#joel miller x

[aurorawritestoescape]

PLEASE, SIR

best friend’s dad Joel Miller x f!reader || 3,9k

Pt 2 of American Beauty || can be read alone

Summary: you got a taste of Mr Miller and now you crave more.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, age gap (reader's in her early 20s, Joel's in his late 40s), rough!Joel, darkish!reader, f!oral, anal play, unprotected piv (wrap it up), degradation, praise kink, light spanking, swearing. Reader has hair. Pics are for the mood, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: ppl wanted them to fuck so here’s them fucking😏 Hope you all will enjoy!💖 Joel’s ‘Attagirl’ to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘

American Beauty || MASTERLIST

*****

You knew you wanted to fuck your best friend’s dad as soon as you met him. Was it wrong? Absolutely. But the way Mr Miller smiled at you and blushed when you shook his hand made your heart beat faster and your pussy tingle. He was single and hot, with a handsome face and a muscular body that you wanted all over yourself. He was also a great dad to Sarah and you couldn’t help but admire him. You loved her and could guess that she wouldn’t like you fooling around with her dad but it wouldn’t hurt her if she didn’t know, right?

You really tried to be a good friend at first. You told your pussy to stand down, tried not to imagine Mr Miller's body grinding against yours, when he came home all sweaty after work, taut muscles bulging under the soaked shirt.

You touched yourself just once, indulging in a fantasy about him while taking a shower. How he'd barge into the bathroom by mistake, blushing with embarrassment. "Oh, Mr Miller," you whimpered under the hot spray of water, thinking of the way he'd give up and fuck you, your cheek pressed to the cold tiles while his cock was plunging deep into your clenching pussy.

You came hard and hoped that you'd fucked that crush out of your system. But it was far from reality.

The night when you heard Mr Miller moan your name, the soft whimper clearly accompanied by the squelching sound of his cock fucking his fist, you told yourself you had to have him.

You practically burst with excitement when he let you suck his throbbing cock. Of course, you kept your cool but your arousal was so overwhelming, that you could come just from blowing his gorgeous fat length. You put all of your expertise into that blowjob, all your affection for the man. And it seemed to pay off. You read the adoration on his face after that and your heart sang. You couldn’t wait for the next night. Your pussy needed to be filled.

***

Sarah is sleeping and you quietly pad downstairs. You haven’t seen Joel all day. He didn't have dinner with you two but he often worked late so you weren’t worried.

You’re definitely worried now, seeing the living room empty, the tv switched off, Joel nowhere to be seen. You’re fumbling with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, nervously chewing on your lip. Where the fuck is he?

Hoping that he’s home, you go back upstairs and walk to Joel's bedroom. You knock quietly, not wanting to wake up Sarah, but no one opens the door. So you knock again. And again. Louder.

At the back of your mind you’re making up excuses to tell Sarah if she finds you at her dad’s bedroom late at night. But it seems to be your lucky day, because she doesn’t wake up and the door finally opens.

Joel’s standing in the doorway, dark eyes boring into you under the furrowed brows.

“What?” He barks in a hushed voice and you realize that it’s not going to be easy.

“I thought we had a date,” you whisper, seductively biting your lip.

“You thought wrong. Go to bed,” he snaps and starts closing the door, when you quickly slide your bare foot in the opening to keep it from shutting. The door hits your heel and it hurts just a little, but you hiss and whine, lifting your leg and rubbing your foot with a pained expression.

“Fuck!” Joel curses and opens the door wider to usher you inside.

He mumbles apologies, leading you to his bed, while you’re limping as if you have at least three toes broken. You feel no pain whatsoever but you couldn’t miss the perfect opportunity.

“It hurts,” you mewl, sitting on his bed, while he’s kneeling in front of you, carefully rubbing your foot and palpating it in search of an injury.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shoulda been more careful.”

His puppy eyes looking up at you make your heart and pussy flutter and you feel yourself gush into your lacy panties, as his big warm hands are massaging your foot. His bedroom is dimly lit by the lamp on the nightstand and he looks absolutely gorgeous.

“It’s ok. Mr Miller. I should have left you alone. I just thought you wanted to spend time with me.”

You drop your eyes with a deep sigh, fumbling with the hem of your tee which isn’t covering much of your naked thighs.

Joel is quiet for a few moments but then he gets up and sits next to you. He doesn’t touch you but the heat of his big body envelops you, making you crave his embrace.

“Sweetheart... it’s fucked up what I did yesterday. I made a mistake. You’re Sarah’s friend for fuck’s sake. I can’t do it tonight… we shouldn’t do it.”

You turn your head to look at him but he averts his eyes, staring in front of himself with an almost pained expression. Your gaze slides down to his big hands clasped between his thick thighs clad in gray sweatpants. His dark tee struggles to contain his broad shoulders and strong arms. Your whole body trembles, just being near the man, and you get up and stand in front of him.

“You’re right, sir. We shouldn’t do anything tonight.”

Your fingers play with the hem of your shirt, brushing your thighs and he lifts his eyes to your face and then lowers them to your naked legs.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you shake your head, inching closer and then planting your knees on both sides of him before you carefully get on his lap.

“Sweetheart,” he growls like an angry wolf, clenching his jaw and staring at your face with a fiery expression. But his hands are gripping your hips, holding you securely, not letting you fall. Not letting you go.

You place your hands on his shoulders and look deep into his dark eyes.

“You shouldn’t pull my panties to the side right now and feel how wet I am. My pussy shouldn’t want your fat cock, Mr Miller,” you whimper quietly, clinging closer to his torso, pressing your chest to his, so he could feel your perked up nipples, sense your heart beating fast.

Your lips graze the shell of his ear and he shivers as his fingers are digging almost painfully into your soft hips.

“You shouldn’t take it out, Mr Miller, and you definitely shouldn’t put it inside me,” you purr into his ear, grinding your aching pussy against his crotch. You feel him big and stiff and a wanton moan escapes your lips.

Suddenly he grabs you and throws you on the bed. Everything spins in your vision, until his face is hovering over yours and he’s pinning you to the bed with his massive body. He’s so broad and heavy, you get scared for a second, that adds to the thrill and your arousal spikes, making you press your thighs together in search of some pressure.

His arms are planted by your sides, lips brush against yours and you crave his kiss, but he only whispers,

“Ya think I don’t know what you’re doin’ , little slut? Want this cock so much, huh?” He grumbles and roughly thrusts his hips into you. The movement moves you up on the bed as his clock pokes into your mound.

“I do, sir,” you whine, batting your lashes at the man but he pulls away from you, gets up and stands next to the bed, one knee planted on it.

“I told ya I wouldn’t fuck you. Wanna suck on my dick, fine, be my guest,” he says, palming his package.

Your eyes are big and glossy as you hear him. Not that you don’t want to choke on his cock again but you came to get your pussy stuffed and you’re nothing but persistent.

“Mr Miller… sir, please,” You sniff and glide your hand down to your pussy. Your shirt has already ridden up, so you press your hand to your covered mound and push your middle finger between your folds. You know he sees the glistening spot on your panties.

Joel growls, adjusting his huge bulge, watching you caress your pussy through the soaked fabric. You bend your knees and open your legs to him while your hand pulls your panties to the side. You feel the cold air on your folds and moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, tugging the band of his sweats down and freeing his cock. It jumps out, hard and flushed and your pussy aches.

“Can you… ahh.. can you put it in, just a little, please? My pussy hurts, sir.”

Your fingers slide between your folds and you’re rubbing your hardened clit, while the other hand pulls your shirt up to your neck, exposing your breasts to him.

“Just a little?” Joel asks, raising his brows and leaning over you again.

His hand finds your throat and he wraps his warm palm around it, using just its weight to dominate you. Your core burns bright with desire.

“Are ya trying to ‘just the tip’ me, girl?” He chuckles, gently squeezing your throat, “I was already using this trick when you were in ya dad’s balls.”

He laughs at you but his eyes return to the place where you’re rubbing yourself with slow strokes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I know it’s wrong but I want you so much,” You whine, opening your legs wider.

His hand trails down from your throat to your chest and he slightly brushes your nipple, then reaches your belly. He glides his rough palm over the soft skin there, making your stomach heave.

“Ain’t ya a sweet bunny tonight? Where’s that sharp tongue of yours gone?”

You give him a smile and breathe out, “I wanna please you, sir, wanna be your good girl. Just like in your fantasy.”

Joel’s eyes glaze over for a second, as he must be remembering the things he saw in his mind the night before.

“Please, Mr Miller. No one will know,” you beg, pushing your naked breasts together with your hands and squirming on the bed, under the heat of his body, the fire of his gaze and he whispers, not tearing his eyes off your glistening cunt.

“I will know, baby. And I already hate myself for how much I wanna ruin your tight pussy.”

“Yes, yes, do it,” you whine, sounding absolutely desperate. You don’t mind. You know it will get you there. ‘There’ being stuffed full of Mr Miller’s cock.

Your stomach churns with excitement when you see him plant both of his knees on the bed and get between your legs. His big hands grab your thighs and his cock bobs over your crying pussy still partially covered by your panties.

“Let’s take these off,” Joel mumbles, a shade of bitterness in his voice, as his fingers slide under the waistband of your panties, but instead of sliding them off, he rips the fabric at the seams with a carnal growl.

“Oh, fuck,” you squeak and he smirks,

“Your little hole is next, baby.”

Your widened eyes seem to amuse him, as he chuckles but then glides his thumb over your folds, sending sparks of desire through your body.

“I’m joking, sweetheart. I’ll be careful,” he says, and swirls your clit with a pad of his thumb.

“Oh, yeah,” you whimper, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Joel nestles the fat head of his cock at your soaked entrance and the heat of it warms up your cold pussy. You bite your lip, taking in his big body between your thighs, muscular arms, tousled hair. His hands are veiny and strong, one is holding your thigh, the other starts pushing his cock into you.

You feel his tip slide inside your hole, stretching it with a dull ache and you moan into your palm, as your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He’s perfect and his cock is finally inside you. At least just his tip.

“So tight. Maybe you’re a slut only for me? How many dicks enjoyed your sweet cunt, sweetheart?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you whisper, breathing heavily, drowning in the sensations his cock is giving you.

“Ya know I’ll ruin all the boys for ya, right?” he asks, rolling his hips just a little, still giving you only the tip.

You whimper and it’s the best response you manage to give, already drunk on him. You notice that he’s struggling, his forehead sweaty, teeth chewing on his plush lower lip as he’s trying to control himself and not slam the whole length into your pussy. He just needs a little push.

“Sir, may I have more, please?” You ask softly as your hand inches to his cock and you brush his stiffness with the pads of your fingers.

Joel watches your digits slide over the soft skin of his shaft while your tight cunt is swallowing his tip and he curses.

“Shit. A tip is never enough, baby, I know. Especially for such a greedy pussy like yours. She’s sucking me in so hard.”

You nod eagerly, brows pulled together, big doe eyes pleading.

“Who asked for just the tip? Now ya gotta come just from my head spreading your tight hole, ‘k?”

He’s clearly enjoying torturing you, a smirk tugging at his lips, and you clench your jaw with anger. Your good girl act is getting hard to keep up when your body and heart are demanding to be fucked properly.

You take a deep breath and beg one last time, “please, give me all of it. Wanna be full of your big cock, sir.”

Joel groans and suddenly his member leaves your pussy entirely.

“On your stomach, now,” he orders with steel in his voice, and you quickly turn over, lying down on your front and pushing your naked ass up for him.

“Don't want you to look at me when I’m fucking your cunt. Got it?”

His hands quickly grab your hips and lift your ass higher, making you stand on your knees, while your cheek is resting on his pillow.

You’re speechless, anticipating what he’s going to do to you, and he slightly slaps your asscheek,

“I asked you a question, girl.”

“Yes, yes, I won’t look at you. Just fuck me. Ruin me, sir.”

“Good little slut,” he praises you, cupping your pussy and then softly slaps your wet folds with his big palm, making you whimper into the pillow that smells so much like him.

“Your kitty is purring for me, so sloppy and warm,”

Two of his fingers dip between your folds and he glides the pads from your entrance to your clit.

“Good kitty.”

You almost come just from his words and then jerk, when you feel his wet mouth on your desperate cunt.

His tongue dives between your folds and he slurps up the slick of your arousal, humming against your sensitive center. You clench the sheets with your fingers as your core burns with an upcoming climax.

“Fuck, yeah,” you moan and he rubs the back of your thighs with his big hands.

“Delicious little cunt,” he mumbles, as his tongue dances around your fluttering hole and his nose presses against your tight ring. He pushes his tongue inside you and begins fucking you with it. You push your face into the pillow, trying to muffle the moans, coming out of your mouth.

He expertly brings you closer to your release and when your legs start trembling, you come crying out into the bed. You’re trying your best not to plop on your stomach but thankfully he’s holding you steady with his hands on your hips, drinking your juices and moaning. His moans are so hot, their sound alone prolongs your orgasm and your body jerks, being hit with one wave of ecstasy after another.

When your climax dissipates, you slightly move away from him, and his hands let go of your body. You fall on your stomach, spent, sweaty and hot from Joel’s caress.

In a second you feel his body on yours and he presses you into the mattress with his weight.

“Still want my cock, baby?”

You feel his bare chest at your back, the heat of his skin reaching you even through your shirt.

“Yes, Mr Miller,” You softly mumble, reveling in the afterglow. Fortunately he gives you a few moments of respite, pinning you down with his body, his lips brushing the nape of your neck, thick fingers running over your arms. He’s so gentle with you, it makes your heart flutter.

Soon he lifts his weight off of you and sits between your legs. He grabs the back of your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading them wide and exposing both of your holes to his gaze.

Suddenly his thumb presses to your asshole and your muscles get taut, as you mewl, “Mr Miller, can we try it some other day?”

“What is it? My slut is scared of a little anal action?”

“A little? Your cock is huge, you’ll rip me in half,” you grumble and he chuckles.

“We should start somewhere, right?” He asks, massaging your tight ring with a pad of his thumb.

You moan a sultry ‘yeah’ and he spits on your asshole and pushes his thumb deeper.

“Shhh… relax for me, baby.” His voice is so gentle you immediately do as he says, and his thumb sinks in further.

“Yeah, just like that. Attagirl.”

Still keeping his thumb in your ass, Joel glides his hard member between your folds and positions his wet tip at your sopping pussy. He slowly starts pushing his cock in, inch by inch, while your walls are trying to accommodate his thick length and you slightly tilt your hips to make the angle more comfortable.

“Oh, baby,” Joel moans, as his member is slowly filling you. His fingers are digging into your hips and your core pulsates, welcoming every inch of him.

Soon his balls slap your pussy as he bottoms out and his tip pushes at your cervix. You take a deep breath and relax more around him, trying to memorize the feeling of him inside your pussy and ass.

“You’re so big, daddy”, you blurt out and he pulls his thumb out of your tight ring and slaps your asscheek with a grumble, “told ya yesterday, ‘no daddies.’” Your asshole clenches, already missing his thumb.

“I felt your dick twitch inside me just now. Admit it, you like it when I call you that, daddy,” you smirk, planting your palms on the bed and getting on your hands.

“Here’s my little brat,” he says, gliding his palms over your back and ass, lifting your shirt, as your body erupts in chills. You take it off completely and he bends over. You feel his chest pressed to your back, and your whole body vibrates at the sensation of his skin against yours.

“It feels so good,” you whimper, gripping his cock with your walls but his gentleness is gone as he clenches a fist of your hair and slightly tilts your head to growl in your ear,

“I’m gonna ruin your little needy hole right now and ya gonna be a good girl and call me ‘Sir’ and only ‘sir’. Is it clear?”

Your chest is heaving, your pussy is fluttering around his cock, your core burns with lust. You’d do anything for him right at that moment.

“Yes,” you breath out and he slightly shakes your head still gripping your hair, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,”

“That’s my girl.”

As soon as he says it, his chest leaves your back as he straightens up and grabs your hips.

He starts railing you with hard and fast strokes, without mercy hitting your ass with his thrusts.

You’re biting your lips trying not to moan loudly, not wanting to wake up Sarah, while her dad is fucking your ‘little needy hole’.

Joel tries to be quiet too but an occasional groan still leaves his lips, making you know he’s enjoying your wet tight pussy.

“Fuckin’ hell. Oh, yeah… shit,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slower, letting you feel every ridge of his cock. His palms caress your back before one hand slides down to your pussy. He bends over a little and his fingers find your clit.

“C’mon, you owe me one more, baby,” he murmurs, swirling your twitching bud, slick with your juices.

You moan and then gasp when he grabs you by your arm and pulls you flush to his chest. His hand is rubbing your clit, while the other wraps around your throat to hold you close to him.

His body is engulfing you, his scent is everywhere, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt, it’s too much and it’s not enough.

So you turn your head to him to look into his face. You stare at each for a few seconds. His eyes, blown and full of lust, mirror yours and you silently plead for his lips, when your gaze slides down to them.

“I told you not to look at me,” he chastises you but there’s no bite in his words. His hips are still moving slowly as he’s feeding his cock to your pussy, thick fingers still playing with your clit.

“Please, sir,” you whisper almost silently and he leans closer and gives you a kiss, languid and deep, passionate and sweet at the same time.

The taste of him adds to the blissful sensations and you come on his cock, moaning into his mouth, as he’s drinking your soft sounds. Your pussy clenching his cock sends him over the edge and he starts spilling his cum inside you, bucking his hips with every squirt of his load.

You feel the warmth pool inside of you as he plunges his length in over and over until his cum drips out your stretched hole.

Soon Joel sits on his heels and pulls you down on his lap. You both rest for a few moments, your back against his chest, his softening cock still snuggly inside you.

He nuzzles the crease of your neck, as his hands glide over your belly, breasts and arms.

“You need to go to bed, baby”, he whispers and you turn your head, noticing the first rays of the sunset, coloring the sky with a peachy light.

You get off him and he takes you to the bathroom. He helps you clean up and leaves you so you could pee.

When you return, he hands you your shirt and the ripped panties.

“I’ll get you a new pair. Something less slutty.”

You smile and step closer to him, not quite knowing how to behave around Mr Miller now.

“Can I come here tomorrow?” You ask, raising your big eyes at him, and add, “sir.”

He’s looking at you, brows furrowed in thought, as he’s tracing your features with his warm eyes.

The moment lasts forever but he finally responds, hugging you close and mumbling into your ear,

“Fuck it. If ya want, I’m gonna fuck your sweet pussy every night you’re here.”

You gush again and happily whisper ‘I do’, nuzzling his scruffy cheek.

*****

Thank you for reading!🌺

Please consider commenting and reblogging if you enjoyed the fic!💖

American Beauty || Masterlist

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @littlemisspascal @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

Also tagging @604to647 @fruityreads @noceurous @joelmillerisapunk @janaispunk @morallyinept ♥️

If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Stay Down

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Joel thought he had grown accustomed to fear until he finds you covered in blood.

Excerpt: He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Warnings: stitching of a wound, kissing, blood, blood loss, so much yearning, unestablished relationship, probably incorrect gun talk, Joel is scared of feelings.

A/N: This is me coping with the fact that we do not get more last of us in January. Also partially inspired by my favorite song maybe ever.

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

Joel had found his hands becoming more and more susceptible to the cold as he got older.

They would crack and bleed, flaking dried skin within his decades-old gloves before November had even begun. This not only hurt like hell, but forced him to slow down and think about what he was doing to his body for once in his life. He had a harder time gripping the reins on a horse or fingering the trigger on a shotgun. Noticeably so. And living in a small town with a little brother foaming at the mouth to make old man jokes didn't help matters.

This is what led him to you.

He wouldn't call you a hoarder. Honestly, he would be the first to admit that you were one of the smartest people in Jackson. You had somehow become one of the most materialistically rich people in the town. You consistently managed to find the most randomly useful items on your patrols, things that people before the outbreak would never have even thought to miss.

Things like shoe insoles, ball point pens, Chapstick.

And luckily for him, lotion.

You never charged anyone for taking from what you had. Furthermore, you actively asked people if they needed anything. Even offering to scout around the area in search of specifics. Joel hadn't been around that kind of softness since...

Well, a long time.

This made him uncharacteristically nervous when he first approached your doorstep, but he knocked anyway. He had never in a million years expected to leave that house satisfied in more ways than one.

He blamed it on that stupid crinkle the skin underneath your eyes got whenever you smiled at him. He couldn't help but fall into your light.

This started a... friendship. Of sorts. He would come over when he needed you, and you would happily oblige. As time went on, the visits to yours became more and more frequent, frequent enough that the rest of the town seemed to be catching on. At least, that's what his brother had been hinting at through jabs and side comments.

"You smiled at me the other day, Joel," Tommy had said. "Actually smiled."

Joel responded with a gesture he was hoping Ellie would not pick up anytime soon.

Joel was...happy. Happy with the arrangement. He had a warm body – a fucking gorgeous warm body – to get his energy out with, and the woman inside the body seemingly had no issue with his lack of strings attached.

And yet, for some reason, this annoyed him.

There was some undetectable, bruised part of him that wanted you to…what exactly? Fight him on it? Confess your undying love for him? Pull him back into bed to cuddle?

There had to be either pheromones or crack cocaine in that honeyed floral perfume you always wore. You were beginning to drive him this insane. Unfortunately for him, the place he went when he was beginning to toe that line into insanity was always you.

Joel had checked the schedule posted in the main square, assigning every able-bodied person shifts of patrol. You had a shift earlier in the day, which usually kept you busy until noon. You would then shower, eat, and spend the rest of the afternoon doing whatever the hell you wanted.

Overtime, these mental gymnastics became muscle memory to Joel.

He huffed as he lugged his aching legs up your steps, their typical milk white now coated in an ugly muddy brown. Winter had begun, apparent by the puffs of Joel’s own breaths, and the snow in Jackson was trying desperately to keep up.

Joel balled his hands into fists as he planted both feet onto your porch, blowing into them quickly, before knocking three times. Spaced out enough, but not too much. He envisioned you smiling as you heard his signature knock, but cringed at himself internally, burying the thought instantly.

It fluttered back to the surface when he heard the pads of your footsteps somewhere in the house begin but extinguished itself when they dissipated.

He waited a few more seconds, the rational part of his brain saying that you must be in the middle of something, but the man part of his brain imagining you putting on your silky red robe he loved so much, only for him to take it off you so slowly it made his own fingers shake. He breathed in deep, the laundry detergent from his nylon coat mixed with the beginnings of December filling his nose, and cracked his neck while rocking back and forth on his heels.

His eyebrows came together when he heard another rustle, then nothing.

He knocked again.

Still, nothing,

He knew you were in there – he could hear you, clear as day, and he knew you could hear him – but for some reason, you weren’t coming to the door.

His much too weathered mind began to race, thinking of three possible explanations. One, you heard him knocking, and were ignoring him. Two, you somehow were not hearing him knock on the door. Or three, you for some reason were not able to get to the door.

Meaning, there was a possibility you weren’t alone in there, and not by choice.

“Y/N?” he asked loudly. “Y/N, are you in there?”

Nothing. A bit more rustling, maybe a slight groan, but nothing.

Joel’s fingers began to tingle, and it wasn’t from the cold. He knocked again, harder.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” he said loudly, “just…just tell me you’re okay.”

Silence.

He gripped the doorknob and jiggled it, hard enough for the wood to groan underneath his fingertips, but it was locked from the inside. He huffed, knocking again, his hot breaths now clouding his face. He felt an ache in his wrist.

He said your name one more time, hearing the beginnings of a voice he knew better than he should have muffled by the wood, and the door was flat in front of him before he could think twice.

He stomped his way inside, coating the ground with mud and snow, and his eyes darted around the familiar living room. His vision was tunneled, scrounging for the shape of you on the floor, draped over the couch, held at gunpoint. His heart pulsed in his ears.

You weren’t in the living room.

He stomped into the kitchen, the bathroom, the basement, nothing. All that was left was the bedroom.

There was no way in hell you were still asleep.

He practically sprinted to the room, preparing himself. He had seen what men did to women, the remnants of it anyway, and despite his state of denial, he could never in a million years handle the sight of you that way. In your own bed. In your own house. Likely one of your own friends.

He pulled open the door anyway, and was met with gold.

The room was dim except for the lamps you loved so dearly, spreading their warm, glowing, honeyed light across the room in streaks. He blinked his eyes to adjust, focusing in on your body on the bed. You were facing him, skin painted with similar golden streaks, highlighting the tears culminating under your eyes. You were sat crisscrossed, upper body totally bare, back slouched tightly, your body practically folded in on itself. Your right hand was pressed against your left shoulder blade, while your other was filled with wine-colored rags.

Blood-soaked rags.

His eyes met yours quickly, and despite their dampness, they still had that fucking crinkle.

You chuckled, your shoulders dropping up and down quickly as they always do.

“You know,” you said, voice curdled and tired, “if someone doesn’t answer the door, that’s usually them saying ‘leave me the hell alone.”

You chuckled again, this time finishing it off with a wince.

His hand slid slowly from the doorknob as he took a hesitant step towards you, his body tearing itself in half. One side begging to fold your body into him, bubbling you in a cocoon. The other, itching to tear whatever did this to you apart ligament by ligament.

Your eyes slowly drooped from humor to something like shame, like a kicked dog or a broken child, and he stepped forward again.

“Don’t,” you countered weakly. “Just…just don’t.”

You scooted away from him slightly, refusing to look at him, and applied more pressure to whatever was expelling that much blood from your shoulder. Pain was suddenly present in your face.

“You want me to leave?” he quickly countered.

You said nothing.

He walked to you, removing the hand you had pressed against your wound, and sucked in a quick breath.

“Probably the first time you’ve seen a revolver bullet in about twenty years, huh Joel?” you asked, chuckling once more.

He barely heard you.

You had gotten the bullet out, but it had sunken in deep. The skin around it was red and welting, so swollen that Joel had to guess you had already been working on it for at least an hour. He winced, imagining what kind of pain you were in, and the fact that you were dealing with it all yourself.

He swallowed grimly.

“Hand me that rag,” he said. He could tell how little strength you had left to fight him by how quickly the rag flopped into his hand.

He pressed it to the wound, and you hissed.

“Fuck Joel,” you whined, squeezing the covers of your bed so tightly your knuckles went white. He held his pressure, forcing himself to think straight.

He might as well have been feeling the pain in his own shoulder.

He finally eased his pressure, wiping away as much blood from the area as he could.

“You cleaned it pretty well,” he said softly, voice thick in his throat, so thick it was hard to speak. “But…it’s gonna need a stich or two.”

“Or seven,” you said, grabbing the first aid kit sat in the middle of the bed. You opened the bag with shaking hands, taking out the needle and thread. You attempted to begin threading the needle, but with your hands quaking so fiercely you only produced frustrated grunts and sighs. He moved to the front of the bed, the front of his body facing yours, and took the needle and thread from your hands, setting them to the side. He then held your hands in his, squeezing them slightly, before using one to tilt your chin up at him.

He sighed at the storm in your eyes.

“What happened?”

“Did you kick my fucking door down?”

“What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened.”

He sighed again. “You’ve never once been stupid.”

“Today I was.”

“How?”

“It’s how I always am.” Your voice cracked. “Thought I could pick some apples for Mrs. Lawrence down the street. She always talks about how much she loved that as a kid – a freshly picked apple. Went out too far. Felt a sudden burning in my shoulder and ended up having to take out six hunters all by myself. Six.”

A single tear dripped from your left eye, the gold from the lamps turning it to sunlight.

“I could’ve died. All for a fucking apple.”

You turned away from him again, and it took everything in him not to cup your face in his hands and turn you back to him. He had never seen you like this before. So… raw. Beaten. Trampled. Doused in self-hatred. He hated it.

And yet, he didn’t want to look away. He was slowly realizing that this was the part of you he had been desperate to see. Truth. Undercarriage. Weakness.

Human.

He swallowed, attempting to choose his words carefully. He had never been good with them, attributing his deficiency to a long line of likewise men before him. His brain poured for sonnets, poetry, prose that he had read in his insignificant time on this planet. Something to impress you, distract you, to take away that crestfallen look in your eye.

He couldn’t do it. He never would be. So, he used his mouth for something else.

Slowly, gentler than he ever had in his life, he brought his mouth to your cheekbone. You exhaled a prolonged breath, the heat of it cascading down the left side of his neck. It only prompted him to kiss you more, and more, and more. His lips traveling up into your hairline, across your forehead, down your nose, and finally onto your lips. His kiss there was tongueless, rather a soft press, and yet it meant more to him than any other one you had ever shared.

He could tell by your breathing that you agreed.

He pressed his forehead against yours, swallowing thickly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t know…I don’t know what I would do if you did.”

Your stormy eyes turned into a sunrise, and Joel straightened his aching back to slowly remove his coat and boots. He placed them on the floor beside your bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You watched him just the same, mouth propped open slightly.

He smirked as he set his things down. He then picked up the needle and thread while using his free hand to frame your face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, his thumb stroking your chin. “I promise.”

You nodded. “I know you will.”

His lips wanted to meet yours so badly it hurt, but he needed to stitch you. Quickly. For a wound as deep as the one you had, it should have been closed up hours ago.

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t.

He walked to the edge of the bed and turned you around, leaning you into him slightly to give your pretzeled back some support, and began.  

You were surprisingly unreactive when he first inserted the needle, taking it as delicately as he possibly could. It wasn’t until he began to tug the skin together that your body showed signs of pain.

“You’re going too slow,” you mumbled softly after he finished the second stitch. “Please go faster.”

His hands began to shake at your request. He didn’t blame you. Speed would make it hurt worse, but be over with quicker. He squeezed the top of your shoulder in response, threading the needle quickly and stitching over the center of the wound.

You let out a high-pitched whine, gripping onto the comforter at your side, and he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your neck.

He let your breathing steady, then stitched again, this time kissing your shoulder blade.

Another stitch, a kiss across your shoulders.

Another stitch, a kiss down your spine.

Another stitch, a kiss on your lower back.

After every stitch, he planted one. Something in him couldn’t help it.

He made his final stitch and cut the thread quickly, sealing it with a kiss on the side of your face. He tasted a mix of salty tears and heat from your skin. He watched your throat bobble as he moved away, finishing off the wound with a final cleaning. Alcohol and blood filled the air, along with undertones of sweat.

He had a feeling that last aroma came mostly from him.

He threw the needle and thread away into the small garbage can you kept near your bed before turning back to face you. You rested on the balls of your palms, leaning back to look at him as he walked back towards you. There was pain visible behind your eyes, he could see it, but they were coated in something else. Something somehow rawer than before.

“You should rest now,” he said, scruff evident in his voice from lack of use. He cleared it quickly. “You took a hell of a hit.”

You didn’t move. Joel moved to the first aid kit still sitting in the middle of the bed and used the (what had to be decades old) wet wipes on his hands. He tossed those as well, but you still hadn’t moved.

“There somethin’ on my face?”

You cracked a small smile. “Thank you, Joel,” you said quietly.

He hummed. “Don’t mention it.” He then leaned forward and scooped your body into his arms. You involuntarily rested against him, eyes fluttering already, but he set you down beneath your sheets and swiftly pulled them over you.

He laughed at your fight against your own exhaustion, pushing stray hairs away from your forehead. He pulled away from you, beginning to walk out of the room. A fierce grip pulled him backwards.

“Stay,” you mumbled weakly. “Please stay.”

He inhaled deeply. The sweet cocktail of your voice mixed with those words fucking inebriating him, so much so he was surprised he was still standing up straight. He felt physically winded.

He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back. Stay down.”

You smiled, loosening your grip, letting your hand fall back into the bed.

Joel walked quietly out of the room but would be the last to admit how he practically sprinted to your kitchen and scoured your cabinets like a man being chased. He found your pain meds, pouring two into his hand, and filling up a small glass of water. He gave a slow, silent jog back to your room.

He felt equally as winded when he caught the view of the setting sun between your windows, glazing over you like a statue in Rome he had once seen on a traveling magazine. The streaks of leftover tears were highlighted in the light, as well as a small crease in your brow.

That is what told him you were not quite yet out cold.

He brought the meds and water to you, tucking your hair behind your ear to alert you of his presence. You opened your eyes and practically inhaled the medicine before laying back down on your side.

Joel removed his shirt in a blink and tucked himself in behind you, ensuring your stitches were not firmly pressed against him, but pressed just enough to ease soreness. You curved into him perfectly, as he did to you. He wrapped his arm around your frame, taking your hands in his and massaging them gently.

You hummed. “Promise you’ll stay?”

He knew your voice like that better than any man in the world.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder. “I’m stayin.’”

Tag List: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

@untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @daphne-turner @leeeesahhh

[milla-frenchy]

Breathe

4k9 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller x raider Series summary: you’ve been kidnapped by raiders, Joel is their leader. Women who don’t “behave” are locked in a place you call “the shithouse”. You live in your own house, “freely”. You and your roommate, Vic, became girlfriends. Joel, Tommy and the guards have free use of the women in the camp, while respecting Joel's strict rules. Chapt summary: Joel wants to make things clear, if you ever decide to oppose him again. Him and Tommy use you for an "initiation" Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dead dove. Dark - noncon (captivity, threat) / dubcon Gangbang, dvp, oral (f/m), spitting, spanking, rough sex, degradation, praise kink, size kink, piv, rimming, anal, creampies, angst a/n: Heed the warnings. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, do not pursue reading. I don't condone any of this. Thank you @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for beta-ing 💕🫶 The Prodigy - Breathe | playlist | ao3 | series masterlist

Main masterlist - Part 4

The next morning while you and Vic were still sleeping, Joel brushed your cheek to wake you up. He asked her to go to her bedroom then changed your bandage gently so as not to hurt you, asking if it was painful. He placed medicine and bandages on the dresser, and left saying he was letting you rest. You didn't see him or any guards for two days, until one of them came and told you to follow him. You tensed up when you approached the shithouse, but you didn’t ask why you were there. You knew it was pointless, the explanations would come in due time, probably from Joel, not from a guard. You approached one of the bedrooms and you heard grunts and moans. Your discomfort grew.

“Stay here,” he told you, after letting you into the room. The smell was terrible. Still made of cum and piss. You tried to look away as she tried to catch your gaze, silently begging for your help. You wanted to cry knowing there was nothing you could do for her. Nausea seized you. Three guards took turns between her thighs. Tears ran down her cheeks but there was nothing human in these men’s eyes or words. They were taking, taking, taking. Raping. Feeding on her fear as much as her body. The mattress was even dirtier than the first time Joel had brought you there, the day you had to choose your fate.

When all three had come inside her, they passed by you, staring at you from head to toe and you placed your hands in front of your chest as an illusory protection. Once gone, you moved closer to her after grabbing a dirty blanket from the corner of the room to cover her.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m sorry.” She was crying and was ashamed, as if it was her fault. You hated them. The door opened and Joel entered.

“Having a good day, Julie?”, he asked.

You hated him now, and he saw it when your eyes met. He grabbed your elbow and led you out of the room.

“You’re gonna get her killed.” You were so shocked that you were shaking, barely managing to keep your composure. You hoped not to show him but your guts knew better than your mind. This man felt the slightest emotions that emanated from a person, and he used them. Whether to make them feel bad or good, depending on what he wanted. He was way too good at this, and it was probably why he was still alive, running raiders camp in the lost world. 

“Getting fucked ain’t gonna kill her.”

“Come on, Joel! She is poorly nourished, probably has lots of deficiencies and perhaps an infection. Not to mention a psychological damage. Have you really lost all humanity?”

You were trying not to cry. You imagined far too easily how you could have been in her place.

“You know I don’t. You're still there”, pointing with his chin at the house where you lived. “In your pretty bedroom. With your pretty girlfriend.”

The way he said it made you shiver. You showed him your bandaged hand, to make him think about you, rather than her.

“What’s your point? You think those guys, the one that railed her, wouldn’t have done worse?”

“What do you want me to say? That you're less of an asshole than them? Still an asshole to me.”

You wondered if you were going too far but you were too upset by what you had just witnessed. “Why did you show me this? Those guys? You’re gonna threaten to send me there again?”

“No. No I won’t. We both know it wouldn’t work.” You looked at each other, waiting for the other one to speak. He spoke first.

“You think you have leverage on me, that I love your pussy too much to throw you to these men. And maybe it’s true. But now I have leverage on you too. I know how much you care about her. So if you piss me off again she’s gonna be thrown here and fucked an entire day by these guys. To teach YOU a lesson. She doesn't need one, she knows her place.”

"You disgust me."

“Oh, baby. You hate me now, but you love my cock as much as I love your cunt. You may have forgotten it for now, but you’ll remember it when you’ll moan, bouncing on it. Go back to your house now, lesson’s over.”

You insulted him in every possible way in your head, while he looked at you with his arrogant smirk. Fully aware of what was on your mind. Your heart sank thinking about Vic, and you went straight to your room, hoping that sleep would make you forget everything else.

Footsteps woke you up in the middle of the night, just before a guard entered your room and asked you to follow him. It was unusual. When one of them wanted to fuck you at night, he would do it in your bedroom and then leave. As if they wanted to leave their scent in your bed. You were even more surprised when you saw that he wasn't taking you to the fuckhouse. Or the shithouse. For a moment you couldn’t help but be afraid that Joel would “teach you” another lesson there.

The guard led you to a house you had never been in and knocked on the door. You heard Joel shoot “come in”. The man closed the door behind you, and Joel told you to go upstairs. He was lying on a bed, in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Is it…?” you started to ask.

“My bedroom, yeah.”

You looked around. The furniture, the way the room was organized. Everything was clean and tidy. You looked at the window, illuminated by a nearby lamp. Pink, blue and purple paper butterflies were hanging there, moving with the breeze that brushed against them. Everything was minimalistic in his room, and this childish touch of color stood out from everything else. You turned to him with a confused expression and he took a moment before responding.

“A reminder of my daughter.” A veil formed over his eyes. Your heart sank when you heard this confession. With those words, you suddenly realized two things. He had experienced a loss that broke his heart, and you had a special place for him. A part of you had already known it, but now you couldn’t deny it anymore. And somehow, it complicated things for you. From the beginning, you wanted to hate him. But your heart wavered because of Joel's behavior. You knew you were suffering Stockholm syndrome, you knew that your instincts were doing what they could to help you survive, at almost any price. But it wasn't just that.

And now, you didn't know why or how, but this special place you had, was there. Even if he was capable of acting like an asshole, to fuck you with three other guys or to throw you out to all his men. Or to cut your fucking pinky. But he decided to tell you that and your heart was racing. His constant hot and cold behavior was driving you crazy.

“How’s your finger?”

“Great, for a cut off one.”

It made him smile. You, not so much.

He stood up and came up to you, and surprised you again when he asked if he could hold you. You considered saying no to him, but that wasn’t what you wanted. Even if you hated yourself for it. So you nodded and he took you in his arms, and for a few minutes your body relaxed, enjoying the security he was offering you. Your body was lost in his arms, and you loved that feeling, that strength all around you. And not directed against you, for once. He took your chin between his fingers and lifted it towards him. His brown eyes, which sometimes turned black. But not there. And he kissed you. He’d done it before, while he was fucking you, but never like this. His lips were soft and warm. His hands slid down your body, brushing against your breasts, and you shivered. He removed your top and slid his hand between your breasts, rubbing their curvature. Then your pants, getting on his knees to remove them from your feet. Your panties, while he was still kneeling in front of you. He looked at your pussy and brushed your folds with his thumb.

“Lie down on the bed,” he said.

“Can you…” you stopped, not daring to go further in your request.

“Can I what?”

“Take off your clothes? I’d like you to be naked, like me.”

“Ok, baby,” he replied.

“Can I do it?”

He nodded, and let you take off his t-shirt, pants and boxers. He was barefoot.

“Thank you”, you breathed out, before going to lie down. He knelt at the foot of the bed, sliding you over to him. He was calm. Different from the other times when he had fucked you alone. As if he was less harsh. As if he was human, at least a part of him. The emotions were so strange in that new world. And even more so when you were in captivity. Used.

When he placed his lips on your pussy, you forgot the rest. His tongue brushed against your folds up to your clit, before his lips gripped it, sucked on it, kissed it.

“Open up for me,” he said.

You folded your legs further, resting them against the bed. He spread your folds with his hands and spat on your clit then on your folds, before sliding his thumb on your delicate skin. “Joel…” you whispered. He didn’t respond, preferring to slide his tongue into your pussy, groaning between your thighs. Fucking you with it and collecting all your wetness. Digging as far as possible. His thumb twirling over your clit. Sometimes he would let his saliva flow onto your clit again. The feeling of it flowing over you, before he spread it with his thumb, electrified you.

“Good girl,” he said, just before he moved his tongue up to your clit and buried two of his fingers in your pussy. His other hand was on your stomach, caressing your skin. As if he wanted to feel your stomach moving up and down, following the pace of his fingers or tongue. You felt your orgasm building. He spat one last time, knowing the effect it had on you. You came on his fingers, your pussy clenching on them. You heard him moan, tongue resting on your clit. Feeling its jolts.

Then he crawled over to you, a firm hand around his hard, thick cock. He nestled it at your entrance and pushed in without waiting. Eyes staring into yours, until you had to close yours, trying to get used to his size. He was spreading your folds with his cock, without forcing but without slowing down either. Until he bottomed out.

“I love to fuck you, you’re right”, he confessed in your ear. “Best pussy I’ve ever fucked, maybe. Takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good.” You whined against his neck.

“Told you, baby. You love my cock as much as I love your cunt.” You didn't want to think about it. You were there because they had captured you, because you were forced to let him, them, fuck you.  As if he knew what you were thinking, he added, "yeah, since the beginning, you're getting off on being fucked by raiders."

There he was again, that Joel you hated. Your whole body contracted as you tried to push him off of you but he tightened his grip, continuing to fuck you slowly, growling in your neck.

And you hated it but you couldn't deny the heat that rose in your core, his cock rubbing against your g spot, and his lower stomach against your clit. 

“Yeah, baby, just like that. You’re gonna come on my cock.”

“Yeah…I…fuck, Joel…”

“Come on, baby, I missed your cunt these last days. I missed stuffing you full of my cock.”

He wrapped his arms under your shoulders and pulled you close.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you feel.”

“I…I feel it coming. Growing in me. It’s so good, so warm. Why do you…Oh god…I’m gonna…Joel, Joel…”

“Why do I what?”

“Shit…why do you make me feel so good…”

He growled, and added “come on, baby, squeeze my dick. Come on it, then I’ll fill you up.”

You put your legs on his lower back, allowing him to fill you deeply, completely, as he was thrusting in just as slowly.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah…just like that baby.”

You dug your nails into his flesh as the wave hit you. He kept his body against yours, his cock buried deep inside you without moving, just to feel the jerks of your pussy on his cock. Until he came too, just by being clenched by your folds, and shot his cum deep inside you. He lay on top of you for a few minutes, then he withdrew. He told you the guard was going to take you to your house. You picked up your clothes, put them back on and left. On your way back home, you tried to stop your tears from falling. As if your heart expected that he would treat you differently, less harshly, after that moment. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. What you were thinking, how you could be so naive. He was just a raider.

The days passed. The multiple fucks too.  With time you learned to keep yourself busy. Learned to sew, knit. Tinkering, refinishing furniture. The men brought back various things from their raids. Women were not allowed to leave the camp of course, to avoid the risk of them escaping. At first, time passed agonizingly slowly and you were bored, but refused to participate in activities with other people. To meet other people, chat with them. As if that would mean you were giving in. And then you broke down and took some seeds available in the warehouse. You planted them in the vegetable garden. It was the first activity you got involved in.

Loads of books were available and you had discovered many authors. The days were passing faster now. Sometimes you couldn't help but wonder what you would do if you could leave this camp. If you could survive, and how. If you would come across worse than the men there.

One day you noticed a new soldier. Young, early 20s. And your heart sank thinking of those young people who had only known that violent world. What would their life be like, in another universe? He wouldn’t become a raider, who learnt that women were only a resource. You hated this world so much. Several times you felt his gaze on you. A look still pure, despite everything.

“You like her?” Joel asked him.

“Well…she’s pretty.”

“Yeah, she is. Wanna fuck her? You had the talk with Tommy, right?”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know, I’ve never done that.”

“What, you’re a virgin?”

“No. But…I’ve never fucked a woman who didn’t want it.”

“Yeah well, it’s not a problem here, kiddo.”

You knew they were talking about you even if you couldn’t hear them. Joel wasn’t exactly discreet.

When a guard came for you that night and brought you to the fuck house, you knew what was going to happen. Joel, Tommy, and the young guard were already there, waiting for you. 

“Hey sweetheart, always a pleasure to see you”, Tommy said, grabbing your ass and kissing you, as he always did. “This kid here has some things to learn about the camp. You’re gonna be a good girl and help him with that, ok?” As if you had the choice. You shrugged. 

“But well, once he tastes this pussy, the others will seem bland to him.”

“Don’t be rude, Tommy. We have other good pussies to fuck. Her roommate, for example.”

They both sneered. “Assholes”, you thought. Tommy laughed, seeing your face. “Ok, sweetheart, let him taste your mouth.”

You knelt in front of the guard, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. He smelled good. He was semi-hard, looking down at you. Embarrassed. As if you were in a position of strength against him. You wondered how long it would take before it would change.

You took his cock in your hand and let your saliva run down his tip. Spread it with your thumb, then jerked it gently.

“I wonder how long it’ll take him to paint her face,” Tommy chuckled.

“No, no no. Not too fast, kiddo. We like to fuck them when they’re full of cum. Stuff her at least long enough to cum inside.”

You saw him blush. At least women weren't the only victims of their degradation, and somehow that made you happy. You moved closer to him and licked his tip gently, tasting his precum. He jumped and you smiled, before taking him in your mouth, continuing to jerk him gently. His cock was an average size, and you didn't need to get used to its thickness between your lips. You moved down his shaft, keeping your fist clenched at the base of his cock. Picking up the pace slightly, you began to suck him at a steady pace. His precum flowed down your throat, and you heard him moan.

“How does that feel, kiddo?”, asked Joel.

“Good, fucking good”, he answered. “And you…really fuck her, all of them, when you want?”

“Yeah. Day, night. You can fuck them alone, or with other guards. As you wish. But you do it the way I say. You make them cum, you don't hit them. You can slap them a little, we all like it when our cock is buried in their pussy, but not more than that. You have the ones from the shithouse if you need to let off some steam.” You stiffened when you heard him speak like that.

“Fuck…ok, ok.”

Your saliva ran down his shaft and you licked it.

“Oh fuck…ma’am…” Tommy and Joel snickered, hearing him.

“He’s cute”, added Tommy. The guard didn't even hear him.

“Wait, or I’m gonna come, they said I couldn’t do that uh…in your mouth.”

“Come lie down on the bed, baby. He's gonna fuck you. How do you want it, man?”

“All fours? Is that ok?” he asked, looking at you.

He was sweet and cute, and despite the incongruous situation you wanted to counterbalance the attitude of the two brothers.

“Of course”, you answered. You settled onto your hands and knees, waiting for him to come behind you. He knelt down and hesitated.

“But uh…what if I can’t make her come?”

The brothers laughed. You couldn’t imagine how he must feel, having to fuck you in front of both of them, as if it was something normal, while they didn’t even hold back their laughs. He was still so pure.

“It’s ok, kiddo,” Joel replied. “You’re young, you gotta learn. We’ll make her come, don’t worry.”

“Are you two gonna...make love to her, after me?”

“Oh yeah…my brother and I, we’re gonna make love to her. Don’t worry ��bout that.”

The guard moved closer to you, placing his hands on your hips before grabbing his cock and sliding down to your entrance.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, when your pussy clenched against his shaft.

“Yeah, she’s tight. We still don’t know how she manages to take both of our cocks at the same time, in that tight pussy”, said Tommy.

“Two? Are you both fucking her at the same time? In the same hole?”

“In the same hole, yeah. Or one in her cunt and the other in her ass. Depending on what we want.”

“Oh, man…” 

He started to fuck you. He was clearly not experienced, his movements were clumsy. But he wasn't abrupt, wasn’t hurting you. He spread your ass cheeks slightly, probably looking at your ring.

“Ever fucked an ass before?”

“Oh, fuck…I’m gonna…shit. Oh damn it was close. No, never.”

“You’re gonna love it. Even tighter than her pussy. Much tighter. The first few times you'll probably cum just from digging your tip into that hole.”

You heard him moan, and he came in your pussy, grunting, clinging to your hips.

“Ok kiddo, not so bad, but you gotta practice. Ever ate a pussy?”

“Yeah, well…a couple times.”

“You gotta learn to make them come that way. And when you’re really good at it, you'll make them cum by rubbing their clit while you’re fucking them. And then, just with your cock. Right, baby? She loves that.”

You blushed with this allusion to the night at his house, and the guard pulled out.

“Ok kiddo. Lesson number 2. You’re gonna watch us fuck her.”

“Come sit on my cock, baby. Hurry up, don't waste his cum, wanna fuck you through it”, Joel told you, spanking your ass. He sat against the headboard and you straddled him. His gaze was unfathomable, but it wasn't the same man who had fucked you missionary in his bedroom. He was good at compartmentalizing, much better than you. You grabbed his cock and impaled yourself on it gently. “Fuck”, you mumbled. He was thick, much thicker than the guard, and you needed to lower yourself onto it slowly.

“You missed my cock, baby?” he asked you with a smirk.

You dug your nails into the flesh of his shoulders, as you gradually sank onto his shaft.

He smiled and grabbed your shoulder, and added “I missed your cunt too. God, I love to fuck you when you’re full of cum.”

The guard’s cum helped you get used to his cock. Joel grabbed your ass with his hands and started bouncing you on his cock. You bit your lip. Tommy was sat in a chair by the bed, his dick in his hand, and said “you look so fuckin’ pretty bouncing on my brother’s cock, baby.”

He came closer, jerking off, and said “suck my dick, baby. Make it wet, we’re gonna need it.”

You wondered how he was going to fuck you, but whether it was in your pussy too or in your ass, you knew you had to make it easier for you. He slipped his cock into your mouth without waiting.

“Shit, yeah, you’re hot baby, suckin’ my brother’s cock.”

He had slowed down the pace to allow you to suck Tommy properly.

“Look at that Joel, the kiddo is already hard again.”

“Nice. You’re gonna have another lesson today. Sharing a cunt with another cock. I hope you’re not one of those who doesn’t want two cocks touching?”

“No…no I don’t mind.”

“Good.”

Tommy kept thrusting into your mouth, while Joel's hand on the back of your head accompanied your movements until he shifted it to stroke your clit with his thumb. His cock was rubbing your core, filling you perfectly, as his finger was swirling your clit. Every time they both fucked you, you always forgot at one point or another the situation you were in. Only focusing on your sensations, and theirs.

“Look at that, kiddo. She’s gonna come soon. She loves taking our cocks so much, like a good little whore. Right, baby?”

You nodded, your mouth around Tommy's shaft.

“Yeah she’s so good at this. Prettiest mouth and prettiest cunt. Taking us so well”, Tommy added.

Your pussy contracted more and more on Joel's shaft, as his thumb gave you what you needed, until you came all over his cock.

“There we go…you’re doing great, baby.”

Tommy pulled out of your mouth, holding your cheek with his hand while you came down from your orgasm. Joel pulled you towards him, leaning forward to offer you to Tommy, who was already kneeling behind you.

“Ok, baby. One more dick”, he said.

“Yeah, that's what you want, baby, right?”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder. You were used to both of them taking you by now. Used to the feeling of your pussy spreading on both of their cocks. Even if it still stretched painfully, as the second one thrust in. And somehow, taking them both, that abandonment, strangely made you forget your life in the camp.

You felt Tommy’s hand on your hip, and the head of his cock pressing against the dick already inside you. Using it to slide his member in.

“Oh fuck, men…that’s so hot,” said the guard who had moved closer to watch.

“Relax, baby…let me in. Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

Tommy's praise had always helped you to relax, to turn you on. Today, like any other day. He usually did it in a lighter way than Joel, perhaps less degrading.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

You did as he said, breathing slowly until his tip slid into your pussy, spreading you completely. You whined into Joel’s neck. 

“That’s a good girl”, he praised you.

“Look at you takin’ these cocks baby”, added Tommy as he continued to thrust in. “Yeah, just like that. One more dick in that cunt.”

They slid into you slowly, then gradually increased the pace. You heard them growl. Joel against your ear, Tommy on the back of your head.

“Gonna take my place after I fill her, man?” Tommy asked the guard.

“Yeah…fuck…Sure.”

“We’re stretching her good, damn…”

Tommy grunted and you felt his hot cum fill you, then some of it leaked out of your pussy.

“Thank you baby, another great fuck”, he said, kissing your shoulder.

You whimpered when he pulled out. Joel remained still and the guard knelt behind you again.

“Take it easy, don’t hurt her. Lean against my cock and slide gently.”

“Ok, sir”, he replied.

He rested his cock against Joel's, covered in Tommy's cum, and thrusted his tip in.

“Oh, fuck, she’s so tight.”

“Yeah, she is. That's good, uh? Come on kiddo, slide in. Slowly.”

The guard placed one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, holding on for leverage. And they started to fuck you. Sometimes sliding together, sometimes alternating rhythms.

“You’re ok, baby? You’re taking our cocks so good, fuck…”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m ok.”

“You’re such a slut, baby…Always ready for more” you heard Tommy say.

“I’m…I’m gonna cum”, the guard whined.

“Come on, kiddo, fill her up. Then I’ll fuck her like she needs to get fucked”, Joel said as he looked at you, grabbing your cheeks in his hands and keeping you facing him.

You heard the guard grunt then freeze, adding his cum to Tommy's.

“Ah fuuuuuck, that’s hot, baby. You never disappoint”, Joel said.

The guard pulled out, and so did Joel, as he told you to stand on all fours while he knelt behind you.

“Yeah, I finally got this pretty pussy all to myself. I'm gonna fuck you rough baby. I know you want it. Hope I'll feel something. We really ruined you, uh?”

He slid into your pussy without waiting, hands clinging to your shoulders. Fucking you hard, without respite. Then he spat on your ass, rubbing your ring with his thumb, his other hand on your waist.

“Gonna fuck that ass. Pussy’s too ruined.”

“Wait, Joel!”

“Calm down, ain’t gonna hurt you.”

He pulled away, licking your ring and spitting on it as he jerked off. Then he positioned his cock covered by your wetness and the other men cum at your entrance.

“See, kiddo…that ass” - he thrust his tip in - “is so good” - pulled back - “that I can never stay too long” - he thrust in totally - “without fucking it. Oh fuck!!”

You laid your head on the pillow, moaning and fisting the pillow, as his hands were buried in the flesh of your hips, fucking your ass hard and deep. You heard him growl more and more.

“Look at that kiddo, she’s taking it so good”, Tommy praised you.

Joel thrust in a few more times, hands frozen on your hips, then he stopped, flooding your ass with his cum. He stayed there while he caught his breath, then withdrew.

“Kiddo, go pick up her girlfriend in 30 minutes.”

Then he looked at you and added “we have to keep teaching him how to fuck”, smirking.

You went back home.

When Vic finally came home that night, you were waiting for her to go to bed. But the guard didn't leave, and told you to follow him, from the front door.

“Jesus Christ…how many times does he need to fuck today?” you mumbled, looking at her.

He didn’t accompany you to the fuckhouse, but to Joel's house, once again. You went upstairs and heard the shower running. You sat on Joel’s bed waiting for him to finish. When he came out a few minutes later, in boxers and a towel around his neck, his hair was still wet and drops of water were beading on his curls. He was magnificent, from head to toe. You looked at his body as he walked towards you. Several scars covered his torso.

“You’re staring, baby”, he said with a smile.

“Yeah, well…not only men can do that.”

He smiled even more when he heard you. He brushed past you without touching you, and went to bed. “You’re gonna sleep with me tonight.”

“What…I…didn’t bring any sleeping clothes.”

“You won’t need them.”

Part 6

*************

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[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world! 

playlist 

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ��Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

���You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

[delusionallydemure]

home | j. miller

pairing: joel miller x reader

cw: smooshy fluff, no y/n, blank reader

wc: 123

an: just a silly little random thing about joel, will probably delete later

He tends to linger long after he’s extricated himself from your tangled limbs.

His potent warmth. His gentle aroma. His delicate caresses that accompany his whispered desires.

His presence idles in the hours that stretch on in his absence.

It’s no surprise that he fills your every thought, so consumed by each detailed remembrance of your life with him, effortlessly distracting you from your mundane tasks.

He craves you the minute the front door clicks closed. Seeking you out within the walls of the well-worn house is a hunt he never passes on, eager to endure day after day.

After your bodies have reconnected and settled, heart’s beating against one another, that familiar tingle he so easily summons blooms deep in your chest— home.

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[aphrcdites]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[colmiillo]

When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

[bethsvrse]

me staring at my ceiling after y/n does the most FLABBERGASTING thing ever

[l0caltiredgirl]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Talking Body

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Summary: After months of getting to know Joel Miller, your attraction to him finally comes to its peek with your mouth between his legs.

Excerpt: “You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?” 

You could tell you were shocking him - you were shocking yourself - so much so that any semblance of his own voice seemed to be knocked from his lungs. He could only nod, a flush making its way up his neck. 

You nearly kissed him right then, but you didn’t. Instead, you practically clamored over the back of the couch onto the cushions before taking another step onto the floor, standing up straight in front of Joel, admiring his legs fully spread and his eyes fully blown wide.

You then sank to your knees.”

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, undefined relationship, jackson!joel, SMUT, oral male receiving, so much praise kink on joel’s end, and just as much on reader’s end, cum play, reader is scared of commitment, ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 3.6k 

A/N: This is so self-indulgent and dirty I am so not sorry. 

read part II here

Pedro Masterlist

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(gif from pinterest)

He would come to you at night, only at night, seconds after the sun finally hit the west side of the earth. You would wait for his footsteps, mistaking every gust of wind or squawk of crow for them, your heart lurching every time. 

You tried to convince yourself your heart wasn’t in it, these meetings at dusk, but the thought of them ending hurt more than the pain of everything about them being hazy and indefinite.

The worst part about them, however, was that they weren’t even for sex.

He would knock, knowing that the door was already unlocked, and you would kindly remind him of that from your living room couch. You had a working theory he did it just to hear your voice, but even you could not think about that long enough without seeds of doubt planting themselves in your brain. He would then open the door slowly, politely, and close it just as delicately. He would hang up his coat, untie the laces of his worn leather boots, and make eye-contact with you as he slid them off, whispering “hey.” 

“Hey” you would respond in a whisper, grinning at the thought of him acting like 8:30 at night was late enough to be whispering. 

He would rub his hands together, blow in them to warm them, and make his way to you, plopping down on the couch next to you. 

And then you would just...talk. And drink. And laugh. And cry. For hours.

You looked forward to it more than anything you could remember.

Tonight, you had something special for the man you had come to know. He always drank your cheap, watered-down beer with a grin of contentment on his face, thanking you for it and offering something in return. Ever the gentlemen, even in an apocalypse. But earlier in the day, you had bartered for something you had been searching for for months.

In his own words, “the best fuckin’ thing to ever come out of Texas,” Macallan whiskey, distilled in 1988, as well as two bourbon glasses and fresh ice. 

You could not wait to see the look on his face. His grins were common, but true smiles were rare. You were hopeful you could pull one out of him tonight.

The night was getting darker and darker as you double checked your set up - making sure the ice had not yet melted, the glasses were straight on your coffee table, and your makeup was perfectly casual - and waited for his familiar footsteps. Your heart pounded in your ears and the same anxious thought raced around your mind for what felt like hours on end.

What if he never comes back?

You were straightening the glasses for what had to have been the twentieth time when the distinct pattern of the scuff of his boots on the dirt that you had memorized to the millisecond hit your ears, and your breath escaped you. 

You got nervous every time, and you knew exactly why.

The two-one-one pattern of his knock echoed through your house, and after a loud “it’s open” from you, the hinges of your door squeaked, and none other than Joel Miller was leaning on your doorframe, accentuating his shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe itself. 

“Hey,” he said, breathily. It was almost a sigh. Whether it was of relief or exhaustion, you were unsure.

“Hey,” you said back with a smile. “Come on in. I have a surprise.”

He grinned and leaned down to remove his boots. Only this time, his eyes remained on the laces, not on you.

It didn’t scare you, but it did give you the slightest sting across your chest.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch as he headed over to you, rolling his shoulders as he walked, and plopped himself down on the couch - legs spread, hands flat on the cushions, and head propped up just so.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing your coffee table.

“Rarer than gold, that’s what it is,” you replied, leaning forward to grab the bottle off the wood and hand it to him. “It’s the real shit.”

He held it in his hand for a moment and tilted it around and around, feeling and admiring every inch of it, before turning to you and saying, “Thank you.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his and your heart picked up speed as you mustered up a reply. “You’re welcome, now get her open. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

He scoffed a laugh as he unscrewed the cap, officially breaking the seal, and you couldn’t help but notice the depth of the circles under his eyes being slightly more pronounced. 

“Rough day?” you asked as he handed you back the bottle. The amber liquid coated the ice in your glasses to the brim.

He sighed, watching you pour. “Somethin’ like that.”

You handed him his glass and began pouring your own as you replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said as he leaned back into your couch, spreading his legs and pushing his crotch up to the ceiling, “I’m here now.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you topped off your glass, set the whiskey down, and leaned your body back to match his own.

You watched him take his first sip - throat bobbing as he swallowed, eyes closing as he soaked up the feeling, and mouth propping slightly open as it overwhelmed his taste buds. “Best fuckin’ thing out of Texas,” he exclaimed as he took another sip, and you took a sip as well.

“Excluding you, of course,” you replied as the burning liquid made its way down your throat. He scoffed once again, this time a bit more genuine. 

The two of you sat like that for some time - sipping your drinks, glancing at each other, relaxing into the couch, and enjoying the songs of the cicadas. After a few more moments, Joel’s husked voice broke the silence.

“Is it alright if we just...sit?” he asked suddenly, looking at you longingly. “In the quiet?”

“Of course, Joel,” you replied, voice equally dry from the liquor, “whatever you want.”

He nodded, and with one last sigh, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Finally, you thought, finally I have the chance to really look at him.

And you took the opportunity for the rarity that it was.

You noticed everything. How his neck was slightly tanner at the front, littered with moles. How his jaw cut through the golden lighting of your lamps like a knife, and the small area of his cheek missing a bit more stubble than the rest did the same. How, when his eyes were shut, his long lashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones just so. How his thighs fit his jeans just right, highlighting their width. How his forearms peaked from his green shirt, highlighting the veins in his wrist and his hands. His right hand wrapped around the entirety of the burbon glass, giving your lower stomach a zap of heat. 

And his shoulders, good lord. Just as broad as they were against the doorframe, only they still seemed...hunched, Tight. Like he was on guard still, despite his liberal body language.

Your fingers tingled to...touch them. Feel them in their entirety and bring them back down from their proximity to his ears.

Before you let yourself think, you were setting down your glass and moving behind the couch, letting your hands hover over his clothed shoulder blades. 

Had they become tighter since you moved?

“Joel?” you asked from above, looking down at the top of his head.

“Hm?” he questioned, his voice slightly shaking.

With equally shaky hands, you pressed down onto his shoulders with your thumbs, and began to roll them. “Is this okay?”

His mouth opened, his tongue wet his lips, and his throat bobbed as he said, “Yes.”

And so, you did exactly what you had wanted to do for months: turned Joel Miller into putty with your fingers.

You began with the center of his back, rolling his skin with the joints in your wrists. You didn’t press hard, merely maneuvering the skin to find any apparent knots or sweet spots. It was when you finally did find one on his left shoulder blade that Joel couldn’t help but let his head tilt back, an exhale of relief exiting his now parted lips before he could stop himself.

“Good lord,” he groaned, “it’s worse than I thought.”

“I’ve got you,” you replied, “just relax.”

And he did. For what had to have been hours, you kneaded and manipulated across his shoulders and down his back as he exhaled and groaned, communicating only through sound. Occasionally he would take a sip of his whiskey, raising his arm behind him to offer you a sip every time.

You were happy to oblige.

After the sun had finally set and his glass was finally emptied, your fingers had made their way around to his right shoulder, targeting the area directly under his neck. He had been silent for some time, you were nearly convinced he had fallen asleep sitting up, but with one firm stroke of your thumb up the area, his head finally lost its battle against gravity, and fell back onto the cushion behind his head. His head hit quickly, but his exhale of the perfect mix of pleasure and pain hit your ears first.

And now he was staring up at you, your face hovering over his as you remained standing behind the couch, and everything in your body that had already been warmed suddenly turned molten. 

His previously light brown eyes were now nearly black, and in that exact moment, a beam of understanding passed between your intersected gazes. 

He wanted you to kiss him.

Luckily for you, however, you still had an ember of self-control left in your body, and despite how fiercely your body burned to give him exactly what he wanted, you wanted something else. You wanted to feel his body, know his body, before knowing how his heart felt for you. Because, eventually, that meant he would have to know how yours felt for him, and that scared you more than the apocalypse happening outside your window. A kiss, even a peck, was much too close to that grand reveal for your liking.

So instead, you did the other thing you had been wanting to do for months: memorize the exact texture of Joel Miller’s skin. 

You carded your fingers through his slowly greying scalp, digging your nails in slightly, and his eyes fluttered, slightly, nearly breaking your matched gazes. Your fingers moved on their own accord, once again finding the spots that made him exhale a bit deeper than the others, and they found themselves slowly migrating down to his face - tracing the jaw you loved so much, his curved nose,  his pouted lips.

A voice that had to have been your own suddenly filled the air. “I want to touch you, Joel. More of you.” Your thumb traced over his bottom lip. “All of you.”

His hot breath hit your thumb as he replied, “Yes.”

You swept the hair from his forehead and hummed. “Do you want my mouth on you?” 

You could tell you were shocking him - you were shocking yourself - so much so that any semblance of his own voice seemed to be knocked from his lungs. He could only nod, a flush making its way up his neck. 

You nearly kissed him right then, but you didn’t. Instead, you practically clamored over the back of the couch onto the cushions before taking another step onto the floor, standing up straight in front of Joel, admiring his legs fully spread and his eyes fully blown wide.

You then sank to your knees.

“Wait,” Joel said as you reached for the faded-brown belt on his waist. “Darlin’, don’t you want...somethin’? From me?”

You knew what he meant. Don’t you want to come too? Be touched too? Be worshiped too?

You smiled up at him and said, “Joel, I don’t want anything from you.”

To any other person, the statement sounded vile. But to him, it sounded like heaven. 

I don’t want your protection. I don't want your help. I don't want your advice. I just want you.

“Alright,” he replied, grinning, and slowly leaned back into the couch.

Finally, you had him. 

You proceeded to remove his belt - slowly, methodically - and unzip his jeans. His dark grey boxers were soon revealed to you, and you could not help but grin at the teepee beginning to form in them. 

“It’s the whiskey,” he joked, “can’t help it.” 

You laughed, and without missing a beat, began to palm him through the fabric. His laughter swiftly turned into a groan, and his left hand gripped the leather armrest so fiercely the squeak of the fabric on his sweaty hands echoed throughout the house. 

“Y/N,” he exclaimed, “God please.”

You smirked, “okay.”

You then dragged his jeans down his legs, taking the time to admire the sculpture that was Joel Miller’s thighs, before you pulled them completely off his feet. You then took the opportunity while you had it and kissed and nibbled all around his exposed inner thighs. His breaths increased in pace and depth so much that it was almost comical. 

“Still want my mouth on you?” you asked as you began to suck a hickey onto his right thigh. 

“Fuck yes,” he replied, “fuck yes.”

You tucked your nails under the waistband of his underwear, and pulled until he was finally free.

Even at first glance, you were unsure if you could fit even half of it in your mouth.

You made eye-contact with him once again, noting how fucking good he looked fully revealed for you, and began to slide your hand underneath his shirt. revealing just the beginnings of a happy trail and a tummy -

- before a soft, gentle hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“Not - not my shirt,” Joel said, still panting, but with a tensity back in his shoulders. “Not right now.”

You nodded, and quickly removed your hand, moving it back down to his thighs again and kissing the marks you had made previously.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he said, so weakly you couldn’t help but pity him, “I’m just -”

“I know what you are, Joel,” you stated firmly, “I know who you are.”

With one final glace up at him, you wrapped your hand around his length, giving it a pump, and said, “That’s why I’m on my knees.”

And that’s when Joel Miller did anything but relax.

As you pumped him, slowly, his chest puffed and his arms flexed, so much so you were surprised it was not ripping at the seams. His face became sweaty, his ears turned bright red, and his mouth officially lost any shred of the filter he had before.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned as you slid your hand up and down his shaft, finding a rhythm, “you...how are you doin’ that so well?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” you replied, slowly working your fingers down to his balls, “because you deserve this. Your body...you’ve got a perfect one. You know that, right?”

His throat bobbled as he stared down at you, obviously not used to any sort of praise. You’d have to fix that.

Without warning, once again, you cupped his balls and slid his dick down your throat, fully tasting the heat and fragrance of it, and Joel could not help but push your mouth deeper into the motion and release a noise guttural and raw. He sounded like a man possessed, wounded by the feeling of a woman’s mouth around him. 

And lord was the taste of him mixed with the leftover whiskey on your tongue a perfect cocktail of heaven and hell. 

You began to bob your head, moving the way he guided you with his hand tangled in your hair, and through his groans and whines, you could make out one specific sentence that sprouted from Joel’s mouth.

“You’re the best - best - goddamn thing to happen to me in... a long fuckin’ time.”

He had lamented to you before about his struggles with Ellie. How she had eventually figured out his lies, what he truly did at that firefly hospital, and how she had yet to forgive him. Every night you met, he would find a way to mention it, and even now with his dick so far down your throat you could feel his hairs tickling your nose, you found a way to understand.

And the fact that you - you - were what he needed, your talks with him were giving him what he needed, so much so that you were “the best goddamn thing to happen to him in a long fuckin’ time...”

...the only way you could think to show him how much his words meant to you was to pull away from him, and start licking lines up his veins, making eye-contact with him once again.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, gripping the leather once again, “look up at me like that.”

“Why?” you questioned, continuing to trace all of him with your tongue.

“Because it’s the reason I’m so fuckin’ tired today,” he replied, his shirt beginning to change shades around his chest, “fuckin’ dreamed of this - of you doin’ this - last night. Felt so fuckin’ dirty I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus on patrol. Couldn’t look you in the eye while takin’ off my boots.”

You whined around his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, causing him to gasp.

“Look so much prettier than I could - could have imagined.”

You hadn’t been grinding on yourself until that moment - wanting to focus on him, pleasuring him - but the depth of the drawl of his voice that you had come to know so well saying those words about you gave you no other choice. Suddenly, your heel was against your clit, and as his precum dripped from your mouth when you went in for more and more of him, your heel gave you the perfect relief. 

It took him a few seconds to catch on to what you were doing, but once he did, his eyes glowed in the lamplight, and his face formed into a real - true - smile. One that touched his eyes, crinkling them slightly, and was so wide that his tongue touched the roof of his mouth.

He looked almost...boyish. Sincerely joyful. Sincerely present. Sincerely Joel.

And that was enough motivation for you to stick the entirety of him in your mouth.

Within seconds, his hand in your hair tightened, and he began rocking his dick into your mouth. Your eyes watered, and his did too. 

“Can I... can I come?” he asked. “Right now?” His voice was nasaled and desperate.

You nodded, and with one last thrust, he spilled into your mouth, filling it completely. You swallowed as much as you could, but some dribbled, mixing with the tears already streaming down your cheeks. You looked up at him as he came into your mouth, continuing to grind into yourself as his eyes squeezed shut, his lips trembled, his eyebrows came together, and the veins in his neck bulged. 

Maybe, in that moment, he was the best thing that ever happened to you. 

When his eyes finally opened and met your own was when you released him from your mouth with a slight pop, and as you did, a small bead of cum and spit stretched between his dick and your mouth, dribbling onto your shirt when the distance between the two finally became too much for it.

He looked at you like you were an angel sent from heaven, baptising him with the dirtiest things.

“Hi handsome,” you said, still staring up at him, and he wiped the cum away from your chin with his thumb. He cupped your jaw with that same hand, and just...admired you. For those few seconds, everything was perfect. For those few seconds, he was yours, and you were his.

Until, after he traced your cheekbone with his thumb, he whispered, “I’ve gotta go home.”

You were positive the hurt showed on your face, but the logical side of your brain screamed right back at it. 

Of course he would leave. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. No matter how late he stayed, the depths of what he revealed, or how intense the glances between you, he always went home. Always.

You were a fool to think otherwise, even after this.

You nodded, swallowing the remainder of his cum in your throat, and backed yourself onto your butt so he could pull his underwear and jeans back on. You couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at you. 

He stood up, extended an arm to help you onto wobbly feet, and with one last look into your eye, he began his walk back towards your door. 

“Keep the whiskey,” he said as he pulled his shoes on, not even bothering to tie them, and he was out your door.

That same torturous, vile, nauseating thought that fell over you every time he left your home, fell over you when he drank your drinks, and filled you with the apprehension to not kiss him in the first place ratted in your brain when the ache of the absence of his presence hit you.

Will he ever come back? 

Taglist: (please let me know if you would like to be added :))

@leahkenobi​  @untitledarea​ @avengersfan25 @lexloon​ @aninnai​ @darling-murdock​  @daphne-turner​ @ellesvoid @morks-watermelon​

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[itshelia]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

[moonxnite]

y’all ever fantasize about a fictional character a little too hard to the point you’re convinced you should be admitted to a mental hospital?

[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading