mind, I’d like a quick shower. Been dreaming about taking a real, private one for ages.”

“Yeah, of course!” you nod, motioning toward your bathroom door. “Towels are under the sink.”

Joel makes his way inside and soon steam is billowing out the bottom of the door.

You busy yourself with some homework, but just as you walk past the door to grab a glass of water, you think you hear Joel singing.

You listen more closely over the fall of the running water and make out him singing the chorus of an old ABBA song with a deeper, sadder tone to it,

♪ “ Slipping through my fingers all the time / I try to capture every minute / The feeling in it / Slipping through my fingers all the time / Do I really see what's in her mind? / Each time I think I'm close to knowing / She keeps on growing / Slipping through my fingers all the time…” ♫

You feel like such a sap, but you feel a tear forming in your eye at the way Joel must be thinking about his and your relationship and everything he missed in your life. You aren’t mad at him, but his absence hurt in a way you didn’t know you could feel. And you’ve never blamed him, really, but the lack of him for eight years of milestones really did kill a piece of you. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly at the bottom of your stomach with its wings pulled off. That’s how you felt all that time without Joel – like a butterfly without wings. A writhing worm of a human being, senseless and lost in a giant world full of forces you couldn’t control.

You listen to Joel’s beautiful, deep voice until you hear him turn off the tap and you scurry away and act innocent.

Joel emerges from the bathroom then with nothing but a white towel around his waist, steam from the shower floating lazily into the room behind him like precession. And oh, wow, is he ever a sight to behold. His hair is wet, dark brown flecked with grey, and starting to get curly from the moisture. You also can’t help but notice his broad chest, the expanse of it, the dark curls of hair, his bulking, muscular tattooed arms, his soft, hairy tummy, the V-shape of muscle that descends beneath the towel, his happy trail. You are overwhelmed by the soaking beauty of him. You’d seen Joel shirtless before, sure, but it had never felt like this .

“Gon’ grab some of those clothes you bought for me and then maybe we could watch something?” Joel asks as you try so fucking hard not to stare at him.

“Sure!” you squeak, staring down at your notebook at the kitchen counter.

You think you see a smirk from Joel, but you're not sure because your gaze is averted as he grabs some clothes to change into and disappears back into the bathroom.

When he reemerges, dressed in a wifebeater and shorts that accentuate his form, you two sit next to each other on your cushy sofa and surf the TV for something to watch. You feel Joel’s hairy knees against your jean-clad one and your heart flutters.

“Can’t believe I’m really here,” Joel says softly as you pass re-runs of Full House, a dog show. “Like I gotta fuckin’ pinch myself to know it’s not a dream.”

Suddenly you feel a large, weathered hand on your cheek.

“Missed you so much, babygirl,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes, massaging the line of your jaw ever so lightly, trying to hold your skittish gaze. “More than I even have words for.”

First, you avoid looking at him a bit bashfully, but then you stare up cautiously into those big brown eyes that feel like a familiar kind of home and you’re such a goner. You lean into his warmth, the warmth of his hand.

“Missed you too, Joel. So much,” you admit, never wanting this moment to end or him to let go of you. “More than anything.”

He leans forward a little and for a second you think…but then he’s leaning in and planting a heavy kiss on your forehead. A kiss that has weight to it – not those soft, weak ones that Max gives you haphazardly when he’s drunk or high – the only time he’s brave enough to be vulnerable with you. This kiss says something, means it so sincerely too.

“Love you, honey,” he tells you. Then his face falls. “Sorry I…wasn’t quite there to say that to you enough in person.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I forgive you,” you insist. “I love you so much, dummy. More than you even know!”

But you truly do appreciate the sentiment.

***

You settle on an old, black and white classic, Paper Moon, that’s playing on the TV Land channel.

Joel wraps a big arm around you and you snuggle close. You’re pretty sure there isn’t a better feeling in the world than being this close to him. Even after all these years he still smells like Joel; like home (and, if you’re being honest, a bit like your vanilla shampoo) .

You lean against him, your cheek pressing into one of his firm pecs. You begin to feel sleepy, drunk on the steady sound of his heartbeat, alive and beating against you and really here .

You nod off.

***

At first, you don’t believe it, but you feel someone with strong, firm arms lifting you into the air, cradling your back and the insides of your knees in a bridal-style carry. The movement wakes you, but you don’t open your eyes because the safety and security you feel is too good to give up. Joel carries you to your bedroom and lays you down gently in your bed. You’re still in day clothes and shoes so Joel takes off your worn sneakers with a feather-light touch and places them at the foot of the bed – you can tell from the soft thumps it makes. He maneuvers you so tenderly under the covers and tucks you in with love and care. You wonder the last time someone did that for you and pull up a blank. If anyone ever did that for you it was probably Joel. Maybe your mom did when you were really young. Certainly your father nor Aiden ever did – your father hadn’t liked to touch you except out of anger – kind of like you had some kind of weird, contagious disease. Aiden’s hands had almost always hurt too, but not Joel’s – never his.

He breaks you from your thoughts by pressing another kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are still closed so you aren’t sure, but you think he watches you for a second and lets out a long sigh.

Then you hear your bedroom door close softly so as not to disturb you. You smile, you can’t help it, and drift back off into a peaceful sleep.

***

You wake up to a mumbling, grunting sort of sound. You look over at your clock and read 3:42 a.m. You sit up. You can kind of hear some muffled noises coming from outside your room. At first, you feel a little concerned – like maybe Joel is in pain or something as he is the only one who could be making the noises. The walls in your apartment are paper-thin. Like you could hear him sneeze clear as day if he were to because sound travels through the shitty walls so easily. You should have told him that. But what the fuck is he doing up at 3 a.m.?

You creep (and you mean creep) silently to the door of your bedroom and open it the tiniest crack. The way your apartment is laid out, the back of the sofa is the first thing you see and the back of Joel’s head about six feet away. He doesn’t sound in pain the way he’s groaning and then you understand exactly what he’s doing. Of course the man is jerking off! After being in prison, stuck around people for so long of course he wanted a good, private wank. He isn’t looking at anything from what you can tell, no magazines or anything. Must be using his imagination. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s gotten good at that over the years.

You should turn around, slink back into bed, and cover your ears with a pillow so the man can have some privacy. But, fuck, the way he’s grunting. His voice is so fucking deep and sexy and then he lets out a soft, vulnerable moan and you feel heat envelope your whole body. You think you hear a soft fuck roll off his tongue and your heart almost beats right out of your chest. You can hear the lewd slapping of his fist on skin getting louder and more intense. Then you hear a soft take it, fuck. And Jesus, you are so fucking wet between your thighs. You ought to be ashamed. Instead, you reach down your hand feverishly beneath the band of your jeans and soaking underwear instinctively to stroke yourself ever so slightly. You sigh in relief, but you are fucking gushing, your fingers covered in your slick. You can’t see anything besides the back of Joel’s head, technically, so this couldn’t be that wrong, could it? He lets out a soft groan, you can tell he’s holding back so as not to be heard, but the desperation in the pathetic little noises this hulking man is making is turning on every switch inside you. Oh how you want to go over there and take him in your mouth, to taste him. God you are so fucked up! You’re still touching yourself gently, not really fully going at it yet, considering the possibilities that could follow if you went over there. But before you can decide to do anything, Joel positively whines, moans, and grunts fuck, unh, and you think but aren’t sure, babygirl, and finishes.

You stop dead still in what you’re doing. Did he really say “babygirl” or was that just your horny-ass imagination playing tricks on you? You’ve never heard Joel call anyone babygirl except you. Was he really thinking of you? On the one hand, if true, mega fucked up. On the other, wow, incredibly hot. You think about going over there and asking him to finish you off or something as crazy as in all those dumb romance novels you used to read in middle school, but just as quickly as the idea comes to you, you hear another noise: loud snoring. Joel is asleep.

Typical.

You snort to yourself. That was so quintessentially Joel. You don’t want to disturb him now. The moment has passed. And only then is when you remember you have a fucking boyfriend.

That doesn’t stop you from closing your door softly, crawling back into bed, and reaching your hand down beneath your panties to touch yourself. You stroke your clit, imagining it is Joel’s rough hand rubbing against you. Holy fuck. You haven’t been this wet since you used to touch yourself thinking about him in the past. It’s like he can reach every part of you, every layer in a way that no one else can. You know the whole thing is so fundamentally fucked up, but you can resist sinking into your favorite fantasy. The smell, the touch, the feel of him. You imagine the noises he was making so beautifully on the couch, feel heat coil through your entire body, and immediately cum hard without even sticking a finger inside yourself.

The pleasure you feel is so unparalleled and real you have to cover your hand with your mouth not to scream out your powerful orgasm.

Sweat drenches your whole body as you come down.

God, you are so fucked.

***

The next morning you wake up to the wafting smell of someone cooking eggs. You emerge from your room a little sheepishly from last night’s events to find Joel behind the kitchen counter making eggs and toast.

“Mornin’, babygirl,” he grins, his eyes shining like he’s excited about something.

And then you realize: that something is you.

You grin back.

“Good morning, Joel,” you beam at him.

You were so afraid things would feel awkward after what you heard last night, but nothing ever feels awkward with Joel. In some ways, he’s still just your average dorky, friendly old ex-stepdad, convicted felon. In other ways, everything about him sets your heart on fire, but it would be stupid to ruin what you have with him because you think it’s remotely possible he might be interested back. You know this is dramatic, but if he flat-out rejected you, you think you might die. Truly. Like those butterflies inside you would beat their wings so hard they’d burst your heart.

“‘Membered you liked ‘em poached,” he nods, breaking you from your thoughts.

He scoops two poached eggs onto one of your plates and grabs a piece of toast from the toaster which he smears with butter like how you used to eat toast as a kid. You can’t believe he remembered.

“Thanks so much,” you tell him.

He grabs a few eggs and toast for himself and sits beside you at the counter.

“Nice to be able to cook me ‘n you some real food,” he remarks. “If I eat one more cup o’ noodles in my lifetime I swear to God Almighty…” he trais off.

He’s looking at you like you put the goddamned sun in the sky. Your heart melts as you stare at his features, the faint curls in his hair. Oh, how you want to reach out and touch him. But that just isn’t how you operate. You won’t ruin what you already have.

The butterflies in your chest howl.

***

` You lay out the day’s schedule to Joel. You have plenty of time to hang about (you see him eyeing the guitars), and then you need to go shopping for some actual clothes for Joel since the things you brought for him don’t constitute a proper wardrobe. Then you will go out to dinner and meet Max.

Joel grunts a nod at that last part. He doesn’t seem too thrilled.

“Wanna show me what you’ve been playing?” he asks hopefully as he gets up to put both of your plates in the sink,

“‘Course!” you nod enthusiastically. “Max says I need to work on my fingerpicking so I can’t promise it’ll be all that good.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

***

You sit down on the couch right next to Joel, each of you holding your respective guitars in hand, across your laps.

Joel looks ecstatic to have his guitar back in his hands. He fiddles with the tuning and finger-picks a faint melody.

“Haven’t played one since the prison band. But then some dumb motherfucker clobbered another sorry son of a bitch to death with a saxophone so that ended our music privileges,” Joel explains.

“Jeez,” you reply.

Joel is sitting so close you can feel his body heat. You just want to hear him sing, but he insists on hearing you.

“Joel,” you try as innocently as possible. “D’you remember how to do an A-flat? I forget and I need it for my song.”

“Sure, baby. Lemme help ya. Now put one finger on this bit of the 4th fret here,” he begins, snaking a big arm around your shoulders so he can maneuver your fingers to the correct position.

His touch is electric. He feels so good and warm. You feel the intense urge to climb into his lap and embrace and stay there forever. His big caloused hand full of scars places your fingers correctly for the chord. The same hand that must have jerked himself to completion last night…You can’t help but wonder how much cum there was…The truth is, you know how to make an A-flat. You just wanted to feel him.

He backs away and you whine internally at the loss.

“There we go,” he says soothingly, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “That one can be tricky. Now where is my performance?”

Your nerves are squirming around inside you but you begin to play and sing to the best of your ability.

You look into Joel’s eyes.

♪“ You've got a heart on fire / It's bursting with desire / You've got a heart filled with passion / Will you let it burn for hate or compassion?” ♫ you sing.

Joel watches you intently, sitting up straighter.

♪ “What's the point with a love / That makes you hate and kill for? ♪

You sing as best and as seriously as you can. You look up and think you maybe see a tear in Joel’s eye.

When you finish, it’s clear Joel is finding it hard to select the right words to convey what he’s feeling.

“I–” he tries. “That was…well, let me just show you how I can answer that if anyone ever could to a performance as beautiful as that.”

You blush.

He begins to finger-pick a familiar tune, Instantly, you are transported back to eight years old in the back of Joel’s old pickup truck, listening to one of his many cassette tapes. It’s “I’ll Never Find Another You” by The Seekers. The original version of the song is pretty happy and upbeat, but the way Joel sings it slowly in his deep and weathered voice makes you feel sad and achy inside. The emotion behind his voice is palpable.

♪ “But if I should lose your love, dear / I don't know what I'd do / For I know I'll never find another you / Another you / Another you…” ♫ he trails off.

It’s your turn to tear up a little. It’s crazy to know he means every word he’s singing too. He sings like every word is his last breath. When he finishes you are crying a little.

“You oughta record an album,” you sniffle, leaning into his shoulder, throwing him a side hug.

“Wanted to be a singer,” he replies with a small grin, leaning his head against yours. “Back when I was young.”

You sit back up straight.

“You did? I never knew that.”

“Don’t tell nobody really,” Joel replies, looking a bit sad you left his immediate proximity. “Just a stupid dream ‘n all that crap.”

“‘S not stupid,” you tell him. “You really have a beautiful voice, Joel. It’s like if I could take it, hold on to it, and keep it forever in my chest pocket next to my heart, I would.”

“That’s where I keep you, baby,” he tells you honestly.

He reaches up a big hand to yours and guides your own to place it right on his heart over his plaid shirt. You can feel it beating steadily below your palm to the rhythm of something as delicate and ferocious as the beating of butterfly wings.

“Right here.”

***

You take Joel shopping. At his insistence it is nothing fancy, just the local department store. That doesn’t stop you from dressing Joel up in ridiculous outfits of your choosing. You make him try on a Hawaiian shirt, some golf polos like your dad liked to wear, a pinstripe suit and he lets you because saying no to you has never been in his vocabulary. He acts grumpy on the outside, but you can tell he is amused. You know in the end, you’ll just end up buying every flannel shirt and jeans combo they have in the store, but it’s just fun anyway. You watch the fabric hug his torso, his tummy, the slight bulge at his waist. At one point he comes out shirtless and you try very hard not to swoon as you stare at the hair lining his chest and his adorable little tummy that you for some reason have the urge to bite. The band of his Hanes boxers sticks up past his jeans and he looks so good. He even lets out a genuine smile. The middle-aged sales attendant who is helping you even takes a good look at him which makes the butterflies inside you swarm possessively.

Finally, you make him try on a proper white-collared button-down shirt and black dress pants with matching black shoes and he looks so good you’re actually at a loss for words when he asks you what you think. They hug the curves and lines and planes of his body so nicely. All you can do is ask him to put on a black tie to match and he does at your behest following some customary griping that he would never wear such a monkey suit in the first place. The effect that a fully dressed-up Joel has on you is not one to be reckoned with. He might as well be wearing the men’s version of lingerie for how it makes you throb and ache between your legs. He looks like a force of nature, commanding and tall. It makes you weak. All you say is,

“Looking good, old-timer.”

He snorts.

When you finally ditch all the fun clothes and grab the essentials, Joel offers to go pick up the car while you pay. He tries to give you his eight-year-old credit card, but you insist on treating him on the condition he buys the “monkey suit.” After a bit of prodding, he gives in and you go to the sales attendant to pay at the counter.

“Your dad is really cute,” the sales attendant giggles to you as she rings up the pile of clothes.

Your cheeks go a bit red. You don’t really care enough to correct her.

“He’s my guy,” is all you say absentmindedly as you fish out your wallet from your purse.

The sales attendant hands you the receipt and on it, you see a scrawled phone number.

“For If he’s single,” she explains. “I’m Barb from sales.”

You look her over. She’s close to Joel’s age and conventionally pretty with long brown hair. The exact kind of woman Joel should be dating should he choose to get back in the game. Your stomach twists and the butterflies howl inside you.

You take the receipt, thank her, and join Joel back in the car (who is more than happy to be driving this time).

“What took so long?” he asks casually. “You two writing a novel in there?”

You think seriously about what you should do. You consider letting the bugs have their way and tearing the receipt with Barb’s number on it to shreds. But you want good things for Joel. The chance of you two ever being together the way you wish is so far-fetched that you know you shouldn’t even be thinking it. A literal pipe dream. He was your stepdad for christsakes. He literally fucked your mother! (Gross!). Barb is exactly the kind of woman Joel should be going after if he’s up to dating right now. You hand him the receipt begrudgingly.

“Sales Lady likes you,” you sat flatly. “Name is Barb.”

“Oh,” he says softly like he’s a bit flattered.

He looks back at her through the glass door of the store and she waves at him. He waves back politely. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.

“You think…you think you’re gonna call her?” you finally ask as casually as humanly possible, dreading the answer.

Joel looks over at you, his gaze sweeping over you. Then looks back at Barb through the window. He looks her up and down.

“Nah,” he says with a smirk, looking back at you. “She ain’t my type. Only need one girl in my life right now anyways,” he winks.

Was that Joel flirting? With you?

Regardless, you smile back and then sigh in relief and grin to yourself as you two drive away.

Much to your satisfaction, Joel crumples up the receipt and throws it out the window for good measure.

***

You get ready for dinner, to go to a nice Mexican-Japanese fusion restaurant that Max picked out. You wear a red dress that accentuates your figure and matching heels and to your shock, Joel reemerges from the bathroom in the white button-down shirt and black dress pants you picked out for him (you had been sure flannel would be part of his ensemble). God, he looks good. A part of you wants to ditch Max and just stay here with Joel forever. He looks you over, his dark eyes sweeping over your frame. You think there is a tinge of possessiveness in his voice when he says,

“ Christ, you look beautiful, babygirl.”

***

You arrive before Max and sit down at the fancy white table-cloth-covered table next to Joel, a booth facing you. Max finally makes an appearance a half hour late and sits down across from you, sweeping his hair out of his face, sliding into the booth. Joel is frowning and the butterflies beat their wings inside you nervously.

“Sorry I’m late,” Max announces, puffing out his chest a little and smoothing out his collared shirt as he looks down at his watch and then over at Joel. “Hey, baby,” he says to you. Then, “And, uh, nice to meet you. Joe, was it? Heard a lot about you.”

“Joel,” Joel replies flatly, eyeing Max.

Max is a good-looking guy, everyone says so, but he looks more like a little boy than you’ve ever thought as he squirms uneasily in his seat under Joel’s unrelenting gaze and launches into a tirade about his frat’s inter-mural lacrosse team practice and how his team should have totally won the scrimmage and that’s why he’s late. And of course, he was the one to score the most goals.

“And the taxi cab driver was a nightmare. Only spoke Spanish. It’s like, if you come to this country speak fucking English, am I right?”

You notice Joel’s jaw tighten and his fingers clench.

“Max, that’s so rude!” you tell him, frowning. “We’re at a fucking Mexican restaurant!”

“Anyway,” Max continues, rolling his eyes at the interruption like he barely even heard you, smirking. “Where’d you go to school? What do you do for work, Joel? Besides making license plates, I mean. Kidding!” he insists as you stare daggers at him.

Joel leans forward ever so slightly but you slip your leg over his to hold him back and he calms down a fraction. It’s like when you touch him, everything tense in him melts away.

Joel sits up straighter in his chair and looks at you, stretching his arm across the back of your seat protectively like it’s a casual thing and not an unconscious sign of possessiveness.

“I’m a mechanic,” he grunts unceremoniously to Max. “I mean, I was anyways…Didn’t go to school.”

Max frowns ever so slightly.

“You didn’t go to college? You must’ve gone to trade school at least?”

“Nope. Picked up what I know over the years. Not everyone gets a free ride from their parents,” Joel smirks.

“Free ride?” Max snaps. “I’ll have you know I spend every summer interning at a law firm!”

“Yeah, your dad’s,” you can’t help but snicker.

Max’s cheeks turn a bit pink.

“At least I’m not a psych major,” he shoots back. “I mean, no offense, babe!”

“What’s wrong with psychology?” Joel snarls, his eyes darkening. “You ought to be proud to have such a thoughtful and intelligent girl like Y/N studying such a topic.”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to go pink.

“Joel–”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Max sneers.

That makes you feel a bit better.

“I’m just saying, she could have inherited the second-best law firm in the tri-state area from her pops if she was pre-law like me,” he smirks.

Your smile fades, used to hearing this kind of shit from him. He knows you and your father don’t get along at all, but not the full extent of it. He also knows you don’t have an interest in pre-law. But you swallow down how you really feel.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you tell him, placing a hand down on his thigh.

It’s not that you enjoy the way Max has been talking to you, but you are so used to it from the men in your life that it feels like the common denominator must be you. And sometimes it feels like maybe they have some kind of point. And fighting back only makes things worse. You’ve learned that over the years the hard way.

“It’s not fine!” he snaps like he’s trying to get you to see sense, looking deeply insulted on your behalf. Your heart thunders in your chest. “This boy has never worked an honest day in his life and he’s telling you what you ought to be doing? Bet his hands are soft as a baby’s ass. He doesn’t know shit about you, babygirl.”

You may not know the hardship of labor that Joel has taken on in his life, but your hands are not smooth. They are full of scars. And Joel is right. Max’s are soft like silk. You look down at the most prominent, ugly scar on your middle finger. You don’t even know which man in your life gave it to you. But you do know it means something. Shows you survived something. Survived your stupid father too, not that Max seems to care.

But Max never loses.

“Whatever,” he smirks dismissively. “Sorry I’m not some, like, common blue-collar worker. But I guess I should be taking advice from someone who became a fucking convicted felon ‘cause they drank too much one night,” he shrugs with a terrible sneer.

You know it’s over then.

But Joel surprises you. Doesn’t immediately strangle Max like you thought he might. Simply stands up tall and silent over Max’s frame which has suddenly begun to shake ever so slightly in obvious fear, his blue eyes widening. Joel’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

“Wouldn’t mind them sendin’ me right back in, ” Joel growls low. “Drunk or not.”

You shiver and Max positively cowers.

“Got something to say? Don’t wanna take it outside?” Joel leers, smirking ever so slightly at the trembling boy before him. “I’d even let a little boy like you take the first swing.”

“Your stepdad’s a freak, Y/N,” Max stammers, not taking his eyes off of Joel.

“Joel, it’s fine, okay?” you growl, not wanting him to actually hurt your boyfriend. Let alone in public! “Shouldn’t talk about Joel like that though, Max! Jesus!”

“Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” Max tries, eyeing back and forth between you and Joel. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t get what you see in him with a real Dad like yours! Your dad has so much to give you!”

Look out for you? So much to give you? What could he possibly give besides a stupid law firm and two black eyes?

Max looks a bit desperate. Him apologizing for anything is actually a new concept for you. Your heart twitches ever so slightly. He must actually like you a lot. But Joel would never do anything to hurt you if it was in his power. At least not intentionally, unlike your real father.

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” Joel snarls moodily, turning around. “Don’t want to do things I might regret to Mr.Future-Corporate-Lawyer over here. Have fun with him .”

Joel looks deeply hurt. Like you are choosing Max over him or something. That’s never what this has been about, has it? Doesn’t Joel know you’d do anything for him? That the hurt on his face hurts you more than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever.

“Joel, wait!” you decide and disappear after him, leaving Max behind at the table.

“Babe, what the fuck!?” Max yells, but you don��t care. “Come back here!”

***

You ride back in silence, Joel’s hands turning white against his grip on the steering wheel.

When you break through to the front door of your apartment, Joel finally snaps, the anger on his face directed at something that feels like you for the first time in your life.

“You really love that little son of a bitch, don’t you?” he sneers, uncharacteristically harshly towards you.

“So what if I did?” you shoot back, a little shocked. “It’s none of your business, Joel. What the fuck?”

“It is so my business,” he snaps back. “That kid is no good for you, Y/N. He doesn’t understand you. You deserve someone much better than that who will actually go to the ends of the earth for you. He wouldn’t do anything for you.”

There is a desperation and vulnerability in Joel’s words and tone that you’re not sure you’ve heard before. He sounds like he had been waiting the whole car ride to say this, maybe even his whole life. You aren’t sure.

“Max does give a shit about me,” you try to convince yourself, getting angrier. “I mean at least he was there for me while you were gone.”

Joel flinches.

“How do you know what’s so good for me and what’s not when you dipped out of my life for eight years?” you continue harshly. “Because why? It wasn’t because you were drunk, was it? It was because you couldn’t control your anger. You never could.”

He stares at you.

“I controlled it for you,” Joel says so quietly you almost miss it. “ You are the only reason I did any of it.”

“What?” you stammer, not sure you want to hear more. “W-what do you mean, Joel? Any of what?”

A million thoughts begin to run through your mind, but you push them aside. Theories about the case and your ideas of Joel’s true nature all threaten to drown you but you push them away.

“Do you want to know why I really killed that sick son of a bitch?” Joel asks dangerously after a long moment of silence. You stare at him, your body frozen. He looks down at his hands, flexing them like he can still feel them punching or around that disgusting man’s throat. “Why I killed him all those years ago? It was no accident, I’ll give you that. Manslaughter, my ass. I killed that scum of the Earth because he threatened you . To do terrible things to you with those disgusting hands of his. So I broke each one, but it wasn’t enough. I killed him because I didn’t want you to get hurt and because I didn’t want you to live in fear of him. I was tired, Y/N. Tired of being afraid for you in a world that doesn’t let you do shit except fight back. I loved you so much, Y/N, it hurt me. It scared me, but I couldn’t let him hurt you. I’d die before I let anyone hurt you again, not him, not your father, not Max, not anyone. You have to understand. I love –”

And then it’s all over. You’re not sure who moves first, but you think it might be you. The butterflies are rustling and thundering and screeching inside you and you kiss him. And Joel kisses back, devouring your mouth in his. You grab the back of his graying brown hair and pull him as close to you as you think is humanly possible. He cradles the back of your head so gently you almost lose your breath. And you are kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. There is nothing else in the universe except this kiss. You have never felt anything like this in your life. It is like every butterfly inside you has gone silent. It is like the world has stopped just for you and something new is forming inside you.

Joel killed that vile man for you. To keep you safe. Like he always said or showed that he would. He gave his life away for you. He did the unspeakable for you.

He bites down on your bottom lip and all your brain can manage to coherently think is: more, harder .

But then Joel is breaking away from you slowly.

NO! your heart cries out, the delicious pleasure and pain draining away from you. The butterflies swarm dangerously inside your chest, worse with every inch he travels from your lips.

“Joel,” you whine. “What? You…you don’t want–”

“Don’t even say that, Y/N,” he growls dangerously. “Of course I want you. How could I not? I have spent my entire life wanting you in some capacity, baby, but I ain’t no good for you either, alright? I…” he says slowly like it takes every inch of his body to agree to say this. “I am not a good man, Y/N. I never have been. I’ve done wrong in every chapter of my life. You deserve someone much better. I don’t want to hurt you. Physically or mentally. Our history… The damage I’ve done…” he trails off.

“You don’t understand,” you swallow, tears forming in your eyes. “You have already loved and hurt me more than any human being on planet Earth. And yet somehow there is nothing you could do that would keep me away from you, don’t you get that? The Joel Miller I love is not a good man and I don’t care. I want all of you. All of the pretty and crooked pieces you try to hide away from me. You killed a man with your bare hands, arguably one of the worst things a human can do, and I don’t care. I still want you, Joel. Maybe even more because of it. No one has ever loved me the way you do and that is the love I want and it terrifies me.”

A single tear falls down Joel’s right cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, but Joel grabs your hand on the way reflexively, so you help him wipe his own tears away.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I would move the Earth for you,” Joel whispers back.

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve always known. I–”

But he is kissing you again before you can say another word, like a man starved. You hold onto his cheeks, your fingers caressing his stubbly beard.

“ Joel,” you whine when you break for air.

“I wanted this so badly,” he says softly, grinning a lopsided grin. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“Me too,” you giggle.

You have to lean up a bit, but you press your forehead to his gently.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smirks. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, ya know that? You like

it when I go a little rough, honey?” he smirks down at you in satisfaction, reading your mind.

You have to stop yourself from getting lost in the warm pools of his brown eyes, your panties soaked.

He reaches an affectionate hand down to rub your side softly.

“This okay, babygirl?” he coos, massaging his hand down your torso.

“I’d let you do anything to me, don’t you know?” you snicker. “Pain or pleasure, it’s all the same to me. I like all of that. I just want you so bad.”

“Think a safe word is in order,” Joel grins, leaning down to kiss your neck. “How about ‘butterflies?’” you suggest.

“Sounds good to me, baby,” he grins, looking genuinely happy for the first time in hours.

He leans down and places a calloused hand around your throat, not squeezing (yet – you hope) and plants soft kisses and bites down your expanse of skin.

“All mine,” he mutters into your skin. “My beautiful babygirl.”

You feel his erection pressing against you through his black dress pants which makes you moan softly.

His hand trails over your crotch and he starts rubbing over the tight fabric of your red dress.

“That okay?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Want more, Daddy.”

Oh shit. You don’t mean to say it like that! You know it is about ten levels of fucked up to call Joel that, but how is it your fault that in every fantasy that’s how you think of him? You figure you’re probably past the point of weird and every other standard of decency, but you’re still afraid.

“Sorry…” you mumble. “I–”

“No, no, baby,” Joel says quickly. “It’s alright, you can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind, sweetheart.”

“You think it’s weird,” you mumble again, further stupid tears forming in your eyes.

He snickers.

“Baby, I think we’re beyond weird at this point. Let me show you how turned on it makes me.”

Joel takes your hand and places it on his crotch. He takes your left hand, the one with the scar and you cringe a little, but he is rock-hard.

That’s good because you’re positively drenched.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Daddy likes that more than you know, alright?”

You take your hand back, smiling, but you cover your scarred finger, shocked he will allow this fantasy for you.

“Whatcha hidin’ from me, baby?” he asks, noticing the positioning of your hands.

“I hate that scar on my finger. ‘S so ugly,” you admit.

Joel looks flabbergasted.

“That’s the last damn thing I think of when I look at you. Ugly? Who in the fuck told you that?”

“How it got there is ugly. It’s marred skin, looks gross,” you mumble.

Joel moves to take out his cock, and when you nod he unzips and unbuttons his dress pants, pulling out his length. You have fantasized about his cock for god knows how long so you are more than excited to see it. He reaches to place your left hand with the scarred fingers around the length of his dick, which is thick, but longer than you expected. The leaking head is almost purple and your mouth begins to water as you stroke him gently.

“It’s part of you,” Joel tells you, his eyes connecting with yours. “I love it. It shows you survived. Gonna jerk off to it, Daddy loves it so much. And when I’m done you’re gonna love it too. Swear I’ve got so many over the years I can barely even count ‘em. Even got a few on my middle finger. Maybe even one from a certain guitar pick you made me. Nothing like that could ever make me stop wanting you, ya know that, right?”

You smile and take your time stroking him, wanting to show him how much you love and care for him, scars and all.

He grunts softly, closing his eyes, but then shoos your hand away with a feverish kind of want.

“Yeah, touch yourself now, baby. Daddy wants to see how wet you are for him. With that scarred finger. C’mon, now. ‘S gonna make you feel so good.”

You do as you’re told and reach down underneath your dress and begin to touch yourself, especially with your middle finger. You stroke your clit and then your dripping wet slit. You moan softly as Joel’s eyes rake over you, taking in every sigh and groan you emit. The butterflies are forming something big inside you, which presses against the inside of your tummy and ribcage.

“Daddy,” you whine.

“Enough, little one,” Joel whispers.

He takes out your hand and begins to suck the slick off of each of your fingers, groaning deeply, making intense eye contact the whole time.

“Fuck, angel,” he moans, having a tough time keeping himself together, you can tell. “Taste and smell better than like how I pictured. Like you were fuckin’ made for me, I swear.”

He reaches a hand of his own down to stroke himself and his moans become more desperate. Finally, he sucks on your middle finger covered in your slick and groans so deeply you feel like you might cum untouched. He stares into your eyes.

“ Mine, ” he growls possessively. “Oh, shit! Gonna–”

Then he takes your left hand and leads it to meet his throbbing cock. You stroke him, harder this time, fisting his thick length, moaning softly and that does it for him.

Joel cums all over your hand, oozing white globs of cum over your fingers, once, twice, three times.

“Fuuuuuck, babygirl,” he groans. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! Couldn’t help it. Yeah, suck it off, baby. That’s it,” he commands, and you do, licking up all of his cum, even the part that got on your middle finger.

When Joel comes down he still looks half-crazed with desire.

“Sorry about the, uh, early release. It’s been a while since anyone touched me,” he babbles in embarrassment, his cheeks flushed pink. “But I don’t wanna hear shit about your gorgeous hands ever again, you hear me, babygirl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nod, snickering.

He looks like that one word has set his entire universe back in order again. You honestly don’t care at how fast Joel came. You love how much it shows he wants you. And his heady taste is making you weak. You could taste him for days and days and never get tired, you’re sure.

“Can still get you off though, don’t worry. Shoulda let you cum first, but I couldn’t help it with the things you do to me. Goddamn. Can Daddy eat your pussy, baby?”

You grin, but then your face falls.

“Didn’t shave,” you admit, feeling dirty.

Max hates your hair down there.

Joel looks at you in confusion.

He laughs, his face scrunching up.

“Oh, sweetheart. You think I care about that? Only little boys give a shit about things like that. Not men.”

You shiver.

“Really?”

“Of course I don’t care. Didn’t ya hear what I just said? C’mon now. You can lie down on the couch.”

You follow instructions, pulling your dress over your head to reveal white lace panties and no bra.

You move to take the panties off, but Joel stops you, staring at the lines and curves of your body.

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, taking you in.

You think you see his cock twitch ever so slightly. He palms his softening length instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he snarls, pushing you back on the sofa.

You happily fall backward.

He lies on top of you, his white button-down shirt pressing against your naked body tantalizingly.

He bites your lips roughly and you groan against him.

“Daddy’s mouth,” he commands against you.

“Yeah, duh, Daddy,” you snicker.

As if he even needs to say it!

He kisses down your neck expertly and you begin to shiver and whine, your pussy aching with need and neglect.

He stops at your breasts, sucking and biting each one.

“Daddy’s tits,” he declares, snaking a finger over the lace panties that protect your clit. “Of course,” you respond, moaning softly, grinding needily against him.

He continues lower, licking down your breasts and over your tummy which he plants with kisses that tickle and then one hard bite on your hip that leaves behind teeth marks.

“Daddy’s body,” he impresses upon you.

“Yes, Daddy. Only yours.”

“No more of that little shithead, Max,” he snarls, an inch above your clit.

“No more Max,” you repeat as he presses kisses down your pussy, still covered by soaked white lace panties.

“Only Daddy.”

“Only you.”

“Good girl,” he growls.

He finally removes your panties and begins to eat and suck your clit and pussy so hard and enthusiastically, swirling his tongue around your bundles of nerves that you grow exponentially closer by the second.

“Joel,” you whine. “Oh my God.”

It doesn’t take long. The second his calloused hand is pressing a finger and then two inside of you it’s over. You were so needy for him that you could have even cum from just his mouth alone, but his hands are what send you over the edge. And something different happens as orgasm crashes down upon you. The butterflies all join together and transform into something bigger and softer, caressing your insides, cooing. It feels like a breathing white dove is spreading its wings inside you, the tips of its feathers brushing against your rib cage. And you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Pleasure engulfs you in currents, facilitated by the gentle flapping from deep

inside your body.

“ Joel,” you moan. “Oh my God. Daddy, pleaseee–”

“Please what, baby? Make my princess cum again? I would eat that pretty little clit and

pussy every day for the rest of my life if I could, fuck. God, so perfect and you’re so fuckin’ tight. Look how fucking hard you make me, angel.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his half-hardening cock. Not going to lie, you are partially shocked at his recovery, but another part of you seems to know that if there was anyone in the universe that could do that to him it had to be you.

“Never got hard again from anyone I’ve ever fucked before…” he trails off dreamily like he can read your thoughts. “You’re so gorgeous, babygirl.”

“Not so bad yourself, handsome,” you tell him lazily, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth as you pull him closer to you.

The heat from his body keeps you so warm and tender and for a moment you lie on the couch, Joel’s still-clothed body pressed to yours.

“Can you fuck me, Joel?” you ask, squirming against him needily.

“You can’t say that shit to me, baby,” Joel groans, his cock getting harder. “Not quite ready yet.”

“Lemme help you out,” you offer, pouting.

You reach down and stroke his half-hard length and then bend over and press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock.

Joel swears, staring down at you with so much adoration it pours off his face. No man has ever looked at you like that before. You’re certain. Perhaps no man ever will again? Not like that.

“Shit, baby,” Joel babbles stupidly, his eyes threatening to swallow you up in that beautiful shade of umber. “Never gonna forget this moment,” he grunts as you begin to suck his cock properly, feeling it slowly get hard enough to throb between your lips with each thrust of your head and gluck of your throat.

You stare up at him, your eyes wide and wanting and Joel lets out a soft, vulnerable moan as you begin to really suck him and take him down the walls of your throat.

“ Unh , babygirl, fuck,” he whines and you have never quite heard Joel so desperate before. “Gotta pull out or I’m gonna cum. Holy fuck.”

It sounds just like it did the night you accidentally spied on him jerking off.

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh, Daddy?” you ask, releasing Joel from your mouth like he wanted, though his hips buck forward ever so slightly with desire, the tip of his cock just barely scraping against your mouth. He grunts.

“Maybe so,” he replies, looking a little guilty. “Don’t know how not to these days.”

“Heard you on the couch last night,” you whine yourself. “Had to touch myself ‘cuz of it, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Joel reaches out a hand to cup your crotch and rub against your slick pussy.

“That’s so fuckin’ naughty, baby,” he groans. “Look how wet that made you. All for me.”

You steal a glance at his cock and find that the tip is weeping too. And he is so fucking big compared to the size of your hand. Fuck!

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” you whisper.

“All about you, baby,” Joel nods in agreement, his hips twitching ever so slightly. “‘Bout touching you just like this.”

He slinks two big fingers inside you and you moan deliciously, the feathery wings of the newly-formed dove fluttering against your insides.

“Gotta stretch you a bit more,” he grunts into your throat, pushing in a third finger. “Daddy’s so big and you’re so tight, angel. Don’t wanna hurt ya. Not too bad at least. Not yet…That’s it, pretty girl, fuck,” he grins when you slide back on his thumb in pleasure which had traveled to the rim of your asshole “Good girl, so good for Daddy. So naughty too. Don’t think Daddy won’t punish you.”

“Want you to hurt me, Daddy,” you moan. “When you fuck me. Please fuck me hard. I want all of you – pain and pleasure. One hundred percent Joel. Joel, please, I need–”

And Joel does stop for a moment.

“Never hurt you in a way you didn’t beg for,” he tells you seriously. “You know that right, baby?”

You stop your rutting against him and look into his eyes.

“Are you kidding? You would protect me with your dying breath. I know that, Joel. Never been afraid of you since I’ve really known you. Not once. I mean: fuck; you gave up your whole life for me. To keep me safe, for fuckssake. In every word you say and don’t say to me I can feel how much you love me.”

“I do love you so much, babygirl,” he whispers, nuzzling your forehead. “If I had to, I’d do all of it all over again if it meant I’d get you. I’ve made mistakes, big ones, but protecting you, loving you was never one of them.”

Warm tears trail down your cheeks, but Joel licks and kisses them away.

“Wanna feel me inside you?” he asks. “Don’t wanna go too fast, but I need you, baby. Needed you for so long…Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for Daddy, huh? Gonna fit me just like a glove, I just know it — if you wanna…”

“Yes, please, fuck me, Daddy! Please, Joel Wanna feel you—ah!” you moan as Joel shoves his entire length into your pussy in one hard thrust eagerly. “Oh my God, please fuck me harder!” you moan, reeling from the deep blend of pain and pleasure of him sinking inside you, clenching down around the thickness of him. “Joel, please!”

He pauses, sweat glistening on his brow, sneering.

“You really want harder?”

You shiver. The way he says that makes your heart beat wildly in your ears.

“Because babygirl, I would treat you like porcelain if you want it so. I will never hurt you, my angel, my gift from god, my goddamn sweetest heart please know I will break my fucking hands before they would hurt you, before I would ever hurt you in a way that you didn’t want, no matter how much it hurt me. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Joel. But you want it too,” you smirk. “You aren’t innocent in this, are you?”

“Fuck, of course i’m not innocent. I want you, babygirl. In every way there is to want another. Want every inch of you, inside and out. Wanna mark you up so the world knows you’re mine, honey. Want everyone to smell me on you and know I marked you, moved in you, darlin’, please, see, I’m no fucking Hemingway, I didn’t go to college, I’m not like you with words, but I need you to understand that I mean this with my whole chest and heart. Really, I’m not a big talker, never was, babygirl, but I need you to understand I—”

“I do, you dumbass fucking fool!” you shout, giggling at his desperation. “I’d understand you even if you were speaking another language. You’ve made your intentions loud and clear. I don’t want a Hemingway, I want Joel Miller!”

You pull him in for a kiss and he thrusts in you again a second time and you end up moaning clumsily in his mouth, but you can feel him smiling , smiling like some dumb idiot against you and maybe you called him the correct insult because he is a dumbass fucking fool for you. And it turns out you must be one as well because you are smiling like an idiot for him too.

“ Joel,” you moan as he begins to move inside you, hitting deep places that Max or any of your previous exes never went. Pleasure is tracing itself along the line of your stomach. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” you babble and you’ve never meant that more than you do now.

You can feel Joel coming apart above you, plowing into you, sighing deeply. His grunts and moans and thrusts spur on the intense pleasure.

“More!” you moan. “Oh my god. Harder, please, I need–”

Joel plants rough bites on your neck and kisses too like he’s trying to consume every inch of you.

He places a large hand around your throat questioningly and you nod.

“Beg for it,” he commands in his deep, sexy voice — the voice that’s been in every wet dream you’ve ever had. You think you might just pass out from the sound alone.

“Choke me, Daddy,” you whine as pathetically as you possibly can, batting your eyes. “Oh, please, I could cum from just this, but I want more. More of you. All of you.”

“As you fuckin’ wish, baby,” he snickers in amusement. “Bet no little boy ever fucked you like this, huh?” he growls, continuing his rough pace, slamming against your walls, his eyes growing wild.

“They don’t compare to you, Joel. It’s always been you. In every orgasm. Fuck, never felt like this! Shit! Shit!”

Joel reaches out his large scarred hand and applies gentle delicious pressure to your throat. You know even something like this can be dangerous, but you crave that feral look of violence in his eyes and the power that comes with it. You want him to own you completely – every inch of you. You want him to mark you just like he said he wanted to because he is yours and you are his and has it ever really been any other way? You can’t remember properly from the pleasure rushing through you, the white dove inside you spreading and fluttering its wings, cooing softly. You think it’s only ever been what you feel now.

“Joel, Joel, fuck!” you scream, orgasm building in you.

“I know, babygirl. I know,” he coos himself into your mouth.

He pulls you closer, presses his nose to yours, his lips to yours, biting and kissing like a starving man possessed. He looks into your eyes and it’s there! That look of pure predator closing in on its prey, that look of ownership but also the most intense love you think you’ve ever witnessed. You would recognize that look anywhere. Your starved brain cries out for oxygen beneath his iron grip.

“Gonna cum again, angel,” Joel growls. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’re never gonna forget who you belong to. Whose pretty pussy this is.”

He is pounding so hard against your cervix and his dick is so big inside you and the pressure of his hand squeezing around you is so overwhelming and the scent of him could make you faint straight then and there, but you let go and feel yourself cumming in enormous waves as you squeeze down around Joel’s prick, the pleasure more intense than any single bodily experience you’ve had.

“ Daddy ,” you whine breathlessly, tears trickling out of your eyes. “Oh my god!”

“You’re mine, babygirl, always have been–FUCK!” he shouts into your throat, collapsing on top of you.

And then you feel him starting to empty himself inside you, painting your sensitive insides with trustful after trustful of hot cum. You’ve never felt so helplessly full and sticky in your life, the brilliant pleasure billowing through every inch of you. You want to feel like this every day, stuffed full of Joel’s cock, so close to him you can feel his heartbeat against yours, the one true place you belong.

“So beautiful, babygirl,” he whispers in an exhausted type of awe.

When your words come back you reply,

“Shut up, you’re the hot one,” through a snicker.

You look down at your body, covered in purple bite marks and bruises forming like galaxies across your body.

Joel snorts. Then he sits up on the couch and you lean your cheek against him. You lean up to kiss his cheek and he blushes ever so slightly.

“I said a lot of stuff, Y/N, but I want you to know that I meant all of it,”

“Yeah, you probably said more in the last hour than you’ve ever uttered in your entire life,” you tease, sitting up.

“I’m serious,” he snickers.

“I am and was too,” you nod. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me — that we did this. I know that our…origin story is weird and unconventional and some might argue straight up wrong, but I need you, Joel. I don’t care about that or think I could go back to pretending to be what we were.”

“You think I’d want you to act like that?” he asks incredulously. “You think I want this to just be a one-time thing?”

“Of course not,” you smirk. “But as close as we are I can’t actually read your mind. I mean…how are we going to be together realistically?”

“I’m not sure,” Joel admits, frowning a little. “For now it has to be a secret unless you want your mother or brother in jail for murdering me this time around. But someday, I dunno. It’s dumb…”

“What?”

“I just have these thoughts sometimes about you ‘n me. I…” Joel’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “Had a lot of time to think in prison, you know? And I’d Imagine us living on a ranch somewhere quiet out in the country with a flock of sheep. I could work at the tractor and auto-body repair shop that’d be out there, you know, in this dream of mine, and you could be a counselor at a local school if that’s what ya wanted. I don’t know, l know it sounds silly, but nobody would know or bother us there. But I want you to finish school and have the best life possible, babygirl. I’d wait a thousand years for you, but if you didn’t want me anymore the way we are now, I’d respect that. And if you’d allow it, I’d still be there for you just in a platonic sense — or just there for you however you want because I can’t imagine my life with you in it. I’d do whatever it takes, brokenhearted or not. I just can’t be separated from you like that again. A day longer in prison and I could’ve keeled over and died. And it’s crazy how much I mean that.”

“I don’t ever want to be separated from you again, Joel,” you agree. “I know the original plan was for you to find work and get an apartment of your own and I would love for that to still happen, but with you being intimate with me in every way – even if it has to be a secret. I don’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I need you in mine. I’ve never needed something more than I need that. Understand?”

Joel pulls you into a hug and leans his chin on the top of your head. He kisses it then your forehead. You lean up and plant a kiss on his throat and then his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t mean to get too ahead of ourselves now. We can take things a day at a time,” he mumbles into your skin.

You yawn contentedly, the tiredness clawing at your eyes, so unbelievably spent.

“I like hearing about your dreams and I’d go anywhere with you, Joel. But I am kinda dead from how good you just fucked me. Take me to bed?” You ask exhaustedly into his chest.

“Of course, babygirl,” he smirks down at you.

***

You don’t let go of Joel all night long, burrowed up against his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. And he doesn’t let go of you either. After the most intimate night of cuddles and snuggling you’ve ever experienced as well as the deepest and most restful sleep you’ve had in ages, you wake up to Joel gone from the bed. You frown, having wanted more than anything to wake up in his strong arms. Fear grips your insides as you wonder if he finally realized last night was a mistake and that you were never meant to be together in the first place (what you fear more than anything). A stupid vulnerable tear comes to your eye, but then you cock your head and hear music playing. Guitar music.

You think of your apartment as shitty, but truthfully you care deeply about your little private space and one of the things you do actually love the most about it is the tiny balcony that overlooks a measly courtyard and part of the city. That’s where you find Joel in the deck chair holding his guitar, strumming it lazily.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says, fingerpicking a melody that scratches at the back of your mind with familiarity.

“Morning, handsome,” you tell him softly, plopping your smaller hand down on his shoulder.

The city hasn’t woken up yet, the soft glow of morning shining beams of light onto you and Joel, filling you with warmth. You sit down in the deck chair next to him, bathing in the sunlight.

“Whatcha playing?” you ask curiously, crouching to sit up on your knees.

“You know the song ‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen?” Joel asks in that beautifully deep voice of his.

He isn’t even singing yet but you could listen to him forever.

“‘Course,” you nod. “It’s a classic. You used to play it for me once in a blue moon.”

“Know what the word ‘Hallelujah’ actually means?” he asks.

You think about it for a second.

“It’s about praising god and all that, right? Why d’you ask?”

He pauses, both his words and fingerpicking.

“Babygirl,” he begins and you can tell he’s about to say something serious. “You know I’m not too good with words, but I need you to know this: I’ve never had much to thank god for in my life, except for Sarah, you know? But then He took her away…”

You place your hand on Joel’s and he looks at you sadly, but appreciatively. He flips it over and holds it in his giant paw of his own marked-up hand.

“And I was so fucking angry. Nothing left in me. The only good part of me gone. I was a broken man. And I hated Him. But then He, despite the shit I’ve done…He gave me you . And I know our road hasn’t been easy or fair, and the pain you’ve felt and I have felt but…I guess what I’m trying to say is you are the reason I believe that any type of…goodness— of holiness— can exist in this universe. And I’m not a religious man, I don’t believe in most of that dogmatic type of shit, and I don’t think you do either, but I do think someone or something is up there and I wanna thank them for you. Does that make sense? Do you wanna hear what I mean? I just feel so damn grateful.”

A tear you hadn’t noticed was there rolls down your cheek.

“Of course it does and of course I do,” you tell him.

You think perhaps this is the closest thing he can do to bearing his soul to you.

And then he leans over and kisses the tear away and begins to fingerpick the familiar melody.

♪ “I heard there was a secret chord…”♫

You listen to his deep weathered voice as the sun grows higher in the morning sky, casting both light and shadow over Joel’s wrinkled, handsome face. The light trails over you too. You feel the dove inside you cooing contentedly, dusting its wings gently against the edges of your insides.

♪There's a blaze of light in every word / It doesn't matter which you heard / The holy or the broken Hallelujah…”♫

When he finishes he places his large, scarred, calloused hand in yours and you hold it between your own scarred fingers.

“Thank you, Joel,” you tell him, meaning every word. “I think there’s hope for us, you know? I don’t believe in hippie-dippie type stuff, but something in this universe did bring us together. And I’ll be forever grateful for that too, ya know?”

Joel squeezes your smaller hand, his big fingers engulfing yours as the dove coos louder inside you.

“Babygirl, you know that I ain’t a good man, or a rich and educated one like maybe you thought you’d end up with, but I am less of a broken one because of you and I’m never letting you go. If we’re together, I think we have a chance.”

A/n:PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING DID THE SMUT LIVE UP TO YOUR DREAMS????

PART 1

PART 3 (coming soon)

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

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codenamethebird · 7 months ago

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Ok here's a little (not really) analysis/theory post about Hades 2, because I'm obsessed. Its consumed all my thoughts. And I need to talk about a theme I think will (hopefully) be addressed as the game progresses.

Here's some examples of dialogue that starts to touch on this conflict between mortals and the gods. What exactly do mortals deserve? We also have literal Icarus "flew too close to the sun" here too (and probably Pandora). Chronos was able to sway many to his side with a promise of a golden age without the gods, which is presented by the narrative as a foolish venture. And not saying it isn't, or that Chronos is the secret good guy here, but I believe Chronos is taking advantage of a very real hurt that exists for mortals.

This line from Nemesis really stood out to me, because it implies that while mortals have a concept of evil, the gods don't. Which sounds ridiculous but the more you think about it makes total sense. The gods in Hades (and just greek myth in general), are kind of the worst. They are petty and selfish, they literally attack you if their boon isn't picked first, and most vitally in this context, often utterly disregard mortals.

For example, one of the things that drove me a little crazy in Hades 1, was how chill everyone was with Demeter's never ending winter. Demeter was killing possibly millions upon millions of mortals and everyone else just sort of let it happen. Maybe complained a bit because it was annoying to them, but just stood by. And that's just one example. Mortal's have a very valid reason to hate the gods.

And considering we have more areas of the surface to explore that aren't out yet, I have a feeling Melinoë is going to be meeting some of these discontent mortals. And my hope is they are going to be nuanced characters, that will challenge Melinoë not just in a fight, but her very ideals.

Because Melinoë is very deferential to the gods, waaaaaay more that Zag ever was. Unlike Zag, who was more like a bro to them and was willing to suck up to them for personal gain, Melinoë seems to genuinely mean all the respect she gives them. She praises them, defends them when they are insulted, and just generally very polite to them.

In a smaller scale, she describes Hypnos as having a wisdom about him and can somehow sense her intensions while asleep. Which as Nem implies, the version in Melinoë's head doesn't exactly line up with reality (though sidebar, I am a believer in Chekov's Hypnos and that he's going to somehow save the day and put Chronos in a never ending sleep or something, but that's beside the point haha).

Melinoë's reverence to the gods makes total sense of course. She was denied her family and a happy childhood, and because of that has glorified them all in her head. The Olympians are sending her vital aid on her holy mission for vengeance and to save her family, even as their own home is being attacked, how honorable of them!

And I think part of Melinoë's arc is that perfect picture of them breaking into pieces. Yes, they are the better of the two options between them and Chronos, but that doesn't mean they aren't also kind of the worst. That mortals deserve better than frivolous gods that can decide on a whim their fates for better or worse (love u Moros but I'm still fucked up over you and your sisters giving mortals horrible doom endings when you were bored. At least he feels bad now but still. Perfect example of gods even when not intending to having horrific consequences for mortals). And maybe like how Zag healed relations with his family, Melinoë can start repairing relations between the Gods and Mortals.

#hades 2 #hades game #hades ii #hades supergiant #hades #I also realized after finishing this that another example of the gods being shit is with Heracles #and considering how little dialouge of his is out yet #im super curious of what that'll bring about #but yeah as I said in the middle of this #I really want at least of the mortals in Chronos's army to be a proper character that interacts with Melinoë #oooooh maybe they can foil Melinoë and their family was killed due to some godly interference #theres just so much potential #hades 2 spoilers #edit: ahhhh i forgot my girl Arachne im sorry best girl #but yes further proving my point

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yoitsjay · 5 months ago

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Hi hi!! Can you please do one where crosshair and Hunter are both crushing on their Jedi general, who is a total scaredy cat and shy and of course totally oblivious to their feelings. I can only imagine the absolute drama and chaos a love triangle between these two would be, with how competitive they are with each other 😭😭

Oblivious

Pairings: Hunter x gn! Reader x Crosshair

Summary: Crosshair and Hunter start fighting, again, but about you and this time you hear about it. Now not only are they apologizing, buy they're asking you to choose and are now trying to probe who's better... oh boy...

Warnings: NO CLONECEST AT ALL, love triangle, mainly fluff, flirting, sensual touches maybe, reader picks both

Word count: 965

“Eep!”

A loud squeal fell from your lips as several bugs flew towards your face, you swatted them away, but ended up running behind Crosshair, as he was closest to you at that moment. “Hate bugs…” You muttered, hearing the man chuckle as he turned and looked down at you.

“You're a Jedi Master and yet you're scared of a few bugs? I don't get it.” The man huffed, and you rolled your eyes. “I am not scared! I just- get grossed out easily.” You muttered, sticking out your bottom lip as you pouted.

You were still walking as you talked with him, no longer paying attention to your surroundings which in turn made you trip on a rock. You started stumbling forward, and Crosshair was about to catch you, but a pair of muscular arms wrapped around you first, tugging you back onto your feet.

You could tell it was Hunter who had saved you from a broken nose, so you spun around to thank him, a big smile on your face as you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks hunt.” You muttered, cheeks going red after you realized what you had done.

Another squeak fell from your lips, and you muttered an apology before speed walking away, unknowing that Crosshair and Hunter were having a bit of a glaring contest after you had left.

The rest of the team could tell that both Crosshair and Hunter had feelings for you. Echo, Wrecker, Tech? yeah they all knew. But you? you had no clue.

Every action you did, whether it was just bending over to grab something, or leaning over Hunter’s seat during briefings, every action you made drove Crosshair and Hunter crazy. And they started fighting, though typically away from your earshot.

After you got back to the Marauder, you had decided to relax your nerves with a bit of a shower. When it was done, you were about to exit, until you heard Crosshair and Hunter arguing outside the fresher… about you.

“You have no idea who she’d pick! Besides, I'm the better kisser.” Hunter argues, and you could hear Crosshair roll his eyes from behind the door.

They argued more about some random shit before you finally opened the fresher door, and they both turned to look at you, eyes wide as they stared. “Uh… hey guys…” You muttered, trying to squeeze between them as you tried to sneak back to your bunk.

Obviously there wasn't really a point in sneaking, as they both held your waist and kind of held you between them.

You gulped.

“Well you’ve heard it, we love you, and we want you. So who do you pick?” Crosshair sneered, sliding two fingers under your chin as he forced you to look at him. Your face was beet red, and you glanced away, unable to find words.

“Crosshairs right, you gotta pick.” Hunter murmured in your ear, holding your hand in his as he placed it on his chest. You could feel his racing heart beat, and yet again you gulped, your nerves taking over your body as you chose flight.

You pushed them both away and bolted out of the Marauder, force jumping up into the nearby tall trees to clear your mind.

Cuz holy shit what the fuck.

Not only did they both love you and you had NO idea, but they wanted you to pick? you weren’t even sure if you HAD feelings for them. Hunter was amazing, and so kind to you and he always made sure you were alright when it came to talking to other generals or even other clones. But Crosshair?

Crosshair was so different. He was snarky, rude, and standoffish. For months when you had first joined them he refused to even talk to you, and when you’d give an order he'd scoff and walk away, only doing it when Hunter told him he had too.

So really you had no idea Crosshair even LIKED you to begin with, since he was such an ass. And yet you liked him anyway.

You had no idea what to do…

For weeks after that, Crosshair and Hunter would constantly be one upping each other, showing off their skills, or flirting and using different pickup lines. Every time you'd make up an excuse to leave, or you'd just laugh and walk away.

But this needed to stop.

It was hindering the way you performed on missions for the council, and even they were getting suspicious.

So you mustered up all your courage and you pulled Hunter and Crosshair aside one day, pushing them into the cockpit of the Marauder when no one else was inside it.

“Okay enough you two!” YOu exclaimed softly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You are both making it impossible for me to do anything mission wise! I like you both, alot, but you can’t just expect me to pick. So quit it.” You ordered, raising your voice a little to get your point across…

Which seemed to work when you saw their shocked faces.

They looked at each other, and nodded in a silent agreement before turning to you. “We're sorry for making you feel like that Y/n, I guess we- we really weren’t paying attention to how it was affecting you… so again we’re sorry.” Hunter spoke up, and you smiled, nodding before turning to Crosshair.

“We won’t make you choose, and… we will give you space.” He sighed, but you shook your head. “Oh I've already chosen.” You stated, crossing your arms over your chest as moth mens eyes widened.

“Oh?” Crosshair asked, and you nodded.

“I choose both. So you’ll just have to share with me.” You started, grinning at them before you opened the cockpit doors.

“Back to work! plebs.”

➺

Tag list:

Hunter:

Crosshair:

@nyctophobiart

Tbb:

@moomoog017 @only-my-unexistent-fiances

#tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #hunter x gn reader #crosshair x gn reader #fanfiction #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch

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sukunasun · 2 years ago

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could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much.

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too.

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you.

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with.

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle.

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole."

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting.

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth.

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this.

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done.

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there.

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring, "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices.

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between.

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway.

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl? you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli.

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for.

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils.

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get.

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off.

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there.

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong.

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then.

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.

#wanted to make this one a slow burn ...#mma geto is the ice cream i have a lock on ... precious!#let me know if you wanna read more mma geto!#ask #anon #sunpiece #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #geto suguru #geto suguru hcs #geto x reader #mma geto #mma au #chubby reader #geto x chubby reader #jjk chubby reader fic

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sandrayofsun · 1 year ago

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Gagged with a capital G - EP. 8

Holy mother of God I don't even know what happened to me when this episode ended. I think I ascended to heaven and back. This is going to be a long post filled with thoughts and feelings (and I have no one else to talk about this to) so buckle up!

Starting off with this first scene... not even 2 mins in and I was already tearing up. This entire conversation was so interesting to me because BOTH of them are fully aware of their feelings, yet neither one is willing to speak up. Ray is "happy" to be with Mew, and Sand is "happy" that Ray finally got who he wanted (supposedly🙁).

Major props to sand for standing his ground during this conversation even though you could see unshed tears in his eyes (go First!!!!🤞). You can feel the love he has for Ray simmering beneath but also the dejection that he feels towards seeing that Ray picked Mew.

This is not the face of someone who is happy with the decision they made. Khaotung really stepped up his acting in this scene because I swear I saw like 18 emotions go through him all at once (slay my king!!🤌). He has formed such a strong attachment to Sand and is now realizing what it means to have chosen someone else (and I don't think he feels too good about it).

THIS WHOLE SEQUENCE!!!!! Sand asking for Ray to let him go, and RAY LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT!!!! This had me seriously gagged to the core, I didn't even know what to do. Looking at it simply, they are both just sad. Sad at the fact that they know they can't be friends, but also won't admit their feelings, but it bothers them that they don't have each other😭. Seeing what unfolded afterwards with Yo and Plug was even a bigger eye opener for them because it was a direct parallel.

~~~MOVING ON!~~~

I think all of us got a little excited we we're going to get the "now that you've walked into my life..." scene, however, I actually really enjoyed this scene in between everything else that was happening because it shows Ray's dynamic with Sand during a regular time, right after showing his dynamic with Mew (pre-halloween). It gives us insight into the fact that despite Ray being with Mew, it still isn't enough for him. He is still wondering why Sand won't answer his messages, and still wants to spend time with him, even though they had that conversation at the bar and Sand asked to be let go. Ray can't/won't let go of Sand. *Bonus cute Ray pouty face*

What's funny to me is that Ray doesn't even realize what it means that he craves Sand's company. He has no problem verbalizing that being with Sand makes him happy (also in their bar conversation🧐) and isn't shy about asking to spend time with him. Yet, Sand still calls out the fact that Ray can spend time with Mew, but Ray doesn't even acknowledge it. Even using the excuse of Mew not being able to play instruments as a justification for seeking out Sand.

^^^^ I mean seriously look at that cute little face rn. I don't even blame Sand for folding like a wet tissue because I too would fold.

~~~MOVING ON PT.2~~~

The entire SandRay Halloween party sequence was BONKERS. I must applaud FirstKhao because they are mopping the floor with the other couples as far as chemistry goes (no shade to the other couples!!! I'll touch on them in a separate post).

POSSESSIVE RAY STANS STAND UPPPPP😩!!!!

Finally we have Ray witnessing the consequences of his actions. Literally seeing him looming behind Sand and the other guy, pushing him away, questioning Sand about what he's doing, saying he wants to sleep with him, then kissing him to establish dominance over the other guy. CHEF'S KISS😮‍💨. Now, obviously anyone with eyes can tell this behavior is toxic, but I simply have not seen this possessive side of Ray with anyone, not even Mew. It was nice to see Sand getting a little bit of attention in that regard. Was it healthy? No. Does Sand deserve better? Yes. But was it hot as hell and real as fuck? 100%.

FIRST KANAPHAN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE😩

He looked good enough to eat in his costume (I'm sorry I had to say it or I was gonna scream lol). I don't blame Ray for seeing his (boy)friend flirting with someone else while looking like that😭. Anyways, Sand standing his ground ONCE AGAIN was so elite of him, he refuses to be number 2 and I am here for it.

Listen guys... Say what you want but Ray ate this little bit up lmao. I chose to take this as progress in a way because Ray is finally bringing up the feelings between the two, and Sand made himself clear that he will not settle for less than first *no pun intended*. I must also state that I found Ray's possessiveness funny lmao because he had literally JUST kissed Mew (love of his life or whatever🙄) and then goes and get's pissed at Sand for even looking at someone else. And also kisses him?? Did he really need to get rid of Mew's kiss that badly🤨??

~~~Last scene hehe~~~

Sorry this post ran a little long but if you made it this far you're Sexy.

Sand throwing literally any beef he had with Ray out the window and into the rubbish bin to help him made my heart ache a little. No matter what Ray does, Sand will always be his emergency staff, no complaints, no conditions, no questions asked. Going as far as to lie to a police officer and coming up with excuses to help him shows how far Sand is willing to go for Ray. I hope this is something the Ray takes note of and appreciates.

This whole part honestly was pretty hard to watch, especially with the police brutality that a lot of people face around the world. I think the show did a good job of showing what this can look like on a smaller scale, and calling attention to it.

It once again showed Sand's loyalty to Ray, trying to hold on to him when the cops grabbed him, and telling him to stay still. Putting myself in his shoes, idk if I could bare the visual of the person I love getting handled that way.

Overall, this may be my favorite episode of the entire series. and I will say that it finally felt like FirstKhao were getting the screen time they deserved.

I physically gasped when I saw the preview for next week's episode because we're getting communication, and uninterrupted SandRay road trip (yeehaw😎).

Sorry again for this long post

See you guys next week!!

#only friends the series #only friends ep8 #sandray #topmew #forcebook #neomark #only friends #firstkhao #bostonnick #send help #raymew #ofts boston #mewtop #bostonick

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goodnightoilcountry · 8 months ago

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jo's carolina canes fic rec list !

fic rec masterlist: jo's nhl fic rec list !

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

ANDREI SVECHNIKOV

9PM in Vancouver by @ thewintersoldierdisaster summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal word count: 7k

sunkissed pt1 + p2 + p3 by @ sydnikov summary: you’ve been in love with Andrei for as long as you can remember. when you first got hired to work in the social media department and met some of the members of the team, just one look at the hockey star’s brilliant smile and you were in deep. your heart truly broke though when he introduced his girlfriend after a game and you had to pretend you were happy for him. now you had to watch as they became happily engaged, knowing you'd never be the light in Andrei's life like he was for you. word count: 16.9k total

fleeting by @ sydnikov summary: every moment with Andrei is fleeting. word count: 17.5k

the one by @ holy-pucks summary: the reader is andrei's favorite girl, but she isn't his only. for awhile, the arrangement was comfortable. he'd show up whenever he was in town, they'd fuck, and then he'd leave. rinse and repeat. so how will andrei react when their routine comes to a screeching halt? word count: 8k

eye on you by @ behoright summary: andrei is oh so drunk, and he needs you to pick him up from the bar. word count: 4.5k

JACK DRURY

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PYOTR KOTCHEKOV

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SEBASTIAN AHO

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SETH JARVIS

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 2 years ago

Text

When It All Falls Down [a Frankie/Joel x f!reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us / Triple Frontier

Ship: Joel Miller x you/reader, Frankie Morales x you/reader (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, major angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, Death of a loved one, Assault, Blood and Injury, executions, Implied Suicide Attempt, Miscarriage, Loss, frankie and joel are both soft but in very different ways, cunnilingus, fellatio, piv sex, bad sex good sex all is sex, choking, pls tell me if I missed anything this one is a lot.

Summary: You live in the Boston QZ, trying to get by, when you become involved with a certain Joel Miller.

Words: 14,098 (oops)

A/N: Holy cow I started writing this almost six months ago when the show started! It was meant to be a very different kind of story but as it dragged on, it changed. Now I'm just happy to have finished it. I don't know if this fic is a dead dove but I just want you guys to be safe. Be aware that it's pretty heavy and there is definitely not a super comforting happy ending. But there is a certain kind of closure. Read at your own risk and let me know if I missed a warning.

Darkness lies thick around you when you stumble into the tiny apartment that is your so-called home. Exhausted yet wired, you take your time washing, and having a drink, knowing you can't fall asleep anyway until you take the two pills you got from the dealer with the salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He has an aura of danger around him, but you've never felt afraid so far. You carry an assault rifle, after all. He's surely armed as well but yours is fully visible, and your fatigues and ravaged face will let surely let him know that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, you find yourself drawn towards the narrow bed. You pick up the bottle of liquor that was no doubt made in a toilet, shake out the precious pills from a small plastic bag in your breast pocket, and down them with some generous gulps of the piss-colored liquid. It burns its way down your throat, warms your belly, and with a deep sigh, your collapse on the bed. As you look up at the ceiling, you see the flaking paint dance before your eyes, not from the drugs and the alcohol, but from sheer exhaustion. You turn onto your side and press your eyes shut and make your brain go blank.

Almost asleep, you hear the front door open and close. Too groggy to care about making sure it's not an intruder, you immediately recognize the footsteps anyway. They echo the tiredness you feel in your body, and the mattress dips heavily when your husband lies down next to you. You scoot back clumsily, longing to see him. His face is lined with the same hard years as yours is, but he has managed to preserve a glow of humanity in his kind eyes. You love that for him, and now you find yourself smiling.

"Hi," he smiles back, touching your cheek with calloused fingers.

"Hi."

"I missed you."

"Are you okay?"

You nod, and a sad kind of mirth flashes by in Frankie's eyes.

"Liar."

"I feel better now that you're here."

"Me too."

You raise your hand to his cheek, mirroring his gentle caressing of your skin. His scratchy beard is growing long enough to almost cover the bald spots along his jawline, but your thumb finds them nevertheless.

"Will you shave tomorrow?" you ask, feeling an inexplicable desire to see those spots, kiss them like you used to back when the world was normal and he kept his facial hair a little tidier.

"Just so that you can point out to me that I'm unable to grow a beard?"

"That's not it at all..."

"We'll see, sweetheart. Now sleep."

You touch your forehead to his, and only then can you let yourself be dragged under by the pills.

///

The sun is beating down from a clear blue sky. Your mouth is filled with cotton, and it doesn't make it any better that the smoke from the burning bodies is somehow finding its way to your tower. The smell of burning flesh should make you gag, but it doesn't, not anymore. The smoke, however, irritates your lungs.

"Goddammit," you hear Peters, your guard partner for the day, cough behind you. "We need a big fucking fan."

"Rain would be better," you reply, looking around you, seeing nothing but blue skies.

"Rain just impregnates the smell into the clothes."

He's right, of course, but you still wouldn't mind rain. Looking around you in the guard tower, you stop when you notice movement some distance away. Frowning, you stop still and wait to see it again.

"You got something?" Peters asks, having noticed the change in your posture.

"I got something," you confirm in a mumble. He lifts his rifle to look through the scope, searching for a moment before finding it.

"That's a goner," he shakes his head as he lowers the weapon. You grab the walkie at your belt and call it in. Soon after, a trio of soldiers appear on the other side of the wall. They close in on the wandering figure and shot rings out. You watch indifferently as the figure drops where it stands. Shortly after, your walkie crackles, and the kill is confirmed.

Peters coughs again, and the day continues in the same manner.

When you're relieved of your watch, your closest superior wants to speak to you.

"FEDRA HQ is sending us more soldiers," he tells you, ”So we won't be needing you at the moment. Report at the job office."

You merely nod. There is nothing to say, and you know that you were on watch duty by necessity only. You were never a soldier, Frankie was. When the world went to shit, he taught you everything he knew, and he knew a lot. You went from never having touched a gun to a weapons expert in six months. Your sinister competence was probably the only reason you were still alive.

You relinquish your rifle, missing the heavy weight of it in your hands, and change into civilian clothes. There is no hurry to take a new job, nobody is keeping tabs on you, but you are used to keeping busy. The alternative is going back to your so-called home and spend the rest of the day doing nothing by yourself. And that is not an option.

You draw the worst number imaginable: arrival clinic. The place where new arrivals either get checked for infectious diseases, or receive a lethal injection that kills them immediately. You'd much rather be burning bodies. At least those are covered, and already dead. It's a lot worse trying to avoid looking a person in their despairing eyes right before you stick a deadly needle into their arm.

It's just a job, you remind yourself as you're changing into medical scrubs and a face mask. You've done it before, so you just nod at the medical officer and start to make yourself useful. The uninfected ones have to undergo tests that you find intrusive, but you don't think about that.

A new patient is rolled in on a gurney: a young woman. She's softly sobbing, a sound which does not affect you, but then you hear the quiet whimper and realize that she's holding a swaddled baby in her arms. You stop still, stomach dropping and filling with ice.

"The baby is sick," the medical officer explains briefly, and you know what that means: there's something else ailing it, not infection. You see the officer prepare a syringe, and know what it means: the mother is infected, and must be disposed of. Despite how revolting you find your actions, you still take the baby from the protesting mother.

"No, please, I have to hold her, she's sick, please, don't take her from me..."

You swallow hard, unwanted images flashing through your head. It becomes a little difficult to breathe as you take the baby out of the room, ignoring the mother's pleas that are turning louder and more desperate. You look down at the baby and see from its dull eyes that it is not well. Unswaddling it, you find that it is looking malnourished, and is burning up with fever. The thermometer reveals a temperature of 103.

It's a miracle this baby is still alive, but you can tell it won't be for long.

You leave it in the plastic bassinet and re-enter the procedure room, where the mother is dozing off. Her face is shining with tears. She's younger than you, maybe the same age you were when...

"The baby?" the officer asks without looking up.

"High fever. Dehydrated and malnourished," you tell him bluntly. He nods.

"Better to let it go to sleep. We don't have the resources anyway."

You don't question it, you just prepare the injection and administer it yourself. More fuel for the fire that's stinking up someone else's lungs now.

///

It's dark when you're let off your shift. On heavy feet, you drag yourself home. No interest in food or hygiene, you plop down on the threadbare couch and start to drink. For every time you raise the bottle to your lips, the sound of the crying mother is turned down a little in your head. You decide to not stop drinking until either the bottle is empty, or Frankie comes home. Luckily for your liver, Frankie arrives not long after.

Blearily, you look up at him, expecting scorn but receiving sympathy. How does he do it, how does he remain so humane?

"Rough day?" he asks quietly. You rub your neck with a joyless bark.

"Every day is rough now."

"I'll get you your pills."

He comes back with two of them, but you shake your head.

"Three," you mumble throatily. You crave oblivion tonight.

"Not with liquor."

You grunt in dissatisfaction but accept the two pills, down them with yet another gulp of toilet booze, and relinquish the bottle to Frankie. He puts it to the side table and offers you his hand.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

He holds you as the world dances, kisses your clammy forehead as he lays you down on the bed.

"I'm not up for this anymore, Frankie," you tell him quietly, speaking words that you can barely allow yourself to even think. "I'm not strong enough."

"Of course you are," your husband tells you gently, stroking the hair out of your face. "You are way stronger than I ever was. You were always the backbone of our family, my love. You suffered through all those years when I was overseas. You held everything together when I was on my coke adventure. You found the strength to forgive me and take me back."

You giggle drunkenly.

"That sounds like a kids' movie. Francisco's great coke adventure."

He scoffs. "Not a movie I'd let my kids watch."

Your mirth disappears just as fast as it came, and now your eyes fill with tears. Being reminded of kids with Frankie breaks your already shattered heart.

"She would have been fifteen now..." you start to sob, hiding your face in the lumpy pillow. Frankie sighs deeply.

"I know. I miss her too. I think about her every day."

Your body starts to shake as you remember the lifeless weight of your baby in your arms.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you break down, shaking and crying into the pillow as your hands fist into the sheets. "I'm done, I can't do it!"

Frankie watches you patiently as he softly caresses your back, letting you cry it out without saying anything. It's not your first time and it won't be your last.

When you finally fall asleep, your head aches from both the crying and the beginning of a hangover, and you have lost your voice from screaming into the pillow.

///

The days keep coming, one after the other, with never-ending relentlessness. You go to your designation at the clinic, put your work in, return home, sometimes by way of the rations office. When you run out of pills, you seek out the man who resembles a graying yet still fierce watchdog. Meeting him in a secluded backyard, you ask for the usual amount but find out that he's all out.

"When are you getting more?" you ask, fingertips tapping together in your pocket at the thought of the sleepless nights you are sure to have until you can get your hands on more drugs.

"Unclear at the moment."

"When will there be clarity?" you bark, annoyed at the non-answer. He towers above you, as if reminding you of his size.

"Do we have a problem?"

"No," you mutter, in no mood to start a fight despite your desperation. He nods in agreement.

"Good." He pauses, before adding: "Check back in a few days."

Abruptly, you spin around on your heel, and leave. On your way back to your apartment building you notice after a while that you are being followed. Slinking into a narrow passage between two buildings, you hide behind a couple of trash cans, crouching low as you pull a knife from your boot. You don't have your gun; bringing it with you to work is too risky, you would be arrested if a FEDRA agent found it on you.

The sounds of voices and heavily booted feet come closer. At least three men are talking amongst themselves about you. One voice sounds familiar: it belongs to an absolute asshole who has been on you before for working for FEDRA.

Shit. You press yourself against the cold wall, hoping they'll pass by. You have no chance of fighting them all, and you don't want to know what they'd do to you if they got their hands on you.

You are about to find out. The steps come closer, and then one of them is standing right in front of you. You slash at his legs, feeling the impact before he kicks at you, his boot hitting your arm that you managed to raise to shield your face, but the momentum brings your arm up to your face, and you're knocked down on the ground. The knife clatters somewhere next to you but you don't know where, and in the next second you're curling up on your side, gasping for air from the kick you received to your stomach.

"You fucking cunt!"

The pain is blinding but when the second kick comes, you manage to wrap your arms around the foot. Twisting your aching body, you pull your attacker down. Next thing you know, you are being battered with kicks from several feet, and you make yourself as small as possible, try to protect your head.

You are pulled up and slammed into the wall. Spitting blood, you try to focus your gaze on your assailants, but your vision is blurry and impaired by a quickly swelling eye.

"You'll regret this."

Hands close around your neck, cutting off your air supply. Panic rises in you, floods your limbs, making you kick and flail with your last ounces of strength, choked protests pressing out between your lips.

Your salvation comes not from your fighting, but the chain around your neck.

"What's this?" The grip loosens a little, fingers pluck at the chain.

"There's someone coming." Another voice warns. "Finish her off."

The rings on the chain around your neck get pulled out from underneath your shirt and you start kicking again.

"Is this gold?"

A snap, and the chain breaks. The familiar clink of the two rings in the palm of someone else's hand makes you furious.

"Give them back!" you scream, but the words only come out as hoarse whispers. You throw yourself at the shape closest to you but only fall to the hard, cold ground as the assailant side-steps your pitiful attack. You receive one last kick to your ribs before the sound of heavy boots running away thunders in your ears.

"Fuckers," you croak, fumbling to get up, but failing as your ribs and stomach hurt too much.

New footsteps close in, the accompanying crackle of walkie-talkies telling you it's probably FEDRA. You think you recognize one of the voices but by the time the agents are with you, you have lost consciousness.

///

Ten minutes is the total amount of time that you were willing to spend in the clinic after you woke up. A fractured rib and countless bruises as well as an eye swollen shut and a bleeding lip is not enough to keep you in one of the sad hospital beds. The physician shrugs and dismisses you, and when you stumble out onto the street, Peters from guard duty is waiting for you.

"Figured you wouldn't stay," he shakes his head and starts to walk alongside you.

"You don't need to escort me."

"No, I don't. But I choose to do it."

You walk in silence for a few blocks before glancing at him.

"Did you catch them?"

"Do we ever?"

You grunt, your aching head already trying to plan for how to find them yourself. You need those rings back. Gold has no worth today, not like it used to, and the rings mean nothing to anyone but you. The loss of them is like a void in your chest, and your neck feels naked without the chain.

"You okay?" Peters asks.

"Sure."

"I saw the medical officer. You don't have to come in for a couple of days."

"That was unnecessary. I need to work."

"You can barely stay on your feet."

He's right, but you're not going to give him that. Reaching your apartment building, you just tell him bye before slipping through the front door. Almost succumbing to the three flights of stairs, you eventually reach your front door. Not until you are on the other side, locking the door and sliding the deadbolt, do you allow your body to sag, the tears to rise.

The physician gave you pain pills, and you down them with alcohol, all at once. Then you drink until you pass out on the bed.

It's late morning when you wake up, head throbbing, body immovable in its soreness. You blink at the sunlight, groan and turn your face away from it.

"My poor girl."

Frankie's voice is soothing right next to your ear.

"I lost them, Frankie," you whisper, unable to open your eyes and look at him. "Our rings."

"It doesn't matter. You're alive, that's what matters."

"It matters to me."

"They're just items."

"Symbols of our love."

"I loved you before I put a ring on your finger, and I love you after it's gone."

You start to sob, each one tearing through your body like a bullet through flesh.

"I know you're hurting, baby, but you gotta keep going." Frankie's encouragement is quiet and sad: he knows how hard it is for you, how unbearably tired you are.

"You can do it." He wraps his arm around you, very gently so as not to hurt you, and his lips are wonderfully cool against your hot forehead. "I know you can."

Sleep returns to temporarily release you from your pain.

///

"Frankie, she's not breathing!"

"Lemme see."

You cradle the still baby against your chest: the chest in which your heart has stopped beating. You're barely breathing yourself anymore, at least it doesn't feel like you are. If your baby is no longer breathing, how can you?

Frankie checks your child for a pulse, his grim face slowly falling apart when he realizes that which you don't want to acknowledge: that the fever has finally taken your daughter away from this burning world.

Halfway to the nearest town in which you had hoped to find a doctor, he turns the pickup around and return to the Millers' ranch, where you had taken refuge as soon as the cities started to empty because of spreading infection. You hug your baby to you the whole way. When you come back, William and Benjamin step out on the porch. They know how far it is to the nearest town, and that your early return only means one thing.

Frankie starts to dig a grave in the backyard that very same evening. You stand next to him in the twilight, still holding your child. When it's time to put her in the ground, the tears finally come.

///

The empty hollow in your chest is a stark contrast to the mind-numbing soreness of your body. How you manage to get out of bed and use the bathroom is beyond you. Returning to bed with an unopened bottle of moonshine - your last one - you force yourself to remember the dreamed memory of how you lost your daughter. In dark moments, such as this one, you think that it was for the best. What kind of a world is this to raise a child in? A fever is a lot less dramatic than getting bitten, infected, shot, burned. At least now she got to go to sleep peacefully in your arms. You buried her. Benny played a song on his old guitar and sang with a quivering voice. It meant so much to you.

The following year was hell. Frankie was just as heartbroken as you were, but he was the one who kept the marriage alive. Every time you pushed him away, he held you tighter. When you finally appeared from the tarry, stinking hole of grief, you discovered that you loved him more than ever. Loss makes some couples grow apart, but you had grown together. It was your salvation.

You take a swig from the bottle and grimace. Your head is pounding, and you can't remember the last time you ate anything. Alcohol poisoning is starting to feel very real, but you find it hard to give a shit. What more is there to live for, really?

Hunting down and killing those assholes who took your rings.

The thought sobers you up enough to put the bottle away. Sniffling from the pain, you heave yourself up from the bed, drag yourself to the bathroom where you vomit almost neatly, like it was planned all along. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you turn on the water in the shower, undress, and step into the cold, slow drizzle. You stand there until the shower runs out of water and you are shaking. Slowly, wincing with pain every time you move a muscle, you dry yourself, put on clean clothes, and leave your apartment.

The heat of the afternoon sun feels good, but you don't reflect on it as you limp with purpose through the crowd moving on streets of the QZ. Your stomach complains of hunger, and you're dehydrated, but the mission at hand is more important right now.

You find the drug dealer at work, burning bodies. The lower half of his face is covered by a kerchief against the smoke and smell, but you'd recognize those shoulders anywhere. Without hesitation, you walk up to him as he makes his way from the pyre to the back of a truck. You can see the dead bodies stacked there, like logs. Or spoilt meat.

"I need to talk to you."

He recognizes you, and there is a split second of dismay when he sees your beat-up face before he squares his shoulders and looks at you with disinterest.

"I don't have anything to sell."

"It's not that." You step in front of him when he tries to get past you. "You know where I can find the people who did this to me."

Even with his mouth covered, you can see the tightness in his lips.

"Why would I help you?" He pushes past you, and you glance towards the armed FEDRA guard further away. He's not paying you any attention, so you follow the man to the truck and watch him lift another body from it.

"I have no idea," you confess, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the dead weight in his arms. It's easier to just think of the bodies as firewood, not the physical home of a once living person.

"I'd be in your debt," you try. He barely even looks at you.

"There's nothing I want from you."

"I can get you drugs," you tell him quickly. It's not a good idea, you're fully aware of that: every supply and every pill in the medical center is zealously accounted for, and you don't even have access to anything worthwhile. But he doesn't need to know that.

"I work at the clinic," you explain, now in a lower voice so that not one word will carry over to the FEDRA guard. The man stops, now eyeing you up and down.

"Why would you risk it?" he wants to know.

"I really need to get my hands on the men. They took something from me."

He grunts, leaning his weight on one leg and hooking his thumbs through the belt hoops of his jeans as he considers your offer. Eventually, he nods.

"What did they look like?"

///

Two days later, you're working in the clinic when FEDRA brings in man they found wandering outside the quarantine zone. He's middle-aged and a little malnourished but seems to be in otherwise good condition. He's brought in in handcuffs, and the agent leading him in gives you a little headshake.

The man's infected. You purse your lips, annoyed at the agents for not just shooting the man on the spot. Why do they have to bring them in here, where you have to pretend like they're not just about to die?

"How do you feel?" you ask lightly. "Any fever? Nausea?"

"I'm tired and hungry, I've walked for days - "

"You'll receive a meal and a bed shortly," you interrupt, grabbing the scanner so that you can check the man's status for yourself. The field agents sometimes bang up their scanners, so you don't trust them to give a correct reading.

The scanner's red light seals his fate. You hold the device away from him so he won't see it. Not that it matters: he must himself know that he's been bitten.

"I'll just give you a little shot of antibiotics," you tell him, turning your back to him as you prepare a syringe. "It's standard procedure for new arrivals."

You hear a shuffle and a broken gasp, and swing around to find him on his knees, looking up at you with fear in his eyes.

"Please," he implores you, "please don't kill me, I beg you, please!"

You swallow hard and nod at the FEDRA agent, who steps up and secures the patient so that you can administer the injection.

"I don't want to die."

Your hand starts to shake as his words start to move the sharp pieces of your broken heart around in your chest.

"I'm not ready to die."

Your throat feels constricted, but you manage to pump the entire dose into a vein, and the man grunts. You watch his eyes get sluggish, and take a step back when he slumps forward. His body twitches a couple of times before it lies still.

You tear off the mask and hurry out of the room, hurry down the dwindling corridors until you reach the back door. You burst through it and take a deep breath of the fresh air in the mid-morning sunshine. Your heart is chafing in your chest, which feels smaller than normal.

I'm not ready to die.

Leaning against the wall, you press your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. In, out. Calmly. Frankie's voice haunts your memories. You can do it, baby, I believe in you.

Someone is approaching, so you snap your head up, your fist closing and ready to swing.

It's the drug dealer.

"I found them," he informs you without preamble. "Are you free tonight?"

"I'm free now," you tell him, desperate to get away from the clinic. He nods, and you ask him to wait fifteen minutes. Returning inside, you tell your supervisor that your injuries are bothering you. Once you receive a permission slip for the rest of the day, you change your clothes and leave.

Your guide is still waiting for you outside, arms crossed in front of his chest, face set grimly.

"Did you get the drugs?" he asks you when you come out. You shake your head.

"It needs planning."

"You've had two days of planning."

"I'll get to it, okay?" you snap, and he yields. It is a little strange to you that he would help you without any guarantee of payment, but you don't dwell on it. What matters is that you're on the move towards justice.

You follow the smuggler, who introduces himself as Joel, through the busy streets towards the blocks out of reach for FEDRA's concern. The crowd thins out, leaving only individuals of questionable intent and suspicious gazes. You don't feel unsafe, though: there is something very reassuring about having Joel walk in front of you, like his broad shoulders serve as a barrier between you and the bad things surrounding you. He moves with confident wariness, staring down anyone who dares to throw an unfriendly glance at the two of you. Finally, he stops outside what looks like a former bodega, and turns to you.

"There's three of them," he informs you shortly. "In the back room. Not very bright, but armed. You carrying?"

You pull out your handgun from the waistband of your pants. You've carried it since the attack, damned be the consequences if it were discovered on you. Joel nods, produces his own gun, and clicks the safety off. You do the same and follow him into the building. He moves surprisingly silently for his size and heavy boots, and you do your best to match him as he leads you through the derelict space to the back door. He gestures for you to cover him from the side, then counts down by holding up first three fingers, then two, and finally one.

Then he kicks down the door and fires a warning shot as he enters the back room, where three startled men scramble for their weapons. You crash in, immediately shooting one of them in the knee.

"Don't fucking move!"

"On your knees," Joel commands them. The one that you shot is already writhing on the floor, and the two others raise their hands as they kneel. You recognize the leader immediately, and his features tell you that he knows that the day of reckoning has come.

"Where are they?" you demand, pointing the gun at him.

"What?" He has the audacity to even ask you: he and his companions took nothing from you but two rings on a chain. Everything else you ever had, including love, your sense of security, your sense of self, were taken years ago.

"The rings!" you roar, coming close enough for the barrel of the gun to touch his forehead. "The rings you fucking took from me, where the fuck are they?"

"I sold them!" His voice is growing panicked.

"To whom?"

"I don't fucking know, it was just some guy!"

"The QZ isn't big enough for you to not know every single fucking lowlife that crawls these streets," you point out. The guy starts to shake.

"I promise, I don't know!"

You don't even think: your trigger finger makes the decision for you. The shot rings out as your hand jerks back a little with the recoil. Warm blood stains your fingers, and you point the gun at the next guy.

"What about you? You don't know either?"

"I don't know, I swear!"

You shoot him too. The last one is the one with only one good knee. Putting him down is an act of mercy, but he holds out his hand as you turn to him.

"No, wait, wait!"

You fix him with your gaze as well as the gun, and let him speak.

"I don't know his name, but I think he's FEDRA. Thin guy, around six feet, light hair, blue eyes."

Your nostrils flare as you recognize the description. Lowering your gun, you turn away from the man bleeding on the floor.

"What are we doin'?" Joel demands, but you click the safety back on, a new purpose forming in your mind.

"We are not doing anything," you tell him. "I don't need you."

You walk out of the building. A gun goes off behind you, telling you that Joel put the last assailant out of his misery.

///

Peters is on a smoke break outside the FEDRA headquarters. He nods when he sees you, and without wasting any time, you march straight up to him. You push him roughly, sending him back two steps.

"Where are my rings?" you demand, resisting the urge to reach for your gun. Peters' eyes narrow.

"If you want them back, I need something from you."

"What?"

"Meds. Drugs. You work at the clinic."

You stare at him, your hatred spilling into your features, letting him know just how much you despise him.

"You must know I can't just waltz in there and fill a shopping bag."

"That's your problem," Peters shrugs. "Get me pills, or you won't see the rings again. Moreover, I'll report you for killing the men that attacked you."

"How do you know I killed them?"

"You just told me."

You bite your jaws together as you realize that you've been had. Peters smirks.

"I thought you were smarter than that."

You can't stand to look at him one more second, so you turn around and leave.

///

The night is long when pain keeps sleep away. You toss and turn, your brain working feverishly overtime in trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. You remember how Frankie wanted both of you to stay clear of any kind of organized attempts to keep the new status quo, or the opposite. He was a contender for becoming a FEDRA agent because of his military background but refused to serve a government that shackled and killed people. Yourself, you could have joined the Fireflies, but he didn't want that either. It's just best to mind our own business.

You did that for a long time, and you still lost your daughter. You took every precaution when leaving the Millers' farm to make it on your own with Frankie, and still...

He comes to you in the small hours of the night when your brain can no longer tell the difference between reality and delusion. His familiar smell invades your nose and comforts you, and his strong arms gather you to him, to his steadily beating heart.

"You went and got yourself in quite a pickle now, corazon."

"I know, I know. You told me so."

"I did. Still, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

You sigh deeply. "Me too."

"You'll figure it out," he states matter-of-factly. Of course you will. You have to.

You sigh again and reach your hands into his hair, those soft curls that you have loved since day one.

"I want you, Frankie," you mumble. He kisses your forehead.

"You know we can't. We can't risk it."

He was always the careful one. You were on the pill when society collapsed, and you didn't exactly think to pack them when you had to flee your home. Whenever you raided a grocery store, Frankie would always check for condoms. When there were no more to be had, you had to resort to other ways to pleasure each other. The world may have gone to shit, but you still wanted each other. What you and Frankie had was a once in a lifetime thing. You could not not want each other.

"Just use your fingers?" you suggest throatily. "Your mouth. Like you used to."

"Why don't you do it to yourself, sweetheart," he coaxes you with equal amounts of honey dripping from his voice. "Let me watch."

He kisses you, teasingly, longingly. It has been ages.

"Let me watch you, baby..."

"It's not the same."

It was that objection, spoken years ago, that led to the penetration that resulted in a pregnancy. Your daughter had been dead for three years and the need to be with Frankie, really be with him, had grown too great. Your cycle was unreliable, and you figured that the risk was low.

Low risk, your ass. You got pregnant on the spot. And lost the baby only a few weeks later, the day you had to put a gun to your husband's head and pull the trigger.

I'm not ready to die.

That's what he said, as if you were any more ready to lose him. To lose him was unfathomable. But he had been bitten and had to beg you to put him out of his misery.

I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I'm making you do this. But someone has to. God, I'm not ready to die.

Tears begin to fall, and your body starts to shake. You roll over onto your back and sob out loud. Frankie is no longer with you, and all you have is a battered body, a broken heart, and a huge problem to solve.

You have to survive.

///

The medicine storage room is only accessible by key card and code. Only Craig, the physician at the arrival clinic, has both. You track his movements for the next two days, hoping to find some fault in his routine. When none presents itself after those two days, and you know that time is short, you try something new. Complaining of lingering pain, you earn a prescription of painkillers, but he won't release more than a couple at a time to you.

When you get ready to leave for the night, you throw a glance through the open door to Craig's office. He's sitting there; a middle-aged, bearded man, in a circle of light cast by the desk lamp, deep in paperwork. It's funny that medical staff should have paperwork even now.

"Good night," you say tentatively. He looks up, nods at you.

"Good night. Lock the door behind you. I sent the guards home."

You nod, and when the door clicks shut behind you, you have a plan. But for that you need Joel.

Still limping, you look for him in the deserted back alleys where the light faded already before the sunset. When you finally find him, he gives you a look that could almost be described as a smirk.

"You have my drugs?"

"Almost," you answer, squaring your shoulders that are dwarfed by the sheer wall of deadly that constitutes Joel's upper body. "I need your help."

"You're racking up quite a debt."

"I need your help to break into the clinic and beat the physician into giving us the drugs."

You state your business with the confidence of someone who has planned this to the very last detail, but the truth is that you don't really have any idea of how to do this. You're out of options, and you can't burst in there on your own, guns blazing. You need help, and you don't have anyone, not even Joel, but you have to convince him somehow.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow at your bold proposition. "Are you on some kind of suicide mission?"

"I'm in trouble. I need those drugs, not just for you."

"I don't associate with desperate people. They get sloppy."

You purse your lips, angry at yourself for letting your despair shine through.

"If I don't get help, there will be no drugs."

He looks at you with narrowing eyes and for the first time you feel small next to him. You are at his mercy, and he knows it, and you don't like it one bit.

"It's not just about the drugs," he finally says, "there's something more. It has to do with those guys that we killed."

His eyes see right through you. "You know who they sold your rings to."

Fine. "He's a FEDRA agent, and he threatened me. If I don't get him drugs, he'll turn me in."

"Fuck." The curse comes out as a sigh.

"So if you don’t help me, they're going to kill me, and you won't get anything at all," you point out. Joel shakes his head.

"I need more than that. What are these rings? Why are they important?"

Now it's your time to cross your arms and glare at him. However, there is no beating that stone cold face. You could stand here until the end of time and you wouldn't win a staring contest with Joel.

"Me and my husband's wedding bands," you finally admit, defeated. "I wear them in a chain around my neck. They matter to me."

You expect him to scoff but to your surprise, you are instead served the hint of a crack in his grim facade. He looks down, seemingly at his left wrist right in front of his chest. The edge of a wristwatch peeks out from underneath the fraying cuff of his jacket.

"Okay," he finally nods. "Let's go."

///

The plan is simple. You will wear masks, get in with your key, surprise Craig, and force him to use his key card and code to open the storage room. A knock on the head and he hopefully won't remember much the next day.

"Can you walk without limping?" Joel asks as you pull the FEDRA-made balaclava over your head. Not surprising to you, he had managed to produce two of them very quickly. He doesn't explain and you don't ask.

"Don't worry," you tell him curtly and take out your gun. "Come on."

The clinic corridors are dark and silent, but you know that Craig will be in his office. His sleep deprivation manifests in dark circles under his eyes each morning, as well as in the way he cherishes his big mug of surrogate coffee every day, like it was a delicious Guatemalan roast. He has no family, barely any conscience either, but he has always shown a weary patience with you when you started working at the clinic. Not a chatty type, but then neither you.

The light spilling out the open office door tells you that he's still working. You gesture towards the door and Joel shows with a nod that he's understood. Quietly but quickly, with your heart thumping in your throat, you make it to the door. Joel makes himself known first, his tall and broad form claiming the entire doorway.

"Let me see your hands. And stand up."

Slowly, Craig obeys, but when Joel tells him what he wants, the physician is not moving.

"Did you not hear me?" Joel growls, but Craig doesn't move a muscle.

"I'm not giving you drugs."

Shit. You didn't count on him being a hero. Not knowing what to do, you hold back a gasp when Joel walks around the desk and smacks Craig in the face with his gun.

"How about now?"

Spitting blood and trembling from the shock of the sudden assault, Craig nevertheless shakes his head.

"No."

Joel growls again, and grabs Craig by the collar. Dragging the man after him to the corridor, he looks in both directions. "Which way?"

Craig doesn't answer, so you nod to the right. Joel sets off, pulling Craig with him. A tearing sound is heard when a piece of his shirt fabric breaks from Joel's rough handling, but Joel doesn't blink an eye. You follow, cursing under your breath. Just fucking give him what he wants, Craig!

Joel stops at the door to the storage room and shoves Craig against it. "Open it."

"No." The word is spoken in a small voice, but it is a no nonetheless. Joel cocks his gun and puts it to the older man's forehead.

"Open it."

You suddenly feel sick. This isn't right. This isn't how you wanted to do it. You push your hand down his pockets, finding the key card, and you immediately scan it by the door, but without the code, the door doesn't open.

"The code," you ask him, but he only shakes his head. You shove the gun under his chin.

"Don't be a hero."

"I'll die before I give you the code."

"Let me oblige you," Joel growls. "I'm counting to three."

You look into the physician's eyes. You may not know him, but you can see that this is a man who has made up his mind. What traumas does he carry that makes him so eager to part with his life? Maybe this end comes as a blessing to him?

"Fuck!" you exclaim and slam the gun against the side of his head. With a heavy huff, Craig sinks into a heap on the floor, blood seeping out of a cut on his head. Joel looks down at him, then turns his dark face to you.

"What is wrong with you?"

"All of this!" you hiss before turning around promptly and starting a brisk march down the hallway, away from the situation, out and as far as you can get. You don't know if Joel follows you, and you don't stop, except to dispose of your balaclava into a trash can halfway home.

Frankie is nowhere to be found as you pace your small apartment all night, waiting for FEDRA agents to come and arrest you. When the first rays of morning light come in through the window and nobody has been at your door, you collapse on top of your bed, and sleep restlessly for three hours.

Showered and with clean clothes, yet still looking half dead, you venture out of your apartment. You don't really want to but know that you have to make an appearance at the clinic, see how Craig is doing, what the consequences of your break-in are. You have a lie to serve about why you're late and are ready to serve it with a straight face. When you arrive at the clinic, however, nobody is interested in questioning you. There is blood at the entrance, and extra guards who check your credentials before letting you in. You walk through the halls towards Craig's office, fearing what you'll learn, what more lies you'll have to come up with to explain why you didn't come to work in the morning.

It turns out that nobody cares about your absence: everyone is more concerned with the assault and subsequent death at the clinic last night. Slowly, you begin to understand the picture, even if you can't understand it.

Around midnight last night, a man and a woman broke in, threatened the physician, then rendered him unconscious with a nasty blow to the head. He woke up by a gunshot, traced it to the back door, and found a dead man holding the gun he recognized as belonging to the masked man who threatened him. This dead man has been identified as Jeffrey Peters, a FEDRA agent.

Peters. Discreetly, you make sure that there's a wall behind you, and lean on it to make sure you'll stay on your feet.

"You okay?" Craig asks you, and the FEDRA agents all turn to you. Shit.

"Yeah..." You make a show of rubbing your forehead and sighing deeply. "I did guard duty with Peters."

"How well did you know him?" one of the agents ask, and you shrug.

"Not that well. We didn't talk much about ourselves. He seemed nice enough, though."

"Was he punctual? Reliable?"

You hesitate. "He... sometimes, a couple of times, he'd ask me to cover for him, and he'd disappear for a few minutes or so."

"While on duty?" another agent prompts. You nod.

"I always assumed he went to piss or something."

"Would you have thought him capable of something like this?"

You swallow, your hesitation real as you try to navigate these tricky waters. How do you raise suspicions about Peters without expressing a dislike for FEDRA?

"I think that his training made him capable of many things," you finally saw, eyes cast down.

They buy it, and you're let off the hook together with Craig. You apologize again for being late, blaming headaches and pains, and get the rest of the week off.

You immediately start to look for Joel. When darkness brings another night over the QZ, you still haven't found him. Instead, you find your local bootlegger and trade in a ration coupon for two bottles of something not-quite-clear that you're positive has a high enough alcohol level to kill off whatever germs it most probably contains.

The liquor tastes vile, and you long for the carefree emptiness that the pills provide, but at least you pass out soon enough. The nightmares you have are of Frankie and the bullet you put in his head, again and again and again you're forced to relive the terror, the guilt, the absolute devastation of having to first kill your husband, then live without him.

When you wake up the next morning, your anguish is only trumped by your hangover. It takes you half the day to get out of bed, shower, dress, and eat without getting sick. When you finally venture out it's late afternoon, and you are on a mission to find Joel. A nagging suspicion about him is making you uneasy, and you need confirmation, even if you have no idea what to do with the knowledge.

You finally find him hanging around the usual alley where you know that he deals. He's performing a quick transaction with a young, haggard-looking woman, and you wait at a respectful distance until she's gone. Joel's gaze follows her before fixating on you, and you see his hand quickly stuff some coupons into his pocket.

"You're dealing?" you demand at once. "Where did you get the stuff from?"

"Another source came through."

"So we beat Craig up just for fun last night?"

Joel gives you an almost disdainful look. "It was your idea."

Your head is pounding, and you feel the bile rise. Fighting to keep it together, you turn away from Joel and rub your palms over your face.

"Did you kill Peters?" you ask, your voice subdued beneath your hands.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He complicated things."

That's for sure. You take a deep breath, will your stomach to settle, your head to cease spinning. Slowly, you raise your gaze to Joel.

"How did you do it?"

He folds his strong arms in front of his chest and dips his chin a little as he regards you.

"You sure you want to know?"

You nod. Yes, you're sure. You need to know.

"I told him your plan and said I needed his help to execute it. He jumped on it at once. As soon as we had broken in, I took his gun and shot him. I left my gun in his hand and put my balaclava on him, then left the scene. The doc soon raised the alarm."

Joel tells you this matter-of-factly, like he was talking about a walk on the beach. But there is still one issue he hasn't addressed, and now you have to.

"The rings," you remind him. "My rings. Did he have them on him?"

"Yes."

Your heart almost stops. "Yes?"

Joel sticks his hand in his pocket and fishes out the gold chain. The two rings clink softly when he places them in your trembling hand. They feel warm from his body heat, and for a moment you can almost feel Frankie's touch on you.

"Thank you," you whisper throatily, closing your hand to keep the rings safe. "Appreciate it."

Joel only grunts.

"I'll get you the drugs," you promise. "Somehow."

"Forget about it. You don't have to."

You look up at him, surprised and wary. Nothing is free in this world, and Joel is a smuggler. There is no way he wouldn't want anything for his troubles. You're indebted to him, no matter what he says, and you hate that feeling of him having something on you.

Joel's dark gaze offers no answers. You pocket the rings and don't know what to say. Lingering in front of him, you almost feel like you did when you were 12 years old and finally had the opportunity of talking to your crush. The feeling mixed badly with the relief of having your wedding bands returned to you, and before you know it, your lips are pressed against Joel's.

Joel is completely unresponsive, so you step back almost as quickly as you advanced. He's like a statue, cold and still, and you suddenly just want to cry from how much you miss normal human interaction, even just a hint of goddamn kindness.

"Sorry," you mutter before slinking away, neck bent in shame and confusion. You head towards the small apartment that was never a home but that you call home because what else would you call it? Sometimes you think that it must be easier for young people who know of nothing else but this world. At least they don't know the loss of, say, sunny Sunday morning breakfasts, exchanging relaxed, loving smiles across the table before leaving the coffee cups and hurrying back to bed...

The heartache is physical, intolerable, and makes you hurry. You need to get away from people, hide between the four walls with peeling wallpapers that surround your designated living area. If you're going to break, you have to do so privately.

As soon as you've locked the door behind you, you reach into your pocket and take out the chain. The rings look as familiar as ever: you know every scratch in the gold as well as the little indentation in Frankie's from that time when he caught his hand in the car door. His ring finger was saved by you still had a hard time getting it off his finger as it started to swell. The rest of his fingers required a visit to the ER. He never wanted his ring fixed. Frankie believed in letting things age as they were, with scars intact.

You slide your ring on your finger, finding it doesn't fit anymore, not only in size, but it also looks foreign on your finger. You sigh deeply and fasten the chain around your neck instead. The liquor bottle comforts you when the pain becomes too much to bear. You drink slowly, mindfully, because you know that drinking yourself into a stupor only makes you pass out. You need the in-between, that special place where you're awake but lost to substance. That's where Frankie is.

He comes before long, sighing deeply as he stands by the bed and watches you in the dusk.

"Missed you," you mumble, reaching for him. Frankie, however, doesn't move.

"You need to snap yourself out of this," he tells you gently. "Baby, you need to - "

"I need to survive, I know," you cut him off. "You always tell me that. I'm surviving."

"Survival isn't just about not dying," he reminds you. "You need to move on, my love. You have to move on."

You blink slowly, trying to focus on him. Has he always been this hazy?

"What're you talking about?"

"I think we should stop doing this."

You jerk up into a sitting position. The room spins, as does your stomach.

"No! Frankie, no, I can't do this without you!" Tears begin to run down your cheeks. Frankie shakes his head and looks at you in the same way as the first time he worked up the courage to ask you out: chin down, warm brown eyes shyly peeking at you. Now, however, he just looks infinitely sad. The trembling smile he gives you rips your guts out.

"You've been doing this without me for years. You can do it. You're strong, baby, you're so strong."

"I don't want to," you weep now, snot mixing with tears on your upper lip. "Frankie, don't make me do this."

"I don't want you to live in the past."

"There is no future to be had."

"There is always life."

He sits down next to you and lets you cling to him. He kisses your hair, caresses your back, lets you cry it out against his threadbare flannel, soft and worn down.

"I loved you since I first saw you," he tells you with longing and regret in his deep voice, "and I loved you until the end."

You want to tell him that you love him too, beg him to stay for his love for you, but your throat is too constricted for words. You cling to him, desperate for one last embrace, to smell his skin, thread your fingers through his soft locks, feel the scrape of his mustache on your lips.

"Let me go," he implores you. "You need to let me go, sweetheart."

"No..." you keen helplessly, pathetically, "please, don't make me do this...!"

"It's okay, baby."

"No..."

"It's okay. You'll be okay."

You don't know when he leaves. The next time you open your eyes to look through a curtain of tears at the room, he just isn't there anymore.

///

Joel's observant eyes follow you when you hurry away from the alley where he deals. Normally, he doesn't pay his customers too much attention, but there's something up with you.

He hasn't seen you in a week, and you look like you've been on a bender for the entirety of that time, and only now woke up, cleaned yourself enough to show yourself in public without attracting too much attention, and then went out to get more shit to fuck you up. Your eyes are bloodshot and unfocused, and he can smell alcohol on you. Your body language is so different: you are hunched up, neck bent, and your eyes fastened on the ground.

You want more pills than usual. When he lies about not having any more, you pull out even more ration coupons. He should say no. He has a terrible feeling about what you're about to do with those pills. Even if he's wrong, he knows approximately how many coupons you get each week and month, and you're giving him pretty much everything you have.

He should say no, but he doesn't. It's business, and those coupons are worth a lot.

Still, he watches you leave, then starts to follow you through the crowded streets of the Boston QZ. He keeps a distance but realizes soon that you have no idea - or don't care - if you are being followed. You bump into people, dig your hands even deeper into your pockets, and let yourself be pushed to the side by an angry passer-by. Still, you walk with a sad kind of purpose until you reach a run-down brownstone and disappear inside. He enters not long behind you and stands still in the foyer, hearing your heavy steps work their way upstairs. Finally, steps along the floor, then a door.

He stands in the foyer for a while, wondering if he should find out which apartment is yours, and see that you're okay. In the end, however, he decides against it.

You're not his problem. Now that all the unpleasantries with the clinic are over, and both of you seem safe from suspicions, he's definitely not getting entangled with you again.

Still, he lingers in the foyer, shifts his weight from one foot to the other while scowling at himself. Finally, he leaves the building and marches away. He has shit to do. He has his own survival to think about.

One block down, he turns around.

///

The rapping on your door makes you jump, and you pull out your gun as you go to look through the peep hole. Seeing Joel, your first thought is that he's coming to kill you and take back his pills, the pills that are waiting on your bed.

"What do you want?" you want to know.

"Just open the goddamn door or I'll break it."

You doubt he'd do something like that, but you still open the door. Joel fills the entire doorway with his broad frame, looking past you into the room. He doesn't even seem to care about the gun you're holding. When he sees the pills on your bed, he takes a step in, and that's when you point the gun at him.

"Don't take another step."

"I need those back." His voice is nearly toneless but you can hear a warning in it.

"I'll shoot."

"I've seen you pull a trigger, you would've shot me already if you wanted to."

He walks past you as if you were but a child who didn't want their toys taken away. When he reaches your bed, you realize that you're really going to lose your way out.

You throw yourself on him, pushing him down onto the bed, and start beating his broad back with a knuckle and the gun. For a moment, he grunts and curls up, but then he seems to find himself, and turns around and grabs your wrists with an ease that's nothing but frightening. He twists your wrists, and you drop the gun, your face distorting into a grimace until you keen from the pain. That's when he releases you, takes your gun, and releases the clip as well as the one in the chamber.

You lie on the bed, panting from lingering pain, your aching hands pressed against your chest, and watch him gather the pills. He doesn't look at you, barely even acknowledges you, except for when he leaves your coupons on the sheets. You feel cheap, used, discarded. Shame burns in your throat, and you just want him to leave, go and let you be alone with your misery.

Instead, he sits down on the couch, grimacing a little when his back hits the backrest. You got in some good hits.

You glare at him. "You got what you came here for, now get the fuck out."

He regards you with a slightly tilted head, even puts his arm up on the backrest, claiming his space with spread legs and a comfortable recline. You think in that moment that you hate him fervently.

"Are you a good shot?"

"What?"

"I said, are you a good shot?"

You stare incredulously at him as you slowly sit up. "Why?"

"Just answer the question," he barks. You shrug.

"Not a great one, but I get by, I guess."

"Rifle?"

"Yeah."

"I could use you on an expedition."

"Are you offering me a job?"

He leans forward, forearms on his knees. "I need a lookout. You interested?"

You chew on your lower lip, still suspicious and frankly, a bit confused. He waits patiently for you to come to a decision.

"Okay."

///

There is something about being outside the walls of the QZ. The air is fresher there, more breathable, more oxygenized. There's greenery, the whole city of Boston is swallowed up by nature. It's heart-breakingly beautiful how when a civilization falls, another takes over. The civilization of trees, animals, plants. Some part of you applauds the reclamation, roots for the trees, so to speak.

Liberating though it may feel, the world outside of the QC is also incredibly dangerous. But with Joel on your side and your former experience of traveling with Frankie, you learn how to navigate the overgrown streets and decrepit buildings.

Coming back from the first run - a shorter one to look for an alternate way through a particularly nasty block - he asks you if you've had military training. You just shake your head, but you can tell that he still is curious about your use of hand signals, how you handle the rifle, your military abbreviations.

"My husband was," you finally offer, not taking your eyes off the road. "Special forces."

Joel grunts in acknowledgement, but neither one of you speak any more until you reach the QZ at nightfall.

"I might need you again," Joel says once you're back inside the city walls.

"You know where I live."

He holds out a small, crinkled slide lock bag with pills, but you shake your head.

"I'd rather not have those around," you tell him quietly. Even if you long for the oblivion the pills can provide, you have decided - for the time being - that you don't need them.

Joel immediately pockets the pills, like he's afraid you'll change your mind. He then nods at you before disappearing into the shadows. You go home, and you sleep better than you have in ages. Still, the lumpy pillow is wet with tears when you wake up in the morning.

///

On the fourth run, you save Joel's life. You're his lookout, perched on top of a smaller building, while he clears out debris in an alleyway. The sun is high and sweat runs down your forehead. You wipe it away and then you see him: a man holding a baseball bat, slowly creeping up on Joel from behind. Mechanically, you take aim and shoot. Joel jumps at the sharp sound of the shot, and the subsequent groan from the man who slumps down onto the street makes him turn around. The man's head is blown to bits, and Joel quickly looks through his backpack and pockets for anything useful. He then looks up at you, gestures for you to keep looking - the gunshot could attract unwanted attention - and goes back to what he was doing, confident that you'll have his back.

You realize that in a very short time, you've become somewhat synced with him. You noticed early on that Joel has impaired hearing on his right ear and therefor wants his right flank covered in dangerous areas. He has bad knees, so you help out with heavy lifting from the ground. He doesn't talk much, but he gives you the last piece of jerky when your stomach growls at the end of your break.

He reminds you of Frankie in that sense. Frankie would also wordlessly see to it that you were comfortable, both before and after the outbreak. He would give you the best couch corner and get you your favorite snacks. He would have you take the last sip of water and stay awake all night so that you could sleep. And he never expected anything from you in return.

The comparison hurts, but you didn't use to think about Frankie at all during the day. He was a bittersweet pleasure saved for the night, for the pills and the alcohol. Now you're thinking about him in the harsh light of day, whenever your gaze rests on Joel's broad shoulders a second too long.

And yet, Joel is nothing like Frankie. You late husband kept his softness, his humanity, even after the loss of your daughter. You don't know what Joel has lost, what he has done, but you can tell he's been through shit. Well, so did Frankie, and Frankie never changed.

Joel is a cold hard killer. You find yourself wondering if he was always that. He has a military background, that much you know now, but what did his hands do when they didn't hold a gun?

Joel has made his way through the clutter in the alleyway, and you climb down to continue forward with him. He grabs you by the upper arm and when you startle, he releases you with his hand sliding down your arm, surprisingly softly.

"Thanks," he says gruffly, and you nod. So that's what his hands can do when not busy beating the life out of someone.

The two of you walk on, attentive of your surroundings, and very aware of the other's presence.

When you return to the QZ with the first light of the morning Joel stops you just a you're about to part ways. His hand rests heavily on your shoulder as he seems to look for something to say.

"You did good," he finally says. You search his face in the hopes of finding something more, but he is as closed off as ever. You finally put your hand on top of his. His fingers flex at the contact but stay where they are. A few moments pass by with the two of you just staring at each other and when Joel doesn't make the first move, you finally do. Your lips are on his, seeking a response that takes some time. When your lips part to let out the tip of your tongue against his pressed-together lips, his hand moves to the back of your neck, his big palm cupping you there roughly. You didn't expect him to be so rough from the way he had caressed your arm before, but it feels right. His tongue meets yours, forces it back into your mouth as he devours you, dry, chapped lips that taste of sweat stealing your breath away with the kiss that never ends, or maybe it's just one kiss after another that picks up before the previous one is over.

When he finally lets you draw breath, you're almost light-headed. He's still holding you by the back of your head, but now his fingers are gently stroking over your scalp. A tremor runs down your spine, and you make up your mind.

"My place is not far away," you tell him quietly. He just nods, then follows you through the empty streets to your apartment and into your bed.

///

He's not there when you wake up. You didn't expect him to, and you feel nothing but relief.

Last night, this morning, was a disaster.

You get up and step into the shower, the cold water making you shiver as you scrub yourself with a rough piece of soap. The events of the early morning replay before your inner eye, and your cheeks burn with chagrin.

He was rough. You welcomed that. Tenderness would have reminded you too much of Frankie, and you couldn't think about him. You ripped each other's clothes off, and Joel did his best to get you off, using his fingers and mouth. But he was in too much of a hurry, and you were stuck in your head. Eventually you just pushed him away and asked him to fuck you. You even turned around so he could take you from behind. So neither one of you had to look at the other, in case you suddenly found yourself wondering what you were doing there.

Muffling yourself by hiding your face in the sheets, you took the backshot as silently as you could, enduring it rather than enjoying. You wanted it, but you found yourself distracted by thoughts of unwanted pregnancies, and found yourself unable to relax. Your tension led to greater friction, his big cock struggling to fit in, and after having assaulted your clenching pussy for a few minutes, you sucked him off.

Neither one of you were satisfied, and you fell asleep by sheer force of will, because it was the only way for you to escape the situation.

Stepping out of the shower, you dry yourself off before wrapping the threadbare towel around you. Your fridge is empty because you haven't been to collect your rations, and you slam shut the fridge door with a frustrated sigh. Your last remaining liquor bottle stands on the shelf. You haven't touched it in a while, but now you grab it and unscrew the cork. A deep line between your eyebrows, you drink deeply, savoring the heat of the drink going down smoothly into your belly. Leaning against the countertop, you rub your forehead and sigh deeply.

This went to shit faster than green grass through a goose.

It was only supposed to help you release some tension. It was only because he touched you like that. It was only because he gave you the rings back. It was only because when you shot that would-be assailant, you imagined for a split second what life would be like if you hadn’t seen that assailant in time, and Joel would have died.

It was only because you missed the touch of another human being.

Inhaling deeply, you will yourself into facing yet another day. It doesn’t matter. Joel doesn’t matter. You’ll survive.

You go to the clinic, you perform your tasks, you return home with rations, but the bottle is more interesting than food. You eat dutifully, however, before emptying the bottle and cursing the fact that it was your last one. Just as you’ve decided to try to get hold of more alcohol, there is a knock on the door. Sober in just a second, you grab your gun and approach the door, craning your neck to look through the peephole.

It's Joel. Frowning, you open, letting him see you’re holding your gun.

He barely raises a brow. “You can put that down.”

You do, but keep the door ajar, staring at him with distrust.

“What do you want?”

He shrugs. “Wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

He nods, then looks down the hall before fastening his gaze on you again.

“Can I come in?”

“What for?”

He pulls out a flask from his pocket and shakes it seductively. It’s full. You consider this for a second, then open the door and walk back into the apartment. Joel follows, closing and locking the door behind him. You take one corner of the worn down couch, he takes the other.

He brings not only the bottle, but also pills. You accept one – a lot less than your usual dose – and down it with the real bourbon from his flask.

“That’s good,” you nod when passing the flask back to him. Joel nods and takes a swig.

“I know a guy.”

“You know a lot of them, don’t you?”

He grunts, unwilling to admit the extent of his network. You’ve met a handful of people during your runs together. None of them ever introduce themselves, and neither do you.

“What about girls?” you ask boldly, the substances starting to mellow you out. Joel raises one brow quizzically.

“I know where the FEDRA agents go when they want to let off some steam,” you continue. “Do you go there as well?”

He shakes his head. “Not my thing.”

“Don’t you fuck at all?” you ask, the booze and drugs slurring your words slightly. “Maybe that’s why your pity fuck last night was so miserable.”

He bristles a little at that. “I’d be inclined to say that it wasn’t all on me.”

“No,” you sigh, “it was me as well.”

Silence descends with the two of you staring at the ceiling, at your own hands, at anything but each other. When you reach your hand across the couch, Joel gives you the flask. You take a large swig, and Joel glares at you.

“That stuff’s hard to come by.”

“I’m sure you have your ways.”

“At some point my ways won’t be enough anymore.”

The conversation is stilted, unnatural. You lean back and sigh deeply, your eyes closing.

“Why are you here, Joel?”

He takes the flask from you, and you hear the cork screwed shut. He then shifts closer, his body heat radiates towards you. You keep your eyes firmly closed and startle when you feel his fingers brush over your cheek. Next, his lips. They slowly cover your skin to your lips, which separate so that he can close his lips around your lower one when he kisses you. Bourbon mixes with bourbon and the intimate flavors of the self when the kiss deepens. Joel slides his tongue in, intimate as if it were finding its way into your slick cunt, not your mouth. It’s met by your tongue, eager and shy at the same time, unable to decide whether to wait or advance. With a calm confidence, Joel takes control, kisses his fill of you, peels raw the sensitive skin around your mouth with his sharp bristles.

His hand comes to a rest on your thigh, fingers loosely spread over the flesh until you put your hand on his and press down. He breaks the kiss, and you feel his shallow breaths right in front of you.

“Look at me,” he demands in a low voice. Your eyes flutter open to meet his: dark as the night but not frightening in any way except in intensely they seem to yearn for love and affection, if only for one fuck.

“You’re drunk,” he states.

“Yes,” you confirm, ��but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

“What do you want?” His hand burns on your thigh.

“I want… I need you to fuck me, Joel.”

He makes some kind of noise, a guttural croak, maybe a growl, and presses his lips to yours again. Now you let yourself react more, your tongue meets his in a powerful dance, your hands run up the sides of his waist, ribcage, and back to pull him in. Your eyes are closed again, you don’t want to see anything, you only want to feel. He pulls his mouth from yours to instead bite and lick your tits, hands cupping and discovering and pinching. When he attaches himself to one nipple and sucks hard, you keen loudly, your head lolling back to meet the wall behind the couch. You find his hand on your breast and redirect it to the base of your throat. Joel only pauses his ministrations briefly before continuing, his fingers closing around your throat for a gentle but firm squeeze. You whimper encouragingly as the light pressure on your windpipe cuts off all intrusive thoughts, allowing you to focus on the pleasure instead.

When your breasts are dappled with marks left by Joel’s lips and teeth, he releases your throat and stands up. You blink up at him, worried for a moment that he grew tired already, but your eyes catch the thick outline of his cock at the front of his jeans, and then he offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up, crashing you into him, back against his lips, and as you kiss you unbutton his denim shirt, rid him off it unceremoniously, then take his t-shirt off. You make no time to admire his chest and stomach, don’t allow yourself any musings on the physique of a middle-aged, hard-working man. You simply duck your head to bite his nipples, suck and nibble just as he did to you. Joel grunts, his fingers slipping through the hair at the back of your neck before taking a hold and pulling your lips off him. You cast a wondering glance up at him, but he’s already maneuvering you to the bed. Not unkindly but with a demand that you appreciate, he pushes you down on the bed, then locks your gaze as he unbuckles his belt. You mirror him, unbutton your jeans and push them down your hips as he does it, and then you’re naked before him, and he before you. Your eyes flicker down to his stout cock fighting gravity as it strives upward. Involuntarily, you start to salivate, your mouth remembering the challenge of fitting as much as possible of that thick cock in it. Your cunt is dripping in the same recollection, and you swallow, your legs separating as you show Joel what you have, your fingers trailing down to part your lips and rub your clit. He inhales sharply before leaning over you to roughly turn you around. He then gets onto the bed, gives you a surprising smack on your ass, and then you feel his bristles and lips against your sex, from behind, as his hands knead your ass cheeks. You yelp in surprise and instant gratification before muffling yourself against the mattress as your whimpers turn into moans, rising in volume the tighter your core winds itself. Lick after slurping lick, you let go of everything but the sensation, your ass in his hands, your cunt pressed up against his face, your clit throbbing from his constant rough care.

Joel’s name is on your lips when your climax breaks free, but you press your lips together, press your eyes shut, press your hand over your mouth as your legs kick and your body trembles. Your walls have barely stopped fluttering around empty when Joel shifts and moves up your body, positioning himself. Your cunt is wet, but his cock still sears through you as he pushes himself in, balls deep with one thrust. Your breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, your scream stops before it’s even out, and then your lungs compress when he lays his entire weight on you. You expect him to pound you into the mattress but instead, Joel starts a slow, deep grind, and it's almost more brutal because he’s deep, so thick, so heavy, and you don’t want him to stop. Your mewls are pitiful, the sheet are half inside your mouth, there is no room to move and when Joel grips your throat again, there is barely any room for breathing, either.

And yet, you want more of it. You want him to choke the life out of you, want him to crush you with that broad, heavy frame of his. You want him to blow you apart, tear you up, fuck you so deep that all there is left for you to do is survive. Survive this slow, all-consuming fuck, the one you wanted last night but couldn’t have because you were thinking too much. Now you’re not thinking at all, but you still have two braincells that cooperate enough to tell you that he’s about to bust when his breaths turn quicker and huffier against your cheek.

“Don’t come inside!” you squeak, and Joel heeds your wish. He pulls out just as quickly as he entered, and you feel him spill on your ass cheeks, hot and sticky.

You feel empty and cold when he climbs off you. Moving your extremities gingerly, as if expecting them to fall off, you slowly curl up on your side. Joel pulls the covers over you and you’re too dazed to dwell on it. Instead, you let sleep take you away.

///

“You talk in your sleep.”

Your head snaps around to find Joel still in your bed. You have just woken up, stretched, and noted that it’s still dark outside, so you decided to sleep some more, if nothing else then to try to suppress the beginning hangover that you feel just behind your frontal lobe.

“What do I say?” you ask, not sure if you want to know. Joel waits until you’ve settled, then turns onto his side, facing you.

“You talk to someone you call Frankie.”

The name hits you like a sledgehammer in the face, and you feel shattered. Murdered. You haven’t heard that name said out loud in so many years…

“He was my husband,” you whisper, like you were afraid that if you talk about Frankie to anyone, he could turn out to be nothing but a figment of your imagination.

But he’s not. You still wear the rings around your neck to prove that Frankie was real, very real. But his touch has faded from your skin, even if your love for him hasn’t left your heart.

Joel doesn’t say anything, but you can sense the grief in him, burdensome and harsh. You wonder what dead loved ones he carries with him, but you don’t ask. Instead, you inch closer, find his shoulder, and rest your head on it. Your head is heavy, a headache waiting just around the corner to break out, but you feel strangely safe like this. You don’t know anything about Joel, but you trust him.

“Go back to sleep,” you tell him, as if you were old lovers, used to sharing a bed, of falling asleep in each other’s arms. You’re not, however, you’re very new lovers indeed, and Joel is hungry for more. He kisses sleep away from you before mounting you and fucking you with the same slow, steady devastation as earlier. Except for moaning, it is a silent affair with no other communication than the direction of limbs into their right places. He has your legs on his shoulders, hands on the back of your thighs, pressing your legs impossibly down so that you’re almost bent double, trapping you between his rock-hard cock and a sharp spring in the worn-down mattress. Each profound thrust pushes the breath out of you, along with a moan, and shoves the bed against the wall with a low knock that you somehow want the neighbors to hear.

You’re furiously rubbing your clit and when the orgasm rises as a dark shadow to swallow you whole, Joel releases your legs and curls his fingers around your throat instead. You cum hard, mouth open in a silent scream, and in the next second Joel pulls out and paints your pussy and hand with strings of hot cum.

He goes back to sleep with one arm around you. It is not the soft embrace of a lover but the possessive shackle of a broken person who has found someone equally broken to take away their pain, tiny moments at a time.

You raise your hand to your neck, and press at the skin. There’s a bruise forming there, you know. You press it softly, feeling your pulse in the tenderness. Right next to it, the rings are softly clinking against each other.

You don’t think you’ll ever take them off. But you also think that it’s time to stop taking those pills.

#joel miller #frankie morales #joel miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #joel miller x you #frankie morales x you #my fic

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bteezxyewriter12 · 2 years ago

Text

Only You/ 2

Pairing- Yoongi x Named Reader

Word count- 5k

Includes- Lots of sex, fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, missionary riding, sort of sleep sex?, Sex from behind, so many orgasms, fluff, sweaty Yoongi

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @jintheastronaut

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Series Masterlist 📝Masterlists

📝BTS Masterlist 📝Yoongi Masterlist

5 months later

Yoongi POV

She opens the door, smiling, "Hi Yoongi!"

She steps aside so I can come into her apartment

"Ready for a movie marathon?"

"Definitely", I answer

We decided, like she said, to have a movie marathon tonight

We didn't however, choose any movies yet

We decided to go on Hulu and Netflix and just pick movie after movie from there

Ever since she called me all those months ago, I've hung out with her more often than we used to, helping to distract her from the hurt

She used to cry in the beginning and I would just hold her and let her get it out

Slowly, she got better, cries less, became happy again

At work she avoids Hobi, never doing his makeup

He avoids her too

He's such an ass, acting like he doesn't care that he hurt her

Or maybe he really doesn't care

I don't know but I'm pissed off that he hurt my best friend

I haven't spoke to him about her and really he doesn't deserve to know about how she's doing

She fine now and I'm so happy she's back to her old self

I follow her into her room, jumping on her California king size bed

I always make fun of her for having this huge bed when she's the tinest person

She just says she likes the space

She roll her eyes, sitting next to me

I can't help but glance at her

I can never keep my eyes away from her for long

All these months spending time with her I just fell deeper in love with her

"What do you want to watch?", she asks, looking through netflix

I can't stop staring at her

She's so fucking beautiful and I can't take it anymore

"Yoongi?", she asks, looking at me

I just lean forward, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss

Fireworks immediately go off in my vision and it feels so right kissing her

Feels like I'm right where I belong

It's then I realize what I'm doing and I pull away from her

"I'm sorry", I say, blushing

I'm such an idiot

Why did I kiss her?

Of course she doesn't want me

She wants Hobi

I just wanted to know what it feels like to kiss her

Just once

She touches my face, turning it back to her but I can't meet her eyes

I'm just waiting for her rejection

"Kiss me Yoongi", she whispers

I snap my eyes to hers so quickly

She's looking at me, biting her lip

"Rrrr....really?", I ask, stuttering

God I'm such a dork with the stuttering

"Yes Yoongi. I want you", she says

Holy shit

Am I dreaming?

This is what I've wanted for so long

"Are you sure?"

She nods, "Be with me Yoongi"

I can do that

I can make her feel good

Until all she sees is me

Even if it's just for a little while

"Ok Jo. I can do that"

She puts her arms around my neck, pulling me closer, her lips on mine

God her kiss is everything

She lets me slide my tongue in her her mouth and when her tongue touches mine, my body shivers on it's own

No one and I mean no one, has ever made me feel this way

No one

I'm over the moon it's her

I feel her hands, pulling on my shirt

Pulling away, I sit on my knees on the bed

She gets up and sits on her knees too, coming closer, kissing me again

I know I'm never going to want to kiss anyone ever again

Only her

She runs her hands down my body, making me shiver

She grabs the hem of my shirt and takes it completely off

I feel self conscious

I don't have abs like Jimin and Jungkook

I actually gained a little weight and while I'm not chubby, I do have a little tummy

I feel her hands on my chest, touching me softly

I look down, watching her touch me all over, biting her lip, desire in her eyes

Holy shit, she does want me

She leans closer to me, kissing my chest

Oh my god, it feels so good

She trails kisses all over me, kissing my chest, my sides, my stomach

"So beautiful", I hear her whisper

Me?

She thinks I'm beautiful?

Is she insane?

She puts her arms around my neck, her lips on mine again, kissing me softly

I kiss her back, slipping her shirt off, our lips apart for the second that takes

I reach around her, unclasping her bra and she lets it fall off her, throwing it across the room

I pull away from her lips, looking at her

Holy shit, she's...she's fucking perfect

Everything about her

Oh my god

My eyes go back to hers

She looks at me, biting her lip again

Her hands slide down my sides until she gets to my sweatpants

I'm so fucking scared

Because it's her, because I'm finally going to be with her

I'm scared I'm not good enough, scared my dick isn't going to be anything she wants

Scared that she'll compare me to Hoseok and I'll be lacking

I hope to God that doesn't happen

She doesn't take her eyes off mine, as she hooks her hands in my pants and boxers, slowly pulling them down

Oh god

This is really happening

She pushes my pants and boxers down as far as she can

Her fingers slide up my legs, one arm going around my neck, pulling me to her lips

As I kiss her, she touches me and pleasure blows through me

I'm already so hard

She wraps her hand around me, moving back and forth as she kisses me, with me moaning in her mouth

My hands touch her body, going right to her pants, pulling them and her panties down

Gently I push her back, helping her lay down on her back

Moving back and pulling her pants and panties down more, I stand up, taking them completely off

The rest of my pants and boxers fall off, and I step out of them, looking down to make sure I don't make an idiot of myself and trip

After kicking my pants to the side, I looked up at her and freeze

I have to keep my mouth from dropping as I look at her

Naked

On a bed

Something I never thought would ever happen

"Yoongi", she calls, snapping me out of my stupor

"We don't have to if you don't-"

I move back on the bed, on top of her kissing her

No way am I going to let her think I don't want this

Don't want her

That's so far from the truth

Moving from her mouth, I kiss her neck, moving down her body

Getting to her breasts and nipples, I take one in my mouth, sucking gently, feeling it harden against my tongue

Oh fuck, I've been wanting to do this for so long

"Fuck", she moans

Oh god

Hearing her drives me crazy

Moving my hand down between her legs, I touch her for the first time

Groaning on her nipple, I just feel how wet she is

How wet I made her

When I move my fingers on her clit, she shivers and moans

I switch to her other nipple, sucking on it while my fingers keep moving on her bump

She's so soaked, my fingers slide down and I feel them go inside a little

"Fuck", she repeats

Going by her reaction, I slide two fingers inside her

"Jesus"

I slowly move my fingers in and out of her, going faster each time, her tight cunt hugging my fingers so tightly

She grabs the sheets, twisting her hands in it

I let go of her nipple and just watch her

Her head pressed back into the pillow, biting her lower lip, little moans coming from her

Fuck me, she's turning me on even more

I keep moving my fingers and rub against a spot that makes her jump and yell

"Oh god"

Found her spot

I keep making sure I rub that place over and over

Her body starts shaking and I feel her throbbing on my fingers

"C'mon baby", I whisper, kissing her neck

I slide my fingers in again and she snaps, shouting in pleasure, coming on my fingers

Holy shit she's fucking gorgeous when she cums

Pleasure on her face, her body arching

Stunning

When she relaxes, I pull my fingers out and move down her body

Opening her legs, I moan from seeing how wet she is

I just want her in my mouth

Which isn't something I ever thought I'd be thinking

Yeah I went down on girls but I did it because they blew me

She's the only one I want to do it to, the only one I can't wait to do it to

Moving closer, I lay my tongue on her, slowly sliding up

"Fuck Yoongi!", she cries

Goddamn it, I love hearing my name from her mouth

I start licking her faster, sliding all the way up, then back down and up again, listening to her shouts of pleasure

She feels so good on my tongue

Soft

Wet

I fucking love it

Swirling my tongue all over her, her hand slides in my hair, holding on tightly and pulling

I had no clue I liked getting my hair pulled but I do

Flicking her clit with the tip of my tongue gets a huge reaction from her

"Yoongi yes Yoongi", she moans, her body jumping from the bed

I concentrate on her clit, licking over and over again

"Yoongi!", she screams my name

I love hearing her scream my name

I always fantasized making her scream my name

And now she's doing it

It's a dream come true

"Yoongi fuck Yoongi!", she shouts, body trembling as she orgasms

Sliding my tongue down, I taste her

And the second I taste her, I know I'm going to be thinking about her all the time

"Fuck!", she moans

I can't think as I lick everything she gives me

"So fucking good", I groan

"Wwww....what?", she whimpers

"So good baby. You...fuck..taste good. I knew you would"

"Fuck Yoongi"

I slide my tongue back up her, take her clit in my mouth and suck on her

"Yoongi!", she screams

I suck harder and faster each time

I need more of her

I want it so bad

"Yoongi, what are-"

"Want. You. To. Cum. Again", I manage to say between sucks

"But you-"

"Want to taste you again", I say quickly so I can get her clit back in my mouth

"Shit", she cries

"Please?", I ask

"Yes ok. Fuck. Ok Yoongi", she agrees

Letting go of her clit for now, I lick her furiously, loving everything about it

Her hips move up, snapping her more into my mouth

Fuck me, that's so sexy

"Sorry! I'm sorry!", she apologizes

Is she kidding?

I love it

"Again", I order

"What?", she asks, confused

"Move your hips again. Fuck my mouth", I demand

"Jesus", she whimpers

"Now baby"

Moaning, she starts moving her hips, slowly at first, then faster and faster the more she gets into it

God I fucking love it

I latch back on to her clit, sucking fast

"Yoongi!"

"C'mon baby.", I plead, "Cum for me"

It's like she needed me to ask because she screams my name, coming immediately, pulling my hair

My tongue slides back down, tasting her again

"Yes", I moan

After getting everything, I kiss up her body, laying between her legs

I kiss her soft perfect lips

"Can I-", I start asking her

"Yes Yoongi. Yes", she moans

I can't believe I'm finally going to be with her like this

This is everything I ever dreamed of

Aligning myself to her entrance, I try to push in but I can't get in

I think I'm too big for her

Oh god no

Please no

I need her

"Jo....I", I panic, "I don't fit"

"It's ok Yoongi, push harder", she tells me soothingly

I don't want to hurt her but I want her so bad

If it hurts and she tells me to stop I will

Pushing in harder, I finally start to go inside

I'm worried it's hurting her but her reaction tells me it doesn't

I slowly slide in more and more, moaning from how good she feels, how she opens around me, how tight and how warm she is

And so fucking wet

My cock is so soaked from her and I love the way it feels

I bottom out, nestled deep inside her, against her spot and my body shivers on it's own

And now that I'm in, she's perfect for me

But I knew that already

And her reaction to me is fucking everything

"Oh my god, oh my god, Yoongi", she cries, her body arching off the bed into mine and shaking hard, her hands gripping my upper arms so tightly as she cums

"Fuck fuck fuck", I cry, feeling her clench around my dick so fucking tightly

Oh my god

Holy shit, she came just from me going in

My mind is blown

I've never had anyone react to me like this

Never had someone cum just from me going in

She likes me inside her that much

And she feels so good when she cums

I've never felt anything as pleasurable in my life as her orgasm

I want more

I need more

I'm so happy I get to be with her

"Fuck Yoongi", she yells, still shivering uncontrollably, "You feel so good. Fuck"

I slowly start to move, thrusting in and out softly

"Oh my god", she cries, pleasure all over her face, "More Yoongi, more. I need you"

"I knew it baby", I moan

"Kkkk...knew what Yoongi?"

"I knew we'd fit perfectly together. I knew I'd fit in you perfectly and you'd fit around me. I...I was right", I groan

I move harder and faster, making her shout loudly, her hands gripping my skin hard

"Yes Yoongi. Fuck, you were right baby", she agrees

I'm so happy she agrees with me

God she feels so good

The pleasure she's giving just washes over me

Sex hasn't ever been this amazing

Because it's with her

Because I love her more than anything

I slam in her harder, hitting her spot, her body jumping off the bed, crashing into mine again

"Fuck Yoongi, there. Please there"

"Ok Jo", I answer, kissing her, then slam right into that spot

"Yoon....Yoon...I'm...fuck.. gonna.... cum. Yoongi!", she screams

"Yes Jo, fuck, yes, cum on me. I want it", I moan

"Yoongi, Yoongi, YOONGI!", she cries, tightening on me so hard I gasp, while she orgasms again

Her body shakes and she holds her body tightly to mine, her skin against mine

Oh my god, the pleasure from her is intense and I want to cum right now

But I force it back

I keep moving during her orgasm to make it feel even better

Once she finishes, I don't stop thrusting in her

I slam harder and she screams again

She's still tight on me, holding on as she snaps her hips up, meeting me when I move in

"Fuck!", I yell, going in so deep inside her, feeling fucking amazing

She keeps moving her hips, both of us moving in sync with each other

I never had sex like this

Not with the girl moving with me

Pleasure crashes all over me, over and over again

Of course it's her that makes me feel like this, that makes me feel so good

I knew she would, I had no doubt

She's biting her lip so hard and it's a massive turn on

But I don't want her to hurt herself

I move my hand to her face, my thumb pulling her bottom lip from between her teeth

"Don't hurt yourself jagi", I whisper, leaning down and kissing her lip over and over

Her arms tighten around me, holding me so securely

I keep moving inside her, feeling her body start to tremble,

"Yoongi..Yoongi"

"Do it baby", I whisper, kissing her neck

She cries out loudly, coming again, throbbing on me and holding me to her

So blissfully

When she finishes, she rolls me over, getting me on my back, and sitting on me

Leaning down she kissed me hard, then moves my cock right under her, sliding down on me

"God Jo you feel so good. Shit", I moan

"Yeah?", she smirks

"Yeah.", I smirk back, grabbing her hips and slamming her on me once

"Baby's so tight"

I bring her down on me again, making her moan loudly

"So fucking wet"

Another slam

"So warm"

Slam

"I love being inside you Jo. So much"

She takes my hands off her hips and puts them on her breasts

She starts bouncing on me hard, pleasure coursing though my body

"I love you inside too Yoongi. You, fuck, you know how to turn me on, how to make me feel so good. How? How is that possible?", she moans

"I don't know Jo. I just do. Just like you do to me", I manage to get out

She leans back, hands on my legs, slamming herself on me

I can't tear my eyes away from watching her ride me

Her body moving, her head thrown back, her breast bouncing, sweat slicking her body

Yeah this is my favorite position from now on

I can see everything and it's getting me closer

I run my fingers up and down her body, watching and feeling her shiver

"Fuck Yoongi", she moans

"Yeah baby girl, c'mon. Cum again", I ask, thrusting up into her as she comes down

She's squeezing my cock so fucking tightly, it's driving me insane.

"YOONGI!", she screams, exploding again

Fucking hell

I need more

When she finishes she keeps moving making me feel so good

"Jjjj.... Jo...I need you to fuck me harder. Please baby, fuck me harder", I moan

"Anything you want Yoongi", she answers, slamming harder on me

The pleasure is shutting off my brain and I can't think

I can't talk

All I can do is feel

She pulses on me and screams when she cums again

Fuck, I can't take it

"I...I...can't...", I moan barely able to hold it, "Cccc....can I? Iiii...inside?"

"Yes, yes", she yells

"Oh fuck", I shout finally letting go, releasing inside her, my body shaking hard

"Joanne, shit, fuck, oh god baby", I moan, holding her on me, ecstacy rolling over me, her cunt so wet, clenching so hard again and again

Fuck

It's the most intense orgasm I ever had and it feels out of this fucking world

After I finish, I pull her on top of me, arms around her

She puts her head on my shoulder, face in my neck, her arms around me too

I love being in her arms

"Yoongi...I...Jesus", she mumbles

"I know Jo. It...wow", is all I can say

After a few minutes of silence she asks, "Are you leaving?"

Should I?

I don't want to

I want to stay with her

But I guess I should go

It was just sex

For her

Not me

I open my mouth to answer, when she says, "Because I don't want you to"

My heart flutters with happiness

"I....you don't?"

"No. I want you to stay"

Oh god, it's exactly what I want to hear

"Can you stay with me tonight? I miss sleeping next to you like we used to before...when we were younger"

She was going to say before Hobi

We used to nap together before she got with him, since we were little

We both love sleep and it was natural for us

Nothing sexual about it, just sleeping

Now it's different because we're in bed naked but she still wants me to stay

And there's nothing I want more

"Yea Jo, I'll stay. I'll stay as long as you want"

The smile that burst on her face knocks the breath from my lungs

She presses her lips against mine, kissing me again

Stars burst in my vision and I'm elated she's kissing me again

And she kissed me

Not the other way around

She moves off me but she doesn't go far, laying her head on my chest, her arm around me, cuddling into me

I've never been more happy as I hold her tightly to me and run my fingers in her hair

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

J POV

I wake up because Yoongi is moving

Pleasure hits me all of a sudden and I have to stop from yelling

What the hell?

It takes me a few seconds to realize that Yoongi is inside me and we're having sex

I look up at him but he's still sleeping

We moved around while we slept, so now we're facing each other

His arms are around holding me tightly

One of my legs is over his body and I'm cuddling into him

Is he really sleeping?

I look at him and he is

Damn

That's fucking hot

It's not too hard to see what happened

My leg over him made us touch each other

Like perfectly

I guess he got hard while he was sleeping and it just happened

I'm just surprised that he's still sleeping and hasn't woken up yet

Does it not feel good for him?

I woke up because of his movements and how good it feels

I'm reaching up to wake him up when he moves again, causing an orgasm

"Hh...holy shit", I moan, the sudden pleasure blinding me, "Yyyy...Yoongi"

Jesus it feels so good

My body leans into his on it's own, while moans just come from my mouth

His eyes flutter and he opens them slowly

"Jo?", he yawns before he moans, "Oh god"

His eyes snap open and he looks down at me

"What?", he asks, confused

"Yyy...you... Jesus", I whimper, "I woke up with you....uh...having sex with me while you were sleeping"

His eyes widen while shock forms on his face

He immediately pulls out and starts apologizing

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry", he says at the same time that I whine, "No come back"

He stops looking at me, "Come back?"

"Yes come back"

"Are you-"

"Yes", I answer, pulling him to me, my lips on his

Fire runs through me when I kiss him

That happened the first time he kissed me too

I've never felt that before

Not even with Hobi

I don't know why and I don't want to think about it right now

He kisses me back, his arms holding me against him

He pulls my leg over him again and he slides back inside, pushing hard

And my body goes crazy

"Yoongi, fucking yes, Yoongi", I moan, pressing my body right against him, holding him as close as he can get

My body shakes and he hasn't even moved yet

"Fuck Jo. Oh God", he moans, his face in my neck as he trembles too

I don't know why I react this way to him

Or why he reacts this way to me

He just feels so fucking good and I need every part of him touching me

Like his kiss, I've never reacted this way to sex before

Never shake uncontrollably or feel this amount of pleasure from someone just going inside

Never came from someone going in like I did the very first time he went in

My body just wants him

I just want him

It's like I lose control of myself

And I really like that a lot

I like giving him full control of me

He knows how to work me and I don't know how

We've never been together before this

I didn't see him like that before

I mean I'm not blind, I know he's gorgeous but he's always been Yoongi, my best friend

But now

Sex with him is fucking out of this world and I want more

"Fuck Jo, the way you react to me...", he murmurs, his body shaking too, his lips pressing kisses to any part of my skin he can, "No one has ever been this way with me"

Well they're stupid

"I...I don't know Yoongi. You just feel so...I've never reacted like this to anyone before", I tell him

I don't know why I'm telling him but I want him to know

"Really? You're not making that up?", he asks hopefully

He's so beautiful

Why haven't I noticed him more?

Moving hair from his face, I answer, "I'm not making it up Yoongi. No one has made me feel as good as you. No one has made me react this way. Not even Hobi. Just you"

The smile that bursts on his face, takes my breath away

Again, why haven't I noticed his smile sooner?

He kisses me while he starts moving

Pleasure hits me everywhere, making me moan, "Yoongi yes"

"Mmm jagi you feel amazing. I love the way you feel around me", he groans

Fuck, I really like him calling me jagi

It feels right

He moves me on my back without stopping his thrusts

The pleasure is taking over

He's taking over me, all my senses are tuned into just him

I fucking love it

No one has ever been so perfect for me

He is

In every way

His gorgeous hands run all over my body, my skin trembling under his touch

Fuck, just seeing his hands on me is such a turn on

His lips are so soft as he keeps kissing me

Right now, he's everything

He thrusts harder and faster, hitting my spot

"Fuck Yoongi!", I shout, my body lifting from the bed into his

His arm hooks around my back, holding me against him

"Got it jagi", he smirks and that turns me on so much more

"You're gonna cum so much now"

I can't fucking wait

"Make me", I smirk back

He kisses me again, "Remember you asked for it"

He slams right into my spot, making me cum instantly

"YOONGI! Holy fuck!", I scream, shuddering hard against him

"So fucking beautiful", I hear him whisper

Me?

Is he talking about me?

"Again baby, please", he asks, "I want to watch you. You're so fucking sexy, so beautiful. I want it. I want to feel it"

Jesus, he's making me so horny

I manage to smirk, "Yeah? You like when I cum on you baby?"

He nods rapidly, "I love it. You feel so good. It's fucking everything"

Oh god

He's making me feel so wanted

So loved

Like I'm the only thing that can make him happy

I miss that feeling

Hobi had been ignoring me and fighting with me the last few months before he dumped me

It's nice to feel wanted

"Please", he pleads

"Work for it", I tease

"I will"

He moves on his knees, opening my legs wide, one ankle in each hand

He pounds into me so fucking hard, right against my spot

God feeling his cock moving inside me, hitting that spot gives me pleasure like I've never felt before

Not even with Hobi

It just takes over my body, shutting off my mind

"Yoongi!", I scream, climaxing, pleasure intense

"Yes fuck, good girl", he moans

Fuck I like him that

I'll be his good girl

He keeps thrusting, making me cum right after my other orgasm ends

Holy fuck, the pleasure is so intense

He keeps slamming me through my orgasm right into my spot, giving me another one right away

Jesus I've never came multiple times in a row

It's so fucking intense and so goddamn good

"More", Yoongi shouts

He puts one leg on his shoulder and drops my other one, thrusting hard

"Oh my god Yoongi!", I scream loudly

He pulls out, turns me on my hands and knees, then plunges back in

"Oh fuck!", I yell

He slams into me over and over

"Yoongi!", I shout, coming again

I can't take it

He's making me feel so fucking good

"Oh fuck jagi. Your creaming my cock so fucking much", he murmurs, fucking me through my orgasm, "It's all over. So fucking pretty

I moan, so turned on and clench his cock so hard

He feels so good sliding in and out, it's insane

I move, sliding on back and forth on his cock while he thrusts in

"Fuck Jo, yes", he moans

"My baby's gonna cum?", I ask

"Yes...fuck yes", he whimpers

As he pounds me so hard, he leans over me and I feel him start to play with my clit

"Yoongi, fuck baby"

"Wwww....want you tttt....to cum sss....so I can", he stammers, "I nnn.. fuck....need it"

"Wwww....what?", I ask, not understanding

That's probably because my mind is shutting down from the pleasure

"I...I nnn...need you to cum. It ...it makes mmm....me cum"

Me coming makes him cum?

Oh god, that's fucking amazing

"Ppp....please baby, make me cum", he begs

His pleading pushes me over the edge, mind blowing pleasure taking over

"YOONGI!!!", I scream at the top of my lungs, my body, arms and legs shaking as I climax

I'm having a hard time staying up, but I'm making myself so he can cum

I want him to feel as amazing as he made me feel

His hand moves from my clit to my hips, squeezing so hard

"Joanne! Baby! Oh fuck!", he shouts, coming, his body shake hard against me, his cock burying deep inside, throbbing, his warm cum filling me so well

When he finishes, he pulls out and I collapse on the bed, face down

He falls next to me face down too

I turn to him breathing hard

He turns to me too and smiles at me

He's all sweaty but he's still so fucking hot

I reach out, moving his hair

"Baby's all sweaty", I smile, moving my hand down, touching his face softly

He puts his hand over mine, turns his face, kissing my palm

My heart flutters and I don't know why

And in that second, all I want is for him to kiss me

"Kiss me Yoongi", I whisper

Another smile bursts on his face and he moves closer

His lips brush against mine in a soft kiss

A warm feeling spreads through me

I don't want to think about it

I just want to feel him kissing me

He pulls away, but I put my arm around his neck, stopping him

"No Yoongi. Keep kissing me. I love your kisses. I want more. Please", I ask

He nods, "Ok jagi. I love kissing you too"

He pulls me against him, his lips back on mine

Happiness floods me as I lay in Yoongi's arms, just kissing him

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