#might be a part two for this idk yet
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Eddie was still in the coma, attached to so many tubes it made Wayne sick to look at sometimes. But they were keeping him alive, so he’ll manage. They were making sure he got to see his boy awake again.
There was still a metal cuff that was attached to his wrist. The other end attached to the bar of the hospital bed. As if he could spring up at any moment and just escape. When he’s been half dead for days. When Wayne hasn’t seen his eyes open since before Eddie went into hiding.
He hasn’t seen his boy for over a full week. Even though he’s been lying there on the bed for the last few days. Eddie won’t be back with Wayne until he wakes up. If he wakes up.
Everyday Wayne’s been here in between his shifts. Can’t afford to take the days off, with having to get a new place and all. Part of his paycheck’s paying for the hotel room he’s staying in while trying to find somewhere new to live. Even the abandoned houses are too pricy, and the trailer park’s in shambles.
Honestly, if he could, he’d be pulling as many doubles as possible just to get a new place and soon. But that would mean not being here. Might miss when he wakes up. Wayne doesn’t want to miss that.
It’s not like he’s lonely here either. There’s been other visitors. The kid that Eddie always talked about from his dungeon game. The one that he secretly liked above the rest of the freshmen. His bandmates came by once, looking guilty as hell when they did. They haven’t been back since.
There’s been a few other people Wayne hasn’t recognized. A few more kids from the club, some he didn’t even know Eddie knew. But they always came to check in before heading across the hall to see the boy there. The Harrington boy.
Wayne recognized it was him one day when the door was left open. He was asleep, with an IV in his arm along with some other cords. Not as many as his boy, but still there. There was a girl in there too, short brown hair and wearing a baggy jacket with some patches. She was holding his hand. It never seemed like she let it go.
The same girl checked in on Eddie a few times. Tried to make small talk with Wayne but left when she realized he was disinterested. Always heading back to the Harrington boy.
All he knew is that they both came in at the same time. Got admitted one after the other, but Wayne didn’t know what order. That they both had to go through some type of surgery to deal with the injuries. Though he hears Harrington’s was more cosmetic than anything. Eddie’s was to save his life.
Not that he’s judging. People could do whatever they wanted for all he cared. There were different doctor’s for different things. Priorities and all that. He just hoped that Harringotn wasn’t higher up on the list than Eddie was. Eddie was clearly the one in the worst condition.
The kid that kept visiting Eddie went over there a lot too. Dustin, is the kid’s name. Wayne can’t remember it half the time, he’s too busy focusing on something else. And just bone tired. But after Dustin sits next to Wayne for a while, updates Eddie on everything that’s happened that day, sometimes reads to him, he heads right across the hall and does it all again. Every single time.
Wayne has no clue how this boy could possibly be close with both Eddie and the Harrington kid. It’s not like they were in the same circles. Or seemed to remotely like each other at all. Wayne can explicitly remember the Harrington boy being apart of one of Eddie’s hate filled rampages. But if he’s remembering right, there was something different that really pissed Eddie off about him. Something that’s wrapped up in the same reason Wayne’s never seen Eddie bring a girl home.
But day after day, Dustin goes to Steve’s room after stopping by Eddie. Wayne can see why Eddie liked Dustin. He’s loud and dramatic just like Eddie. Likes the same game, same books, even starting to like the same music. But Dustin and the Harrington boy. He doesn’t get it.
Until he’s walking down the hall to get a cup of coffee and hears it. The bickering that leads into laughter. Snippy comments about something filled with inside jokes. Suddenly it all makes sense. They almost seem like brothers.
It’s a few more days until Wayne meets the Harrington boy himself. A nurse coming to check Eddie’s vitals leaves the door open on accident. Harrington peaks through when he’s on a walk down the hallway.
“Why is he handcuffed?” is the first thing Wayne hears from the kid. Voice filled with anger.
Before Wayne can get annoyed at explaining the whole situation to another stranger, explain how he knows his boy is innocent, the nurse is yelling at him.
“You can’t be in here, sir.”
“I don’t give a shit. Why is he handcuffed? He didn’t do anything wrong.”
Wayne is surprised that he’s not the one making the case this time. Somehow, this kid he’s never met believes his nephew is innocent. Just like he does.
The nurse snaps her folder shut, walking up to Steve and waving for help through the door. “That is private information. Go back to your room before you’re forced to.”
Steve rolls his eyes with a snarl, undoing the buttons on the front of his hospital shirt. “He didn’t give me these. He didn’t kill those kids. I know, I was there.” He begins to pull back the bandages, revealing scarred, mauled skin that looks just like Eddies. The nurse scolds him to stop. “He’s innocent, so why is he handcuffed to the bed?”
“He is still a suspect and deemed dangerous. Now get back to your room.”
More another nurse grabs Steve’s arm to try and pull him to his room. He shakes it off.
“Dangerous,” his voice raises. “He’s been in a coma for days and you think he’s dangerous. What is he going to do, pop up out of bed like he hasn’t been fucking asleep for days and almost died just to run away? He couldn’t do that if he tried.”
Security gets involved now, physically pushing Steve out of the doorway. The nurse shuts the door to Eddie’s room, cutting Wayne off from seeing it. She apoligized for the intrusion and gets back to checking on Eddie.
“He’s right, you know,” Wayne says, still hearing the noise from the hall. “My boy didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Can’t escape even if he tried. Or attack anyone for that matter. He’s been through enough, he doesn’t need to wake up to a cuff around his wrist.”
The nurse purses her lips, strained. “This is from above me, sir. But if the news is true, the cuffs are staying on.”
When the nurse opens the door again, the hall is clear.
The next time Wayne sees Harrington is when he leaves for the day. Only able to fall asleep so many times in a shitty hospital chair before needing to go home. Security presses for him to stay in his room, warning him.
“Just going to make a fucking phone call. I’m allowed to do that right?” When the security guard crosses his arms, the kid hits him with, “Don’t want me to get my dad involved, do you? Isn’t he one of the main donors for this hospital? Be such a shame if he stopped.”
Wayne almost laughs when the security guard moves out of the way. Harrington giving him the finger with a smirk as he walks down the hall to the payphone.
Maybe Eddie and the Harrington kid had more in common than Wayne thought.
now with a part 2
#might be a part two for this idk yet#wayne munson#eddie munson#steve harrington#dustin henderson#stranger things#stranger things ficlet#post season 4#pre steddie
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I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh
hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]
i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..
#snap chats#//twenty page google doc in the background// ignore that. it's mostly for comedic purposes#might also be my fault idk sorry about that. allegedly. idk ive had like three people tell me they started to ship them cause of me 🧍♂️#@mementoasts is another person who's drawn masadai and whose stuff i love and am inspod by .. i love their disneyland fic sm ...#there was another artist on twitter who posted a neat drawing of them but i cant remember who they were and i didnt bookmark it //screams//#recently there's been ANOTHER masadai artist ive started following on twitter - @wifekiryu. his account's n/s/f/w fyi before you go looking#he has a tumblr too @foxdies. i say cause i realized as much recently vjeaKLGJALKGJ#oh but I GUESS ill get deeper into why. /i/ personally ship masadai or whatever#first off they're opposing factions yet their character alignments Do Not Match their roles. stereotypically anyway#aoki who leads the 'surface' of society and is meant to be an admirable figure and someone 'just' when really. he sucks LMAO#though that's not atypical of politicians but just from a stereotypical This Is A Respectable Individual perspective of his role#daigo on the other hand leads the 'underbelly' of society- yk comprised of dangerous criminals and outcasts and whatnot#yet as we know him daigo's compassionate and considerate of his men- he doesnt treat them like tools like aoki does#if put in a room with the two daigo would be most people's choice of person to hang out with. probably open a trapdoor on aoki tbh#and i think thats really cool and epic i always love that kinda Subverting Expectations thing#theres also the fact they both started off like. edgy/angsty in the franchise and then brush up down the line#masato does a stronger 180. publicly. obviously but its still really funny they both have to get their act together#if you wanna talk about in-text reasons. there really is none LMAO I TELLS YOU masadai is pure crack#but if i wanted to pull a muscle reaching then there's daigo being on aoki's side while everyone else is on arakawa's during the funeral#im lying of course. mitsu was behind him. rgg tryna make me forget mitsu exist .... put him back in y8 ....#and ofc ichi joins that side to even out the seating but moving on another Goofy Reason is arakawa being like#'the chairman and my son are like p much the same age Surely he knows how he thinks :)'#and then i just think daigo being all smarmy about outsmarting aoki is really goofy and im choosing to interpret that as personal#they both also have issues with their dad. s. dad/s/. anyway.#tbh the google doc tag was a joke but i really could sit here and list every dumb reason why i think theyre funny together#like i started going over the tag limit so uhhhh yeah needless to say i have a lot of. dumb reasons 💀💀💀💀#one day ill use the main text for long rambles like this but todays not that day Point Is my imagination is rampant im afraid#so the short and sweet of it is I Think It's Funny. And They'd Be Terrible Together. Which Is Why It's Funny.#and the unfortunate part is anything i find funny i obsess over for a year so. //gestures to the mountain of bullshit thats my masadai tag/
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Chapter Six
I have Deja-vu when I return to the Tullamore stadium where I spent countless Sunday afternoons as a teenager, forced to sit at pitch side as Kelly roared her support for the players with a ferocity that always kind of pissed me off. She wasn’t into sports, not really, she just pretended that she was because she had this fantasy of one of the players spotting her by the barriers and coming over to ask for her number. Of course, none ever did, but eventually, when she was sixteen she talked her way into one of their after parties at the club house and kissed six of them one after the other with the same efficiency as a local politician handing out fliers at a shopping centre. She didn’t get any phone numbers either, just a crusty cold sore that hung around on her lip for two weeks.
Today, for the first time there is no Kelly by my side, and I realise upon entry that it’s been almost four years since I’ve set foot in this place. I don’t know why I thought it’d look different, but everything is the same, from the sun bleached plastic seats to the mud, grass, and leather smell in the air. I’ve changed but all these old places, they stay exactly the same. Claire links her arm with mine and we head down the steps towards our seats near the front. She’s wearing a Tullamore jersey. Most people on our side are too, painting one whole side of the stadium in blue and white. I’m just wearing a grey jumper. I had a matching jersey years ago, in fact I even went to the trouble of digging it out of the bottom drawer of the chest in my childhood bedroom earlier, but it’s girls size 13-14. It won’t even go over my chest anymore.
“Are you excited?” I say to Claire, who I expect to be beaming, but isn’t.
“Yeah I suppose.” She says.
“It’s a bit mad to be here together, isn’t it? Like, how many of these matches would you say you go to?”
“Oh God, like, probably all of them, I’m always stuck in these seats watching him.”
“You’re very supportive.”
“I’m a saint.”
My smile falters a bit, she doesn’t seem excited in the least. When I imagined her coming to these games I always had a picture in my mind of her cheering him on with voracious enthusiasm, hanging over the railings, chanting his name, but by the rather stoic expression on her face today I’m starting to doubt my own assumptions. “Not pushed about the match, no?”
She sighs. “No, it’s fine, I just… this has been a touchy subject between us lately.”
“Football?”
“It’s how much he wants to play it.”
I frown. “But he’s made it onto the senior team, surely it’s normal that it’ll take up a lot of his time.”
“Yeah it’s just like, he’s in fourth year in UCD now, I wish he’d just study or something, focus on his degree.”
“Oh.”
“There’s no future in football, like, he’ll never get paid for it and I just don’t want him to throw away his science degree because he’s too caught up with an amateur sport. There’s good money in pharmaceuticals if he works hard enough, and then we could start saving for a mortgage or a wedding, or I don’t know, kids or something.”
I nod, though it’s incredibly weird to hear her talk about such things now, at twenty one years old, when they seem lightyears away for me. A mortgage? I don’t even know how that works, never mind how I’d go about saving for one, but Claire has always been eager to settle.
“Is he struggling to balance both things?”
“Well, he isn’t really trying to. He’s just not doing his college work.”
“At all?”
She shakes her head. Her mouth becomes a thin line as she stares out over the pitch where the players have begun to filter out, shaking the hands of the other team, and I spot Shane for the first time, dressed in a blue jersey with stripes across his shoulders. He is powerful looking, even amongst all of the others. Two men in Helly Hansen fleeces and caps walk straight through my line of vision and settle into the seats directly in front of us, blocking out the view momentarily. By the time I regain my view of the pitch the players have all settled into their starting positions.
“I assume you’ve talked about this with him.” I say to Claire.
“Yeah of course, but I might as well be speaking to a brick wall. You know how he is with talking about things. At all. Ever.”
I hesitate. “He can be a bit withholding, for sure.”
“Never go out with an Irish man.” She declares. “They’ll only wreck your head.” I want to tell her that men from other countries haven’t been much more straightforward in my experience, but then the whistle blows and the match begins.
It’s true what they say in the newspapers about Shane Healy. He’s like a bolt of lightning on that pitch. He’s big, he’s quick and he’s aggressive, and yet there is something about his style of play that I didn’t expect to see. He’s like a child out there. The way that he practically skips along with the ball, lobbing it up into his hands and kicking it up the pitch makes it seem like he’s mocking the players around him, the ones who can’t catch him, can’t stop him.
I watch him possess the ball once again, drop it onto his right foot and neatly slot it through the goalposts for a perfect point. The crowd erupts into euphoric cheers, including me and Claire, who both laugh ourselves onto our feet and start yelling out for him. I’m not close enough to see him smiling, but I know he is, jogging around in a wide circle, clenching his fists in celebration.
The two men in front of us are muttering about something when we sit back down, and the only reason I tune in is because I hear them say his name. “Healy. Number fifteen. ” I nudge Claire and mutter “They’re talking about your boyfriend there.”
“What are they saying?”
We try to listen in, but the stadium is too loud to catch anything but the odd word. “I can’t hear.” I admit. “Are they Australian? Hardly.” The idea of a person coming all the way from the continent of Oceania to find themselves in a shabby Tullamore stadium, of all places, would be markedly strange.
“Oh, foreign men?” Claire drawls. “Maybe I should give one of them my number.” She slams her sunglasses onto her face, shielding her eyes from the sharp October sun, and we both put our focus back onto the pitch.
Beginning // Prev // Next
#lucky girl part 3#funnily enough this was one of my favourite chapters#it feels like a real bottle episode or something idk#even though it isn't#but i liked that it took place in just two distinct places and very little happened and yet so much was moving in the background#people who have finished the story already might notice things on a reread that they didn't the first time
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it makes so much sense that quackity couldn’t talk to SOPHIA about love without also talking about grief btw. the two are so intertwined in the smp as a whole but especially in qquackity’s story. his love and grief are inextricable from each other, they’re symbiotic
#he refuses to talk about his feelings for wilbur as love. because he knows its not#its attraction yeah but not love. they barely know each other#also i maintain that his desire for wilbur is less about wilbur and more about the role wilbur can fill or should have filled in his life#quackity’s obsession with wilbur is fundamentally tied into his grief for tilín#literally the whole thing is about q thinking wilbur was meant to be his partner and therefore also tilín’s other parent#and that massively colours how q views both wilbur and tallulah#that’s why he’s been so obsessed#his talk about roier and cellbit was cute but really when he was describing love he wasn’t talking about them because so much of what he#said doesn’t apply to spiderbit’s relationship at least yet#(there’s still time)#but there’s a reason he couldn’t help but circle back to tilín#tilín has been q’s biggest motivator for most of the series in one way or another#his relationship with tilín might have been doomed but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love them#he loved them to the point of self destruction#and after that conversation with SOPHIA i think he’s only now picking up the pieces#or even examining them in detail#the grief and love he has towards tilín have been overshadowing him this whole time and he hasn’t dealt with it#idk he’s tried at points but he always falls back on denial and pretending he’s fine#maybe because he feels like letting go of any part of his grief is like letting go of his love for tilín and he doesn’t want to do that#after all they are two sides of the same coin#god this is a ramble anyway#quackity#sophia qsmp#tilín#tilin#qsmp
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Robert Shaw acts as the Pimpernel's loyal right hand man, Lord Anthony Dewhurst, in The Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel: The Hostage (1.1, ITP, 1955)
#fave spotting#robert shaw#the adventures of the scarlet pimpernel#classic tv#itp#itc#1955#more info on this series (and why it's an ITP production but also ITC) in the tags on my prev Pat Troughton fave spotting post#Robert wasn't quite a newcomer at this point‚ having been acting onscreen for a couple of years by now‚ but he certainly#hadn't made it yet; this might have been his big break‚ except that his character never reappears after this first episode#i suspect this acted as a pilot‚ with some of the establishing footage reappearing in a later ep and with Shaw's character being#replaced for the series by two helpers for the Pimpernel‚ played by Pat Troughton and Anthony Newlands#quite why Bob left idk; there isn't a huge amount of information out there about this near 70 yr old bit of tv obscurity#but he did alright; the following year he'd take the lead in one of ITC's next ventures The Buccaneers and shortly after that#he'd start landing film roles that would ultimately catapult him to Hollywood and to big screen immortality#added to which of course he was already making a name for himself on the english stage (and by the end of the decade he'd be adding#novelist to his list of accomplishments). he's very good here tho naturally falling into a supporting role; he's there to look#impressed by Goring's genius and feats of bravery and to occasionally lend a hand in a fight. i do think Troughton and Newlands#get more character to play with in their parts but then they get multiple appearances to help them with it#The Buccaneers is on my shelf where it has sat for some years now... one day... one day....
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guys what if i want to make my own apollo justice game.
#i need to write a prequel to aa4 pls pls pls pls pls#okay get this: so phoenix isnt disbarred yet and he doesnt have trucy. hes still taking and winning cases#one day he gets a call from edgeworth and hes all like ''wright i need your assistance'' and hes like what for and edgeworth goes#''ive been given the most ridiculous case and i think youre the only man in law who can take care of it''#so phoenix bikes his ass to the detention center and boom. child behind bars#and phoenix is like ??? hey kid what are doing here. and this kid is the most surly mfer on the planet like you couldnt get-#-a word out of him if you tried. hes kinda giving phoenix the stink eye too but hes just the littlest guy on earth#and phoenix feels bad for him so he tries to get a rundown of the case (maybe edgeworth gave him an autopsy report or smth beforehand)#but get this. the kid still wont speak. he hasnt even moved a muscle. and after some prodding you find out this little dude-#-doesnt speak english (i dont love aa6 but i think apollos tragic backstory can be interesting so we're going w that but taking it seriousl#anyways so maya is like omg this kid is speaking khurainese but hers is kinda broken bc shes not from the mainland and only knows it-#-from like prayers#so you only get bits and pieces of the kids testimony. plus he still doesnt wanna talk bc ''dhurk told me not to talk to you''#so you start following the new lead but you ask too many questions and apollos like oh shit i said too much and wont talk to you anymore#but now you have two leads: khur'ain and a man named ''dhurk'' plus the fact that this is kid might be new to america since-#-he cant speak english but is smack dab in the middle of california. its all v curious and phoenix wants to get to the bottom of it#for the rest of the case i feel like it would go in the direction of ''we dont know exactly whats up w this dhurk guy or where this kid-#-came from but we do get him acquitted and phoenix is able to save him from the dark path he was heading towards'' thus steering apollo-#-in the direction of law and giving him a wayyyy better reason than aa6 gave him <3#i kind of like the interlinked nature of ace attorney's storytelling. like everything leads into smth else and everyone is impacted-#-by another person before they even become properly entangled w each other's lives#like how mia faced dahlia years before she met phoenix but dahlia was the one to connect them#or how trucy gave phoenix the diary paper but she's also the one who ropes apollo into the waa. even before they know they're siblings#or how lamoire left apollo and trucy as children and when they reunite as adults they cant recognise each other but they all find each-#-other anyways#i could go on but i think this could be cool yknow esp bc i think the most interesting thing about apollo's aa6 backstory is his life-#-post dhurk. like where did he stay? was he a foster kid? was he put into the system? how did that affect him? what kind of ppl took him in#i just wanna know how that whole thing would have effected him bc like when yiu think about it how did he even get to america?? his dad's#-considered a terrorist. idk man i think its interesting and apollo and dhurks interactions are one of the only good parts of aa6
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thinking about how i want to write again and read a million books and play ts4 and finish my piano duet arrangement and work on my percussion ensemble project and cross-stitch and and and but i only have the energy capacity to work on one project at a time and by the time i finish something (or just make progress cuz let's be real, when was the last time i finished something), i don't have the stamina or momentum to work on anything else so i just lull in a state of inertia.
#rilla.txt#dl#i am finishing a book today - that is non-negotiable#after i finish that book i am going to do something with my hands - idk what yet but it will be SOMEthing#i might cross stitch while listening to an audiobook of the hobbit which my roommate found and really liked#then I'm killing two birds with one stone cuz I've said I'd read the hobbit for 3 years straight now. and I'm yet to read the hobbit.#but i also have to keep in mind that I'm starting another semester of schoolwork and i won't have time to do much at all#i love math - i really do - but i don't like the amount of time it takes to learn a whole new class of math#part of the reason i liked calc iii so much is that it built on stuff i already knew. it was mostly piecing things together#instead of starting from scratch. but I've been in starting from scratch territory for a while now and I'm getting tired of it#cuz it takes so much time (not that calc iii didn't take so much time but at least i enjoyed it a lot more)#there are many benefits to studying as obsessively as i do but it comes at the price of ALL MY HOBBIES
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working on some lisa stuff and like. no wonder birdie can't budget or plan easily. how do you plan for this, ESPECIALLY as a single parent, ESPECIALLY as one with a seriously ill kid who might require you to take sudden and unexpected absences
#i know there's full time vs. part time but either way the hours seem inconsistent and a little nuts#full time employment would have gotten him the chance to join the union which DOES have some really good benefits#(part time would too in the modern day but idk about the 90s)#buuuut i can only find modern union contracts not ones from the 80's-90's#and the one i found implied that coverage for dependants was only won after 2018? so the hall boys were NOT included#again i might be wrong i don't have a good head for contract jargon!!!#i can also see birdie being part time at least occasionally because even with PTO he probably wouldn't have the time to take care of joey's#health if he was a full time worker-- even when joey WASN'T in the hospital. when he WAS... hoo boy#you never know how long that's gonna last and this just does not seem like a job with much flexibility or consistency#and ESPECIALLY especially when the boys were really young and maybe weren't both in school yet#sorry here's a glimpse of what like 20% of fic writing looks for me. btw#the amount of stuff i have researched about colorado custody agreements and victorian ableism for my two current fics is a lil absurd#also this is really hard to research because all the articles i get are like 'can my employer dock my pay?'#like no i'm looking for infor about DOCK WORKERS not DOCKING WORKERS
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made a kaoru playlist and made him latino. im not sorry
#shay speaks#enstars#kaoru hakaze#character playlist#i continue to win at the playlist making game by not being into popular artists#two of these popped up on my spotify discover weekly this week and i was like oh these are so kaorucore#the others i just kinda added#some i think he'd listen to some just remind me of him its a grab bag#despite being in a more rock band i dont think he listens to too much rock which cut out a significant part of my own music taste#but then i kept finding spanish songs that i was like oh ho ho this is sooooo kaoru. so he's latino now#might add some morat to this idk yet#but its semi organized but not really theres no real order for the songs feel free to shuffle it#for someone who loves making character playlists i hate listening to them even my own#i do it as a creative exercise okay?#Spotify
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i am writing a script for a choose-your-own-adventure game about the mckinley assassination that will almost definitely never be made and having the time of my life
#(warning for some long tags)#it's part of a dlc that doesn't exist for another game that also doesn't exit#the main game is an original story related to time travel & dimensional warping & etc#and this hypothetical mckinley assassination game that i mentioned would not make much sense without the main game#bc lore and stuff#but i don't care about the main storyline as much as i care about one where you interact with leon czolgosz#i'm drawing some of the character sprites(?) too. so far i've done one of atlas (oc; from main game) & one of victoria czolgosz#atlas is there at the very beginning with janai (another main game oc) to tell you what's happening & give you some items#he shows up later in the game to help you out a little if you go to crystal beach#victoria shows up when you go to the restaurant where she works. you ask if she knows a leon f czolgosz* and she's like 'my brother? how do#you know him?' and you talk to her and she says that the last she heard from him he was in fort wayne but that was over two weeks ago so#she's not sure what he's up to right now. then she cries a little over how she's worried about him and quickly writes a letter and asks you#to give it to him if you find him then asks you to keep him safe. caroline** can then respond like 'ok :-) i will' or be like 'i'm not his#mom or smth i don't even know this guy why are you asking this of me.' and this will influence your relationship with her which can have#effects later. bc depending on what path you take you might see her again. also can affect your relationship with leon later if they end up#interacting.#*you start the game in cleveland so you know that some of the people there know him#**the protagonist's name is caroline. she has no canonical surname but she calls herself 'ascher' here as an allusion to motka from the#anarchist. i want to put more the anarchist allusions in there but idk where yet.
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i feel like I'll finish writing "I'll keep you safe" this week.
I don't know what I should do with my life after that.
#i do have ideas in my head for new stories#but also#I'm quite attached to this story#and like#idk#i already have post writing depression even if i haven't even finished it yet#i still have to edit the chapters properly#and i probably rewrite like one or two#but still#i wish it would never end#well might as well start outlining part two then ehe#more angst and fluff incoming#bc i cant live without a healthy dose of angst#.kaes time to ramble#genshin impact#i'll keep you safe#fanfiction#genshin impact angst#.kae updates#kaebedo#albedo#writing#kaeya#diluc
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me: is a reliable worker
me: has like a decade of experience of different tasks at the workplace
me: usually knows how to help less experienced coworkers with things they aren't familiar with or knows who to ask if I don't know
me: generally knows what the shit I'm doing at work
boss people: hey you're gonna be in charge of your little team of two in this one event
me: oh my god no I'm not qualified for this
#noopa rambles#gfjgfjd this isn't even like. a Real Responsibility#I'd assume it's just a case of 'we'll name one of you two as the Main Person for this section of tables'#at an event where I've worked for literal Years now and the event always goes the same#gotta love the amount of Panic(tm) and Anxiety(tm) my brain instantly goes into with things#idk exactly what the 'Main Person' responsibilities are yet#but I'm assuming it's mostly just me making sure that things are set correctly before the event starts#and making sure that the less experienced coworker know what they're doing too#helping out coworkers comes very naturally to me too#but ofc brain gotta go to Panic Mode(tm) the second a label is put on the work I basically already do#I also assume this means that I won't get yeeted to work at a different spot during the night#but rather stick to that og spot while the other person might get moved to a busier location or smt#the sensible part of my brain is going 'yeah ya got this lad'#the anxiety part of my brain is going 'AAAAAAA'#the event isn't even today it's tomorrow so I'll have all night to anxiety about this lmao
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oh to do vent art... if only
#if i do it i make fun of myself#if i do it its not gonna be decayed by mushrooms or grown over by plants or even visceral gore really#its just#bits and pieces#shapes#like im sure it stems from disassociation but my representation {idfk how to describe imp} came from dysphoria#its an orange circle head with green hair a black hoodie black shorts tall striped socks and boots#and the special part about it besides the eyebags and mouth with two fangs as the only elements of a face#is that it can take off {?} body parts#like oh my pain is going on? {forgot imp wasnt solely from dysphoria lol} not there anymore! gone! no more hip!#like i think its just stabbing at my paper and fucking up my mechanical pencils by dragging them in the paper in a way that theyre unusable#idk#im constantly stressed i think and just need to stop#like. i need to stop everything. like a break from existing#and that might be from perceiving myself as more of a movie camera than a person#sorry for all this#uh#vent#i suppose#idk i feel stupid#anyway#imps bs#mae borowski really got the shapes but its not a one-for-one for me but it helped#fuck#i should shut up#sorry#i dont even feel 'in a dark place' im just. here. everything is too much yet too little and i want to talk about it but don't know how#ugh
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I work only Sundays at my old job now an ik they must be struggling bc my manager just asked me how I'd like to run the am and pm bistro every Sunday. So I'd being doing a double every week just for fun ig. Highly considering it w how I need the money but like Damn...
#text#i have this new part time merchandising job that pays way better but i havent started it yet#so i dont even know how those hours are gonna look. and sundays are my rush home and finish homework days#a well formed adult might learn how to fix their schedule so they don't need to do that but. idk if i can commit#also i hate running pm bistro. they never taught me how to make drinks Or food properly so i have to pull the recipes off the hotel site#And im by myself so if its busy i gotta just pray my hospitality wins them over. but sundays are usually slow. we'll see i got two weeks
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#sam.txt#im indecisive#especially w monie;:(#these r books that have been on my list for a WHILE.#i might even get two :3 if im feeling generous#tumblr hates ottessa moshfegh but ive yet to read a book by her i dislike. maybe im a part of the problem ?#like lapvona i gave 4 strs i must have liked that one so much#the only thing i remember is the last part cus it genuinely SHOCKED me.#no im serious i need to reread it cus that old woman was a girlboss start to finish#i didnt care about the main parts i wanted HER story. who is SHE#prequel? sequel? idk i need that. i need her POV#i bought it in gothenburg this summer and read it on the train home it was soooo good
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Teacher's Pet
Joel Miller x virgin f!reader
Summary: 25 years old, anxiety-ridden, and still a virgin, you ask your friend Joel for advice on your upcoming date. But you're more of a...hands-on learner. And he's more than happy to help.
Warnings: PWP, unbalanced power dynamics, virgin!reader, neighbor/bff/more experienced! Joel, age gap, first kiss, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f receiving), frequent check-ins, soo much banter and Joel is a menace also so soft and sweet :')....(ends on a cliffhanger but there will be a part two I swear).
w/c: 7.7k idk what happened
a/n: I am resurfacing for your monthly reminder that I do in fact still write!! Inspiration for this came out of literally nowhere but I took it and RAN with it and I think I like it?? As always, thank you to my baby love @undrthelights for helping me with this and always listening to my rambling and for being my biggest enabler Ilysm
Part Two
my masterlist
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck pound in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.
"A what?"
"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.
"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”
"Seriously, Joel. Fuck off" you snap but with no bite or heat behind it. You bring the sweating bottle of beer to your lips and finish the rest of the now lukewarm liquid off in one gulp.
"What? I just find it hard to believe that you've never even had a kiss. Didn't you go to high school? Didn't you ever get invited to a party? Didn't you go to college? College kids do the do like all the time”
"Clearly not all the time" you mutter, a tad bitterly.
Joel raises his hands defensively and takes a sip of his own beer. "Just seems crazy is all. There's gotta be some chick or dude out there willing to take pity on you and pop your cherry."
You audibly gag at his choice of words. "I don't need a pity fuck, thanks." You stand from the couch and head over to the fridge. The bottles of cold alcohol inside are calling your name and you want something that will help soothe your nerves. You're not a big drinker, but when Joel is prying into your love life like he is now, you wish you were.
"Okay,” he starts from the living room. “Maybe I worded that wrong. What I meant to say was, there's gotta be someone out there who would be more than willing to show you a good time."
You groan and let your forehead fall against the fridge door. "That's the whole point! I came here to get advice for my date, someone who might actually be interested in me, and all you've done is make fun of me for not having fucked anyone yet. So thanks, Joel. You're a real pal."
You push away from the fridge and slam the door shut, a second beer in hand.
"Alright, alright, calm down." He says, hands in the air as if you were holding him at gunpoint as you head back to the couch. "Look, if this guy really likes you then he's not gonna care. Probably won't even be able to tell if you are or aren't."
"You think so?" You ask hopefully.
"Well, I mean, unless you're like... super bad."
Your heart drops into your stomach and you glare at him, "Joel."
"Oh come on, I'm kidding. You're not gonna be bad, okay? Just, go into it with an open mind and just relax. If he tries something you're not comfortable with or makes you feel weird, tell him. And if he gets pussy, dump his ass."
"That simple, huh?" You scoff.
"Well, yeah. You're the one who made it complicated by thinking it was a big deal."
"It is a big deal, Joel! I know nothing!
"Nothing? You ain’t ever watched porn? Jesus, I had no idea you were such a prude."
You can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and slapping the back of your hand against his arm. He yelps and laughs, rubbing his arm.
"I've watched porn before" you retort.
"What kind?" he asks with a wiggle of his brows.
"None of your fucking business" you respond, feeling your face heat up.
Joel's lips quirk into a shit-eating grin and you're quick to smack him again.
"Okay okay, sorry!" he says through his laughter. "So what exactly are you afraid of?"
You're not really sure how to answer. It's a combination of so many things, most of which are irrational fears and insecurities. Sure you've seen it all done before, but you're well aware that none of it is realistic. At least, not completely. And just the fact that you're freshly 25 years old without a single notch in your bedpost makes you dizzy with anxiety. It's not like you're saving yourself or anything, it's just that hook up culture has never agreed with you and there's never been an opportunity that made you feel like it was the right one. That is until now, with your cute coworker who you thought was miles out of your league asking you out on a third date. And now, the prospect of being in bed with him is looming over you like a dark cloud and the last thing you want to do is mess it up.
"I guess, I'm just afraid that he's gonna be disappointed, or I'm gonna weird him out, or I'm gonna do something wrong and embarrass myself.” Joel nods along and listens. "And if it is bad then we still have to work with each other and then what if it's awkward and everyone knows about it and then he hates me and--"
"Okay, whoa slow down there, buddy" Joel says, putting a hand on your shoulder. "One, you're overthinking this. You're literally thinking like, five steps ahead of what's actually going on. It's a date. And even if it does end up in the bedroom, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. No one's forcing you, okay? He can't. No one can."
"I know, but I want to," you reply quietly.
"Alright. Then do."
"I don't know howwww!! " you whine, flopping backwards into the couch.
Joel groans and sits up a little straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face.
"Well, there's no magic trick, I don't have a secret sex manual I'm holding out on ya."
You sigh, shoulders sagging as you look over at him. The idea comes out of nowhere, well, not exactly from nowhere, but it pops in your head so fast that you then have to bite your tongue before the words bubbling up from your throat come tumbling out.
It's not a bad idea, not necessarily.
You've been good friends with Joel ever since you moved in next door last year. An unlikely pairing, a 40 year old contractor and an almost 25 year old office worker. But after offering him a six pack as part of introducing yourself to the neighbors, you'd gotten along famously. He fixes things around your house and you send him home with hot dinners and warm, gooey cookies.
It's an easy friendship, open and honest and supportive, and Joel has never given you reason not to trust him. He's a good guy, if not a little brash, but you know deep down he means well. And it doesn't hurt that he's objectively attractive, with his tall and sturdy frame, strong, calloused hands, dark messy curls....It's not a bad idea.
It's an absolutely insane idea.
You continue to stare at him, clenching your teeth together to hold back the question sitting on the tip of your tongue.
"What?" he says, looking back at you.
"Nothing" you mutter, eyes flicking away.
"You've got that face you make when you're about to say something really stupid, so just get it out."
You glare at him again, not enjoying the way he can read you so well.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"Well now you're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?!"
"That face!"
"I'm not making a face!"
"Yes you are! Just spit it out!"
You groan and hide your face in your hands. You blame it on the one beer even though you know you’re not anywhere close to being drunk because how else would you justify what you’re about to say? You wait a moment, thinking about the weight of it but your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.
"Fine! What if, hypothetically speaking of course, you were to, hypothetically, give me a, um, hypothetical, lesson or whatever."
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel your pulse throb in your neck and hear it in your ears. You slowly drag your hands away from your face and look at him. He stares right back at you, brows furrowed.
"A what?"
"Forget it. forget I said anything,” you mutter, shaking your head.
"No no wait, hang on, what do you mean? A lesson? Like a…a sex lesson?”
His eyes are wide, and he looks incredulous. You can't blame him, because the more time that passes between your suggestion and now, the more ridiculous the idea seems.
"I’m sorry, that was…It was stupid. Pretend I didn't say anything. Let's just watch a movie." You move to grab the remote, but Joel's hand covers yours, stopping you.
"Is that what you want?"
You look at him, searching his expression for any sign of disgust or apprehension. But all you can see is the same Joel you've known for months, patient, warm, and understanding.
"I know. I know it's stupid. But I can't get this date out of my head, Joel. It's all I can think about and the more I do, the more worried I get and I just don't want to fuck it up. And I know we're friends and this is weird and gross, but I just thought that... maybe, I could have some practice, so to speak."
He doesn't say anything. Just keeps looking at you, the panic rising in your chest the longer the silence stretches. You start to fidget, wringing your hands together in your lap.
"I'm sorry, that was way out of line" you say, moving to stand up, your skin sweaty and hot with embarrassment and your feet ready to run out the door and never come back.
But Joel catches your wrist, gently pulling you back down to sit next to him.
"Joel" you whine, not wanting him to humiliate you any further.
"It's okay, come here."
His voice is softer than before, and his eyes are kind. You let him pull you closer, the two of you sitting knee to knee. You can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes, not with your cheeks and the tips of your ears burning like they are, but Joel doesn't push. He simply moves his hand from your wrist, sliding it into yours. His palms are rough and warm, and the simple touch alone is comforting.
"You really wanna do this?” he asks softly. You can feel his eyes boring into you. “I mean, I'm not exactly a prize winning catch. And it's not like there's a shortage of willing men out there."
You shrug and chew the inside of your lip.
"Yeah, but you're my friend and I...I trust you."
There's another pause, and you wish that you could just disappear into the couch and erase this moment from your memory.
"How drunk are you?" he asks, glancing at the beer bottle on the coffee table.
"You saw me finish one bottle. And half of another. I’m barely tipsy."
"Not drunk?”
"Nope."
"You're gonna remember this tomorrow."
"Uh huh."
"And you still want to?"
You groan for the millionth time and squeeze his hand.
"Yes I want to! Look, if you don't want to then that's fine. It was just a dumb suggestion and we can just forget this ever happened."
He hums, considering your words. His hand slips out of yours, and you think that's it, you've scared him off and washed the friendship down the drain. That you'll have to hide from him from now on, that you'll have to pack your things up and move because the mortification would be too much, and that he'll hate you, and—
His two fingers sliding under chin surprise you, and he tilts your head up. He's looking down at you with that same even expression, eyes big, soft, and warm as he slides his hand over to cup your jaw in his palm.
"If you want to stop at any point, just say so, okay? I won't be upset and we can go back to the way things were before. Got it?"
You nod, your throat suddenly too tight to speak. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone, the tender touch is enough to make your heart skip a beat. There’s no way this is actually happening. That your first kiss is going to be with your 40 year old menace of a neighbor. That you’re going to, how did you put it, get a sex lesson from him. His gaze flicks down to your lips and back up to your eyes and you’re positive you’re no longer able to breathe.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly. You nod.
You're sure he can hear the thumping of your heart in his own ears as he leans down. His other hand comes to rest on your hip and when his lips touch yours, a soft, tentative pressure, you're not prepared for the electricity that shoots through you.
He's barely done anything and already you feel like you're floating. Your own hands reach out to clutch his shirt, keeping him close, afraid he'll pull away and leave you cold and wanting if you don't. But he stays put, pressing himself against you, his lips working gently against yours. You follow his lead, kissing him back while trying not to overthink it.
It's nothing like the kisses in the movies or the books, where fireworks explode behind your eyelids or where your foot pops up in the air. It's far more subdued, more quiet and subtle. But the warmth that pools low in your belly and the goosebumps that erupt on your skin when his tongue slides against the seam of your lips, light and quick, makes you absolutely melt.
He pulls back before you can really react, and you're left with a dizzying rush of both blistering desire and excruciating anxiety. You want to pull him back in and never let him go. But your heart is beating so fast you can hardly breathe, your nerves are buzzing, and the urge to run and hide is nearly paralyzing.
"Was it bad?" you ask tentatively, cheeks heated.
"No" he replies, giving your hip a squeeze as a smirk plays on his lips. "It was fucking awful. Worst kiss of my life"
"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing him away with a hand on his chest. He laughs, the sound easing some of the tension in your body.
"I'm just teasing" he says, voice dropping lower. "C'mere, we can work on it."
His lips find yours again, and you try not to smile into the kiss but it's hard when you can feel the way his lips are quirked up as well. It doesn’t take much else to get you to relax and let yourself fall into the moment, into the gentle press of his mouth and the warm hands on your hip and your cheek. He swipes his tongue against your lips again, his fingers pressing lightly into the hinge of your jaw to tilt your head back and coax your lips apart.
You let him, sighing as his tongue glides across yours, hot and smooth and sweet. Your hands slide up his chest, finding purchase around his shoulders, and when you move forward, pushing yourself against him, he grunts softly but lets you. He kisses you until the both of you are gasping for air, and when he pulls back, his lips are wet and red and you're certain yours must be as well.
"Better?" you ask, a bit breathless.
"Getting there" he answers with, his breath warm where it fans across your cheek.
"You're such a liar" you say with a goofy smile.
"Yeah, I know. Now try again, practice makes perfect.”
You roll your eyes but lean back in nonetheless. It's a bit more heated this time, the feeling of his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip making you squirm. His hand rounds over your hip, palm smoothing to the small of your back to pull you closer, the heat of his body radiating through your clothes and warming your skin. Your hands move on their own accord, no thought behind the action as they slide up to his shoulders and then his neck, your fingers finding home in the curls at the base of his skull. When you give them a slight tug, you're rewarded with a muffled grunt from Joel. Emboldened, you pull back, lips swollen and tingling.
"You’re a good kisser,” you pant. "Is that something people usually say?"
"When it’s true" he says, grinning at you. "And since I know you're gonna ask, I'd say that was a C+, maybe a B-."
You scoff but blush furiously at the smile he flashes, his eyes crinkling in the corners.
"Well then, tell me what to do next. What do I need to know?"
Joel hums as he thinks for a moment.
"What do you want to do?"
You stare at him for a second, blinking.
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you" you say, shaking your head a bit.
"Well, how far do you want to take this?"
You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy. You can’t deny that when the idea popped in your head it was accompanied by the mental image of you naked, spread out on his bed, but the actual act of asking him, or better yet, actually doing it is... intimidating to say the least. Are you really about to let him go all the way, to see you bare and vulnerable, let him pop your cherry as he would disgustingly put it? All just to “prepare” for a date with a guy who might not even like you that way?
Yeah, probably.
"All the way" you answer. “I want to go all the way”
He doesn’t pounce on you like you expected, doesn’t press his lips against yours in a frenzied kiss that you had half hoped for. Instead, he simply looks at you, his brown eyes boring into yours, searching.
"Are you sure? You can always say no and you're not gonna lose me as a friend if this isn’t what you actually want. I don’t want you thinking that."
You can't help the laugh that bubbles up and slips out, because of course Joel, your kind, thoughtful Joel, would say that. He's a good man. A great one, even.
"Yes, I'm sure. But if you don't, I get it, I can just leave and-"
Joel laughs, the sound traveling up from deep in his chest, the rumble vibrating against you.
"Sweetheart, I wouldn't be doin’ this if I didn't want to. Just makin’ sure this is what you really want."
"I want it.”
He squeezes your hip and swipes a thumb over your cheekbone once again.
“Alright then.” He nods, firm and resolute, and then looks around the room. “ We’re not doing it here, though. If you're getting the full Joel Miller experience, we're gonna do it right.”
Your eyes roll reflexively, but your heart picks up its pace regardless.
"I’m not gonna do anything if you call it that ever again."
"Fine, fine,” he relents. “Let me show you what a good, thorough fucking feels like. Better?"
Your jaw drops, and he's laughing at you, his body shaking with amusement.
"Fuck you" you grumble, shoving him away while trying to hide your coy smile.
"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping for," he says with a wide, self-assured grin.
"I'm leaving" you declare with a false sense of offense as you rise to your feet. Joel is quick to do the same and before you can take a single step away, he slips a finger through the belt loop of your jeans and tugs you back into him, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I'm sorry" he says, not sounding it one bit.
You huff, but let him pull you closer until you’re pressed against his chest and you have to tilt your head back to look at him.
"I’ll be good. I promise."
"Liar"
"Well, yeah. But I can promise that I'll make you feel good."
You can't help the giggle that spills out and he kisses it away, his lips warm and plush and sweet against yours. The hand not resting on your lower back comes up, curling around the nape of your neck and keeping you close. You sink into him, and the fog creeps in again, dulling the rest of the world, making it seem fuzzy and distant, like the memory of a dream. All you can focus on is him, the warm solid weight of him against you, the strong arms holding you, the way his mouth moves against yours. And then he’s pulling back all too soon and you have to stifle a whine.
"Come on" he says, tugging at your hand.
His bedroom is dim, the little lamp on his nightstand and the faint glow of the moon through the curtains providing the only light. You swallow and take a deep breath as you step inside, your bare toes digging into the plush carpet, his hand warm and large where it grips yours.
He holds onto you as he sits on the edge of the bed. You step forward, letting him pull you between his knees. His hands settle on your hips, and you can feel their heat through the fabric of your shirt.
He doesn’t ask if you're sure again and you’re grateful because you’re not sure if you could form any kind of response right now. Instead, he slides his hands up and under your shirt, fingers dancing across your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your breath hitches as his hands smooth over your ribs and around to your back, the tips of his fingers mapping out the curve of your spine, skimming over each notch and bump. They climb higher, the fabric of your shirt bunching around his wrists.
“Can I take this off, baby?”
Your heart jumps to your throat but you nod anyway. He grabs the hem and tugs your shirt up and and you lift your arms so he can slip it off over your head. He tosses it aside, the fabric falling to the floor beside the bed. You’re left exposed, vulnerable and bare, save for the worn out bra you wear, a few too many washes and a few years past its prime.
Your hands itch where they hang by your side with the instinct to cover yourself, hide the imperfections that you know so well, the stretch marks, the softness of your stomach, the way the cups of your bra are just a bit too small and spill over the tops.
But then he’s pressing his lips to the space just above your navel, his scruff tickling your skin and making the muscles in your abdomen jump and twitch. His hands find your waist again, and when his lips continue their path upwards, his palms follow, skimming up your sides, thumbs tracing the outline of your ribs before stopping at the band of your bra.
"This too?" he asks, voice quiet and husky.
"Yeah" you answer with a squeak, and he grins like a kid in a candy store.
His fingers undo the clasp deftness that makes your knees go weak, the straps slipping from your shoulders and the whole thing sliding down your arms, landing somewhere near your shirt.
"God, baby, look at you" he murmurs, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tops and then down the slope and around your nipple. Your breath hitches, the gentle touch sending a shiver up your spine. "You're fucking perfect."
The praise is unexpected and it sends a jolt of heat through your core. You whimper quietly and his hands are on you again, the calloused palms rough on the soft skin of your breasts. He kneads the flesh, squeezing gently before rolling your nipples between his fingers, pulling and pinching and teasing.
He pulls you closer and ducks his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes dark and hooded, and his pupils blown wide with desire.
"Can I?" he asks.
"Please."
He leans in and wraps his lips around a peaked nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, the gentle heat of his mouth on your skin making your knees weak.
His mouth works on one breast, tongue flicking and teasing while his free hand continues its work on the other. Pleasure builds and coils deep inside, the sensation unfamiliar but certainly not unwelcome. You whimper and he pulls away, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before giving it a sweet parting kiss.
He turns his attention to the other, his teeth grazing over the stiff peak and drawing a whine from your lips. He sighs when your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at the strands until he groans softly against you. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, the flat of his tongue pressing against it and dragging up and around, swirling and flicking. You’re already breathless, panting, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead.
"Feels good, Joel," you whisper shyly.
"I know, honey" he says, a soft smile pulling at his lips when he pulls away. "Feel good anywhere else?"
He doesn't wait for a response, simply slips a hand between your thighs, cupping you through the denim, the simple action making you squeak.
"Here, huh?" he says, the heel of his palm pressing against you.
You gasp softly and nod, biting your lip, too shy to say anything.
"Get on the bed, baby."
You comply, crawling onto the mattress and scooting backwards towards the pillows, sitting at the head of the bed as you watch him. His eyes never leave you as he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. Your heart thumps as you stare at his bare chest, his tanned skin dotted with a light dusting of salt and pepper hair. He's broad, his shoulders thick and chest solid. Your fingers burn with the urge to reach out and touch him, so you do, extending a tentative, slightly shaky hand.
He watches you closely, eyes flitting down to the palm pressed against his chest before meeting yours again, his mouth curling into a smile.
"You can touch" he says, reaching down to curl a hand around your wrist and bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of your palm before guiding your hand back down to his chest. "I think most people would enjoy that."
"You're having entirely too much fun with this,” you mumble while your fingers spread out across his pec.
"It is fun" he counters, his own hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, thumb pressing against the seam of your jeans and rubbing up and down. "But it'll be more fun once these come off"
Your lips part, a puff of air rushing out.
"You gonna take them off?" you ask, the words slipping out, bold and unbidden.
He grins, his brow quirking up.
"Look at you, being all bossy"
"You like it" you say, finally feeling some of the anxiety slipping away, the familiar and comfortable banter between the two of you slipping into place in a new, unfamiliar situation.
His smile takes up nearly his whole face as moves closer.
“I sure do.”
He looms over you, bracing himself on an elbow next to your head before ducking down to kiss you, his tongue easily slipping into your mouth, warm and insistent. You sigh into it, your hands finding the warm, bare skin of his back, muscles gliding beneath your palms as you slide them up and around, fingertips digging into his shoulders. He's so warm and solid and you can't help the little noise that slips out, a soft, needy moan. You're about to break the kiss and beg him to touch you, give you something, anything, but he pulls back before you can.
"Impatient. I like that too" he says, voice barely above a whisper.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. He continues his path, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts, his beard tickling your sternum.
His palm presses into the top of your thigh, and you instinctively open your legs for him, his hand immediately moving to cup you through the denim, thick fingers pressing against the seam and the bundle of nerves just below. Your hips rock up, seeking more pressure and he grins, entirely too pleased with himself right now.
You huff, and he laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, but he relents, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans and tugging the fabric down, revealing the pair of pink panties underneath.
Joel sits up, pulling your jeans down your legs and letting them drop off the side of the bed, the sound of the denim hitting the floor indicating that you've officially crossed a line that neither of you can come back from. But if the hungry, desperate look on his face and the way you're practically vibrating underneath him are any indication, neither of you want to.
"I'll start with just my fingers, yeah?" he says, his hands running up the insides of your thighs, touch light and teasing, the tips of his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. You nod dumbly, at a complete loss for words right now.
He ducks his head, his lips landing on the smooth skin stretched over your hip bone. You squirm, ticklish, and he grins. His mouth is a great distraction from his hand, which has found its way back in between your legs, his fingers now pressing against damp fabric.
"Shit" he curses, his touch firm. "Fuckin' soaked already. Am I just that good?" he quips with a smirk.
"Jesus do you ever shut up" you gripe, but the effect is ruined by the whimper that escapes you when his thumb sweeps up, pressing hard against your clit.
"Oh, that's a pretty sound" he murmurs, repeating the motion to pull out another one, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Now," he starts, his tone shifting to the same one he uses when he's about to impart some life lesson. "This guy you're gonna see, or any man for that matter, should always take care of you before himself. That's just common fuckin' sense. And if he doesn't, you send him on his way" he continues. "Because a man that don't wanna see a woman get off is no fuckin' man at all"
You're about to interrupt, tell him he's an idiot and ask him to please, please, get on with it, but his fingers sliding under the elastic of your panties, swiftly pulling them down your legs steals the breath from your lungs. Your pulse sky rockets and you shift underneath him, crossing your thighs in instinctual effort to hide yourself from him.
"M'sorry I didn't shave or anything" you blurt out, your throat tight with anxiety and embarrassment once again
Joel just shakes his head as he pries your legs apart.
"Baby, I could not give less of a shit about that."
"But-"
"No" he says, the word firm, an edge of command to his tone. "You’re not apologizin’ for that. And if a man gives a shit, he's a fuckin' child who doesn't deserve the honor of bein' between these thighs" he says, pushing your knees further apart.
You nod and bite your lip, the words that are just so very Joel, settling in your chest and easing the tension in your body. You let out a long, slow breath and relax, trying to ease the nervousness.
"There ya go" he says, his fingers dancing along your slit, gathering the slick pooling there. You shudder at the gentle touch, your hips rolling up just a bit before you force them back down into the mattress, trying to keep yourself still.
"Nuh-uh. None of that" he says, immediately noticing the movement. He slides his free hand under you, his palm pushing into the small of your back and encouraging you to move again, to lean into your pleasure. "You take what you want, baby. Show me how good it feels. That's all I wanna see."
You squirm and whimper, the simple, almost lazy touch driving you insane. You've touched yourself before, brought yourself over the edge while imagining what it would be like to have the things you read about and watch in videos happen to you. But you've never managed to make yourself feel this good, never felt pleasure so intense, never felt a burning pressure in your abdomen so demanding that it radiates all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.
And he's barely touched you.
"How's that feel?"
You can't even form the words, so you just nod and hum, the sound a mix of a whimper and a moan, your hips rolling up against his palm. He chuckles, and then the pressure increases, the friction building, his fingers slipping down, collecting more of your wetness to ease the drag against your skin.
He moves his fingers down, down, down, the tip of one circling your entrance, gathering the wetness pooling there. You whine loudly, any shame and modesty you once had replaced entirely with desperate need and pure desire.
"Please, Joel" you whisper, voice shaky.
"I gotcha" he says, dipping his fingertip in, just barely, and pulling a moan from deep in your chest. "Gonna give you what you need"
You groan, a long, low sound as he slowly sinks his finger into you. It's nothing like your own, so perfectly thick and long/ And you found the spot before, the spot that he curls his finger up into, but never at this angle, never with the perfect amount of pressure that he's applying right now.
"Mmm, look at that" he coos as you clench tightly around his finger.
"Joel, god, feels so good" you whimper pathetically.
"I know, honey, I know."
You clench again, the cockiness and self-assured attitude that usually gets under your skin now ignites your whole body in an entirely different way. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching as your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, your head tipping back as the pleasure builds.
"Another" you beg, the fullness not nearly enough.
"Greedy girl" he chides, but he pulls his finger out, and slides two back in. You swear that you could come from this alone, but he doesn't let you, the hand that was supporting your lower back disappearing, only to reappear between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with firm, steady strokes.
White hot pleasure wraps around the base of your spine, the dual sensations of his fingers and his thumb sending you spiraling. The sounds falling from your lips are unrecognizable, high and desperate as your mind goes blissfully blank, your entire focus on the heat coiling in your abdomen. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bury your face in the pillow next to your head, trying to hide the ridiculous expression you're surely making, but you inhale the traces of his shampoo and cologne that cling to the fabric, the scent pushing you even closer to the edge.
You try to hold back. Surely you're not supposed to come this quickly, not just from two fingers and a thumb. Surely that's a sign that you're an easy lay, or too inexperienced, or-
"Just let it happen, baby. I can feel it, Just let go" Joel says, his voice cutting through the thoughts racing through your mind, his fingers crooking inside you and dragging across the spot that makes your hips stutter and a cry fall from your lips.
You can't hold back any longer, the pleasure cresting and crashing down around you. You squeeze his fingers, your back arching, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you roll your hips up into his touch, seeking more and more and more. And he gives and gives and gives, working you through it and drawing it out for as long as he can before you melt into the mattress, bones and muscles liquid and warm and satisfied.
He pulls his fingers out, and the sudden emptiness draws a disappointed whine from you, his answering chuckle making you smile.
"That was- fuck" you sigh, not quite capable of coherent thought.
"Absolutely mind-blowing? Yeah I know" he teases. You roll your eyes but don't say anything because it's true, and his cocky grin fades into a soft smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches you return to Earth.
"Can I- can I return the favor?" you ask, your gaze flicking down to the noticeable bulge in his jeans.
He grunts and shakes his head.
"Not yet. Got somethin' else in mind."
You frown and push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as he shifts from his position. You're about to ask what he's going to do until he's settling himself on his stomach between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize exactly what he's got planned and your heart jumps, anxiety clouding your mind once again.
He rests his cheek on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours.
"Alright?"
You swallow and nod, licking your lips.
"Yeah. Just... no one's ever-"
"Yeah, I got that much, that's why we're here" he says, smiling smugly when you glare at him.
"But what if it's not good? Or I don't taste good? Or-"
"Stop" he says, the single word halting your runaway train of thought. "You need lessons in relaxing, not sex. You're so fucking tense all the time"
"Sorry" you say, immediately cringing.
He sighs, his breath ghosting over the skin of your inner thigh, making you shiver. "What did I say about apologizin'?" he says, his tone slightly sharp.
"I know. Sorry- shit, sorry! Fuck!"
He barks out a laugh and you huff, bringing up both hands to scrub over your face.
"See what I mean?"
"Yes, yes, you're very smart and know everything"
He hums and nips at your thigh.
"Damn right I do."
You want to snark back, but his mouth is moving, his lips trailing down the inside of your thigh and towards where you're aching for him, slick and wet and throbbing. He takes his time, laying kisses on your thighs, hips, and stomach, his scruff scraping the sensitive skin, huffing out a laugh when you start to squirm, your patience wearing thin.
His hands smooth over the soft flesh of your inner thighs, urging you to spread them wider before spreading you open with his thumbs, exposing you completely. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and the urge to close your legs and hide yourself from his gaze is overwhelming, the embarrassment making your skin burn. But before you can even think about closing them, his tongue is on you, sliding up the length of you and circling your clit. The moan that escapes you is embarrassingly loud and high pitched, but the mortification is easily swallowed up by the pleasure.
He hums against you, the sound and the feeling sending a shudder through your body. Your hands grip the pillow behind your head and you try not to buck up into his mouth, but your attempts are futile. He doesn't seem to mind though, in fact you think it spurs him on, his tongue flattening against you and lapping at you messily, the wetness he's coaxed from you smearing across his mouth and chin.
The sound is lewd and obscene, the sloppy, slick noises and the soft grunts and groans that rumble in his chest as he works you up. He pulls back, his breath coming out in pants, his chest heaving as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and hooded.
"Don't know what you were worried about" he says, his voice low and raspy. "You taste fuckin' divine"
His beard is shiny and damp, his lips glistening, hair messy from where your fingers were tangled in it. The sight of him looking so completely disheveled and filthy has you clenching around nothing, the ache almost too much to bear.
He doesn't say anything else, just ducks his head and gets back to work, his mouth moving with a renewed urgency, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart, allowing him better access.
Your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, a constant stream of moans and whines and babbling pleas and praises falling from your lips, but you're not really sure what you're saying, not really sure of anything except the intoxicating pleasure coursing through your veins.
You hear him moan, can feel the vibration against your skin, and you glance down at him, and that's a mistake. The sight of him, his eyes closed and brows drawn together in concentration, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks and nips and laps at you and– is he fucking grinding his hips into the mattress?
You're fucked.
A throaty moan tumbles past your lips as your hips start to rock, a rhythm forming as you chase your orgasm. His hands leave your thighs and he slides one arm up, the weight of it resting against your abdomen to keep you still while his other hand snakes down, fingers dipping inside again, finding the spot that makes you see stars.
"Fuck, Joel, please, oh my god, I'm so- please"
He groans in response, the hand on your stomach pressing down harder to meet the two fingers curling and stroking inside of you. You cry out at the increased pressure right as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud, his fingers moving faster and faster. Flames lick up your spine and spread throughout your body, threatening to burn you alive.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the wind out of you and turning your limbs to jello. Wave after wave of blinding euphoria crashes over you and all you can do is cling to the pillow and arch your back, your toes curling as he continues to work his fingers and tongue, happily letting you ride his face and grind into his mouth.
He doesn't let up, not until you're a whimpering, trembling mess, physically pushing his head away when it becomes too much. He pulls back reluctantly, a wicked grin plastered to his face, his chin and mouth absolutely soaked. You're panting, struggling to catch your breath as the aftershocks make you shiver despite the content warmth spreading throughout your entire body.You feel sated and sleepy, a bone deep satisfaction making you feel boneless.
But as you come down from your high, rational thoughts start to filter in and you suddenly remember the reason this all started in the first place.
You're here to learn, he should be teaching you how to please a man.
How to please him.
You watch as he gets off the bed and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. Your eyes shamelessly rake over him, the dusty pink flush that decorates his neck and chest, the curve of his belly down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.
You push yourself up, ignoring the way your arms tremble with the effort. He looks at you, his eyes scanning your face no doubt looking for signs of distress.
"You ok?" he asks, eyebrows pinched together in his typical concerned Joel fashion.
"Yeah" you say, a little breathlessly. "But I still want to..."
Your voice trails off and you glance down at his crotch, hoping he gets the message.
"That's alright, baby. It's a lot, we don't-"
"No" you interrupt, a hint of desperation in your voice. "You said you would teach me. Please, Joel. I-I wanna learn" You hope it's a good enough cover to the fact that you really just want him, your original goal forgotten. "I just don't want to embarrass myself" you add, pouting slightly for good measure, praying to god that he can’t detect the underlying want for him and him only.
He watches you for a moment, seemingly contemplating his decision. And then his eyes narrow, because of course he knows. There's never been an instance where you succeeded in lying to this man. He always, always knows when something is off.
"Alright" he says, a slow smile spreading across his face, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. "Dick sucking class is now in session"
You groan, your face twisting with visible disgust.
"Oh my god, that was terrible."
"What? It's true" he says with a shrug.
"That is- no, no way. Never say those words ever again. Ever." you say, pointing a finger at him accusingly.
"Or what?" he challenges, taking a step towards the bed.
You gulp and lick your lips.
"Or..."
He waits expectantly for a response. You have none, so you just shake your head and look away.
"Yeah, that's what I thought"
You glare at him and then sigh.
"You're a bully"
"Am I?” He asks, taking a step back to give you more room. “ 'Cause you're the one that asked me to teach ya. On your knees, kid. Let's see whatcha got."
You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress a grin. You don't know how he does it, but his ability to make a joke or a quip out of anything always has a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, even when the jokes are awful and the puns are terrible. Even when the joke is about you getting ready to suck his dick.
"You're a bully and a pervert" you say, sliding off the bed and sliding to your knees, the plush carpet doing a decent job at protecting your joints.
"And proud of it.”
"Pride is a sin."
"So is premarital sex, so I'll see you in hell, honey"
You snort and look up at him from your place on the floor, grinning widely.
"You're ridiculous"
"You love it"
And that's the thing, isn't it?
Because you do. You love his innate ability to make you laugh, to make you smile even when he's about to take your fucking virginity. He knows how to comfort you, how to put you at ease, when to push you with his teasing and when to pull back and let you take control. You've never met a person who has so effortlessly made their way into your heart.
And here you are, on your knees for him under the false pretense of practicing for a man who's name you can't even remember right now.
You shake your head, the motion clearing the thoughts and the emotions that were swirling in your head, the ones that make you want to stand up and kiss him, kiss him until your lips are numb and you're left gasping for air.
"Joel?" you say his name softly.
"Yeah, baby?"
"Teach me."
Part 2 is already in the works I promise hehehe thank you for reading I hope u all enjoy!!
#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#the last of us#tlou fic#joel miller#pedro pascal characters
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