#pedro pascal as joel miller
Text
I wanna show you off
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 4.1k
summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.
warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!
a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!
If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.
Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.
It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.
The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.
You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.
You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.
You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.
Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.
It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.
They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.
Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.
One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.
He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.
“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.
“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.
“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”
“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”
You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”
Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.
Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her.
You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!
“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”
“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.
“You know I love you, right?”
You sniff again. Nod.
“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”
“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.
Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”
You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.
You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.
You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.
“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”
He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.
“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”
And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.
You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.
So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.
“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.
“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.
“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.
Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.
“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.
He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.
Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.
“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”
His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.
Yours, yours, yours.
And nobody else’s.
“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.
“Got it.”
It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.
“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.
“Uh-”
“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”
“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.
But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.
You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.
“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.
Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.
“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”
“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”
Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”
You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.
Sheila pays you no attention.
“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”
Your vision blurs scarlet.
Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“
“Sheila,” she reminds him.
“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”
You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.
And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.
Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.
“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.
You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.
“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.
You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.
With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.
Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.
Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.
He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.
So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.
“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”
“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”
Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.
Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.
You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?
“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”
You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”
He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”
His belt falls to the floor with a clang.
He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.
It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.
“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.
“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.
“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”
His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.
“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.
“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”
Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.
Sheila is home.
Perfect.
It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.
You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.
“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”
“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”
“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.
Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.
“You sure?”
It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.
But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.
You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.
You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.
Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.
The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.
He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.
“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.
He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.
“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”
You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.
The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.
You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”
“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.
His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.
“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.
“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”
“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”
It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.
When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.
The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.
“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.
“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”
He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.
“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”
A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.
Do you hear that?
Yeah; what is that noise?
Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.
“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”
Oh my word!
Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.
The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.
If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.
“Joel, fuck-”
“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”
This is vulgar!
We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.
His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.
Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.
He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.
A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.
Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!
And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.
“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.
“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”
“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.
end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller smut#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Nylon Lust
Summary: Joel goes feral when you wear pantyhose for him.
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Word count: 2k
Warnings: smut, 18+ MDNI, nylon and pantyhose fetish, dom!Joel, sub!reader, teasing, dry humping, fingering, dirty talk, implied age gap, unprotected sex, humiliation kink, cumplay
Masterlist - Read on Ao3
You're honestly amazed at the way you look as you stare speechless at your reflection in the mirror. The thin, sheer material of the black pantyhose shapes your curves in a sensual, breathtaking way. You admire your body thinking you've never worn anything so luxurious and provocative in your whole life. You truly feel like a goddess.
The fabric is sheer and you can see everything underneath, your features enhanced in just the right places. Your legs, hips and belly are smooth and silky to the touch, making you appear flawless. You must admit Joel has a damn good eye for nice, refined things.
There's a thick, black line that runs exactly in the middle of the pantyhose, highlighting the attention right there, to your cunt.
You're suddenly reminded of his words… “Wear it. Now. Nothing else on.”
His voice was almost a growl, his dark eyes looking at you like a beast waiting to devour its prey. The mere thought makes you throb in anticipation, thinking of his reaction when he’ll see you in just a few moments.
You head out of the bathroom and find Joel sitting on the sofa right in front of you, a smirk appearing on his face as he looks at you approaching him.
“Fuck” he grunts.
“What do you think?” you ask flirtatiously as your hands caress your hips. He looks hypnotized as he follows the movement with his eyes.
He doesn’t even answer - his gaze is locked on your lower body, bewitched by the way you look. He stands up and pulls you close, starting to run his hands on your hips, feeling the silky material under his fingers, admiring the way it hugs your curves, humming in pleasure.
“Lookin’ so good, baby” he whispers before kissing you passionately as he goes on worshiping your body with his touch, holding and squeezing you, rejoicing in how sexy you look. Your naked chest rubs against his jeans shirt as the kiss deepens and you start to feel his erection against your lower belly. He guides you towards the kitchen table as your tongues twirl and lick into each other's mouths. Your hands dig in his messy hair as his, in turn, can’t stop caressing the soft, naked skin of your back and groping your butt.
Just as you bump into the table behind you, he grabs the thin fabric of the pantyhose and pulls it up so the thick black line right in the middle digs into your pussy, stimulating your clit and highlighting your lips, earning an aroused gasp from you.
"Look at that." says as he barely brushes them with his fingers, captivated by the view you're offering him.
In an instant he turns you around, bending you over on the table. Your upper body is laying down on the flat surface and you arch your lower back, standing on your tiptoes to make your ass look even fuller and prettier so that he'll want to touch it.
He gives in to lust immediately and starts squeezing your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he hums in pleasure.
"Knew this would look fucking perfect on you." he lets out in a low voice, almost a growl, heavily aroused.
He lets his hand trail down to the back of your thighs, caressing them, making you shake in lust, impatient for him to touch you between your legs.
"Joel - Joel, please-" you plead, turning around just to see a sadistic smirk on his face.
His hand trails up your inner thigh painfully slowly and when he finally reaches your slit, he takes his hand away and you hear him jostle with his belt, unfastening it and unzipping his pants, making you whimper at the loss of contact.
"What is it that you want, hm? To be fucked like the whore that you are?" he rasps, his sensual voice giving you goosebumps.
"Yes, yes, please-" you pant, heavily aroused.
He takes his cock out and slaps your ass with it, making you feel how hard it is already, only to start stroking as his other hand gropes your butt.
"Fucking whore. Look at you. Begging for this cock. You missed it, hm?"
"Yes, I did..." you say sensually as you rub your ass against the erection in his hand.
He chokes a grunt at the way the thin, silky fabric feels against his cock. He grabs your hips tight, holding them against his, and starts dry humping your ass, lowering his body on yours and using it to give himself pleasure, taking what he wants from you without ceremony, his heady groans right in your ear, driving you insane, aching with desire, begging for release.
His fingers start to finally touch your clit after all this sadistic teasing and he hums when he feels how wet you made the pantyhose.
“You made it so wet already. Damn, I haven't even touched you yet.” he coos in your ear.
You squeeze your eyes shut in bliss when he increases the rhythm, starting to rub it frantically. The feeling of the nylon between his fingers and your swollen clit somehow intensifies the pleasure - the silky, drenched fabric acts as a thin barrier, increasing friction and getting you embarrassingly close to the edge already.
"Fuckin' perfect" he pants in your ear as his fingers drive you closer and closer to your orgasm.
"Joel, you're gonna make me come-" you cry, your legs shaking uncontrollably in anticipation.
"Come. Let me feel how wet you can get it." he whispers in between heady moans, his fingers accelerate the rhythm even more, your breathing gets laboured, his panting is hot in your ear as he keeps rubbing his cock against your ass and encourages you to let go, muttering filth about how good you look like this, about how much he wants you. The sound of his voice, sweet and dark at the same time, gets you over the edge and you come - a white, hot blaze sparks between your legs and spreads throughout your body, making you shake in pleasure under him as you drawl his name against the hard, cold wood of the table, his fingers guiding you through your high.
"Yeah. Good girl." he pants in your ear as his hands spread your legs further open so that his fingers can tear a hole in your pantyhose just where your cunt is. You can't believe how incredibly hot you find it. He lets his dick slide in the hole he just made and starts rubbing it between your slit and the nylon, pleasurably stimulating your clit while he does so, driving you both fucking insane.
"Fuck, Joel, please, please put it in. I need it." you plead in between moans, hands clenching into fists due to impatience.
"You whore. Can't wait to be fucked, are you? Why don't you beg harder?" you can hear by the sound of his husky voice that he's getting off at the feeling of his cock rubbing against the hot slickness of your cunt and the wet, silky material of the pantyhose, so tight and thin around his cock, giving it just the perfect stimulation, all while hearing you beg for him.
"Please, please Joel. I need you inside me. I will do fucking anything. Anything." you whimper deliriously.
“Anything? Are you that desperate for this cock?” he taunts you.
Joel's fingers dig deeper into your hip to keep you steady as he aligns his cock with your entrance and immediately starts to sink inside of you. He sighs when he feels how welcoming and ready you are for him. You can't do anything besides taking him nice and slow, your eyes rolling up in pleasure as you moan obscenely loud.
His cock meets no resistance as your wet cunt sucks it in, clenching and spasming in turn at the sole idea of finally having him inside of you.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck, Joel!" you scream in delight.
Joel looks at the marvel of you, at his cock entering into you through the hole in your pantyhose, nylon wrapped tight around your ass.
"Fucking look at you. You like this, hm? You like being fucked in your ripped pantyhose like a whore?” he growls.
"I do! Yes!" you cry in bliss.
Joel goes absolutely feral when he sees how much you’re enjoying this, how the nylon feels in his hands, how obedient and yielding you are and you feel him twitching inside of you as he grunts in arousal.
Your moans and the filthy, squelching noise of your drenched cunt sucking him in fill the room as you turn around to look at him - his hands steady on your hips, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, showing off his strong, veiny forearms as he thrusts into you, his gaze locked on your pussy. You bite your lip and hum in delight at that view.
“How much do you like looking at me fucking you, hm? I can feel you getting wetter. And tighter. Not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”
You hum again when you hear the way you’re making him feel straight from his lips.
“Harder, please.” you whisper as you give him a look full of lust and desire, a sensual smirk on your face.
He grabs your hair in his grasp and starts railing you hard, just like you asked, making your eyes roll up and mouth part in ecstasy.
The way his shaft is rubbing against your clit is driving you close to another orgasm. He notices the way you get tighter around him when you’re right on the edge, your grasp making him grunt viciously.
“Joel! Joel! I’m gonna come!”
“Yes. Come on this cock, baby. Look at me. Fuckin’ look at me giving it to you.”
His words push you over the edge once more and you can feel how tight you get around him as you come, clamping so hard it’s unavoidable for you to scream his name as waves of pleasure traverse your body, making your eyes roll up high, blurring your vision, a feeling so intense that you can’t control yourself.
Joel grunts when he feels your cunt erratically spasming around his cock, restraining himself from bursting inside of you immediately. He’s not done with you, not yet.
"Turn the fuck around. Turn around now." he growls impatiently before grabbing you by the waist, turning you around and slamming you back on the table.
"On your fucking elbows. Look at my cock fucking your hot pussy. Look at it." he orders.
You prop yourself up and start playing with your nipples while your eyes are trained on his thick cock jackhammering into you as Joel's hands keep your legs spread wide open for him.
"Shit, such a slut. You’re making me come. This pussy is so fucking perfect, darlin'. Don't stop looking. Don't stop looking."
He slips out of your cunt and starts grinding his cock between your slit and the nylon, pleasurably rubbing the shaft against your clit. Seeing how much he's enjoying it and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts makes you moan loudly begging for more, making your heart beat faster as that perfect stimulation drives you close to another orgasm.
"Shit - shit - shit, I'm fucking coming baby-"
He snarls as his cock twitches and spurts out his white, hot release, staining both the black pantyhose and your belly. Joel's moans and that unbelievably hot sight drive you over the edge and come right after him, keeping your eyes on his cock spurting his cum out, making a mess, covering you in his release as you both moan loudly.
Joel lowers himself on you and gives you a hot, wet kiss, his tongue greedily exploring your mouth as you both come down from your high, heavily panting into each other’s mouths.
"Fucking look at you. Filthy, shameless and covered in cum just like the whore that you are." he says while tracing the outline of his cock with his fingers and spreading his seed all over your belly, pussy and thighs, amazed at how the nylon glistens in the light now that it's drenched in both of your fluids.
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel x reader#joel x you#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal as joel miller#tlou fic#oneshot#joel x female reader#joel x f!reader#the last of us#tlou#the last of us hbo#the last of us smut#pedro pascal#tlou hbo#dom!joel miller#sub!reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
waterfront
neighbor!joel miller/dbf!joel miller x f!reader
Warnings: Rated 18+. CONSIDER THIS YOUR FUCKING COMMUNITY LABEL LOL. Minors please dni. Smut. unprotected p in v. age gap. Pet names. Dirty talk. Dom!joel. Oblivious ass reader's dad. Not proof read one bit (per usual).
a/n: thank you so much for the recent love. you guys are honestly so funny - COMMENT ASK REQUEST PLEASE INTERACT WITH ME IM SO LONELY ON HERE. this lil mini series has really pushed me to write despite some…things (and by things—i actually have been getting a shit ton of hate on my din fic for some weird reason?? so im really happy this dbf corner of tumblr is very accepting cuz that was really making me feel…SAD LMFAO). also do you guys picture joel in this fic as game joel or hbo joel - i wanna know. please enjoy this token of my gratitude as always.
wc: 4.5k
this is apart of my small dbf!joel mini series, read the previous parts here:
part i part ii
if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!
“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars.
“That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.”
“Sweetie? Have you seen the sunblock?”
“Yeah dad, in the back bathroom!” you yell back from your room.
It’s honestly unbelievable.
Packing.
You’re packing.
For a weekend getaway at some beach house property one of Joel’s client’s offered him for the weekend.
Joel’s client.
Joel Miller.
Who got down on his knees for you at your graduation barbecue. Who fingered you in the front seat of his pick-up truck when your dad was looking for you.
Who refused to talk to you after that. Not like you were trying anyways. This had to stop. Especially since you and Liam have been talking more and he’s…nice. Boring—sure. But he’s what’s good for you.
He even got you a job at some hardware store on the other side of town.
Liam was keeping you company—no—keeping you busy. But not enough to stop the incessant thoughts of your middle aged neighbor who is—even worse—probably your dad’s only close friend.
You tried to keep your distance. For your sake and Joel’s. You don’t want to know what’s going on in his mind anymore. All you know is he continually runs laps around yours.
You can’t shake how he looked at the barbecue. How the sea of people parted for him like he was Moses, greeting him with strong handshakes and acrylic nails wrapping around his bicep. But even worse, you can’t stop thinking about how through all those people—he found your eyes first.
You tried to convince yourself that maybe Joel was thinking the same thing you were. That this—whatever it is—was actually fucking ridiculous and had to stop.
Because it did have to stop. But it never felt ridiculous to you, as much as you will yourself to believe.
You tried to convince yourself that much when your hand was down your pants in the middle of the night. Something sounding a lot like Joel’s name on the tip of your tongue as you made yourself come.
You aren’t sure if your dad has seen much of him either—saying something about how he was booked through the fourth of July weekend with a huge project he was working on with his brother.
That’s why you were shocked when your dad came up to your room with a grin explaining he counted you in on the weekend getaway with Joel, Sarah, and the two of you.
You were excited to see more of Sarah — she had really grown up in the time you were away. But with Sarah comes Joel, and you aren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were from anxiety or anticipation at that thought.
A half a day after your dad told you to get packing, you’re in the backseat of Joel’s truck, Sarah at your side, while she talks everyone's ear off about something. You aren’t really paying attention because Joel can’t stop stealing glances at you in the rear view mirror—and let's be honest. You can’t stop either.
“—so then she said to me that it was my fault. I mean can you believe that?” Sarah slaps your arm gently while finishing her story.
She looks around the car for approval and the dads just shrug their shoulders. You give her a sympathetic look.
“Sorry Sarah, sounds crazy,” you say, grabbing her hand. You—honest to god—tried to pay attention but there were so many names thrown out you couldn’t keep up. It didn’t help that the man in the driver's seat kept you up at night—almost every night—since the barbecue.
“I know! But then Jackson was like okay with it so whatever,” she gives you a knowing look, finishing her story—don’t say anything else because my dad’s here.
“Boys,” your dad murmurs to Joel under his breath, but you catch it.
You also catch Joel shaking his head in response, letting out a huff and a—
“Tell me ‘bout it.”
You meet his eye through the rear view mirror and drop his gaze quickly. His knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
You think you’re almost off the hook and maybe can get some rest but Sarah lets out the first of many—
“Are we almost there yet?”
Four more of those and you arrive at a secluded beach house on the coast. Joel pulls up to the back of the house, you can see the deck which leads down to the beach. Sarah and your dad hop out of the truck hastily—excited to see the house, and enter through the back door. It leaves you and Joel in the car together. Alone, for a few uncomfortable seconds until he finally speaks.
“You alright?”
It throws you for a loop. Joel Miller asking if you’re okay? You must be dying. You look at him through the mirror, an eyebrow raising.
“‘M fine,” you reply back, monotone.
“Do you wanna talk?”
Another surprise.
“There’s nothing to talk about. You made that clear,” you huff, putting an emphasis on you so maybe he can start to feel an ounce of what you do.
He gets out of the car but you don’t move from your position. Your dad and Sarah have disappeared into the house, undoubtedly claiming the best bedrooms and rifling through the owner’s things.
He opens your door, his hand hanging off the top of it while his other braces himself on the car near your head. He dips his head closer to you, taking up the entirety of the door frame.
“You gonna be a brat this whole trip?” His drawl, rich and velvety, almost tricks you into leaning up to kiss him, but you snap out of it from his words. The name shouldn’t make you clench your thighs together like it does. You opt for anger over letting him see what he does to you.
“I’m the brat?” You bite back. He’s not going to do this again. If it’s your last dying wish, Joel Miller will learn a lesson this trip. For leaving you high and dry. For being a fucking asshole, just like you told him at the barbecue a couple days ago.
“You think parading that lil boy ‘round here s’okay?”
“Again with Liam? It’s not any of your business.”
You look at him. Really look at him—and there’s a certain emotion behind his eyes you can’t place. Like he’s biting his tongue, and you know he is.
“What, Joel? God,” you say, exasperated.
“Nothin’—I—” he pauses like he’s trying to collect his thoughts before speaking. Then he says something that surprises you—like maybe he really does care about you and what happened in his truck.
“He make you laugh?”
You stare at him, shocked, and you can’t help but soften your gaze. You feel like bursting into a puddle of tears—but what’s even worse—you feel like running into his arms.
“He doesn’t make me cry.”
He looks down at that. Like he’s defeated.
“I told you I care,” he throws his words back in your face. From when he had his tongue buried inside you.
You roll your eyes.
“What? You think I want it like this?” He continues when you don’t respond.
“I have no fucking idea what you want.”
“I want to not be sneaking around behind my friend’s back. Your dad’s back.”
“Didn’t stop you before.”
He pushes off the car at that, putting his hands on his hips while scoffing to himself. You think you catch him mumbling something and before you can bite your tongue you urge him to speak up.
“Insane,” he grunts.
“Sorry?”
“I said you drive me fuckin’ insane.”
You pause at that. Partially because his tone suggests it’s not the typical insane but like he can’t stay away from you. Like you drive him up the walls. Like he can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe even the kind of insane he makes you feel. Maybe it's the same thing he does to you. And you didn’t know you did…anything to Joel.
“That’s my job,” you reply sarcastically instead of saying something stupid—or something you regret.
You break his gaze—looking down to unlatch your seatbelt. When your hand goes to click the button, you stay fiddling with it; the latch fails to come out of the buckle.
“‘S jammed. Need to get a repair,” he reaches over you to unlatch it himself.
But you don’t get your hand out of the way quick enough and your fingers meet over the button.
He pauses, you both do. The contact makes your head spin.
You think he’s going to pull away. An apology is already braced on your tongue but instead of moving or retracting, he tentatively rubs your hand with his thumb instead, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature.
He’s in your space, and he smells like Joel, and you don’t think the two of you have ever shared a more intimate moment. Not even when his mouth was between your legs.
You look up at him, hesitant, because you aren’t sure what’s going to be looking back. But he stares at you, his eyes soft. Joel looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes. His brow twitches a bit. You let out soft pants—the peaks of your breasts threaten to ghost against his chest.
He looks at your lips again and inches closer, starting to duck his head.
“‘M sorry,” he grumbles in a low, dangerous drawl that shoots right up your spine.
You don’t think it’s a phrase he says often. You’ve never heard it. It sounds foreign on his lips, especially when they’re inching closer to yours.
“For what?” You squeak out, a breath cutting through your words.
“Everythin’.”
Your eyes urge him to continue.
“Thought I could stay away f’m you.”
He gets closer.
“Thought it was the right thing.”
You shake your head.
“But I don’t think I can stay away.”
“Don’t stay away. Don’t go,” you plead with him and shake your head. All of your plans to make him pay have honestly gone out the window. But when he says things like that and he really—honest to god—means them? You know you’re fucked.
“'M here.”
You close your eyes at his words and will your tears back when they close. All you can smell is Joel and all you can feel is his hand coming up to loosely wrap around your throat, the curve of his palm hugging your collar bone.
“Look at me.” In a blink, you do.
He’s closer, if possible.
And he kisses you. It’s the first time he’s ever kissed you. It’s not tentative, or aggressive.
This kiss feels like the real apology. Not him on his knees for you and then ignoring you after. He kisses like he’s willing you to forgive him. You know he’s not good with words—that’s why this kiss feels like the heartbreak that had settled in your chest is scattering. It feels like your old fantasies and butterflies breaching the surface are making you moan into his mouth.
He kisses you like a man starved, but also like he’s scared of messing up again.
It feels fucking good—he feels fucking good.
His hand on your throat lengthens your neck to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his bicep and squeeze the life out of him.
His other hand pulls at the hem of your shirt and almost ghosts the skin of your stomach but the sound of a door slamming snaps you both out of it. Joel turns to see Sarah pushing out of the patio door with her back turned towards you, carrying towels and a cooler. He quickly unbuckles your seatbelt with dexterous fingers, helping you out of the car.
You act like you were helping him unload the flatbed when Sarah turns around—a big smile cast on her face.
“Get your bikini on! Let’s go!” She looks at you and nods towards the ocean over her stack of beach supplies.
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
You hustle into the house with a duffle slung over your shoulder. You can see your dad in the kitchen rifling through the pantry—the cooler for drinks and food abandoned on the floor near the fridge.
You find a bathroom and change into your swimsuit quickly. You don’t miss the wet spot on your panties. From a kiss nonetheless. You’re beginning to think you’re way more fucked than either you or Joel like to believe.
You rush out onto the patio. Sarah is probably shoulder deep in the water and it’s way too fucking hot to be sitting under the sun without taking a dip. You haven’t been to a nice beach like this in a really long time. You don’t remember the last time you went on vacation.
This is nice.
Joel is being way too…nice.
You pass him on the way to the beach where you see Sarah jumping through the water. He looks at you, subtly. Out of the corner of his eye. You try to avoid his gaze and hide your blush but you can feel his burning eyes shift to the back of your head as you give him a small smile in passing.
“Dad! C’mon let's go!” Sarah yells from the water. You look to see Joel staring back at you—you drop his eye when your dad busts through the door.
“‘N a minute!” Joel grumbles as he throws his duffle over his shoulder, carting in a crate of barbecue things for the weekend.
Your flip flops splat on the deck as you break into a small jog down to where Sarah is. She smiles at you as you run into the water. The two of you playing in the salty spring like teenagers—well she is—you aren’t.
You can see your dad and Joel settle on beach chairs some yards away from the shoreline. They sport a couple beers and talk amongst themselves while watching you and Sarah play in the water.
You catch Joel’s eye a couple times. He even comes down and throws around a football with your dad. He splashes and teases you all day.
When the sun finally extends down to the horizon and the water turns orange from its light, Sarah tells you she’s beat and basically hobbles back over to the dads on the beach chairs. She slumps down onto the one next to Joel, you move towards them as well, trying not to blush because you know Joel is looking at you before you meet his eyes.
“Tired?” Joel asks, not to you or Sarah in particular, but it falls on you—Sarah already asleep on the beach chair.
“Exhausted.” You plop down on the chair beside your dad, taking a towel and drying your hair off before moving to the rest of your body.
“Want dinner? I’ll make my burgers,” your dad inquires, beginning to stand and take the beers with him.
“Sounds good dad.” You stand and wrap the towel around your body. “Need a shower.”
You try to wake Sarah up gently, she grumbles and stalks off to the house, you, trailing behind her. She kicks her flip flops off at the entrance and moves to the couch in the living room. She’s back asleep before you get the chance to enter the door.
Your dad moves to the kitchen, you don’t know where Joel went. Maybe you left him back on the beach. You move to take a cold shower, the small tug in your stomach grew to be quite big when you caught him staring at your exposed skin on the beach.
When you get upstairs, you enter your designated bedroom. You smile when you realize it has a bathroom attached to it. You strip off your bathing suit, putting it in the sink of your bathroom.
You wrap a towel around your body and go to twist the knob of your shower. When you tug it towards hot it comes off the shower wall with a chink and you curse to yourself, the water coming out in a leak rather than a stream.
You huff. This is not what you need right now.
“Dad!” You call from the doorway of your bedroom—not wanting to venture further in just a towel.
You turn away from the door—moving into the bathroom, trying to chance figuring out how to fix it instead, when a pair of footsteps fall by your bedroom door.
“You okay?” A voice calls from your bedroom, but it’s not your dads.
You jump at the sound of a honey rich southern drawl echoing your name as Joel pushes through the bathroom door to find you in your towel, holding the shower handle.
“Jesus—” he looks away with a cough, you can tell he’s shocked to see you in just a towel. But when he sees you holding the handle he does a double take.
“What the hell did y’do?” He flips between giving you privacy and moving toward you with an outstretched hand, taking the shower handle into his own.
“I just tried to turn it on and it snapped off,” you try to reason with him, a flush coming to your cheeks when he comes into the bathroom.
“Move,” he grumbles, sneaking by you. In the brief moment you come chest to chest, you look up at him and he lets out a groan. His hand snakes by your waist. He looks down at you—a dangerous look in his eyes.
Joel breaks first, moving towards the shower.
“I’m gonna—yeah—just…uh thanks,” you gesture to your towel and shut the door to the bathroom behind you. Leaving Joel in there alone.
You throw on an oversized t-shirt and underwear before he comes out, sans shower handle.
“Thanks,” you mumble, suddenly self conscious you didn’t have time to put on pants. You aren’t sure why. Joel’s seen…a lot already.
“‘Course,” he says, but doesn’t leave like you anticipated.
“You havin’ fun?” He asks. There’s something in his tone that suggests he doesn’t actually care.
“Yeah,” you reply, breathless, “Thanks for inviting us.”
“sorry—I—” he points to the bathroom, “thought you were in trouble or somethin’.”
“‘S’okay.”
He looks at you, and down to your bare legs, your underwear just peeking out from beneath your shirt’s hem.
The way Joel looks at you—like you’re the only one who matters—stokes the fire growing in your stomach. The look in his eyes tells you he’s still wrestling with his moral compass. Like he needs to stay away for his own good, but like he said in the car—he just can’t.
Joel nods, and steps back like he’s turning to leave. You don’t want him to. You need him. When you take a tentative step toward him, he suddenly breaks into stride in your direction. The dam of fleeting touches and wandering eyes for half a day breaks. He grabs your face in his hands, kissing you hard. His tongue slips to run over your bottom lip and you whine into his mouth.
Your hands come up to rest on his chest. His, wrapping around your waist while he dips his head to start kissing your neck.
“Joel–” you start, but the feeling of his lips on the sensitive parts of your collarbone punches your breath.
He only hums at that sentiment.
“Where are we going?” you manage to get out, when he’s tugging you into the bathroom by your wrist, shutting the door behind him.
“Need to fuck you,” he groans into your ear as he spins you around, so your hips press into the bathroom counter. You can look into the mirror and see your reflection. You look entirely too fucked out from a couple kisses and he looks stone cold.
“J-Joel—ah—jesus,” you moan when his hand dips to your front and catches your clit through cotton.
“Say please,” he groans into the skin of your neck. You turn your head to catch his lips in a chaste kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, but you don’t mind either way. He’s close, he’s here and he’s kissing you.
You break away from the kiss just enough to whine out a small, “Please–fuck–”
You don’t really know what you’re asking for, but you know if that’s what he wants—you’d give him anything in this particular moment.
“Nicer.”
You whine, the pad of his finger catches your clit just right.
“Please, Joel,” you cut out through bated breath.
He huffs, you can hear the sound of clinking and shuffling behind you—the tell tale sign of his belt coming undone.
“Alright, baby, c’mon,” he pushes you down, folds you in half, your breasts pressed against marble. It's cold, and his hot hands on your waist, snaking down to slot his fingers in your underwear makes you dizzy.
“You’re a tease,” he groans when he eases your underwear to the side, the head of his cock catches your clit.
“Joel—p—fuck—” His cock catches at your entrance. You both pause for a second, reveling in the feeling. One of his hands grips your waist so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises by dinnertime. The other pushes your face down—fingers tangling in your hair.
“Look in the mirror,” he growls, lifting your head up by your hair, just enough so you can watch his face as his tip slips past your entrance.
He stretches you out just from that, you muffle down a scream in your throat.
Joel’s mouth goes slack but he doesn’t react much with his face. He just looks down at your bodies connecting and pants while he slowly slides home.
“‘S big Joel. Feel so good—oh my god—” he breaks you open and splits you in two. His breath cuts somewhere behind your head—your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling.
He buries himself to the hilt, you curse and mutter inconsistencies into the bathroom. His iron grip on your body goes tighter if possible.
“Eyes open,” he growls behind you. “You can take it baby, c’mon.”
You will open your eyes, focusing on him in the mirror. He has a sheen of sweat already casing his forehead, his shirt is half unbuttoned with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Relax, angel,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me — could barely get it in,”
He settles there, you try to relax but the stretch makes you squirm underneath him. He lets you adjust to his length, cursing every time you clench around him. It’s filthy. Obscene. He’s pushing your head up — lifting you by your hair, so you can see him spear into you with no remorse. He’s filthy, and so are you.
“Fuck, Joel,” you mutter when you finally relax around him, your tight walls flutter at the feeling of his cock moving halfway out of you. When he pushes back in you see stars.
“That’s right honey —fuck— so good for me,” he pants, bottoming out again and setting a slow pace that punches each breath out of you. “Teasin’ me all day—couldn’t fuckin’ wait any longer.”
“More please,” you whine, meeting his eye in the mirror. The air is thick in the bathroom now, the potpourri on the sill of the window doesn’t really mask much of anything.
He complies—surprisingly. Moving faster and harder, each push of his hips knocks you into the counter. The grip on your waist gets impossibly tight. The hand pulling at your hair finally lets you rest back down on the counter, pushing hair out of your face when you look back at him. It rests on the back of your neck.
“Feel so good baby,” he groans.
“Joel—I’m—I can’t, I’m gonna—”
“C’mon angel, come for me,” he says, you take another peak at him through the mirror. He looks wrecked. But you look even worse.
You get impossibly tight around him while he mutters things you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears. You think you hear him toss out a small that’s right when you finally spill over the edge.
He fucks you through it, his pace doesn’t let up, the coldness of the counter brings you back to reality. Where his breaths are becoming groans and pants and he strokes your cheek with his thumb.
“‘Nother,” is all he says when your tight walls finally relax, molding to him and only him.
“I–I can’t—” you say, slumped against the counter. You sound cock drunk. It’s halfway true though. No one else has ever made you come twice in one night. You were starting to think it might be a myth.
“Know you can, pretty girl,” he goes slow at that, angling down so the tip of his cock catches something inside you that lights the fire again. “There we go. ‘S okay, can feel it already.”
He pushes you towards another orgasm, it washes over your entire body and you slump against the counter. Maybe it’s some sort of weird trance he has you in. Or maybe you were right and this — whatever it is — is getting bad. Fast. You’re threatening to fall. But he’s there, and he picks you up and holds you down.
“Jesus. Fuck, baby,” he curses into your skin when your release coats his cock and lets him sink deeper, thrust faster, push harder.
“Joel—fuck. Fuck.” Maybe the overstimulation should be getting to you, but you stay there like that, as he speeds up and his thrusts become more frantic. He chases after his own orgasm.
“Turn over,” he says, hastily. His hands move at your body before you can process his words. He flips you around and slots himself in between your legs—sliding back in deep, grinding into you while folding over so his head is in the crook of your neck.
“Please,” you whimper. You both know what you’re asking for. But he pulls out, ripping your shirt up and spilling all over your stomach and breasts. It coats you, the liquid hot and he dips his head to watch it coat your body. He lets out a strangled string of curses, bracing himself on the counter as he comes.
He kisses you. Really kisses you. You grab his face and moan into it. Like you’re willing him to stay there, in between your legs forever.
But he breaks first, moving to grab a towel out of the cabinet above the toilet. He cleans you up gently, wetting the towel with warm water before it touches your skin. The sentiment could make you cry.
When he’s done cleaning you up, he kisses your forehead. Joel wraps his arms around you as you sling yours over his shoulders. He holds you there, his hand coming to cup the back of your head, stroking your hair and breathing hot kisses into your crown. You smile, lazily.
He pulls back just enough to look at you. You know you still look wrecked and are in desperate need of a shower—he looks perfect by contrast, completely untouched and definitely unbothered.
“Dangerous,” he mutters when you look at him through your lashes.
You kiss him instead of responding.
You know Joel's right—this is dangerous.
But it feels way too good to stop.
_
part iv
taglist! (comment or message me if you would like to be added) kisses to you all:
@nostalxgic @iluvurfather
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#the last of us hbo#joel miller#joel miller self insert#the last of us#joel fic#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fic#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal as joel miller#joel miller smut#smut#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel x you#tlou fanfiction#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#dom!joel#dom!joel miller
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
3k4 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3
Summary: Joel comes back home after a few days away and catches up with you
Warnings: 18+ mdni. PWP. Established relationship, spitting, spanking, allusions to somnophilia, size kink, praise kink, oral (f/m), ball sucking, rough sex, dirty talk, cum eating (m), rimming, ass play.
No age specified, no outbreak
a/n: same couple : 5 days collection but can be read alone
@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog thank you for correcting me, and for being here for me, always 💕🫶🫂
series masterlist | Masterlist
Joel opens the door of the house, making as little noise as possible, returning home after 5 days of absence for a construction site. He locks the door behind him, walks towards the bedroom and pushes the door. You’re asleep on the bed, on your back, with a book open on your stomach. He takes off his sweatshirt and approaches the bed. Gently, he brushes the strand of hair covering your face behind your ear and you moan softly.
His cock twitches.
He watches you sleep and he hesitates.
Does he get undressed and lie next to you, holding you close until you wake up?
Does he spread your thighs with his shoulders before eating your pussy?
Does he take his cock out and settle between your legs, brushing your folds with his dick? Sinking into your pussy little by little, until you wake up feeling filled, without immediately understanding what is happening?
He’s fucked you in your sleep so many times, taking advantage of you like you both agreed to long time ago.
He sighs and puts the ideas aside. As if to punish himself for having had to leave. He goes into the bathroom then closes the door behind him, turns on the softest light, so that the ray of light under the door doesn't wake you up. He undresses, gets in the shower and turns on the water. He puts his face under it and lets the water relax him.
***********
You wake up to the sound of water running and you smile when you understand he’s back. You walk through the bathroom, before opening the door. His back is turned, and the sound of the water prevents him from hearing you come in. You move closer to the shower and he turns just as you step in to join him.
You wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle your nose against his cheek.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t want to wake you up.” He caresses your back with his hands, while the water runs down both of your bodies.
“I missed you, Joel. I didn’t want to fall asleep before you got there but I couldn’t stay up any longer.”
“I missed you too, baby. Let me hold you.”
You nod and kiss his cheek. You know each inch of his body, but you can't help but run your fingers over his shoulders, along his back, before hugging his waist. You feel his cock against your lower stomach.
“Joel?”
“Yes baby?”
“Wanna feel you inside me…”
He smiles and says “I’ll tell you what. We shower, then we go to bed, and I’ll take care of you.”
“Wanna feel you now, Joel…”
He pushes you against the shower wall and holds you there. He looks at you and kisses your lips “I said”, your earlobe “we shower”, your neck “and then”, your collarbone “we go to bed”. He turns you around, pins you to the wall and bites your shoulder “I’ll take care of you.” He presses his pelvis to you, and feeling his cock against your ass makes you reel.
“Understood?”
“Yes… Yes, Joel, understood.”
“Good.”
He grabs the shampoo and washes your hair, massaging your scalp. You let him wash you afterward, resisting the urge to beg him again. Then, you wash him. Running the soap over his body, his cock, and letting your hands trail on his shaft for a little too long.
“Sweetheart…”
“I’m just washing you, Joel…”
You smile at him in a way that contradicts your words.
You get out of the shower and dry each other off. You feel his hand lingering between your thighs and on your ass, but you don't say anything. You know that soon he’ll fuck you, and so you’re ok with waiting. That way you can enjoy him, his touch and his skin for as long as possible.
And it’s like Joel is taking his time too. He brushes a strand of wet hair behind your ear, and kisses the delicate skin just below.
You moan as he kisses you, his hand on your neck. His tongue brushes against your lips, playing with them, then slips in between. You hear him breathing harder, as your tongues caress each other, and he presses his cock to you, pushing you with his whole body against the wall. You can’t help but moan as he now presses kisses down your neck.
He grabs your thighs and lifts you up, your legs hugging his waist. You slide your hand between your two bodies to grab his cock but he tells you “no, not yet.”
You look at him, and you don't know if you want to mumble, kiss him, or impale yourself on his cock. You sigh and resign yourself, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and you let him lead you to the bedroom. He sets you down at the foot of the bed and kisses you again, then says “lie down, sweetheart.”
You lie down on the bed and he kneels on the floor, pulling your thighs towards him. He places his hands on your inner thighs, and spreads your folds with his thumbs. “Shit…this pussy is drippin’ for me.”
You let him touch you, spreading your folds with his thumbs. He does it in an almost perverted way while once again, like dozens of times before, you think that you have never felt so confident with a man as to let him do what you let him do with your body.
He leans down, eyes fixed on yours, and drops his saliva onto your pussy. You feel it slide down to your hole which he still keeps wide open, and you feel like just this sensation is bringing you to the edge of an orgasm.
“Joel…”
He watches the saliva slide down and doesn’t even look up as you beg him. He leans down and runs his tongue slowly from your pussy to your clit. He pulls away, looks at you again and sees the look of impatience on your face. He knows that you can't wait any longer, that you missed him too much.
And he smirks. He fucking smirks.
And fuck, you love him even more when he does that.
He slides his tongue between his parted lips and places his mouth on your pussy, pointing his tongue directly into your soaking hole.
You say “Oh fuck…” spreading your thighs even further and pressing your hands against his temples. He doesn't try to fuck you gently. He laps, he licks, he devours you. His nose rubs your clit. He fucks you with his tongue, holding your folds indecently open with his thumbs. You hear him groan between your folds as he trails one thumb up to your clit. You've been on the verge of orgasm for a few minutes and his gently rotating finger makes you explode without even having time to feel it coming.
Joel doesn't release you, and his tongue doesn't leave you as your spasms still contract your core. He places his hands on your waist and holds your pelvis against the bed.
You raise your head from the bed and say “Joel? What are you-”
“Ssssh”, he says “I want one more.”
“Wait, please...”
“Nuh uh. I want one more, baby.”
“Fuck,” you say, dropping your head back.
He keeps fucking you with his tongue, delving as far into your pussy as possible. He slides his right hand up your thigh, then your ass cheek. He pushes two fingers into your pussy, joining them with his tongue for a few moments.
His tongue then slides up to your clit as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. He places his lips around your clit and sucks it gently.
“Joel please….”
“What do you want, baby?”
“I… fuck… I don’t fucking know. Keep going please.”
And you can't see him, with your head still on the bed, but you know he's smiling.
He drips his saliva again, directly onto your clit this time, and your stomach contracts so hard that your head lifts off the bed. You look at him for a few seconds before lying back down.
You press his head against your pussy, as much as possible. You want more. More of his tongue, more of his mouth. More of his fingers.
The tip of his tongue plays with your clit and swirls around it, then he sucks it again with his lips.
“Joel… ‘m gonna cum…”
He grabs one of your hands and says “feel your finger being squeezed with mine as you cum.”
You stick your middle finger in, joining his. He laps at your pussy one last time, his tongue tangling with your fingers.
“Fuck,” you say.
He goes up to your clit, says “be a good girl and give it to me”, and focuses his tongue on it. Your finger slides against his inside you, and it's so sensual, this sensation coupled with his tongue is so strong, that you feel like you're overwhelmed by your emotions. You let them come, you want to cum, and you want to please him, you want to give him everything. And that's what you do when your orgasm hits you, when you feel it explode inside you and send shivers through all your senses. You spread your thighs and dig your finger in your pussy with his.
“Damnit, baby”, you say.
He pulls his fingers out of you and grabs your wrist as he stands up. The emptiness inside you makes you moan, while his movement makes you sit up on the edge of the bed. The change of position is so sudden after your orgasm that your head is spinning. He brings your middle finger to his mouth and sucks it. You feel his tongue slide around your finger. Your eyes are locked on each other, and he begins to jerk off with his other hand.
You watch him suck your finger, captivated. You swallow your saliva with difficulty, mechanically. Sometimes you can't believe this man is yours.
You finally tear your gaze away from his, to look at his cock, so close to your mouth. So thick that when he refused to fuck you unprepared in the bathroom, you didn't blame him.
His wrist movement slows down, barely perceptible, and he finally lets go of his cock to grab your chin and pulls it up to his face, just as he removes your finger from his mouth. He keeps your wrist in his hand and makes you grab his cock.
His gaze is piercing, when he reads in your eyes all the emotions that are churning within you: your desire for him, your love for him. You see his jaw tighten and he says, “Blow me. Need your mouth.”
You continue to jerk him and place the flat of your tongue just above your hand, moving up to the tip of his cock, eyes fixed on him. Slowly, so you cant feel each rib, each inch of his skin. When you reach the tip, you feel him tense, and his fists clench. You surround it with your lips and collect the precum with your tongue. You want, you need to be closer to him and you kneel at the foot of the bed. You concentrate on the tip of his cock, swallowing all of it and enjoying feeling the precum flow down your throat. You suck him from the tip then all the way to your hand, a little more each time, to get used to his size. He places one hand on your head and hesitates to squeeze your hair between his fingers. Finally, he places his palm next to your ear and just follows your movement.
“It’s so good, baby. You do it so well.”
His praise turns you on, your hand tightens more firmly around his shaft and your tongue leaves his cock to wrap around his balls, one by one. With your tongue flat, you lift them and slide the tip of it up to his scrotum. You linger a little on this thin skin, before taking a ball in your mouth, then sucking it. You feel it rolling under your tongue.
“That’s it baby. Lick them. Fuck. That’s it, just like that.”
You smile and you slide your tongue to his other ball. Your hand passes under his balls and gently lifts them. You lick in here again, this skin so delicate, so soft. Even further this time.
“Fuck babe, what you doin’? You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doin’ like that.”
You move up to his shaft, because selfishly, you don't want him to cum. Not yet. You take him in your mouth, and this time, as you move down to the base of his cock, you take him deeper in your mouth. Then down your throat, until your nose is buried in his hair. And you stay like that, his cock buried in your throat.
“Shit baby… You… fuck, it’s so good.”
His hand comes to wrap around your throat, full of his cock.
“Baby… Fuck. You take all of me. All my fucking cock in your throat. Damn.”
You pull back slowly and his fingers feel your throat return to its usual size. You swirl the tip of your tongue over his slit, jerking him off again.
“Shit baby… Fuck. Stop, please. I’d die to fuck your throat again but right now… I wanna fuck my pussy.”
His possessiveness gives you chills, and you step back. He helps you up and grabs your neck with his hand, before kissing you. His kiss is hungry, your tongues search for each other and your teeth sometimes collide.
“Lie on your back,” he orders.
You do as asked and spread your thighs as he settles himself between them. He takes his cock in his hand and slides it along your folds, up to your clit.
“See how she’s drippin’ for me babe? She gets my whole cock wet.”
“Of course she’s drippin Joel. She hasn’t been fucked in 5 days….”
“Mmmm…poor little pussy. She missed that cock, didn't she?” He continues to jerk off against you and you say “please Joel…”
He places the tip of his cock against your entrance, and barely sinks in. You moan and say “fuck me, Joel…”
“Wait.”
You frown and wait.
“I want you to remember this feeling of my cock getting ready to sink into your pussy. I want you to feel how she wants me to thrust in, then how she's gonna clench when she’s ruined by my big cock.”
And he thrusts in, eyes fixed on yours, and you can’t help but take a deep breath, as he continues to thrust and force your pussy open for him. He continues to push, push, push, gently, forcing your pussy to spread as he passes, until he bottoms out.
He doesn't take his eyes off you once, while you struggle not to close yours, under the sensations felt. A mixture of pleasure and mild pain, the feelings that you would like to memorize for the rest of your life, because it reminds you that it’s during these moments you are the most alive.
He stays buried inside you and waits for you to open your eyes again. He gives you a forehead kiss, while his dick is throbbing inside you. Your stomach quivers, as your heart leaps in your chest.
He pulls back almost completely and sinks in again, slowly. He takes a slow, deep pace, and his lower abdomen rubs your clit continuously. This stimulation, his slow strokes with eye contact, make you feel a new orgasm rising inside you, while your hips roll in the same rhythm as his.
You must look like a wreck because he says “oh baby… it’s so much, isn’t it? Look at you… so cock drunk. For me and my cock.”
You whine upon hearing him, you’re so close to cumming now, and you hear him murmur in your ear “I feel it coming sweetheart, your pussy is clenching around me.”
Your moans increase and he says “like that baby… just like that. Cum for me.”
And you cum, digging your nails into his biceps, while continuing to rub your clit against his lower stomach.
He murmures “Good girl. My good girl”, keeps the same rhythm during your orgasm and says “shit baby… this little pussy squeezes me so hard, she wants me to blow my load, doesn't she?”
He freezes inside you when your spasms stop and you hear him breathe slowly. You gradually come to your senses and he tells you “‘m gonna fuck you now, baby. I’m gonna catch up for the 5 days I lost, and I don’t know if you’re able to walk tomorrow morning.”
As if you haven’t just cum, you think that just by hearing him you could have another one. Your pussy twitches and he adds “my pussy wants to get ruined, doesn’t she?”
He pulls away and sinks in. So roughly that you can't hold back a scream.
“Damn baby…one thrust and you’re already screaming?”
“Fuck…Joel-”
He thrusts in again and you can’t finish your sentence. He sinks further. And again. You become a rag doll in his arms. You let him set his pace while his forearms are on each side of your head, his arms under your shoulders.
“What do you wanna say, baby?”
You can’t speak.
“No? Nothing?”
Again, you can only moan.
“Oh poor baby, you can’t even speak, can you? Too full of my cock?”
He smirks as he looks at you, and adds “That’s ok. As long as you take my dick that good, I don’t need you to talk. My. Good. Fucking. Girl.” He sinks in with every word.
He fucks you less deeply but faster. You think he wants to cum but he pulls out and tells you to go all fours. You’re shaking so much that you lean on your forearms, your cheek resting on the pillow.
He smacks your ass cheek hard.
“Fuck baby… Missed your ass too.”
He thrusts in you and places his hands on your hips.
He fucks you so hard that you try to get away just a little, but he catches you with his hands and thrusts in again, saying “Oh no, sweetheart. You ain’t goin’ anywhere else than on my cock”
He accelerates the movement and if you weren't already leaning on your forearms, you would have fallen, because he's ruining you so much, fulfilling his promise.
“What’s your safe word?”
“It’s…. It’s “arrow”.
"Good. You can still talk. So you can still take it.”
“Fuck… Of course I can take it. D’ya think I’m.. shit… fuckin’ fragile or somethin’?”
He smiles and adds “I know you’re not, baby.”
He pushes you forward and you fall flat on the bed, under his weight.
“But I still want to ruin you and make sure you can’t walk properly tomorrow.”
He grabs a lock of your hair and pulls your head back “Ask me to ruin you.”
You smile, and say “ruin me, Miller.”
He holds your cheek against the pillow, and starts pounding you. The energy you still had when you answered him seems gone and all you can think about is his balls slapping against your pussy.
“Show me Joel…” You’re so tired, but you still want more.
“Show you what, baby?” he asks you, slowing down his pace.
“Show me…that I’m yours.”
“Damn baby…”
He pulls out and straddles you, on his knees. Spreads your ass cheeks and spits on his cock, before sinking into your pussy.
“Mine. No one can fuck you like me.”
He spits again, and the saliva hits your ass. He presses his thumb to your ring and pushes it inside. He fucks you, the tip of his thumb buried in your ass and he chases his orgasm. You hear him grunt “fuck… I’m gonna cum.” You feel his cum squirting into your pussy and he quickly pulls out, pulls your ass up, spreads your legs and laps you up.
“Joel…”
“Don’t tell me you can’t. You can always give me another one when I ask for it.”
His nose is resting on your ass as he licks your hole filled with his cum. You grab the sheets in your fists, and then he laps from your pussy to your ass, until he pulls away and slides under you, on his back.
He grabs your hips and pulls you into his mouth. He licks and sucks your clit, and you cum one last time, exhausted.
You catch your breath for a few moments, and say:
“Joel? Maybe you should leave for work more often.”
He laughs, spanks you and says “give me 10 minutes and we’ll see about this bratty attitude, baby.”
***************
Same couple: 5 days collection
****************
Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️
Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel x reader#joel x you#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#joel tlou#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal as joel miller
756 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Game VS TV Show
#tlou#the last of us#hbo#hbo the last of us#joel miller#tlou joel#perdro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#vs#gaming#game joel#hbo joel#game vs serie
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
joel would fuck you silly then force you to ride him so he can watch you struggle
this was supposed to end before the cut 😭
“c’mon, baby. you’re never gonna get me t’cum like that.” he grips your hips roughly and fucks you relentlessly for just a second. “like that. okay?” he asks and let’s go. you nod to him eagerly, trying your best to fuck him the way he wants but your brain too mushy to follow through with the action.
you lift yourself on his cock and your legs tremble as you hold yourself up before you drop back down. the shock that runs through your stomach as his dick slides right against your g-spot has you collapsing onto him. your hands wrap around his neck without a second thought, so used to him taking over and helping you. but his hands are tucked behind his head and you can barely fit your hands. “joel—“
you drag out the syllables of his name like a whine and he chuckles at you, heating up your stomach with embarrassment. “what, darlin’?” you whine at his southern drawl, at the pet name and bury your face in his chest. “i need your help. can’t- i can’t do it on my own.” you pout and look up at him, hoping your puppy dog eyes are working properly.
judging but the shuddering sigh that falls his lips we can assume they were working. his hands come to your hips and slam you onto his cock at a painful pace. his eyes are focused on where the two of you connect and little grunts are falling from his lips. “such a fuckin’ princess. can’t do anythin’ for y’self, huh?”
his words have you clenching on his cock, giving a tremble to his voice that only pushes you closer to the edge. “n-need everyone to do stuff for you, hmm? too prissy to put any work in?” you shake your head at him with a moan. “m’just too weak ri-right now, joey. don’ be mean.” your voice is a light whine in his ear as you cling to him.
“mhm. it’s okay darlin’.” his hand comes to cradle the back of your head and his ear gets close to yours. “love that you need my help so bad. can’t get off without me— can’t please yourself the way i can.” his hand grips your jaw and forces your eyes to his “you need me”
his brow furrows as he tries not to cum at the way your eyelids flutter and your hand comes around to play with your clit “i’ll always need you.” he nods at you with a low groan as you squeeze his cock.
he stops moving in you, letting you clench around him as you play with your clit. he holds your face in place and watched how it contorts with pleasure, how your expression becomes more pained and watery the more you suffocate his cock. his eyes look you up and down once, gauging how close you are and that’s what breaks the tension building in your stomach.
the second you’re squeezing around him he groans your name into your face, his head leans forward to crash your lips together as he slowly fills you with his cum. he tenses and twitches against you as he does, muttering a small sounds that resemble “my fuckin’ princess. so perfect f’me” as he thrusts into you.
#whoops#this is too long omg#also i was half asleep writing some of it#cus i’m tried it’s like 4am#so that’s why there’s a cliff hanger thing#cus when i was writing i feel asleep and we’re just like-#see i fell asleep during that tag and idk what i was talking about#anyway#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller tlou#joel miller blurb#joel miller hbo#joel miller headcanon#pedro pascal as joel miller#pedro pascal tlou
562 notes
·
View notes
Text
#joel miller#pedro pascal joel miller#pedro pascal as joel miller#tlou#the last of us#pedro pascal#swoon worthy
356 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sex with stranger, one-shot
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
summary: You, a beautiful stranger, an elevator.
rating: 18+ MDNI
warning tags: porn with lil plot, no use of Y/N, no outbreak, use of 'you', age difference not specified, smut, use of pet name, dirty talk, fingering, f & m masturbation, unprotected P in V, oral f receiving, if I miss smt please write me.
Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner
It was the end of the second semester when you met him, the man who would fuel your wildest sexual fantasies, your obsession, your sociolinguistics teacher, Dr. Miller. Before you met him you were a young woman always hunched over your books, focused on finishing your course of study as soon as possible, always ready to commit to a thousand and one projects just to get the most credits that would allow you to finish as soon as possible, then one day in February your eyes fell on his figure and that's where it all went to hell.
You're at the little kiosk outside the campus with one of your many unfailing books, this time it's the turn of the sociolinguistics book, your next course and next exam. Everyone had told you you'd soon meet the most bastard professor in the campus, the one with the cold stare, with smirks which he seemed initially to want to seduce you and then sink you in later, with a strong presence and a strong southern accent. Some had been positively impressed at first sight only to call him an asshole on the exam, others had called him a big bastard and that was it. You were never afraid to be confronted with punctilious and penetrating-looking professors, you just had to study and know more than him and everything would be fine.
That morning, you anticipate on purpose, you want to get to class before everyone else, even before the famous Dr. Miller. Arriving at the lobby, you read on the small monitor about his lecture would be on the fourth floor in Lecture Hall F. So, you head for the elevator, press the little button to call it, and wait. You are flanked by a man whom you don't dignify with a glance, however, too focused on arriving early, getting there first, being called an excellent student even by this other professor.
The doors open, and you enter, followed by this man. The doors close and you take a long breath; you never liked elevators, but that morning you made an exception. Not even a minute later the cabin stops with a jolt, and you find yourself staggering against the wall, the lights inside flicker and you start to sweat.
"Oh no." you find yourself groaning as you close your eyes.
"Afraid of elevators, aren't ya?" a voice asks you. Only then you remember you are not alone; you look up and find yourself observing the man standing there with you. Powerful physique, white shirt turned up to the elbows, jacket folded over one arm, curious look, dark brown eyes.
"Never liked 'em," you answer him, opening the jacket to breathe.
"It's okay, little one, we'll be out soon." the man says with a strong southern accent.
Little one? No one has ever called you that-- not even your ex, you find yourself thinking about that jerk and how he had sleazily cheated on you with your best friend before you started college, you've had a hard time trusting men ever since. In fact, after him, relationships with men have always been one-night stands. You were in fact too burned.
"I like people like you who anticipate, everyone should be like that," the man comments again.
You take a long look at his face, he's a handsome man, "Thank you. I'm here to make a good impression and instead I'm going to be late and maybe the professor will even be mad at me because he'll probably say you have to use the stairs instead of the elevator before going to class." now you're talking off the cuff and before long the guy is likely to tell you to shut up because he doesn't care, but then again he does, why should he listen to you?
"I'm sure he'll understan'." he tells you, throwing you a long look from head to toe.
You had even dressed strangely well that morning, you had decided to wear a dark suit and loafers with a bit of a heel, anything to make a good impression. Instead, you now have this stranger's gaze devouring you.
You notice the glint in his eyes, the way he licks his lips, you are not stupid, you understand by now what goes on in men's heads. You know when someone wants you, and the man next to you is no exception.
"You wanna fuck me?" you ask him direct, approaching him lewdly.
The man approaches you, he's tall, he's broad, "Yes." he simply answers you by dropping his jacket at his feet and then bridging the distance between him and you.
He places his lips on yours slipping his tongue into your mouth, you immediately accept it returning the kiss letting a moan escape into his mouth, you place your hands on his chest feeling him mighty under your fingers as you feel his hands in your hair and push you not too gently against the elevator wall.
You are crushed between the wall and his body, but you don't complain about it. You delight in hearing the stranger almost growl into your mouth, as you feel him place his hands on your hips almost pushing you against him.
You take that gesture as an invitation to continue, you place your fingers on the edge of his pants, then with one hand caress his still-covered intimacy, and this time you hear clearly a growl coming from his throat.
He pulls his lips away from yours only to look into your eyes to read if there is any hesitancy in you, but you don’t stop, don’t desist, not now that your senses are completely enveloped by his strong presence. He then pounces on your neck, lapping it with kisses and gentle bites that send discharges of pure lust all along your body, while with his hands he pulls away the flaps of your jacket, opening it and sliding it down your shoulders.
"You're so soft, little girl," he tells you without stopping kissing your neck.
You slip your hand into his pants, feeling his growing erection against the palm of your hand, caressing it blissfully with that soft and hard feeling at the same time.
"Take 'em off." he orders you, and you obey, lowering both his pants and boxers together, freeing his massive erection.
"Fuck, you’re so big." you groan resuming stroking his intimacy.
He smiles as he unbuttons your shirt, "Hope you're ready, little girl," he tells you, sliding your shirt off as well before lapping at your neck, your collarbones of kisses alternating with licks and small bites.
"Can't wait for you to fill me," you tease him, abandoning his erection and running your hands through his curly hair and pressing his head against your chest.
He resumes kissing you, threading his hands through your hair as he rubs against you. When you started that day, you had no idea that you were going to have sex with a stranger, you usually have sex after at least some super alcohol, never sober.
He then runs his huge hands over your chest until he frees your breasts from the cups of your bra, "Fuck, you're perfect." he tells you before lapping one of your nipples between his lips and starting to suck it ravenously, while massaging the other one unceremoniously. You groan as you thread your hands through his hair, pushing his head against your chest and pulling a few strands of his hair as he licks a nipple.
You moan with your eyes closed and your head completely abandoned against the wall. You hear in the distance the elevator bell ringing, some voices saying it's still a half hour before you can get out; it's all muffled.
You feel him fumbling with the zipper of your skirt without leaving your chest, you help him as much as you can, totally lost under those precise touches that send discharges of pure lust throughout your body. He reserves the same care and lascivious caresses for your other breast as you press yourself against him, seeking further pleasure.
The skirt finally falls at your feet, you kick it off and then lower your underwear as well.
"Spread your legs, let me feel how aroused you are," the stranger says, turning his face away from your breasts and sliding one of his huge hands directly there, you are soaked. You groan when he unceremoniously slides two fingers inside you to the hilt, you drop your head against his shoulder as he rhythmically slides his fingers in and out. You see the stars behind your eyelids, it's beautiful.
"Come, little girl, I know you want it, come," he encourages you without stopping touching that magnificent spot inside you, you cling to him as you feel the orgasm sweep over you with great violence. He keeps stroking you until he feels you relax against him.
"You are so good." he tells you by bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking your nectar. Seeing that scene makes you aroused again, you bolt to the man's lips as he wraps you in his muscular arms making you feel so small in comparison, while you're stroking his erection again.
"I want to taste you," you tell him after a while, you are breathless but want to feel his huge erection on your tongue, you see him take a half step back giving you a chance to move and kneel in front of him. His erection towers in front of you and you find yourself moistening your lips, it's massive, you look at it through your eyelashes before tasting it with just the tip of your tongue in a quick bite. You see him close his eyes and breathe heavily through his nostrils, "You ready?" you ask, you see him nod and then you wrap it completely between your lips. You struggle to keep it all in your mouth, in fact you must help yourself with your hand in pumping his erection. His hands are in your hair, urging you to do more. It's wonderful to hear him moan and growl when you do something particularly good for him, you see him with his eyes closed and abandoned against the cockpit wall. His face is tense, and judging by the way he's gripping your hair, you're sure he's close.
"I want to come in your mouth," he moans.
"Come on, then." you encourage him, pushing his arousal away just enough so you can talk before resuming sucking and pumping until you feel streams of his hot seed in your mouth. Fuck, that's wonderful. You lick every drop of that nectar moaning yourself and hearing him moan discomposedly.
You look at him, "How d' you want me?" you ask without looking away from his eyes.
"On your knees, from behind," he replies, and fuck, that's your favorite position. You give him your back by getting on all fours, "I'm clean, but I have no condoms," he warns you.
"I'm on the pill and I'm clean too," you reassure him, "I want you to come inside me," you add looking over your shoulder, you see him pump his erection a couple of times, then finally he lines it up against your intimacy and pushes against you, his erection slowly enters you almost giving you the sensation of opening you in two, it's so good, you feel him touching points inside you never reached until that moment.
Moaning abandoning your head forward breathlessly, you feel his hands at the height of your hips to hold you still, then you feel him rotate his hips a couple of times sending discharges of pure lust into you, and then you feel him moving back and forth, you don't know how much you'll be able to hold on, you've never been so overstimulated as you are at this moment. You feel his balls cackle against your buttocks with increasing force, a sign that he must be close too, as one of his hands descends between your legs, seeking your clit. His finger makes quick, precise, circular movements on that little bundle of nerves making you gasp and see stars. Your moans become more and more choked until you feel again clearly warm liquid of his seed inside you and then only your short breaths to fill the cockpit.
He comes out from inside you pulling away, you sit first and then stand. It was the best fucking you have had in your entire life. You dress in silence, saying nothing to each other. Now reality is back to what it was before, you always late to your first sociolinguistics class and the stranger-- you don't know where he's headed, but you don't care.
Someone tells you that a few minutes and the elevator will start up again.
"Hope to see you again," he says, "Maybe on campus."
"In the elevator, maybe, for a second round," you propose with a lascivious smile buttoning your jacket and hearing the man smile.
"Or maybe in the room at my place," he proposes.
Yes, why not.
The cockpit with a little jolt starts up again, you hope to arrive at least by the end of class, you think as you look at your watch. You look for a moment longer at the man whose name you didn't even ask, nor he yours, then the doors open and you both exit to the fourth floor.
"'m going this way," he says, you nod.
"I'm going that way, I have class. Hope my professor'll understand."
"He'll understand, you'll see," he reassures you.
You exchange one more glance and then he leaves, you see him run a hand through his hair, and then you turn your back on him and walk toward the classroom. This one is already full, but of the mysterious Dr. Miller no sign. The students all look terrified; you, on the other hand, feel relaxed and think that after the incredible morning you've had, nothing can shock you. You open your bag, pick up your book, notebook and pen ready to take notes, when the unbelievable happens: the stranger, the man you just fucked and fucked you, appears in the classroom, you widen your eyes upon seeing him and your mouth almost reaches the floor when you see him reach the desk, roll up his shirt sleeves and turn his gaze toward the class.
"Mornin', I'm Dr. Miller. Your sociolinguistics teacher." he says introducing himself and looking at you students, then his gaze falls on you "I'll be here for the entire second semester, my office door is always open."
Shit, you're screwed.
#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel tlou#joel miller hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us hbo#joel miller self insert#the last of us#joel fic#the last of us fanfiction#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#smut#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel x you#dom!joel#dom!joel miller#joel miller fic
222 notes
·
View notes
Text
SECRET ADMIRER
Summary: Y/N’s family is a wealthy family, her parents snub up their noses to a lot of people. When throwing a party, Y/N soon figured out she has a secret admirer, that her parents would never approve of.
Warnings: 18+, smut, wealthy family!, higher class neighborhood families!, country clubs!, fake business!, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is in forties), drinking!, readers curves are mentioned!, daddy kink! daddy issues, slight! mommy issues!, rough sex, reader is in college!, readers parents are snobs!, spanking!, pet names (sweetheart, my girl, etc.), daddy kink!, choking!, dirty talk!, domjoel!, joel calls reader slut!, public sex!(kind of), talks of spoiled reader!, mentions of divorce!, Joel has no kids!, cursing!, little angst!, rich! Joel, praise kink!, crying!,body shaming (if you squint), readers parents are assholes!, mentions of sugar daddies!, reader is girly!, reader wears dresses and girly clothing!, parents do not like Joel!, doggy style! (beside a mirror)- just wait, and not fully edited.
A/N: I have only wrote a Joel miller one shot once. So I’m trying again, a little bit more deeper. I do hope you enjoy! PLEASE tell me if I missed any warnings/ need to add them nicely! I’m trying to get better with them! THANK you so much and I’m so thankful for you all💝😭!!
Could this be any more depressing?
Y/N sunglasses perched atop her nose. Her tennis skirt, adorned with a matching polo, tastefully covered her mid-thigh, Out from the patio, her father's buddies could be seen sipping their beers and playing golf at her parents' exclusive country club.
Y/N and her mother were seated at a comfortable distance from the patio of the country club, accompanied by their friends. They were indulging in a delightful brunch and sipping on mimosas to enhance their experience. The clinking of glasses and laughter filled the air as they chatted away, oblivious to their surroundings.
Oh, this was depressing.
Y/N sat at the dinner table, pushing her food around her plate with her fork. Her sunglasses covered her eyes, but now and then, she couldn't resist stealing a glance at the man sitting across from her. He was a frequent visitor to their home and a country club member. He is always ready with a kind word and a helping hand to Y/N. However, Y/N knew that her father despised him. Whenever they were back home, her father would rant about the man who lived just a few houses down the street. Y/N couldn't help but wonder when her father's hatred had begun and what he saw in the man that she couldn't.
Joel fucking Miller.
He was older than her, and maybe she was drawn to that. He was a beautiful older male, and she could not help but take a second glance when he moved in a couple of years ago. Y/N was at home for college for the summer, and this older man came by in an older truck after being invited to a barbecue that her parents still could not shut up about to this day.
If he has money, he needs a better car.
No wonder his wife left him.
Y/N's parents were not always kind to him. However, once they discovered he was a skilled mechanic with a successful business in town and their precious white Cadillac was not running, they started to warm up to him, even if it wasn't genuine. Y/N's parents were known to be fake and gossip behind people's backs. Despite their rocky relationship, Y/N loved her parents because they gave her everything she wanted. She was spoiled and had a large room upstairs in their house, as well as her room at the country club.
Y/N parents were having their wedding anniversary celebration. Her mother had meticulously planned an elegant and formal party, which was exactly what she had envisioned. Y/N's father, on the other hand, would have preferred to keep it simple. However, he knew how much this occasion meant to his wife, so he agreed to follow her plans. Y/N was well aware that her father would have done the same for her if she had played the perfect daughter role, just like her mother expected her to.
Y/N’s trance was broken, her eyes shifting from the attractive older male in a darker polo with shorts. Why does this man look good in shorts? Y/N tried to maintain a smile with her mother, her eyes being covered with shades. “Are you going to eat, dear?” Her mother picked up fruit, her mothers friends eyes shifted to her. Her mothers three closest friends, were worse than her mom to say the least.
Maybe they rubbed off on her.
Y/N’s mother's attitude could switch with any of them in any moment. The younger woman’s reddened face was luckily covered, pushing her shades up. “Yes, Mother, just not too hungry this morning.” Y/N was not lying, and she could not get an appetite. Her mind was wandering, and her eyes could not move from Joel.
He swung his golf club repeatedly, practicing his hit while Y/N’s father played his shot. From what Y/N could see of the game, Joel was at least beating her father. Y/N wondered if her father was jealous of this man; maybe that's where his hatred came from. She could have swore his eyes would move to her stares, maybe gawking at her. Y/N knew she was too far away where he would notice her stares, but she could still see his perfect features.
His hair was longer, curler. Joel had his own pair of shades, grabbing another beer from the cooler on the golf cart. Y/N’s eyes would shift back and forth to her plate, slowly saying the food on her plate.
“Don't wanna overeat, love,” one of her mother's friends opened up, “Still have to fit in that dress in a couple of days.” She playfully sent a wink to Y/N while the four of them giggled right in front of her. Y/N shifted uncomfortably; she fought the water behind her eyes that wanted to escape. Her mother even shrugged it off with a laugh, giving Y/N a few fruit pieces.
“Here sweetie, eat fruit.”
Y/N could only nod, desperately wanting to leave the table. She came home for the summer, she hoped this summer would be better than the rest. She might have been better off going with her friends on their beach trip. But Joel could be an escape for her.
He was an escape, but Y/N wanted more. She knew she needed more, she craved more. When Joel moved in a couple years ago, becoming a member of the country club he took a liking in to woman. She was different than her parents, she seemed like sweet angel. Joel had been lonely for awhile, being married to his work ratber than looking for love.
Joel couldn't shake off the regret that had been gnawing at him ever since his ex-wife left him. Deep down, he knew it was because he didn't give her the attention she deserved. He had taken her love for granted, assuming that she would always be there for him. But as things turned out, she had reached her breaking point and left him.
From that day on, Joel promised he would never make the same mistake again. He was determined to treat his next partner like a queen, giving her all the attention and love she deserved. And then he met Y/N.
At first, he couldn't believe someone as young and beautiful as her would be interested in him. But as they got to know each other better, Joel realized that Y/N maybe shared the same interest in him. He saw in her the perfect partner he had been searching for, and he was ready to give his all to her.
Y/N finally managed to excuse herself from the table and went to the bathroom. She quickly pulled her shades up and tucked them into her hair, hoping her eyes didn't betray her emotions. Despite her efforts to keep it together, tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. She couldn't help feeling foolish for letting her guard down and allowing herself to be hurt. The urge to cry was so overwhelming that she had to bite her lip to keep from breaking down completely.
The woman's bathroom was luckily empty; she locked it behind her, covering her face instantly. No tears fell; she just kept breathing in and out. Y/N considered going to her room; she did not want her mother's friends to win. She went over to the tall mirrors; lights shined behind them.
In the mirror, Y/N saw a few mascara smears cleaning her face a bit. Having her purse in hand, she grabbed for makeup powder to cover up any spots she may have made. Gathering herself together, she got back out of the bathroom in the lobby. Y/N closed up her purse, bumping straight into a taller figure. Feeling hands gripping her, she made eye contact with no other than Joel.
His eyes sparked, meeting hers; Y/N gasped, feeling his grip tighten on her arms. “Woah, hun.” Joel drawled, a smile plastering his face, “I was just thinkin’ of ya.” His hands moving from her, Y/N blushed, trying to gather herself. Her own eyes could not move from his; she gave him a warm smile.
“Thinkin’ of little ole’ me?” Y/N teased, perking up a little bit. Joel's eyes shifted up her bare legs to the pink polo with two buttons open, exposing her chest. She looked so perfect; Joel knew he would worship her body if he ever could have her. His mouth parted, his smirk growing, watching the younger woman bite her lip. Y/N’s teeth dug deeper into her lips than could draw blood, not caring about the eyes that could be on them.
“Oh, any man would be crazy not to think of you, sugar.” Joel’s southern accent drawled out, sending shivers down Y/N’s spine. He was making her speechless and trying to maintain her confidence, gazing around her to see if any eyes moved their way.
“Are you trying to flirt with me, Mr. Miller?” Y/N’s curiosity rose; her father's voice broke Joel and her time.
Y/N's father chuckled warmly as he stood beside his daughter. The man's eyes followed Joel's movements, but he soon shook it off and turned to meet his daughter's gaze. "There's my angel," he said affectionately. "Your mother is looking for you, and she invited you on the shopping trip." Y/N smiled gracefully and exchanged some words with her father. Joel observed her curiously, noticing how her eyes sparkled as she talked to her dad. However, when Y/N's father walked away, Joel's demeanor changed. He grabbed her roughly and pulled her back to him, causing Y/N's stomach to drop as she saw his previously lighter eyes grow darker.
Y/N’s father is too far to notice back out to the open patio of Joel's hands on his daughter. Y/N gasped out, her knees bending down keeping her from falling. Joel’s grip was strong and he would not let Y/N fall.
“What you been cryin’ about?”
How the hell did he know?
Y/N's jaw dropped in disbelief, eagerly awaiting her response. His eyebrow lifted in anticipation, while his eyes narrowed in a curious 'hm' when she remained silent. Without saying a word, he motioned for her to follow him outside, leaving her stunned. Her breathing was increased, and tension still filled the air for her.
Joel was one of her father's enemies. And she wanted to fuck him, and she wanted more than just that. Joel kept giving her the same vibe as well. Y/N wanted the older male, all her thoughts and dreams consumed by him.
He is just a friend.
Y/N tried to tell herself that.
The dress was unbelievably tight, keeping modesty for the occasion; the dress was long, hugging Y/N’s curves. Y/N spent her time trying to escape from her parent's friends, listening to them gossip all about each other.
Y/N let out a deep groan of frustration and signaled the bartender for another drink at the open bar. The overly formal ambiance and the sound of the classical music made her feel nauseous and uneasy. She had lost track of her parents and had not seen them since the speeches a couple of hours ago. As the bartender began to make her drink, she watched intently, observing each step of the process with intense focus.
Y/N savored the salty taste of the olive before gulping down the drink like a parched desert traveler. Sitting alone at the bar, she contemplated leaving early to indulge in the tub and cozy up in bed. The alcohol was starting to kick in, and the bartender slid a napkin towards her.
The bartender, an older woman with a friendly smile, approached Y/N with a small slip of paper. "A man told me to give this to you and buy you a drink as well," she said, gesturing towards the note. Y/N's curiosity was piqued as she took the slip of paper, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she read the few words scrawled on it. "Seems like you got a secret admirer," the bartender remarked with a chuckle, noticing Y/N's puzzled expression.
meet me upstairs @ 11.
Y/N's mind wandered briefly, “I'll make you that other drink, dear.” The older woman took her glass, chucking momentarily, “Seems like a good one to me.” Y/N smiled, holding the napkin, waiting for the drink this mysterious man bought for her. Her eyes scanned around her, her thoughts making her blush.
She hoped and leaned towards it being Joel, but she had not even seen him at the party. Maybe he decided not to come? I mean he did not owe her to come, Joel barley liked her parents. Y/N glanced down at her watch, in been couple hours since the party had started.
10:42PM
Y/N's heart raced as she contemplated whether or not to meet the mysterious man waiting for her upstairs. The exclusive parties had strict security measures in place, but she was confident that she could slip past unnoticed. Only she and her parents had unrestricted access to the upper floors, yet this stranger had somehow found a way to reach her. The thrill of the unknown pulsed through her veins as she considered the possibilities.
11:01PM
Y/N walked anxiously down the hallway, having convinced the security to leave her alone by pretending to retreat to her bedroom. She paced back and forth, biting her nails as she waited for someone to emerge from around the corner. Eventually, she heard footsteps growing closer and stopped, anticipating the stranger's arrival.
The anticipation built up inside her as the footsteps drew closer. Y/N's eyes were glued to the man dressed in all black, with a crisp white shirt tucked into his tight pants. Even before locking eyes with him, Y/N knew exactly who it was. He leaned against the wall with a lit cigarette hanging off his lips, his free hand casually tucked into his pocket. He observed the young woman standing before him, and the air was charged with excitement and tension.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Y/N faked her confidence; her mother always said, ‘Fake it til you make it.’ The woman's eyes scanned over him. She felt like she could undress him with her eyes. The cigarette on his lips made him hotter in that suit he wore. She never thought she'd see Joel Miller wear a suit. But, God did he look good in that suit. Y/N eyes met back up with his, puffing out smoke.
“Y’know, we have a no smoking rule.” Y/N teased, walking closer to him. Joel stayed in place, not moving an inch, letting her draw closer to him. When meeting up with him, she grabbed the cigarette from his mouth. Standing on her tiptoes to reach his height, he smirked, watching down at her. Y/N brought it to her lips, slightly puffing, blowing a small cloud. Joel’s face twitched, his hands wrapped around her throat, pushing her against the wall behind her.
“You just broke one of the rules,” Joel growled, the tension angering him more. His nose pressed against her cheek, his hand gripping her throat. Y/N whimpered; her eyes stayed closed, listening to his voice. “I've broken a lot of rules, Joel,” Y/N admitted; she breathed out, fighting the grip he had around her throat. Joel still pressed against her, and Y/N felt his member grow pressed against her, “Guess you'll have to punish me.”
Joel groaned out, grabbing her face and forcing Y/N to look at him. Her cheeks squished underneath his rough hands. Y/N felt her underwear grow wet, her thighs wanting to rub together. She craved this older man for so long, Y/N moaned out, melted underneath his touch. “Where's your room, baby?” Y/N’s legs could go weak by his words, and she could only point. He was quick to have her off the floor, wrapped around him, pushing her into her room, slamming her against the door that slammed it shut.
His kiss was rough and hungry against her lips.
Joel’s cock strained against his already tight pants as he stood amazed by her. Trailing kisses down her exposed chest, his hands sneaking up her dress. He swallowed as Y/N held on to the door behind her. Y/N arched her back, moaning out, digging her hands into his hair. Her hands messed up his hair, and the mirror attached to the door was becoming stained with fingerprints.
“Didn’t think you’d be into an old man like me,” he said with a chuckle. Joel pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, making her gasp. He moved them to the nearest wall, having them perfectly angled to the mirror that he just had her pressed against. Y/N unbuttoned his shirt. His hands unzipped to move her dress off of her.
“You're not old, Joel,” Y/N assured him, sending him a surge of confidence, “Besides, I like older guys.” Joel chuckled at her comment, turning her back to face him. Her face pressed against the wall; she glanced up at the mirror.
She looked rough.
Her hair was a mess, and her cheeks were stained red. Y/N dress was now on her bedroom floor, Joel fighting with his belt and with his other free hand using it to have it wrapped around her throat. Pressing her against his own body, she moaned out, feeling his bare, warm body. Y/N pushed back on him, feeling his tip tease her entrance.
His laugh was dark; Joel gripped her chin, turning her to make herself look in the mirror once more. “Look at how pretty you are,” Joel murmured, his southern accent thicker as he thrust into her without warning. Y/N felt herself stretch open, watching them in the mirror beside them as she gripped the wall she was against.
“You’re just daddy’s slut aren’t you.” Joel gripped her throat tighter, which turned her on even more. He slapped her ass, causing her to whimper out, “Better be quiet; don't want your family to figure out how much of a slut you are.”
Y/N’s breaths were heavy, his free fingers strumming over the swollen bump of her clit, pulling moans from her throat. A smirk grew on his face at her desperate expression. His breathing matched hers as his thrusts got sloppier. Y/N’s body was tense, her hands falling behind him, pulling on his curls. “Relax, sweetheart.” Joel’s big hand slid up and down her curved spine.
Their bodies became sweaty, sticking together Y/N could feel herself get closer as he sped up on her clit. She could hardly breathe, she had never taken a cock this big, but she was too impatient to wait for him to stretch her out on his fingers. Y/N was whining and moaning as his hands clenched against her throat, keeping her looking in the mirror.
“You're mine; I'll be whatever you want me to be, baby,” Joel groaned, moaning out in pleasure himself, “Hell, I'll be your sugar daddy.” Y/N felt sweat drip down her forehead, letting out a laugh croaking out with a moan behind it. Her hand rested on his shoulders, feeling that familiar feeling grows in her stomach.
“So fucking tight, sweetheart,” Joel said, his voice muffled as his mouth pressed against her neck. Each thrust coaxed a gasp from her; she had her nails digging into the fabric of the wall. Y/N’s vision was blurry from the overwhelming tears brimming her eyes. “Come around, my cock,” Joel commanded, his words making everything intensify.
“Oh god, Daddy,” she gasped, shaking head to toe. “Joel, I’m—yes, yes, yes-.” Joel was not far behind her, her eyes watching him cum inside her. Joel's lips drug down her cheek, releasing his load into her.
Tears stained her cheeks as he turned her to face him, wiping them away. “That's the only time you need to cry, my girl.” Joel kissed the top of her forehead, clearly out of breath, still holding her up. Her legs were like jello getting over to her bed, cuddling beside Joel underneath the thick sheets.
“My parents would kill you if they figured this out.” Y/N laughed out, which warmed his chest as she laid there. His arms wrapped around her, running his fingers through her hair, sharing a laugh.
“Be glad I don't kill your parents for makin’ you cry like that.” Y/N knew Joel knew that day she had cried. She locked eyes with him briefly, and he tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Y/N still rested on his chest, her nails gently rubbing up and down.
“Guess I got my Secret admirer to take care of me.”
#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller smut#pedro pascal smut#smutjoelmiller#joelmillerxreadersmut#joelmillerfanficsmut#pedro pascal as joel miller#joelsmutseries#joelsmutau
179 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello
I’ve had this idea for a while :}
What if reader and Pedro had a la la land moment when they break up and then reunir two years later at an awards show and realize they still have feelings for each other
Like right person wrong time :>
Finding Our Way Back
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.
Summary: you and Pedro rekindle your relationship after seeing him at an award show, it’s been two years since you’ve separated and he looks better than ever.
Word Count: 3.7k
Content Warning: allusions to reader that worked in a shit workplace, fluff.
Note: thanks so much for requesting. Thought I’d do the MTV awards since he’s nominated and I’ve already written about Pedro at the Oscars! I hope you love it 🫶🏼
As an interviewer for Vanity Fair, you knew it was highly likely that you’d run into your ex boyfriend, Pedro Pascal at the MTV awards as he was nominated with Bella Ramsay in the category “best duo,” after his latest role as Joel Miller. Although things had ended amicably on both ends, it had been two years ago since you split; your maturity, respect and the love you still had for him played a part in that clean break. You wanted to beg for him to stay with you, to try and make things work; but he was having a big breakthrough in his career and you couldn’t be selfish with him, after decades of his hard work to get to where he is now, so you let go. After years of smaller roles, despite you reassuring him he was incredible in all roles he played, he knew this one would change his life, working on a project with his idol Nick Cage.
Funnily enough, being in this situation was how you met. You standing at an event in a dress that was too tight and itchy on your skin, waiting to interview the nominees for this award show. Although all those years ago you didn’t work for such a well known, respected company as VF.
You worked for a small company called For You Entertainment, they were working their way up the ladder attending small events with D-List celebrities when your producer thankfully got you a breakthrough, an interview with the cast of Narcos at the end of season 2 premiere. You were nervous and fidgeting with your lilac sequin dress that was so tight you were cursing your stylist internally for making you wear clothing that was a size too small for your waist. Your lungs felt heavy as they couldn’t inhale fully, the feeling of being claustrophobic in your own skin was dizzying, along with the sweatiness of your hands and the bright light from your film crew, it was all too much. A staff member from the event, led Pedro to you and you knew you were screwed, the knowing look in those chocolate brown eyes, he knew how anxious you were feeling, he read you instantly. Your co-workers were ready to begin filming when Pedro held his hand up, signalling for the men to stop momentarily, and they did.
“Hey, I’m Pedro. It’s so nice to meet you…”
His hand meets your own as you introduce yourself, he catches the wobble in your voice as your confidence plummets to the ground beneath your heels. He offers a kind smile and you’re enamoured by how kind he’s being, how gentle and attentive he is; he was doing whatever he could to make you comfortable.
“Are you okay?”
You let out a shaky breath and huff out a small laugh,
“this is my first ever interview with like, a real celebrity and you’re my celebrity crush. Plus this dress is a size too small which they picked on purpose, something about making my boobs perkier.”
The speed at which your mouth rambles leaves your brain unable to comprehend the words that leave them for a few seconds, the moment you register what you say your eyes are wide and Pedro is laughing sweetly.
“It’s a pleasure to be here with you, don’t be nervous, I think you look stunning. You can do this, I’m here to help you make things go smoothly! Shall we?”
How wrong he was, he wasn’t just like any other guy, that’s what drew you in, he sucked you into his orbit, the gravity holding you down to him. Alas, you agree to start the interview. Your nerves somewhat shaken and cheeks a deep shade of red, along with a tingle of heat on your face you’d never experienced prior to Pedro’s flattery.
“Let’s do this.”
You bare a shy grin and give the camera man a thumbs up as they prepare to start the interview.
There was nothing wrong with your relationship with Pedro. It had just seemed like the relationship had run it’s course through the years. You were studying and working full time, 60 hours a week you were in a chokehold of being underpaid and overworked, being younger, new to the industry and vulnerable, you let your boss expose you to the cruelty of the profession when you had several employees that treated you like a doormat. Pedro had always insisted he hated how much you worked for them; how terribly they treated you and crushed your potential within months, that you could achieve more.
Pedro has just gotten a main role in “the unbearable weight of massive talent” when things fell apart, he was incredibly hard working and committed to his work life, the man that was practically married to his career left you in a position of what felt like roommates more than actual lovers. The conversation was hard and you almost didn’t go through with it; you knew you’d regret it but it was necessary, you couldn’t live like this anymore. You missed the intimacy and the connection, feeling like you were in a loveless relationship even though you loved him endlessly.
He had gotten home from a long day of filming, body slumped as he walked through the door, hours and hours on end of filming had him exhausted, he was surprised to see you sitting on the couch with the light and tv on when he walked through the front door.
“Hey, you’re up?”
The confusion in his voice was evident and you inhaled a shaky breath, turning to face him, you nearly backed out of your plan like a coward. Instead you invite him to sit next to you.
“Yeah, we need to talk, will you come sit?”
Pedro’s thick eyebrows are pinched in a frown, looking his age when the wrinkles in his face become evident. The lounge dips as he sits next to you, his large hand on your knee as his brown eyes watch you.
“Is everything okay?”
His voice is cautious and you just exhale, not questioning your own judgment.
“I think it would be in both our favours if we part ways, I’d prefer if we could do this amicably and still be friends afterwards. There’s no connection or intimacy anymore, we’re both too busy. Maybe if,” you sigh loudly unable to find the courage to finish the sentence. Luckily, Pedro knows what you’re thinking.
“If we were at a different stage in life, right?”
He finishes the thought in your head and you nod, fat tears falling down your face, his arms are quick to pull you into a hug, your head rests on his shoulder and he kisses the back of your head.
“I still love you, maybe things will work out for us one day, hm?”
You chuckle, the noise wet as you choke back your tears, “that would be a dream wouldn’t it?”
Having worked for Vanity Fair for the past 12 months, you had met some well known A-list celebrities, some in which would be here tonight at the mtv awards, some people attending not as well known but still nonetheless attending and perfectly deserving of your attention. Your black cocktail dress hugged your figure perfectly, hair pulled upward and styled neatly. Your faces natural beauty was accentuated by the light make up that had been carefully applied by the companies make up artist. The shades of pink and gold on your eyelids were glistening in the lights that shone a bright white overhead as you stood in the middle of the walkway right before the entry to the building where the awards were being held.
Your manager had warned you sympathetically that Pedro was one person you’d be interviewing, it didn’t take much reassuring on your behalf to assure her that although and and Pedro hadn’t really spoken since you broke up; besides the yearly birthday messages and him liking your Instagram posts, that things were okay between you and you were happy to interview him.
When you see him, he’s looking as handsome as ever. His brown hair had a few greying strands on the side of his head near his temples. The purple suit he wears clings to his body and he wears it with finesse, the grapefruit colour makes his skin look its glowing in a golden light, the suit hangs off his broad shoulders with no room to spare. A small heart-shaped patch in his black and grey beard was still failing to fill with hair on the left side of his face. He smiles so widely when he sees you, quickening his casual pace to a speed walk to bump his body into yours, wrapping his strong arms around you to pull you into a hug, his big muscles bulging against your dress-clad skin. You accept the hug and pull him into you, squeezing him as your arms wrap around the back of his neck, the cologne he wears compliments the natural musk of him that you recognise and miss so dearly.
You fight the urge to look at his plump lips a second time, the shade of pink whispered sweet words to draw you into him like a hypnotist, threatening you to kiss him against your will. He pulls back and stands tall next to you, he towers over you, even in your 3 inch heels.
“Pedro Pascal, what a warm welcome. Thank you so much for joining us this evening.” You greet warmly, holding the microphone between the small gap between your bodies, he misses the redness on your cheeks as he grins so widely his dimple exposes itself.
“Thank you for having me, it’s so great to be here, and it’s so great to see you, look at you, you’re looking stunning this evening.” He stands a little too close to you than he does anyone else that’s trying to get an interview from him, his fondness of you showing through the camera that records you.
“You always were a charmer weren’t you. This suit is incredible, you’re looking dapper tonight.” Your free hand that isn’t holding the mic gently runs a hand down his suit, keeping your hand on his chest, getting a feel for the material. You grin at the redness of his cheeks before getting to what the fans really want.
“Now, there is something your fans are begging me to address. As the self proclaimed biggest daddy on the internet, are your fans all your children?” Pedro laughs, the sound is ringing in your ears like the most delightful song you’ve ever heard. He takes the microphone from you and turns to the camera, “yes, you are all my children. I will warn you, grogu may get a little jealous.”
“That’s so sweet, why do you think you chose these roles that have you as basically a father figure?” You muse, eyes batting unintentionally as you’re drawn into his charming character. “I mean, truthfully I would love to have kids someday. Since that’s not an option right now I’m opting for the role of playing dad.” Your heart starts racing, both in awe and disappointment, knowing you would never be the one to bare his children, as his girlfriend or wife, you had missed your opportunity years ago.
“Now we do have a question that a lot of people are begging us to ask you and who are we to deny them?Does Joel Miller in the tv series meet the same fate as the game?” Pedro bares his teeth in a grimace and looks directly into the camera. “It’s going to be almost exactly the same, sorry kids.” He shrugs casually before turning back to you.
“Well Pedro it’s been such a delight to talk with you this evening, we’re wishing you and Bella the best to win an award, have a wonderful evening!” Pedros hands cross in front of his torso, fumbling with the silver ring that sits on his pinky. “Of course it’s amazing to see you. Thank you, have a great night.” He waves to you sweetly as he walks off with a staff member that’s leading him into the building. You stop filming and let out a big sigh.
“How are you feeling?” Your cameraman Andrew asks, “I’m okay, just feels like an open wound still, I guess.” He offers a sympathetic smile, “you did great. That was an awesome interview, everyone’s going to love it. Your chemistry is off the charts.”
You silently agree. The chemistry was still there, maybe you should just, text him later as a “it was so good to see you” curtesy text. Regardless of how terrible he was at texting, it would show you made an effort.
It’s been hours since you saw and spoke to Pedro, his image ingrained in your brain every time you close your eyes, where you’re normally met with blackness this night you’re met with his smile, the smell of his natural musk, the scent of his cologne lingered on your own skin as if he lie next to you. The heaviness of his hands as he hugged you felt as if he was still touching you, it made you restless. You were struggling to sleep even when the streets below your apartment began turning off their lights, one by one you seemed to be the only one wide awake in the neighbourhood.
11:28pm. After changing your mind about half a dozen times on what to write, you settle on something kind and friendly, and you send the text: “it was so good to see you tonight, you look great.”
To your surprise it’s barely a minute before he replies: “it was such a pleasure to see you, can I ask you something?”
Your heart is racing as you can barely think about what he could possibly ask, you assure him: “of course, anything.”
The bubble comes up as if he’s typing, then disappears. You grown as you watch him type and delete this message before it finally comes through after a few minutes: “going to bed anytime soon?”
You raise an eyebrow to yourself and whisper, “seriously that’s what took you so long?” And reply to him: “nope, wide awake.”
“Want some company? I can bring coffee.” You rub your eyes in disbelief, wondering if this is real or an illusion.
“Please do. You know how I like it.” You send through your address as you’ve moved to a newer and slightly bigger apartment in the last year. “Be there soon.” He replies without a moments notice.
“Shit.” You mutter to yourself as you rush to the bathroom, attempting to make yourself look presentable, brushing your hair down neatly before braiding it, smoothing out your pyjamas and turning on some lights in the living room as you turn on the tv to Disney Plus turning on Moana as you attempt to sit comfortably.
There’s a soft knock at the door and you get an alert on your phone that someone’s outside, you check your phone, seeing Pedro standing in black pants, a white shirt and a large black trench-coat, a cardboard cup holder in hand with two Starbucks coffees occupying the space. You smooth out your pyjamas once again and unlock the two locks to your front door, feeling winded as you see your ex boyfriend standing there looking as beautiful as ever with a shy smile on his face.
You open the door and step to the side, “please, come in.” He shudders slightly from the breeze that drafts in from outside, your house abnormally warm and the feeling is welcome on his cold skin. “You have a nice place here. How long ago did you move in?” You take the coffees and sit them down in the cup holders in your lounge as he takes off his trench-coat, the atmosphere too warm for the accessory. “Coming up 12 months now. Right after I started working for Vanity Fair.”
You gesture for Pedro to sit on the lounge after he hands his coat on the coat hanger by the door, he keeps a respectable space between you, unlike earlier in the evening where he stood entirely too close. “Moana always was your favourite.” Pedro muses to himself. “Somethings never change.” You reply with a shrug, the statement having a double meaning behind it.
“Yeah, I guess. What’s new in your life anyway. Other than work and all the formalities?” He questions, the hopeful look in his eye beams as you sink comfortably into the grey couch, “nothing really, I’m quite boring these days. The same girl you know.” You sip your coffee and hum in contentment, missing the way Pedro whispered “and love.” After your statement, “thanks so much for the coffee, it’s perfect. It’s any wonder you still remember,” you admit.
“How could I forget my girls coffee order?” Pedro freezes, realisation of what he said sinks in. “I mean, I meant- I didn’t..” he stutters and you rest your hand on his, trying to diffuse his panicked state. “It’s okay, I’ve missed you you know. Seeing you tonight made me realise how much I never got over you.” The admission has both of your skin burning with desire and slight embarrassment. “You feel that way?” His voice is sweet, you wish he would just talk to you all night, you’d simply sit and listen.
“Of course I do. I’ve always loved you Pedro.” Just like that the bomb has dropped, the elephant in the room is too large and suffocating to ignore, you still love him, years later you still love him.
“I’ve been needing to hear that for such a long time. I love you, I was a fool to let you go,” you lean into the warmth of Pedro’s hand as he caresses your face, your heart rate spiking at his touch and confession. “We can always just.. pick up where we left off,” you offer sweetly. Pedro’s eyes raise at your offer, the ball was in his court and he was going to take it. Without another word he pulls you into him, your lips smashing into his, moulding together like two unique puzzle pieces that were made for each other.
You part your lips and grant him access to deepen the kiss, years of unspoken love and missing each other all came to surface with this kiss. When you pull apart you’re both heaving, foreheads pressed together you stare into his chocolate orbs. “Please be mine. I don’t think I could go another day knowing you’re not mine.” You exhale a shaky breath, the taste of him still on your lips, “I was always yours Pedro. We just had to find out way back.” Pedro’s thumb strokes your cheek and let’s put a small laugh, almost in relief. “I’m grateful we did. Everything feels right again.”
You nod as you silently agree with him, the hole left empty now felt overfilled, you knew your cup would never be empty again with Pedro by your side again, “stay the night.” Your nose grazes his cheek as you whisper. He pulls you into his lap, strong arms holding you in place as he kisses your shoulder. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”
“I’ll teach you how to stop being such a people pleaser one day you know.” You jest lightly. “As long as I have you, none of that even matters, baby.” You turn to kiss him, the intoxicating sweetness of his lips is almost impossible to pull away from. “You’ll always have me. Promise.” A few moments of silence pass before you ask, “did you win the award?” Pedro hums before he realises what you’ve said, pulling his eyes away from the tv, “yeah we did, Bella was stoked, it was such a big moment for them.” You lean into his chest, smiling in content with how perfectly things were falling into place.
#Pedro pascal#mtv awards#Pedro pascal as Joel miller#Pedro pascal x you#Pedro pascal x reader#Pedro pascal x fem reader#Pedro pascal rpf#Pedro pascal x ex girlfriend#right person wrong time#Pedro pascal x interviewer reader
557 notes
·
View notes
Text
feel it in your bones
next part
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
words: 12.5k
summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.
warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n
a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3
You’ve gotten used to being alone.
You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull.
Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling.
You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.
Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.
Really, you like being alone.
Until you don’t.
It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school.
She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house, re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck.
In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.
So, he’d made the trek to Vermont, with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it.
Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.
In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are.
Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor.
You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school.
Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.
There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it.
A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.
“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.”
Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front, scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.
Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.
He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation.
The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.
You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.
You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project.
“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”
You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.
“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”
The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time.
It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall. Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.
When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.
Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.
You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.
You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear.
“Professor!”
When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower.
He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.
He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer, strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.
In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.
“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name.
He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing.
“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”
Ma’am.
It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon.
Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.
“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.
You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”
“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.”
She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.
“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?”
Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down.
And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.
So, you say yes.
“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”
You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight.
Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them.
A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.
He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.
Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting.
Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”
He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.”
She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”
Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs.
“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer.
“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”
He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”
Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.
“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.
“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.
He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.
She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.
Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well.
“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced.
“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”
“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”
There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.
“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”
“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”
He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting.
“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...”
She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now.
“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking.
“Sarah-” he starts.
“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”
He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.
He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that.
He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.
But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules.
“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.
He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.
You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone.
You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.
And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs.
You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.
So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids.
You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.
Then you press your fingers down harder.
Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky.
He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches.
He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.
He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.
You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour.
After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?
You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle.
“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”
You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone.
“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”
“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.
But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks.
“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”
“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.
He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”
The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.
You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say:
“Looks like a bad trip.”
A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing.
“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”
“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.”
He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.
You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.
“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?”
Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even.
He comes up empty.
“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.
“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation.
Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.
He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you.
“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”
You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.
Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.
“Quentin. Hey.”
“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.”
You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.”
He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole.
“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side.
“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”
This guy can’t be serious.
You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks.
“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”
“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”
It’s the last straw.
In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door.
It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.
He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught.
You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.”
Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now.
“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.
“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”
“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him.
“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”
You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.
“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”
“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.
“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.
“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.
The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.
It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames.
On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.
The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.
The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.
When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want.
It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind.
“Same as you.”
He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.
Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.
This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.
You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.
Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.
“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it.
Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”
“You can say that again,” you mumble.
He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?”
It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.
You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet.
It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin.
You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble.
When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips.
After a beat, he looks up at you.
“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”
You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.
“You barely know me,” you joke.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”
You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat.
You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave.
It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.
He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are.
“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.”
You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”
He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough.
“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.”
Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders.
“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”
Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.
“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”
“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles.
“No Joel – it’s you.”
He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips.
“Thank you.”
His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.
“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.
Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.
“Sarah?,” you ask.
“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”
He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.
“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”
“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”
“And you like it?,” you ask.
“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”
You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.
Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.
But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze.
Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.
“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.
Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.
“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his.
It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too.
The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.
You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”
You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly.
You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.
You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.
What time is it?
You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair.
You tap on the screen, waking it up.
12:47?! When had it gotten so late?
Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you.
“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.
You wait outside for your driver — John M.
The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.
“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”
You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.”
You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you.
“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips.
When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same.
“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out.
You turn back to him. “You better.”
He’s smiling when you shut the door.
You’re smiling when the car pulls away.
It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again.
And then you feel sick.
Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.
He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you.
He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.
Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.
He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible.
Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter.
Toast it is, then.
Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him.
“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.
Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late.
“You buyin’?,” he jokes.
“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.”
“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.
“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.
You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.
Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel
You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move?
It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.
Because it never ends well, once they do.
You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’.
Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.
This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.
The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it.
You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.
Well – you think – no going back now.
Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.
Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.
The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in.
Joel types his reply and sends it:
Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?
Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”
His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”
Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.
“Is that my professor?”
Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough.
“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh.
Joel raises an eyebrow at her.
“You done?”
“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”
He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored.
He opens your latest message, instead.
Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)
His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.
He doesn’t catch who wins the game.
Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot.
Punctual, you note.
He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers.
“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.”
The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator.
“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive.
“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind.
Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet.
“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time.
Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.
“Come in.”
You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island.
“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”
“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”
You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes.
“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.”
He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours.
You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.
“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.
Oh.
You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you.
“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.
“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer.
“Please.”
It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous.
He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer.
Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second.
You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.
“Joel,” you pant, “I need you.”
It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”
You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently.
“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel.
Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.
He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island.
He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.
You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.
Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.
You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.
He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”
You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.
He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now.
“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.
The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.
“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.
He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.
“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling.
“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”
“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing.
“On my pussy, Joel” you plead.
He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.
“Good girl.”
He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice.
“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.
Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.
He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”
He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it.
He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.
He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans.
“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”
You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat.
He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.
You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.
He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus.
You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.
“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”
Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.
You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much. “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.
He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm.
And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.
Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop.
He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue.
It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.
He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.
His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.
The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch.
His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.
He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.
He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.
He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body.
He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.
One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.
You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”
He doesn’t have to be asked twice.
“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”
You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied.
But Joel isn’t just any man.
“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”
He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”
He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.
Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him.
You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move.
“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”
“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.
He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again.
He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.
“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.
“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”
Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there.
His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.
“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.”
You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.
But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”
He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking.
“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”
You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.
He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours.
“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”
He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back. A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words.
“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”
Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him.
“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.”
The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.
You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven.
“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.
“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”
He curses in ecstasy, cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend.
He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound.
“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.
“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”
He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids.
He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.
“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”
He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.
Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.
You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.
Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”
He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.
Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard.
He sets them down by your feet.
“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.
“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”
Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.
“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.
Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.
And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.
It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.
“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”
He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels.
He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours.
He settles in with a content sigh.
You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.
“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”
He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.
“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer.
“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional.
“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”
He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it.
“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds.
“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.
He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t.
The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.
“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”
“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.”
“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease.
His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.
“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!”
“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes.
“What?”
“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again.
“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”
Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.
You swallow. Collect yourself.
“Yeah. I would.”
You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.
His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.”
Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.”
He smiles. “‘m glad.”
“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”
“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.”
And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes.
You’ve never been so excited for the future.
end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller#tlou fic#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel x reader#pedro pascal as joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal smut#fiiyb
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
dark but just a game
raider!joel x reader
warnings: 18+ mdni! raider!joel, rough sex/smut, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before u tap it folks), fingering, choking, hair pulling, probably dubcon but it’s not really?, deep throating/face fucking, spanking, joel is mean, joel is a bad man (but such a hot one), pet names (baby, sweetheart), no use of y/n
word count: 2.4k
a/n: i am depraved. also I wrote this in like 1 sitting and had to post. omg. i’ve never posted smut before and of course when I do it has to be fucking nasty! enjoy
You knew you treaded on a thin tightrope. No net, no balancing pole, nothing but the ground a hundred feet below and a short landing thirty feet away. The only consolation was the lack of a crowd, empty stands around the circus tent, only yourself and the lone figure on the other side. Waiting for you. Faceless, nameless; but you knew in the back of your mind that wasn’t true. Maybe your subconscious wanted you to believe that when you had this dream. You knew better.
You knew better than to trust yourself not to fall.
You weren’t even around too long before the outbreak happened; never even been to a circus. Only read about it in books. But the metaphor seemed apt, and as you climbed and gripped every rung of the ladder to the starting spot, you cursed and cursed yourself for the inevitable fall. Like clockwork, though -- like a machine with no off button -- you made the climb again and again.
And again. Creeping around the decimated town, you closed your eyes. Imagined taking the first step onto the taut wire. Felt it lag under your weight. Inhaled slowly, bracing yourself for the second step. And just as you swung your other foot out, just as you tightened your core and prayed to any God that would listen, your arms pinwheeled wildly and you lost your balance.
He’d snuck up on you, pinned you face-first to the wall with his large, heavy hands. The sharp inhale, the gasp, that you sucked in, overshadowed by a dark, languid chuckle from behind and somewhere above your ears.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh, baby?” You almost forgot about the drawl. The hint of some origin from long ago. Shivering, you felt his words fan against the shell of your ear, breath hot and sending goosebumps down your arms. “‘Li’l pathetic, don’t’ya think?”
You barely heard yourself respond, some breathy denial, maybe a squeak. Something truly pathetic, just as he said.
Joel used one hand to grip your hair at the root, yanking your head backward. His nails dug into your scalp. It was painful -- your eyes filled, against your will, with tears -- but then again, you knew it would be. You expected it to be.
He peered down at you, scowling. He looked strange from this point, upside-down and blurry. His other hand wrapped around your body, no longer used to shove you against the sharp bricks of some building wall. It found its spot at your throat. You swallowed against it, eyes fluttering shut as he applied pressure.
“Haven’t seen you in a minute,” he whispered. He pressed his lips against your temple. “Been hidin’ from me, baby?”
You shook your head. It was difficult to do with his hand wrapped around your throat and his vice-like grip on your hair. Miniscule, almost, but he got the message. “No?” He nosed down your cheek until his lips found the junction between your chin and your neck, just above where his thumb squeezed. Joel sucked the skin in between his lips, rolled it in between his teeth.
You gasped. You squeezed your legs together against the sharp ache between them. You grit your teeth. You didn’t think to do each one of these actions, the only thought in your head the feeling of Joel sucking on your neck. And plummeting a hundred feet down.
“Joel-” you tried but only choked as he tightened his grip with both hands. “P-please-”
“Please, what?” He mumbled into your neck. He let go of it to slide his hand down the length of your body, grabbing roughly at your breasts first, before trailing it down your belly and between the waistband of your pants. “Use your words, baby. Been so long since I’ve gotten to hear your pretty voice.”
Against your better judgment, your stomach flipped at his words, his praise. God, you craved this. It was the only reason you’d snuck out of your QZ to go searching around the abandoned city around it, far enough away from the FEDRA soldiers that you didn’t worry about getting caught. Unless there were some other raiders around; not an impossibility, but unlikely enough that you weren’t worried. Joel kept to himself. Even if someone did manage to find you two, you knew Joel would take care of it. You’d watched him kill before. He was violent and scary. There must be something wrong with you if it turned you on so much.
Joel, in a rough motion, let go of you to spin you around to face him. You barely got a glimpse of his face before he had his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down. Your knees hit the pavement with a painful jolt. You watched him undo his belt, deft hands quickly unbuttoning and pushing down his jeans and boxers. And then there he was, his thick cock hard and weeping with precum.
“You gonna suck me, baby girl?” Joel said. He fisted his hand in your hair again, pulling you closer. “Or am I gonna make you?”
You swallowed, looking up at him through your lashes. “I will, Joel,” you murmured. You leaned forward to take the tip of him into your mouth. He tasted salty, the precum rubbing against your tongue. Joel stared down at you, eyes dark and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He pressed his hips in further and you obeyed, opening wider to swallow him deep. As his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged around it, eyes watering, but not missing the way his closed, nor the exhalation of pleasure that left his lips.
“Fuck,” he swore lowly. “Mouth feels so fucking good. Love the way those pretty lips look wrapped around my cock.”
Your stomach flipped again, even as you gagged once more. Still, Joel pressed in further, his long cock inching down your throat. Your breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly. You didn’t know how you were going to keep taking him, not when you kept gagging.
“Relax, baby,” he cooed, free hand brushing against your cheek. You looked up at him, breathing heavily through your nose. “Relax your throat. Don’t panic, you can take it.”
You tried your best to listen to him. You relaxed your throat, eyes squeezing shut as he pulled your head down his length until you had taken everything. Every inch of him stuffed down your throat, nose pressed into the small mass of curls above the base of his cock. You knew you must be dripping, clenching agonizingly around nothing.
“Look at you, fuck,” Joel said. He let go of your hair to run his fingers through it. “Keep breathin’ through your nose, baby. Gonna keep my cock in that mouth.”
You moaned around his length. When you closed your eyes, tears fell down your cheeks; but you listened, nails digging into your palms painfully. You knew he would be angry if you raised them and grabbed his legs. You’d played this game before.
Joel slid out of your mouth almost all the way, enough that you could finally breathe around it. You swallowed in large gulps of air before he pressed in again, slowly, all the way down to the hilt. You only gagged once before you relaxed and let him fuck your mouth.
After that, his pace increased. It was almost too much, the in and out, your throat spasming around his thick cock. Your lips and throat and knees ached, strings of saliva hanging down your chin, but you sat there dutifully, tears streaming out of eyes that you kept trained on him. You watched his expression, dark and flushed, as he used your mouth for himself. Your core ached. You kept falling, down and down, not having yet hit the ground.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel panted, sliding all the way out of your mouth. Your throat felt empty at the loss. “So fuckin’ good. Little slut for me. You a slut for anybody else?”
You shook your head, turning to wipe your mouth on the shoulder of your shirt. “No, Joel,” you croaked out. Your voice was fucked. “Only a slut for your cock.”
Joel swore. Staring down at you, he thought for a moment, then dragged you standing by your hair. You winced at the crack of your knees, the strain of them straightening after being bent for so long. Joel pushed your cheek against the wall again, his hand slipping in between your waistband once more.
You gasped as he ran a thick finger across your folds; Joel swore again at the wetness, sinking two fingers in to the knuckle.
“Joel,” you begged, eyes fluttering. You groaned out something incoherent, your body twitching at the feel of his fingers curling inside of you. They were so much longer than yours and could reach so much deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel…”
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered into your neck. His thumb flicked your swollen clit roughly and you almost screamed at the feeling. Your knees could have buckled and he would’ve kept you upright just from the force of his body pressing you into the wall. “You like that? So wet from just sucking my cock. You really are a slut, huh?”
“Yes,” you sobbed. “Came looking for you. For this.”
Joel groaned, nipping at your neck. “I know, baby. So desperate for this cock.” When you nodded, he chuckled, extracting his fingers from your pussy. “So fuckin’ desperate… guess I’ll give you what you came for.”
Joel yanked your pants down to the knees. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you back against him, then pushed your torso forward so you were bent over. He pinned both of your hands behind your back with one hand and used the other to rub the tip of his cock against your soaked pussy.
Without another word, Joel thrust his full length into you in one swell move. You screamed, tears pricking your eyes at the burn, the fullness. He sighed from behind you, the hand not gripping your wrists moving to slap your naked ass. You yelped at the sting of it.
“Missed this pretty pussy,” Joel mumbled. “Who does this pussy belong to, baby?”
You shuddered throughout your entire body as you got used to the stretch. It’d been months since you had him inside of you, and it was something your body forgot. Too caught up in the feeling of his cock inside of you, you didn’t answer. He slapped your ass again, harder.
“I said, who does this pussy belong to?”
“You,” you cried out, clenching around him.
“Say it.” Joel dragged his cock out inch by inch, slowly, then sheathed himself back to the hilt with a grunt. “Who makes you this fuckin’ wet?”
“You, Joel.” You barely even registered speaking. “This pussy belongs to you… I’m this wet for you…” Heat bit at your cheeks, embarrassment, but you kept blubbering as he began to slide in and out of you slowly. You felt the drag of every inch, every centimeter. “Please, please, please fuck me-- harder, please--”
Joel laughed mockingly behind you. “Harder? If you say so.”
Your vision blurred as Joel fucked you, hard and deep and almost painfully. That familiar heat built up in your core. You wondered if it was even possible for you to come without him touching you, just from his cock alone. You never had before. But it’d been this long, and if you shut your eyes, you envisioned the ground steadily raising to meet your plummeting body. An acrobat you most definitely were not.
As if on cue, Joel shifted ever so slightly. His cock hit some spot inside of you, soft and spongy, and you unraveled with a start. Eyes rolling back into your head, you slumped, cheek scraping against the sharp edges of the brick wall. You barely noticed the pain and only distantly did you feel Joel pull you backward by your hair, your back arched, and heard him groan at the feeling of your pussy spasming around his cock.
“Shit, baby!” He bit down on your neck and used two fingers to rub your clit. “Didn’t even touch you. You gonna come for me again?”
Just as you started coming down, the quick circles he drew around your bundle of nerves sent painful overstimulation shuddering through your body.
“No,” you cried out, body jerking. “‘S too much, Joel-”
“Shut up,” he said, voice bland. “Take it, baby.” His hips jerked harder. You shrieked with each thrust into your sensitive core. His fingers didn’t let up, and in less than a minute, you felt your peak rising quickly again, this time muddled and almost feverish.
You came again. Harder. It felt like it lasted forever, like you were never going to come out of it, like you were stuck eternally in this high. Joel’s thrusts became erratic and off-kilter and then he was coming, too, with a grunt, filling you up. You didn’t even have the mind or energy to protest, just shook around his cock as he filled you with his come.
It took a minute, but you finally came down, bones sagging like jelly in your post-orgasmic state. Joel slid out of you. When he let you go to pull his pants up, you crumpled to the ground.
He squatted down to your level, rough hands lifting you at the hips and yanking your pants up. He set you back down and stood up, peering down at you with a blank expression.
“Keep telling you not to come back,” he said.
You stared back up at him, mind blank.
“Keep telling you ‘m not a good man, baby,” said Joel. “I ain’t gonna cuddle you after, just gonna take what I want. But you don’t listen.”
He bent down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Then he gripped your chin in between his fingers.
“I know you ain’t gonna listen if I say it again,” he said. “So I’ll see you next time.”
You watched him walk away, turning the corner and leaving you alone in the alleyway he’d found you in what seemed like forever ago.
After a few minutes, you managed to pick yourself up, wincing at the ache between your legs. You started on the way back to the QZ, wondering when the next time was you’d decide to make the climb again.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou show#raider!joel#joel miller smut#smut#tlou smut#joelmillershole
389 notes
·
View notes
Text
en route
joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 3.5k
↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f!recieving, light choking, dom!joel, a mild enemies to lovers mixed with sunshine!reader and grumpy!joel miller. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.
↳ a /n: hey guys...heres a little one shot in a followers/blog milestone celebratory fashion (!!!!!!!). this sort of turned into a one shot from the scrapped ideas regarding my new series. its also helping me gear up for taking on the task of beginning to write a new dynamic (i am definitely putting off completing chaser because i have an emotional attachment to that story BUT itll be out sometime this week). i love you all so, so, so much. you have no idea. thank you for everything (can you tell i live for a flashback fic).
if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!
“You’re—” he quirks his brow at your attempts, “you’re an asshole, Joel,” you finalize.
He takes a step toward you. You take a step back.
“You’re rude. And inconsiderate—” he smirks, it makes you more mad, “—and snarky and a jerk for no reason.”
Your back hits the hallway’s wall. He takes another experimental step towards you.
“Okay. Yeah, keep going,” Joel breathes out, encourages, like you're amusing. “What else am I?”
You can’t stand him.
You really can’t stand him. Hate is a strong word. Maybe not one you use often. But the disdain you feel for Joel Miller hinges to the breaking point each time you run into him.
What a fucking asshole — you finally willed yourself to believe after weeks of kindness. It was practically seeping from your skin but it seemed to brush off his worn leather winter coat onto the fresh powder. It died there, and so did your hopeless attempts.
“Hi,” you breathed out, that first fateful time. It was a surprisingly clear winter night. He had just moved in. The women were fawning over him, ogling, jaws dropping in the town square. You just observed and tried to keep your face neutral. As neutral as you can be.
But Joel stood in front of you and just grunted in response.
It made you try harder.
“I brought these — made these for you,” you said, extending a pack of sandwiches for him and the girl you happened to see by his side. You figured she was with him. You traded a hell of a lot to get the meat for the sandwiches. But kindness and new neighbors seemed to fare well. At least in your very limited experience.
“What is this?” he questioned. He didn’t take them from your hands. His fingers—big and rough and calloused, picked at the skin of its own. He didn’t take a step outside the threshold. You were suddenly unwelcome. You felt the weight of the sandwiches grow tiresome in your outstretched arm.
“Sandwiches. Thought I’d say hello since you’re new around here,” you smiled, sort of shaking the pack, here — fucking — just take them, jesus.
But he didn’t, and your arm grew tired, and so did your smile.
“‘M good, thanks,” he mumbled in response, and shut the door in your face.
And yes, of course he was handsome. He was — rugged — and you can see the wired muscles stretch the cotton of his shirt on patrol sometimes. In those especially unfortunate circumstances where Tommy has the nerve to pair you two up together.
Handsome, yes. With a hulking bounding step over snow, and menacing shadow when he towers over you. A southern drawl—something so pitch-deep and honey-like, something you’ve never heard before. Not until you met him. And you were nursing a stupid hopeless crush over a guy you hate, but not really. And that drove you insane.
Because he was fucking, rude, yes. Definitely.
But you lost it. That last time you saw him. Because what’s worse was he wasn’t even being Joel Miller, his usually brooding self. He was being — nice? Kind? Funny? Maybe. You weren’t sure. You couldn’t hear much over the piercing ringing in your ears.
“You like this route, Joel?” you said, peering over your shoulder at him on horseback.
You tried to keep it up, the kindness, the fucking — benefit of the doubt bullshit. You really did. He seemed keen on it sometimes more often than not.
“‘S fine,” he replied back in a rumpled, annoyed way.
“You gotta see my favorite part,” you say, almost to yourself, almost forgetting about his dark drawl, only thinking about the meadow half a mile from the checkpoint.
He just snorted at that. You just tried to keep a happy face on.
The songbirds twinkled around in the surrounding trees. The winter snow was receding, making the small dribble of water a full stream. You followed it, straying slightly from the beaten path, earning a couple protesting growls from Joel, but you ignored his pleas, and surprisingly, he just followed you.
You got off your horse. Joel followed suit. You trudged across a little bend of water. He let out a scoff sounding more like a complaint each time he let one echo in the silence of the forest.
“C’mon,” you said, smiling, that time, a real smile. Maybe this would make him smile too.
You reached the crest of the small hill, hiked up your sleeves over your elbows, and bent down to touch the soft petals of the flowers beneath you.
“Look,” you said, sending him a sideways glance behind you. He was still clamoring to the top of the hill.
“Yeah, alright,” he groveled. You ignored him.
Joel joined you at your side, his chest puffing slightly out of your skewed peripheral vision.
“‘S beautiful, isn’t it?” you said to no one in particular. He didn’t respond. You didn’t expect him to.
You bend down, picking a strewn orange flower blossom from the floor. Something broken off with the wind.
“This what you do all day? Pick flowers?” he mumbled.
“Maybe,” you grinned, maybe you were finally getting him to crack, too. “And what do you do all day?”
“Not this,” he said, shaking his head.
“Really?” you said, “Enlighten me. What does Joel Miller do everyday?”
“Joel Miller minds his business,” he replied, snarky, but he smirked.
It made you a little scared, you remember. Maybe you were under some sort of falsehood that made hating Joel Miller easy. So when he actually talks to you, teases, follows you through the meadow, it seems a little intimidating suddenly.
It’s different.
It’s fucking weird.
“Which one’s your — favorite,” he whispered, gesturing out to the field in a vague sort of motion with open palms.
“Lilies,” you replied, tense. You pointed down at a brighter purple lily plant to your right. Joel’s eyes followed your hand.
You wouldn’t dare look at him, but you could feel him moving beside you. He was in front of you suddenly, his indomitable presence made you turn your head and look up at him through the sunlight.
He lifted his hand, in line with your ear. Your head backed away from it instinctually, but you kept a keen gaze on his eyes.
Your brows knit together. So did his. Your mouth parted, almost speaking into the soft mountain air. But he moved his hand again, closer to your face. And you saw a flash of something orange. Like the little flower you picked up. He brushed those big calloused fingertips on your cheek, and slipped the orange flower between hair atop your ear.
You were so confused, you didn’t know what to say. But it was bad. He was risky. You tried not to think of the fact that maybe, if he wasn’t so fucking rude, and you didn’t hate him so much, maybe that small little schoolgirl crush would blossom into something bigger.
Because that’s all it was. A small, fucking stupid crush. He teases you. Pulls at your hair. Shoves you off the monkeybars. You put on a kind face anyways.
And you hate him for that. Decidedly.
“We should go,” you whispered. He dropped his hand. You both rode back in silence.
That put you in a horrible mood for the rest of the day. And when you went to sleep and woke up this morning still in a horrible mood, you know exactly why.
Joel Miller doesn’t get to do this. He can’t make you hate him and then pull the rug out from underneath you. Especially not with something as low as putting a fucking flower behind your ear.
You show up at the patrol meeting in an equally sour mood.
And maybe, yeah, you are being irrational. But at this moment you couldn't care less.
You find the assignment board for next week and see your name card slotted under Joels.
“Perfect,” you huff, already moving quickly out of the building, saving your usual chit chatting for another time. Maybe when you’re less pissed off.
“Hey,” a voice calls after you and you know. You could pick that voice out of a hundred recordings. It pulls you back, and you fight hard to keep moving forward. You’re close to your house already so you continue walking.
He calls your name this time.
You don’t falter in your huffing steps.
“Stop,” he says, grabbing at your arm, pulling you around towards him. When he sees your face, he hesitates. Though the air seems a little humid and sticky, you wrap your arms around yourself. A shield.
“What, Joel?”
“You—left,” he breathes out, looking down to your body slightly. It’s unnerving, him making you squirm.
“Yes. I’m leaving,” you roll your eyes, turning around again, but he locks hard onto your arm and pulls you back to him.
“What’s—” you shake out of his grip, “what’re you doin’?”
“I’m going home,” you say, and then under your breath, “Obviously.”
“What’d you say?” He's a bit defensive now, maybe falling back into old habits. Back when things were so perfectly hostile between you two.
“I’m going home, Joel,” you say, annoyed. “Is that okay with you?”
He doesn’t say anything. His mouth parts in confusion. You start walking again, this time, he lets you, falling in time with your steps next to you.
“Are you alright?” he says, almost worried now. Your footsteps fall faster as you see your mailbox sneak into view.
“I thought Joel Miller minded his business,” you grumble under your breath. But loud enough for him to hear. You know it. You reach your porch, stepping onto it. The morning dew springs to life from the vibrations of your rough boot.
“So you’re gonna throw a tantrum?” he growls, following you up, reaching the first step, you, on the top one.
“Real mature,” you say, turning around, hands on hips.
“Right,” he nods and looks down to his feet, “Ignoring people is mature?”
“‘M not!” you say, looking down at him, throwing your hands out at your sides, “You’re right here talking to me!”
“Yeah ‘n I had to chase you down the fuckin’ street,” he extends one arm towards the road.
“No one asked you to,” you bite, the venom sneaking past your lips.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“You wanna play that?” he mumbles. An empty threat at best. You hope.
“No,” you say. Tears are already in your eyes. “No, I don’t wanna — fucking — do this anymore, Joel,” you whisper while unlocking the door and walking inside. It doesn’t shut behind you, not all the way. And you hear his boots follow you in.
“The hell is your problem?” his voice echoes. He follows you in your house, to the skinny hallway which leads to your room.
You spin around, pushing at his chest with a pointed finger.
“You are my fucking problem,” you affirm.
You crane your neck to look up at him. His hair is pushed back, like he just got out of the shower before attending the patrol meeting. His chest puffs in time with your rapid heartbeat.
He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t say anything.
“You’re—” he quirks his brow at your attempts, “you’re an asshole, Joel,” you finalize.
He takes a step toward you. You take a step back.
“You’re rude. And inconsiderate—” he smirks, it makes you more mad, “—and snarky and a jerk for no reason.”
Your back hits the hallway’s wall. He takes another experimental step towards you.
“Okay. Yeah, keep going,” Joel breathes out, encourages, like you're amusing. “What else am I?”
“You’re —” your breath accidentally catches in your throat. He places his palm on the cold wall next to your head, leaning down closer to you. He’s fucking intoxicating. You’re drunk off his lowbrow and the curls that form at the base of his neck. What you wouldn't give to run your fingers through them right now—
“C’mon,” he chastises. His mouth is so close to yours, you keep switching between his eyes and his lips.
“You’re an asshole,” you mumble.
“Yeah?” you nod. “You already said that, baby.”
Baby.
“Don’t stop,” his lips get closer to yours, “What else?”
“You’re…” you look at his lips. He gets so close that his chest brushes up against yours. “You’re mean…and you’re arrogant.”
You find it in you to put your open palms gently on his chest. You don’t find it in you to push him back. It’s not like you want to push him back though, not when all you need is to bring him closer. His breath punches gently on top of your nose.
“Can I tell you what I think?” he grumbles, you shudder. He snakes his head down to whisper in your ear. His beard brushes the delicate skin on your neck.
“I think,” his lips brush over the spot right under your ear. You breathe so hard you might get light headed. “You’re a pain in my ass,” the hand on the wall catches on your waist. You squirm against his body.
“With your distractions, and your sandwiches, and your little flowers,” he’s so close, he’s almost kissing you. He slots his thigh between yours.
“Shut up,” you say, because that’s all you can say right now. The dark hallway encases him in the shadows. Even when he picks his head back up and looks into your eyes.
“Careful,” he warns.
You stay there, silence filling the air. Your shoulder blades dig into the wall there.
“You need to learn some manners,” he mumbles, shaking his head, looking down at your lips.
“I have manners,” you breathe, admittedly a little shaky, “just not for — fucking —”
“Not for what?” He smirks.
“Not for you,” you push against his chest again. He doesn’t flinch.
“Yeah?” something in his tone makes you fight harder, “You gonna be a bad girl?”
“Shut up,” you say, because you don’t trust yourself. You brace yourself against the wall in a desperate attempt not to whine. He’s making you slip. You silently chastise yourself. What happened to ‘Joel Miller doesn’t get to do this’?
You suppose all rational thought flies out the window when his roughed hands land on you.
“You can be a bad girl,” he said, pushing his fingers under your shirt. They’re surprisingly warm. You fight the urge to groan. Your eyes flicker down to your bodies touching and drag them back to his eyes. “I’ll teach you how to be a good girl, too.”
“Fuck,” you whisper, half under your breath. Joel’s eyes dance with yours, flickering from your lips to your left eye, to your right. Your nose, your eyebrows. Then back down to your parted mouth. You’re fighting a losing battle, you both are. You had no chance of winning it. Not even in the slightest, not at all. And you both know it.
So, fuck.
You kiss him. You learn forward, as much as the space between you will allow, and kiss him. He smells like pinewood, and fresh soap, and something smokey. He almost tastes sweet. His fingers splay across your waist. You feel the tips of them dig in there. You fight the urge to groan when you shift on top of his thigh slotted between your legs.
He hauls you into your bedroom, you sink down on the bed. He takes off his flannel. He’s slow, in his movements, almost like he’s teasing you.
Punishing you.
“Joel,” you say. You hate how you sound so whiny, so desperate. But after all, maybe you are desperate for him.
“Sit back,” is all he says, in that honeyed drawl.
You do.
Joel stands in front of your slightly open legs, playing with the hem of your shirt in his fingers.
Contemplating.
“You gonna be a good girl?” he mumbles, his eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t look at you, just raises your shirt up slightly.
And you know what? You don’t have an explanation for it. But you just say it—
“Yes,” while looking up at him. The salt and pepper on his patchy beard. His hardened brow and quirked lip. His fingers drift from the hem of your shirt up, up, up. Until his thumb grazes your nipple and you moan at the feeling.
“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, his thumb playing at your chin, your bottom lip. Your hands dig into the comforter at his words. Your bottom jaw slowly falls under the weight of his singular thumb.
He pushes in, tugging your mouth open. You suck his finger obediently.
“‘S good—baby,” he whispers so low under his breath you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly.
You look up at him through your lashes, he pushes you back with his hand in your mouth until you’re laying flat on the bed.
“Take off your clothes,” he says, pulling back his hand. While he shucks off his shirt, you undress frantically.
You snap your legs shut when your panties are finally off. The cold air bites at your ankles.
He nudges them apart until he’s slotted in between your open thighs. Your cunt stares back at him, glistening.
He runs his hands along your frame, kneading at the skin on your thighs. His fingers, big and rough and calloused—but it feels fucking good.
“Fuck—” you puff out, reaching for him, “I—”
He puts his finger up to his lips. Quiet. He says.
You listen.
“Just let me—” he says, drifting off when his fingers brush over your cunt. “Jesus—baby,” he mumbles, running his thumb through your slick. You moan and whine against his hand.
“Joel,” you say again. Pleading.
“I know,” he is all he says before twisting his hand and slipping a thick finger into your cunt. You gasp, grabbing at his shoulders and at the cotton beneath you. His free hand comes up near your neck, resting there. Not really doing anything.
“You’re loud,” he points out, pumping out, adding a second because you’re so wet. You moan, gasp, whimper.
“’N you never fuckin’ listen.” he mumbles, looking at his fingers pumping out of you.
“I do—”
He shuts you up with a strong hand wrapping around your neck. Not enough pressure to really do anything, but enough pressure to cut your words short halfway garbled into an excuse.
“Is that what you needed?” he groans, straining against his boxers, rutting up against your thigh. “Needed someone to tell you what to do?”
You’re close. You moan. He thumbs at your clit. You nestle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering into his ear. His hand finds yours, pinning it back to the gray cotton there.
“You needed me, baby?” he drawls.
Just when you’re about to come, he stops. Your eyes widen, he’s breathing heavily, his fingers are statues deep inside you.
“Joel—just, fucking—” you whine. He starts pulling his fingers out, receding away from you. “No—fuck, please, I—please,” you reach for him.
He looks at you. You whimper.
“I—fuck—I needed you,” you whisper. And you think to yourself that it’s true. “I need—you.”
His face goes soft.
“Okay,” Joel breathes, pulling out, but reaching down to take himself out of his boxers. Your legs part silently. “Fuck, angel. Okay.”
He guides himself through your folds, you squirm underneath him. He mumbles something into your ear but you can’t focus on anything besides he dull stretch when he pushes past your walls. He’s stretching you out already, just the tip. But the pain feels surprisingly good.
“God, Joel,” you whine. He goes slow. Excruciatingly slow.
“You—” he eases into you. He groans against your hair. “You’re — fuck.”
“Shit,” you curse out, he slips into you all the way, until his hips are flush with you. “Shit—you feel f-fucking good.”
He stays like that for a bit, letting you mold around him. He pants into your ear. You scratch designs into his back. Memorabilia for when he returns back to his house and gets a good look in the mirror. You grasp at the curls at the nape of his neck. They’re soft. Just like you thought they might’ve been.
He pulls out—almost all the way. And then thrusts back in. You both gasp into each other’s mouths.
“Goddamn — tight, fuck,” he says, finding a pace that elicites the most unintelligible moans from you and sets it. He’s rough—but not too rough. And he’s hitting that spot that inches you further to a pulling blinding light.
“Good, fucking girl—” he moans, he holds himself up above you with a strong hand next to your head. “You’re doin’ so—fuck—so good, pretty girl.”
Maybe it’s the pretty girl. Or his praise, or his cock punching deep inside you, so deep that you can feel him in your fucking stomach, but you get closer. Tighter around him. He can feel it too.
“Joel—gonna—ngh—” you whimper. He hikes your leg over his hip, hitting something deeper.
“C’mon, angel,” he groans, “lemme — ah — lemme f-feel you.”
He drags it out of you, your muscles pull taut and your vision pulls white and he keeps going through it all. You moan, whimper, maybe even yell. But he keeps up his relentless pace. You dig your fingers in his back, marking him with little crescents to go with all the rest of them.
“Fuck—fuck,” he pants, his hips stuttering while you clench around him.
He thrusts into you, one, two, three more times, your aftershocks sending towards his release.
He lets out a broken groan spilling into you, rocking his hips with each pulse of his cock. “Shit,” he says, gripping your waist, “You — jesus, fuck.”
Joel collapses down next to you. He cleans you up, too. You both drift off to sleep. He kisses your forehead in between a floating, dreamless slumber.
Somewhere between then and dinner he leaves, mumbling in your ear. You’re too tired to wake up and walk him to the door. And when you wake up, and make your way downstairs you spot it, sitting pretty on your front porch through the glass.
A little makeshift bouquet, with fraying string wrapped around two stems.
Lilies.
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel x reader#the last of us hbo#joel miller#joel miller self insert#the last of us#joel fic#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fic#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#joel miller smut#smut#joel x f!reader#joel x female reader#joel x you#tlou fanfiction#dom!joel#dom!joel miller#joel miller x you#tlou2#joel miller fic#joel miller angst#enemies to lovers#sunshine reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Blackmail
4k5 | Javier Peña x fem reader x Joel Miller
Summary: in exchange for his help to let Joel and you out of the QZ, a new soldier, Javier, asks him for something more than just ration cards
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dubcon. Cucking chair, praise kink, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected piv, rimming, anal, threesome, double penetration, creampie
a/n: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog Kate, I can't thank you enough for helping me and beta-ing me. Thank you SO MUCH ILY 🫶🫶🫶❤️❤️❤️
Playlist | ao3 | series masterlist
Masterlist
Joel had to go pick up supplies from Bill and Frank. He had started to prepare his equipment for the next evening, and was waiting for the usual guard to give him the agreed Oxy pills. But another guard showed up at the appointment. A new one, arrived in the QZ a few weeks ago. Joel had seen him some times since then, and he didn't like his smugness.
“John was assigned to another position. He told me about you. You’re gonna do business with me, Miller, if you want to get out of the QZ tomorrow.”
Joel frowned. Annoyed by this unexpected situation, and having to deal with a soldier he didn't know, and whose smirk he just wanted to wipe off his face.
“And John thought I would trust a guy who just got here?”
“John and I were together in Kansas City, before he came to Boston. The KC QZ is down now, and I joined him here so that we work as a team like we did there. There are guys like you in every QZ Miller, don’t think you’re the boss.”
Joel smiled and said “you have a big mouth for a new guy. I'll check if John can vouch for you, and we'll do business if everything’s ok. Your name?"
“Javier Peña. Peña, to you” he said with a smirk. Joel thought Peña was an asshole and the worst part was he totally owned it.
Joel handed the usual ration cards to Peña, who laughed at him.
"Oh no. I'm not a softy like John. You’re gonna have to give me more than that if you want to get out.”
Joel’s nostrils wrinkled at this guy’s insolence.
“Your price?”
“Oh, no worries, it will cost you a lot less in resources.”
“Spit it out.”
"Your girlfriend. Tonight," Peña smirked.
Joel grabbed Peña by the throat and pushed him against the wall, but the man pushed him back.
“I saw you walking around with her in the area. You must be proud to walk around with a woman like that. You see I'm nice, it won't cost you anything in ration cards."
Joel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
“You know Miller, I know enough about you to ruin your life here. Your small domination of the contraband market, if you don't want it to end, you'll have to review your priorities. And your possessions. It's up to you how much you need to get outta the QZ tomorrow night"
Joel was thinking fast. His desire to beat Peña’s face quickly gave way to his concern about rationing. Survival was complicated in the QZ, with Fireflies' bombardments creating a shortage of supplies. He looked Peña in the eye and said, “see you here in 2 hours”
“Sure, Miller,” the man replied with a smirk.
Joel came back to the apartment, you were packing your backpack getting ready to leave for Bill and Frank’s. As soon as he entered, you saw that something was wrong.
“What’s going on?”
“John has been reassigned. A new guard took over. I stopped by at John’s before coming home, the guy is sure”
“Okay, what’s the problem then?”
"His price."
“Damn Joel, we’re almost out of ration cards. How much does he want?”
“He doesn't want cards. He wants… fuck… He wants you. Tonight”
You leaned back in your chair when you heard his words “son of a bitch…”
“We’ll think of something. We'll try to exit through another passage,” Joel said.
"You know we can’t, we already tried. Damn that motherfucker… what did you tell him?”
“That I'll meet him… in an hour now, at the usual rdv point.”
"OK. We’ll go meet him then.” You saw Joel’s look, and you explained to him: “we’ll try to find something else to offer him”
You looked at each other, gloomily. One motherfucker was screwing up your business, asking you the worst possible thing.
When you arrived, Peña wasn't there. Just as you were about to leave, he showed up.
“You make us wonder if you’re serious, Peña. Will you be that punctual when you have to take us out?”
“When I take you out, we’ll be doing business. Here, we lay the foundations, right?”
He turned to you, and looked at you from head to toe.
“You’re pretty, Hermosa. Ready to do business with me?”
“We can offer you pills. Meds. What do you want instead of ration cards?”
“The problem, Hermosa, is that I don’t need any pills or meds. I'm not some junkie guard you can pressure in exchange for his fix. My offer is non-negotiable. Either we agree right now, or you take another path.”
He looked at you, then at Joel, smiled and said “Oh right… there ain't any other paths”
You looked at Joel who was clenching his fists, furious. And you said, “Okay. My terms.”
“Let’s see if you can be reasonable”, Peña replied, smiling
“Our apartment. Joel will be there the whole time. And it will only happen once.”
“Mmmm… I don’t mind the idea of having an audience. But it will be in my apartment, no way I’m going to yours, what if it’s a trap. And it will happen once, okay. Once per exit. If you need to leave the QZ again, the conditions will be the same”
Peña looked at you, then at Joel. “Deal?”
You answered “deal”, with a crestfallen face. Joel nodded, his lips pursed.
"Perfect! Pleasure making business with you!” The soldier was smiling again.
As you were leaving, you heard him say “Don’t fuck with me Miller”
Neither of you turned around.
You walked home in silence. Once home, Joel let his anger out “No way. No way we’re letting him win this… that… That’s insane. As if you are a fucking commodity”
“Enough Joel”
“Enough? How can you be so calm?”
"We have no choice. Many women go through… this to get resources. I had to do it in the past.”
Your gaze softened when you saw Joel’s expression.
“I’m supposed to prevent this from happening, sweetheart”
“We have no choice, Joel. This bastard got us. But we’ll get out of this. And we’re gonna grab everything we need so we won’t have to go out before this asshole gets assigned somewhere else.”
You arrived at Peña's apartment at the agreed time.
He opened the door, a cigarette in his mouth and a smile on his lips, and you saw him for the first time without his uniform and helmet.
Brown mustache, broad shoulders. Tight black shirt that showed off his biceps. Tight black jeans. Quite a handsome man, you thought. Telling yourself that it would possibly be more pleasant that way, before feeling guilty.
Joel’s presence made you hope that he wouldn’t behave like a total psycho.
He let you in, and gave Joel a nod, to which he didn’t respond.
A bottle of whiskey and 3 glasses were placed on the coffee table in his living room. His apartment was clean and smelled good. Turning your head to the right, you saw part of his bedroom. His bed with white sheets. Looking good.
You swallowed your saliva, and said “let’s get it over with, Peña”
He smiled at you, and said “Javier for you. Javi even, if we get along”
You rolled your eyes and placed your hand on Joel’s arm, ready to explode.
Javier filled the three glasses and said "let's have a drink, we're not savages."
Javier was enjoying his drink looking at you, smiling.
Joel finished his quickly, tapping the glass against the table to set it down.
You drank yours in one go, in need of liquid courage.
Without taking his eyes off you, Javier told Joel to go and sit in the armchair in his bedroom, near the bed. Joel looked at you then walked towards Javier pointing his finger at him “nothing twisted. You hurt her I’ll tear you apart”
“Relax man. I'm here for her pleasure and mine. I never hurt ladies. Quite the opposite in fact.”
Joel looked at you again and went to sit in the assigned place.
Javier extended his arm in the same direction, smiling at you - without his usual smirk - to invite you to go to the bedroom.
Near the bed, you turned towards him and began to undress.
“Wow wow Hermosa. No rush.”
You stopped your movements and lowered your arms alongside your body, while Javi moved closer to you.
To your astonishment, he caressed your cheek with his hand, and kissed your other cheek delicately. His mustache brushed against your skin, it was silky and didn't sting. He smelled good.
“You’re beautiful, baby”
You were confused.
“Listen, Hermosa. I’m not a freak. I won’t hurt you. I just want us to have a good time. Not just me, but you too. If you let me take care of you, maybe it will be more pleasant for you, and for me too. And your boyfriend sitting next to you might be able to relax too.”
Your gaze shifted from Javier’s eyes to Joel’s, who nodded. He also thought that it would be more pleasant for you if you could relax.
You thought about the times you had to have sex with men in exchange for equipment, ammo, meds. When you had to look at the ceiling waiting for them to finish, with the urge to vomit at hearing their grunts. And when, disgusted, you did your best to make them cum in your mouth as quickly as possible.
Ok…why not try something else and let him do as he said?
“Can I have another glass of whiskey?” you asked.
“Of course, Hermosa”. He went to get the bottle and the three glasses, which he filled. You bottomed yours in one go, and said “Ok, Javier” using his first name to try to keep him in this rather… pleasant state of mind.
Joel had his 2nd drink.
Javier didn't.
Javier moved closer to you, unbuttoning your blouse, and brushing his hands over your breasts, going down to each button. You couldn’t help but shiver when you felt his touch, which made him smile.
He pushed aside the tails of your blouse and revealed your breasts in a bra. Their soft plus, spilling out.
“your breasts are beautiful Hermosa”
He took them in his hands gently, stroking their roundness, then slipped his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. He took it off and dropped it to the floor, before taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking it gently, your other breast covered by his warm hand. You moaned and closed your eyes under the effect of his mouth and his tongue. He was good at it. You opened your eyes, looking at Joel, who nodded again, and saw him readjusting in his jeans.
Your attention shifted back to Javier, who was unbuttoning your pants and then tugged them down to the top of your thighs. He slid his hand against your crotch and felt your wetness in your panties. He smiled.
He kissed you, first placing his lips on yours, and pressing your body against his. You felt the bulge of his crotch as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, mingling it with yours. You welcomed him with desire, his actions and words made you forget why you were in this soldier's bedroom, with your partner watching you, sitting in an armchair near the bed.
Javier grabbed the hem of your panties and pulled them down, getting on his knees as he grabbed your pants as well, before removing the entire thing from your ankles.
He looked at you and just when you thought he was going to get up, he ran his tongue over your pussy. You tensed and looked at Joel who had grabbed the arms of the chair. You shook your head “no”, telling him to stay seated.
No man you had to fuck for resources had ever eaten you out. They were there to fuck, and didn't care about your pleasure. This was… new. And even if the intimacy made you uncomfortable, the contact of his tongue was already having its effects.
"You're wet, Hermosa. Good"
And you couldn't help biting your lip and closing your eyes, as he continued to lick you gently, parting your pussy with his fingers so he could push his tongue deeper between your folds.
You put your hand over your mouth, holding back a moan. No one else had made you cum, besides Joel, in years. And you were now standing in front of a man who had blackmailed you, and whom you had met a few hours before.
Javier got up, and asked you in a soft voice to go sit on the bed. Then he took off his shirt, revealing his broad, hairless torso. He was handsome, muscular, but not too much. His broad shoulders made you want to curl up on them like a cat.
Then he unzipped his jeans.
He approached you and you looked at Joel, who had a less… furious look than you thought. You looked at Javi’s crotch, he was hard. Before you could think about it further, Javi was in front of you.
“I won’t force you to suck my dick. But I really wish you would, when I see those pretty lips. Would you like to pull down my jeans and see if you like my cock enough to?”
Shit… you definitely didn’t expect the evening to go like that.
You placed your hands on his hips, and looked at the bulge that the jeans couldn't hide. He had a big cock. You started to pull down his jeans. He had no underwear. His cock sprang out, pointing up at the ceiling.
“Fuck…”
He smiled and said “come on baby, don’t tell me that this big guy doesn’t have a big cock too. Everything about him exudes cock domination. The big, strong, man everyone is afraid of”. But apparently not Javi.
You looked up at Javier then rolled your eyes.
You looked down at his cock again. Pink. A few veins, including a major one on the side. He was well groomed, his balls firm and… tempting.
The thickness and length was equivalent to Joel's cock.
You hesitated for one last second then spat into your hand, before grabbing his cock and starting to jerk him off.
Joel in the armchair, was watching you from the side, then his eyes raised towards Javier who was caressing your cheek. His blood, which was boiling with anger, gradually gave way to the excitement. He never thought that would be the case, but seeing you seduced by another man, wanting another man, excited him. He felt more and more cramped in his jeans.
You grabbed Javier by the hips and pulled him closer to you, before running your saliva onto the tip of his cock. You placed your thumb and swirled it gently before starting to jerk him again. Then you brought your tongue closer, and licked his slit, tasting his precum, slightly salty. You moaned and took him into your mouth, gently sucking and licking his tip. His cock felt…good. The more you had his cock in your mouth, the more you salivated. You lowered your mouth to the edges of his tip, licking them with the tip of your tongue, before taking him entirely back into your mouth, this time encircling him with your lips, and starting a back and forth movement where you took him more and more into your mouth.
“Fuck Hermosa you… that’s so good” Javier hadn't said a word for several minutes, your effect on him was that big.
Your hand that was placed on his hip came down to cup his balls.
“Damn… you’re gonna kill me”
You were sucking his full length, your nose burying in his pubic hairs. You moaned, having forgotten the situation completely. You moved your mouth up from the base of his shaft to the tip, wrapping your lips around it, then you pulled him out of your mouth.
You couldn't resist tasting his balls. You looked up at him, the tip of your tongue level with the tip of his cock, and gently lowered it down to his balls.
“Mierda…”
You started to jerk him off again, and you licked his ball. Hairless. You felt it rolling under your tongue, before moving on to the second one. You licked them for a long time, moving from one to the other, before taking his cock back into your mouth and sucking his entire length.
Javier’s hands, previously resting on your head without applying pressure, began to press against your temples. He accompanied your movement, moaning, until he said “ok pretty girl, come lie down otherwise I’m gonna cum in your mouth”
You released him, licking his tip one last time, and lay down, looking at Joel. He had unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Hands resting on the arms of the chair.
Javi removed his jeans and came to lie down, his head between your legs. “I can’t wait to have my mouth on you, the taste was delicious”
He parted your folds with his fingers, and without taking his eyes off you he ran his tongue over your wet pussy, from your hole to the clit. You moaned and said “oh god…Javi”, cupping your breasts in your hands. You spread your thighs to give him more access and you heard him say "mmm...you taste so good Hermosa...you're so wet"
You looked at Joel again. He held his cock in his hand and was jerking himself gently. He looked wrecked. He saw your gaze blurring with pleasure, and he gripped his cock tighter, continuing to jerk off.
Javi was still eating you out, running his tongue through your folds, then lingering on your clit. He gently rubbed against the mattress and you heard him moan. You felt his fingers caress your pussy, mingling with his tongue. Then he inserted two fingers into your soaking pussy, focusing on your clit with his tongue.
“I want you to cum on my tongue and on my fingers hermosa. Cum for me, I wanna hear you”
He turned his fingers to find your sensitive spot, you felt an incredible heat and pleasure rising from deep within your insides. He came to place a hand on yours, which was caressing your breasts, continuing to finger fuck you with the other, and to suck your clit with his tongue.
‘Oh Javi… Javi… I’m gonna come. Please continue. Oh my god.. Oh… Javi!!!”
You exploded in pleasure, your stomach tightening in spasms. He continued to suck on your clit gently, then when your twitching subsided, his tongue joined his fingers inside your pussy. He groaned as he licked all your juices.
He then moved away from your crotch, his mouth and chin glistening. He wiped them with the back of his hand, smiling.
"It doesn't surprise me that you want to keep her so much" he told Joel, but without insolence this time.
“I’m gonna fuck you now baby”
He lay down between your legs and took his cock in his hand, before inserting the tip into your pussy. He stopped at the entrance and kissed you languidly, his tongue searching for yours, then sucking it from his lips. While the two of you were still kissing, he slowly pushed in half of his cock, before pulling back and then pushing in again, this time bottoming out.
He groaned and started to fuck you. Slowly and deeply. You felt every nerve rubbing inside you. His rhythm was soft and sensual. He kissed your cheek, and watched you before kissing you again, softly.
Then he said, still looking at you “wanna join us Miller?”
You widened your eyes, before turning your surprised gaze to Joel.
“I can share. I'm sure the two of us would do you even more good. So?" he asked looking at Joel who was looking at you. You swallowed, and nodded at him. Joel waited a few seconds, stunned by the situation. Then he got up and took off his clothes, before moving closer to the bed. Javi pulled out of you, and said “take my place”. You looked at them and felt yourself getting even wetter.
Joel moved between your legs, stroked your hair with one hand, and entered you gently.
“Oh fuck… Joel…”
Joel closed his eyes from the pleasure he felt. Fucking you after Javier woke something animalistic in him. Feline.
His hips thrusts were almost as gentle as those of Javier, who had settled into the chair that Joel had occupied a few minutes before, jerking off.
“Do you like being shared like that hermosa?”
Your eyes locked with Joel's, you nodded “yeah… yeah I love that”
After a few minutes, Javi stood up and said, "on all fours, pretty girl"
Joel got up, and you settled on your hands and knees. Javi came to sit against the headboard in front of you, his cock clutched in his hand.
Joel put his hands on your hips, and thrust into you, picking up a faster pace this time.
You took Javi’s cock in your hand, and began to suck him, to the rhythm of Joel's cock strokes.
“That’s good hermosa… you’re doing so well. Do you like that, having both of our cocks in you?”
You nodded, your mouth full of his cock. You worked hard to suck him deeper and deeper.
Joel groaned as he watched you suck Javi, and he started to fuck you harder. The pace kept you from taking as much of Javi into your mouth as you wanted, causing you to groan at the loss, and you focused on his tip with your tongue.
Joel slowed down and said "you wanna suck him sweetheart? All of him? Go ahead, suck him”
"Come on Hermosa, listen to your man. He wants you to feel good"
You grabbed the base of his cock, and took him back into your mouth, sucking up and down, deeper and deeper each time. Until he held your head with his hand, and told you "keep me warm princess"
Joel stopped and frowned, waiting for your reaction, to see if you wanted to back off or not. You didn't move, and kept Javi's cock deep in your throat until he released you.
“Good girl”, he said.
You resumed your movement, and that time Joel grabbed your neck, holding you down on Javi's cock back down your throat, which made him smile.
Joel released his grip, but kept his hand on your neck, accompanying your movements.
Joel picked up the pace slightly again, making you moan under his thrusts. He slid his hand up to your clit, and brushed it gently, before rolling it under his finger. You moaned, Javi’s cock deep in your throat for the 3rd time.
“Come on, cum for both of us this time hermosa. Cum with his cock deep in your pussy and my cock in your throat”
Javi's words turned you on to the max, Joel stroked you just right to make you cum, and you moaned during the climax of your pleasure, your nose in Javi's public hair again.
Joel slipped out off you and said "fuck him now sweetheart". Javi slid underneath you to lay down, you took his cock in your hand and pushed him inside you. Both of you moaned.
Joel sat on his knees, staying behind you, and he spread your ass cheeks with his hands to watch Javi’s cock sink into your pussy.
“Fuck baby… I never thought it would turn me on so much to see you take a cock other than mine”
“Yeah baby? You like that?”
“Mmm mmm”
Joel leaned over your ass, and dropped his saliva on it. He placed his thumb on the ring, and began to caress you.
He told you “wanna try more baby”?
You turned to look at him, and said “Yes Joel…. Yeah” You looked at Javi, who said “fuck me…” with a surprised but delighted look.
Joel spread your cheeks, and licked your ass. Dripped saliva on it. Touched it with his thumb. Then he focused his tongue on it, working to roll it against your ring to relax it.
“Do you like it Hermosa? Do you like getting your ass licked?”
“Yeah… fuck… yeah i love that”
Regularly, Joel would pass your thumb over your ass, bringing it in gradually, spreading your buttocks as far as possible. The indecent position excited you immensely, coupled with Javi's cock ravaging your pussy.
“You have lube Peña?”
“Yeah 1st dresser drawer”. Joel went to retrieve it, opened the bottle and took a dab on his fingers, coming to apply it on your ass. His thumb went in easily now.
Javi gave you a boost for a few minutes, before slowing down to let Joel settle in.
“You’re naughty, baby… you know that?”
You licked his lips before biting them gently.
Joel opened the bottle again and applied lube to his cock, then he settled between your legs.
“Ready baby?”
“Yeah… go ahead Joel, fuck me”
"You often take it in the ass?" Javi asked.
“Yes… but the double, it will be the first time”
“Ok hermosa, you’re in good hands”
Javi stopped, his cock buried in your pussy, letting Joel manage the pace. Joel pressed his cock against your ass, and began to thrust, your ring gently spreading as he went in.
You felt every inch of your body acclimating to his shaft.
He pushed in slowly, grunting. Before pulling back, and pushing again. He started to move back and forth, until his balls hit against your pussy occupied by Javi's cock.
“Fuck baby… didn’t know you were such a slut.”
Each of them felt the other's cock through the thin wall of flesh.
Your clit rubbed against Javi, you felt your pleasure rising. Joel’s hands were fixed on your waist, Javi’s on your hips. You weren’t moving, letting your body sway according to their movements.
Looking up, you saw that Javi’s gaze was on Joel, watching him with a satisfied smile.
Javi looked down at your jiggling breasts and said, “Cum hermosa. One last time. Squeeze our cocks, make us cum in both your holes”
You kissed him, in a messy way, until your orgasm made you capsize. They gave you time to come back to yourself, then gradually increased the pace, until they were fucking you hard.
Javi said “I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna fill your pussy. You have an after pill, Miller?”
“Yeah go ahead. Fill her up”
Javi kissed you passionately until his moans became grunts, and you felt him shoot the jets of cum deep into your pussy. He pulled out, and you heard Joel's panting speed up.
Joel's hands tightened on your hips, and he froze deep in your ass, sending his hot cum deep into your insides.
He collapsed on your back, while you were lying on top of Javi.
Your breathing struggled to calm down.
Then Joel got up, and Javi followed him.
You laid down on your stomach, and felt their cum dripping from both of your sore and swollen holes.
“Well… you deserve to go out of the QZ tomorrow,” Javi said, smiling.
Part 2
**********************
Thank you for reading 🙏
Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️
Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates
#joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel tlou#the last of us#javier peña smut#javier pena smut#javier pena x reader#javier peña#javier pena x you#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena#narcos#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal as joel miller#javier x reader x joel#javi x reader x joel#blackmail
702 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Game VS. Serie
#TLOU#tlou sarah#joel miller#pedro pascal#the last of us#hbo#hbo the last of us#hbo joel#tommy miller#gabriel luna#tlou joel#pedro pascal as joel miller#Gabriel Luna as Tommy Miller#Sarah Miller#nico parker#game vs serie#vs#game#the last of us part 1#the last of us icons#joel#TLOU Tv Serie#tlou Game vs Serie
368 notes
·
View notes
Text
medicine
husband!joel x reader
fic masterlist
summary: your mind and his heart are breaking in sync and medicine doesn't seem to be fixing either.
content: angst, angst, angst, what's new tbh, I'm v sorry I didn't mean to torture you, reader's got mental health problems, joel is a contractor, no outbreak (no use of y/n, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 40s))
warnings: terrible mental health, mentions of self harm, mentions of prescribed drug and sedative use, please don't read this if any of this is going to trigger you, this fic might be short but it's super heavy!!
word count: 1.1k
a/n: the way I sobbed writing this lmaoo im sorry T.T, i'm super sick and wrote this in one morning so forgive any errors pls
the door creaks open with a soft lament, announcing joel's arrival.
he's home, but he's not; a tangible ghost hovering between two worlds—one defined by deadlines, contracts, and relentless stress, the other confined to the four walls of a home that has grown colder with each passing day. his footsteps trace a familiar path down the hallway, each one laden with hesitancy and regret, as if the floorboards themselves are a minefield.
when he finally enters your bedroom, you're on the floor, surrounded by photos torn from their frames. your eyes are vacant, aimlessly scanning the images while your mouth mutters words without meaning. the coherent world has slipped through your fingers like grains of sand, and you're drifting on an endless tide, lost in your own head once again.
his eyes scan the scene, widening with a mixture of despair and recognition. "what is happenin’ here, angel?” his voice cracks, a frayed rope on the verge of snapping. you can't answer him, your own words a garbled mess that even you don't understand.
the pill bottle sits untouched on the nightstand, a mute accusation. he glances from you to the bottle and back, his face the canvas of a losing battle between frustration and fear. “y’need to take your medicine,” he exhales, grasping for some sense of normality.
"i don't... why? no. no!" your resistance manifests in broken sentences, but the message is clear in your wild eyes and trembling hands—you hate those pills, hate the haze they cast over your mind and the way they strip you of whatever agency you have left.
"please," he implores, his voice tinged with desperation. he takes a step toward you, but you recoil, pushing yourself further into the corner of the room. the boundaries of his world are closing in, contracting with each day that passes. “y’have to take it,” he repeats even as it kills him, “you ain’t safe like this, sweetheart.”
not safe because he’s seen the frantic mess you turn into. the way you try to find all the knives he’s hidden away in the depths of the attic. the way you pull your hair out in handfuls - the hair he so dotingly does up in braids or in little bows every morning.
a choked sob escapes your lips, a wounded sound that cuts through the tension like a knife. "don't...no, can't...please..."
his eyes dart to the windows, then to the walls that separate your home from your neighbors. "shhh, angel, we can't disturb the people next door, come on now," he says, but his attempt to mask his panic with practicality is failing. the strain is showing in the tight line of his jaw and the pinched corners of his eyes.
he reaches for the pill bottle with shaking hands, the weight of each second like a stone sinking in water. he pours a pill into his palm and moves toward you. you lash out, disoriented, your hand making contact with the bottle, sending it flying across the room. pills scatter on the carpet like lost stars.
for a moment, joel just stands there, staring at the mess as if it's a physical manifestation of your lives—chaotic, broken, irretrievable. then, grabbing the box with syringes from your shelf, he rushes toward you, grabs your flailing arms, and restrains you with an iron grip that's part desperation, part surrender. he holds you tight, as if by sheer force he can meld the fractured pieces of your existence back together.
it hurts you and he knows his grip isn’t gentle. it's ugly. it's painful. but it's the only way he knows to keep you from falling off the edge, the only way he can tether you to a reality that's slipping further and further away. his arms tremble around you, and his breath comes out in ragged gasps that mirror your own disordered breathing.
"i love you. god, i love you so much," he chokes out in apology, the words barely audible over the sound of both your shallow breaths. you can't reply, your own voice lost in the labyrinth of your fragmented mind, but you cling to him as if he's the last solid thing in a world made of quicksand.
finally, your resistance wanes, drained by the struggle, by the sedative he manages to get into your arm after what felt like an eternity of fighting. your body goes limp in his arms, and he gently, carefully, lays you down on the bed. his hands hover over you for a moment, as if he's afraid to let go, afraid that if he does, you'll slip through his fingers for good.
only when he's sure you're asleep does he allow himself to break. he sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and cries. silent, gut-wrenching sobs that he's held back for too long. he weeps for you, for him, for the love that's become a war zone, a place of unending battles with no victories in sight.
his shoulders shake as he cries, looking at the scratches your nails have left on his arms through his tears. he thinks of the hours he's spent away from you, lost in a job that demands more than he has left to give. each contract signed, each project completed, feels like another step away from you.
he thinks of tomorrow, and the day after, each stretching out in front of him like an endless road leading nowhere good. what if it happens again? what if he comes home to find you worse? if? when. when it happens he has no idea what he’ll do.
the hardest thought, the one that hurts the most, is the future he can no longer picture, the one where you fade away completely, lost in a mind that's become a maze with no way out. he can almost see himself, years from now, sitting beside a bed where you lay but are not really there, your eyes vacant, your hands still. the thought is too much and it breaks his heart.
he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, stands up, and looks at you one more time. you're peaceful now, your face relaxed. for a brief moment, he allows himself the illusion that everything is okay, that you're simply asleep, and that you'll wake up tomorrow as the person he fell in love with.
but deep down, he knows the truth. love, as strong and as deep as it is, can't fix this. he can’t fix this. and as he leaves the room, switching off the light and plunging the world into darkness, that thought is the heaviest burden of all.
--
tysm for reading. also a big thank you for all the love on my other fics, makes writing all the more fun
love, d 🖤
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou show#joel miller fic#pedro pascal fic#joel miller one shot#tlou angst#tlou x reader#joel miller angst
160 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
amejtechcompany
AmejTech
campcampsugarrush
🏎 CAMP CAMP = SUGAR RUSH??!!
thecandyispoisoned
Don't take the candy kids
magickdragon101
Untitled
limer-21
Автор высказался, теперь он пуст