#Candour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beautifulbrainrot · 11 months

Note

So picture this, spencer gets so wasted at a party with the bau and you take him home and in his drunken state he pushes you onto the couch and starts making out with you and humps your leg until he either passes out or cuts and falls asleep, but he thought it was a dream so he was mortified when he woke up on top of you the next morning

that’s so hot omfg

i had so much fun writing this! you have a beautiful and very dirty brain i love it

spencer reid x gn!reader

cw 18+ spencer is drunk, you arent, or your at least a bit tipsy it’s not specified but you do drive, making out, leg hunping?? idfk, coming in pants (yum), kinda swaps povs? idk

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

“come on spence, let’s get you inside.” you said, hauling spencer out of your car. he tripped over his feet as he stepped onto the pavement, stumbling into you.

“you smell re- really good!” he giggled, dopey smile on his face. spencer rarely drank so it was no surprise that it only took a few drinks to have him absolutely wasted. what did suprise you was what a giggly and touchy drunk he was.

he pulled away from you and planted his hands on your hips, biting his lips as his eyes shamelessly ran over your body.

“you’re.. so pretty, like so pretty! i just wanna-“ he whined, biting his lip and swaying slightly on the spot.

you blushed slightly at his candour, smiling internally. you shook it off, he’s your coworker! he’s just being nice!

you wrapped your arms around his waist as you helped him walk up the steps to his apartment, unlocking the door with the key he had given you a few months prior in case of emergencies.

you both stumbled through the apartment door, clicking on a lamp for some light. his apartment was small and homely and filled with books. you led spencer over to the brown couch in the middle of the room, both of you flopping down on it.

he quickly snugged into you, a blush erupting on your face as he did. he looked up at you with his big doe eyes and you bit your lip. don’t kiss him. do not kiss him, you repeated to yourself as your eyes drifted down to his plump lips.

his eyes raked over your form as you both lay there, seemingly mesmerised by you. this time when his doe eyes flicked up to look at you they were filled with lust.

“you’re so beautiful...” he whispered, closing the space between you, pressing his lips against yours. you gasped but quickly returned the kiss, holding his face in your hands as the kiss turned passionate, your lips moulding together as you pulled each other as close as possible. you pulled away from him slightly when you started to feel him rutting his steadily growing erection against your leg softly as he chased your lips

“spence..?” you questioned softly, a deep blush spreading across your face as your coworker gently humped against your leg.

he whined your name as his eyes squeezed shut, his mind foggy, delving back in for another kiss which you quickly granted. as you kissed, you gently brushed your hand through his soft curls, tugging lightly to see his reaction. he moaned softly at the feeling, his hips speeding up their movements against you.

you couldn’t believe this was happening. and you never wanted it to stop.

you started to gently move your leg against him, a whine slipping out of his bitten lips at the extra friction. you were desperate to hear that sound agains, bouncing your leg slightly as he rubbed against you. more whimpers and whines fell out of his parted lips as you did this, his eyes sqeeezed shut as he surrendered to the pleasure. you drank in his desperate moans hungrily, drunk on him.

his hips began to speed up and you could tell his orgasm was approaching. you lifted his chin with your thumb causing him to open his eyes to look at you, his pupils blown in lust as he humped you faster, chasing his release. you pulled him in again for a passionate kiss as he came hard in his pants, his hips slowing down as you continued to kiss him more softly.

he fell asleep on top of you, exhausted from the drinking and your activities. you ran your hand through his tousled curls softly before drifting to sleep yourself, dreaming of him.

“mmm..” spencer moaned softly as he rutted against you.

you grasped his chin between your thumb and forefinger gently, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

his hips stuttered, warmth filling his pants as he came.

spencer’s eyes opened slowly, eyes blurry and head pounding. this is why you don’t drink spencer. he bit his lip softly at the dream he had had about you, how good you had made him feel. he knew he should be thinking of his coworker like this but he just couldn’t help it.

he blinked a couple of times to clear the blurryness from his vision, becoming aware of the fact he was on his couch. how did i get here? oh someone drove me.. who was it?

spencer’s eyes widened as he realised, turning over on the couch to see your sleeping face behind him. it wasn’t a dream. holy fuck it wasn’t a dream?!?

spencer gasped lightly as your eyes blinked open.

“hey spence,” you yawned, “why are you starting at me..” you questioned, eyebrow raised as you rubbed your tired eyes.

he blushed furiously as he looked at you, memories of the previous night filling his head.

“did we.. last night. did us- we- actually.. um.. do that?” he squeaked out, blush spreading across his face.

a blush spread across your face as you looked at him, all the memories flooding back to you. you bit your lip as you looked up at him, “i think so.. yeah..” you said, your cheeks burning.

“it was.. kind of nice..”

“yeah.. it was” you smiled, reaching up to cradle his face in your hand. you pulled him in, pressing your lips against him softly. he quickly deepened the kiss, clambering on top of you.

“round two?”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #sub!spencer #sub spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #sub!spencer reid #sub!spence

5K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 2 months

Text

⋆₊˚⊹♡ vox + marking you

character: vox warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, marking/branding (carving something into the skin), blood, toxic relationship, extreme possessiveness, daddy kink, dacryphilia, fem!reader, minimal/no prep, dubcon if you squint, pet names, painful sex, reader doesn’t get to orgasm words: 1.8k notes: vox likes to mark what belongs to him. permanently. and, as always, that mark must be perfect.

He’s been at it for nearly half an hour now, a slow drag of his index claw downward, pressure concentrated on the very point of the talon, following the line of a perfect slant before sharply pivoting upward, velocity slowing as it works back toward your hips, tracing another slant perfectly parallel to the first.

A split second of reprieve, a single instant where the metal leaves your skin only to find the origin of the wound and begin the process all over again.

“V-Vox—”

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he warns, his voice low and airy, so close and concentrated on his work that you can feel his breath wafting over the cut, cool and burning.

Cyan pupils pulse as they expand, desperate to devour as much as they can, scouring every minute detail and honing their focus on the singular letter he’s painstakingly carving into your pubic bone.

He’s meticulous with it, of course, just as he is with everything else, every movement precise and perfect. It has to be done this way, he had told you at the start, when you had whined about the deliberately drawn-out drag of his talon. Slow and steady, so it will heal in sharp, neat lines, all raised and gorgeous.

A permanent mark of ownership, scarred into your skin for the rest of eternity.

The tapered tip of the V is the worst part, the harsh, quick maneuver of his claw procuring a deep sting, a yelp sticking in your throat as you try to swallow against the sound, Vox’s immediate responding coo, always accompanied by the brush of his thumb over your hip in the gentlest caress, doing little to soothe the pain.

“But it—it hurts,” you hiccup out, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the prick of tears. “How much longer?”

“Just a few more times, baby, I promise,” he presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “You’re doing so well for me, lovebug, so well.”

But a few more times turns into another agonizing fifteen minutes with seemingly no end in sight, Vox lost in the repetitive actions, and the wound is starting to tingle, sticky crimson pooling in the flawlessly carved gouges, staining teal bright red.

Tears have begun to leak from the corners of your eyes as they finally overflow, spilling past your lash line to stream down the sides of your temples in uneven little trails, vision gone blurry with a thick shield of water.

Your ribs stammer with half-stifled sobs, a soft hush distractedly falling from Vox’s lips with each minuscule jerk of your body, the hand on your hip tightening in warning.

“Daddy’s almost done, darling,” he pacifies, a gentle threat sewn into his tone—don’t fucking move yet—we’re so close, don’t you dare mess this up. “Just a tiny bit longer, I swear.”

“I can’t, I can’t, Daddy, it’s—it’s too much!”

“Hey,” he looks up, a shock of sincerity slapped across his face, his voice ringing with painfully raw compassion. “I know you can handle just a few more for Daddy, can’t you? Don’t you want it to look pretty, too?”

Large eyes search your face with a rabid type of candour, hunting for validity. But your head is already nodding before he’s even finished speaking, motions becoming increasingly vigorous, an instinctual reaction, at this point—obedient as ever, desperate to please.

Of course you do—you want whatever he does, always.

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sniffle out, the heels of your hands wiping messily at your lashes, smearing tears across your cheeks. “Yes, yes, Daddy.”

His eyes soften, their usually bold glow dimmed with a sick sort of adoration, but his smile is barbed, stretching with something sinister.

“There’s my good girl,” Vox purrs, pressing another tender kiss to the junction of your thigh and your hip. “Now, hold still while Daddy finishes.”

Another three traces through the routine—these last three harder and more purposeful than all those that came before them—and finally, he’s done, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs and gazing down at his masterpiece.

Blood drips down his index finger in a thick dollop, his eyes shifting to watch with morbid fascination, the tip of his claw glazed with shimmering scarlet. Tilting it one way, then the other, he examines how it gleams in the low light of his bedroom—so pretty, he looks so pretty stained with you—then brings the talon to his lips, long tongue snaking from between his teeth to curl around it in a possessive embrace.

He sucks it into the heat of his mouth, a low groan rumbling deep behind his sternum as his eyes slip shut, taking a moment to savour the taste of you. His lids snap back open a moment later, eyes drifting back to the freshly etched V, his free hand moving to rub at his cock, straining eagerly against his trousers.

“F-Fuck,” he shudders out, the word soft as he stares at it, wide and unblinking, rolling the impressive bulge in his palm in lopsided little circles, then grinding the heel of his hand into it, his hips twitching up instinctively. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you now, okay, princess?”

Your head is nodding, but you’re barely able to utter out an affirmative, because then he’s surging forward, a palm cupping your jaw as his fingers hook behind the hinge, pulling your face towards his and smashing your lips together. Bursts of copper explode on your tastebuds as he drags his tongue across yours—the slick muscle stronger, larger, wider as it shoves its way into your mouth, impelling your own tongue further into the hot, wet cavern.

It’s sloppy and slippery and so, so sexy, his claws piercing your skin with superficial little pricks as he tries to yank you closer, your nose scrunched against his screen. Obscene squelching echoes throughout his bedroom as your lips glide and nip, copious amounts of drool, tinged pink with your blood, oozing from the corners of your conjoined mouths, leaving your chins shining with spit.

He overrides your senses, overwhelms your receptors and infuses your mind with nothing but him—his taste, smoky spice infused with metallic notes; his scent, sharp balsam and expensive cologne; his touch, still burning at the apex of your thighs, a constant reminder, an everlasting claim.

A sharp gasp breaks the kiss as he forces his cock inside of you, forehead knocking against your own with a dark growl as his hips rock forward, burying himself in your cunt in a single, fluid motion.

Large hands curl around your hips, pinning them in place and keeping you from squirming away as he ruts into you, grinding his cockhead further into your cervix, ensuring he’s buried as deep as he possibly can be.

A singular moment, a breath shared between the two of you, oxygen sparse and dizzying as he takes time to revel in the feeling of filling you to the hilt, your sweet little hole spasming around him as it stretches and splits, eager to accommodate his girth, to gorge on his flesh.

Leaning back on his haunches, he drags your hips along with him, tailbone resting on his folded thighs, your knees thrown over either side of his hips.

There’s no warning, no slow start or gradual build up, his cock slamming into you searing and sudden, fucking a gorgeous cry of his name from your throat.

His chest heaves with ragged exhales as his hips pump, hard and fast and rough, voracious gaze swapping between your bouncing tits and the crisply engraved V glittering up at him on your pubic bone, still coloured with blood, drizzling past the scrupulously incised grooves with each vicious ram to stream down your skin, leaving tiny streaks of red.

The gash enchants him, pupils swollen as they soak up the sight, captivated by the way it quivers with every ruthless thrust into you, watching each drive of his cock as he sheathes himself in your cunt. The glistening arousal coating his shaft contrasts the blood so perfectly, the hands on your waist yanking downward with every jackhammer of his hips, forcing you to meet his motions.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s snarling as he fucks you, the word punched from his chest with each plunging thrust.

“Yours, Daddy,” you sob out with messy little nods, dainty fingers braceletting his wrists, nails sinking into thin skin as you cling to him. “Yours, yours!”

“No one gets to have you like this,” he gasps out, voice gone hoarse. “No one, tell me.”

“No one—No one gets to have me like this but you, Da-Daddy,” you nearly wail, staring up at him with such bright devotion it almost hurts, your gaze lacquered with tears.

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpers, the curse shattering on his tongue, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment before springing back open, gaping and gluttonous. “Yeah, yeah, you’re goddamn right.”

His motions have turned downright brutal now, every pound of his cock more merciless than the last, the strike of his hips jostling your entire body up the mattress, just barely held in place by the grip of his claws, razored points puncturing your flesh and scraping, tiny trickles of blood oozing from the lacerations.

“Your mind, your cunt, your fucking soul—it all belongs to me,” digitized blood drips from the corner of his mouth, the glaring glow of his eyes so brilliant it’s hard to bear, casting a flare of red across your skin.

“Yes, yes, y-yes,” you’re babbling out, gone delirious with the heady intoxication of pain and pleasure, fingers digging into his flesh in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. “You own me, Vox.”

“Oh, Christ—”

The confirmation has him cumming quickly, hips pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs violently, stuffing you full with copious amounts of thick, burning cum. His body stills, keeping his hips shoved up against you, almost as if he’s trying to plug you, to keep his seed inside of you, to claim you from the inside out.

But it’s so much—too much—and you can feel it exuding past his shaft to dribble down your skin, leaving behind streams of pretty pearlescent strokes.

Finally, he pulls out of you, another cracked curse falling from his lips as he watches with a sort of sordid obsession, his cock glazed with his cum and your blood, the tops of his thighs smeared with his own essence.

“So beautiful,” he whispers to himself, claw reaching out to trace the V again, a hiss spit from between your teeth, body trembling with the effort to stay still, to resist flinching away from his stinging touch, to be good for him. “So fucking perfect.”

Slinking down the bed, he wedges his head between your spread thighs to inspect the wound more thoroughly, teal tongue unfurling from his mouth to lave over the deep cut, mopping up excess blood as he follows the contours carefully once, twice, three times.

“Mine,” he murmurs, planting a gentle kiss atop the wound, sealing the breathy claim into your flesh. “Mine, forever.”

“Yours,” you whisper, looking down at him as your finger outlines the V affectionately, a loving caress of what he’s gifted you. “Yours, forever.”

#vox x reader #vox smut #vox x you #hazbin hotel smut #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #tw:blood #tw:branding #w:toxic relationship #tw:daddy kink #inky.vox #inky.hazbin

534 notes · View notes

egotisticle · 2 years

Text

anonymous: How normal do you think it is to be intimidated by your blog? I think personally for me it's mostly that you're pretty active (which seems rare to me, but maybe that's just my circle) and because I associate icons with people and Dark is very intimidating haha

Even with being mutuals for a long time, and having interacted... once? I think I remember once. I'm still horribly anxious and scared even though I would love nothing more than to do something. Not like I'm brave enough to go off anon either haha I'm terrified :')

i wouldn’t call it abnormal ! not because i think that i’m a particularly intimidating person but because i also associate icons with people and admittedly, i don’t make a lot of out of character posts on this blog. i do most of my ooc activity in my tags and replies to other people’s text posts so maybe you’d get a better feel for my personality there. i’ve also been meaning to reblog more mun-centric ask memes (or at least ones that would require a ooc answer) and break my habit of keeping it all ‘business’ on this blog but i’m not quite there yet lmao. i assume everyone follows me for dark so that’s the content i give them.

sometimes i split up my time writing on discord (selectively) and tumblr so time is a factor too. you’ve probably also noticed how much i tend to write for replies/threads so takes me longer than some to actually post and get new interactions moving. it also helps that i’ve had a few long-term writing partners over the years which make it a little too easy to plot out and discuss dynamics which then later resurface in my replies/threads with them on here. for newcomers who aren’t my main partners, i try to give them a fair shot when i can so everyone can develop something with dark but sometimes, i have to pick and choose. it’s no one’s fault and i’m hugely appreciative of everyone liking dark so much but i can only do my best to juggle everyone --- hence the ‘highly selective’ part of my sidebar. you aren’t the only mutual that i’ve only had one or two interactions with (sometimes due to the other person abandoning their blog, a thread getting dropped, or another reason altogether) and while i hope the reason is never out of anxiety, i understand that too. still, i’d like to think that the people who talk with me outside of tumblr could vouch for my character and confirm that i’m not as scary as i seem lmao

thanks for the ask, though ! hopefully i addressed some of your concerns and you won’t be discouraged going forward for future threads. trust me when i say that whether it’s one thread/ask reply or hundreds, i appreciate each and every interaction dark has.

#┊♚┊ − ooc. ❛ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵇˡᶦⁿᵏ.ᵐᵖ⁴ ❜#┊♚┊ − ❛ ᵃᶰˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ❜#┊♚┊ − ❛ anonymous ❜#long post for ts #((dusts off my ooc tag and shines it up))#((but thank you for the candour!))

0 notes

divinehedons · 11 months

Text

you're losing me.

navigation: how reader broke her ankle

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

word count: ~4.2k words

summary: at one point, you think you've found something with joel. a moment of peace, a fragment of joy. now, you're not so sure.

warnings: this is an explicit fic, minors DO NOT INTERACT! hurt/comfort fic, LOTS of angst i'msosorry, implied age gap (somewhat mentioned here and there), a play on the miscommunication trope with an uncommunicative joel, angsty make up sex, explicit p-in-v sex, oral sex (f receiving), anal sex, aftercare, occurs somewhere after the events of season 1.

a/n: i'm incredibly thankful for all the love this fledgeling little hedonist got from such a community. thank you so so much for reading!

likes, comments, and reblogs much appreciated! please let me know if you have any requests, just shoot an ask and i'm certain to see it!

Life, as you imagined it in the days that came after, was much simpler before you and Joel arrived in Jackson. It was a description you settled on, long after you’ve combed through your mind’s vocabulary, through the haze and vertigo of heartbreak. Easier was simply a lie. Nothing was nice nor easy in those autocracies from the QZs. When you look back to those days, painted only in broad strokes of inhumane bloodshed and secret dealings in the dark, he remains, nevertheless, at the center of the shell of empires you had once deemed eternal. Your gruff, quiet Joel, with bloodstained fists and sharp eyes, always strong to rage battle with the days and emerge victorious.

Perhaps life was easier pre-Jackson because you and Joel never truly defined what you had back then. You lived next door to him. You suggested he hid his contraband with you because, God, why would they ever search there? You still try and figure out when the fucking started. When you stopped sleeping in your bed and started waking up in his. Whenever it was, shortly thereafter, you followed him in his dealings, tried to look for some damn car battery that seemed to excite him so much.

You remember waking up at dawn one morning, drenched in sweat as the shadows receded in your mind, his hand on your shoulder as his eyes searched yours. You don’t remember the nightmare, you remember the panic in his eyes. “You good, darlin’?” You’d nod and watch him open a window. It was autumn, you remembered, and the breeze cooled your burning skin.

“Who’s the guy I’m meeting today?” you tried to ask, sitting up in his bed and watching the way his eyes seemed to look at anywhere but you. You tried to ignore the subtle way his brows furrowed, the grinding of his jaw. “Talk me over the plan again.” When he returned to you, his hands pull you down by your legs, spreading you wide open as his mouth kisses the questions out of your mouth.

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout business when I can still have you for a few hours, sweetheart.”

So he’d take you, with your neck stinging from razor burn, legs thrown over his shoulders, his shirt which you wore pushed up while he bites your nipples as his hard cock dives into you in one languid thrust, moans reverberating from the both of you at the feeling.

When Joel fucks, he does so with the candour of a greedy child in a candy shoppe. He takes whatever he can get. You still remember the aftermath of when he first fucked you, one that broke a few years of celibacy, according to the man himself. You remembered the teeth marks, the broken skin, burst capillaries, and fingerprints imprinted wherever he felt the need to. He had been bashful, then, muttering about how he didn’t mean to be so rough. You remembered laughing and pressing his fingers to your aching cunt, smiling at him. You were still wet. He hardens there and then.

Even when you were neck deep in each other’s affections, he never quite lost that eagerness. You remembered that morning because you remember gushing against his cock. You remembered it because it was the morning you realised it was never like this with anyone else. Actually, you realised as his hips stutter and the familiar warmth of his spend fills you, since Joel, there had never been anyone else.

Perhaps everything was simpler then, when you look back at it. You’d fuck, wash up, go do your jobs for some rations. Sometimes he’d nod at you from across the street, and you wouldn’t see him again until he knocks on your door at night, taking you by the hand and pulling you into the night. You always stood in his corner, kicking and punching with so much vigor that he’d chuckle and mutter something about the “youth, nowadays”. He’d wash the blood from your hands, wrap you up in bandages, and tell you to not be so reckless next time. You never really listened.

Sometimes, when an exchange ends early, he’ll take you to some empty building, tell you about some renovation of one decade or another. You’d laugh and climb over him, chasing to get a taste of his cock in your mouth. You never addressed the elephant in the room, never asked what you meant to him.

It was the unspoken rule, however, that there was never going to be anything that came between the two of you. By hell or high water. He walked you home every night you did your business, even if he still had things to do. He never forgot to hand you a share of meat whenever it came his way, sometimes finding you wherever you were stationed that day just to slip it in your hands without speaking.

It was the same rule that prevailed when he woke you one night, telling you he’s leaving. You packed a bag, shook hands with the kid he was with, and followed.

No questions asked. Through hell and high water.

–

Somewhere between those days and arriving in Jackson, he does start talking more. You learn about Sarah, the worries he tries not to tell anyone, the pain in his bones.

In easy silences while the kid slept and vulnerability left you both awake, isolation made you complacent, vulnerable. It made you believe something good still existed in this world. It made you believe you and Joel could survive unscathed from the same love that had burnt others.

“Stay with me,” he whispers in the cradle of darkness, hand on the trigger as he watches you pace back and forth, trying to tire yourself enough. You look at him, blinking momentarily as you try to comprehend as to whether or not you imagined the words from his mouth. “When we get out of here–if we get out of here–promise me you’ll stay with me.”

Of course you will. That was how you ended up in Jackson, too.

Looking back, when you try and trace everything back to a singular point in space and time when the end of all things began, it began when you stand in stunned silence, watching what seemed to be a sanctuary in the midst of mortal damnation. Laughing children, playing, men lifting, hammering, building. People chattering in the street. The tipping point, however, was none of that. The tipping point was Joel recognising his brother from the crowd and embracing him with a smile you had never seen on your face before.

For a moment, you feel guilt— you knew how long Joel had wanted to see Tommy. You knew, too, that this had been everything he had worked towards for. It warms you, to finally know Joel was still human, after all. At least for a moment. Then the uncomfortable thoughts trickle in.

Perhaps, you thought once in a microsecond, perhaps you just weren't enough for him to be that open with you.

Just like that, the isolated bubble from which you had adored, and perhaps (definitely) even loved Joel, dissolves, leaving you exposed, vulnerable, and somewhat alone in a sea of people. You supposed Ellie felt it too, from the way she held on to your arm, worrying you’ll disappear too.

“I’m here, kid,” you murmur as you pretend not to see. “You’re all good.”

Even when your little group left and came back from the Fireflies, even when Joel pulls you out of a burning building and kills men for you, you can’t shake off the feeling. Can’t shake the knowledge that you weren’t as important to him. Not even a little, not even at all. You swallow it whenever he pushes aside your underwear and lets you take his fingers. You ignore that itching feeling when you take him for yourself, seating yourself on his lap and fucking him needingly, kissing him as if his lips were everything you needed, chasing your orgasms with the same greed you had in those early days.

Sometimes, you couldn’t stop it.

“Tell me you want me, Joel,” you whisper, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling, teeth gnashing.

“‘Course I fuckin’ want you, peach. This fuckin’ cunt is all mine.” He’d flip you over, lay you on your stomach, fucking up into you as your back arches and your eyes roll back in the sweet symphony of skin on skin on skin. “No one else knows how to even make you feel as good as I do.” His fingers would reach down. Thumb and forefinger. Pinching your clit until a squeal escapes you.

“Yours, Joel.” Your gasps, his grunts, the fleeting ache in your chest as these moments become less frequent, turning few and far in between. “Yours, yours, yours.”

–

It all comes to a head one evening, over some stupid argument. Even now, when all is said and done, you can’t seem to remember the trigger that set things off. When you think of that night, only a fragment of the conversation comes to mind.

“The truth is, Joel, I just don’t know what we are,” you had been saying, separating from him like shrapnel. “I used to stupidly think that maybe you wanted me to stay because you were working up some fucking courage to do something about us.” He looks at you wide-eyed, pupils blown. You could hear his thoughts from that distance. Where was all this coming from?

“It never mattered t’you before,” he muttered, leaning against the wooden table as his eyes bore down on you. A beat drops, and he is striding towards you, taking your shoulders in his gruff hands as his tired gaze met yours. ”I don’t understand, why the fuck are you tellin’ me this now?”

I know you don’t. I never asked you to.

For a moment, you struggled in his arms. The feeling of his fingers against your skin was too much. It felt too close, too intimate, too little, and nothing all at once. You whine, trying to avoid his gaze and control your tongue before it is you who eventually did ruin things.

Just tell me. What’s in that head of yours?

“Because you never touch me anymore!” Your small fists, his broad chest, hitting what you could as you finally sob and tear yourself away from me. “I’m glad for you, I really am. But you barely even look at me anymore!” When you did free yourself, your feet take you backwards by a few steps, just enough to see the quirk of his lips at your confession. “But God, it makes me feel so fucking small- like I’ve turned into some nagging bitch, the shrew at home.” You hiccup once, twice. You see him about to speak and you jump in again. “It’s like you found your life and I never had a place in it, so you forgot me.”

The last confession lay on your lips, escaping before you could stop it. “Like I was never enough for you, Joel.”

Your back hits the wall as you look him in the eye, eyes blurred from the onslaught of tears that finally stop you. “I have always stood by your side, I’ve followed you blindly across this fucking wasteland. I never asked for anything, never wanted anything but you, and yet…” You wait for Joel. As you always have. You wait for him to say something. Anything that might finally end your misery. When he doesn’t, you wait for him to do something.

You sigh. “I… I lo-”

“I’ve had enough of this,” he finally says, catching you off-guard as he moves away, grabbing his coat as he shakes his head. “Tommy’s waiting for me.” With that, he leaves. The pit in your stomach swallows you whole, remaining there, in the strange hallways of your memory, as the moment you finally understood the misery that walked hand in hand with love.

–

That was how you ended up with the singular backpack of your things, moving across all of Jackson and putting the entire commune between the two of you, and moving into the small apartment near the shops. You know the jobs he works, asked (almost begged, actually) for Maria to keep her as far away from him as remotely possible. And you did so before he returned from patrolling– some two day affair beyond the gates.

The first night proved impossible. In the darkness, you heard the arms of your watch ticking by as time moves ever so slowly. Without noticing it, you counted the minutes before he and Tommy should be back. You tried not to wonder if he ever thought of you on jobs like this. When all there is to kill is time. Did he ever touch himself in the darkness? Did he ever think of you touching yourself wherever you lay, too?

Then you remember his dining room. “I’ve had enough of this.” No. You know he wasn’t thinking of you.

You fuck yourself with your fingers until your wrist aches from the effort; and still yet, nothing. You cannot reach the places he does. Your hands too soft to mimic the sensation of his calloused fingers forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you. The sleep that comes, therefore, is uneasy,

You dream of him, lying beside you in the bed you shared back in the QZ, his gruff hum signalling he was awake. “You’re not happy, are you?” he whispers, and you look to him, hands reaching in the darkness.

“Of course not,” you whisper. "I’m in love with you and you don’t even want to see me.”

–

Joel sees the empty house first before he heard the news. It is only in your absence that he finally understood how empty his home was without you.

Without the books on the coffee table. Without the flowers you picked yourself. The bathroom felt barren without your little luxuries– the lotion you had found back on the road, the smell of your shampoo long evaporated from the room. His bed, most of all, felt inhuman without the shape of your frame imprinted on it.

Ellie rushed in when he stood in the living room, looking over in silence. “What the fuck happened, man? I tried to stop her but she was crying, all over the place. I don’t even fucking know how she left the place so pristine the way she was running around-”

“Where is she, kid?”

–

When he finally does see you, you look far worse off than he is. The apartment Maria pointed him to is nice, it’s warm. Bright, even. As if anywhere you go turns into a sanctuary. You’re reading when he sees you. With your back turned to him, you roll your shoulders in a way that tells him you slept wrong. If you even slept at all. The slight tilt in your gait tells him you overworked yourself and your ankle is giving you hell for it.

He leans against the doorway until eventually, he finds the strength to speak. “So you don’t even say goodbye? Some people would think it’s just good manners.” You turn around just enough for him to see the swooping shades of exhaustion beneath your eyes, tinged by the reddening of your nose, your sore eyes. You had just been crying. He could tell, even when no traces of tears are left on your skin.

Now, he waits for you. Attempts to weed out the silence as if it could tell him something.

“Ellie said you cleaned up. Thanks for that, darlin’.” He sighs, moving closer in an attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way you prepare yourself to flee. “I found somethin’ for you, It’s out-”

“Just stop it, Joel.” He looks to you, sees the way the tears bead in your eyes before you look away, rising from your seat as you allow a shaky breath. “You said you had enough and I’m- I wanted to respect that.” He tries to hold you and your arms fly out, pushing him away before he gets too close, shaking your head. “But I can’t do it when you’re always around.”

He calls your name, and it stops you in your tracks. He says it again, and you realize why. He says your name with so much emotion, the teeth-gritting ferocity of the riptide. “It was never you that I had enough of. I can never have enough of you-” When you look at him, his brows furrow, eyes soften, reaching for you, hands on your wrists as he slowly brings you toward him. He calls your name, and for a moment, you feel as you did back in the old days of the small rooms in the QZ. You remember the whistling of the wind between the window shutters, white noise that soothed you to sleep.

His confession comes spilling forth in an uncontrollable gush. “I never wanted to make you go, peach,’ he murmurs, almost incomprehensible, rough hands pulling you against his chest as he finally breathes in that familiar scent of your hair. He smells of snow and pine–the same smell of the soap you bought for him last week. “I don’t know how to do this… to feel–” His thumbs cup your cheek as your gaze returns to his own tear-filled face. “Losing you is like cutting my fingers off, sweetheart, I can’t bear it.”

He kisses you, and you feel the desperation of a man starved. He doesn’t stop, does not want to stop. If this was a dream, he thinks, he’d rather consume you than wake up somewhere without the warmth of your skin on his. You kiss him, too, and it’s nothing like what you had before. When you kiss him in that quiet little apartment, it’s wanton, messy, your tears melting into his own, your whines swallowed and consumed before you can even actuate them. You only break apart when you feel his lips move to your cheek, his beard rubbing against you as you sniffle and tug him closer by the loops of his belt.

Joel continues to speak. In disjointed whispers, murmurings you try and decode. “Always wanted you to stay, darlin’. Always dreamt of you, always-”

“I thought you dreamt of ten-month summers,” you manage to tease between tears, catching his lips as his arms lift you, pressing you to the nearest wall to wrap your legs around his waist, thrusting his clothed cock against you. You remembered that dream particularly because it had been a miserable winter, one that he confessed to have felt in his very bones. How he grumbled then, in the silences when he thought you wouldn’t hear.

“Even with that summer, without you there, I don’t fuckin’ need it, sugar.”

You both make up that afternoon, slowly, lovingly, with him begging you to stay as he pushes your bottoms off and you promising that you will. The burning stretch of his girth makes you tear up again, just as he cups your face and soothes you through it. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. Let me make it up to you…” You let him do many things. You let him take you again. You let him regain control over himself again.

Oftentimes you wonder if uncertainty struck fear into him. Perhaps it was why he had always kept himself at an arm’s distance, even when you slept in his bed and wore his shirts. Perhaps that was why he had never allowed himself to feel. Never allowed himself to name that love he had for you.

“I love you, Joel.” The whisper comes between moans as his lips mark your neck in rough kisses, taking you again as he had taken you everytime. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” He groans at the sound of your promises, a low guttural sound, just as his lips nip at the skin of your neck, making you whine and squeal against him.

“I fuckin’ love you, peach,” he finally manages to say, hips pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt as he makes you look at him. “I could never have enough of you… fuck!” He doesn’t care if the whole of Jackson hears you, sees the two of you locked in this embrace. As long as he had you, he knows, nothing else mattered. Gently, he lets you down to turn you around, manipulating your hips as your hands keep you balanced to the wall. He sinks so easily to his knees, tongue swiping from your clit, your weeping hole, your perineum, and even up to your ass, spreading your wetness and his precome with a low chuckle. “Tell me you need me, darlin’, come on.”

You do tell him. “I need you, sir, please,” you whisper, with such gentleness that he chuckles. He loved the way your begging sounded, the way you called him sir, like you did in those shy beginnings when you could barely look him in the eye. Loved the way you whine and try to reach down to touch yourself, only for him to tsk in warning, your hand immediately returning to the wall. “Please let me cum, sir, I just want you, please!”

Finally, he indulges you. His tongue fucking you, hands spreading your asscheeks, beard digging into your skin and his nose, his nose, just teasing your asshole enough to make you clench down in expectation. He does not stop, does not pause even when you buck against him, clenching your teeth as you feel his tongue reach there, that point that makes you fucking feral, bucking until he pushes you off the edge, and continues to push you over the edge, knees weakening and trembling in the aftermath of pleasure. You thank him, louder than you’ve ever thanked any deity for each day of survival. If you were honest, you didn’t care so much about religion, about believing. Not when everything you ever believed in knelt before you, asking you if you’d let him take your ass.

You nod breathlessly, pressing your cheek against the cool wallpaper. “It’s yours, sir. It’s all yours, and you know it.”

He smirks, kissing the small of your back. His perfect, willing girl.

He slowly draws you into it, knows you’ve never done anything like this. He starts with his tongue, helping you relax around him, helping you relax when you take one finger, then another. You had never felt so empty and yet so full at the same time. You feel the walls of your cunt stretched out over nothing, your fingers digging into the plaster as he finally stands, lips pressing kisses and assurances into your shoulders. And there, just there- you feel the head of his cock entering you, your body welcoming him so willingly, without much effort nor pain.

He fucks you with renewed vigor, your moans intermingling as his hands trail on separate directions. His left hand trails from your neck, to your chest, and quickly to your nipples, pinching, tugging, His right trails from your stomach to your wanton clit, rubbing concentric circles softly and gently prolonging your pleasure to match up with his stamina. Even as he batters your walls, his lips are so gently, praising you and kissing you. “Of course I fuckin’ love you, sugar. Always fuckin’ did.”

It’s the confession, you would think later on, that pushes the both of you over the edge. You beg him to let you, and he chuckles at how needy and willing you are in his hands. “Together, baby, yeah? Come on, be a good girl and come with me.” HIs fingers intensify his efforts, so do his cock, and it’s even more easier, You feel yourself gush at nothing, his hands the only thing holding you up now as he finds his high, rolling off with you, fucking his spend deep within your ass. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that, princess. Fuck!”

You cry for him and cum even harder, clenching and collapsing, saved only by his trembling frame. It is then that you feel his teeth biting down against your skin, guttural groans escaping and reverberating against your sweat-slick skin. You call for him, hand reaching back to tug against his hair, giving him the consent to sink his teeth deeper against your flesh.

You exchange words of love, you kiss slowly, gently. Joel carries you gently to the small cot you had been resting on, his gaze scolding you for putting your body through this uncomfortable surface every night. You whine when he leaves you, but he smiles. “I’m not goin’ anywhere again, sugar. Promise.”

He makes good on that promise, returning with something to wipe you clean, slowly, gently, not wanting to make it any worse for you. He praises you, nonetheless. So good f’me, baby. My perfect girl.

You fall asleep, slowly, gently, to the same words, your hand on his, his mouth on your cheek, kissing you all over. It’s the most peace you ever felt in a long time.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction

2K notes · View notes