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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

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Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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marzipanandminutiae · 1 year ago

Photo

"the rich jeweler"

(I find the title interesting because it positions her as a working woman- not quite part of the same socially prestigious "old money" class as her clientele despite her wealth and occupational proximity to that world)

La riche bijoutière. / No 22. Têtes de femmes. Lithographs, 1828 – 1829, Paris. Designed by Charles Philipon. Printed by Joséphine-Clémence Formentin. Published by Charles Tilt, London. Sold by François Pierre Janet. Musée Carnavalet, Histoire de Paris

#history #I'm doing a project on Boston dressmakers of the gilded age for work right now so this is on my mind #women who are expected to dress and act like their clientele for the sake of their business but will never be considered their equals #you wouldn't invite your jeweler or your dressmaker to a formal ball at your elegant mansion- however essential their services are #it seems to me that they occupied a liminal space less understood to us now in a time when most people of all social classes work

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toxicanonymity · 1 month ago

Note

hello, my dearest Toxy🩶

with this ask I challenge you to write a ficlet (or anything bigger if you want) inspired by this screenshot:

may the writing muses be with you,

kissing you on your forehead (if you allow it not then just waving from the distance!)

the gusset

2k, "daddy" Joel x f!reader x uncle tommy

Tyvm for the inspo, Aly! And for all your beautiful gifs🖤 love you *forehead kiss*. 18+ MDNI cumplay, smut, incidental incest via double vag penetration & cum cleanup. ain't your thing? scroll on by. don't overthink it, mild weather, reader can wear Joel's shirt. masterlists: joel & uncle tommy, joel. AO3

“What's wrong, baby?” Joel asks in the rearview mirror as you squirm in your seat.

“Nothing, daddy. I'm just kinda--I'm fine.”

“You’re doin’ great, baby,” he says.

Uncle Tommy sympathizes, “panties take some gettin’ used to if ya’ain’t used to wearin’em, huh cupcake?”

Well, dry panties would be a different story. These are filled. They made sure of it before y’all left the house. One load from Tommy and two from Joel.

Each moment that passes, more of their spend oozes out of you and onto the soaked gusset. It's pouring out of you faster than the cotton gusset could absorb it, even if it weren't already soaked through. The abundance of cum has built up and formed a little pillow along your crotch. A growing pillow, threatening to spill under the elastic edges of the panties.

It's farmer’s market day. That's when Joel hauls some produce from Lincoln to the Boston QZ perimeter to trade. Last night, Tommy volunteered to do the job, and when you dared to ask if you could join, Joel said, let's all go. Joel hated to let you out of his sight and he couldn't bear to do it in public. You almost wonder if he filled you up on purpose so you wouldn't want to get out of the truck.

Now the bed of the truck is loaded with apples and peaches. You’re slouching in the back seat of the extended cab, trying to minimize the pressure on your panties. If the growing bulge of semen were to breach the underwear, it would be an even bigger mess than it already felt like.

It’s been turning you on, feeling their thick, warm seed ooze from your hole and fill up your whole slit, bit by bit. Gush by gush, it's occupied every crevice of your parts, coating the puffy outer lips of your tired pussy, then accumulating between the cotton and you.

While arousal stirs in your belly, your skin is hot with embarrassment knowing you’re going out in public. It feels indecent. Which somehow makes it hotter, at the same time. It’s an awful cycle, and the throbbing of your cunt churning out slick isn’t helping the near-overflow situation.

Joel glances in the rearview twice more, then suggests, “Why don't ya come sit in uncle Tommy's lap?”

“It's okay,” you reply.

Not used to your rejection, Tommy turns around with big, gentle eyes and a furrowed brow. “What's goin’ on, babygirl?”

Joel pulls over and your heart speeds up as the wheels slow on the pavement.

With the car in park, Joel unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches to the back seat. His tan forearm flexes with his green flannel rolled up over his elbow as he unbuckles your seatbelt. “Spread your legs, darlin’. an’ hike up that dress for me.”

You pull your dress up and spread your knees slightly.

“Spread’em, sugar. C’mon now, nothin’ to be shy about.”

You spread your legs wide, earning a soft, “Good girl,” from your daddy as his gaze settles between your legs and the bittersweet scent wafts to his nostrils and yours. Wetness trickles from your cunt into the crack of your butt. Joel reaches further and softly pats the soft, inflated crotch of your panties with his thumb. A drop escapes the side and he gives a low whistle.

Tommy looks back, cocking an eyebrow as he takes in the view, then his cheeks fill with air as he exhales.

“I’ll fix ya, baby. Hold on,” Joel exits the truck.

As Joel stands outside the truck and straightens his shirt, Tommy smiles at you and says, “Didn’t ‘spect ya to leak that much. We fucked ya wide open, didn’t we?”

Your upper body heats up and your lower body throbs as you remember how they did it.

~~~~///~~~~~

Tommy was laid back on the bed, reclining against the headboard, with you between his legs, speared on his cock. He had been fucking you excruciatingly slow in small strokes from the bottom, and you were gushing, desperate for more. He cradled your naked breasts and gushed, “She’s such a good girl,” with his cock stiff and throbbing in your cunt. He paused his movements.

“She sure is,” Joel agreed.

Tommy tilted his hips down and asked, “You good, cupcake?”

“Mmm,” you answered, lacking words. “Daddy” you looked at Joel with pleading eyes. You savored the brief burn as Joel squeezed his own tip into your occupied entrance right along with Uncle Tommy's cock. Joel leaned down and gave you a kiss as he let your body catch up. Then he asked, “Ready, baby?”, and you nodded dreamily. Dripping wet and ready.

Joel pushed his hips forward, stretching you with his rock hard manhood, more than doubling the girth inside you. At the same time, Tommy tilted his hips up to spear you deeper.

Your mouth hung open and you grunted with the stretch, then moaned at the push of their stiff cocks against your walls. You were packed full and could swear your sensitive walls felt the heartbeats of both dicks that were crammed inside you. Joel admired your face and when half his mouth broke into a smile, you realized you were drooling. From both mouths.

~~~~///~~~~~

Joel opens your door and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Lay back for me, darlin’.”

You lie flat on your back, and Joel arranges your legs so one foot is on the floor and one is on the seat, with your knee up. He lifts your dress higher and you feel air on your lower abdomen.

He gently thumbs your swollen panties, feeling the pocket of cum move under his touch. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. He slides his thumb gently up and down, watching the bulge move under the cotton, and you flinch in pleasure.

“Fuck,” Tommy whispers and palms himself in the front seat. The tips of Joel’s fingers rest warmly on the skin of your lower abdomen as he gently rubs your crotch with his massive thumb. He rubs with an upward stroke over your entrance, working some of the cum upward. The wetness creeps up your mound as he works to spread it. Each time his thumb passes over your clit, more tension builds in your core.

“Well shit,” Tommy marvels, watching. It must show on your face. “Can’t get enough, can she?”

Your hips begin to lift into Joel’s hand, and he watches your chest rise and fall. He settles into a trance, thumb moving on its own at a slow rhythm as he watches your nipples harden and feels you getting closer. “Daddy,” you whimper, and he pauses his efforts to rub you for pleasure. His thumb speeds up. “Daddy,” you whimper again, and unravel into a moan as you reach your peak.

Your walls spasm and push more cum out of you, creating a warm new bubble beneath the damp cotton Joel had just flattened. A growl escapes Joel’s chest at the sight. He pauses, then grabs you by both thighs to pull you closer to the door. The echo of your orgasm continues to ooze more of their seed out of you.

Tommy shudders, and you hear the squish of his fist around his cock. “Fill’er back up?” He offers.

Joel nods at him in agreement. You sigh in resignation to the utter mess between your legs. “It’s okay baby, I'll clean ya up,” Joel reassures you as Tommy exits the truck.

Joel steps out of the way and you look up to see Tommy’s kind eyes glued between your legs as he slowly strokes himself. “Ffuuck,” he mutters, and pulls you almost off the edge of the seat. “Sit up, honey,” he breathes, and you do.

With his thumb, he yanks your panties to the side, and the elastic crackles past its limit. Then you wrap your hands around his neck as he pulls you off the seat. You bury your face in his hair and whimper as he impales you on his cock. You sink onto him with ease, plugging what's left of the earlier cum, pushing it back up into you. He firmly holds your bottom, then begins to erupt, pulling you onto him as his seed throbs into you. His body jerks with a broken moan. He sighs as he finishes.

“Good girl,” he whispers with a squeeze of your butt, then bends his knees and helps you back onto the seat. He slides out of you and helps fix the crotch of your panties to cover you up again. Cum drips onto the leather beneath you. A product of the extra load as well as the loosened elastic on one side.

Tommy stuffs himself back in his jeans and gives Joel a nod.

“fraid it’s just gonna come right out,” Tommy chuckles.

“Savin' mine for the ride home,” Joel says, cupping his balls then squeezing the thick sausage sitting on his thigh before adding, “You're drivin’ home, buddy.”

“You got it,” Tommy agrees as he goes back around the truck.

You start to put your dress back down and Joel stops you with a gentle “not yet, darlin’, lemme see.”

He collects the spilled cum from the leather with a swipe of his thumb, then brings it to your lips. He presses his thumb gently into your mouth, against your soft tongue. You suck the digit clean. “good girl,” he says, “Lay down again for me.”

Joel kisses his sticky thumb as you assume the position again.

He uses the same thumb to trace the slightly loosened edge of the panties' crotch, then the other edge. “daddy, wait—If I come again, it’s gonna make a big mess,” you warn him.

“I know, babygirl. Ain’t gotta cum. Just relax.”

You trust him enough to un-tense your muscles and let him clean up.

“Attagirl.”

He dips his head between your legs and starts low, on your inner thigh where it meets your butt. He licks along the edge of the panties, dipping his tongue slightly under the crotch then forcing himself to withdraw it without going further. He goes back to tracing the edge.

When he’s licked up the seed that spilled from the gusset, he blows along the pantyline, then presses a soft kiss against your mound. He inspects the other side and repeats the remedy, although there isn’t as much to clean up. He taps his thumb against the cotton that covers your entrance, feeling only a small amount of cum give way. Far less than the earlier pillow.

He presses a soft kiss on your lower belly, just above your panties, then looks up and studies your face as he puts your dress back down. “Lay like that if ya want, baby. we’re almost there." He gives your thigh a squeeze and winks at you before closing the door.

“She’s somethin' else,” Tommy mutters as Joel gets back in the truck.

Before putting the truck in drive, Joel looks back and gently offers, “Don’t gotta get outta the car if ya don’t wanna, okay?” Tommy gives him a look.

You *knew* it! You try not to let it show on your face. He’s so controlling.

Well, Daddy’s not gonna get the satisfaction of you choosing to stay in the truck. Any type of outing is so rare that you have to take advantage to the fullest. You daydream about seeing a stray dog, sniffing around, following the scent of meat.

One time, Joel took you to an abandoned barn to gather some tools, and you met a barn cat. Anything was possible.

“Can we go by the old barn on the way home?” You ask from the back.

“We’ll see, baby,” Joel answers and you roll your eyes, out of his view since you’re lying down. You stew in frustration and by the time y’all park at the QZ perimeter trading tent, you’re trying to force away tears.

Joel gets out and looks in the backseat. “Stayin’ put?” He asks, then registers the look on your face. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He gets out and opens your door. “C’mere, talk to me.” he helps you sit up. You take a deep breath and look away, heat rising to your eyes.

“I do wanna get out,” you tell him.

He takes your jaw gently in his hand and makes you look at him. His brows knit in concern when your eyes meet. “Okay, you’ll get out,” he quietly agrees. “Hey, you’re okay, baby. You're okay.” He cradles the back of your head.

You try to fix your dress and Joel’s face changes from concern to pity. He untucks his flannel and starts unbuttoning it, strong forearms flexing. Your face softens and your eyes brighten, making Joel’s sparkle.

He helps you down from the truck, and his broad body blocks the view as he holds up his shirt for you. You admire the way his biceps and chest stretch his plain white under-tee before you turn around and slip your arms into the flannel. You turn around and while Joel is still facing you, he adjusts himself, then untucks his t-shirt. He takes your hand and says, “Uncle Tommy’s gonna unload. You stick with me.”

________________________________________________

Make sure you check out bonezone44's amazing artwork to see how Joel looks at the end.

thanks for reading!

Your comments delight me and help my confidence which helps me write. Love y'all.

#joel miller x reader x tommy miller #joel miller smut #iamasaddie game #toxicanonymity ☠️#tw daddy kink #uncle tommy #x reader #joel miller x reader

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buckets-and-trees · 2 months ago

Note

Did you intend to prompt more I'm Your Man Andy with this? Perhaps not, Kris, but... IYM!Andy's track record doesn't support doing things because YOU want him to, does it? 😏

Title: Burned Off the Haze

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 4.5k Summary: Things only continue to escalate after Andy's meeting your parents, and he only continues to keep his control of your lives together. Takes place directly after Don't Look Too Far.

Content/Warnings: emotional manipulation; mild smut: kissing, vaginal fingering; use of pet name (sweetheart)

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

A/N 2: No one should be surprised this man would make sure he got his week in the Countdown to Chris-mas!

You’re waiting impatiently for Andy to get home from his day at the country club with your father. You meet him at the top of the stairs leading from the garage on the lower level.

“When were you going to tell me you had decided on a wedding here in Boston instead of eloping?”

With casual determination, Andy wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close. His lips meet yours in a passionate, all-consuming kiss that sends shivers down your spine. Every touch ignites a fire within you, the intensity of his embrace leaving you breathless and wanting more. The world starts to fade away as you get lost in the moment with him, but then you push against his chest and turn your head away.

“Andy! Answer me!” you insist as you extricate yourself from his arms - though he lets you go freely, not forcing you to stay in his embrace.

“I would have told you over dinner last night, but…” he trails off, giving you a meaningful look.

You step back, putting more distance between you and Andy. "But what? I was too busy smashing up your cars?"

“No, you largely refused to talk to me through dinner. And then after,” Andy's lips quirk in amusement, "we were otherwise occupied the rest of the evening, if you recall."

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory of your passionate encounter. You push those thoughts aside, refusing to be distracted. "You made another huge decision without even consulting me."

“I only achieved what I have because I learned when to double down and when to pursue a different course of action,” Andy replies. “I thought you might prefer a proper wedding with your family and friends present."

You shake your head in frustration. "That's not the issue here, Andy. It's that you keep making these choices for us, for me, without including me in the process. Forcing our engagement, meeting my parents behind my back, making big calls about our wedding? What's next?"

Andy's eyes flash with irritation, his piercing blue gaze fixed on you. "After meeting your parents, I decided a small but proper wedding is the better move."

You narrow your eyes, sensing there's more to this sudden change of plans. "It can’t only be meeting my parents that inspired this change of heart; you’re not that sentimental."

Andy smirks. “Good assessment - your intelligence is one of the things that drew me to you. But your parents are good people who love you deeply,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone. “They've been dreaming of your wedding day probably since you were born. Your mother's eyes lit up when she talked about helping you choose a dress, about flowers and cake tastings. Your father... well, he tried to hide it, but I could see how much it would mean to him to walk you down the aisle."

He pauses, letting his words sink in. You feel a warmth in your heart for what he says about your parents because you know he’s not wrong, your mother had gushed about those very things while you had lunch together. But there’s also an ache in your throat because you’re so angry, you want to cry and yell and rage at him.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "And how does this suit your purposes, Andy?"

His eyes darken slightly as he regards you. "A proper society wedding cements our union in the eyes of both our worlds - the legitimate business sphere and the less legitimate one. It sends a clear message about my intentions."

"Your intentions?" you press, feeling a chill run down your spine.

Andy steps closer, his imposing frame looming over you. "That you are mine, irrevocably. That I will protect what's mine with everything I have." His voice is low, almost a growl. "And that anyone who even thinks of touching you or using you against me will face severe consequences."

You swallow hard, torn between fear and an unwelcome flicker of desire at his possessive words. "I'm not a possession, Andy. You can't just stake your claim."

Andy's eyes flash dangerously and in one swift motion he has you pinned against the wall, his body pressing into yours. One hand grips your hip while the other cups your face, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

"Can't I?" he growls, his voice low and rough. "You're wearing my ring. You're living in my home. You've shared my bed. Tell me, sweetheart, how are you not mine?"

Your breath catches in your throat. You want to argue, to push him away, but your traitorous body responds to his proximity. Heat pools in your core as his scent envelops you.

"I-" you start, but the words are cut off as Andy's mouth crashes down on yours.

The kiss is fierce, demanding, stealing your breath and your resistance. His tongue plunders your mouth as his body presses you firmly against the wall. You can feel every hard plane of his muscular form molded against your softer curves.

Despite your anger and frustration, your body betrays you. Your hands fist in his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. A moan escapes your throat, swallowed by his insistent lips.

Andy's hand slides from your hip to your thigh, hitching your leg up around his waist. The new angle allows him to grind against you, and you gasp at the friction. Your head falls back against the wall, breaking the kiss.

"Andy," you pant, your voice a mix of protest and plea.

He takes advantage of your exposed neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. He trails his lips up to your ear. "You are mine," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "Have I not made that clear from the first night I claimed you, sweetheart."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You want to argue, to deny the claim he's making on you, but your body is singing with need. Andy's hand slips under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You can’t tell me you don't want this," he challenges, his voice husky. “I know your body too well now. If I put my hand between your legs, I know I’ll find you wet for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Andy's words send a rush of heat through your body. You know he's right - you can feel the slick evidence of your arousal. But you refuse to give in so easily.

"That doesn't mean anything," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "My body's reactions don't change the fact that you're making decisions about our lives without me."

Andy pulls back slightly, his piercing blue eyes studying your face. His hand moves from under your shirt to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"Old habits die hard, sweetheart. I'm used to making decisions and having them followed without question."

You blink in surprise at his admission. It's more than you expected from him.

"But if I left every decision up to you now, we'd never get anywhere," Andy continues, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You'd keep fighting this, keep denying what's between us."

You want to argue, but you know there's truth in his words. You've been resisting at every turn, even as your body betrays you with its desire for him.

"That doesn't make it right," you say softly, your anger deflating slightly. "I need to have a say in my own life, Andy. In our life together, if that's what this is going to be. Do you even want that? Want us?"

Andy's eyes search yours for a long moment. "We will have our wedding, and I have some stipulations, but I’ll leave the rest to you. September fifteenth, and we leave the next day for our honeymoon in Italy."

It's not what you want, but it's the first thing he’s giving you. You let out a shaky breath, nodding.

He steps away from you completely, and your body falls forward slightly without his pinning you to the wall. Once he steadies you, he begins to walk away.

“The wedding planners will be here tomorrow morning at ten, and then after lunch I need you to accompany me to a business meeting with one of my lawyers.”

You stand there for a moment, processing Andy's words. A mixture of emotions swirls within you - frustration at his continued control, a flare of disappointment of him leaving you unsatisfied, and apprehension about these meetings he has already arranged.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts. "Wait," you call out. "Why are we meeting with a lawyer? Aren’t you technically a lawyer?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, turning back to look at you briefly, “but does a doctor not have their own doctors?”

You nod, and he resumes his progress down the hall.

You watch Andy walk away, your mind reeling from the conversation and the intense moment you just shared. Part of you wants to call him back, to continue the argument or maybe even give in to the desire still thrumming through your body. But you stay silent, letting him go.

Once he's out of sight, you slump against the wall, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. The whiplash of emotions - anger, frustration, desire, and now a strange brand of hopeful wariness - leaves you feeling drained.

You push yourself off the wall and make your way to the room you’ve been given as a personal study. You need time to process everything that just happened. As you enter, your eyes land on the engagement ring glittering on your finger. You twist it absently, thinking about Andy's words.

A proper wedding. Your parents' joy. Andy's claim on you. It's all so overwhelming.

But what haunts you is was what he didn’t say.

Does he want a life together? Does he want an us?

Caught in the danger of that before, you were able to get away, but there’s no telling how dangerous Andy Barber is. You’ve only witnessed a fraction of his power and control. He’s created a connection with your parents. You have no doubt he knows far too much valuable information about your life, so would any kind of escape even be possible? And if it were, would anyone you left behind be safe?

In the room you’ve been given as your study, you spend some time tending to your collection of potted plants, carefully trimming away a few dead leaves and watering where you find dry soil. You settle into your favorite armchair and immerse yourself in a novel, getting lost in its pages until the housekeeper interrupts to announce that dinner is ready. You make your way to the dining room, but notice that your partner Andy is not there. When you ask about his absence, you’re told he went out to tend to some business. Afterwards, you retreat to the couch in the living room and watch old episodes of your favorite sitcom, finding comfort in the familiar characters and laughter.

You go to sleep alone for the first time since the night of his gala.

The hours tick by as you lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. The vast emptiness of the king-sized mattress seems to mock you, a stark reminder of Andy's absence. The night stretches on endlessly as you toss and turn in the vast, empty bed. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes eleven, then midnight, then one. Where is Andy? What "business" could keep him out so late? You try to push away the nagging worry, reminding yourself that you shouldn't care, that his absence should be a relief. But a small traitorous part of your heart that has begun to yearn for his presence betrays you.

No, you don’t yearn for him. You’re just accustomed to him.

With each passing hour, your anxiety grows. Eventually you drift in and out of fitful sleep, your mind racing with thoughts of the day's events, the impending wedding, and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

You wake just enough to register Andy pulling your body to his chest as he settling in behind you. The first hints of dawn are only beginning to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of pink and gold, “Mmm, Andy?” you hum sleepily.

“Shh,” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, “you can sleep, sweetheart.”

And so you drift off again, unaware of your body softening in his arms.

But when your alarm goes off at seven, you’re alone in the bed once again.

You tell yourself you’re relieved.

You stretch and yawn, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess from your restless night. As you sit up, your eyes land on a note propped against the lamp on your nightstand. Andy's precise handwriting stares back at you:

Meeting ran late. Had to leave early for another. Remember - wedding planners at 10. Wear something nice for the lawyer meeting after lunch. - Andy

You crumple the note in your fist, a mixture of frustration and disappointment churning in your gut. Even when he's not here, Andy is directing your day. You force yourself out of bed, determined to at least choose your own outfit for the morning.

After a quick shower, you select a casual but stylish ensemble - fitted jeans and a soft, short sleeved sweater in a deep emerald green that brings out your eyes. As you're applying the last touches of makeup, your phone chimes with a text from your mom. The one silver lining with the turn of events after the weekend is that your relationship with your parents is back on track since you’re no longer hiding a sudden and inexplicable engagement to Andy.

After a solitary breakfast, you go back to your study and set to work at a beautiful desk near one of the windows, diving into emails and looking over the calendar of upcoming events and the needs for your team this week to be ready for your weekly 11am strategy session.

Back in the spring when you had taken on Andy Barber as a client for the largest gala and one of the largest events your company had ever planned, you had strategically not accepted any book dates for a full six weeks afterwards. You had wanted to ensure that everything went off perfect for the Barber Gala without compromising any events that would come right in its wake. The fee for the services of you and your team was more than enough to accommodate that break in the events schedule, and it was a decision that you were infinitely glad you had made as it had worked out well for suddenly being ensnared into Andy’s life. Rather than renting any formal office space, you and your team worked remotely and always went to clients and vendors or the event venue to meet rather than making them come to you. It had the added benefit of building rapport with people you worked with and enhancing your reputation as being a team who valued the partner you were working with.

With the break in the schedule and fully remote office, you had been able to fully put off any revelation about your new arrangements with your team of three. Even with the video chats, you’d simply used virtual backgrounds to mask your new surroundings.

You manage to wrap up the agenda for your 11am a few minutes before the wedding planners are expected to arrive. You tap your pen on your planner, mulling things over. Since events are in your blood, it’s possible you could wrap up an initial meeting with the wedding planners before your team’s meeting - especially because you’ve been through all this before, you know who the best vendors are, and you have stowed away a slew of ideas for the wedding you thought may at some point take place in the future with some unknown future husband. Worst case scenario, you’ll excuse yourself from Andy and the wedding planners for a few minutes at eleven to jump on the call, say you’ve got an awful headache or something, and hand over the meeting to your number two, Effy, and then get back to Andy. Something tells you Andy would not love you bailing completely at 11.

Satisfied enough with your game plan, you close your laptop and head toward the front of the palatial home to be present when the wedding planners arrive.

“Just in time,” Andy says as you enter the foyer.

You freeze momentarily at the sound and sight of Andy. He's leaning against the doorframe of his study, looking impeccable in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks. His blue eyes rake over you appreciatively.

"You look nice," he says, his voice low and intimate.

“Thank you,” you respond, trying to keep your voice neutral.

He reaches you and cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. Before you can react, he leans in and captures your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Despite your desire to stay simmering with anger at him, you find yourself melting into the kiss - as always, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "Good morning, sweetheart," he murmurs.

You're about to respond when the doorbell chimes, signaling the arrival of the wedding planners. Andy's hands drop from your face, one sliding down to the small of your back as he guides you towards the door.

"Shall we?" he asks, his tone light but leaving no room for argument.

You nod, squaring your shoulders as Andy opens the door to reveal the wedding planners.

Better known as your team - Effy, Lila, and Dev.

They cheer and shout “Surprise” and “Congratulations” and rush in with champagne, flowers, and a platter of pastries and fruit from one of your favorite bakery vendors.

Your jaw drops as you stare at your team in disbelief. Effy, your right-hand woman, is beaming as she holds out a bottle of Dom Pérignon. Lila, your creative genius, is practically bouncing with excitement, her arms full of a stunning bouquet of peonies and garden roses in shades of blush and cream. Dev, your logistics wizard, balances a tray laden with an assortment of pastries from Maison de Sucre, the French bakery you've used for countless events.

"What... how?" you stammer, torn between shock, joy, and a surge of anger at Andy for orchestrating this without your knowledge.

"Andy called us yesterday," Effy explains, her eyes sparkling. "He thought you might appreciate some familiar faces to help plan your big day - and who else would you trust to plan a rush wedding?"

You turn to glare at Andy, but he merely smirks. You’re acutely aware of not only a need to keep up appearances, but a want to save face on your part, as well. So as they laugh at your glare, you quickly shift into a pleasant game face and channel the part of you that does want to share in the excitement of your team, and rush to give them hugs and usher them inside.

in just under two hours, most of your wedding is planned. Your team came prepared, knew your tastes, and had connections they were ready and eager to tap for your whirlwind wedding.

Playing the part of Andy’s blissfully happy fiancé to keep your team from suspecting anything was amiss had been difficult and yet simple in equal measure.

Andy offers to leave when you suggest that you touch base for the weekly strategy session, but your team encourages him to stay. So he does. You marvel at how masterfully he charms everyone around him. You know he often manages this with you, as well.

Everything is on track with your team for the upcoming events - including a redistribution of tasks and responsibilities that they’ve already discussed to lighten your load leading up to the wedding. They insist so you can take care of all the bride things they imagine you’ll be doing leading up to the nuptials. Your eyes meet Andy’s, and you see the glow of satisfaction radiating off of him.

Your team begins to pack up their materials. You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. On one hand, you're touched by their enthusiasm and grateful for their expertise, their thoughtfulness. On the other, you feel guilty for the deception, for allowing them to believe in a fairytale romance that doesn't truly exist.

"Well, I think we've made excellent progress," Effy says, closing her laptop with a satisfied smile. "We'll get started on the vendor contracts right away and have them ready for your review by tomorrow afternoon."

You nod and smile. "Thank you all so much. I... I don't know what to say."

Lila gives you a warm hug. "We're just so happy for you! And don't worry about a thing - we'll make sure your day is absolutely perfect."

“I know you will.”

As they gather their things and head towards the door, you notice Andy hanging back, eyes ever watching all your interactions.

You walk your team to the door, exchanging final hugs and promises to touch base soon. As Dev, the last to leave, steps out, he turns back with a grin.

"By the way, boss, nice job keeping this under wraps. We had no idea!"

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as hollow as it feels. "Well, you know me. I love a good surprise."

As soon as the door closes behind them, you lean against it, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. When you open them, Andy is standing before you, his expression unreadable.

"That went well," he says casually.

You push off the door, anger flaring. "You had no right to involve my team without telling me."

Andy raises an eyebrow. "You wouldn’t have agreed, I know you’ll appreciate the gesture in the end, and they’re the best in the business, are they not?"

"That's not the point," you snap. "This is what we talked about yesterday! Making decisions without me!”

“This was already arranged before that discussion, and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he says with a smirk. “You love a good surprise - you just said so yourself.”

You raise your hand to slap him, but he catches your wrist, his smirk vanishing, replaced with a stern look. You huff and try to pull away, but Andy's grip on your wrist tightens, his eyes darkening with a dangerous glint. In the next instant, he pulls you flush against his body, his other hand snaking around your waist to hold you in place. The sudden movement knocks the breath from your lungs, and you're acutely aware of every hard plane of his muscular form pressed against you.

"Careful, sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with."

A chill runs down your spine as you're reminded of the power this man wields. The charming facade he'd worn for your team has vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating persona you've glimpsed before. His blue eyes, usually so captivating, now resemble chips of ice.

"Let me remind you," Andy continues, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm not just some wealthy businessman playing at power. I've built an empire, both in the light and the shadows. I've crushed men who dared to cross me."

His words send a shiver through you - fear and unwanted desire warring within. You try to push against his chest, but he doesn't budge.

"I'm not afraid of you," you say, your voice shakier than you'd like.

Andy chuckles darkly. "You have no reason to be as long as you don’t cross me."

He releases your wrist only to cup your face, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "And here's the thing - I don't want you to fear me. But make no mistake - you are mine now. This is your life."

With lightning speed, Andy spins you around, pressing you face-first against the door. His body cages you in, one hand still gripping your wrist while the other slides up to wrap around your throat. Not choking, but asserting control. You gasp, your heart racing as Andy's lips brush against your ear. "The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be."

His hand tightens slightly on your throat, just enough to make breathing a conscious effort. You should be terrified, should be fighting to get away. But your traitorous body responds to his dominance, a rush of heat pooling low in your belly.

"Andy," you whisper, unsure if it's a plea or a protest.

“You'll be my wife, my partner. But you need to understand your place in this world we're building together."

He releases your throat, his hand sliding down to cup your breast through your sweater. You arch into his touch involuntarily, earning a dark chuckle from him.

"That's it," he growls. "Remember how good we are together.”

Andy's hand kneads your breast as his lips trail hot kisses down your neck. Despite your anger and frustration, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy murmurs against your skin. "Let go of it all."

His free hand slides down your body, deftly unbuttoning your jeans. You know you should stop him, should push him away, but the heat of his body against yours, the skilled touch of his fingers, makes it hard to think straight.

Just as his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties, there’s an insistent buzzing of his phone.

He answers the phone even as his fingers begin to work the slick lips of your cunt.

“Yes?” he prompts.

You can hear every word without the phone being put on speaker since Andy’s pressed up against you.

"Mr. Barber? The cars are ready for your lunch meeting, sir."

“Good. The future Mrs. Barber and I will be down in no more than ten minutes,” he says. There’s an acknowledgment on the other end of the line, and then hangs up.

Andy thrusts a finger inside you, making you gasp, before withdrawing his hand completely. “Go get changed,” he says, “you heard, we have our next appointment and need to be on our way.”

You're left breathless and frustrated as Andy steps away, his warmth disappearing from your back. Your body trembles with unfulfilled desire, and you have to resist the urge to reach for him, to beg him to finish what he started.

"Andy," you begin, your voice husky with need.

He cuts you off with a sharp look. "We don't have time. Go change. Now."

The command in his voice sends another shiver through you. You want to argue, to demand he explain himself, to finish what he started. But the ice in his eyes tells you it would be futile. With shaking hands, you button your jeans and smooth down your sweater.

"Fine," you say, trying to inject some venom into your voice.

You turn and head towards the stairs, feeling Andy's eyes on you the whole way.

NEXT PART: CRACKING LOCKS

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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slamminslamminmcgill · 6 months ago

Text

Ruins - Joel Miller/FTM!Reader (NSFW!)

you venture into the ruins of a nearby sex shop/porn theater with one thing in mind: dick without any emotional attachments. however, when you cross paths with an older guy named joel, your emotions don’t stay detached for very long.

tags/warnings: anonymous sex, cruising, gloryhole sex, oral sex, age gap, daddy kink, brat taming, domination, degradation/humiliation, breeding kink, public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, poppers, facials, spit-roasting, squirting, spit kink, spanking, face slapping, pussy slapping, hair pulling, the briefest most bitch-tier instance of misgendering, some light homophobia/transphobia for flavor

ao3 link

word count: 6,945

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/kitty/twat, clit/(t-)dick/cock

author’s note: THIS HAS BEEN COOKING FOR 6 MONTHS OOPSIE sowwy it took so long. anyway shoutout to my hometown's 24/7 sex store/porn theater with gloryholes for the inspiration :3

ALL YOU CAN WATCH PORN THEATER

60 CHANNELS

$10 ENTRY FEE

XXX

You wondered what that sign would’ve looked like when it was lit. When electricity could be wasted on frivolous things like a homing beacon for no-strings-attached cock. And batteries were so plentiful that you could put them in vibrating toys to shove up your ass.

Now, ‘bout 2 decades after the world went to shit, the sign was dark. Dark like the rest of this place. You would’ve been a baby when it was open. Hell, it’s probably older than you are. It’s kind of beautiful, if you think about it. You’re on your knees waiting for dick in these ancient ruins, here to worship the gods of anonymous sex, just like so many others who came before you, and probably all over the walls while they were here.

At this point, you might as well chop the number 6 off that sign, and you’d do it if the floor ever needed more broken glass to crunch under your boots. A whopping 60 channels down to 0. The only porn that’d be showing would be if some other patrons were here to make it themselves. Actually, the silence actually made it easier to find a partner. You wouldn’t be trying to make out footsteps from underneath the droning moans of various girls and twinks across dozens of screens. Since this dilapidated sex store was one of the very few cruising grounds left in the Boston QZ, you’d usually hear a couple sets of shoes shuffling around, but tonight was bone dry. For now, at least. You’d only been here for 10 minutes, sitting in a stall by yourself taking a Rorschach test with the cum stains above the gloryhole. Anything to pass the time.

Then, you heard it. That sweet symphony of slow and steady footsteps, atop an orchestra of creaking floorboards. Just one pair, it sounded like. They scoped your surrounding area, checking the stalls in the rows behind you. They got louder and louder, and soon you could hear them coming down your aisle. They stopped when they saw a closed door: yours. Barely hanging onto the hinges with a busted lock to match, but a sign of intelligent life. You saw a flashlight click on, confirming that this stall was indeed occupied, then the light swept past you along with the footsteps. The bright beam circled around you, from the door, down to the floor, and up and over to the gloryhole partitioning your stall and theirs. Bingo. Target acquired.

The flashlight flicked off…

A bag was tossed into the corner…

Another flimsy door squeaked as it shut…

Then, everything was quiet…

…

And the next thing you heard was a belt unbuckling.

You scrambled into position and peered through the hole. Judging by what you could see—a pudgy, fuzzy belly peeking out from unzipped jeans, and large calloused hands tugging on a fat cock growing harder by the second—they seemed like your type. You stuck your fingers through the hole, beckoning the mysterious suitor to come forth and give you what you came here for. They approached the hole, and you withdrew your fingers to allow them entry. They continued to stroke themselves in preparation, just barely out of your reach, taunting you, mocking you, though you dared not interrupt them. Finally, before the last of your restraint could slip through your fingers, their gorgeous cock slipped through the hole.

“Mmm…” You involuntarily mewled in appreciation, instinctively grabbing the stranger’s dick and kissing its tip. Your tongue teased its slit, coaxing sweet precum to spill from it. You vacuumed the head into your mouth before gliding your lips down the shaft.

The stranger merely grunted, barely audible through the wall. Ah, the quiet type. The kind who keeps their feelings to themselves when they get their dick sucked. You wondered what they were thinking of. What was this for them? A quick stop after the day’s work to blow off some steam? A breach of fidelity against an unsuspecting wife at home? The fulfillment of a long-desired fantasy, or just another Tuesday night blowjob?

Even though your partner wasn’t a talker, their cock was very responsive. You could feel it twitch and leak, pulsating in your mouth, somehow getting even harder than you thought possible. It was the perfect specimen. You had to get it inside you.

You popped your lips off and wrapped your hand around the fat shaft, letting the stranger know that you weren’t going anywhere, and that they shouldn’t either. You stood up and undressed your bottom half with your free hand. Once exposed, you turned around and bent over, attempting to guide the cock into your waiting cunt. Attempting, being the key word there. It’s hard to fuck with a wall in the way.

First, your hips were too high, then too low. Then you got the altitude right, but the angle was all wrong. It started to poke your asshole, which would’ve been fine if you had any lube, but you did not. Looks like it’s front entry only tonight. You tried to put it in your cunt yourself, but your own arm was just getting in the way. Fuck. Okay. Let’s recalibrate. You braced your hands on the wall opposing you, and pushed your hips back, completely airballing the cock. If only your holes had eyes. The flimsy door jiggled as you strained against the walls. You tried again, this time feeling the hard shaft rubbing up against your ass cheek. Getting warmer. Just gotta angle it. Thank god your newfound partner was standing still and letting you do this. You put all your weight into your hands, pushing as hard as you could on the far wall, and went to thrust your hips back once more…

And then the shitty door broke off its hinges and fell backwards on top of you.

You got knocked to the ground with a loud crash and a louder yell of “SHIT!”

“Y’alright in there?” A gravelly voice asked from the other side.

With nothing hurt except your pride, you shouted, “Y-Yeah! I, uhh… I think I’m good! Fuckin’ door fell on me…” You tried pushing it off, but it was too heavy, and too dark to see where you could crawl out from under it. You kicked around on the floor for a few seconds, until the voice asked,

“Need help?”

After taking the time to consider your considerably limited options, you said, “…That would be appreciated, yes.”

And thus your knight in shining armor came to rescue you from entrapment. You heard the click of a flashlight, the rustling of some clothes, and then you saw a haze of light around your wooden prison. Two hands much bigger than yours slipped under one side of the door and pried it off you, freeing you and allowing you to meet your hero face to face. You were greeted by the sight of a concerned, rugged, sexy older man, and you already knew he was packing heat in his pants. He was everything you could’ve hoped for.

You, on the other hand, were not given positive feedback upon first glance. When the light was on your face, you gave him a timid, lighthearted and limpwristed wave, and he merely furrowed his brow in response. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, kid, how old’re ya?”

“23,” You said, sitting upright on the floor, criss-cross applesauce, your bare cunt hiding in plain sight. “I’m legal, I swear.”

“Still, that’s…” He grumbled, casting his eyes away from your distressingly youthful face. “You’re too young for this. Shit, I been coming to places like this since before you were born…”

You felt honored to be in the presence of such a historian. “Really? Wow…” So many questions you could ask. What was it like back then? Were there a lot of places like this? Did you go to them a lot? What was your best experience? While you flipped through the available dialogue responses, you reached up to palm his still-hard cock, which he’d tucked back into his boxer-briefs, his fly still unzipped. You smiled up at him seductively, and selected the statement, “That’s kinda hot…”

The stranger chuckled, enamored by your boldness and naivety. “The hell were you even try’na do just now t’ make the door fall off like that?”

“I was trying to get you into my… my, uh…” Oh, shit. How the fuck do you explain that? You were counting on the wall between you two to keep your secret safe. Semantics didn’t matter in the dark; a hole’s a hole. You twiddled your thumbs and subtly opened your legs, waiting for the stranger to see for himself.

And indeed he did see. He locked eyes with it, and knelt down to see it up close. “How’d you get that?”

You shrugged. “Was born with it...”

“No shit…” Joel pushed your legs further apart to ogle your pussy. His rough fingers spread your lips, and he made a confused face at the sight of your t-dick. You couldn’t blame him, though. He’d probably never seen anything like it. “That s’posed to be your clit?”

“Mhm…” You nodded.

“Why’s it so big? Looks like you got a tiny li'l dick.”

You puffed a breathy laugh, “Heh heh… Hormones…”, hoping that’d be a sufficient explanation.

And it was. “Huh. Cool.” He mumbled, and nonchalantly rolled his thumb over it. Your entire body jolted forward, grabbing onto his bicep to ground yourself, and he pulled back. “Woah, y’alright? Want me to stop?”

“No, no, no, you’re fine… Y-You’re okay, just…” You took a sharp inhale, a deep breath that shuddered on its way out. You batted your eyelashes at him, a gesture of playful confidence alongside the intimacy and vulnerability of eye contact. “Just keep going… Please…”

That eye contact between you two didn’t last long. Your partner shifted his focus downwards. He had to. He couldn't go in blind. You were something new, uncharted territory to explore and conquer. He traced two of his fingers up the length of your pussy until they diverged at your dick. They pinched your tiny length and jerked you, tentatively at first. Though when you twitched, and let out the sweetest little cry of,

“Aah~! Fu-u-uck…”

He was hooked, both metaphorically and literally now with his arm around your waist, tugging you into his lap. He took you into his experienced embrace and started to jerk you off like he meant it. Those big, rough man-hands, worn from decades of hard labor, more decades of handling dick than your entire existence, were fucking amazing. Your mind went dumb in seconds, your face slumped against his chest, pawing at his flannel shirt and whimpering. Honestly, you were so deep in a trance that you didn’t even realize it when you said,

“Nnnn, Daddy…”

The stranger stopped dead in his tracks. He knotted his fingers in your hair and ripped your head backward. A searing pain shot from your scalp, down your spine and snapping it into an arch. You made a sound somewhere between a wince and a whine, and the thickest, deepest, roughest voice you’d ever heard growled at you, “The fuck you just call me?”

Oh shit, oh god, oh fuck fuck fuck. You froze. Suddenly you were a prey animal, a helpless little bunny rabbit with no chance of winning against the big bad wolf. Or, probably more accurately, you were a clueless dipshit hunter who stepped in his own fucking bear trap. Then and only then did you realize the sheer stupidity of what you were doing. It’s almost if going out alone to fuck strangers is risky, or something. Huh. Who'da thunk it. You better pray he has mercy on you.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You chanted, hoping your repeated apologies would smooth things over with him. They didn’t seem to be doing anything, so you tried to explain yourself. “It’s just, I… I don’t know your name, so-“

But he wasn’t buying it. “Oh, cut the shit. That ain’t why ya said it.”

You stammered, trying to make sense of his accusation. “I… I don’t—I don’t understand…”

“It’s Joel.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Joel." He said with no pleasantry in his tone, "‘N’ now that’cha know that, how’s about you look me in the fuckin’ eye and tell me you don’t still wanna call me Daddy?”

Motherfucker. This guy could read you like a book. Like a book intended to teach reading to children, you were that easy. Your Very Hungry Caterpillar lookin’ ass had nothing to say in your own defense. There was nothing to say, except maybe “I… I do… I do wanna… call you Daddy…”

With your admission, Joel relaxed his grip, but still held onto your hair. “Good boy…” He mused. That Southern drawl of his, rich and sweet like honey, seeped into the valleys of your brain‘s wrinkles. “Daddy’s got you.”

He pressed his lips to yours, and you were gone, completely blasted into subspace, perfectly malleable for him. Joel was a good kisser. Slow, but firm. Dominant. His slightly chapped lips coaxed you open, sculpting himself into you with that scratchy beard against your skin. You draped your arms over his shoulders and let him lead. He smelled like aftershave over man-musk with a light tinge of cigarettes or maybe pot smoke. Intoxicating. His hand untangled itself from your hair, now petting instead of pulling, as the other trailed back down to your tiny cock, squeezing and rolling it between his fingers.

“O-Oh~! D-Daddy!” you squealed.

“I know, baby, I know. Be good. Be a good boy, and Daddy’s gonna make you feel real good, okay?”

“Mmm, okay, Daddy…”

“Attaboy.” Joel dotted kisses from your lips to your jaw and to the side of your neck. It was unprecedented, how quickly you latched onto him, but understandable. An older man taking a young boy like you into his arms, holding him tight, telling him to be good. Of course you’d be putty in his hands. Your train of thought was just sampling and remixing his praise over and over. I know, baby. I know. Daddy’s got you. Be good. Be a good boy. Good boy. Daddy’s got you. Oh, Daddy’s got you, alright. Daddy’s got you wrapped around his fucking finger.

“Ohhh, Daddy, pleeease, I… I want…” You swallowed, attempting to choke down a moan. It didn’t work. “Ngah, I want your cock in meee…”

“Quit whinin’, whore. I’ll fuck ya when I feel like it.”

Well, that was some tonal whiplash. Just a few seconds earlier he was cooing to you, encouraging you to be a good boy for him. Now you were nothing but a whore, just three warm holes for him to blow a load into. You couldn’t cope, and you certainly weren’t above begging for it. “Nooo, nononono, please, Daddy, please fuck me, please fuck me, I-AH!”

A swift bitchslap ended the discussion on that. Evidently, your Daddy believed in the old ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ expression.

“Told ya to quit whinin’,” Joel hissed as he grabbed you by the jaw and dug his nails into your face. “You’re the one who wanted a Daddy, right? Well, now you got one. And Daddy don’t like when his bitches talk back. Got it?”

“S-Sorry!” You cried, “I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry, I–Ohhh, fuuuck, yeees…”

In the midst of your bitching and moaning, Joel plunged two fingers into your dripping cunt, dragging and twisting them any which way he pleased.

“Aw, pretty boy’s got a tight little kitty now, don’t he?” He sneered. Even his compliments were backhanded. “‘N’ so wet, too… How many cocks you take up here before?”

“I do–oh! Fuck!” You yelped when his fingers tapped your g-spot, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide. “I don’t… I don’t know!”

“Yes you do, slut.” He took you by the hair again and tore you out of your hiding spot. “Tell me.”

You gulped. “N-No, I really… I really don’t… I stopped counting…”

Joel was stunned by your admission of guilt. Initially, he’d felt bad about hooking up with someone so much younger. He’d felt like he was corrupting you. Like a dirty old man creeping on someone young enough to be his kid. But now, any shred of hesitation had been tossed out the window. After all, you can only get so dirty, right? It’s not like he’d be doing any more damage to you. He laughed with a cynical sense of admiration. “Oh, you’re nasty, kid… Nasty little fuckin’ cuntboy…” Joel slid his fingers out of your cunt and stuffed them into your mouth, making you slurp your arousal off them. “You want mine too, huh? You want me on your fuckin’ dick list? Your li’l whore roster?”

You nodded with his digits pressed into your tongue and drool dripping down your chin.

He slid his wet fingers out of your mouth, smearing spit all over your face, and grabbed your jaw again. “I need ya to say it, boy. Say ‘I want my Daddy’s big cock in my little wet whore hole.’”

You pursed your lips and whined, hoping you could weasel your way out of saying something that degrading. “Daddy, pleeease…”

“Y’ain’t gettin’ it ‘til ya say it.”

Fuck. No such luck. Oh, well. If that’s what you had to do to get what you needed, so be it. “I want... I want my Daddy’s big cock in my little…” The sharp, cruel words seemed to cut your vocal cords like shards of glass. “w-wet… whore hole…”

“Good job, slut.” Joel said flatly before nudging you off his lap. “On your back.”

You rolled onto the hardwood floor, opened your legs, held them up by your ankles, and brought your knees to your chest. Such an obedient little slut you were, assuming the position perfectly, not even caring about the dingy, disgusting floor you were lying on. Fuck it. At least it was dry. Well, for now, at least. Who’s to say that you wouldn’t be the one leaving behind a puddle of mystery liquid. Actually, that reminds you…

“Oh! I, uh, I should probably warn you… I squirt.”

“Fine by me,” Joel knelt in front of you and took hold of you by your hips. He dragged you up his thighs and then pulled your legs even wider apart. You’d certainly feel that stretch in the morning, likely along with several others. “You clean?” He asked out of the blue.

You tilted your head, mesmerized by the sudden question. “Hah…? Wha?”

“I said, are you clean? Like ya get tested and stuff?” He explained, hastily fishing his cock out of his pants.

How genuinely reassuring. He actually gave one tiddlywink of a fuck about your wellbeing. It was a nice surprise. “Oh!” You nodded confidently, “Yeah! I’m good! And, I’m on, uh… I’m on birth control, too, so, uh… if you wanna…”

Joel snickered, “Well, shit, that’s a tempting offer.”

And you smirked back, “You gonna take me up on it?”

“Just might have to…” He leaned down to kiss your neck, that scratchy stubble tickling you again. “Ya want Daddy raw?”

“Mhm…”

“Gotta say it, pumpkin. Say you want Daddy raw.”

“I want Daddy raw… I want Daddy raw…” You babbled, grabbing onto his flannel shirt and climbing up his chest. One of your hands landed perfectly on his pocket, in which was a small, hard object. Maybe glass? You couldn’t tell through the fabric. “Mm? What’s this?” You asked, prodding the hidden treasure.

“What, this?” Joel huffed and reached into his pocket, retrieving a teensy tiny glass bottle, bearing the remnants of a red and yellow label eroded by time. “They’re called poppers. You ever heard of ‘em?”

You shook your head. No clue.

“‘s basically nail polish remover,” Joel said, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to his face. “Ya huff the fumes, and it relaxes your muscles. Opens you up. Gives you a rush for like 30 seconds. Feels pretty intense.” He brought the lip of the bottle to his nostril and huffed it.

Oh, yeah. That sounds vaguely familiar. You heard a rumor that gay men would huff chemicals for sex, supposedly to make anal easier. This must be that. You counted his breath, trying to gauge how big of a hit one’s supposed to take. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

Then the other nostril. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

He let out a rumbly exhale and held it out to you. “You wanna try?”

Under most circumstances, you think you’d know better than to huff strange chemicals offered to you by a stranger. But something about him—his paternal vibe, his subtle gestures of care, and the fact that he huffed it first—was trustworthy. You decided to go for it. “Sure!”

“Kay. I’mma give you a little to start. See how you react.” Joel touched the bottle to one of your nostrils. “Breathe it in.”

You did as you were told, and inhaled, not as long as he did. 1, 2, 3…

And then he pulled it away, screwed the top back on, and plopped it back in his pocket.

“Tap me if ya want more.” He grabbed hold of your thighs and held them open. His bulbous tip started to poke at your cunt, already juicy and winking at him. “Ready?”

Feeling the come up of the poppers, you sighed blissfully, “Yeah…”

“Deep breath for me baby. In…”

You listened to your Daddy and took a deep breath in…

“And out.”

…and let it go.

“Hahhh–ah! Fuck! Ngh! Yes!”

And then your Daddy’s massive cock ripped your tiny twat open for him. It stung, for sure, but whatever jungle juice type concoction in that bottle must’ve helped. There was a dull ache as he continued to push in, seemingly moving your internal organs out of his way, but it was nothing compared to the floating, swirling sensations you were feeling everywhere else.

“Shhh, take it, baby…” Joel cooed. He let go of one of your legs, which you instinctively crooked behind his back. He leaned down, planting his now free hand on the floor for balance, and kissed you on your forehead. “You can take it… Just gotta get used t’me, is all…”

“It’s so… It’s so deep…”

“Yeah, baby, I know… I know it is…” Joel validated you verbally, but kept pressing in deeper. And deeper. Deeper than you thought your cunt could go.

“F-Fuck!” You cried out in surprise and pulled him tight against you, chest to chest. It wasn’t necessary; he definitely wasn’t going anywhere, not after burying himself in your body like this. You just needed the contact, physical touch to help you cope. You were honestly mesmerized. It felt like his cockhead was in the back of your throat. You’d never felt anything like it; no dick or dick substitute before had come close. “H-How… Haha… Wha… What the fuck?! How do you do that?!”

Joel laughed against you, his belly rumbling against yours. “I don’t… I don’t know? You just feel real nice, kid. Makes me wanna get real deep in ya… S’okay. You’ll get used to me…” He reiterated.

And with time, you did. Your body gradually relaxed around him, and you felt a deep buzzing sensation within your pussy, an itching need for more.

“You can move now…”

“Yeah?” Joel hummed, and left another sweet smooch on your cheek. “Ya sure?”

“Yeah-yeah! Fuck!”

He cut you off with a firm snap of his hips, spiking his cock deep inside you in one hard hit.

Then another.

“Daddy!”

And another. And soon he had a steady beat going, a beat accented by your cute little yelps,

“Aah!… Fuck!… Oh!… Mm!”

and your feeble attempts at communicating in a complete sentence.

“Fuck!… Fuck!… Daddy!… B-Big!… Cock!…”

Joel smirked as he drilled your cunt. “Daddy’s got a big cock, huh? You like your Daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, fuck! Yes!”

“Say it.” He commanded, “Say your Daddy has a big cock.”

“My Daddy has a big cock!” You cried out, your voice echoing through the rubble of humanity’s ancient vices. Maybe in another life, years before your time, there was another little cuntboy, an ethereal deity crowned and illuminated by a neon halo, who once whined the same thing as you, in the exact same spot as you, with the exact same cadence as you. “My Daddy has a big cock!!!”

“Mmm, damn right, I do, boy.” Joel grunted, barely audible over your audacious bitching and moaning. Even when you blew him earlier, he was quiet. Maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to make noise, or maybe he’s shy. You, on the other hand, couldn’t shut the fuck up. Any half-baked thought in your fucked-out mind slipped out with no filter in its way.

“Daddy! Daddy! Fuck me, fuck me, Daddy! Yes! God, fuck me, yes! So deep! So fucking deep! Oh my god, you’re so fuck—fucking deep, Daddy! So fucking big! Ah~!”

“Christ, yer fuckin’ loud.” Joel huffed, “Wake the dead with a voice like that.”

“W-Want me to… mmm, be quiet?”

“Nah, scream for me, bitch. Ain’t nobody here but us.” Joel grabbed you by your shoulders and squeezed your whole body against him, jerking off with your very being like a living fleshlight. It worked like a charm, making you howl even louder.

“Fuck! Ahhh, fuuuuck, ye-e-e-e-es!”

While getting your guts rearranged on the grimy floor, you happened to crack your eye open, and you saw something. No, someone. Someone was tugging their cock as they watched you through the doorway. It turns out you were not the only ones here. Joel was facing the other way, meaning he couldn’t see them, but he stopped when he heard a cough that didn’t come from you.

“Hm?” He looked up and saw the voyeur enjoying your show. But it didn’t bother him. He just went right back to work. “Well, goddamn. Looks like you got us a little audience, baby boy. Look at you. Star of the show.” He praised, and gave you a proud smack on the ass. “I’mma fuck you doggy. Get on all fours.”

Sure, you know he meant doggy style, but damn, if only he’d enunciated a comma. As in “I’mma fuck you, doggy.” Now wouldn’t that be something. It fits. You’re dumb, obedient, and eager to please. That fat cock slid out of you, leaving you unbearably empty, and you crawled onto your knees. It was more of a downward doggy style, with your cheeks resting against your arms, crossed and propped up on the floor. Face down, ass up. A classic.

“Perfect,” Joel praised, punctuating his compliment with another spank, “Good boy.”

“Nnn, thank you~” You whined. Pathetically. You tend to do that a lot, especially when a big cock splits your cunt in half. Again. “Mmm, fuckfuckfuck!”

“Yeah, c’mon, now, take it. Take that dick, take that dick, pretty boy. You got it. Daddy’s got you.” Joel cooed as he bottomed out from behind. He gave you some time to adjust to him before his hips retreated, a deliberately slow drag out, then a hard pump back in,

“Ah-ha~!”

then another,

“Fu-u-uck~!”

and another,

“Daddy~!”

And soon he was fucking you a tempo. You cocked your head to the side and rested it on your forearms. Without the luxury of even a dingy motel pillow to grab while a stranger fucks you raw, you had to resort to your own body for comfort. Sniffling, drooling, dripping with depravity as this old man cored you out, you were distracted by a distinct—

Thump.

—right above your ear. Right where the gloryhole was. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what caused it.

But you didn’t get a chance to confirm your suspicions before Joel intervened.

“Hey.”

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head up from the floor, the cock grazing your cheek as a result.

“Suck it. C’mon, now. Be a good boy. Suck ‘em like you sucked me.”

You needed no motivation beyond that. Being a good boy for Daddy was enough to get you to suck another strange cock through a hole in the wall. You wrapped your lips around it and slurped their half-hard, less impressive length all into your mouth at once. It wasn’t the best blowjob you’d given, after all you were more than a little preoccupied, but it made Joel proud.

“Yeah, that’s it, good boy.” He purred, petting your hair as he continued to use your cunt, “Put that little whore mouth to work. Do a good job, now. Bet a lotta guys here gon’ want a turn on you.”

Threatening you with a good time, now, wasn’t he? You dutifully sucked the mediocre cock in front of you, choking on it not from size but from your own pleasured sobs interrupting your work. The stranger didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, heavy breathing behind the wall, twitching and leaking precum on your tongue. Suddenly, they retreated from your mouth, and blinded you with a spray of hot jizz, painting your whole face from hairline to chin. Some dripped into your mouth, and it tasted… a little yucky, but tolerable. It felt nice on your face though, and Joel loved your new look.

“Ooh, yeah, pretty boy. So cute, takin’ it on the chin like that. Little fuckin’ cumwhore, aint’cha, queer?” He spanked your left ass cheek, then your right, and jiggled them both before yanking you backwards, “C’mere,” and pulling out to flip you on your back. “Let Daddy look at’cha.”

His firm muscular hand grasped you by the chin and squished your cheeks, anonymous cum cascading down his fingers. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he mused, jiggling your jaw back and forth. His other hand dipped into his shirt pocket and retrieved the bottle of poppers. He cracked it open, served himself, then loosely capped the bottle and held it out for you. “Help yourself, sweetheart.”

You took the bottle in your hands and huffed its fumes one nostril at a time, perhaps a little too hard on the second one. The caustic liquid shot up and singed the inside of your nostril, leaving behind a poignant sting. Though briefly disoriented upon splashback, you finagled the cap back on and clutched the bottle in your fist as Joel pushed back inside.

“Fu-u-uck, Daddy! Daddy~!” you cried, curling up into him.

Joel didn’t answer you. He was too preoccupied with bending your body in half and squatting over you into a mating press. He had the perfect angle to dig deep. Deep. So. Fucking. Deep. The sound of his balls slapping against your sodden cunt was salacious and sickeningly loud.

“Aw, poor baby, look at you. You’re just a hot mess, ain’t ‘cha boy?.” Joel punctuated his statement by spitting in your face. The glob of spit mixed with some cum, rolled down into your mouth, and naturally, you swallowed. “You wanna take my load inside you though, right? Want me to breed ya?”

“Yes! Yes, please, inside! Please, inside, fill me up! Please breed me! Knock me up, please!!!”

“Relax, boy,” Joel stilled inside you, your cunt throbbing petulantly in need of friction. “I‘m not there yet. And besides,” He gave your clit a sharp slap, making you jump, yelp, and clench around him, “I ain’t cummin’ ‘til I see this kitty squirt for me, ya hear?”

A feeble whine of “Okay…” was all you could manage at the present moment. Your mind was gone, floating away with the rest of your being, or at least it would be but for the iron grip your pussy had on his cock, tethering you to reality, to him. All of your body’s strength went into your cunt, contracting, squeezing, milking him for all he was worth. Was he the perfect fit? Or were you just that good at taking him? Either way, your inner walls shifted, and you felt the ridge of his cockhead scrape your g-spot, a shock to your whole system. “Fuck! There! Right there!”

“Where, right here?” Joel asked, making sure to strike you at the same angle again. He hissed when he felt you clench and whimper in response. “Oh, yeah, that’s the spot, ain’t it? Gon’ cum for me, baby boy?”

“I–ah! Fuck! So close! Daddy! P-Please!”

Joel grabbed your hand and brought it to your own cunt. “Jerk that tiny little dick for me, pretty boy. Come on. Cum on Daddy’s cock. Lemme feel it. Lemme feel ya fuckin’ gush.”

You pinched your aching t-dick and stroked it vigorously, your fingers occasionally slipping off due to your own wetness. Luckily, it didn’t take much to send you over the edge. With a loud, embarrassing squeal, you squirted all over Joel: his cock, his belly, and his jeans that he’d foolishly left partway on. Although, he didn’t seem to mind, that is, until your orgasm pushed his cock out.

“Nuh uh, don’t kick me out.” Joel growled, grabbing his cock and forcing it back inside you. He made sure to look you right in the eye as he said, “Don’t you fuckin’ kick me out, whore.”

You sniveled and cried, continuing to squirt as he rammed the rest of your climax out of you. A certified mess, head to toe, covered in bodily fluids: cum, sweat, spit, squirt, and now, tears. “I’m s-sor—I’m sorry-y-y, Daddy-y-y…”

“Aw, no, honey, ‘s’okay. I know you ain’t mean it.” Joel cupped your face in his hand, swiping your tears and some jizz away with his thumb. “Jus’ can’t handle a big cock like mine, huh? Too much for your little kitty to take, ain’t it?”

You nuzzled your face into his hand, “Mhm…”

“Well, I’m almost there, sweetheart, don’t you worry. Little kitty’s gon’ get her cream.”

Your face soured at the wrong pronoun being used for your “kitty”, as he’d so affectionately called it. You saw fit to gently correct him. “H-His…”

“Hm?”

“His cream… p-please…” You mumbled.

“Right, my bad, sweetie.” Joel craned himself down to kiss your forehead once more, “Your little kitty’s gon’ get all the cream he can handle.”

You giggled and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, pulling him somehow even deeper into your guts. “Thank you Daddy–fuck! Fuck, oh my god, how do you do that?!”

“‘m not doin’ anything, honey. That’s all you, openin’ up for me, pretty boy.” Joel cooed, slowing his thrusts to sharply punctuate his words. “Such a good boy, openin’ up that pretty cunt for me. I only got so much dick I can give ya, y’know.”

Easy for him to say when he’s not the one taking it. Because what he sees as only “so much dick” to give, taking it feels like so. much. dick.

“Fuuuck, Daddy, god, Daddy, you’re stretching me out~!”

“Shh, sh, pumpkin, it’s okay… you’re okay… You’re okay, keep squeezin’ it. Keep squeezin’ it. Mmm, hold onto Daddy, now—gooood boy…”

You flexed your inner muscles, all of your body’s strength around his cock, determined to milk this motherfucker dry. Your brain had no room for rational thought. You were overtaken by one desire, one primal urge that unites and drives all life on this planet: breed, breed, breed.

All you wanted, all you needed, to feel was him shooting a big warm batch of his babies into you. You had no bandwith left to think, especially not with him asking you,

“What’s my name, pretty boy?”

Your answer was instantaneous, a reflex at this point, “Dadd—!“

“Nope, mm mm, nuh uh. I said my name, pretty boy… You rememb—?” Joel’s question was cut off by an unintentional clenching of your cunt around his cock. “Nghhh, Shit, shit, shit, so fuckin’ tight…*inhale* Woah-h-h…” He panted heavily, trying to regain his composure and finish his thought. “You… You remember my name, don’t ‘cha?”

You rifled through the folders in your brain’s filing cabinet. Everything you pulled out was blank. Blank after blank after blank. Shit. What was this guy’s name again? He definitely told you. It starts with a J right? That tracks. He seems like a J-name kinda guy.

“Uhhh…”

“It’s Joel.”

“JOEL!” You shouted in his face, the pieces all put together, and repeated his name as a sacred rite on your way to another heavenly climax. Your one hand still clenching the poppers, your other fisted his hair. “Joel, Joel, oh my god, Joel! Joel, Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t! Joel, Joel, fuck, fuck me, Joel, I can’t— I’m gonna! C-Cum again!”

“Do it.” Joel snarled, his hips stuttering inside you, “Fuckin’ do it, cum on this dick, pretty boy, I—Yeah, fuck! Gon’ fuckin bust inside you, yeah. Yeah-h-h, oh, fuckin’ take it.”

Your orgasm, its vice grip and burst of wetness, triggered Joel’s. He sunk his teeth into the spot where your neck and shoulder met, growling into your flesh as he emptied himself into you. He gave you a few hard thrusts to kick out any lingering ropes of cum, not wanting to waste a single drop. You were gonna take everything he had to give.

And you certainly took everything out of him.

He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty flannel against your equally sweaty tank top, his arms caging you in a delightful aroma of man-musk and sex. Post-sex endorphins washed over you both, making you feel floaty and giddy inside each other’s afterglow. Joel was the first to verbalize it.

“Jesus H. Christ, kiddo, that was… Fuck, you’re incredible. Pussy make a man feel young again.”

Sufficiently fucked, without much intelligent thought left in you, you chuckled and petted his hair. “Mmm, hehehehe, thank you~… You’re… fucking amazing”

“Aw, you’re welcome, sweetie pie.” Joel gave you a peck on the lips, and adjusted his hips the tiniest bit, though it was enough to send you into an irrational panic.

“Nooo, nonono, don’t—don’t pull out!” You cried, locking your limbs around him and keeping him anchored to you.

“Alright, alright,” Joel laughed and settled back into you, “Relax, pumpkin. I’ll keep it in for a bit. You just can’t seem to let go of your Daddy, now, can ya?”

“Nope! Hehehe…” You giggled, mind fuzzy, cunt satisfied, heart content, and sighed. “Ah… Fuck.”

“Should prolly wipe the jizz off your face too.” Joel reached into his left back pocket and pulled out a dark blue bandana to wipe you clean. “Lemme get it for ya.”

His delicate touch with the hanky was so soothing, so paternal. You purred as the rough fabric wiped your sins away, and when you were all clean, he dropped it on the floor beside you both.

“Alright, I’m pullin’ out, now. My leg’s cramping. And we sure as shit ain’t sleepin like this.”

You rolled your eyes and pouted petulantly. “Boo…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the worst.” Joel scoffed, then slowly, gingerly pulled his soft cock out of you, admiring the pool of white that followed it and dribbled onto the floor. “Ooh, wow, that’s a big load. Dumped a whole damn little league team into ya.” He gave your tender cunt an attaboy-type slap, then stood up and held his hand out for you to join him.

“Thank you,” You said, stumbling as you rose to your feet. As you reached for your discarded pants, you realized you were still holding the poppers. “Oh! This is yours.”

“Eh, you keep ‘em. I can get more. ‘s no trouble.” Joel stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck, seemingly resetting himself after such a draining activity. “Okay… How’re you getting home, kid?”

You nonchalantly waved it off, “Oh, I’m walking. It’s just a couple blocks.”

“‘Couple long blocks?”

“Uh…”

“Gonna be sneakin’ around past curfew y’know. Mind ‘f I walk ya home? Just for my own peace of mind, honestly. Hate to never see ya again.”

“Sure! Thank you!”

“No prob. Least I could do for ya.”

Arms linked together, you both crept through the back alleys of the QZ to get to your place. Without the freedom to talk, you pointed out which turns to make, which blocks to avoid, and which FEDRA pigs (all of them) should be flipped the bird as you snuck behind them.

“Welp. This is me,” You said when you arrived at the front door to your place. “Thank you again. For like… everything, tonight. I had a great time.”

“You’re welcome, babe.” Joel patted you on the shoulder, then looked both ways down your block. “Think you live pretty close to me, actually. I’ll have to come by some time.”

“Tomorrow evening?”

“I got late shift sewer maintenance,” Joel crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side, “I can’t in good conscience come over and fuck ya after that.”

You snorted, “Fair enough. Day after?”

“Yeah… should be good. I can do that.”

“Great!” You said eagerly, standing outside your house, expectantly. Stalling for time, maybe? Joel could tell something was on your mind.

“Y’alright? Look like ya got somethin’ ya wanna say.”

“Well, yeah, uh…”

You tried to think of the most tactful way you could phrase your request. You thought you landed it with,

“Would you like to come inside?”

but you walked right into this one,

“Twice in one night? Tch, needy little whore. ‘f I were 30 years younger, maybe.”

#tlou x reader #tlou smut #tlou headcanons #tlou imagine #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us x reader #the last of us #the last of us smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us x you

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mountainsandmayhem · 9 months ago

Text

Tess's Treasures

18+, MDNI

Pairing: Tess x Joel x OC!Female x Female!Reader Summary: After perfecting the art of pickpocketing, you’re invited to join Tess’s Treasures. They’re infamous around the QZ and the initiation process is not what you expect, but exactly what you need. CW: If you’re not into foursomes/bi girl shit then you are in the wrong place. MFFF, bisexual females, fingering, masturbating, oral, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink. Unprotected p in v. Overstim and squirting. Please read this at your discretion. If this isn’t for you, that’s perfectly fine. AN: You can thank @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for being good little girls and filling my mind with depraved and twisted thoughts. This fic has truly been a labour of love, taking me almost 6 weeks to put together and edit. I'm not the least bit sorry about the word count, grab a snack, probably some electrolytes and maybe some spare batteries lol. Special shoutouts to @pedritoferg for their kind words when my imposter syndrome had the best of me. As always, dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics. Friendly reminder that I'm phasing out my tag list, follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for new fics.

Word Count: 9005

Becoming one of Tess’s Treasures seemed like a fallacy, a pipe dream. A fairytale life only reserved for the most vicious females that prowl the shady streets of the Boston QZ, and you aren’t a killer. A thief, yes; but not a killer. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure if the organization existed. Sure, Tess was a real person, but did she actually have a horde of women she called her Treasures?

She was infamous in the seedy underbelly of Boston, her and her henchman Joel. Granted, no one ever seemed to see Joel, unless he was about to kill you. And sometimes not even then, he was often hiding in the shadows, shadows darker than the demons that allegedly haunted him.

Outbreak day happened when you were just little, you don’t remember much of the journey from your old hometown to Boston. Everyone here is poor, doing what they can to get credits to buy basic human needs; making trades and swaps were what most people did. You, however, were much more clever. After discovering a book detailing the art of sleight of hand you started practicing, and now you can take anything, right in front of someone's eyes, without them noticing.

Or so you thought. After stealing a pistol from a FEDRA officer and replacing it with a banana, all while having a conversation with him in broad daylight, Tess approaches you.

“Come to my apartment next week. I wanna see if you have what it takes. Mum’s the word.” It’s a hushed whisper as she passes you, slipping a small card in your back pocket as she goes.

You follow the cards' instructions, arriving at the exact time, going up to the top floor and then doing two quick, sharp knocks on the worn out door.

“Enter,” Tess says from inside. The door creaks on your way in. It’s the hottest day Boston has seen in years, and even in your small sundress, the room is stifling hot. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and something else that you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s a fan oscillating in the corner, the paint chipped off the cage that protects the blades. As it blows warm air past you, you realize that the other smell is sex.

Tess is sitting on the couch to the right of the door, two mismatched wooden kitchen chairs in front of her. Straight ahead from the door is a small kitchen, and to the back left of the studio style apartment is the bed. Unmade, sheets tousled like someone just woke up, but based on the heady taste of the air in the room, the messy sheets are definitely from two people rolling around in them.

“Come sit,” Tess says firmly. You click the door shut behind you and head to the empty chair that’s waiting for you. The other chair is occupied by a small brunette woman. She has long slender limbs and doesn’t look like someone who would hang out with raiders, poachers and drug runners. Her hands are folded in her lap, ankles crossed under the chair. She doesn’t look over at you.

Tess leans forward, spreading her denim clad legs wide and resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you two know who I am?”

You both nod slowly. Up close, Tess is terrifying. She could have you killed with just a snap of her fingers, and Joel would do it however she wanted. From what you’ve heard, very slowly was her favourite way to have people eliminated from this earth. Quick deaths weren’t something she enjoyed when someone had fucked her over.

“Speak!” she commands. The brunette jumps and even though you’ve mastered the art of pushing your fears down and masking your emotions, a small butterfly flaps its wings behind your navel.

“Yes,” you say hoarsely as a meek ‘yes ma’am’ sounds beside you.

“Good. So then you know the….perks of being one of my Treasures,” Tess’s eyes twinkle as she says perks like she knows something you don’t. Like it’s more than the better living arrangements, food and medical care. Better than a sense of family and belonging.

She continues, “I’ve seen both of you at work. You,” her steel grey eyes are laser focused on yours, “With your quick hands, and you,” she adjusts her attention to the petite woman beside you, “With your ability to talk a man into almost anything. Before you can officially call yourself my Treasures, there’s a small matter of your…” Her voice trails, mouth ticking up on one side as she cocks her head and drags her eyes across both of your bodies.

“Well, your initiation.” She leans back onto the couch, knees falling wider. One arm drapes across the back, the worn cushion deflating slightly. The other rests on her thick, toned thigh. “I take care of my girls, but they need to show me that they can listen.”

The air seems thicker, and harder to fill your lungs with. Every move of her eyes is suggestive. Is she saying what you think she’s saying? You feel yourself begin to soak through your panties at the possibility of getting to fuck.

You aren’t left wondering for long as she points a long finger at the girl beside you, “Stand up, take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” the girl sputters.

“I said to stand up and take off your fucking clothes,” the words almost seem to burn as she repeats herself.

The girl stands so quickly that the chair falls, making a loud crash against the worn hardwood flooring. She stares at Tess for a moment, unsure if she should pick up the chair before she decides against it and pulls her blue cotton baby tee off, revealing a lacy white bra underneath.

“That’s it,” Tess groans. “Take off those little shorts next.”

With shaky hands she moves to the button fly, each drag of the metal on denim seems to echo in the silent room. Tess licks her lips as she slides her shorts down her legs and kicks them to the side. “Come here,” Tess says, her voice already husky and deep. The woman walks over to Tess, stopping between her spread legs. Tess’s strong fingers grip the girl's hips and she gasps. “Turn around,” she urges, dragging her fingers along her hips as the mystery girl spins.

“What’s your name?” Tess asks. The girl's bright green eyes land on you and you see her breath hitch in her slender throat. She’s petite, probably a few inches shorter than you and at least a foot shorter than Tess. You’ve always been attracted to both men and women and there’s no denying that this little stranger is absolutely stunning.

“Lydia,” she croaks.

“Are you nervous, Lydia?” Tess asks, cupping the globes of her ass in her hands, kneading and squeezing. Spreading them gently, exploring what she’s about to claim as hers.

She nods her head and lets out a shaky moan of agreement.

“Go pick up your chair and sit down, Lydia.” Tess swats her bum as she walks away and Lydia yelps quietly.

Tess’s eyes now come to you. Staring straight into your soul. I’m sure if she could, her eyes would incinerate your clothes right off of you. It’s intoxicating. You, unlike Lydia, are not nervous. Not in the slightest. If anything, Tess’s attention on you only makes you wetter. Your panties are practically soaked through already. “And you, my little thief. What’s your name?”

You say your name confidently and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease some of the ache that Tess’s newfound attention is bringing to the apex of your thighs.

Tess whispers your name back at you and it sends a shiver down your spine. She continues, “Get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

Lydia swallows loudly beside you as you drop to the floor, crawling seductively to Tess, head held high. The worn hardwood planks creak under your weight. Even the floor is warm and sticky from the weather. You make it to her, sitting back on your heels like the good little girl you are. She leans forward and tugs on the hem of your dress and her syrupy voice says, “Arms up”. You lift your ass slightly and she slips your dress up and over your head. It was too hot for a bra today so you’re left in just a lacy pink thong.

“Mmmm, look at those pretty tits,” Tess hums, her fingers gliding along the plush soft skin of your breasts before ghosting over your nipples making the arm whoosh from your lungs. “You like that? Me touching your nipples.”

You breathe out a yes, eyes shutting as she pinches your pebbled buds roughly. “Oh god, yes.”

The old worn couch groans as Tess sits back, “Go take her bra and panties off.”

You climb to your feet and walk over to Lydia, holding out a hand and helping her stand. You move behind her and trail your fingers down the soft skin of her spinal column before popping the clasp of her bra. Lydia slides it off her body, arms crossing to block her now exposed breasts. Goosebumps rise across her from head to toe. You shush her and rub up and down her arms. Lydia relaxes under your touch and she drops her arms, Tess nods at you once, a silent encouragement to continue. You get down on your knees, hooking your index fingers in the waistband of her panties and sliding them down. Her round ass is in your face, she smells like fresh linen and rain. You fight the urge to kiss the sensitive little spot right where her ass crack starts.

“So fucking beautiful. Sit back down, Lydia.” Tess says and you want to cry out in protest. Her body is so enticing, soft and warm. She focuses back on you and says, “Stand in front of Lydia so she can take your panties off.”

You stand gracefully, biting your bottom lip as you maneuver yourself in front of Lydia. “Spread your legs,” you whisper, determined to help her so you can put on the best show for Tess. Lydia parts her knees and you twirl to face Tess, gathering your hair in one hand as Lydia slides your soaked panties down your legs. You kick them to the side and seductively drop your hair, smiling sweetly at Tess.

“Sit,” Tess barks. Lydia gasps behind you, but you like this; being told what to do. Commanded. Used. Tess continues after you sit, “I want you both to touch yourselves. Show me how you like it, but don’t come. You haven’t earned that yet. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lydia says, looking down at her hands. You nod eagerly, already sliding your ass to the edge of the chair and spreading your legs wide for her. Tess stares at your glistening core hungrily, leaning forward again to rest her muscular forearms on her knees. Her hair falls forward and frames her face. Her expression is hard, like you don’t want to disobey her in these moments. Brows are slightly knit together, lips in a thin line. She looks beautiful and dangerous, but as you bring your pointer and ring fingers to your entrance she softens a little, cocking her head to the side slightly.

Lydia keeps her legs closed, slipping a finger down her slit and rubbing slowly from side to side. She whimpers silently beside you, glancing at you nervously. Your fingers easily slip inside of your soft, dripping hole.

Tess’s eyes dance between the two of you. “Two very different girls,” she says to the room, neither of you stopping what you’re doing, both determined to become a part of her Treasures. “One of you seems shy, but I can work with that. Help you get out of your shell. And then there’s you,” her focus locks on you as she gets up with a grunt and saunters over to you. “You are a little whore, aren’t you? So eager to please.”

You feel yourself getting wetter at her attention and mean words. She pets your head lightly a few times, laughing quietly at how you lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your lashes hit your cheeks she grabs a handful, pulls hard and gets within inches of your face. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you gasp, your orgasm right on the precipice, so you slow your motions. “I’ll be good, Tess.”

“Did I say you could slow down?”

“I - I’m gonna come,” you whine.

“No, you’re not. You just told me you’d be good. And good girls don’t come until they’re told.” She releases your hair and you suck in a breath. Tess’s presence is palpable, she seems to take up all the space and air in the apartment by just being here. “Do NOT come, that’s an order.”

Just as the last sentence leaves her mouth the door opens and the apartment gets smaller, like your whole existence is being put in a vacuum sealer. The deep chuckle that comes from whoever just entered makes your scalp prickle, but you keep your focus on Tess.

“What’re we doin’ here, Tess?” The voice is deep, with a slight southern accent highlighting an occasional word. It can only belong to one man, the only man allowed near Tess’s Treasures. Joel Miller. He’s feared and revered in the Boston QZ. Runs the drug trade that keeps both FEDRA and the seedy underbelly running. You’ve never seen him before, but you’ve heard stories.

“Recruits,” Tess says, walking over to Lydia, crouching in front of her. “This one is shy. The other one - well, I might need your help with her.”

Your clit feels like it’s zapped with electricity at her threatening promises and you moan loudly, pausing your fingers that have been plunging in and out of you as per Tess’s requests. “See,” she says flatly, hands massaging Lydia’s plush tanned thighs.

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps as he walks towards you, you can feel his heat and smell the tobacco coming off his skin. When he steps into your line of vision everything blurs. He’s beautiful and dangerous, but overall he’s the most incredible specimen you’ve ever seen. Your brain seems to go blank, like a hard reset, until all you see and smell and care about is Joel. You keep your eyes locked on his face, his brows crease, lips pressed tightly together. He plants his hands on his hips as his coffee and whiskey eyes slowly trail down your body. When he gets to your soaked and swollen pussy he licks his lips. “You gonna let her come?” He asks Tess but doesn’t take his eyes off you.

The fog clouding your brain clears and you glance towards Lydia and Tess. She has her legs spread and Tess is smiling encouragingly up at her, hand on top of hers, teaching her where to touch.

“She can come when she’s earned it. Lydia’s earned it though. Haven’t you?” She nods at Lydia as she squirms in the wooden kitchen chair. “That’s it, show us.”

Lydia speeds the up and down motion of her hand sloppily, you can hear the wetness as her movements become more erratic. Joel’s eyes haven’t left you, still watching you fuck your fingers in and out of yourself, almost mesmerized by you.

“Tess,” Lydia murmurs.

“Go ahead, baby. Come for me. Let me see that pretty little pussy twitch.”

Lydia’s body starts to shake as she cries out, her hand slowing as she whines and moans, “Oh god. Oh god. Yesyesyes.”

You peel your eyes away from her and squeeze every muscle in your body as tightly as you can, holding on, not letting yourself come. Looking at Joel makes it nearly impossible not to tip over that very tantalizing edge, so you clamp your eyes shut. “Tess,” Joel says, his voice a baritone whisper. “You’re torturing this one, look at her.”

He’s right, she is torturing you; but, what Joel doesn’t know is that you love it. You love being denied just as much as you love being used. You love being pinned down or tied up. You love having your throat or pussy or ass fucked in any and all positions known to humankind. The world is a dark and horrible shit show, but sex? Ya, sex makes you feel alive.

“Torturing her would be not letting her touch herself at all. She should be thanking me.” Tess turns her attention back to Lydia, helping her stand up and pulling her to the couch. “You did such a good job for me. You looked stunning as you fell apart.”

You open your eyes at the movement of them. They stop and stand facing each other in front of the couch as Tess removes her shirt, her breasts are small and perky with light pink nipples. Joel looks away from you, staring appreciatively at the woman he’s sworn to protect. She pops the button on her jeans. “Take them off her, Lydia. Tess shouldn’t have to work this hard,” Joel commands.

You whimper at the timbre of Joel's voice when he’s giving instructions and his eyes whip back to you. “You like that, don’t you? Being told what to do.”

“Yes, oh god, please can I come Tess,” you cry, eyes still locked with Joels.

“Lydia is going to lick my pussy, Joel is going to move out of the way so I can see you, and when I say you can come I want you to be loud. I want to hear those slutty little moans. Got it?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate, stepping behind your chair. He must be leaning over you because you swear you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Tess sits on the couch and tugs at Lydia’s wrist gently, encouraging her to kneel in front of her. “Come on,” she whispers and then places her finger at the top of her pussy. “Just lick and kiss right here. You can do it.”

Lydia moves slowly, giving you a knowing glance over her shoulder as she gets into Tess’s desired position. You suddenly realize that she’s more clever than you initially thought. She’s not shy, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Tess likes to lead, so she acted like she needed the guidance. And now she’s come and you haven’t. Tess’s head falls back, jaw going slack as Lydia tastes her.

“Does that turn you on?” Joel whispers, his warm breath hitting your neck. “Seeing Tess being eaten out. She deserves that every day, you know. She’s gonna take such good care of you, so you better care for her.”

“I will,” you mumble. “I’ll do whatever she needs. Whenever. Fuuuuck.”

“Look how wet you’re getting, I don’t think you can hold it for much longer.” He’s taunting you now. “Little thing loves to come, doesn’t she?”

“No, Tess gets to - oh god - she says when,” you’re squeezing as tight as you can, holding back the orgasm that’s right there, like a seesaw teetering, so close to tipping to the other side and slamming through you.

Lydia slurps at Tess, you can hear her sucking at her clit as Tess moans and tangles her fingers into Lydia’s hair. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck, right there.”

You let out a breathy whine and Tess’s eyes come to you. “Ssshh, not yet. Oh shit, Lydia. So good.”

Joel laughs into your ear. “Just come, what’s the worst she’s going to do? Spank you? Let me fuck your throat? I bet you like being punished.”

You shake your head, trying to block out all the lewd mental images he’s creating. “No, Joel.” you huff, refocusing on holding it in, thinking of all the unsexy thoughts you can as you watch Tess, waiting for your time.

Tess’s legs begin to shake, “get ready, baby. We are going to come together.”

Your wrist begins to ache, it feels like you’ve been fucking yourself for hours. “I need to, please. You look so - “

She cuts you off, “Joel, take over for her. I’m gonna come.”

Joel practically leaps in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling your drenched fingers out while slipping his two thick fingers into your mouth. You bob up and down on his fingers still looking at Tess. Her eyes are glazed over, and a bead of sweat slides down the line of her toned stomach and lands in her belly button.

“Now, Joel,” she whines and Joel wastes no time slamming his fingers inside of you. You cry out at the stretch, pleasure mixing with pain before he pumps his fingers forward. “Come right now,” Tess says.

You look down at Joel, his thumb coming to caress your swollen bundle of nerves and you cry out, the room filled with your loud moans just like she wants. You hear both her and Joel encouraging you. Joel’s Texas twang washing over you, “that’s it, fuckin clenchin. Fuck you’re so tight.”

Joel is relentless, curling and dragging his fingers in and out of you as you writhe in your chair. “Tess, oh god, yes.”

Joel's other hand slaps the inside of your thigh, “LOUDER!” he demands.

You squeal at the hot pain that splashes along your thigh, “hhnnngg, thank you. Fuck.” Your pleasurable moans turn into whines of pain as the overstimulation starts to seep in. You try to pull back and bring your knees together and Joel lets out a growl. He looks up at you dangerously and your stomach clenches. This is the wild, animalistic Joel Miller that everyone fears.

You start to panic, he’s not stopping and you don’t know if you can take much more. You’re so wrapped in his onyx gaze and a mix of fear and arousal that you don’t notice Tess behind Joel until she speaks. Her voice is soft yet firm as she cards her fingers through his greying curls, “Joel, that’s enough.”

He blinks hard, seemingly coming out of some sort of trance, and then slips his fingers from you, strings of milky arousal coating his fingers. “Good boy,” she whispers. “Help her up, but you don’t get to touch either of them until I say so.”

He nods and then stands, helping you up. Lydia is lounging lazily on the couch, her face still glistening with Tess’s juices. Your knees shake underneath you and Joel wraps an arm around your waist. You’ve had plenty of orgasms in your life, but never one that deep and strong. Your pussy is aching and you just want to sleep.

Tess sits on the chair that Lydia was on and spreads her legs slightly. “Lydia,” she crooks her fingers at her, calling her over. “Turn around, pretty girl. Straddle my thigh.”

Lydia follows Tess’s instructions, that fake nervous pout of her lips on display for Joel. Clever, very clever, you think through heavy eyelids.

“Joel, help her on the other thigh and bring that chair.” Joel guides and steadies you as you sit on Tess’s thigh, then places the extra chair in front of the three of you. “Use the chair for balance,” Tess instructs, her hand running up and down your spine gently.

You both lean forward, your sweaty palms slipping slightly against the wooden chair. You both gasp quietly as your swollen clits press into her muscular thigh, as she caresses your backs and hips. Joel sits on the couch across from you, one arm draped across the back and his legs spread. He watches you intently, eyes blown out and curls sticking to his forehead. It’s not lost on you that he hasn’t focused much attention on the other girl. You look over at Lydia and she’s smiling flirtatiously at you. Your faces are just inches apart and she nudges at your nose with hers.

“Ladies,” Tess starts, “this is the part where you show Joel what you can do. He’s going to kill people for you, and when he does, you need to repay him.”

You graze your lips against Lydias, her skin tastes like peaches and Tess’s cunt.

“Pretend my thigh is Joel's cock, show him how you’ll ride him.”

You flick your attention back to Joel, and his expression shifts from hard to a tortured need. You rake your eyes down his strong chest, still concealed by that fucking denim button up that you want to rip off with your teeth. He’s dangerous and could easily snap your neck with two fingers, but fuck, if that doesn’t make you want him more. Lydia presses her lips to your throat and you start to grind back and forth on Tess’s thigh.

You continue to take in Joel’s body, stopping when you get to his lap. Your eyes widen at the distinct outline of his hard cock pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you lock eyes with him again. His coffee coloured irises are almost onyx as he shifts in his seat. He wants you - just as much as you want him, and you just hope that you can break him enough so Tess lets him have you.

Tess’s strong hand travels up the smooth skin of your back, tangling her hands in the hair at the nape of your neck. “Tell Joel how good it feels, baby. Lydia, keep kissing her.”

Lydia’s lips suck at your skin. “Mmm, fuck Joel. Feels s’good. Wish it was your big cock filling me up, sliding in and out of my tight, wet pussy.” Tess tugs at your hair to open your neck more for Lydia and you yelp.

“Keep talking, baby girl,” Joel says, his hand moving to palm himself over his jeans. “Tell me what you want.”

You grind harder into Tess’s thigh, between the sting in your scalp from her hand, Lydia’s soft lips on your neck, and Joel’s intense stare, it almost becomes hard to breathe. Every bit of their attention is on you.

“I-I want you to, mmmm, to pin me down,” you take in a shaky breath, never taking your eyes off him. “To f-fuck me…from behind. Want you to f-fill, oh god, fill me.”

Joel pops the button of his jeans, reaching down his pants to grip himself through his tight grey boxers. You continue breathily, “Wanna feel you spank me. Slam inside of me. Dominate me.”

“Good girl,” Tess says, releasing her grip on your hair and pulling Lydia off your neck, before pressing in between your shoulder blades until you’re flush with her thigh. You crane your neck to keep your eyes on Joel, looking at him through the wooden slats of the back of the chair in front of you. “Your turn, Lydia. Tell Joel what you want.”

She clears her throat before beginning, “If he killed for me, I wouldn’t make him do any work. I’d lay him down, lick and kiss every inch of him before sliding him in my mouth. Taking him deep, cradling his balls with my hand. I’d swallow every drop.”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, almost like a secret language between him and Tess. Joel leans forward and removes his denim button up and t-shirt in one swoop. His tanned and toned chest makes your mouth water. His chiselled pecs and soft belly have trimmed salt and pepper hair dusted across them, he toes off his shoes and then lifts his hip, sliding his jeans down his legs. His skin glistens with sweat and you want to lick it all off of him, drink up his salt and musk, his innate Joel-ness.

“Come here, Joel.” She says.

“Sit up,” she says softly to you. Joel stalks forward like he’s about to claim what’s his and your pussy clenches around nothing in hopes that it’s you.

“Ride my thighs, girls. Whoever cums first, Joel gets to fuck.” You spit into your hand and reach between your legs, gently spreading your lips and coating yourself in saliva.

A deep, “holy fuck” leaves Joel's lips at the sight of you. Yes, he definitely wants you just as much as you want him. You move your hands from the chair to Tess’s knee and grind your hips in small, slow circles. Your arms push your tits together for Joel. Beside you, Lydia stops moving. She sits as still as a statue, looking over her shoulder seductively at Tess. A loud slap fills the room, followed by a lust filled moan that you didn't think Lydia was capable of.

“Tess,” she says, all airy and breathy. Her tone feels sweet on your skin. “I don’t like sleeping with men.”

You keep grinding, your focus on Joel. He’s so close that you could reach out and grab one of his muscular forearms. You’re going to fuck him. You want to fuck him. Any way he wants. Any hole he wants. None of it matters, you just want to feel him, smell him, taste him.

Tess lets out an impressed sigh. “You’re even more amazing than I thought, Lydia. Had me telling you how to lick a pussy, how to touch yourself. But you already know. Don’t you?” She slaps Lydia’s ass again and the loud noise even has you clenching. Fuck, you want Joel to spank you. Or Tess. Even Lydia at this point.

It’s wrong. And taboo. But who can say what’s right or wrong in this new world anymore?

“You are going to have to do things for Joel, little temptress. It’s part of the deal.” You see Tess’s hands come to Lydia’s hips, encouraging her to grind at the same pace you’ve set. “So ride me. Let me feel that slick little pussy, let me feel it quiver on my thigh.”

Things are quiet for a moment, just the squelching sounds of both your cunts gliding along her smooth thigh. You lean into Lydia, desperate for more. More what, you aren’t sure. Just more.

She responds to your touch, her nose brushing your cheek before you turn into her and kiss her deeply. Slanting your head to taste her tongue against yours. She’s sweet, like strawberry jam. Lips so soft they almost don’t feel real. Her teeth clamp onto your bottom lip and you cry out. The perfect amount of pain to increase the pleasure between your legs. When she lets go you’re panting.

“She’s close, Tess,” Joel murmurs like he knows your body so well, but he’s not wrong. He continues speaking casually to Tess as if you aren’t in the same room. “Do I really get to fuck her if she cums first?”

You grind down harder, kissing Lydia again. You love them talking about you as if you aren’t here. Making the decisions for you.

“As soon as she cums, you take her to the bed.” Tess’s strong hand lays a sharp slap on the meaty globe of your ass and you crumble.

“YES!” You scream, convulsing as the pleasure courses through you. You look up at Joel through your lashes, jaw slack, voice weak and desperate. “Joel. Please. Please.”

He drops his boxers and his thick cock spring free. Slapping against his belly. The tip is smooth and leaking, he’s bigger than you thought and somehow your throat dries out as your cheeks fill with saliva. As you come down from your second orgasm you realize that you can do this. You are going to do whatever Tess says and become one of her Treasures.

“Think you can take him?” Tess hums as Lydia falls apart beside you, moaning sweetly. Tess adds, “Good girl, Lydia. So perfect when you cum.”

You decide to take a page out of Lydia's book and act innocent. “N-no,” you stammer. “It’s…I don’t…it’s too big.”

Joel snorts, “You’re not a very good liar my little slut.”

Before you can respond he’s lifted you up and over his broad shoulder. His skin is warm against your belly. You giggle mischievously as his hands dig into the plush skin on the back of your thighs. He can so easily overpower you, so easily destroy you - mentally and physically. And you’d let him, and to make it worse, you’d thank him afterwards and probably ask him to do it again.

He drops you on the bed. “Don’t move.”

You nod and swallow the dry lump in your throat. You definitely want this, even if you shouldn’t. Even if that logical voice inside your head is screaming at you to put up the wall, block him out like you do with everyone else. But the infinitesimal hint of softness in his face that can only be seen by the two of you keeps you sucked in. He won’t hurt you, no. Something in his eyes gives him away, he wants to please you with those hands that have brought pain and torture to so many others.

He walks back over to Tess and Lydia who are completely entranced with one another. Lydia is now sitting fully in Tess’s lap. Her back pressed to Tess’s front, both her legs draped over Tess’s as she pressed kisses along the tops of one of her shoulders and rubs her fingers gently from her pussy up to Lydia’s. Joel kneels in front of them, both of their legs spread, wet pussy’s glistening and on display for him. The sight of Joel Miller on his knees does something unexplainable to you. He’s so goddamn delicious.

He looks over at you again, that softness still coaxing you deeper into his web, tangling around you, claiming you. His large hands cup Tess’s inner thighs and then he dives into both their pussy’s. Jealousy swirls in your stomach as he draws a sloppy wet line from Tess’s entrance to her clit, then up to Lydia in the same manner.

“Oh, fuck Joel,” Tess cries as Lydia whimpers.

“Too much, baby?” he says gruffly to Lydia who nods before burying her face into the crook of Tess’s neck. “Little more, m’kay?”

He licks at them again, Tess’s moan ending as Lydia’s starts. Joel doesn’t stop. He uses long languid and lazy strokes of his tongue as he eats at both of them.

“J-Jo - fuuuck Joel!” Tess murmurs, her head falling back and mouth falling open in a silent scream. She wraps her arms tightly around Lydia as her legs start to tremble. Joel’s deltoids and biceps flex as he pushes to keep her thighs apart.

“Fuck, Tess.” Lydia purrs, “You look so goddamn hot when you cum. Suck on her clit, Joel. Make our girl squeal.” You can hear him slurp her swollen and twitching nub into his mouth. As it slips along his soft and puffy lips her pained sounding moans start to become mumbles of pleasure. Joel works her through her orgasm, not stopping until he knows she's good and sated.

Lydia reaches back, twisting to kiss Tess deeply and then whispers into her lips. Whatever she says gets Joel's attention and he releases her clit with a pop before looking up at the two women. You haven’t moved from where Joel left you, as fun as being a brat is, he could probably dish out a punishment so intense that even you would break and use whatever safe word he gave you. Lydia whispers more, Joel smirks at whatever she’s saying and then the three of them all slowly turn to look over at you.

Fuck

Joel stands, his hands coming to the outsides of Tess’s knees and guiding her as she closes her legs, then he gives a hand to Lydia to help her stand before repeating the same with Tess. He stands tall and broad, completely naked and fully erect between these two powerhouse women, linking his fingers with Tess and smiling over at her. She gives him a little nod and your stomach flips as your pussy clenches.

This is it, you think.

“Little slut,” he says deeply, “‘M’gonna fuck you now, while they hold you down. Understood?”

You try to say yes, but just air seems to leave your lungs. Tess and Lydia climb along each side of you, hooking their arm under your leg and pulling back to open you for Joel. Your arms are trapped under their bodies as they lay beside you. You’re pinned and exposed; fully at Joel, Tess and Lydia’s mercy.

The bed dips as Joel settles between your thighs, his large body looms over you, resting himself on one forearm beside your head, his other hand wrapped around his cock, running it up and down your folds.

“So wet for me. So soft,” he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance and you gasp. “Shit! S’tight too, baby girl.”

Tess and Lydia nuzzle into you, lightly dragging their noses along your neck and jawline. “J-Joel, fuck me. Pleaseplease. Fuck me”

Joel presses his hips forwards, and the thick, smooth mushroom head of his cock pushes at your weeping cunt again. “Look at me, little slut,” he rasps. You don’t hesitate, look at him with big innocent eyes, biting your lower lip. He spits into his palm and then coats his throbbing dick with it, fisting himself up and down. He raises an eyebrow at you cockily, “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, please!”

Without warning Joel slams into you, stretching you painfully and your body jolts. You try to slam your knees together but the naked women on each side of you keep you spread open widely for Joel. “Shit baby,” he says through gritted teeth as his body folds over yours, his hands caging all three of you in. Tess nips at your neck, while Lydia sucks at your earlobe after whispering, “Relax, little slut, we all got you.”

Your lungs slowly come back to you. You take a deep, full breath in, and it feels like you haven’t taken a proper breath since seeing Joel for the first time. As you exhale you’re completely surrounded by Joel Miller. His large body is all you can see and feel. Meanwhile, all you can taste and smell is his tobacco scent and the salt of the sweat that coats his tanned skin. You’re addicted, you want to be able to inject him right into your veins. Your pussy relaxes around him and the pain ebbs into pleasure, and you need more.

“More, please more,” you murmur into his neck.

“There she is,” Tess whispers in your ear and you whimper.

“Say it again,” Joel commands.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you cry. “Please, fuck me. Make me your little slut for real.”

Lydia giggles seductively in your ear, pulling you into her tighter.

“Open her all the way for me,” he says to the other two. “S’too tight for me.”

He sits himself up and your knees are pulled open and back. Joel keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tilts his chin a bit and splits on your already soaked pussy. His veiny hands come to the back of your thighs, squeezing and massaging at your sensitive skin.

“Think I should fuck her, Lydia?” He starts, and soon they’re talking about you again as if you aren’t even there, the slick walls of your cunt fluttering as they speak.

“She's been good, hasn’t she?” Lydia says in a syrupy aroused tone.

“No she hasn’t,” Tess says between kisses along your jawline. “She’s a thief. She’s a bad girl.”

Joel slaps the inside of one of your thighs, with just enough of a flick in his wrist that it immediately sends a zap of pleasure toward your clit. Lydia feels you relax more into her grips, “She likes it when you hit her, Joel”.

“Of course she does,” Tess moans. “She’s a little slut.” She hits the t at the end of the word hard and Joel slaps you again. Right in the same spot, precision that you’ve never known before from a man who kills without being seen.

“Should feel how tight she is, maybe she had us fooled,” Joel says, eyes shifting between the two women, wholly avoiding your gaze. You’re so desperate for his attention, and the humiliation of him not returning it arouses you so much more than it should.

“What’d’ya mean, baby boy?” Tess asks, her warm breath hitting your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Like a virgin, squeezin’ me like a vice.”

“She’s shakin,” Lydia adds. “Poor girl.”

“You two don’t stop kissing her while I do this,” they both nod and he flips his attention back to you. “I wanna hear you screamin’. Got it, little slut?”

You shudder under his intense stare. “Yes, yes, Joel. Please, just fuck me. Pleeease!”

He pulls halfway out and then slams back in, his heavy balls slap at your taint and asshole, your needy high pitched moans filling the room. Your whole body constricts around Joel and as it relaxes it feels like heaven. No one has made your body feel like this. “That feel good?” Joel says tauntingly, his hands gripping into the back of your thighs.

“Please - fuck, yes. More,” you mumble, almost incoherently.

“Show our girl, Joel. Show her what he can have once she’s my Treasure.” Tess commands.

What’s that saying, ‘You say jump, I say how high’? Well, when Tess says jump, Joel is already mid jump, doing it exactly how Tess wants it. He’s already dragging his cock out slowly, all the way to the tip, before slamming fast and hard back into you.

“Harder,” Tess growls, biting your neck as Joel repeats the motion. Lydia squirms against you, her soft warm skin slipping along the thin sparkling layer of sweat that coats your body. “Look at her. Pliant, soft. Letting Joel do whatever he wants.”

“That’s cuz she’s a good girl,” Lydia moans, kissing the sensitive skin under your earlobe.

Joel brings one of his hands to cup your chin, his thumb running around your bottom lip softly. “Gotta relax for me, little slut.”

You take a breath and as you exhale you can feel the grip your pussy has on his thick cock loosen. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

“Good job, baby girl,” Tess whispers, kissing at your throat again.

“Fuck her now, Joel.” Lydia says, “We got her.”

Joel sets a quick pace, slamming in and out of you. His name and a string of swears leaving your lips with every thrust, just the screams of your pleasure and the squelching of your pussy filling the room. Tess and Lydia whisper praises as Joel is possessed by your cunt. Pounding and pounding into you without pause. Over and over, he’s relentless. A man possessed. You can’t help but wonder if he’s like this with all other women or if this is just for you. His hand falls from your chin, landing beside Tess’s head on the mattress, the other still gripped to your thigh. His short nails dig into your skin, leaving you marked with signs of him.

“That’s it,” Lydia hums. “Taking it like such a good girl.”

Tess’s teeth lightly scrape at your jawline. “Come on, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

“So fuckin’ pretty when you come,” Joel says each word at the end of his harsh thrusts. His voice is gravelly and deep. Seeping under your skin and into your DNA, the very fabric of your being. You belong to him, no questions asked.

“M-more. I - more - please.” You aren’t sure what you mean by more, but Joel seems to know your body better than you as he sits himself back up and brings his thumb to your clit, teasing it gently and you writhe under him. It’s almost too much but you need it, and even more, you need Joel not to stop.

He hammers into you again, slower this time, but still with an intense flick of his hips at the end. The leaking tip of his cock pressing against the perfect spongy part behind your clit.

“Can see you in her stomach, Cowboy.” Tess moans. Both the women feather long, lingering kisses along your neck. The juxtaposition of their soft actions and the bruising dance of Joel’s hip is just as confusing as it is arousing.

“Rub her clit a little harder, Joel. I think she’s getting close.” You clench around him at Lydia’s words and cry out loudly.

He swirls his thumb easily along your lubricated clit, the mixture of both of your arousals and his spit making it slippery. “Ohgod, hnnnnggg, J-Joel pleasepleaseplease.”

“Sssshhh, baby,” he soothes, pausing with his hips pushed flush to your ass. “Gotta relax, remember?”

You whimper in agreement, nodding your head as you try to slow your breathing and your heart rate. “There she goes,” Joel moans as your pussy walls flutter and then relax.

He starts to fuck you slowly, circling your swollen velvety nub with the rough pad of his thumb. His other hand leaves your thigh, massaging your breast, pinching at the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. Gonna fill you one day.”

“Today, please!” you protest through a salacious moan.

“Tell her,” he says to the women holding you in their arms, speeding up the circles of his thumb.

“Lydia,” Tess whispers, like it’s a secret just for the three of you, “Tell her your plan.”

You’re lost in a daze as Lydia says your name into your skin. When you don’t respond she nips gently at you and says, “Baby? You with me?”

“Y-yes. Fuuuuuuck,” you say wantonly.

“Joel is gonna make you cum, then pull out and cum all over our faces. After, we are going to lick it all off each other.” She says it with a hint of mischief and lust in her voice.

The three of them praise and encourage you as Joel keeps fucking you and rubbing your clit at the same time. You have no idea how long you’ve been in this apartment, how long you’ve been floating on a vibrating fluffy cloud of pleasure and craving. Whispers of “Good girl”, “so pretty”, and “fuck listen to how wet you are” travel through you.

The electric currents of pleasure that sizzle along your skin all come to the base of your spine. Pressure building, so very close to exploding around all of you. “Come on, little slut. Let go for me.”

Lydia and Tess say ‘Come on’ and ‘relax into it’ at the same time.

“Shit, J-Joel,” you whimper. A tear runs down your cheek.

“I know, I’m here,” he says, voice slightly softer than earlier. “I know.”

The pressure becomes unbearable and then everything snaps. Your pussy flutters as the pleasure starts to consume every single inch of your being. Your vision blurs, every muscle going lax as you twitch unconsciously underneath him.

“Good girl. Yes, that’s my good little slutty girl,” he growls. Your orgasm continues to tear through you, ripping you in half and you know when you come down only Joel will be able to stitch you back up again.

Joel presses his large palm to your mound, and just as you feel yourself start to come down you’re on the precipice of another orgasm. “Got another one for me, baby?”

“Yesyesyes - yeeesss,” you’ve forgotten words, you’re just a bundle of pleasure. No muscles or bones or thoughts of your own. Just a pliant body, that’s fully under the control of Joel Miller.

Your second orgasm hits you hard, tearing anything you had left in half. “She’s gonna squirt,” Joel mumbles.

“Just let it go,” Lydia whispers, suckling on your earlobe.

You push into the feeling, letting it overtake you as liquid gushes from your cunt, coating Joel's pelvis and pooling on the bed below you. It splashes as Joel keeps up his pace. You scream out in pleasure. Lydia and Tess talking you through it quietly, “Good girl. Stay relaxed for me,” Tess says as Lydia adds, “Let it take you, we’re right here.”

The pleasure starts to ebb, it’s becoming too much as Tess whispers, “Breathe, baby girl. Just breathe.”

“Can’t, Tess.” you whimper, turning your face towards her. “Please,” you plead. If you learned anything from earlier, it’s that only Tess can make him stop.

“Ok, baby, you’re ok,” she hums. She looks up at Joel above all of you and drops her voice, “That’s enough now, Joel.”

Joel pulls away from your clit and you sigh in relief, both his hands coming to your breasts, squeezing them roughly as his thrusts become sloppy. “Get ready,” he huffs through gritted teeth. Both Tess and Lydia scoot up so their faces are pressed against yours.

Joel slips out of you with a lewd pop and practically bends you in half to get over your faces. “Open your mouths and look at me,” he commands. The three of you obey, anything for the man who is going to kill for you or defend you to the very end if need be.

His hand is tight around his cock, pumping himself quickly, the cords of muscle and veins along his forearm start to pop. His balls are full and heavy, tight against his body as he edges closer to his release. You stare at him, soaking in how wrecked he looks as he gets closer. His brows pinch together, onyx and whiskey flecked eyes looking only at you before his face goes lax and he lets out a deep, loud moan. Warm ropes of opaque white cum paint your faces.

As soon as he’s done he pulls away, Tess and Lydia letting go of your legs as the three of you kiss and lick at each other's sticky faces. Joel tastes better than you could have imagined, a heady mix of saltiness that leaves you insatiable for more.

Joel sits back on his heels watching the three of you slurp him up. He has a proud smirk on his face and when your eyes find his he winks at you before getting up and grabbing a towel off the top of the small dresser near the bed. Tess says something hushed to Lydia as you and Joel look at one another. Lydia pressed a kiss to your cheek before getting off the bed and following Tess into another room, the unmistakable sound of the shower alerting you to where they’ve gone.

Joel climbs beside you, looking down at you hesitantly. “You ok?” he whispers.

“Ya,” you sign sleepily. “I’m ok, Joel.”

He brings the towel to your thighs, soaking up your arousal. “I didn’t hurt ya?”

The towel ghosts along your swollen folds and you gasp, turning your head into Joel’s strong upper body. “I know, sorry.” He hisses, hating that he’s causing you discomfort. “But I gotta clean you up.”

He dabs gently with the soft towel causing an aftershock that shakes through your body and you feel yourself squirt again. Not nearly as much this time but a euphoric moan leaves your lips. Joel tucks the towel between your legs and guides your face up to meet his. His brown eyes burn themselves into your soul, “do you need more, baby? Just tell me.”

“It’s sensitive,” you whine.

He lifts an eyebrow slightly, “does it hurt?”

You stick your bottom lip out and nod sadly.

“Need me to kiss it?” he asks gently, his hooked nose rubbing against yours.

You look at him hesitantly. Of course, you want Joel’s plush lips on your pussy, but a flap of a butterfly wing could probably cause you to implode at this point.

“You can say another time,” he whispers, lips hovering over yours. He doesn’t know where this side of him has come from. Joel Miller is a simple man. Murder who Tess says, fuck any one of her Treasures that offer to get the adrenaline out afterwards, then leave them in their apartment pumped full of his cum. He usually can’t wait to rush back to his apartment to take a shower and shoot back a mix of whiskey and sleeping pills. But with you, he feels the need to care for you afterwards, and he has a strong feeling that you’re going to be a very large distraction in his life from now on.

I’m fucked, he thinks to himself.

You lean forward to sponge your lips against his. He kisses you sweetly, pulling you in tighter as you hum contently into his lips.

“I don’t think I can tonight,” you say softly after breaking the kiss.

“That’s ok, little slut.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re resting on top of him. Legs straddling his hips and your head resting on his chest. You shiver against him, tucking your arms into your body. His hands scramble for the blanket, wrapping it around the two of you, kissing the top of your head. “Tomorrow, after Tess officially makes you her Treasure, that will be your gift from me.”

You nod into his chest, he smells like gunpowder, fresh sawdust and sweat as your eyelids become heavy and the world seems to slip away. You have trouble sleeping normally, I mean who wouldn’t in this fucked up new world you’re all in, but with Joel, it happens almost too easily. Sleep just takes you to a deep and uninterrupted place for who knows how long. But when you wake you’re in a large grey t-shirt in a small bedroom, not the same one you fell asleep in. You hear the peaceful and melodic breathing of someone beside you. You move slowly, peeling open your eyes to see Joel sleeping beside you. The moonlight dances softly along his face, grey hairs glinting in the light. He looks so peaceful, nothing like the man that was crazed by your pussy early. He’s still visibly dangerous, but fuck is he beautiful.

I’m fucked, you think to yourself.

Tag list:

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@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #pedrohub #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel x y/n #joel x oc #Joel x tess #tess servopoulos #tess x joel #tess x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic

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alexanderwales · 2 months ago

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When I was a teenager I thought we were going to have robots everywhere, like the future was going to be the Jetsons, tiny robots and big robots that would just do everything. Most of this was not reading scifi, it was reading Hans Moravec and Ray Kurzweil.

And robots do have their place, but it's mostly as highly specialized machines doing jobs that are either highly repetitive or very bespoke but programmable. Everything else?

The dream is to have something that can replace a human, a humaniform robot that can just slot right into the spot a human once occupied, serving drinks or caring for the elderly, and I just have so much trouble taking the idea seriously now. Maybe it's because I've spent time in the software industry and have seen how errors and issues accumulate, and how many damned corner case you need to account for even if you're in a walled garden. But the idea of actually being able to get to the point where these things are fulfilling the promises made about them still seems laughable, and we're closer than we've ever been.

Last year Amazon began doing a trial of Digit, one of these vaguely human robots, and I cannot tell how much this is a stunt and how much this is actually useful and cost-effective. Knowing how companies work, there is every incentive for the robot-makers to "trial" their product in very limited capacity at very unsustainable costs, maybe even free, which is then used for "exposure" in order to hype the market and ideally get some funding to make the thing actually work, or work within costs, or give the devs and engineers some time to work out the bugs. I don't think any robot company owes me a look at their finances or the parameters of their deals, but it sure would be nice if every single article about this weren't a puff piece written exactly how I would expect both companies want it written.

And Boston Dynamics has Spot deployed, but reading their press releases makes me cringe from the corpospeak, and I'm still left questioning how much this is "real" and how much it's a gimmick meant to fund future investment. It's entirely possible I'm just a curmudgeon, but it feels like everyone has something to sell, and the market for someone saying "this is actually just non-viable at these costs" is very small.

The early 2000s optimism has turned me into such a cynic where technology is concerned. I need to go crack my copy of The Singularity is Near and see what, at 18, I thought the future was going to be like. My stance, until I actually see something that's not a carefully staged press demonstration, is that this particular bit of "the future" has more catches, costs, and problems than it wants to show the public.

#robots

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mattslolita · 10 months ago

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psycho killer - c. sturniolo ( 001. )

in which ... a killer is terrorizing the town of boston and charmaine soon realizes she's the final girl in his twisted game.

ghostface!chris x black!fem oc

warnings ; blood , gore , death , eventual smut , angst , ghostface!chris , final girl! oc

"𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆, 𝒊'𝒎 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒓𝒆!"

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ꒰

in the comfort of charmaine's home, she sat on one of the bar stools at the end of the small kitchen table — her best friends, morgan maldonado and madison filipowicz were both with her, but occupied with separate things; morgan was on the phone with who charmaine assumed was her boyfriend ( unless she felt like cheating on him ), and madison was busy making popcorn for the film they were going to watch.

"hey char, what happened to that cheesy popcorn you always have?" madison asked, as she searched the girl's fridge, "there's like, none left."

"i'm gonna be honest madi, i ate it all," charmaine shrugged, as she scrolled through her phone.

madison shook her head, and went back to the fridge, biting down on one nail as she continued searching. charmaine looked over at morgan, who was sprawled out on her couch, twirling her dark hair around her fingers, her face painted with a rosy tint and a smirk plastered on her face. the evans girl frowned, wondering who it was that she was even talking to.

"wow, chris is making you blush that hard?" charmaine teased quietly, and morgan rolled her eyes, waving her off.

"this isn't even chris, girl," morgan whispered to her friend with an eyeroll, "he doesn't really make me blush like this anymore, anyway."

charmaine nodded, but her jaw clenched at the thought of morgan cheating on chris — christopher sturniolo was morgan's boyfriend, who also happened to be charmaine and madison's best friend, too. he had two identical brothers aside from himself, and they were both best friends with the triplet brothers. charmaine has liked chris for as long as she can remember, and it always puzzled her as to how he chose morgan over her. of course, chris never knew this, and she didn't plan on telling him — it was something bound to break up their friendship ( though charmaine knew the triplets longer ).

the smell of butter wafted through charmaine's senses, telling her that madison had put the popcorn in the microwave. the filipowicz girl came and sat down on the counter next to charmaine, a small grin settling on her face. "which horror movie are we watching tonight?"

charmaine grinned back, having always loved that she and madison loved horror movies. "oh, it's definitely a friday the 13th kinda night."

"ugh, we always watch that one," morgan whined suddenly, as she sauntered into the kitchen, her arms crossed, "can we watch the craft or something?"

"can you stop being a hoe and sleeping with every guy who gives you attention?" charmaine sneered, causing madison to snort and hold back a laugh, and morgan to give her an unimpressed look.

"you say that like it's a bad thing," morgan suddenly grinned, causing charmaine to roll her eyes and shake her head, "it's not my fault i'm sex positive!"

"whatever you wanna call yourself, morgan," madison giggled, causing charmaine to stick her tongue out at morgan playfully.

"whatever, friday the 13th is it," morgan sighed, resting her elbows on the counter, "let's play something while we wait for the food."

"what're you thinking?" charmaine questioned, setting her phone on the counter and facing her best friend.

"truth or dare."

morgan grinned, and madison and charmaine shared a knowing look. "girl, is this an excuse for you to just tell madi to make a move with that one girl already?"

madison's cheeks tinted, and she rolled her eyes. "that's not happening, by the way!"

"ugh, fine!" morgan grunted, but she sent madison a pointed look, "you don't even have to pick dare if you don't want to!"

"whatever, let's just play," charmaine said, waving both girls off, "m, truth or dare?"

morgan pretended to tap her chin in thought, then she smirked at charmaine. "dare."

"i dare you to call that one strip joint and pretend you wanna get hired there."

madison's eyes widened and morgan's jaw dropped, causing charmaine to burst out laughing. "what the actual fuck kinda dare is that?"

"it's a good one, don't lie!" madison grinned, pointing to morgan.

"fine, whatever, i'll do it," morgan said with an eyeroll.

before she could make a move to grab the phone though, it began ringing — the three best friends exchanged a glance with each other, before morgan shrugged and moved towards it. "this doesn't count as your dare by the way!"

"it's probably just steven again," morgan grinned, as she picked up the landline, bringing it up to her ear, "hello?"

madison sat on the counter idly, and charmaine scrolled through her own phone as morgan talked to whoever it was she was talking to ( charmaine wouldn't be surprised if it was another one of her side pieces ). but from the way morgan's eyebrows furrowed, something was off.

"who is it?" charmaine mouthed her, madison raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"i don't even know," morgan mumbled, holding the phone away from her momentarily, "it's just fucking silence."

"here, let me see," madison said, hopping off the counter and going to grab the phone from morgan, "hello?"

but madison was met with silence as well, causing all three girls to share a look with each other. finally, charmaine shrugged and walked over to the phone, taking it from madison and holding it up to her ear. "hello?"

"hello? who's this?"

charmaine's eyes widened, causing morgan and madison to watch closely. "who're you tryna get to?"

"i don't know," the voice said, and charmaine felt a chill down her spine. it sounded much too deep to be normal, but something about it was highly attractive.

"well, you better figure it out," charmaine said, "bye have a good night."

"wait, don't hang up!" the voice said, and for some reason, charmaine's eyebrows rose and she didn't, "i wanna talk to you."

"yeah, they got like, five hundred numbers for shit like that," charmaine said, shaking her head, "see ya."

charmaine hung the phone before they had a chance to reply again, and both girls looked at her curiously. "so who was it?"

"i don't even know, some weirdo saying they wanted to talk to me," charmaine shrugged, and morgan grinned at the girl.

"well it's about time somebody wants to talk to you," morgan snickered, "you need to get a man."

"morgan, shut the fuck up," madison said, crinkling her nose and slapping the girl's shoulder, "she doesn't need to get anyone. just because you fucked half the school behind chris's back, doesn't mean everyone wants to do that same thing."

morgan's jaw dropped at what madison had said — truth was, morgan was always knocking charmaine for not wanting to just get with anybody randomly. she would take a dig at her about that stuff around charmaine and all her other friends too, which really upset her, being that she was supposed to be her best friend; charmaine guessed madison just finally got tired of it.

"wow, madi, didn't know you had the capability of being mean to anyone," morgan mumbled, and charmaine snorted.

"talking about everybody all the time just pisses me off," madison shrugged, turning to give charmaine a smile, "especially when it's about my girl."

before charmaine could respond to madi, the phone rang again, much to to her disappointment. with a groan, charmaine picked up the phone once again. "hello?"

"looks like i called the wrong number again," the voice said, and this time, charmaine rolled her eyes amusedly.

"yeah, i guess you did," charmaine sighed, sitting on the counter, "why did you redial it again?"

"to hear that pretty voice," he purred, and charmaine felt her cheeks get warm.

a small smile graced her features as she began swinging her feet back and forth. madison was now in the living room on her phone, and morgan; well, she was somewhere in the house.

"huh," charmaine said, looking around.

"what's your name?"

charmaine chuckled, holding the phone away from her and looking at it in disbelief. "no way you just asked me that, dude."

"what's wrong with asking your name, pretty girl?" he asked, and for a split second, charmaine's eyebrows furrowed — she felt like she somewhat recognized the voice.

"first of all, i've seen too many horror movies to be telling you my name like that," charmaine said, as the microwave went off, signaling the popcorn was finished, "second, why do you wanna know my name?"

"cause i wanna know who i'm looking at," he said lowly, causing charmaine to immediately jump off the counter.

"what did you just say?" she asked nervously, looking around, seeing madison still sitting on the couch. morgan was still nowhere to be found.

"i said i want to know who i'm talking to," he said humorously, causing charmaine's eyebrows to furrow once again.

"yeah, nice try, that's not what you said," charmaine said seriously, beginning to grow annoyed, "look, find someone else to be all creepy with, i'm done here. bye."

"hang on-"

"it was funny at first, but you took it too far!" charmaine said.

"don't you-!"

before he could get another word out of his mouth, charmaine clicked the line off and set the phone back on its hook with a loud sigh. madison's head snapped up, and she looked up to see charmaine with her hands on her hips.

"everything okay, char?" madison asked, making her way over to the girl, "did they ever tell you who they were?"

"no, just some asshole being creepy as fuck," charmaine admitted, rubbing her temples with both her hands. "i swear-"

the phone rang, yet again.

💌 lil

i giggled when i first wrote this ngl. lmk how y'all like it so far😏.

@muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @guccifrog @prettiest-poision @mrssturnioloo @mattsivy @mattsturniolosleftnut @e1ias3 @eyeliketoeatpoosay @breeloveschris @mayhem-72 @l0akkz @summerssover

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #ghostface #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo x reader #smutty smut smut #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #eventual smut

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ltwilliammowett · 2 months ago

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Today's door no. 3 takes us back to the 17th century. More precisely, to a trading vessel and to Maryland. Say hello to Dove

More about her below:

Ark and Dove were the two ships used to establish the Maryland Colony. The Ark was a 400-ton cargo ship hired by Cecil Calvert to transport about 140 colonists and their equipment and supplies to Maryland. The Dove was a much smaller cargo ship with a capacity of 40 tonnes, purchased by Cecil Calvert and investors so that the colonists would have a ship of their own once the Ark sailed for England.

The two ships set sail from the Isle of Wight on 22 November 1633. Three days later, on 25 March, a storm arose in the Channel and the Dove was seen waving emergency lanterns at her masthead before disappearing into the storm. Those on board the Ark assumed that she had sunk in the storm. It wasn't until six weeks later that they learnt otherwise, when the Dove arrived in Barbados and joined the Ark.

The two ships reached Old Point Comfort on 24 February 1634, after a three-month voyage (including 66 days at sea). After spending a week at Old Point Comfort, they departed on 3 March and sailed up the Chesapeake to the Potomac River, where they landed on St. Clements Island. They spent the rest of March exploring and negotiating with the Indians for a place to settle. On 25 March, Father Andrew White held a thanksgiving mass to celebrate the acquisition of 30 square miles of land on the east bank of the St. Mary's River, and on 27 March the colonists left St. Clements to occupy the acquired land and name their settlement ‘St. Mary's’.

Ark returned to England at the end of May, leaving Dove behind to organise the transport of goods traded on the Atlantic coast. In the autumn of 1634, Dove was sent north to Boston to trade corn for stockfish and other goods. In August 1635, Dove was sent back to England with furs and timber to trade. Dove was never seen again, probably lost at sea.

The Dove in the picture is an older replica of a vessel from the late 17th century. The newer Dove is dated a few years earlier.

#naval history #naval artifacts #replica #the dove #17th century #age of sail

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covetyou · 11 months ago

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no shortage of sordid

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, Joel Miller x m!OC (unnamed) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: very dubious consent (not from reader), oral sex (m receiving from m), voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, brief mention of food and allusion to hunger, unnamed m!OC, m/m, Joel is not exactly gay he's just a domineering asshole, drug reference word count: 3.1k summary: Your deal with Joel has changed into something else, something different to when you first came to his door asking for help months ago. But, when you try to take him up on your new arrangement, you're met with something you never expected.

A/N: this was originally a much shorter deleted scene from the start of the dark caress of someone else. I took it out because it was too much and after writing that chapter I told myself I would avoid writing threesomes for as long as possible, because god damn it there's too many body parts. well, me, fuck you, this is threesome adjacent and not technically a threesome at all.

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Six days. That's how long it takes for you to cave and admit you want him. It takes you another two to do anything about it.

The first time you make the trip to Joel's apartment, no pills necessary, you're faced with silence and a door that won't open.

With an hour break between your jobs the next day, you make another attempt. But, you barely make it through the market when you see him trailing behind Tess, hulking figure parting the crowd with ease. You don't stop to see where they're going, instead choosing to turn on your heel and head back the way you came. The less you know, the better. Using the cards he handed back to you nine days ago, you stop by a street food vendor on your way to your next job, eating your first hot meal not only of that day, but that week, the warm food soothing more than just the emptiness in your stomach.

It takes you much longer to convince yourself to try on the third day. Your thoughts hadn't immediately gone to Joel Miller that morning. You had toyed with going for a walk, with seeing if you could pick up more work. But soon your hands ache, bones creaking in their joints as you clench them once again, trying to stave off the want in your belly with the pinch of nails digging into your palms.

Fuck it. You're going. Whether he's there or not, the need to get out of this apartment far outweighs the desire to stay warm inside it.

So, one gray trudge across a gray Boston to a gray apartment block later, you're at his door. Again.

Only this time there's not silence on the other side.

You can hear a murmur - undoubtedly Joel by the heavy rasp of a wry laugh that follows it - and a garbled whimper.

And, of course, you could leave. You could turn your back and leave Joel up to whatever it is, whoever it is, he's doing in there, but you don't. You knock, wanting him to know that even if he's occupied, you showed up. You came to him, not for pills, but for sex. For want, for desire, for the ease of the ache between your legs and the itch in your palms that just won't quit no matter how much you make yourself come.

Even with company, he doesn't make you wait long.

So it's not that you're not expecting the shuffle of two sets of feet. Or the thud on the door, heavy and dull like something big had caught itself before falling down. You knew he wasn't alone and, after all, the only thing you could really expect when visiting Joel was that nothing would be as expected.

No, that's not what surprises you at all.

What surprises you is when the door drifts open a fraction, a disembodied hand reaching through and pulling you through the gap, dragging you inside. What surprises you is tripping over his shoes, only they're not his shoes, the feet turned the wrong way up to belong to the all too familiar man standing before you.

What surprises you is seeing a man on his knees in front of Joel Miller.

It surprises you so much, you don't even notice as the door clicks shut and the hand that dragged you inside pulls you once again to stand at his side.

From here you can get a full view. There's a man on his knees in front of Joel. Joel's pants are unbuckled and pulled low on his hips. And then, the entire scene becomes very, very clear.

There is a man on his knees in front of Joel with his cock in his mouth.

So, when Joel looks at you with a glint in his eye, you're suddenly rooted to the spot, staring between him and the man beneath him. A smirk from Joel tells you you've been looking a little too long so, embarrassed and not quite sure what to do with yourself, you spin around, turning to inspect the back of a chair as if it was the most interesting thing in the room, not the man currently bobbing his head up and down on Joel's length.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he drawls from behind you. "Ain't no fun for me if you ain't lookin'."

As you always do where Joel is concerned, you do as you're told, taking a deep breath as you turn back to watch the man swallow down Joel's cock. You'd seen this kind of thing before - turned down the wrong street at the wrong time more than once only to see someone on their knees for someone else, earning yourself a wink or an insult for the privilege. But you never stayed to watch. Yet, here you are, staying and watching either because it was Joel, or because he asked, you weren't too sure.

The why doesn't exactly matter, you figure, not when your cheeks were rapidly heating and the wet patch in your panties was doing nothing but grow.

"Think he likes the audience too," Joel is saying, nodding down to the guy on his knees. "Don't you?"

You can see that he does. There's a hard bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that looks much harder than the cock currently in his mouth.

"Dick always so hard for a straight guy. Think you like being a cocksucker." Joel gives the man an awkward pat on the head and huffs out a laugh, looking away from him to look back at you.

"Likin' what you see, sweetheart?" he jokes, casting dark eyes up and down your body. He can't see much. It's still fucking freezing, which is no surprise for a February in Boston, and you're still wrapped up against the elements because of it. But you know his gaze is looking through all of it, seeing through the layers straight down to your flesh, to your hard nipples and the wetness between your legs. He raises that infuriating, knowing, eyebrow at you and you roll your eyes.

"'m serious, you gotta keep lookin' or I'm never gonna come," he says then, and you drag your eyes back in an instant. You briefly wonder why - how - he would never come from this until it hits you.

Having a man suck his dick isn't Joel Miller's idea of a good time. Whoever the man on his knees is, he owes Joel. Maybe just like you did, or maybe worse. It doesn't matter, because you're not witnessing a blow job, you're witnessing a fucking business transaction.

And so you laugh - not at Joel, or the man, not really, but at the entire fucked situation and the world that brought you to this place.

"Y'hear that?" Joel growls down at the man. "She's laughin' at you."

Pinching his eyes shut, the man groans, and you swear you can see a dark patch starting to form on the front of his pants. It almost feels wrong, looking at another mans bulge like this when Joel's cock is right there, disappearing in and out of the strangers mouth at a languid pace. You can't even ask his name - his mouth too full to get out more than a garbled moan. Maybe names don't matter either.

Joel's eyes haven't left you, and yours haven't left the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. He's harder now, softness completely gone now that you're here to witness it. Giving and watching a blow job are so much different to what you expected. There's a wet sound in the air, for one. That rhythmic, wet noise of a throat being fucked was usually masked by your own moans, made easy to ignore by the distraction filling your mouth. But here, several steps away, it is loud.

"That's it. Keep your eyes right there," Joel murmurs before pointing to your outer layer. "Unzip your coat, lemme see. Get those pretty tits out for me, sweetheart. Don't mind him. He ain't gonna look. Are you?"

The man groans again, keeping his eyes shut as his head bobs on Joel's cock, taking an impressive amount of him down his throat with each movement. There's a small shake of his head, and while you don't believe him, you find you don't care either. You don't know the man on the floor any more than he knows you, and you have a feeling he's likely to keep his mouth shut once he leaves Joel's apartment today anyway.

A fraction of a second later, you're pulling your jacket open and yanking your sweater up above your tits, baring them to Joel. He murmurs something to himself, fisting his shirt tightly as he holds it up, exposing his belly. It strikes you then how damn distracted you had been every time before now - Joel's fingers, or tongue, or cock working you in such a way that you were brainless and oblivious to the physical affects you had on him. Now, its obvious. Like a man possessed, he watches you with blown eyes, his cock in full hardness now as the man below him works him over with his mouth and tongue.

Dragging cool fingers down your exposed chest, you meet your already pebbled nipples, pinching them and holding back a soft gasp. It's as much for you as it is to get a reaction from Joel, and if he didn't know you were wet before, he does now.

"That's it, play with 'em. And keep watching, sweetheart. Want you to watch when I come down his throat."

It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but certainly not a chore. The man has picked up his pace, sucking and moaning around Joel's length as he slurps it down. He holds back a splutter when Joel's hips buck forward just as you pinch your nipples harder again, squeezing the flesh of your tits in cold palms.

"Fuuck, that's it, keep watchin'. You like that? Bet you want a taste of this dick too, huh?"

You nod, words stuck in your throat as Joel presses the mans head further into his crotch, rocking his hips to fuck lightly into his mouth.

"You needy and dripping over there ain't you?" he growls. He doesn't wait for you to nod, he doesn't need to. "Yeah you fuckin' are. Dirty fuckin' girl, watching my dick gettin' sucked. You like watching, don't you? Say it. Wanna hear it."

"I like it. I like watching, Joel," you say, barely more than a whisper as you become more and more entranced by Joel's cock in the mans mouth.

"Shit. Keep watchin'. Gonna come. Need you to watch."

It's all you can do to hold back a moan, your panties now probably ruined by your dripping, neglected cunt. This was not what you came here for, but watching Joel mumble obscenities and growl filth to you and the man on his knees as he gets his cock sucked was something you never knew you wanted before now. Sure, you want to touch, to play with him yourself. But watching is getting you wetter and wetter without even a finger or the press of your thighs to help you along the way.

"That's it. You keep suckin'. Fuck. Gonna bet you want this load in you not in him, right?"

Nodding frantically, you move a hand to your waistband, a soft plea on your lips, ready to pull your pants down any second. "Please - "

"Fuck - shit - well too bad, sweetheart. You look at that dick gettin' sucked. Shit - gonna come. Look at me. I said look at me."

Your eyes meet his just as they flutter closed. Joel groans a curse, his balls starting to empty into the throat of the man in front of him until he's suddenly tugging the mans hair, pulling his mouth off of his cock. The man gasps, swallowing down what he can as Joel rapidly strokes his spit soaked length, jerking the remains of his spend over the mans face and mouth. His eyes immediately flick to yours, a soft moan having left your own lips the moment Joel started to come, and he groans again, a final spurt coating the mans chin, soaking his facial hair. It's filthy. Not the most filthy thing you know Joel's done, but the most filthy thing you've ever seen him do from the outside. You can't help but stare on in silence, too captivated by the spurts of milky white dripping over the mans face, his eyes still screwed tight. You're aching and desperate to stick a hand down your pants, to feel how wet you are, to touch your clit and make yourself come as you try to hold yourself upright on shaky legs.

Through syrupy blood pulsing in your ears you hear Joel growl down at the man, removing his hand from his hair like it's burned his palm. Then, he's looking to you again, deep brown eyes searching your own before falling down, down to where your hand cups your breast and your other fists the waistband of your pants in a tight grip. He knows - knows that even if you came here already wet and wanting, you were even more so now.

And it's with a smirk and a sharp snap of his fingers that he pulls you back into the room. The man's eyes are open now, avoiding yours as he wipes cum from his face with his sleeve, covertly licking his lips for any remnant taste of Joel. You can't blame him, fuck knows you'd done the same when Joel had swiped a taste of himself over your own lips, but you can't help the jealousy at wanting to taste again too.

It's then you remember your exposed chest, and you yank your sweater back down without another glance to the man on his knees. Joel shakes his head, a shit eating grin spreading across his face as he strides across the room. He goes to the cupboard where you know he keeps a small amount of his stock, rifling through for a second before coming back with a baggy and tossing it down on the floor at the mans knees. He scrambles for it immediately, climbing to his feet and grabbing the door. Joel doesn't look at him again.

"Say hello to your wife for me," Joel calls over his shoulder, and the man scurries away without a word.

Now it's just you and him, his unbuttoned pants the only remaining evidence of what just happened.

You hesitate, partly in stunned silence, partly your brain having turned to liquid between your ears, all coherent thought lost the moment Joel's cum spurted across the mans face. But there's still that unsatisfied ache between your legs, throbbing and making your hand twitch, willing you to reach for him now that he's so close.

Joel sees it, he knows, knows what you came here for and knows what you won't be getting.

"Not today, sweetheart. Couldn't even if I tried," he says gesturing to his spent already dick tucked back into his pants. "Gotta head out again too, so whatever you got goin' on in those panties, you gotta deal with it yourself." He finishes with a wink and a tap to your chin before grabbing a small gym bag from the couch. You hadn't even seen it there, brain too occupied by more interesting things happening in this room at the time.

So it's no surprise, really, when your mouth starts running before your mind can process what it's doing. There's only one thing you're thinking of. One thing, aside from the throb in your core, that you can't stop thinking about, that envy won't let you give up.

"Would you - " your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish while your mind stutters and stops. You shouldn't even ask. There's no answer that can satisfy that particular itch. Not as quickly as you'd want it, at least. If he said yes, he'd already said nothing could happen right now, and if he said no, well... there was something about the thought of him denying you that did something to you too. There was no winning.

"Would I what?"

Of course, Joel had already heard. Even as he potters about the apartment, dumping stuff into the bag from places you've not been paying attention to. He stops, prompting you to go on.

"Would you... Would you come in my mouth like that? One time?"

He stares at you with his mouth open in disbelief. "You want me to come in your mouth?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly so fucking dry you can't speak anymore. You'd been salivating, able to practically taste the phantom flavor of Joel's cum on your tongue just a moment ago. Now, it was like you'd been chewing on bricks, tongue sticky and dry and your teeth feeling like an awkward jumble in your mouth.

"Well, shit. Call the press. Respectable good girl wants to be my little cocksucker -"

"Fine, if you're going to make fun, I don't -"

"Woah, hold on, I'm fuckin' with you. I ain't gonna turn down shutting that pretty mouth up with my dick. Gotta do it more than one time though, sweetheart. You around tomorrow?"

Between jobs and your dad having a day off, it would be a few days before you could come back. Shaking your head, you offer up Thursday instead. It's only three days away. You can make it three more days. Right?

"Thursday works for me. Come by in the afternoon. I'll come in that mouth, and then I'll play with that pussy while I get worked up again," he says before adding, with a cock of his head, "Then I'll come in that too."

And you're dumbstruck - the fantasy you concocted in your own head far surpassed by Joel's own, seemingly thought up right on the spot as he maneuvers you out into the hallway.

"See you then, sweetheart."

He pushes you out of the door, fingers electrified where they touch your shoulder. You expect the door to snap shut behind you, like it has so many times before, but he follows you out into the hallway, locking the door behind him. With a wink, he stalks off down the corridor, legs carrying him out of the apartment block too quick for you to keep up.

Later that night, alone in bed and wondering how the hell you're going to last two more days like this, you rub yourself stupid to thoughts of Joel's cock in a mouth that isn't yours.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller/reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #Joel Miller x m!OC #fic: SWAT #coveted fics

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emloafs · 2 months ago

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a binary boyfriends au where the house fight on December 19th never happened, demetri and eli never make up in high school, and the universe keeps pushing them back together (Boston college au)

aka I wanna gage if anyone would read this fic..... (UPDATE: it's written!)

Demetri is having a shitty morning, so he can’t catch a break.

Maybe he was moving too fast. Maybe he was in a rush to get back to his apartment and finally attempt the other nine pages of the ten-page essay he should’ve already finished. Maybe the whole thing could be blamed on his long limbs or his natural clumsiness, but Demetri is fully convinced that this guy ran into him. Not the other way around.

And there goes his second coffee of the day–all over his sneakers, the cafe floor, and the guy who shoulder-checked him at full force.

“Shit!”

“C’mon, man!” the guy barks at the same time.

The guy has the hood of his green sweatshirt pulled up over his head, likely doing very little against the weather outside. He’s got wired earbuds in–like all pretentious douchebags do–and Demetri bitterly thinks he must have his music too loud to be aware of his surroundings, hence the collision. His worn utility jacket may have saved the hoodie from the spill but it looks completely ruined now.

Arguably, Demetri is much better off, notably not covered in hot coffee. But, this is his second spilled coffee in a single morning, and the universe is out to get him, so this guy isn't going to hear the end of it.

“You ran into me!” Demetri protests, fuming.

The guy flicks both his arms a few times, trying to wring out any dripping coffee from his coat sleeves.

Demetri’s never been good at biting his tongue and right now he’s too pissed to hold back. “Maybe if you were actually paying attention to the world around you, and not just plowing in here without a care for other customers or your surroundings, you wouldn’t have ran me over! You know, that’s my second spilled coffee today. I have half a mind to demand you get me a new one-”

The guy finally looks up seemingly to find who is responsible for dumping a medium-sized hot latte all over him. His face is half covered by his hoodie and Demetri can only see an intense side-eye of annoyance as a response to his lecture on the important or personal space. Then, he straightens quickly and narrows his eyes, leaning slightly in to the limited space occupied by a puddle of cooling steamed milk and espresso between them.

“And truly it’s blatantly a matter of safety–”

They lock eye contact and the guy’s eyes widen comically and his eyebrows shoot up so high they disappear above the overhang of his hood.

His voice cracks a little as he interrupts Demetri’s rambling.

“Dem?”

Demetri’s words die halfway through his sentence. Does he know this guy?

The stranger shakes his head roughly and clears his throat. “Sorry, it's just- I…” He looks Demetri up and down and narrows his eyes again. “Is your name Demetri?”

And that's… odd. Demetri inspects the guy’s face as best he can under the sweatshirt hood. He seems sort of familiar, but Demetri can't place it.

Demetri shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of how to hold his weight under this guy’s intense gaze. “Um. Yes?”

“Oh my- holy shit!” The guy lets out a laugh of disbelief and pulls out his earbuds, letting them hang out of the top of his hoodie. “This is crazy.”

He roughly shoves his hood off of his head, and Demetri’s heart drops into the bottom of his stomach.

He rakes his hand through a thick mop of shaggy light brown hair. Hiding under the hood was a pair of startling blue eyes that Demetri really should’ve recognized. As the not-so-stranger pats the hoodie down behind his neck, Demetri has a clear picture of his entire face. And just before Demetri can come up with a plausible theory on doplegängers, his eyes land on the faint scar rippling from the guy’s upper lip to his nose.

There's just no goddamn way.

So, since Demetri really can’t catch a break this morning, his childhood best friend, Eli Moskowitz, is standing in front of him, covered in his second latte of the morning.

And Demetri wants to say fuck off or what are you doing here or get out of my city or honestly just walk away, but he’s rendered completely frozen. Demetri feels a little like a cartoon character when their jaw completely unhinges and hits the floor with a comical clang. He’s left buffering like a YouTube video being played with a shitty wifi connection.

He hasn’t seen Eli since high school. Hasn’t talked to him in even longer. It’s probably been four years since they last spoke. Not that Demetri is counting. What the hell is he doing in Boston? What the hell is he doing this close to MIT? Just… what the hell?

Eli’s excited expression falters when Demetri doesn’t respond. He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It’s uh- It’s Eli. Moskowitz?”

Demetri notes first that he introduces himself as Eli, not that ridiculous nickname he coined in school.

He says it as if Demetri doesn’t know. He says it as if Demetri wouldn’t recognize him faster than the back of his own hand even all these years later. His hair is long, too long. It’s curling over his ears and nearly touching his shoulders, and Demetri is pissed because it still looks good. He looks older, he looks better, and all Demetri can see is the tiny Eli he met in first grade who was missing both his front teeth.

Demetri doesn’t know what to make of any of it. This feels like some cosmic joke.

“Uh, no, yeah. Yeah. What- What are you doing here?” Demetri finally manages. His voice sounds a little strangled, but the question comes out bluntly and a bit harsh.

“Uh,” Eli starts, glancing around, and letting out a confused laugh. He raises an eyebrow and shoves his hands in his pockets, gesturing with his coat around the cafe. “Getting coffee? What are you doing here?” he teases.

Demetri really doesn’t have time for this. He rolls his eyes. “Not here. What are you doing in Boston?” he demands.

Eli’s playful expression falls. He furrows his eyebrows. “I live here.”

And that’s- that can’t be right. Demetri lives here. Demetri just started his second semester of his junior year at MIT a month ago. He certainly would’ve noticed if Eli Moskowitz lived in Boston. Right?

“You live… in Boston?”

“Yeah,” Eli shrugs, looking much too nonchalant for Demetri’s liking. “I go to BU.” He cocks his head slightly to the side and earnestly says, “I thought you knew that.”

Demetri did not know that. That’s the thing about no contact. Demetri’s had Eli blocked in all forms of communication since their junior of high school. It’s sort of hard to keep tabs on someone when they’re pretty strictly out-of-sight, out-of-mind.

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throughparisallthroughrome · 1 month ago

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“Got The Blues Back In Boston”

Chapter 2

Pairing: Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Description: Leaving behind an incompatible college and profound heartbreak on the Virginia Coast, you find yourself home again in Brookline, Massachusetts. A new opportunity presents itself to you at MIT, joining your brother ben and childhood friends/ neighbors, Anakin and Ahsoka. Despite the familiarity, you discover just how much of a difference 2 years away can really make between the people you once considered family.

Warnings: f!reader, angst, jealousy, pining, smut, masturbation, mentions/descriptions of domestic abuse, cursing, drinking/drug usage, academic obsession, general obsession, hardcore partying, frats, general college bullshit

DISCLAIMER!!! READ BEFORE PROCEEDING: I've never been in an abusive relationship- I've only witnessed them. I'm an aspiring psychology major and have done a lot of research on the topic of domestic abuse/violence. This series deals with this topic HEAVILY, so be warned.

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: I am so sorry this update took so long! This chapter wasn’t actually supposed to end like this but if I ended it the way I wanted it to, it’d be like 15k words. I decided it’d be best to split it up, so if things are a little weird in between that’s why. Thank you so much to everyone who’s been reading and keeping up! Life’s been a mess lately but I’m so excited to put my work out there. Please enjoy! and let me know if you wished to be tagged. As always, requests are open and feedback is welcome! :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

To you, there was nothing more magical than the fall in Boston.

Everywhere you go, the streets are painted with vibrant colors and rich textures. It’s warm, inviting, and the most magical time of the year. Winter was a very close second, but nothing beat autumn. The Tudor-style homes on your street looked straight out of a fairytale, and the yards were covered in beautiful shades of orange, red, and yellow. The air was crisp, and there was always a faint smell of burning leaves from somewhere. It always stayed under 65 degrees but never dropped below 46. It was perfect.

As you grew up, you had always taken the same path to the diner, watching Tuesday night come every single week as the seasons and the neighborhood changed. There was a building on the corner of Maple and Main that never stayed occupied, and you could always count on Francis walking her poodle around the same time. Whether or not you liked it, Boston would change, with or without you.

In Hampton, you hated watching the seasons pass by, especially in autumn. It made you long for those wintry days in Brookline, listening to the boys cheer on the patriots while your mother and Shmi prepared dinner over some wine. You and Ahsoka always did “homework,” watching the game from a distance and mostly gossiping. You’d attempt to watch the game from a distance in Hampton, craving that little piece of home you missed the most. Still, it was always shut down by some “extremely important soccer game” Nick just had to watch. But you knew he hated you for longing for something other than him- what was he made for then?

But as the weeks went by, you really began to notice just how much you missed. You joined Ahsoka and Padme in the library most days, cramming as much information as possible- wanting, well, desperately needing an A. Yes, an A was good, but it was more to make you feel in control of your life once again. You needed the satisfaction- and the distraction.

It would be hard to say you didn’t notice the way Padme and Ahsoka would look at you when they thought you didn’t notice. So much pity. You hated it. They’d have these ‘knowing glances’ with each other and you felt that they were always talking about you the second you walked away. That part of high school you did not miss- but these were your friends, your best friends, and they shouldn’t be treating you like this- making you feel like this. When you asked them, they swore up and down it was nothing, they weren’t keeping secrets, and everything was okay. But the second you looked away- there was that knowing look between them. And it was driving you crazy.

And then there was Ben too, he was just so- not himself. Sure, Ben was always a nice guy, and he was a great person- but he was your older brother. And he always gave you a hard time, just for shit’s and giggles, and of course you always gave it right back. That’s what siblings are for. But after that first night back, things were so different. He was so soft towards you, so kind. He kept checking up on you, asking if you needed help with school, insisting on doing everything for you. It was nice- but it wasn’t him. And it just made you hurt more. All you wanted was for things to be normal.

Despite everyone being different- you had only hoped Anakin was the same. And not to your surprise, he wasn’t. In fact, Anakin was worse than everyone else. But he carried a certain burden with him- almost, guilt? It didn’t make sense to you- none of it did. And you tried so, so hard not to let it bother you, but it seemed impossible. So, maybe pushing them away was the best option. You hated the way everyone was making you feel- including yourself- but only you had control of yourself, so maybe that was your best option.

And so the study dates became solo dates, the family dinners were eaten in your room, and your weekly diner travels were now just a tradition that only you seemed to care about keeping up with. It was fine- you were fine. You didn’t want to admit that you were lonely- but you were, and you definitely felt it.

You pushed open the door to the diner. The sweet smell of apple pie filled your senses and calmed you simultaneously. The same regulars were lined up at the bar, playing darts and betting on football games. At least if Boston and your friends were always changing, Dex’s would stay the same.

“What’ll you have sweetheart, long time no see?” Dex winked at you while cleaning a glass before sliding some napkins and silverware your way.

“Just a diet coke, maybe a slice of pie.” You mumbled out, tracing out the details of the countertop with a cocktail straw. Time had just flown by, and you’d give anything to be in high school at Dex’s after Anakin and Ben’s football games. They swore for the longest time they’d go pro- I suppose engineering is better. Less painful.

“What’s got you so down, kid?” Dex leaned against the counter, grabbing the cocktail straw and throwing it at you to get your attention. You stifled a chuckle.

“I don’t know, Dex.” You sigh, mashing your fork against the pie he gave you ‘on the house,’ “Things have just been so weird since I got back. Not sure what went wrong.”

“It’s a mess up there, huh?” He smiles, and you quirk a brow.

“Up where?”

“Up in that brain of yours.” You scoff.

“Gee, thanks.” You roll your eyes, setting your head down on the bar and huffing.

“Okay, but in all seriousness, have you talked to anyone about this? You’re not yourself, kid. Maybe Anakin could help?” He raises his brows playfully, and you roll your eyes.

“Heh. Yeah, right. Anakin’s been praying on my downfall for years. Well, maybe not. We’ll see.” You shoot a wink at Dex, and he smiles, hitting his hand on the counter.

“You know I’ve always been rooting for the two of you; I’m sure whatever is going on will work itself out.”

Dex had known all of you since you were children, which made going to his diner a familiar, comforting routine. It stopped when you left. Yet, when you came back, it only strengthened the urge to revisit. He had offered a job again, but you declined. When you worked for him before, you occasionally found that money mysteriously didn't make its way to you. He was sweet and kind and had brilliant advice, but reliability wasn’t exactly his nature.

Regardless, you got a job at a local bar in downtown Boston. Anakin and Ben were not enthusiastic about the idea. But the staff was kind, the uniforms were a bit skimpy, and you had gotten to know some regulars. On your first night, you made $400. You didn’t plan on leaving it anytime soon. MIT wasn’t exactly cheap, and neither was Boston.

A mere 10-minute drive from the house, Mazzy's stood out as the most disreputable dive bar in the vicinity. You had done a lot of your underage drinking there, pretending to enjoy the various sports as you drank $3 Bud Light and played beer pong. They had a different drink special every day of the week - $5 margaritas on Mondays, tequila shots on Tuesdays, wine on Wednesdays, and karaoke + Vegas bombs on throwback Thursdays (which was always your favorite). So, it was fitting for you to work there; the manager knew you since you were a kid with a fake ID. He wasn’t exactly fond of the idea that he served you underage- but you had open availability, and they were desperate.

And you were a hard worker, staying late most nights and offering to cover shifts when you could. College was hard, and you didn’t necessarily need to work as much as you did, but the distraction helped, and the money was a nice bonus, too. Plus, there had to be something fun in it for you, too…

That’s how you ended up a champion at pool, beating all the regulars and making more money off your bets than you did tips.

Anakin heard about your little side hustle from one of his coworkers at the shop, talking about the “Kenobi girl who’s undefeated.” He felt the wrench falter in his grip and wiped the excess oil off his stained jeans as the smile spread on his face. Kenobi girl has a side deal? Oh, he’d never get over this. How the mighty have fallen.

On that note, Anakin immediately decided to pay you a visit later that night, not being able to resist the idea of breaking your winning streak. After all, who do you think taught you to play?

Upon entering the door, the loud music and dim lights assaulted his senses, and the pungent smell of smoke and rowdy laughter almost overwhelmed him. This was where you worked? What a dump. Scanning the dance floor, his eyes moved swiftly from one dancing body to another, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. The walls were adorned with pictures and writing, the chairs and tables were in disarray, and the bar was surrounded by numerous cups and beer bottles that caught his attention.

It didn't take him much time to track you down, guided by the sound of your laughter resonating in the crowded space as you approached a lively bunch of guys playing pool, holding a tray brimming with shots. Awesome. Now he was going to have to kick your ass at pool, as well as kick some asshole's ass, and then kick your ass again for entertaining it. Cool. Cool, Cool. He could do that. Yeah, he was cool.

“You cool man? Looking for the bar?” Anakin quickly broke out of his trance, looking at the older, distressed man before him—definitely the manager.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m good. Just taking it all in-“

“Cool, bars over there, man.” The older man pats his back, sending him towards the bar. Anakin shakes his head, furrowing his brows at the interaction. The fuck?

As he approached the bar, his eyes scanned the stools and calculated where he’d get the best view of you while remaining out of sight. He was still a little annoyed and didn’t want to make a scene so quickly, you know? Plus, he needed to study your strategies. How did the little one get so good at pool that she’s running a ring? Interesting.

“What’ll you have, hun?” The older redhead leans across the bar, wiping down the icy surface with a bar rag as Anakin settles into his seat.

“Uh, just a Modelo for now.” He quickly pulls out his wallet and flashes his ID, his eyes barely leaving your figure.

“Uh huh,” Her eyes flicker at Anakin, trailing them towards you as her lips upturned in a smile, “I’ll be right back with that.”

Anakin slides onto the stool, quickly propping his head on his hand as he keeps his gaze locked on you, while also trying to look as un-creepy as possible (it’s not working). He observes you giggling at one of the guys, playfully aiming your pool stick at his chest like a gun, threatening to shoot. The men all completely feed into it. You little slut. Next thing he knows, you’re leaning down to make a shot, your innocence showing as you stick your ass in the faces of 4 frat guys as they whisper. Your pigtails bounced onto the table as you focused on your shot, one eye closed and your tongue sticking out in concentration. His pants were suddenly so tight. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What could have-

“You know, I’m pretty sure she’s taken.” The redhead pushes the beer towards him, “Otherwise, with the way you’re looking at her, I’d tell you to ask her for her number. Keep it open or close it?” Anakin’s eyes widened.

“Taken?” He stutters out, his mouth hanging open.

“No, your tab, dumbass.” She laughs, picking up a bottle out of the well and cleaning it. “You look like you need to keep it open. And yeah, she’s taken. She talks about him all the time, actually. He’s a family friend- they grew up together. Think his name is Andrew or something.”

“Andrew, huh? Interesting.” Anakin’s smile widens, taking a swig of his beer. You were talking about him. And everyone thought you were his? He might have to play along.

When he looked back at the table, you had disappeared. Anakin tilted his head in confusion, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on you at the opposite end of the bar, where his eyes locked onto yours as the redhead tried to talk to you.

“Anakin?” You laughed, not noticing redhead’s brow raise and sudden attention towards the two of you, “What are you doing here? I-” You cocked your head in confusion. Something about Anakin’s unwavering smile was so unreadable.

“Heard about a certain Kenobi girl’s pool bets from the guys. Had to see it for myself.” He turned towards you, subconsciously spreading his legs as his finger traced the rim of his beer glass. His pride grew as the redness spread on your face.

“Didn’t- Uh- Didn’t think word was getting around that fast. Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck is right.” Anakin starts, and redhead approaches, pretending to clean bar glasses as she eyeballs the interaction in front of her. “No wonder you’re making so much money. Afraid I’m gonna have to end this streak of yours, though.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes, shaking your head at the audacity of the man before you. One beer, and he felt like he was God? He desperately needed to be humbled.

“So that’s what this is about? You just hate to see me beating you at something? Didn’t think after all these years you were still so desperate, Anakin. I- fine, but what’s in it for me?” You hop up on the stool next to him, narrowing your eyes as your gaze runs over his lips, the honey of his laughter sweet in your ears.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He smiles, moving closer to you as his eyes trace your lips back, the grin growing on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You swallow, sitting up straighter and pulling away from him.

“Like what, Y/N?” He grins, mimicking your actions as he leans back and takes another drink of his beer.

“Anakin-“

“How about, if you win, I’ll be your DD for a month- AND- and- I’ll finally join you for karaoke. And if I win, well, I know I never want to see that outfit in public again, I want you to stop entertaining every guy you serve.” You roll your eyes at his protectiveness, sighing at his request.

“Fine, but only because what I get out of this deal is so much better than what you might get. Now come on.” You stand up, offering your hand to him as you pull him off the bar stool, “Amy, would you be a doll and keep an eye on my section?” Ah, so Redhead does have a name.

As you led him to a table in a dark corner away from everyone, he shot the other men a smile. A boastful smile. He may not have known that he wanted you just yet, but he knew he didn’t want others to have you. It was just him being protective, right? Besides, what’s really the difference between those two things…

“After you, sir.” You lined up the colorful, numbered balls and invited him for 8 ball, handing him a stick to make the first move.

“Are you sure, madam? Ladies first, you know. Chivalry isn’t dead.” He shot you a wink, tossing you the pool cue as you rolled his eyes. He was definitely tipsy. And you were definitely taking him home tonight. Not like that.

You started the game off strongly, hitting two solid shots right into the pocket, the satisfying *clink* echoing between the tension. You grinned. And shockingly enough, so did Anakin. His eyes cold and calculating, he struck the cue ball, the sharp *thwack* followed by the soft, almost silent roll of the red-striped ball across the green felt until it finally sank into the hole. If there was one thing your families took seriously- it was a bet.

You kept the game going, sharing plenty of shit-talking and shots, making sure to feed him a few more (which, in hindsight, was probably a mistake). You hit in your 3rd and 4th balls, your eyes catching the men at the other table. But, as always, your eyes immediately went back to Anakin. You flashed him an innocent smile, not feeding into his small touches that made you dizzy and the way his eyes flicked down to your lips. It’s okay. He was only drunk- and that couldn’t happen again.

Eventually, you beat him. While completely intoxicated, Anakin stumbled, his hand a blur as he somehow knocked the 8-ball in on his third try; the cue ball spun wildly, a final, chaotic movement before settling. You gave him a pass, a condescending smile playing on your lips as you told him you'd happily give him a rematch, though the outcome wouldn't change. Unfazed by your comment, he simply stared, his blown pupils swimming with an unsettling, well-known emotion. A palpable tension hung in the air, heavy with more unspoken words. A sudden chill raised the hairs on your arms, your breath catching in your throat as an unnatural silence filled the air between you. You cleared your throat and smiled, shaking the thought out of your head.

“C’mon drunkie- let’s get you up here.” You held your arm under his shoulder, guiding him back to the bar through the dwindling customers. He wasn't exactly being easy, his laughter echoing in the air as he teased you relentlessly, his hand dropping lower and lower on your waist with each step. You tried not to pay attention to the strange way it made your heart pound in your chest. But you could divert your focus to work- finally.

It was now 2:30. And you needed to get out of there. You carefully propped him up against the sticky, mahogany bar, your finger stabbing emphatically at his chest as you barked, "Don't move!" before turning to whatever remaining side work you had been neglecting. With a shake of your head, you freed your hair from the uncomfortable low pigtails, the strands falling around your shoulders. Okay, you had silverware, trash, bathrooms, sweeping, and-

“Y/N? Can you come here?” You heard Amy call from the bar as you swept, and you turned around, only to see Anakin passed out on the bar. His head lolled against his crossed arms, a soft rhythmic snoring emanating from his relaxed body.

“Fuck,” You mumbled, setting down the broom and running over to the bar, shaking the sleepy man awake. His eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on his lips as you rolled your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips.

“Hey, beautiful- you gonna take me home?” A raspy mumble escaped his lips as his fingers, warm and slightly damp, caressed your cheek, lingering just a moment too long. Attempting to ignore his continuing advances, your eyes are drawn to Amy; a subtle arch of her eyebrow and a slight nod toward the door provide your much-needed escape.

“C’mon, sleepy- let’s get you home.” You helped him up again, mouthing a quick thank you to Amy before taking him to the back door.

“I just- I- I can’t believe you’re so good at pool! I mean, I’m soooooo proud, yknow? I taught you so well. The guys were talking about it at work, and I just had to come see it for myself. So adorable.” He mumbles through the parking lot, laughing at his own jokes, and it’s clear he knows he’s not making much sense.

If this was anyone else- you’d be a little pissed off. But there was always a certain tenderness in your heart reserved for Anakin, a weakness you couldn't deny. Taking care of him when you knew you could just, well, made things better. He usually never let you get the chance, but right now, it felt like you were getting your old life back.

With a grunt, you pushed him into the passenger seat of his car; the smell of stale coffee and old leather filled the air, and you figured he’d take you to get your car the next day—payback, of course. You plug your phone in and turn the volume up for Mazzy Star, letting the softness of her voice fill the emptiness of the car. Anakin's head rests on your shoulder, his soft snores a gentle rhythm against your neck as you drive down the familiar streets, the houses blurring into a comforting stream of colors.

You pull into his driveway, the harsh cold biting your face as you open the door. Anakin slumped down further, his head resting on the center console. You bit your lip, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth, as you weighed your options, watching his body move slowly as he inhaled and slowly exhaled, his brows furrowing in his sleep. What could he be dreaming about that was getting him so worked up? You didn’t have time for this- it was cold, he was asleep, and you needed to make a decision.

You couldn’t just tell him to get out of his car and go to bed- he didn’t deserve that, even if he did get wasted at your job. Well, you kinda got him wasted. And if you did take him inside, there was a chance you’d run into Shmi or Ahsoka, and that wasn’t really a conversation you wanted to have, especially considering how this looked. And if you took him inside, got away with not running into anyone, there’s the chance that once he gets in bed, he’d ask you to stay. That would be awkward. And even if you did stay, there’s only a 50% chance you’d have sex again and make it all weird. The question is- were you willing to risk it?

“Fuck,” You watched him sleep, knowing what you had to do. You got back into the car, shutting the door behind you and turning it on. The heat kicked up again, the sound of “blue light” filling your ears as you watched him next to you. You didn’t have to wake him up just yet. Sure, it was nearing 3:30 in the morning, but you knew he was tired and probably not feeling well.

You let out a soft sigh, sinking into your seat, and slowly reach your hand to cup Anakin’s face, gently stroking his cheek as you felt the warmth of his skin. You didn't notice the subtle, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips under your touch, a drunken smile masked by his feigned sleep.

“You’re frustrating, you know that?” You mumble to him, knowing he won’t respond. “But I still love you. It’s okay. I just know I won’t hear the end of this tomorrow. Which- you owe me. I need my car at some point. But- fuck- I know I’m gonna have to get you up in a second, and I really don’t want to. I’m so tired. Fuck.”

You glance over at him, noticing the grin on his face, and your heart drops slightly. “Fuck off- are you pretending?”

He opens one eye slightly and bursts into laughter, his head hitting the back of the seat while he practically slaps his knee.

“I-I’m so sorry-“ He manages to breathe out, his face hot and red, “I actually was sleeping, but you started talkin,g and I just- I got invested.”

“Uh-huh. Well, parties over. Time for bed.”

“No-“

“Zip it.” You grin, your finger against his lips to shut him up. His eyes glance down to your finger, a mischievous glint forming in his pupils as he presses a soft kiss to your finger.

“Anakin, come on. We gotta go. It’s so late.” You grab his face to get his attention, your stare firm and unwavering against his giggles.

“Okay, okay. We’ll go. Basement’s unlocked.” He kisses the top of your hand, turning towards his car door and attempting to open it.

“Wait- Anakin- I got it.” You turned the car out, rushing around to his side and opening the door for him.

“Here, hold my hand.” You hold your hand out for him, and he smirks, quickly taking it in his hand.

“Gotta buy me dinner first, sweetheart.”

“Anakin, we’re way past dinner. Now come on.” You pull him alongside you, draping your purse on his shoulder as you walk around the side of the house to the basement door.

“God, it’s fucking cold.” He mumbles, his hand slipping from yours and meeting your waist again, “Might need you to warm me up.” You scoff.

“No, Anakin- just need to get you to bed.” Mumbling, you avoid his eye contact and open the door, practically pushing him into it.

“Alright, alright, I’m going Y/N/N. Jesus.” He stumbles through the mudroom, kicking off his shoes and attempting to shimmy off his jacket.

Behind him, you sigh and mutter your help, your fingers slow and deliberate as you peel away the brown leather, noticing its softness and the faint, earthy smell. You hold the jacket under your arm, leaning into his back and resting your head on his shoulder. Anakin leans his own head back, his fingers dancing around to meet yours again as a smile spreads across his lips.

“I missed you.” He mumbles, his voice smooth and raspy. You subconsciously squeeze your legs together a little tighter. “Just hasn’t been the same. Just need to make sure you’re okay. And safe. God, I needed you to be safe.”

Your body shakes from behind him as your breath suddenly hitches in your throat. Afraid he’ll see your wet eyes again, you squeeze his hand a little tighter, feeling the rough texture of his skin against yours. But you know he can feel your tears through his thin shirt. And you hope he chooses not to comment on it. He doesn’t. Anakin's sudden turn sent a jolt through you as his arms pinned yours, his brow a deep furrow, pupils dilated with alarm.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.” He begs softly.

“Anakin-“

“Please. Just tonight. I don’t want to be alone.” You sigh.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?” You tear your eyes away from his, leaning closer to his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I can’t stay, Anakin. I’m sorry.” You mumble against him, but he doesn’t respond; he just rubs your back and drops his head to your shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed.” You break the hug, tearing away from him as you lead him to his room.

Stepping into the familiar space, the soft glow of the lamps and the comfortable quiet bring a smile to your face—it never changes. The posters on his wall, the messy drawings near his desk, the random clothes on his floor.

“M sorry it’s messy.” He mumbles as he walks behind you, kicking random things out of the way as he stumbles to the bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable.” The door clicks behind him, and you fall back onto his bed and close your eyes.

How the fuck did you end up here? You squeeze your eyes, attempting to navigate the night somehow. Nothing ever made sense with Anakin- but it always, always made sense. You let your purse drop to the floor as you kick off your sneakers.

“Ben’s gonna kill me.” You groan as you rub your eyes, not caring about the makeup under your fingers

“No, he’s not.” Anakin’s bathroom door practically slams open as he stumbles out of it with nothing but some low-hanging sweats. You shouldn’t look- but you do. And, of course, he smirks.

“Like what you see?” He asks before jumping on the bed next to you and practically putting you into a headlock. You scream in response, giggling at his childish antics. It was well past 4am at this point. Anakin had to be at work at 9.

“Let me go!” You squeal in protest, the feeling of his arms around you a mixture of panic and exhilaration as he holds you tighter, his laughter echoing. He pulls you up, his strong hands gripping your arms, then throws you gently to the other side of the bed next to him.

“God, I’m tired.” He yawns and rolls over to face you, his fingers moving toward your chin while he stares at your lips. “Need some rest.”

“Yeah.” You hiccup.

He leans in, the warmth of his breath a whisper against your skin, his eyes glued to your lips. At this point, mere inches separated you, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs as butterflies did somersaults in your stomach. And just as his thumb meets your chin, you break into a coughing fit. You roll over and grab his pillow, coughing aggressively into it. Was it on purpose? Maybe.

His hand meets your back, rubbing gentle circles while you continue to fake your coughs, each one more excruciating than the last.

“Mm- sorry.” You mumble, coming up from his pillow- your face red and eyes watery. “Better get to sleep, Ani.”

“Yeah.” He whispers, his eyes gently drooping as they never leave yours. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

“Sweet dreams, Ani.” You hold your breath momentarily and close your eyes as you press a soft kiss to the top of his head. His skin was soft and warm underneath your lips, and you realize it probably lingered a lot longer than it needed to.

You lie on your back, staring at the ceiling, listening to his soft breaths as he scoots closer to “get comfortable,” his arm brushing against yours. He pulled you close, his legs a comforting weight against yours, arm securely around your torso, his hand resting lightly but possessively on your shoulder. If Anakin could find any possible excuse to cuddle, he would- especially when he was drunk.

Once you heard the soft, rhythmic snores leaving his lips, you carefully began to extract yourself from his bed, moving as slowly as you could to avoid waking him. You sat up slowly, his arms falling into a comfortable position, the quiet stillness of the room broken only by the gentle rustle of the sheets. Unfortunately, his bed was against the wall, and he was the closest to the edge. That would be something else you had to work around.

You shimmied your feet away, slowly inching closer to the wall and out of his grasp. Before scooting further from the man in his bed, you took a second to study his sleeping form, noticing the rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful set of his jaw. In the dim, orange glow of the salt lamp on his nightstand, Anakin's face appeared almost ethereal, his features softened by the soft light. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowed in a deep frown, his cheek squished into the soft, downy pillow. It’d be difficult to not want to stay.

You finally slid off the bed, your sock-clad feet hitting the cold, smooth wooden floor, the chill seeping into your toes. You snatched your shoes and purse, the leather cool against your skin, then tiptoed to the door, desperate to avoid waking him. The door creaked under your touch, a rusty groan that echoed the finality of your action as you looked at him one last time before sighing and shutting the door. You leaned against the door, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.

The light turns on. Fuck.

At this point in time, you have 2 seconds to get out of the basement door before Ahsoka, Shmi, or Cliegg confront you about this.

So, you run. Thank god the alarm system had been deactivated (they hadn’t put the new one in). You open the back door and shut it quietly behind you as fast as you could.

“Anakin?” You hear Shmi asked, muffled by the sound of the door.

You raced up the hill beside his house, the bright moonlight reflecting off the wet stones of the path as you pushed through fragrant, moonlit bushes. The fragrant jasmine blossoms brushed against you as you walked through the trellis, then around the corner to your driveway, a sense of calm washing over you. Weaving through the cars, the cold seeped into your socks as you unlocked your front door, but the warmth of your house enveloped you as you slipped inside.

You sank to the floor behind your front door, the weight of the day lifting as you finally caught your breath, the quiet of your home surrounding you. You checked your watch; the faint glow of the numbers illuminated the dark, 5:03 AM. Could be worse. At least you managed to find a secret, third option tonight. No sex, not caught, and you stayed with him long enough he was asleep.

However, little do you know, a certain someone’s younger sister happened to be watching from the upstairs window the whole time. She would save that conversation for later, of course.

The faint sounds of birds chirping signal the rising sun as you finally settle into bed. You’re absolutely determined to sleep in- and so you do.

As the sunlight poured in under your sleep mask, it was too bright to be deemed morning light. You stirred slightly, waning out if your dream-filled haze as images of Anakin warming his hands over a fire began to leave your eyes. You reach up, a fingertip brushing against cool silk, and poke an eye out from under the mask, surveying the bright, sunlit room.

One shoe lay near the vanity, the other by the bathroom door, while your clothes were strewn across the floor in a chaotic pile near the bed, a silent testament to a restless night. Your purse was lopsided on your chair- perfume, coins, and miscellaneous gift cards spilling out of it. The kirkland makeup wipes were left open, a couple dirty ones caked with various shades of lipstick and eyeshadow from the previous day were resting comfortably near the trash can. At least you remembered to unplug your curling iron this time; the scorch marks on the carpet from the last incident were still a fresh reminder of your near-disaster.

With a long, slow stretch, you extend your arms over your head, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders as the mask drops to your neck. Rubbing your eyes and letting out a small yawn, sleep was still taking control of you. With a groan, you flip onto your stomach, the mattress springs protesting beneath you, and grab your phone. The time was 4:36 PM and you had slept the day away. This was what Sundays were for- it didn’t matter. Your eyes glanced down to the 14 messages you had received since you fell into your late slumber.

Ani- 8:46 AM: Thank you for last night. I owe you. Hope you got some sleep. I’m glad we spent that time together. And, Y/N- I’m serious if you ever need anything. I’ll always be here for you.

Mom- 10:32 AM: Honey, I left a quiche in the fridge for when you wake up. Just take your time, everything’s okay. I hope you can rest today. Love you.

Shmi- 10:45 AM: Was that you leaving the basement late last night?

Mom- 10:48 AM: I’m so sorry I texted you- hope I didn’t wake you honey. Just want you to be happy and healthy. I’m worried.

Dad- 11:15 AM: Are you awake? Mom’s acting strange again. She’s worried about you.

Soka <3- 12:05 PM: hey, if you’re feeling up to it we should catch a movie tonight- maybe some mexican food and margs after. lemme know. it’s all totally up to you- whatever you feel comfortable with.

Ani- 12:24 PM: Need me to get your car later?

Harvard’s Elite Scholar- 12:49 PM: Hey Y/N/N, been thinking about you lately. Hope you are doing okay today. If you need absolutely anything I’m always here for you- especially if you need some time away from the family. If you ever want to talk- I’m here. I love you girl- hope this weekend was good for money!

Mom- 1:43 PM: Need anything from the store?

Mom- 2:17 PM: I got you some ice cream. It’ll be good for you.

Dad- 2:46 PM: I just got home. Are you awake?

Benny- 3:05 PM: Can I borrow your calculator?

Benny- 3:07 PM: Nevermind. Found mine.

Ani- 3:53 PM: Hey, got off work early. Need car yet?

“Fuck,” You chuck your phone onto the side of your bed, running a hand through your hair as memories of last night filled your mind.

Anakin’s ‘innocent’ touches, his eyes never leaving yours- unless it waa your lips, his soft snores in your car. And he really begged you to stay with him- telling you that he needed you. The soft glow of his lamp, highlighting every little thing you adored about the man. How could you even begin to think about those text messages?

You leaned back into your pillow and groaned, rubbing your eyes as the sun attempted to find its way into your line of sight once more. Did everyone know your secret? Did Anakin tell them? Why was everyone and everything so fucking weird in Brookline.

With two taps on your bedroom door, you groan even louder as you pull the covers over your head. You eyes were heavy, the yawns persisted. You were still exhausted. The taps continued.

“Who is it?” You croaked out as the door opened slowly.

“Hey- woah. Are you okay?” Ben asked as he welcomed himself into your room, plopping onto the bed beside you.

“Yeah,” You bring the covers up further on your chest, eyeing your clothes on the floor. “Just tired.”

“Y/N-“

“I know it’s well past 4. I had a late night.”

“Are you okay?” Ben scoots closer, his brows furrowed as he surveyed your face for any hint of injury or sadness.

“Ben- I’m fine. Anakin came in last night and got wasted while we played pool- well, it was kinda my fault. Anyways, I had to take him home and I didn’t get to sleep until around 5ish. And this weekend was long. I’m exhausted. I still have to study, do some laundry, pick up my fucking car-“

“Slow down.” Ben smiles, “Everything’s going to be okay. You don’t need to be worried anymore, you’re okay.”

You squint your eyes at his words, an undertone behind them you can’t make out.

“What do you mean I don’t have to be worried?” You lean closer, cocking your head slightly to the side.

“Nothing.” Ben avoids your gaze, moving back and bouncing his knee. “I should probably get going.”

“Ben, wait-“ You attempt to hop up after him- but your eyes dance back to the clothes on your floor. Fuck.

“I hope you rest today. Love you.”

The door shuts, the latch clicking softly in the sudden silence. You aggressively throw yourself back down onto the bed, grabbing the pillow and squeezing it against your face, muffling the scream that rips from your throat. You were beyond frustrated with everyone and everything. You needed to go for a hike, get a coffee, or something. But, of course, you didn’t have a fucking car.

A long, hot shower was just what you needed; the steam filled the bathroom, and the heat soothed your aching muscles. With a few candles casting a warm, gentle light and the calming strains of soft music filling the air, you washed the memories and bad thoughts away. With each stroke of soapy water, the gentle friction a welcome sensation, your mind wandered to those mesmerizing deep blue eyes. The feeling of his rough hands in yours, the way they would feel on your waist, traveling down to your hips.

His fingers would dance on the tops of your thighs, while his calloused fingers kissing the exposed skin on your lower back as he lightly pressed you into him. He’d lean closer, his soft pink lips meeting your collarbone, licking and biting while his fingers finally met the inside of your thigh. You could practically smell his cologne at this point, your knees growing weak at the thought, your thighs squeezing together.

Your eyes shot open at the next song. Mazzy Star. Your breath hitches, a gasp caught in your throat as your hand, still resting gently on your hip, lingers; the soap is long gone. You bite your lip at your thought, the guilt eating you alive as your heart pounds.

Your hand moves lower- it’s not like he’d know. He’s your best friend- and surely he’s thought of you like that before too, right? And it absolutely doesn’t mean anything- you just need that ache between your legs to disappear. Post nut clarity, right? It'll slip your mind; you won't even think about it again. You won’t. Nope. Inch by inch, your fingers make their way down until they reach your clit, and a small gasp escapes your lips. You’re too far gone.

You turn the water off, the shower's warmth still clinging to your skin, and open the curtain to a cool breeze that raises goosebumps on your arms. You grab a towel and some lotion, drying yourself while moisturizing. That Boston dry air was no joke. When your body and hands are dry, you pick up your phone from the counter and check.

Mom- 5:12 PM: Dinner’s almost done.

The time was 5:20. They’re definitely waiting on you.

The sound of your feet pounded on the wooden stairs as you swung into the kitchen, hair dripping and shirt on backward. Your mom raises a skeptical eyebrow, tossing the salad with a practiced flick of the wrist, the scent of vinaigrette filling the air. Your dad's laugh cuts through the quiet, drawing your attention to the table where he and Ben are animatedly discussing some sports nonsense, their words punctuated by the occasional thump of a fist on the table.

“The Celtics are on an amazing run is all I’m saying. We Wouldn’t be anything without Jayson Tatum.” Ben takes a sip of his beer, turning around and eyeing the time on the oven.

“Yeah, but he’s no Kobe, Ben. And the Nuggets are doing so much-“

“Fuck Denver!”

“Ben!” Your mom scolds, putting on her oven mitts and pulling out the steaks that have been searing. “Stop it with that! I personally like Denver, I think Jokic is entertaining.”

“And this is why Dad and Ben won’t talk to you about basketball, Mom.” You reach for the white wine, pouring yourself and your mom a glass while she temps the steak. Your fingers shake around the glass a little, your shower thoughts finding their way back into your mind.

“They’re absolutely perfect! I’ve done it again!” Your mom cuts you out of your trance as she squeals. “Bon appetit, my little ones.” She sets the table with dinner, and you awkwardly take a seat next to Ben.

As you begin to serve yourself and eat, the hair on your arms raises as your eyes dart between the people around you, noticing their hushed whispers and judging stares. Dinner felt oddly quiet without the Skywalkers; the missing laughter and familiar banter hung in the air, but you remained silent. The feeling washed over you again, and you glanced up to find your family silently communicating with exaggerated expressions and hand movements, certain you weren't listening. Your mom motions to you, her red lips forming a tight frown as she looks pointedly at Ben, her eyes narrowed. His eyes went wide, a silent plea in their depths, and then he shrugged, the movement dismissing whatever she had tried to convey without words. Your dad furrows his brows at Ben, rolling his eyes at the audacity of his son.

“So,” Your mom starts, setting her fork down as the loud clatter rings through the unusually silent room. “Y/N, we wanted to- well- as a family, we wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing since you’ve got back. We have been worried.”

Your eyes darted to Ben. He avoids your gaze, his fork pressing checkerboard patterns into his mashed potatoes.

“I-I’m fine. I don’t understand. Is this an intervention for a problem I’m not even aware of?” You giggle slightly, staring down at the tomatoes in your salad. The table does not reciprocate your humor.

“We disagree, honey.” Your dad speaks up, and your breath hitches in your throat. “Did something happen in Hampton?” Your heart drops.

“No. Nothing happened. And I don’t know why you’d think that. And I don’t even know why the fuck we’re having this conversation!” Your voice raises, your knuckles turning white around your fork, “In fact, even if something did happen- which it didn’t- I don’t see how it’s the business of anyone sitting at this table! Can we just eat this fucking food? Mom worked hard. Drop it.”

The table goes silent. Your mom picks up her wine glass and takes a long sip. Ben and Dad glance at each other, their silent conversation infuriating you.

“Fuck this.” You push your plate to the center of the table, getting up and leaving as fast as you could before your tears caught up to you.

The door slammed shut behind you, and you scrambled under the covers of your bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief. The darkness of your room provided solace within your panic. Your heart was heavy, weighing down your chest with each ragged breath you took. Getting air under your covers wasn’t exactly easy, either. But within your panic, your survival instincts had vanished, and you remained where you were.

Did Anakin betray your trust? Could your best friend- your confidante- betray you like this? It didn’t seem possible. But everything began to connect. The glances when they thought you weren’t looking- the constant texts and “whatever you want”, “whatever makes you comfortable”, “as long as you are happy”. Was this all just pity?

The thought hung heavy in the air: they had to know, you concluded, a shiver tracing your spine. Whether Anakin told them, or someone else heard- they knew. They knew and that was bad and they were going to be ashamed of you. They knew and they’d never forgive you for leaving them for a piece of shit like Nick. They knew and they’d hurt you like Nick-

“Y/N?” Ben cracked your bedroom door open, the small sound of your sobs filling the dark space.

“Can I please just get some fucking time to myself?” You croak out, throwing the covers back over yourself.

The moment your tear-filled eyes locked with his, a wave of nausea washed over you; your stomach dropped. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his hands shook uncontrollably, and his hair was a tangled mess. Ben was the type of person to make you feel unproductive and gross. He smelled immaculate, his hair always long but perfect- smooth and shiny. At one point you went to him for hair advice. He was consistently 15 minutes early for everything, always well rested and read. He prepared for anything and everything.

But right now, Ben looked uneasy- he never looked uneasy. And that terrified you.

“Ben- I’m serious-“

“And so am I. You’re not being honest-“

“Neither are you!” You shout, standing up from your bed and walking towards him, “I don’t understand what you all think is going on.”

“Y/N-“ He cuts himself off, rubbing his chin and shaking his head, “You’re not yourself.”

“What do you mean I’m not myself? What the fuck does that even mean, Ben?”

“Y/N you know exactly what I’m talking about! For fucks sake!” You freeze and Ben stops, letting himself take a deep breath- clearly choosing his next words carefully. “Y/N, you don’t need to hide from me. I know.”

A sickening lurch in your stomach throws you off balance, the intense nausea overwhelming you. Any hint of saliva has vanished from you mouth, your breath caught in your throat as you gaze upon your older brother.

“Ben, I don’t-“

“Fuck, Y/N,are you really going to make me say it? Anakin told me. I know. You don’t have to hide and you could’ve told us for fuck’s sake!”

Ben pauses, his breath catching in his throat as he looks upon your face, your glossy eyes blazing with a newfound rage, hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Your fingernails dug into your palms so hard they were close to bleeding.

“A-Anakin told you?”

“Y/N, wait-“ Ben grabs your arm as you stomp towards the door, his eyes filled with concern, regret, and worry.

“Ben- let me fucking go. This was not Anakin’s place-“

“Y/N, he was fucking worried!” He pleads, his grip tightening on your arm.

“And I don’t give a fuck, Ben! Now fucking let go of me!” You dig your nails into his arm, prompting him to let go.

The second he does, you’re out of there and down the stairs. You don’t even bother to put on shoes, your mind fuzzy with anger. You throw open the front door, your parents behind you watching, probably concerned. You let it slam behind you- hoping that it keeps them from following.

The rough, uneven stone path dug into your feet as you ran, each step jarring you up the driveway and into the side yard. You wiggle the rusty basement door, its cold metal chilling your fingers. Locked. Fuck, this wasn’t going to be pretty. But, alas, you turned the corner and walked to the garage.

Your hands trembled, fingers fumbling on the keypad; the button clicked, and the heavy door groaned open before you. You ducked under it, not even bothering to wait for it to fully open, and walked into the house. Shmi and Cliegg were never ones to say anything- this was typical for you and Ben to do. You turned the corner, the worn wooden banister cool beneath your hand, and ran up the creaking stairs, throwing open the study door to find Anakin exactly where you expected.

“Y/N!” He shot up from his textbook, a yellow pencil tucked behind his ear, “Are you okay? What are you-“

“Anakin, what the FUCK is your problem?” You shove him forward, his brows furrow and his hand grab both of your wrists, holding you in place in front of him.

“Y/N, what-“

“Anakin, how could you? I trusted you?” Your hands shake under his grasp, choked sobs escaping your lips while your eyes search his.

He bites his lip, his eyes fixated on you, a dull ache settling in his chest. At what he caused. His hand finds its way to your back, pulling you close as the sobs wrack your body, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill of your tears. You freeze under his touch- he told them. Everyone knows.

With a gasp, you shoved him back, a blur of motion, furiously wiping the tears that streamed down your face.

“Fuck you.”

“Y/N, I was just trying to help-“

“Trying to help? Trying to help, huh? Do you really think I’m that fucking incapable? That I can’t tell my own family and friends what happened? No, you had to do it fucking for me! I fucking hate you.”

“Y/N, you don’t mean-“

“Anakin! Will you shut the fuck up-“

“No!” he yelled, his fingers digging into your wrists as he pulled you back. You knew he was seeing red- and you knew he cared. But by god you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified at that moment.

“Y/N, you need to shut the fuck up. I know you. You weren’t going to tell anyone and you were going to let it tear you up inside until you were a fucking shell of yourself. You need help- you do. Everyone fucking knows it- and not just cause of me! Yes, I told Ben and Ahsoka, but I’m not sorry. I only care about you.” His grip loosens on your wrist as he searches your red eyes for something.

Your hand swiftly meets his cheek. It stings upon impact and he gasps.

“Fuck you, Anakin. You’re dead to me.”

———————————————

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