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#pedrostories
mermaidgirl30 · 3 days
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✨Run Rabbit✨
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A/N: This idea literally came out of nowhere today, so I had to hurry and write it real quick! This idea is based off the song “Run, Rabbit Run!” by Flanagan and Allen. The song would not leave my head, and then I got this image of Joel chasing reader through an abandoned mansion. This one is a tad bit dark, but I hope you enjoy! If you liked this work, please think of reblogging and leaving me comments 🩷 Thank you to @ozarkthedog for being my beta 🥰
Summary: At the beginning of every month, you meet Joel to play a little game of hide and seek at the abandoned mansion near Jackson. It’s not just any game of hide and seek though. It’s dark and it’s twisted. If he catches you, he gets to do whatever he wants with you.
Pairing: Dom! Joel x fem! reader
Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)
Word Count: 4.1k
Tags: Possessive Joel, hide and seek, cat and mouse, Joel chases reader until he finds her, Jackson! Joel, outbreak! Joel, smut, fingering, oral, unprotected p in v, cream pie, dirty talk
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
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The air is suffocating, the black walls are covered in regret and years of cigarette stench. The dim lights seem to shine down on you like a spotlight as you run as fast as you can through the lavish house. You can hear him calling you, stalking you in the dark shadows like a starving dog hunting to devour fresh meat. 
   “Can’t run from me forever, darlin’. You keep on runnin’, but I’ll eventually find you,” he chuckles as his deep voice reverberates around the echoing halls. 
   You cover your mouth, keeping your body down as you run run run past the expensive statues and monumental paintings of the abandoned mansion. Your throat is on fire the longer you run, your body aching like that of a dying man on his last breath of life. Your legs feel like they’ll give way at any second, but you have to keep going. You can’t give up. Not yet. Not when he’s right on your tail. 
   Tired. You’re so very tired, yet you keep running. Dragging your hollow body down the vine covered corridors of the wide hallways as you gasp for fresh air in your watered down lungs. 
   You fly around a narrow corridor and nearly trip yourself on a bed of dark green vines that bite at your ankles, threatening to take you down as Joel draws closer to you. 
   You can feel his overbearing presence, can taste the whiskey that bleeds inside his thick veins, can feel his large body already crowding yours as if he’s already caught you. He hasn’t caught you yet, but you know he will. He always catches you. 
   This was all a game. A dark, twisted game that started on a cold night in December. You remember the first time he chased you, the first time he tore through all your clothes the minute he captured you and devoured your entirety on that pitch black night. Now, every first Saturday of each month you’d meet him back at this abandoned mansion to play his little game. He called it hide and seek, you called it a deadly game of cat and mouse because you were the mouse, and cats always caught their prey. 
   It’s like you two are stuck in a never ending dance, two souls completely consumed in the other as you spin in circles until one of you collapses. You shouldn’t keep coming back, shouldn’t want to play his dark little games, but yet you come. Every single time, you come, unable to face the reality of a month without his touch, his taste, his growls. You’d let the man do as he wanted because how could you resist those charming, big brown eyes? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t. You were a moth drawn to a flame, and he was the brightest, most dangerous flame of all. Something you wanted to forever be branded by.
   Joel Miller was a fucking menace of society, but he was your menace. So you’d continue the game until one of you stopped breathing. 
   “Where are you, little lamb?” he calls as your breath scorches the vine covered walls. You continue running, twisting around dark corners, running down stone steps, and hiding behind crimson curtains. 
   The next wooden door you come upon is locked tight. No amount of shaking the golden handle or hurling your body into the door will make it budge. You turn your head from side to side. The only way out is from the way you came. The hallway that he is in. Fuck. 
   You gulp down a silent breath and make a run for it, even though you know he’ll be there waiting like a prowling wolf. 
   You take careful steps down the marble hallway and sneak around the cold corner until you see his dark silhouette shining against the reflective flooring. You gasp as your eyes go wide, but before you can run he reaches out a long arm and clasps tightly to your wrist. 
   “There ya are, little lamb. Thought you’d get away from me this time?” he smirks as he wraps his calloused fingers tightly around you and tries to pull you in. 
   “Haven’t caught me just yet,” you laugh as you somehow manage to slip out of his grip and make a run for it. 
   You run down some slippery stone steps and end up at the back of the mansion with vine covered long corridors and twisting mazes of green bushes. You run as fast as you can as the wind sweeps through your long hair, letting the brisk wind set your adrenaline on fire. 
   You manage one glance back and see just how fast he’s creeping up on you. He’s like a lion running after a gazelle, the hunter about to attack the prey with its bare claws. And he will destroy his prey. 
   You take a few more steps, but then you feel a hand claw at your shoulder. He takes you down on the hard floor as you come crashing down to the pit of your doom. Pain radiates through your body, but you brush it off as you crawl forward, trying to escape the man that will take you as his own. 
   “Where do ya think you’re goin’, pretty thing?” he asks darkly as he wraps a hand around your ankle and tugs you in his direction. You hear a squeak escape your mouth like a trapped mouse that just got caught by a giant cat. 
   “I’m running away from you,” you answer back as you kick and try to squirm out of his reach. 
   He obviously has other plans because he drags you back underneath him and turns you flat on your back as he pins your hands above your head, his hips and large thighs caging you in so you can’t break free. He won this round, like he always did. 
   “Didn’t think I’d catch you so soon, little lamb,” he chuckles deeply as the weight of his body hangs over yours entirely. 
   “You just caught me off guard,” you sigh as you see his dark chocolate eyes honing in on yours. They’re so captivating, so damn pretty that you can’t look away. He’s so gorgeous even when you should find him intimidating. 
   “Now you’re mine,” he smirks as his chocolate eyes become darker, more blown out as he hovers his plush lips over yours. “Just what am I gonna do to you tonight, hmm?” he asks as lust fills the void of his dark eyes, making you squirm with anticipation already. You know what you want. You want him. 
   “Maybe I should be a little rough with you, hmm? That what you want?” he asks with the tick of his sculpted jaw, his thick eyebrow raising as he looks at you like he just won the most valuable prize in town. 
   You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be feeding his sick mind as he plays his dark games, but you can’t help it. You want it just as bad as he does. You want him to be rough with you. 
   You look at him with wide eyes and smirk right back at him, challenging his dominant side to give in. “So be rough with me,” you whisper back. 
   You see his dark eyes grow large with need as he huffs out through his nostrils. “Open,” he demands as he grabs a hold of your jaw and squeezes, just enough for your lips to part open slightly. He bends his head down and inhales deeply as he spits into your mouth as you feel the warm spit cover your tongue. 
   “Swallow,” he growls as you fully oblige. You close your mouth and swallow as you taste his spit slide down your throat. All hot and moist as you taste him in the back of your throat. And somehow you think it’s so goddamn hot. 
   “Good girl,” he praises as he shifts his weight down and starts unbuttoning your faded denim jeans. 
   “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” he asks as he starts to drag the denim down your legs, feeling a wave of slick slide down your lace panties as your adrenaline kicks in. 
   “Mhm,” you nod as you watch him strip your legs bare, next going to tear off your sticky pink t-shirt while he hovers over the fine lace of your bra, his calloused fingers circling your back as he slowly undoes the clasps. 
   “Gonna let me taste every inch of you, little lamb? Gonna let me fuck you till you can’t take anymore?” he asks as he undoes the last clap and slowly starts to slide the bra free, leaving your full breasts exposed to the chilly night air. The only thing left is your slick covered panties, and then you'll be completely bare. 
   “Yes,” you breathe as he cups your breasts and slides his tongue along the crook of your neck, all teeth and tongue as he nips and bites at your flesh. 
   You can’t help the burn, can’t help the absolute need that courses through your body as his weight encompasses your chest. His hot breath bleeds into your lungs and it’s as if you can breathe fresh air for the first time. His woodsy, whiskey scent makes you dizzy as he slides his wet tongue along your bottom lip as he hovers his weight above you. He’s like a wolf that comes to feed on you in the night, and you’ll gladly let him devour you whole. 
   He snakes his hand down your abdomen and slides his hand underneath your ruined panties as he presses his thumb in between your folds, collecting slick as you groan at the feel of him spreading you wide. 
   “Open up, darlin’. Wanna give you a taste,” he whispers. He slides his thumb in your mouth, and you press your tongue around it, tasting the sweet saltiness of your own arousal as you let it slide down your throat. 
   He opens his mouth and sucks the rest of the slick off as he moans at the taste of you in his system. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Wanna just eat you up,” he groans as he hovers his lips back over yours, inching closer and closer until you’re practically begging him to drop down on your lips. 
   “Please,” you whine as your hands fist at his green flannel shirt, desperate for him to get closer to you. 
   “Please what?” he smirks as his dark eyes weigh into yours, pools of lust overflowing the edges as his pupils now expand into complete darkness. A predator about to eat his prey up entirely. 
   You have to use all your strength to get any words out, desperate for his touch. “Take me, all of me,” you plead as your eyes search his black pits that burn you alive. 
   “Oh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take it all,” he smirks. 
   Before you have time to respond, he drops his lips on yours and fists your hair as he tugs hard and pries your lips apart as he slots in his wet tongue. He glides his tongue against yours and circles your mouth as you moan against him and drink his whiskey breath down. 
   He breaks apart from your mouth and nips playfully down your neck as he kneads your breasts together. His tongue comes down to circle each nipple, bringing them to life as they harden and pebble for him as you writhe underneath him in pleasure. 
   His experienced hands are everywhere, burning your skin alive as he skates his calloused fingers up and down your glistening body that’s now caked in sweat. He shoves your legs apart and slides the lace down your legs as he sits back and examines your entire naked body that’s on full display just for him. Glistening skin and slick coated folds splay out in front of him, and he looks like a mad man the way he’s looking at you. 
   His nostrils flare as his eyes grow wide, the big black pits scavenging your body as he drags a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper scruff as he groans out a heated response. “Goddamn, little lamb. You’re so fuckin’ wet and ready for me. I can hardly stand it,” he moans as he slides between your legs and pushes your thighs apart, his calloused fingers spreading your folds apart as he spits down in between them and starts running meticulously up and down your open folds as he starts circling your clit slowly. 
   You moan and writhe underneath his fingers, but he just presses a big hand to your stomach and holds you still as he works his fingers up and down your soaked pussy. And it feels so good that you want to crawl out of your own skin as the flames alight in your lower regions. 
   “Fuck,” you moan as he licks a thick strip from your dripping hole all the way to the top of your clit as his nose brushes against the coarse hair that sits above your clit. He inhales a large whiff of you as he groans and wraps his arms around your thighs as he holds you down against the cool ground. 
   “That’s right, little lamb. Gonna have you screamin’ my name by the time I get done with you,” he chuckles darkly as he dives back in. 
   His tongue devours you as he slides it up and down, drawing tight circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves as he sucks you deep into his mouth. He glides his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole and works them in and out as he curls up and hits your spongy walls again and again as his tongue feasts on your clit and his fingers go knuckle deep into your pussy. 
   Your eyes start to roll back as your head hits the hard floor, your body feeling like it’s floating on a cloud as hot heat starts to slide down the base of your spine. Close, you’re so close. Almost there. 
   He growls up at you as he demands your attention right now. “LOOK AT ME,” his voice echoes off the vine covered walls as his dominance sheds through the dim light of the hallway. 
   Your eyes snap up to find blown out dark pupils looking up at you as he sucks you in his mouth expertly. His nail beds dig into your thighs as one of his fists sit knuckle deep in your pussy. You’ve never seen him so wild, so much like a starving wolf that it makes more slick slide down his fingers as he pumps in and out of your drenched walls. 
   He pops your bundle of nerves out of his mouth as he gives you one more long lick as he growls up at you with pure dominance in his words. “Come for me, little lamb. Want ya to scream my name, tell me just who’s makin’ you feel good. Come on, darlin’. Show me how you break,” he smirks as he quickens the pace of his fingers and drops back on your clit as he circles circles circles until you’re seeing stars in your vision. 
   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna,” you whine as you feel your orgasm start to break apart. 
   “Go on. Come for me. Be a good girl now and obey,” he growls as he pulls you back into his mouth while his fingers press up into the spongy walls as you feel yourself coming hard for him. 
   You clench up around his fingers and feel slick start to rain down his fingers onto your thighs as you throw your head back and scream his name as your moans echo through the long, dim lit corridor. Your body feels like white noise washing through it as your toes curl and your fingers slide through his tousled curls. 
   He groans as your fingers dig into his scalp while he licks up every inch of spilt slick in between your thighs. You feel your high start to come down as you take nice, deep breaths and focus on the buzzing in your ears. 
   Joel sits on his knees and views the mess that he made in between your legs as you splay across the floor with your legs still wide open for him. He must enjoy the view because he can’t keep his hungry eyes off you. 
   “Such a good girl, you know that? Now, gonna let me take ya all the way? Gonna let me fuck ya now, sweetheart?” he smirks as he starts unbuttoning his green flannel shirt, undoing the buttons quickly as he slides it off his thick arms and throws it in a heap next to the vine covered wall. His rock hard abs sit glistening in the night light while a happy trail of dark, coarse hair sits just above the waist of his jeans in a v shape. It makes you want to get on your hands and knees and crawl to him as you beg to have just a little taste of him.
   “Yes, please. Fuck me,” you moan as you push your breasts together as your center feels on fire for him. 
   “Oh, I’m gonna fuck ya deep, little lamb,” he smirks as he knits his eyebrows together in concentration. 
   He unbuttons his dark jeans and threads the leather belt through his belt loops while he shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs while he stands and hovers over you with his hard cock hitting the base of his hairy stomach as the tip sits weeping and swollen, just waiting to get inside you. 
   You lick your lips together and stare at the swollen tip as saliva starts to coat your mouth. You can practically taste the salt on your tongue, can almost feel the precum sliding down your throat as you beg him for just one more taste. He looks so delicious, and you want to just eat him right up.
   He smirks down at you as he sees you staring at his thick cock that screams your name. “Want a taste, little lamb?” he smirks as you nod your head mindlessly. 
   “Get over here then and do somethin’ ‘bout it,” he demands as he pulls you up by your hair and plants you on your knees in front of his large body. 
   “Go on then. Let me see how good you can choke on this cock, darlin’.” He flashes his pearly whites at you and wraps his fingers around your hair as you take your hand and start sliding it up and down as you spread the precum all over his thick length. 
   You lick the tip lightly and swirl around slowly as you tease him while your hand works up and down the base of him. “Fuck, there ya go,” he groans as you take him inside your mouth as you taste salty goodness drip down your throat. You take him deeper as you choke on him, feeling the drool coat his cock as you go back and forth on him slowly. 
   He grabs tighter to your hair and starts to fuck up into your mouth as you feel him bottom out at the base of your throat as it constricts around his thick length. You choke and gag around his length as he deep throats you over and over again. Your vision blurs as the tears lick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care. You love when he chokes you out, when his cock is deep in your throat as you hear his stifled moans get caught in his throat the more your mouth deep throats him. 
  “Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel growls as his thrusts become rougher and deeper, enough to where you’re gagging on your own drool as it coats your mouth as he slips deeper inside. 
   Before you think you can’t take anymore, he releases his cock from your mouth as a bead of drool connects from his tip to your lower lip as you choke for air with his fingers still firmly wrapped around your hair. 
   “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he releases you and shoves you back to the ground as your back his the cold floor. “Now spread those legs, sweetheart. Gonna fuck ya nice and deep now,” he instructs as he spreads your legs and gets down on his knees.  He throws your legs over his shoulders and lines his cock up with your folds as he slowly slides the tip up and down your folds as your spit on his cock collects with the messy slick in between your legs. 
   “Jus’ relax now, darlin’. Let me help fill this pretty pussy up,” he smiles as he shoves his cock through your folds and fills you up. 
   You gasp at the stretch, he’s so fucking big that you never quite get used to the stretch. There’s a tinge of pain, but mostly you’re so full of him that all you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel. He fucks up into you deeper as he bottoms out inside you over and over again. 
   His body hovers over you as his lips nip against your neck as he slides in and out of you faster faster faster as you start to feel wildlife burn through your whole body. He folds your legs in half like a pancake as he fucks deeper inside you, making your walls squeeze his large length tight as you get close to your second orgasm. 
   You study his appearance, focusing on his knit eyebrows that are sewn together in concentration as he loses himself in you entirely. Sweat sticks to his forehead as his curls stick together in the glistening sweat. His broad back is flexing and tightening around you as your nails claw his tan skin, making him moan into the shell of your ear as he licks against the edge of your ear with thick pants leaving his mouth. 
   You kiss along the edge of his jaw, nipping at his scruff as you moan his name eagerly into the base of his ear as he speeds up his thrusts, bottoming out again and again until you can’t take it anymore. 
   “Joel, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come,” you pant out as he presses his forehead against yours. 
   “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel ya,” he commands as he thrusts up inside once twice three more times until you’re squeezing his cock with your walls and pouring yourself all over him. You moan his name and scratch your nails down his back as he moans back in satisfaction. 
   “Oh, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he continues rutting up inside you until he’s choking for air with his own tongue. 
   “Christ, I’m gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna…” He doesn’t take long till he’s shooting thick ropes of come inside your walls as you feel warmth bubbling all inside you. He takes a minute to let it all out, releasing all his spend inside you as you breathe in his whiskey coated scent. 
   “Fucking hell, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of that sweet pussy,” he groans as he pulls his cock out of you and lets his spend slide down your milky thighs. 
   He collapses onto his back and pulls you into his side as you wrap a leg around his waist and inch your head up to the crook of his neck as your arm wraps around his broad chest. 
   “Some game, huh?” you pant as your exhausted body splays over the entirety of him. 
   “Some game,” he agrees as he rakes his fingers through your messy hair and kisses the top of your forehead as you relax all your weight into him. 
   “Think there’s ever gonna be a day where you won’t catch me?” you ask curiously as he smiles down and shakes his head at you. 
   “No, sweetheart. I’m always gonna catch you. Even if I have to run a couple miles to get to you. I’ll always catch you, my pretty girl.”
   You smile as he pulls you tight against his body, and you spend the rest of the night just lying on the floor in the abandoned mansion where this all started in the first place. A twisted game that ended in two lovers running back to each other again and again. 
   Maybe some games aren’t meant to be played, but this one was specifically made for you and Joel. The cat and the mouse who started off running away from each other, but it ended with both of you falling apart together. 
Tagging some mutuals who might want to read🩷 @milla-frenchy @vividispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @jasminedragoon @morallyinept @mountainsandmayhem @dugiioh @pedrostories @syd-djarin @laurrrra @joelmillersblog @joelmillerisapunk @amyispxnk @msjarvis @lotusbxtch @untamedheart81 @littlemisspascal
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beskarandblasters · 13 hours
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Does Your Mother Know?
No Outbreak!Joel Miller x F!Reader
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Ways to help Palestine
Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist
Author’s note: Inspired by Does Your Mother Know by ABBA + part of @freelancearsonist’s ABBA Drabble Challenge! For more music drabble challenges you can check out my Taylor Swift one, my Phoebe Bridgers one , @wannab-urs’s Hozier one, and @fhatbhabie’s Selena one! So many music challenges we are keeping y’all FED!
Summary: Joel finds a pretty young thing on the beach to spend some time with on his vacation.
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: reader is able-bodied, reader wears a bikini & a dress, no outbreak AU, ambiguous beach location, both reader and Joel consume alcohol, age gap (20 years), oral sex (F and M receiving), semi public sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is on birth control, pet names (sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs
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He watches you walk out of the ocean, the sun hitting the droplets of water rolling off her skin. Your bikini, a tad too small, emphasizes your breasts. He’s staring at you, eyes squinting from the sun. And that’s when he realizes he’s not wearing his sunglasses. 
Fuck. You caught him staring. 
Your lips curve into a smile. You place a hand on your hip, fingers toying with the strings on your bikini bottom.
And now you’re coming over to him, bounding through the sand and hips swaying as you walk. He scrambles for his sunglasses. He wants to ogle you in peace. But he can’t find them. 
God damn it.
“Hi,” you say, standing in front of his beach chair. Your voice is syrupy sweet and he knows he’s done for.
“Hey there,” he says, looking up at you. His eyes immediately gravitate to your breasts. 
“Who are you here with?” you ask, jumping straight to the point.
“My brother.”
“And where is he?” 
“Went off with a girl he met last night,” he says, finally finding his sunglasses. 
“Maybe you should do the same.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, sliding the sunglasses on and looking at you again, “What about you? Who are you here with?”
“Family reunion,” you say. He subconsciously lets out a sigh of relief. “Don’t worry I’m not here with a boy,” you add, playfully rolling your eyes.
“What? Oh no I didn’t mean-”
“I know what you’re about,” you say, kneeling beside his chair and placing an arm on his bicep, “I caught the way you were ogling me just now.”
He stutters briefly before spitting out a measly, “I was not.”
“Don’t even try that shit with me,” you giggle, “I saw you.”
He chuckles, glancing at your hand on his bicep, and says, “Sweetheart, I just have to ask… How old are you?” 
“Old enough.”
He cocks his head to the side and smirks. “You’re cute but I need a number.”
“Twenty-five. I’m in grad school. What about you?”
“Forty-five. That a problem for you?”
“Nope,” you smile. 
-
You make plans that night to go to the resort’s beachfront bar at eight. He goes back to his room after parting ways with you, showering, and making sure to get all of the sand off. The whole time he thinks of you in that damn bikini. He wonders what you’re going to wear tonight. Surely something that will drive him insane. 
Before you separated you exchanged names. 
“Nice to meet you, Joel!” you said before turning and walking back to your room, your hips swaying again as you walk. 
That’s his kryptonite, you saying his name. Joel never knew his name could sound so good. 
-
He waits at the bar for you, wearing a button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. He’s got that post-ocean smell about him, the saltwater making his curls extra fluffy. You’re a little late, only about five minutes or so. And for a split second, he wonders if you stood him up. 
But his heart just about stops when he sees you. 
A fucking knockout you are. Blue and white lace dress, sandals on your feet. Your skin is shiny, especially under the disco ball hanging above. How is it that this pretty young thing wants anything to do with him? 
“Hi, Joel,” you say, placing your hand on his arm again. 
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he says, his jaw on the floor. He can’t hide his desire for you. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he continues, eyeing you up and down. 
“Thanks!” you giggle, giving him a twirl, “Sorry I was running late. Had to make up a lie about where I was going tonight.” 
“Oh?” he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you close, “Where are you supposed to be tonight, naughty girl?” 
“Shuffleboard,” you say, rolling your eyes. 
“You blew off shuffleboard with your family to hang out with me?” 
You lean in close and whisper, “Can you blame me?” Your breath tickles the shell of his ear. Just like that, he’s putty in your hands. 
“N-No,” he says, with a shiver down his spine, “Drinks?” he says, turning and looking at you. 
“Sex on the beach,” you tell him.
You grab a table while he orders your drinks. He comes back with a Miller Lite for himself and your cocktail. But after a few sips, one of your favorite songs comes on; Dancing Queen by ABBA. 
“Let’s dance!” you say, jumping up from your seat and holding out your hand. 
“I don’t dance,” he chuckles. 
“I’m not taking no for an answer!” you say, pulling him towards the dance floor. 
You dance with him, bodies pressed together and laughing the night away. He thinks about your family, your mother… and what they would do if they saw you with an older man. He wonders what Tommy would think of him if he saw him with such a younger woman. 
But then he looks at you, how you smile at him with the disco ball above shimmering your features. He can see in your eyes that your feelings are big, your lust for him so prevalent. He should be taking it slow. But he can’t. Not when you give him that look, not when you flash your dazzling smile at him. 
Suddenly the crowded dance floor is too much for him and he wants you all to himself. After a few songs, he grabs your hand and leads you back to your table. You’re laughing with each other, giddy and over the moon. How he wishes this night would never end. 
“You’re not a bad dancer!” you say, semi-shouting over the music and downing the rest of your drink. 
“You’re a natural,” he says, finishing his beer. 
As if you’re reading his mind, you lean in close and whisper in his ear again, “What do you say we get another round and get out of here?”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he says, eagerly standing up and heading back to the bar. You giggle as you watch him, stumbling a bit as he orders your second round and closes out the tab. 
He comes back with the drinks and hands you yours, interlocking his hand with his. 
“My room?” he asks, “I assume we can’t go to yours.”
You lean in and finally kiss him, whispering against his lips, “What about the beach?” 
You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? 
“Yes,” he says a little too quickly, pulling another laugh out of you. 
You walk hand in hand down the beach. You’re a little tipsy, the sway of your hips a little messier than before. For once, Joel is thankful Tommy dragged him on this trip. 
You lead him all the way to the private cabanas on the beach, only guarded by a rope. There’s no one else around. Sex on the beach under the moonlight— this trip can’t get any better. 
“You’re sure about this? Like you’re not worried about getting caught?” he asks, lifting the rope for you. 
“We’d be giving them quite the show,” you shrug. 
God, you drive him wild. 
You set your drinks down on the side table by one of the cabanas, lying down on the padded furniture. You kick off your sandals and Joel watches as you sprawl out, the skirt of your dress riding up a bit. His cock twitches in his shorts. A bit of your cleavage peeks out from the neckline. He needs you now. 
“What are you waiting for?” you ask with a smirk. 
“Just taking the view in,” he says, mirroring your grin. 
But he can’t anymore now. He needs to taste you. He needs to make you shiver. 
He gets down in between your legs and pulls your dress a bit more. And that’s when he notices you’re not wearing any panties. 
“No panties? Naughty girl.” 
“You couldn’t tell I’m a naughty girl by where we are right now?” you laugh. 
But your laugh is cut off by a slow lick up your cunt. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you against his face. He devours you, nose rubbing against your clit and tongue circling your entrance. The soft breeze from the sea tousles his curls and you moan under the night sky, back arching up and thighs trembling already. 
In no time you cum against his face, whimpering thanks to his skilled tongue and his perfect nose against your clit. He stays between your thighs for a moment after you’re done coming, lapping up your release. Your skin is tingling, cheeks hot from the intense orgasm you had but also the adrenaline. He pokes his head up and you catch a glimpse of his wet facial hair under the moonlight. 
“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he says. 
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he says, going back in for another taste.
Another shiver runs down your spine. 
Once he’s satisfied he lies next to you. Once you’ve caught your breath you waste no time getting up and straddling him now. 
“Your turn,” you say, inching down his legs and pulling his cock out of his shorts. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined; long, thick, and uncut. 
“You sure?” he asks, caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting this. 
“Mhm,” you say, swirling your tongue around the tip, “Only been thinking about this all day.”
“Fuck,” he moans. You maintain eye contact with him the whole time, sucking him off like such a good girl. He thinks about what you just said. 
Only been thinking about this all day. 
How did he get so lucky? 
Your hand wraps around the base, stroking the part your mouth can’t fit. A mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva rubs down his shaft. He tries to burn this picture-perfect moment in his mind forever; you suck him off under the nighttime sky with the beach behind you. You suck in your cheeks and suck him off harder, moaning when more pre-cum leaks out of his tip. If he’s not careful he’ll bust right here right now. But he wants to cum inside you if you’ll let him. 
Just when he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm he stops you, hand caressing your cheek. 
“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he says. You take him out of your mouth and swipe the wetness off your chin. 
“Are you ready?” you ask. 
“Baby, I fuckin’ need you,” he says. 
Hastily you straddle his cock again, sopping wet cunt hovering over him. The head teases your entrance and you just can’t take it anymore. You sink down onto his cock in one swift motion, hands resting on his chest. You both sigh at the feeling; his cock enveloped by your warmth and you feeling full. 
You rock your hips back and forth and his hands hold your waist. 
“You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”
“Y-Yeah?” you ask, voice high pitched from your arousal. You lean forward, face inches from his, and ask, “Be honest, you were thinking about this when you saw me get out of the water earlier, weren’t you?”
“Maybe.” 
You raise an eyebrow at him. 
“It didn’t happen exactly like this in my head.” 
“No? What was your little fantasy?” you ask, rocking your hips harder. 
“Fuck… Right there on the beach.” 
“In front of everyone?! Naughty boy you are, Joel,” you say, kissing him. He sneaks a nip at your lip, hands migrating from your waist up to your breasts. He was thinking about these all day, watching the way they sit so pretty in your ill-fitting bikini top. 
You move your hips like a goddamn angel. And his cock fits inside you perfectly, hitting the most sensitive spots inside you. If you keep moving like this he’s going to cum soon. 
You don’t stop. You only pick up the pace, sitting up and placing your hands on his chest again. 
“Sweetheart, you’re gonna make me cum if you’re not careful.”
“So?” 
“I can?!” 
“I’m on the pill,” you smirk, leaning in for one final kiss. You cum together in a harmonious symphony, his cock pulsing his cum inside you. You both moan into the kiss, riding out your highs with the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore. This is heaven. 
Eventually, your hips slow to a stop and you pull yourself off of him, lying beside him with his cum running down your thigh. He pulls you close, right into his chest. You smell his cologne and press a few sloppy kisses to his neck. 
“You’re amazing,” he says, rubbing your back. 
“So are you,” you giggle. 
You spend a while talking and getting to know each other after the mind-blowing sex you just had. But between all the energy you just exerted and the alcohol, you’re tired, drifting off to sleep in his arms. 
Before you completely fall asleep he asks, “When do you leave?”
“Sunday,” you yawn. 
Three days left together. 
He knows you can’t spend the night here but for now, he’ll let you take a little nap. He wants to spend as much time as he can with you before you return to your family. His pretty young thing for the remainder of his trip. 
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Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🩵
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endlessthxxghts · 2 days
Text
New Beginnings [Masterlist]
Frankie’s daughter, Elena, gets enrolled into a new school for prodigal children. It’s going to be a new adjustment for Elena, but Frankie underestimates just how much life will change for him, too — especially after meeting you. | first chapter coming April 3! |
teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales
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General Content/Warnings: AFAB&fem reader (she/her pronouns). Reader is able-bodied. No other physical descriptions used. Implied that reader knows some Spanish. Implied that reader is bisexual (references in passing, blink and you’ll miss it). No use of "y/n." POV switching. Lust (love..?) at first sight. Sexual tension GALORE! Semi-forbidden love trope. Single dad trope. PTA Drama, jealous moms and dads! Inherent angst (with a happy ending). Canon divergent to TF storyline. SMUT 18+ MDNI (See specific chapter for specific content). ENTIRE SERIES - MDNI.
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
SIMILAR TO AO3'S "AUTHOR CHOSE NOT TO APPLY ARCHIVE WARNINGS" - SOME CHAPTERS WILL OMIT CERTAIN WARNINGS TO SAVE ANY SPOILERS (* INDICATES WHICH CHAPTERS APPLY TO THIS).
* indicates explicit material is present
All places/school programs/locations/weather/etc. mentioned are fictional; however, they are inspired by real places that exist where I am from (Las Vegas)!
Photos do not represent reader in any way shape or form; used to give imagery/set the vibe for situations/scenarios.
MAIN MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG || (LIST BELOW CUT)
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Storyline
ONE: new beginnings, 8.8k ** (coming April 3!) TWO THREE FOUR FIVE
(Total chapter count undetermined)
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Extras
Want to read more like this? Check out @frenchiereading's Shared Breaths series! It contains a similar trope with you being a teacher and Frankie being your student's father. It is a must read!🫶🏼 Another very noteworthy and honorable mention where you’re a teacher (no children of Javi, at least not in the beginning😏) — @javierpena-inatacvest’s It’s Never Too Late series!! It’s for Javier Peña, but nevertheless, the SWEETEST and SEXIEST story to ever exist, and it’s written by my sweet sweet best friend. I love u to the moon and back, babe. 🌚🌝
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Floral dividers courtesy of @saradika-graphics 💚
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janaispunk · 1 day
Text
no one has to know what we do
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chapter 2 • series masterlist
pairing: Dave York x f!reader
summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.
word count: 4.4k
tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!
a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍
follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)
dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍
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The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.
It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.
Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.
It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.
You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.
But David — David is refreshing.
He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.
You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.
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He’s not expecting you to reach out.
Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.
Because all he can think about is seeing you again.
It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.
Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.
He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.
Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.
And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.
He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.
Seconds after the first, another text comes through:
[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone
Fuck. Fuck.
His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.
He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.
The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.
His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.
“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.
He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”
“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.
Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.
“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”
His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.
“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.
“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”
You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”
It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.
“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.
You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.
“You don’t like me?”
He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.
The call disconnects with a beep.
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You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.
His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.
“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.
“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”
Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.
“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.
“Probably not.”
You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.
When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.
Have fun last night?
From David, sent five minutes ago.
You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.
Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.
Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.
i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you
His reply comes almost instantly.
Who said you bothered me?
You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.
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Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.
It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.
When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.
You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.
He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.
Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.
You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.
He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.
You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.
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You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.
You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.
After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.
But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.
On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.
Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.
He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.
“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”
“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”
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It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.
He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.
He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.
The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.
He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?
“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”
He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.
“Yes. Come on.”
He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.
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He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.
So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.
You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.
He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.
He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.
You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.
“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.
“You want me to take care of you?”
You nod.
“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”
Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.
He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.
“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.
Slap.
“You love this, don’t you?”
“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.
Slap.
“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”
You gasp.
Slap.
“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”
It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.
He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.
He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.
You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.
No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.
He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.
He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.
When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.
“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”
He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.
You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.
One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.
“I thought I told you no begging.”
You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”
He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.
“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”
You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.
“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.
He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.
It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.
He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.
Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.
“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”
You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.
He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.
You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.
Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.
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He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.
“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”
He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.
You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.
“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.
Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.
The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.
When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.
It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.
He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.
Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.
[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.
Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.
It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.
Maybe just one more time.
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thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
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undercoverpena · 3 days
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7. honey cream
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself
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summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.
prev chapter | series masterlist
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics
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Nice forearm in your story.
Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.
Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.
I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.
You’re hilarious.
I try to be.
You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?
That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.
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Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.
Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?
I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.
They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.
I bet they look great on your ass.
Everything looks great on my ass.
Including my hand.
Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.
I can’t wait to see you.
Drive safely, Butterscotch.
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“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”
Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.
When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.
He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.
It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.
“Don’t—I want to be here.”
“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”
Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.
Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.
“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”
“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”
Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"
You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”
He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.
The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.
You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —
“Race you to the end of the wall?”
Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.
Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.
In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.
Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.
“We did good, didn't we?”
You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”
Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.
“Thank you. For helping me.”
“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”
Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.
But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.
“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”
“You don’t have to…”
Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.
“You cooking for me?”
“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”
He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.
“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.
Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.
Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.
A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.
“Can I do anything?”
Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”
And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.
“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.
“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”
His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.
When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”
You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”
He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.
As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.
But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.
Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.
“So, how often do you have Luca?”
Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”
Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.
“Does that… bother you?”
“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”
Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”
Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”
“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”
Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”
Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.
“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.
“Yeah?”
Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”
Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”
“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.
You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.
His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.
You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.
“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”
His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."
And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”
Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.
“My friends… they want to meet you.”
His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.
Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—
“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”
Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—
Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—
Until he says your name.
Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.
“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.
Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.
Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.
Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.
“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”
Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”
Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”
“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”
“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”
“When?”
He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”
“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.
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I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?
It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.
Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.
Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.
A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.
The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?
Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.
It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.
A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.
As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.
Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.
Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:
Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.
With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.
Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.
Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.
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As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.
The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.
It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.
You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.
Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.
“You look nice.”
Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”
“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”
Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”
“Smooth talker.”
The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.
As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.
No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.
Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.
As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.
By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.
“So, where will your friends be?”
Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”
Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.
“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”
“His other non-official, less present trainer.”
“You slacker.”
Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”
Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Because you missed me?”
His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”
Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.
“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”
Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”
Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”
“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.
Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.
Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”
The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.
It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.
“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”
“Does Harold like them?”
Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”
“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”
Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”
“Okay.”
Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.
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I think they like me.
Are you texting me from the bathroom?
Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.
Baby, are you peeing and texting me?
No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.
So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.
Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?
Don’t answer I can see it.
Shut up.
If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.
Basta!
You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.
Come back and keep me company.
Grin a bit more and I might.
Rainy.
Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.
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NEXT CHAPTER ->
an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)
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xmissrogersx · 3 days
Text
My writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.
I hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.
A little short because i writed this last night wathing gilmore girls. In my mind, is a perfect scene in Jackson. Enjoy!
━━━━━━━━ ˚✩ ♡ ๑՞. ⟡ ━━━━━━━
“Sweet crazy girl”
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━━━━━━━━ ˚✩ ♡ ๑՞. ⟡ ━━━━━━━
The cool breeze blew in through the half-open bedroom window, causing the air to send a slight shiver through my body. I sighed happily, finally autumn had arrived.
Instantly, the alarm clocks began to chime marking 7 o'clock.
-You ‘re hilarious! -I threw off the covers and walked out of the room and down the stairs.
-Look, when I told you last night "tomorrow, no matter what happens, try to wake me up at 7:00", what I really meant was "tomorrow, no matter what happens, try to give me the option of waking up at 7:00, just in case I don't want to do it". Which, in the end, was the case.
-Did you break the alarm clocks, darlin'? —he said, raising an eyebrow as he prepared breakfast.
-Very funny, cowboy —I kissed his cheek. I grabbed the pot of coffee and sniffed it, stopping short.-It's decaf.
-What are you talking about? —he looks disinterested.
-You came back to change my coffee.
-I'm a busy man, baby. I don't have time to change your coffee on the sly, I have to work construction and patrols —I began to search the kitchen with him at my back. My sense of smell never failed.
-Will you stop doing that?
-Ha! —I pulled the bag under the sink and watched as Joel raised both arms and covered his head.-Very clever, mister, but not clever enough.
-All right, you know what? I give up —I smell the inside of the bag as I turn on the coffee pot.
-Nop, you don't give up —I laughed victoriously, jumping up and down, then put my hands on his face and joined our lips in a kiss. I slid my right hand to the buttons of his shirt to touch his strong chest and start distributing kisses on his neck.
-Please,baby, don't do that. You know I have to go to work —he placed his warm hand under my nightgown sending a shock down my spine. I pouted my lips a little.
-Do you have to go? —he nodded and tucked my hair behind my ear, then turned and handed me a plate of fruit and blueberry pancakes.
-My strong big man, always feeding me.
-You're welcome, darlin'. You're awake, you've got food. I'm leaving, but I'll try to be back early. Do you want me to get you anything?
-Mmm, maybe a chocolate with almonds, a Vogue magazine, some chips and cheese...
He silences me by kissing me, making the outside cease to exist and the desire to stay stronger.
-Goodbye, sweet crazy girl —then he put his hand on my hip and kissed my bulging stomach.-Goodbye to you too, little princess.
-How do you know it's a girl?
-Intuition, darlin'.
-Ellie is begging all the time for a boy.
-Well, she’s wrong, because i say so.
-Por dios, you're a daddy's girl —i coiffed his salt-and-pepper hair strands.-Have a nice day. I love you, my big old softie man.
-I love you too, sweet girl.
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Text
27 seconds
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pairing: Marcus Pike x reader
rating: just angst, hope you brought tissues
word count: 749
summary: Marcus never expected his world to fall apart with one phone call.
warnings: mention of drinking, kissing, nothing above PG though. reader has no physical descriptions other than wears a robe and some of Marcus's clothes. please lmk if i missed anything!!
a/n: my first submission for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift drabble challenge! i'm 100% a swiftie so i grabbed this with both hands and went running. this is based on the song Last Kiss sooooooo yeah it hurts 😅 oops. i do plan to write a second one so keep your eyes peeled for that if that's something your interested in?? this is only my second even piece for one of Pedro's characters and i have a particular soft spot for our Agent Pike so i hope y'all like it 🫣
Standing at the terminal, waiting for you to appear from the sliding glass doors, he checks his watch, then your flight information. It landed almost an hour ago, so where are you?
Just as the thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes in his pocket, your name and picture lighting up his screen. He quickly answers.
“Hey, baby. I’m waiting outside your terminal, is everyth-”
“I never got on.”
---
He knew asking you to move to D.C. with him on such short notice was a stretch. You had your own life in L.A., how could he seriously expect you to just drop everything?
But you did. In a heartbeat.
Packing up your shared apartment was a blur. It mirrored the day you moved in: sitting on the bare kitchen floor surrounded by cardboard boxes, you wearing his t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, the waistband rolled so they sit higher on your thighs. You kept them when he flew out early to get your new place ready. Dropping him off at the airport, you held each other impossibly tight before sharing one last kiss and whispered “I love yous” against each other’s lips.
---
“Wait- baby, is everything okay? Did something happen?” Marcus tries to swallow his panic, fearing something had gone wrong with the airline or God forbid you’d been hurt.
“No. I just- I can’t. I’m so sorry, Marcus.”
“What d- what do you mean ‘can’t’? B-”
“It’s complicated. Just…I’m sorry.” His phone beeps as the call disconnects.
He stares blankly at the screen, 1:58 shining through the dark, taunting him.
What else can he do but just go home?
Marcus grabs a beer from the bare fridge and sinks to the floor, kicking off his shoes in the process. He stares out into the room. The space feels foreign now, hard and echoey. It’s mostly empty since you’d agreed to wait and do the bulk of the furniture shopping together. You’d loved the open floorplan, teasing him about having plenty of room for your impromptu dances. What should have been filled with warmth and laughter now just feels hollow.
He picks up his phone again, desperate to call you back and plead for answers. But you’d already given him one. You weren’t ready. When he asked you to go with him, he’d promised to honor whatever you felt. He just never planned on you changing your mind like this.
---
He throws himself into his work again. Some days, he’s okay. Others, he’ll come home enthusiastic after a big breakthrough and excited to tell you all about it until you cut him off with a kiss. He calls out to you, but your name dies on his lips.
Those nights, he’ll lie awake and scroll through your social media, careful not to accidentally like any of your photos. Dinners and drinks with friends. Fourth of July fireworks at the Santa Monica pier. But one picture stings worse than the others: a candid of you walking in the rain, your hands in your coat pockets, and a reflection in the window revealing a man behind the camera.
Marcus knows he shouldn’t have hoped that you just needed more time. That you’d wait for him until you were ready and then you’d come. He shakes the thought away before closing the app and turning off his phone, but he can’t fall asleep. His bed is too big, too cold. His own breathing in his ears is too loud, his heartbeat too heavy. He forces his eyes closed anyway, but they pop right back open. He snatches his phone off the bedside table and resumes his previous position, steeling himself for another restless night.
---
You’ve just stepped out of the shower when you hear your phone chime. Securing your robe, you perch on the edge of your bed and open the text.
I can’t forget you
Marcus’s name and contact picture at the top of the thread blurs as you blink back unannounced tears. You haven’t cried over this man in months, why now? Composing yourself, you look back down at the screen. You read those 4 little words over and over again, words stuck on the tip of your own tongue for so long but you forced yourself to never say. You finally notice the Read tag under the message, betraying your silence. He knows you’ve seen it.
Taking a deep breath, you type your response.
25 notes · View notes
huntingingoodwill · 22 hours
Text
taste (d.b.)
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masterlist
pairing: dieter bravo x personal shopper! reader
desc: you give dieter some much needed cooking lessons. he’s a terrible student.
a/n: written as a stand-alone but! if u wanna read the first personal shopper! reader story it’s right here
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“Tell me again,” you sighed, whipping your tinted shades off your face as you hugged the bag of groceries closer to your chest, “how did you manage to convince me to do this?” 
Dieter sauntered over, a triumphant glint in his eye as he peered at you over the edge of his sunglasses. 
“My irresistible charm,” he grinned, taking the bag from your hands. “Or… maybe the fact that you’re on my payroll? But I like to think it’s the former. You’re even starting to dress like me.” He smirked, gesturing at the sunglasses you had cinched between your fingers. 
Ever since admitting he didn’t know how to cook, Dieter had been trying to convince you to come over and give him a cooking lesson whenever his personal chef had a day off:  a thinly veiled attempt to relentlessly flirt with you over dinner. Yes, it was out of your job scope as his personal shopper, but you gave in rather easily - there was something amusing about him, something almost…cute. Not that you’d admit that to him, of course.
“I don’t wear sunglasses indoors,” you pulled the shades off his face and tossed them aside, where they clattered onto his dining table.
His eyes narrowed, squinting into the soft lighting of his house. 
“When did it get so bright in here?” 
You rolled your eyes, sauntering past him into the kitchen.
“How does someone who doesn’t know how to cook have an amazing kitchen like this?” you sighed.
You marvelled at his kitchen, all high ceilings and marble counters, with countless appliances populating the shelves. 
“A couple of shitty Netflix originals and the cost is covered," he sighed, reliving the cringey scenes in his mind. The tortured look in his eye flickered away, replaced with a smile. “So, you ready for our second date?” 
“It’s not really a date. I’m just teaching you how to cook. Out of pity.” 
“So, you pity me.” he smirked, as if that was a win, “That means you care.” 
“It means I knew you’d starve without your chef.” 
“Which means,” he smiled, pointing a finger at you, “you care.” 
You ignored him, pointedly dumping out the contents of the grocery bag onto the counter, holding up a large yellow onion. 
“This,” you said, brandishing it, “is an onion.” 
You sounded the syllables out, voice sarcastically cresting through each letter.
Dieter put on an expression of mock shock. “No. Way.” 
“Way. And you’re gonna cut it,” you said, tossing him the onion, which he narrowly managed to avoid dropping. “Think you can handle that?” 
“I can try,” he said, with an air of confidence you were not fully convinced of. 
You had decided to do something simple, as you knew Dieter’s cooking skills were lacking. Your fingers skimmed the countertop, taking inventory of what you had brought. Pasta, jarred sauce, tomatoes, garlic, onion, basil-
“I can’t try.” Dieter’s voice warbled unsteadily. 
You turned to be met by the sight of a tearful Dieter, his eyes red (well, redder than usual, and for different reasons), and glazed with tears. He held the knife in his hand, the bite of the onion’s stench wafting up from where it lay, half chopped, on the counter.
“Feeling a bit emotional?” you laughed, tossing the onions into a pan with oil and placing it over the stove.
“I’m an actor. I’m in touch with my feelings,” his voice cracked. 
You stifled a laugh, tearing off a square of paper towel from the roll. You closed the space between you two, dabbing the tears off his cheeks. Catching his eye, you suddenly became aware of your closeness, your heart thrumming. Swallowing thickly, you broke eye contact and focused on wicking away his tears, trying to calm your heartbeat. You did not date clients.
“Is this getting kinda… romantic, right now?” Dieter said, unable to hide his grin. 
Of course, even as you tried to push away the tension, he’d pick up on it instantly. 
You rolled your eyes. “You’re crying while holding a knife. And you smell like onions.” 
The corner of his lips pulled up in a lopsided smile. “Better than how most of my dates go.” 
You snorted, tossing the paper towel aside. “You really meant it when you said you couldn’t cook, huh?” 
“I can’t even boil water.” 
You threw your head back in a laugh. “Well, that’s certainly a good place to start.”
You grabbed a pot, filling it with water and placing it atop the burner. 
“Here’s how you boil water. You ready?” 
“Yes,” he said, determination lighting up his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves.
“I don’t think you are, it’s a huge undertaking,” you said, feigning complete earnestness as you pressed your lips into a solemn line. 
“I’ve been training my whole life for this. I’m ready,” he played along, eyebrows knitting together as he focused his eyes on the pot. 
“Give me your hand.” 
“I’ll warn you. It’s shaking,” he said, making his hand tremble dramatically. 
“I’m nervous too,” you said, barely able to conceal your smile. “You ready?” 
You put your hand over his, the skin of the back of his palm warm against the cold metal of his rings. You led it toward the stove knob. Holding your hand over his, you guided him to turn the knob, fire sprouting from the stove beneath the pot. 
“Wait a little while, and you’ve boiled water,” you smiled. 
“Does that mean you’ll take your hand off mine? I hope not,” he sighed, watching bubbles ping against the pot as the water began to simmer. 
“I’ll have to do it eventually.” 
“Then do it,” he challenged.
“No,” you said, keeping your hand firm over his, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t actually like the feeling of his skin against your palm. 
“Why not?” 
“Because you told me to,” you smiled, your thumb ghosting his knuckles, fingers nearly slotting into the spaces in between his. 
“I’m your boss. I’m supposed to tell you to do things,” he chuckled. 
“This is after hours. You don’t know how to cook, I’m teaching you how. If anything, I’m your boss now.” 
“Hot,” he smirked. 
“Ew,” you laughed, not feeling an iota of disgust. 
“It is getting kinda hot in here.”
“Because of me?” You smirked, taking a note from his cheesy lines. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. 
“Yes. But also physically. Maybe because the onions are burning.” 
“Fuck.” 
You turned toward the stove, the charred remains of the onions sticking to the bottom of the pan in a sticky, black blob.
“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” Dieter sighed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You allowed yourself to lean into his side, relishing the warmth that emanated from him as you both looked despairingly upon the blackened pan. “You don’t even know how to cook now.”
“Who needs to know how to cook?” You sighed in defeat. “There's always delivery."
Thirty minutes later, the two of you were sitting at his dining table, a greasy pizza box sitting before you. 
“Are you sure this pizza is organic?” He said, shovelling a slice into his mouth. 
“‘Course not,” you sighed, picking up a slice, “But do you really care?”
“Ugh,” he said, taking another bite, “No.” 
You laughed, gazing at that little crinkle at the edge of his eye as his brown irises glowed in the flickering candlelight. 
“The candle is a nice touch,” your voice was dreamy as you gestured at the candle he lit on the dining table, the room bathed in its warm light. Maybe you did date clients. “It’s almost-” 
“-Romantic?” He grinned.  
“Hazardous,” you smirked, trying not to make any rash decisions, no matter how much you wanted to kiss him, “Try not to set anything on fire.”
“No promises,” he said, that glint in his eyes bright, even in the low light of the candlelit room. “It’s kinda bright in here, huh?” He chuckled, reaching for his sunglasses and sliding them on. 
You chuckled as he looked at you expectantly. Alright, you’d give in. 
“A little,” you smiled, putting your own sunglasses on, matching him. 
His lips formed a huge smile as he put his arm around you, the weight around your shoulders pleasant. He opened his mouth, about to make another cheesy remark when you cut him off.
“Let’s be clear,” you said, wagging a finger in his face, “I am not starting to dress like you. I haven’t fully given up yet,” you teased, gesturing at his outfit, a sweatpants and ratty hoodie combination. “I’m taking you clothes shopping next. That’s within my job scope, at least.” 
“It’ll be our third date,” he smiled, pulling you closer. 
“Shut up,” you smiled. 
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katiexpunk · 28 days
Text
Desert Dust | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
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Summary: You're a small-town waitress in a highway town in Arizona with a standard, safe life. You never really thought you needed more -- until you met Joel Miller. Warnings: Joel is a consent king in this one. No age gap mentioned (make it your own). Self-deprecation. Toxic coworkers. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Objectification of Joel by readers coworker. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). References to shitty past hookups. Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Size kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy. W/C: ~8K. Sorrrrrrry, not sorry? A/N: Hi, hello. It's been a hot minute since I've been here! I took a hiatus for the past few months because life was, well, life and I was busy getting married. Happy to be back. This one was inspired by a drive through the Arizona desert. Special thanks to @syd-djarin for being a slut with me on this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications | Read Joel's POV
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Humans rely on cooperation, communication, and mutual aid for survival and well-being. Without that, it’s like being cast adrift in a hostile sea without the safety net of community and companionship.
You know this.
And so that’s why you stay, that’s why you’ve always stayed. 
Even if most of your days feel lonely, at least you have the comfort of predictability. 
++++
"I’m goin' on my break, Tracy," you call out, tossing the words casually over your shoulder as you grab your hoodie and a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from behind the counter. Sometimes you think the only reason you still have the damn vice is for the excuse to step out of the suffocating walls of the grease-drenched building they call a restaurant. 
Tracy responds with a touch too much of feigned enthusiasm, pouring a steady stream of black liquid into the mug of the customer sitting in the booth before her. 
With a nod of acknowledgment, you slip out the restaurant's back door, the hinges creaking softly in protest as you step into the crisp Arizona air. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty ground as you light up your cigarette, the flame dancing in the breeze.
As you inhale deeply, the familiar taste of tobacco fills your lungs, calming your nerves and grounding you in the present moment. Leaning against the weathered brick wall, your thoughts drift as wisps of smoke curl lazily into the sky. 
In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of laughter and chatter drifting from inside, a comforting reminder of the community that surrounds you. Here, amidst the tumbleweeds and endless blue skies, is a place you’ve called home since you ran away from yours at sixteen. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something is always better than nothing, right? People know you by name when you go to the grocery store, and know your order at the only coffee shop in town – big-city girls don’t get that. 
As you take one last drag from your cigarette, you try to summon feelings of gratitude for what you do have, but as the smoke dissipates into the desert air, a lingering sense of restlessness gnaws at the edges of your mind.
It's only when you stamp out the cigarette in the dirt below, watching the embers fade into darkness, that you dare to entertain the notion that perhaps you could have more. 
++++
You step back into the restaurant, and your eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights above, a stark contrast from the natural light of the sun. Carefully tucking your hoodie away and readjusting your apron strings, you prepare to dive back into work. 
As you glance around, you notice Tracy frantically pacing back and forth behind the bar, her demeanor tinged with a hint of frazzled energy. It's not the busiest you've ever been, but for her, every customer that walks through the door feels like a tidal wave of chaos – especially when it’s just you two on the floor. 
With a sympathetic smile, you nod in understanding as she thrusts a stack of menus into your hands, followed by a piping hot coffee pot. "Be a doll and go take table three’s order, will ya?" she says, her voice tinged with urgency. Before you can even acknowledge her request, she’s off, stacking her forearms with plates, yelling that she’ll be right there honey to the patrons by the door. 
You make your way over to the table, weaving through the maze of booths and tables with practiced ease. As you approach, you notice a lone figure sitting hunched over in a worn leather jacket, eyes fixed on the menu in front of him. He sits up to full height and adjusts himself in the booth, eyes still on the sticky plastic in front of him, giving you a full view of his side profile. 
Fuck – he’s gorgeous. Handsome in a way that unmoors you. 
Rugged, weathered charm exudes from him. He turns to look at you and oh. His salt-and-pepper curls frame a face weathered by sun and wind, a beard streaked with grey adding an air of distinguished maturity. His eyes are soft and brown, enveloped by small creases in the corners. 
Your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, and with the coffee pot in hand, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach, settling there like a stack of pancakes eaten way too fast. 
Clearing your throat, you offer him a tentative smile. Get a grip – he’s just another customer, you silently plead with yourself. 
"Hi," you say, your voice a little softer than usual. "Can I get you something to drink?"
As his eyes meet yours, a brief but intense connection crackles between you. There's something in his gaze, a depth that you can't quite decipher, leaving his thoughts shrouded in mystery. His face remains stony, and unreadable, like the weathered cliffs that dot the desert landscape.
Your breath hitches in your throat as you follow his eyes drifting down your chest, lingering for a moment on the nametag pinned to the worn cotton of your uniform. Heat rises to your cheeks under his scrutiny. You wish you would have opted for your cleaner uniform this morning. You’ve never been one to care too much about your looks, mostly because nobody looks at you, not really. All catcalls from drunk men in bars and the occasional flirty customer. But you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the attention he’s giving.
His eyes finally settle on the coffee pot in your hand, a subtle shift in focus that breaks the spell of tension between you. "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, his voice honey-thick, low, and raspy like the rumble of distant thunder.
You nod silently, the words caught in your throat as you turn to pour him a steaming cup of coffee. 
“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper, letting the corners of your lips turn up into a small, cordial, smile. 
“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.” 
Walking away, you can’t help but notice the feeling of the weight of his gaze lingering on you long after you do. 
He sits in silence, nursing his coffee with a quiet intensity that commands attention. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the room, drawing the gaze of both patrons and staff alike. You steal glances at him between customers and try not to read into the fact that his eyes are usually on you by the time you find him. He’s not staring – he couldn’t be – why would he be? You shove the thought down and focus on your tasks at hand, him calling you sweetheart playing like a broken record in your mind, over and over. 
Tracy, usually bustling about with the frenetic energy of a hummingbird, is unusually attentive to him. She stops by his table more often than necessary, refilling his cup with a gentle touch and addressing him with a warmth you've rarely seen her reserve for anyone else. You swear you even saw her push her tits up behind the wall before going out to him – but you can’t blame her, you’d probably do the same if you had as much to work with as she does. 
As you work behind the bar counter, wiping down tables and clearing plates, Tracy tries to engage you in conversation about the mysterious stranger. "Been a long time since we've had a man like that in here," she says, a hint of gossip in her voice, wrapped pretty in a bow of objectification. She reminds you of a praying mantis, attempting to draw in her prey before she eats him. 
"Yeah," you murmur, not quite wanting to talk about him, especially not with her. 
Excusing yourself, you slip into the bathroom, the wooden door offering a momentary respite. Leaning against the slightly sticky surface, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But despite your efforts, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but feel the twisty weird tug that pools in your lower belly, and the uptick in your heart rate. You attempt to fix your hair and pinch your cheeks to add some volume to your face. You slip on a touch of chapstick and assess yourself. This is so fucking stupid. He’s a customer. Just a customer. You’re just bored, horny, and alone. 
But maybe he is, too?
No. Stop.
After a moment, you emerge from the bathroom, only to find his table empty, a worn $20 bill – more than enough to cover his check – left behind as a silent farewell. Your heart sinks at the realization that he's gone, slipping away like a ghost in the night. Shit.
You didn't even catch his name, and now he's just another fleeting memory, a stranger passing through your life like a whisper in the wind. And though you try to convince yourself that it doesn't matter, that you'll forget about him by morning. 
But when dawn breaks the next day, he’s the first thought that crosses your mind. 
++++
The days turn into weeks, each blending seamlessly into the next in the endless cycle of small-town life. But amidst the monotony of routine, there's a flicker of anticipation that ignites in your chest every time you step foot into the restaurant – the hope that he might, too. 
Stupid, silly little small-town girl. 
You’re in the middle of bussing a rather messy table, throwing empty plates and glasses into a bucket after the lunch rush when the sound of bells above the door and heavy boot steps echoes through the restaurant. Not looking up from the table, you yell out take a seat wherever you want, throwing the final pieces of flatware into the bin. Raising it to your hip, your attention finally snaps to the customer and fuck – 
You freeze there. 
His hand lifts in a simple greeting. 
His presence is a magnetic force that shifts the air in the room. Clad in the same worn leather jacket and a dark tee, he exudes a silent, sturdy confidence. You know nothing about him, but you feel like you’d trust him with your life. 
“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say, trying to hide your smile, your excitement. 
He’s a customer. Not a bored and horny customer. Just a customer. 
As he settles into the booth next to the window, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. You greet him again with a smile, your voice warm with genuine affection, and he nods in return, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary.
But before you can exchange more than a few words, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. She's quick to bring him a menu, bring him a coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming.
You watch from afar, a pang of frustration chewing at the edges of your composure like a moth to cloth in an old closet. It's as if Tracy has staked her claim on him, leaving little room for anyone else to form a connection. And yet, despite her best efforts, you can still feel the weight of his attention on you, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this silent dance of whatever the fuck this is. 
You think that maybe it’s all in your head – maybe he is into Tracy, and you’re confusing his affection for something it’s not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Lord knows you’re no stranger to having one too many vodka sodas and pining after the affection of the first person who looks at you, crying in the passenger seat of a truck of some guy who gave you attention hours before.
Lord know how many nights you check your phone every three seconds just to be disappointed. Too busy begging for the love of someone who doesn’t want you, and never will. Yet you’re just so hopeful. Hopeful that one day it might not feel this way, hopeful that someone will want you back. 
You wonder if you want so desperately to be seen, that you’d twisted every lingering glance, smile, and hello, for something it’s not. 
When you enter the dining room, your heart once again sinks when you notice him rising from his booth, getting ready to leave. His eyes catch yours and you give him a small wave goodbye. He holds yours while he tucks something under his coffee cup, giving you a nod, letting you know that he wants you to pick it up. His face is unreadable when he eventually walks out. 
Walking over to the table, you notice cash tucked neatly under an empty coffee mug. But you notice something else, too. A worn business card for Joel Miller, CEO of Miller Brothers Contracting. It’s a simple card, just his name and an email on the front. But when you turn it over, you’re surprised to find a phone number scribbled on the back. 
Maybe it’s not all in your head. ++++
Later that night, standing in the dark alley of the restaurant, the cement damp from the afternoon rain, Tracy's words hang heavy in the air like a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. You listen in silence as she talks about him, her tone laced with a confidence that borders on arrogance.
"I think I'm gonna ask him to get a drink," she says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I think he's into me. I mean, come on, who else stops in and only orders coffee, and leaves a tip like he does? Even caught him looking at my ass once."
Her words cut through the stillness of the desert night, harsh and abrasive in contrast to the quiet solitude that surrounds you. Tracy has always been one to flaunt her looks, to revel in the attention of men like Joel who pass through the diner's doors. There aren’t many.
But as you listen to her speak, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a silent warning that this pursuit of Joel may lead to heartbreak for one or both of you. You've seen the way he looks at you, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one else is watching. You slip your hand into the apron and thumb over the paper of his business card. 
You want to warn her, to tell her to tread carefully, but the words catch in your throat like smoke caught in a breeze. Instead, you offer her a weak smile, masking the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.
"Yeah, Tracy," you say, your voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. "Go for it. You deserve someone who appreciates you."
But as she stubs out her cigarette and heads back into the restaurant you can't help but smirk knowing he gave his card to you. 
It’s finally your turn to be wanted. 
But you don’t call, or text him. You want to, you do, but you don’t know what to say, or where to begin. You’re so out of practice when it’s something that matters. It’s easier to pretend he still wants you if you don’t break the illusion—or that’s the lie you tell yourself, anyway.
++++
Some weeks later, you find yourself alone in the empty restaurant – Tracy having called out for the night. It’s slow. Way too slow. The late hour weighs heavy on your shoulders. George, the cook, went home almost an hour ago. You work to check off the tasks on your list before you leave for the night, and eventually accomplish everything except filling the salt shakers. 
You could have sworn you turned off the neon open sign and locked the doors until the familiar sound of bells chimes through the empty restaurant. 
“We’re closed,” you yell out, twisting the final cap on the last salt shaker. 
Your eyes flicker up to find a large man stumbling through the door, his presence heavy with the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarettes. He doesn’t look so good, his skin is pale and damp, eyes glassed over.
You rise from your booth, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your mind as you approach him. Despite your better judgment, you tell him to take in any booth of his choice, while you head behind the bar to grab him a glass of water. When you set it down in front of him, he bristles at your gesture, his words slurred and tinged with aggression at the fact that you brought him fucking water. Your patience wears thin as he rebuffs your offer, his tone sharp and abrasive.
"Just trying to help you out here" you snap, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. You’re not sure where the irritation is coming from, but it feels right –  natural – a built-in defense mechanism. But instead of backing down, he responds with a menacing snarl, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist in a bruising hold. Panic surges through you as you try to pull away, his grip tightening with each futile attempt.
"Let me go," you plead, the fear evident in your voice as he rises from the booth and crowds you against a nearby table, condiments spilling over the edge of the table. His hands move to grip your upper arms with a forceful intensity. You stumble slightly, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket, your head turned to the side to avoid having to look at him. “I’ll tell you what, you little bitch –” 
You feel the rapid beat of your pulse, the thrum of blood in your veins. You struggle against the man. Your inner voice screams danger, but just as you feel the panic rising in your chest, the familiar sound of chimes rings through your ears. Within seconds, a new figure looms into view, his broad frame casting a shadow over the scene unfolding before you – to you. With a swift movement, he pulls the man off of you, his voice a growl of warning as he asserts his dominance.
“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” Joel says, voice low and threatening.  
It's him.
Relief floods through you at the sight of him, a silent thank you echoing in your mind as he stands between you and the aggressor. And as he faces off with the man, his protective stance speaks volumes. Your mind goes a little fuzzy from the adrenaline as you watch the man struggle in his grasp, followed by a slur of cuss words, ultimately ending in Joel punching him in the face, the harsh sound of bone to face. 
It shouldn’t turn you on, the violence of it all, but it sort of does. The outward display in your defense appeals to the primitive, underived part of your brain, the way a knight would defend a maiden’s honor. 
He drags the man out of the establishment, and you hear him tell him to get the fuck out and never come back. 
He locks the door and turns to face you. Your arms come up to grab yourself in an instinctual hug, your body is a little shaky from the interaction. Without saying anything, he walks over to you, bringing both of his hands to the sides of your arms – the same place where the man had grabbed you – but his touch feels different. Gentle, reassuring, safe. 
“You alright?” he says, a deep crease between his brow as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern. 
“I’m alright – tha,” your words break a little, and you start to feel hot tears cling to your lashline, “thank you,” you manage to blurt out, avoiding looking at him in the eyes, not wanting him to see yours all teary. 
He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You bring your hand to meet his on your cheek and notice a sticky sensation under your palm. You grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Jesus, if his hand looks like this, what must that guy’s face look like?
"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. "It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he reassures, but you can tell he's probably lying. 
"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.
"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.
"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.
Interlacing your fingers with his on his left hand, you guide him through the restaurant.
Navigating through the kitchen, smelling of oil and french fries, you caution him to watch his step on the freshly mopped yet always greasy floors.
In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. Joel leans against the desk, quietly observing you. "Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.
He stands silently, watching as you work to open the kit, his eyes fixed on you, particularly when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth. "This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. 
“You can make it up to me later,” he whispers. His tone, the intention behind his words sends an exciting zap down your spine. There’s shared silence. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, that same feeling of raw want, painted with uncertainty, settles in your stomach. 
“Can I ask you something,” he says, and you flick your eyes up to meet his for a moment before lowering them back down his hand. You let out a soft mhmm in response, knowing his question before he’s even asked it. 
“Why didn’t you call?” 
The boldness of his question stops you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. You lean in close enough to catch the scent of him – cedarwood and fresh cotton, the earthy scent of desert dust clinging to his clothes. 
“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. 
You stand before him, looking at his chest and the bare skin on his neck that’s dotted with freckles, avoiding his eyes.  
“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Have you always been this self-deprecating?
His hands float up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze fixed on a button on his shirt in front of you. 
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
The bandaged hand trails up over the side of your body, and his fingers land under your chin, his thumb tilting you up to look at him. You’re sure you must look like a mess, eyes tired from a long shift, mascara smudged from your tears. How pathetic you must look. The pad of his thumb caresses over your lips and you hold your breath. 
There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things. 
But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him. 
But no. 
Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.
“Joel,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. His thumb is still on your lower lip. 
“Ki–” Before you can continue, his hand drops, and his lips crash into yours and he groans. He wants to rip you open, eat you raw, to devour every inch of you. You’ve had plenty of kisses, but none like this – none full of such heat, a fiery intensity, a need. He wants you. Joel wants you. 
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and you let out a little whimper. The sweet sound goes straight to his already hardening cock. He holds you tighter to his chest, thick and capable hands on your hips as he dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as a man his size can. He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Your breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your jaw, eliciting a soft moan from you. And oh – he likes that. 
“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, his voice a little wrecked already and he’s barely touched you. 
His hand trails up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra you’ve had for far too long. You would be embarrassed about him seeing it if you weren’t so aroused, drunk on his touch. You continue to let out little moans as he kisses your neck, and thumbs at your nipple beneath the fabric.
“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest. 
His words melt into you like butter, making you feel all soft and weak-limbed, fuzzy in a way that’s new to you. 
“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. The words come naturally for a girl who never really had more than a one-night stand or some shitty fuck from a guy who drank too much whiskey – his dick half-hard, promising he’ll rock your world.
That does it for him.
Joel’s cock is rock hard, with an almost painful stiffness. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. 
But as much as he needs that right now, he knows he has an obligation. To make you feel good. To make you feel good about yourself in every way. 
He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.
“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. If you weren’t so hazy you might’ve made a joke about him only having one good hand at the moment. He would chuckle at that, you briefly think, before his husky voice speaks again. 
“Can I undress you?” he asks. You’ve never been asked that, most of the other men we’re quick just to take your clothes off. Too sloppy, too eager – careless. You’re starting to realize how hot consent is.
You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, all while Joel unbuttons your skirt. You wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. As a reflex, you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body, wishing you could blend into the wallpaper. 
“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. 
He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Goosebumps collect like pebbles on your skin from the cool air, and your nipples harden from the significance of the moment. 
“No need’ta hide from me,” he assures you. You believe him. 
You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. You can’t control the deep hum that escapes from your throat. Joel smirks at the sound, lips still attached to your breast. 
“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. You have of course played with your nipples when you touched yourself, but you’ve never had a man pay so much attention to them, to be gentle and firm at the same time. 
He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, whispering sweet praises as he does. You drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls that gather on the back of his head as he works his way down to the band of your panties. Much like your bra, you’d wish you opted for a cuter pair of underwear. Not like you own any anyway, but something tells you he could give two shits about that right now. 
On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. He looks up at you with a softness you’ve never seen in a man, his pupils so dark they edge out most of the brown, his hooded eyes are almost a plea for you to let him continue. 
“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, already hooking his thumbs in the band of them, awaiting your permission. 
You pause with your mouth agape a bit, not quite sure what to say. Every fiber of your being wants you to say yes, yes, yes. But you’re nervous – you haven’t shaved, and you remember Tracy saying something about men not liking hair on women, especially not on their pussy — a man won’t even eat you out if you’ve not been properly groomed. 
What if you taste weird? What if he doesn’t like it? You’ve only been eaten out once if you can even classify it as such, and he was down there for maybe two seconds before he was rising and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, claiming whatever you’re wet enough before shoving his rather average cock into your pussy, paying no mind to you or your pleasure. 
“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away, trying to give Joel an out. 
His prominent nose presses into your mound and he moans, moans, at your smell. 
“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, the truth behind his voice evident in his tone. His cock twitches against the confines of his jeans. 
He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame, he thinks. 
“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. You’re determined to not let the negative thoughts swirling in your head win. 
“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. 
He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him. 
“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. You let out a soft little sound at the feeling of his lips on your skin. He looks up at you once again, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, before once again returning his attention to your cunt. 
He gets bold with his kisses, and once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. You look down at him with lusty doe eyes and bite your lower lip in anticipation, still a little nervous. He looks at you and gently nudges the nip in, he holds it there for a brief second, before fully thrusting it up into your core, holding your gaze as he enters you. You gasp.
“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, his lips sealed around your puffy clit. His large finger pumps in and out of you as his tongue flicks and swirls where you need him the most. 
“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle. 
“That���s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s so precise, so overwhelming, so fucking good. 
Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and the world goes a little fuzzy at the edges of your vision. You’ve had an orgasm before, you think, but you don’t remember it feeling like this. 
You moan as he sets a relentless pace with his mouth and fingers, slowly tightening the coil inside of you in a way you’ve never felt before. Time slows for a brief moment and your vision goes white, little specks of light dancing behind your eyelids, heat rushing up to your chest and cheeks. 
Until – 
“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. And when he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to his full height. 
“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until his lips find yours. You taste yourself on them, feel the wetness in his beard. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan. It’s so hot to taste yourself on him, dizzying that he’s not wiping it away. He wants you. Joel wants you.
The daze of your release wears off, hurling you back down to earth. Joel kept his promise, he did show you what you’re worthy of. No more mediocre, subpar sex for you. You are worthy of that. Deserve that and more. It’d be rude of you not to return the favor. 
On jelly-like legs, you begin to kneel before him, wanting nothing more than to be a practitioner of pleasure, to elicit another good girl from him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor. 
“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask, feeling a sting of rejection. 
“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.
You bring your palm to cup him through his jeans and he groans, your hands trace over the thick shape. He’s big. You watch as his jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. You can’t help but feel excited when you feel a damp spot on his jeans, the place where his pre-come has gathered. 
“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says with intensity, an urgency in his voice. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. 
Truly seeing him, the sight of his heavy cock in all its glory, makes your mouth water a little. 
“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. You think you might actually feel him there when he’s inside you at this rate. 
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. You get the memo. He lifts you and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk behind you, your damp skin sticking to the mess of customer receipts and supply lists underneath you. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s music to his fucking ears. 
“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do. He juts his head down and spits onto it, using his fist to work it onto himself. You hold your legs open in a V, bracing yourself with your arms behind you. Your ass hangs slightly off the edge of the desk, just enough for him to have full access and view of your glistening slit.  
He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. Your heart throbs in your chest, and your eyes flicker closed. 
“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. 
“Okay?” he asks. You nod. 
You can tell he’s holding back, not wanting to hurt you. And while you may be out of practice, you know your body was made for this. You feel so full, so content, you just want to feel all of him. After he’s confident you’re ready, he pushes his hips forward once again, fully burying himself deep inside of you. 
Your pussy walls clench against him, and your jaw goes slack. You were right, you do feel him in your tummy. He’s so fucking big, but god, it feels good. It’s like he’s stuffing and filling all of the lonely spaces that have been hiding inside of you for so long. Like he was made for you.
He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. You can tell he wants to fuck you harder, deeper. You can tell that he’s waiting for you to take it there, to give him that permission. 
“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand at your hip flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk, your bare breasts flesh against the cool wood, your hips perfectly positioned at the edge, bent over and waiting to once again be stuffed. 
He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.
“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. Something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin. 
“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” you say, breathless. 
“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep. 
Good girl. Pretty. Come for him. 
And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, your mind hazy and filled with nothing but the thought of the way he fills you just right. 
His movements begin to slow. You can tell he’s close. 
“Where do you want me, baby?”
“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you rasp, beg. 
After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. 
He holds you there, both of your breaths coming a little ragged, his body shaking and jolting a little. You feel him pulse inside of you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this content, utterly blissed out from the feeling of him – all of him – deep inside of you. 
When he pulls out, you let out a small moan, a little sad your pussy has nothing to clench around anymore. He tells you to stay there for a second before he returns with a handful of paper towels from the kitchen to help clean you up. 
He kisses you again. It’s different this time, not as intense as the first few, but just as hot, just as passionate. The same pull you felt the moment he first entered the restaurant. 
He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up. 
“Wanna smoke?” 
++++ 
“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, the dim glow of the fire illuminates your features. 
“Too long,” you mumble, taking a big drag. Now you get why in movies after a really good sex scene the characters always want a cigarette. You watch as he lights his own. 
“And you, where are you off to next?” You don’t want him to leave. 
“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke dancing in the air around him. 
Your stomach twists a bit at the thought. Don’t go. 
“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. 
He gives you a subtle wink. You smile.
You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him, taking in the crisp desert air, enjoying being next to him. 
And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. You accept.
But this time when you stamp out the cigarette, watching the embers fade into darkness, you fully entertain the notion that not only could you have more.
You will. 
Especially if Joel has anything to say about it.
END
Or if you want, you can read Joel’s POV here.
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Tagging some moots cuz I'm sure Tumblr will probably fuck my engagement on this one since I haven't posted in forever :/ If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @hellishjoel @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy
ily.
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zialltops · 1 month
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but especially when he’s this joel in wranglers & a cowboy hat 😏
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pascals-doll · 1 month
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like a virgin
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joel miller x reader
🫧 inspired by madonnas like a virgin MY MADONNA CONCERT IS COMING UP I-
🫧 i always make my writings for joel so long but i love this man smm i could write all day for him it dont even b on purpose 😩
🫧 description: pre-outbreak!joel, babysitter!reader, reader babysits sarah, semi-fluff, DILF JOEL DILFFF, age gap (joel is 36 and reader is early 20s), smut smut, SMUT SMUTTT, dom!joel, softdom!joel(ugh i need so bad),sub!reader, hella praise kink, reader and joel are obessesed w each other tbh, secret crushing, body worship (reader reciving/ slight joel), pussy eating, possessive!joel, unprotected sex, p in v sex, hair pulling (j recieving), tommy is a teasing p.o.s 😭, no use of y/n, use of nicknames (sweetheart, darlin, and sweet girl).
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you stepped into the miller’s residence weekly to babysit his daughter Sarah, she was the sweetest teen girl. she reminded you a bit of yourself when you were her age which was probably the cause of the instant connection.
you had been baby-sitting for almost 8 months now, leading to getting closer to Joel; Sarah’s dad.
Joel was more than a hunk of a man, he towered over you even with your heeled mary-janes at times, his broad build engulfing all his clothing making him look like a slutty construction worker with his roughed up baggy-blue jeans thats sinched around his waist perfectly.
you would be lying if you wouldn’t oogle the man while his attention was pulled onto something else. you would watch the way he talked so sweetly to Sarah, yet when it came to a phone call, his neighbor, a stranger or his brother, Tommy that would occasionally stop by.
Joel would have this assertive and unruly tone underneath that thick southern accent. he was a man that paid close attention in his life which is why he has allowed you to take care of his daughter with so much trust.
you would never know it but Joel cherished you and the things you do.
Joel would show it in very discreet ways, today was a prime a example.
“m’havin a famiy cookout later t’night, why don’t you head on home to rest, so you can come back to enjoy with us.” Joel invitied you with ease as you began to grab your belongings from his coat-rack near his front door.
you grabbed your purse, walking towards the sound of his voice which was right around the corner. Joel was standing in his wide living room.
“it would be more than my pleasure. thank you for everything again. im always very appreciative for sarah and you” you thanked him sweetly, eyes meeting his.
he stood next to his large bookcase that had an assortment of different books, personal objects, some cds/dvds, and his vinyls.
joel picked up a vinyl, sliding out of the slot in the shelving of his bookcase, pulling it out of the envelope, and placing it on the record player.
yet another instance, where you accidentally ogle him.
“the real thank you should be t’ya. im adjustin’ to single parentin’ and ya’ been very accommodatin’, thank you.”
your kind demeanor was the sweetner to his coffee.
you were now home, getting dressed to return to the Miller’s residence.
usually when you’re babysitting, you dressed lazily. you would put on a random shirt and jeans or sweats.
you wanted to cleanup a bit more, knowing it wasnt just going to be you and sarah most of the day; Joel would be there.
you threw on this cute blue floral sundress that was mid-length, it stopped right below your cross necklace.
you finished up by pairing it with white frilly socks with mid-heeled black flats.
you didn’t put much makeup on, only putting the basics before doing any last touch-ups and grabbing your black mini-purse.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
once you arrived, opening the gate and greeting a few of the people that were sitting on the porch before entering through the front door.
the sound of chatter got louder as you walked through his home. you turned around to the corner and his living room was empty but his kitchen was cluttered with different food and grill necessities.
you thought to yourself how they must be outside, you began to walk farther into his home till the back where the sliding door to his backyard was.
you began to slide the door open “oh my!! you came!” sarah squealed out of excitement, she came from restroom door next to the side of his sliding door.
you immediately engulfed the excited girl that ran into your arms “i wouldn’t miss it for the world, girl!” you exclaim while smiling.
“c’mon! my dad is outside grilling!” sarah spoke excitedly. she grabbed your hand as you opened the door and walked outside together.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
“d’ya invite that sweet babysitter of yours?” Tommy asks joel while seasoning the steak “i did, i hope she comes-you know, for sarah and all” Joel tries to play off with his words.
“oh my brother fancy’s someone, i see” Tommy chuckles out, putting his beer bottle up in the air slightly.
“i do not fuckin’fancy that young lady. she’s gone above and beyond for my daughter and i just wanted her to feel welcome” Joel explains himself, his tone laced with angry yet getting his explaination a across a bit hastily. Tommy’s eyebrow quirks.
“don’t say nothin’ else” Joel utters out in a stern tone, grabbing his cold corona as Tommy puts his hands up in defence.
Tommy turned his head, not the best decision as it made his amusement grow fonder. he turns back to Joel.
“well, ya’look at that brother” Tommy slys out, throwing a wink at his older brother before making his way back to his wife Maria.
It was you and sarah approaching, Joel actually choked on his sip of beer.
you were beautiful, Joel wasn’t an oblivious man.
Joel, himself even thought it was impressive how easily you cleaned yourself up by just some jeans and sweatshirt; at times just a shirt.
tonight was different, very different.
Joel finally has seen you outside of your different hoodies and pants.
he couldn’t begin to comprehend as you and sarah got closer and closer “Dad! she made it” sarah calls him out in excitement.
you finally approached him next to his griller which caused him to immediately snap out of his gaze.
Joel gave you his hand to shake “thank you so much for having me” you thank him, sweetly accepting as you began to shake pulling you in for a soft side hug.
you were right beside him, feeling the heat of the fire from the grill on both of you.
in Joel’s eyes, up close, your beauty was now beyond otherworldly. your light blue sundress bringing out the color of your eyes, the way your hair fell on your shoulders, and your jewlery sparkiling the tone of your skin.
you looked so elegant, yet you still managed to keep it simple. your winged liner making you look more mature than just the light mascara you would rush onto your lashes before getting out of your car on babysitting days.
Joel couldn’t begin to wrap it around his mind how you could possibly look so pure yet you were a woman. a hard-working one at that.
he knew that. it was something that made him desire you which felt so wrong.
“anytime, ya deserve to be apart of the family-shit! ya’already are” Joel goes off a bit nervously after ogling you. you gave him a soft smile.
“did’ya need help with the grill?” you quickly perk in as the fire began to sizzle a tad bit louder than usual “ah shit!” Joel exclaims, flipping each of the steak.
“careful now, brother! dont burn ‘em!” Tommy calls out, laughing with a devious smirk as he approaches again with cooler in hand.
Joel grumbled something under his under his breath as he focused on the grill.
“nice to meet you, i’ve heard s’much about you! I’m Joel’s brother, Tommy.” the younger brother introduces himself.
you give him your hand to shake “It is nice to meet the uncle tommy” you joke out causing sarah to giggle with you.
Joel couldn’t begin to explain the beauty you carried within you.
he was sure that if a god made you, it was Hestia and Aphrodite.
𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪
the evening was pleasantly spent by you getting to meet maria and her pregnant belly, congratulating her.
then once it was time to serve the dinner, you helped Joel and Tommy by moving the grilled food off of the grill.
this consisted of Tommy making jokes that had slight insinuating under-tones that you were too naive to pick up but laugh everytime Joel would punch Tommy’s shoulder roughly, not being playful at all.
you helped bring in the food as sarah set up the dining table. once everything was set up and everyone sat down to eat, Joel’s grilling being beyond splendid.
when dinner was over while everyone cleaned up, you went to use the restroom.
you finished using up the restroom which is how you were now in Joel’s living room.
you began to admire his large bookcase from where he stood earlier to invite you.
you skimmed through, your hands softly going over the objects as you observed his books, framed pictures, his collection of dvds, and then his vinyls.
you had a record player of your own, sometimes sarah would ask you to play bon jovi and tell you where the record was.
Joel had an impressive collection, ranging to every genre of music. he had some legends on vinyls like Bob Marley, Johnny Cash, Lionel Richie, and Madonna.
you immediately picked up the Madonna vinyl, it was her second album ‘Like a Virgin’.
you grew up with your mom adoring Madonna more than anything which explains your adoration for her music.
“I was in highschool when i first heard Madonna” a deep voice spoke through the room, behind you.
you automatically knew it was Joel, turning around still looking at the tracklist on the back of his vinyl “this is my favorite album besides Like a Prayer” you say as you walk up to him, smiling.
“you weren’t even born yet” Joel laughs out causing you to jokingly get offended.
“excuse me, i know my Madonna” you joke back, giving him a playful wink which he just gave you a slight chuckle too.
“she say she know she Madonna, ay?” he gives you a slight smile, opening up his record player before inserting the vinyl.
soon enough the record player began to ring a classic 80s pop beat through the room.
you automatically felt yourself slightly popping your leg with the beat and snapling your fingers slightly.
“go ahead, Mr.80s” you state smiling, inviting him to dance “oh no, i-don’t dance” Joel quirks out awkwardly, now standing nervous.
Joel admired your confidence and comfortabilty in your skin, you were so young and full of life while also being so sophisticated and methodical.
you grab Joels hands and began to playfully sway with him.
Oh, like a virgin
Touched for the very first time
Like a virgin
When your heart beats next to mine
🫧
you sang the melodious lyrics under your breath. you felt your breath hitch as you locked eyes with joel, being in his grasp.
you could feel your body burn up in his strong hold, his heavy hand on the small of your waist.
your breath hitched causing your chest to push up against his chest. this felt so right, the way his hands held your body and each of your curves.
🫧
You're so fine, and you're mine
Make me strong, yeah, you make me bold
Oh, your love thawed out
Yeah, your love thawed out
What was scared and cold
Joel made you feel more than a woman, you were so polish and refined, yet so sophisticated and mature while all-looking ever so young and full of life.
he felt a bit of confidence which made him twirl you around, engulfing you into his embrace again with one arm; your back to his chest now.
you swore the sound of the song was slowly drowning out and now the sexual tension was ringing through the both of you.
you could feel his heartbeat thump against your back as his hands rubbed both sides of your waist to the rythem of your delicate sways.
you leaned your head back against his chest, his scent being the only thing on your mind.
you felt him begin to caress your hair with one hand as it left your waist.
“you’re s’beautiful, hope y’know that” Joel could blame it on his 5 beers but 5 beers wasn’t shit for Joel, he was very conscious of his choices.
the compliment sent shivers down your spine as you swore your knees grew limp momentarily.
you turned around, your thigh now inbetween one of his legs, chests pressed against each other, his hands gripping your hips now, and faces inches away from each other.
your lips were parted, you really were debating on kissing the beautiful hunk of a dad infront of you.
fuck it
just like that, within no time your lips were moving like you both had never kissed anyone before.
the song continuing to play as the both of you makeout in his living room while everyone was outside.
the way his hands ran through all of your body like he had never touched anyone, your lips pulling away to catch your breathe momentarily like you had never been kissed like that before.
Joel completely ravished you.
hell…now that he had you, he wasn’t gonna let go now.
“m’room darlin’” he mutters against your lips, before completely scooping you up bridal style. it caught you slightly off guard, gasping which made Joel smack your ass playfully.
“oh, aren’t you a gentleman?” you joke, your arms were wrapped around his neck.
“oh, don’t’cha worry sweetheart” Joel smirks out as you arrived to his room.
he laid you on his bed, going down with you while on top of you. he began to move his lips from kissing you to your neck, pulling down the small straps that held your dress.
each kiss that Joel placed on your body felt like a burning sensation, making your insides erupt with giddiness.
you felt like this was your first time all over again. your mind was racing, heart was nervous, and body was clamy.
and it was all because of Joel.
you weren’t sexually active at all recently, you were so busy with work, about to graduate with your masters, and even babysitting sarah; spending more time at the Millers than on dates.
you did go out but lord were the guys of this generation a bunch of sluts.
“what’s on your mind? am i doin’ somethin’ wrong?” Joel’s rushes out accidentally, not wanting to sound nervous but he did.
you weren’t only one feeling like a bad teenager doing this for the first time.
Joel smelled your perfume and that was all it took to get his mind racing. he couldn’t begin to fathom how he finally got to have you.
the way his big frame craddled yours sent him into overdrive, his heart going a million miles per minute as he tries to figure out where to even begin.
for you, it might’ve been a year but for him, it was almost like ages with the years he’s gone.
all Joel’s mind could do was think of all the things he could do to you.
“Joel-hmph” you couldnt help but whine out as his hands massaged closer and closer to your arousal.
“there there sweet girl, you ever been with a man?” Joel asks, lifting your dress up, exposing your angelic white panties.
Joel was damned forsure for the filthy thoughts you provoked out of him.
“n-no, i have never—they were idiots.” you felt so small under him, feeling overwhelmed like it was your first time all again.
at this point, you could’ve considered yourself a virgin with how Joel had you and how much of a man he was.
“you ain’t gon’go lookin’ f’someone to take care of that pretty lil’mind, not after im done with’ya.” Joel claims to you.
you believe every single word laced in his southern accent; making your cunt pulsate wantingly.
“is that what you want to do, Joel? take care of me?” you ask him, lifting your leg to spread yourself open more as you wrap it around his lower waist; basically resting on his thick thigh.
the way you looked at him through your lashes, batting them softly. it was a genuine question, laced with purity and hope.
“if you’ll allow me too-” Joel began, pulling down your panties. you expected him to unbuckle his belt next but no; he got on his knees.
your chest weighed up and down heavily, each of his touch making your body hot.
“it’s my only wish for taking care of me and sarah” Joel finishes before hooking both of your legs up onto his shoulders, his tongue wasting no time.
you didn’t even get a chance to respond, a moan erupting out of you being the only thing.
the way he ate your pussy like he didn’t just eat a whole meal downstairs had your back already arching.
Joel’s tongue swiped along all of your cunt, fucking your sweethole “jesus, ya’taste fuckin’ delicious” Joel mumbles against your pussy as his tongue quickens all along your juiced cunt.
“ahmph!” your shriek sounding like music to his ears, if he didnt have his family downstairs, he’d have you screaming.
“quiet fa’me, doll” he says, taking a hand to cover your mouth as before diving back in.
joel’s tongue fucks into your hole this time causing you to let out a muffled moan against his big hand.
the way that man was eating your pussy, tainting your pussy with his spit, marking it all as his drove you insane. there wasnt nothing this man couldn’t do.
“god! j-joel!” you muffle out, your hands go to his roughed up brown hair, pulling on it causing him to groan into your dripping pussy.
you felt yourself getting closer and closer, your pussyhole squeezing around the tip of his tongue.
“this pussy s’perfect- s’all fuckin’ mine.” Joel spits out once he pulled away from your pussy, denying you of your orgasm.
your mouth was agape in pleasure but then quickly falling into a pout “don’t worry darlin’, my baby will cum…on my dick” Joel’s voice is sweet like honey now as he leaned down to connect your lips together.
you taste yourself on his lips, mixture of his spit along his lips causing you to moan at the mix of both of your filth fogging your mind.
the way both of your lips moved in sync perfectly was beyond intoxicating for joel. he swore he could get addicted to just at the look of you but at this point, both of your lips had him drunk.
he had shimmied and kicked off his pants while making-out with you. he was completely taking over you once again, your body turning small under his big one.
“are you ready, sweetheart?” joel asks delicately, pulling away from your lips to look at your eyes.
you told him yes, leaning up to take his shirt off which he happily obliged.
you had only seen his toned arms but it was obvious he had a strong build. he might’ve not had a six-pack but lord were his muscles chiseled like a greek god.
“you gon’ drool over an old man?” joel utters out, his hand going in to caress your hair.
“oh baby, you’re beyond fine wine.” you whisper. your forehead’s connected, lips away from kissing, and looking him deep in his chocolate eyes.
Joel could feel his breath hitch at what you said, you already had him wrapped around your finger as he worshipped you.
Joel thrusted himself into you, he couldn’t even fucking believe how tight you were.
“jesus- god, this pussy s-ah fuck!” joel’s groan was almost animalistic as your mouth fell as if you wanted to scream but nothing came out.
Joel’s cock was a size you’ve never had before, it didnt hurt but oh, did it stretch.
“s’big-oh my!” you moan out loudly, eyes rolling back at the feeling of him delectably stretching your pussy out.
“you got it baby, you got it” he praises you although he was too busy trying not too pass-out because of your cunt.
after a small moment of adjusting for the both of you, he began to thrust into you at a slow pace.
you arch into him as your whimpers and soft moans turn slowly work their way up to louder and heavier moans.
joel worked himself into you, his mind not being able to get enough of all of you. he still had to process that he really had a young beautiful woman with the heart of a home in his bed.
joel completely held your body with one hand, eventually putting a hand over your mouth again once his sweet thrusts turned into pounds.
your body shaking against his with each of his rough and hard thrusts, fucking your name out of your mind and replacing it wirh his.
your muffled little cries of his name “Joel! joel-ah! j-j! j-joel!” sounding like a sweet lullaby to him. he couldn’t help but smirk at your teary eyed-self.
you werent even worried about ruining that pretty liner of yours as he fucked into you.
“shh my baby, you’re taking me so well” joel coos out, caressing you hair before leaning down to plant kisses and suck on your chest.
your hands grip his bed sheets as your body begins to shake in pure sensual bliss that joel brought you, making your mind fog up as the build up of your orgasm is almost virginal.
“ya’look so beautiful like this-” praises left joel’s lips left and right, loving and indulging in every single one of his praises as he fucked you to your orgasm so sickeningly good; leaving the both of you intoxicated.
“you was made fa’me, not no one else.” Joel’s eyes were shut now, completely lost in the pleasure you were giving him.
it was almost like a prayer, a hopeful chant, almost a possessive plead.
joel had wanted you just as much as you wanted him “yes! god yes! m’close! it’s y-yours! all yours!” your pleasure-filled babbles as your mind gets drunk of joels cock and overwhelming orgasm.
“let go, darlin’ ” Joel works you through your orgasm, hips going from pistoling into you to the delicate pace he started off with.
your entire body shook as both of your sweaty hot bodies embraced each other through both of your orgasms.
the room filled with heavy pants and moans as his hand left your mouth and began to massage your hair.
you both held each other, not wanting to let go of each other.
“i understand what madonna meant by ‘like a virgin’ now” you giggle out causing a playfully scoff to come from him.
“alright alright, we need t’get dressed and head back down. would ya’ want to stop by tomorrow after i drop sarah off at school?” joel asks, his chocolate eyes now ridden of lust and replaced with soft hope.
you were about to tell him yes but another voice spoke before you.
“are you fucking done?! fuck! i can’t keep stalling Sarah and Maria!” it was Tommy.
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beskarandblasters · 2 days
Text
Immortal By Design
Possessed!Din Djarin x F!Reader
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Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Story Playlist
Author’s note: I originally had this posted as a mini series, but I decided to make it a one shot instead! (。◕‿◕。) To see what this Din looks like, click here! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Summary: Din Djarin picks up a mysterious job at the Bounty Hunter’s Guild from a high paying client that specifically requested him. Once he tracks down the bounty, he discovers two things— you tracking the bounty for different reasons entirely and a lot more than he bargained for.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), no Grogu in this universe, possession, cursed object, dark!Din, monsterfucking (I think), Din has heightened capabilities, dub con/noncon, restraints, reader gets captured, oral sex (M and F receiving), rough oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mir’sheb = smart ass, character death, no use of y/n
Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs
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Part One: Possession of Another Kind
It’s a typical day on Nevarro. Din walks through the marketplace, heading towards the Bounty Hunters Guild to pick up another job as part of his normal routine. 
Typical. Normal. Ordinary. 
That is unless he steps into the Guild. 
“Mando!” Karga shouts, beckoning for him to come to his booth. He seems frantic… urgent. Before Din even has a chance to speak, Karga continues, pulling out a tracking fob and setting it on the table. 
But for once there’s no bounty poster hologram, no flickering blue lights. 
“No poster?” Din asks, cocking his helmet to the side. 
“No…  But the reward is quite large.”
“How much?”
Karga scans the room, eyes bouncing from person to person. He leans forward, lowering his voice and saying, “A million credits.”
Din can’t believe his ears. There’s no way this is legit. No one on Nevarro or in the Outer Rim for that matter has that kind of credits. 
“Sounds like a scam,” Din says, leaning back in the booth. 
“It’s not. Droid came here this morning and dropped off the fob. Said they’d back with the reward once the bounty was captured.”
“You know I don’t care for droids.”
“You can’t pass up this reward.”
“…No one else wanted this job?”
“The client specifically requested you.”
Din’s hairs stand on their ends. A shiver runs down his spine. The fact that someone did their research… Someone who knows who he is and specifically chose him for the job is suspicious but also intriguing. And the reward is too prosperous to pass up. This bounty must be dangerous if the client is willing to pay this much. 
“Fine. I’ll do it,” he sighs. He takes the fob from the table and slips out of the booth. 
“Good luck,” Karga says with a strange look in his eye.
Din isn’t one to get scared, but the circumstances here are undeniably ominous. Between Karga’s strange behavior, the missing bounty poster, and the absurdly high reward, Din has an unsettling feeling coursing through his body. He heads back to the Crest, his mind wandering with the possibilities of what exactly he just got himself into. 
He plugs in the coordinates from the fob into the control panel of the Crest. And the location is an immediate red flag…
The bounty is located on Malachor of all places. 
Malachor is a barren wasteland of a planet. Din knows the planet means bad news but he doesn’t know why exactly. Something about the Empire or the Sith. The Empire he’s well acquainted with but the Sith? The Jedi? Not so much. 
At least if it’s a barren place, the bounty shouldn’t be too hard to find, right? He’s not too worried about the potential Sith connotations just yet. Din’s a capable warrior, raised by the best of the best in the galaxy. He should be able to hold his own without too many troubles. 
He sets a course for Malachor and takes off. Nevarro gets smaller and smaller underneath him and the unsettling feeling returns. He just keeps reminding himself of the life-changing reward he’ll receive if he succeeds. 
Not if but when.
-
It doesn’t take too long to get to Malachor from Nevarro. Both are Outer Rim planets. So thankfully, the journey there was rather uneventful. 
But when he lands on Malachor? That’s a different story.
He lands the Razor Crest on the desolate surface, grabs the fob, and heads outside. Barren would be an understatement to describe this planet. It’s empty. There’s not a single soul around for miles. It feels like the planet is absent of all light sources. Thick, gray, clouds coat the sky above him. The ground beneath his feet is a rocky wasteland. It’s not hard to understand why there’s no life here; why no one comes here. All of this begs the question; what is the bounty doing here?
He follows the signal of the tracking fob, feeling like he’s walking in circles for ages. His surroundings are the same, with no identifiable landmarks or features around to let him know he’s making progress. He feels his sanity start to slip. The tracking fob keeps beeping monotonously, showing no signs that he’s getting closer to the target. It’s driving him insane. For an uninhabited planet, this bounty is a lot harder to find than he originally thought. He starts to wonder… Is this even worth it anymore? Is it worth his time and frustration?
He interrupts his own train of thought.
Yes. Yes, it is worth it. For a million credits, you’ll spend however long it takes to find the bounty, he tells himself.
Good things come to those who wait. In the distance just over the horizon line, he spots something odd. As he gets closer he can slowly make out what it is– four top-heavy, pyramidal stones situated in a square formation. The tracking fob beeps faster and louder as he gets closer to the stones. Once he’s up close and personal with them he sees just how massive they are. They tower over him and etched in the stone is a language he can’t understand, written in bright red. One of the stones is surrounded by an opening in the planet, a deep hole descending below the surface. The tracking fob only goes crazier as he draws closer to the crater. Only way to go from here is down. 
He uses his jetpack to carefully lower himself into the hole, using the lamp attached to his helmet to see where he’s going. Once he feels the ground beneath his feet, he looks around and can’t believe his eyes. 
A vast field of stones is buried underneath the surface, each of them etched with the same red lettering he saw up above. And in the center of the field is a black stone pyramid, the tip of it glowing red. He looks beneath him and he’s standing on a cliff. He lowers himself deeper into the field of stones, his hairs standing on their ends. This is unmistakably a bad place. 
Something ominous looms in the air, a feeling of dread brewing in Din’s stomach. But he persists, following the trail the tracking fob is taking him. He inches closer and closer to the temple? The tomb? Whatever that pyramid-looking thing is. As he gets closer to it, a disembodied voice calls to him. 
Come closer. 
…Is it the bounty? The voice didn’t sound like it was speaking out loud… It sounded like it was inside Din’s head. 
But how is that possible?
He’s at the opening of the pyramid and it all happens so fast. The tracking fob is ballistic, beeping, and flashing lights rapidly. Everything is a blur around him. It’s like his mind isn’t in control of his body. 
All he can hear is the fob going off and the voice talking directly in his ear. 
Come find me.  
A large box stands before him, blackened stone etched with red, just like everything else in this strange place. He’s not sure what this place is exactly but he feels like he has to be standing in some sort of temple. The box looks more like a tomb, long enough for Din to fit inside of it lying down. This place definitely belongs to some sort of religion. Maybe even a cult. Could this place belong to the Sith? What is he getting himself into?
Open the lid, the voice commands. 
He does as he’s told, lifting the heavy stone lid and revealing… an amulet. 
Put me on. Don’t be shy, the voice says. 
He looks down at the fob in his hand, the beeping is incessant. It can’t be any clearer that this… this thing is what he was sent to look for. 
Put me on, the voice commands again. 
He takes the silver chain in his hands, the red pendant glowing red just like everything else here. He really shouldn’t put this strange, seemingly bewitched object on but he feels compelled to. The voice is convincing, talking to him like this is what he’s supposed to be doing. 
He lifts the chain above his helmet pulling it down around his neck. 
Protect me. Keep me close to your heart. 
Without thinking he tucks the chain into his flight suit, feeling the cool metal contrast against his warm skin. All of a sudden he feels… different. He’s not really sure how to explain it but he feels better, like he’s more in tune with himself. He feels stronger, more alert, almost like he’s on another plane of existence. It’s exhilarating like someone just gave him the best drugs in the galaxy. 
The beeping on the tracking fob finally subsides. Could it be that he was after all this time? That doesn’t make sense. He was sent to track down… an object? No, that can’t be right. 
But it does make sense why there was no bounty poster. It makes sense why the client was so mysterious.
Another question crosses his mind… 
Why was the reward so high?
His mind swirls with questions and possibilities as to what this all means—the voice buts in, interrupting his train of thought.
It doesn’t matter how or why. It happened for a reason. 
He decides the voice is right and revels in his newfound heightened state. Listening to this voice that seemingly comes from nowhere feels right, almost like he’s complete. 
As he exits the pyramid a shout rips him from his bliss. 
“What have you done?!”
He turns around to find a woman. That woman is you, your brow furrowed and your face aghast. You storm over to him, your eyes looking past him and into the pyramid; into the open tomb.
Din’s speechless, unsure of what exactly your problem is. He was just completing a job. What’s it to you? Mindlessly, his hand gravitates towards the chain under his flight suit, almost feeling the need to protect it. 
“You didn’t put it on, did you?” you ask, turning your gaze back towards him. 
“What does it matter to you?” he snaps.
“You have no idea what you just did.”
“It’s a necklace. I put it on. It’s not the end of the world,” he deadpans. 
“You don’t know what that is?”
“…No?”
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Din doesn’t understand what’s going on, he doesn’t understand why you’re so pressed by this. It’s just an object. It can’t hurt anyone. 
“That amulet is cursed by one of the Mortis Gods… the Son.”
“…Who?”
“You don’t know who the Mortis Gods are? The Ones?”
“It sounds familiar?”
Don’t listen to her, the voice chimes in. 
“The Mortis Gods were a powerful family of force-wielders. The Son embodied the Dark Side. The Daughter embodied the light side. And the Father held the balance between them until the Son grew too powerful. And then- Actually you know what? I’m not here to give you a kriffing history lesson. The bottom line is the Son cursed that amulet you’re wearing.”
DON’T LISTEN TO HER.
“Why is that a problem?” he asks, getting defensive. 
“You don’t feel… different?”
Deny. Deny. Deny. 
“No.”
In one swift motion, you’re grabbing a dagger hidden in your boot and reaching for the cowl of his cape. You rest the flat side of the blade against the fabric, glaring into his visor. 
“So you don’t mind if I cut the chain off of you?”
Some innate instinct comes over him, the primal urge to protect what is now his. He swats the dagger from your hand, his arm looping around your neck and placing you in a headlock. His other hand reaches for the handcuffs on his belt, grabbing them and enclosing them around your wrists. 
Good. This is good.
“What the”
Leave her here.
“What’s stopping me from leaving you here?” he says, tightening the headlock.
“Be my guest. But I’ll just say this– You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“And you do?”
“Yes. I’ve been researching this for many cycles now. You leave me here? You sabotage yourself.”
His grip around your neck softens and he slowly releases you, grabbing your upper arm. 
What are you doing? I said leave her here. Stop-
“Fine, but you’re coming with me.”
He bends down and wraps his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. Din’s always been a strong man but everything he does feels so effortless. His senses are heightened. His reflexes are swift. He feels like he’s at his peak; the best version of himself. 
You protest, banging your fists into his back but it doesn’t matter. He’s drowning out your angry shouts and listening to the voice. 
Fine. Take her back to your ship and keep her as a prisoner.  She’s nothing but a loose end. 
He makes his way out of the underground cavern and back up to the surface, completely tuning out everything you’re saying. When you try to wiggle free he just tightens his grip, keeping you firmly pressed up against his body. 
Once he’s on the surface again, he sees what must be your ship— or what’s left of it anyway. You crash landed here. In actuality, without Din, you’d be stranded here. And he doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind you that. 
“Quit complaining,” he says, cutting off your shouts of protest, “Without me, you’d be rotting away here.”
You sigh and Din feels like he could almost hear you roll your eyes. His comment worked, though. Because for the rest of the journey back to the Razor Crest, you’re silent. Only muttering a few words under your breath as he sets you down on a crate in the storage area. 
His helmet snaps towards you. He acts like he can’t hear what you said but the truth is he did. You muttered something about how he only cursed himself in the end. 
“What was that?” he asks, crouching down in front of you. 
“You have no idea what you just did to yourself.”
“And you do?” he counters, “Why is this necklace such a big deal to you?”
“Like I said before, it's cursed.”
“Cursed how?”
“It makes the wearer immortal. But if they were to take it off, they’d die.”
Don’t listen to her. It doesn't matter. No one is taking me from you.
“Did you say… immortal?”
“Mhm.”
“But… how can that be?”
“You really don’t know anything about this? You didn’t mean to put it on?”
“No. I was sent here to track down a bounty. I was expecting a person, not a piece of jewelry.”
“Who sent you here?”
“The client was anonymous.”
You lean back against the metal wall of the Crest, eyes wide and lost in thought. Din’s had enough of your questioning, though. Who are you exactly to question him while he’s just trying to do his job and get paid?
“Who are you?” he asks. 
“Does it matter?”
“It does. Clearly, you know what this is. Were you after it for yourself?”
“No! That’s not it at all. I wanted to destroy it. I-”
She’s lying. Silence her. 
Surely the voice isn’t telling him to kill you… Right? 
Even if that’s what the voice is insinuating, he doesn’t do it. Instead, he grabs you by the arm again and hauls you to the carbonite freezer. You beg and plead for him to reconsider his actions but he doesn’t listen, drowning out your voice and following his instincts again. Soon enough, you’re encapsulated in the carbonite. Without a second thought, Din climbs the ladder to the cockpit and sets a course back to Nevarro. He sends a transmission to Karga, letting him know that he secured the “bounty” that way the mysterious droid will be back with the credits. There are only two things on his mind; collect his reward and learn more about his newfound power. 
-
Part Two: Purge the Poison
Din lands on Nevarro with adrenaline coursing through his body. This is what this treacherous journey has been leading up to– the reward. He takes one last look at you frozen in the carbonite before leaving and heading back to the Guild. He’s not sure how this is supposed to work. He doesn’t have a bounty to deliver. He just has an object, bound to his neck that he allegedly can’t take off. He should be able to collect the credits, right?
Wrong. 
The droid never returned. 
“I don’t know, Mando. The droid never came back.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” The voice is noticeably quiet for once…
“All we can do is wait. I don’t have a way to contact the client,” Karga sighs. 
Din leans back in the booth and closes his eyes. He’s not just angry– he’s enraged. But he keeps his cool, not snapping here in the Guild. 
“You know where to find me,” he says, irritation heavy in his voice. He slips out of the booth and storms out of there, heading back to the Crest where you’re waiting for him, still encased in carbonite. 
He’s filled with so much pent-up rage that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s bursting at the seams. It’s threatening to bubble up over the surface. It’s about to let itself loose and out into the world. It’ll tear him apart if he doesn’t do something about it.
I know what you can do about it. 
He internally winces at what the voice is about to suggest.  
Kill someone. Kill her. 
He can’t and he shouldn’t. For the time being you’re valuable to him. You mysteriously have much information about the strange item he found on Malachor. Where did you come from? How do you know so much about this amulet? Were you lying when you said you wanted to destroy it?
Once he’s back inside the Crest he gets to work on unfreezing you. He watches as your carbonite slowly melts away, revealing your damp and shivering form. He catches you as you fall forward, keeping you upright. You’re blinking rapidly, searching your surroundings. 
“Your vision will return,” he says curtly. 
“I know,” you snap. 
He forcefully grabs you by the shoulders and drags you to a crate. He sits you down but leaves your cuffs on. He walks to his bunk and grabs his blanket, draping it around your shoulders before crouching down in front of you. 
“You’re going to tell me what you know about this,” he says, pulling the amulet out from under his flight suit but never taking it off, “And you’re going to tell me who you are.”
“I already told you what I know about it. You’re immortal until you take it off.”
“And then what? I’ll die.”
“Yup. I’ve been researching it for a long time.”
“Why? What put you onto this?”
“I’m a history professor at Coruscant University. My thesis was on the Mortis Gods which led me to the Son’s Amulet. I spent many cycles trying to figure out if it even existed and where it was hidden,” you explain, looking past his helmet. 
“What were you going to do with it once you found it?” he asks, tucking the amulet away. 
“Destroy it,” you say, meeting his visor. 
“Beat you to it.”
“I know but now you’re the one who’s screwed.”
Don’t listen to her. Think of all the untapped potential you have. 
“Whatever, mir’sheb.”
“Huh?”
“Smartass.”
“I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass,” you retort. 
“I am not-”
“You put on a creepy haunted necklace all because the voice told you to.”
He physically feels the blood drain from his face. 
“You know about the voice?”
“Mhm.”
Silence her. 
But he can’t kill you. 
“I bet that voice is telling you to do all sorts of nefarious things,” you tease. 
His fists clench and unclench at his sides. You and your smart mouth. If only he could take out his frustration on you. If only you weren’t so valuable to him. If only there were another way to relieve his tension…
“I’d stop talking if I were you.”
“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” you counter, mouth forming into a smirk. 
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” he answers. 
“I’d like to see you try.”
You irritate the hell out of him but he can’t deny how attracted he is to you. Between the sly smirk on your face, the mischievous look in your eye, the little droplets of water beaded up on your skin, and how you don’t seem to be afraid of him even though you should be– Maker, it all makes his cock twitch with arousal. 
It’s almost like the voice takes over with the way he swiftly rises from the floor, grabs you by the waist, and throws you over his shoulder. 
“What the-” you start.
“Talk a big game, get punished,” he says nonchalantly, setting you down on his bunk. 
You open your mouth to speak but you’re at a loss for words, face to face with his massive bulge. He undoes the fly of his flight suit, his cock springing free. You stare at its intimidating size, it's rock-hard and directly in your face. It leaves you speechless. 
“Think you can handle it?” he teases. 
Maker, he wants to grab your face and shove his cock down your throat– completely fucking your face. He can tell you want it, too, from the way you ogle it with wide eyes. 
It’s not gonna suck itself. 
He hooks a hand around the back of your head and wraps the other around the base of his cock, forcefully thrusting himself in your mouth. He lets out a deep, guttural moan at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth encapsulating his cock. 
His hands move to each side of your face as he thrusts in and out. Your mouth stretches open even wider to accommodate his girth as tears spring in the corners of your eyes. 
“Not smirking now are you, mir’sheb,” he says, your tear-filled eyes locked with his underneath the helmet. 
You moan in response and he fucks your face even harder. Tears are rolling down your cheeks now and the sight has him ready to bust. With one last thrust into your mouth, he spills his cum down your throat, holding your head in place as he finishes. Once he’s done he pulls out and to his delight but your horror, he’s still hard. It’s the voice, the curse, or the amulet– whatever this is that has him so feral. 
He has to see your body, he has to feel you underneath him. But you’re still wearing your cuffs. If he takes them off will you bolt? Will you make a break for it, leaving him here with his cock still wet? 
He leans forward and unlocks your cuffs, anticipating your next move. He expects you to run but you don’t, instead you’re sitting here with a wild look in your eye. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. He pushes you down on the bunk and hooks his hand around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off along with your underwear. 
Look at her. She’s lying here so patiently, so obediently for you. Use this opportunity to claim her as your own. 
He’s not thinking. He’s following whatever the voice tells him to do. He takes off his helmet, not even thinking about the repercussions he’ll face. He’s got two things on his mind; marking up your body and being inside you already. He sets the helmet down on the floor and takes off his gloves before hovering over you on the bunk. Your eyes widen when they meet his and a shocked expression washes over your face. But why? How do you know he’s taken the creed? Surely a history professor would know that there are all sorts of Mandalorians; ones that walk both ways. It isn’t until he looks over at the small mirror he has hanging on the wall of his bunk. 
His eyes. Maker, his eyes. They’re no longer their usual shade of warm brown. His irises are a pale purple shade, eerily glowing. It startles him for a split second before his attention turns back to you, writhing underneath him. 
He brings two fingers to his mouth and moistens them, spreading your legs apart and sliding them inside you. You gasp at the sudden girth of his thick fingers expanding your walls. He curls them against your g-spot repeatedly, your pleasure continuously building. In no time, he pulls your first orgasm from you, feeling the way your cunt flutters around his fingers. Your release soaks his hand and once he feels that you’re done, he pulls his fingers from you and soaks his cock with your wetness. In one swift motion, he thrusts inside you, giving you no time to adjust to the newfound length and girth. He plants his hands by either side of your head, locking eyes with you as he fucks you relentlessly, driving his hips into you at an unforgiving pace. 
He leans forward and marks up your neck with his mouth, nipping and biting at the soft skin. He moves up and down before switching sides, licking where his teeth just marked you. You gasp and moan at the repeated pattern of biting, licking, and kissing. Once he feels his work is complete he pulls back and locks eyes with you once more. 
You fall speechless, unable to form any real words besides deep moans and mangled sobs. Tears continue to roll down your cheeks, your mouth falling open into a soft O. He’s going to cum if he keeps watching you become reduced to a complete mess underneath him. Your walls tighten up around his cock in anticipation of a big release. He feels the way your cunt grips and releases his cock rhythmically. It draws his own orgasm from him, his cock spilling his warm cum with the head nestled by your cervix. He groans while letting out a string of Mando’a curse words that he himself can barely understand, not in his blissful state. 
He pulls out and collapses on top of you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting against each other and once the endorphins finally settle regret sinks in. No, not because he had sex with you. Because he took his helmet off. 
His chest heaves for a moment and he does his best to hide it, not wanting to seem weak after the power he just showed you. For some strange reason, he’s worried about what you’ll think of him– you who’s so irritating, who gets under his skin like no one else. Yes, he’s worried that your perception of him will change. 
“Mando?” you ask, voice soft and concerned, “Are you okay?”
“I… I’m not supposed to do that.”
“Cum inside me?” you tease.
“No,” he says, pulling himself off of you and sitting at the foot of the bunk, “Take off my helmet.”
“Oh,” you say, sitting up and moving beside him, “Then why did you do it?”
“The voice told me to,” he says, placing his head in his hands. 
You bring your hand to the back of his neck. At first, he stiffens up, not used to the feeling of someone’s hands there. But once your hand travels up to his hair, rubbing small circles against his scalp, he relaxes. 
“You didn’t know? That the voice could make you do things you never thought possible?”
“No,” he sighs.
“You really had no idea what you were getting into, didn’t you?”
“Did you think I was lying?” he asks, turning his head and glancing at you.
“Honestly… yes.”
“I wasn’t. I was sent to Malachor for a bounty.”
“And the tracker led you to the amulet?”
“Mhm.”
“But why would someone send you there?”
“I’m not sure. I should’ve never taken it but the reward was high.”
“How much?”
“...A million credits. I know it sounds too good to be true.”
“Did you go to collect the reward yet?”
“Yeah. The client never showed up to pay.”
You fall silent for a moment, lost in thought. His eyes search your face for some sort of answer and once again, the voice is noticeably silent.
“Do you still have the tracking fob?”
He gets up and grabs it off a shelf in the storage area, sitting beside you on the bed and handing it to you. You activate it and study the mysterious absence of a bounty poster. You turn it off and hand it back to him, asking, “Was there anything else… weird about the job?”
“The client supposedly requested me specifically.”
“Strange…” you trail off.
Both of you sit in uncomfortable silence, trying to put all the pieces together.
“Why would someone want to make you immortal?” you wonder out loud.
Din’s guess is as good as anyone’s. He’s been trying and failing to wrap his head around what he got himself into.
“Mando… I think you were set up.”
“What?! By who?!” he asks, his purple eyes locking with yours again. 
“I can’t answer that…”
“...Will you help me find out who?”
You pause, looking at him with a sort of pity in your eyes. Without saying a word, he pleads with you, his strange-colored eyes begging for help, something to save him from this impossible situation he’s found himself in.
“I really don’t want to but… You did save me from being stranded on Malachor,” you sigh, “But fine. I’ll help you.”
The two of you have to start somewhere. 
-
Part Three: Legends Never Die
“If I’m going to help you, I think I deserve to know your name,” you say. 
Do not tell her. 
For once he can’t listen to the voice. This amulet, this voice told him to take off his helmet. Something he’d never do. His creed is the most important thing to him. And this… whatever it is overpowered his respect and devotion to his creed. That just won’t do. 
If he’s going to get rid of this thing, he has to learn to trust you.
“Din Djarin,” he says with a sigh. 
You tell him your name and the both of you feel like you’re finally starting somewhere. 
“What do we do now?” Din asks. 
“Well, we’ve established you were set up but we need to figure out why. What does this person have to gain from doing this to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know. I’m just thinking out loud.”
“You said this amulet is from one of the Mortis Gods?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know much about them.”
“They were just an extremely powerful family of force-wielders.”
“Where were they from?”
“Mortis.”
“Oh,” Din says, feeling kind of stupid. 
He’s not familiar with this kind of stuff— the Jedi, the Sith, the Force. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular person, trying to make a living in the galaxy by bounty hunting. He didn’t piss off anyone important that he can recall. 
“Can you take me somewhere?” you ask, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Where to?”
“Coruscant. I think we need to make a little trip to the university’s library.”
He grabs his helmet off the floor and replaces it on his head. 
“Let’s go,” he says, reaching for your hand to help you out of the bunk. 
He helps you to your feet, letting you get dressed while he puts on his gloves. You follow him to the cockpit, sitting in one of the passenger seats while he prepares the Crest for takeoff. It’s silent between you two, an awkward silence. He’s unsure of what your relationship is exactly. At first, you were his prisoner. Technically, you still could be. And then he had sex with you and he feels awful about the implications in which it happened. You were handcuffed in his ship and at not only his mercy but the voice’s mercy, too. And now here you are, helping him when he’s been nothing but an asshole to you. 
Don’t think like that, the voice tells him.
He can’t listen to it now. His own guilt is louder than the voice. 
Once you’re in hyperspace he turns to you and says, “I just want to say… I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For capturing you. For… what we did earlier.”
“You’re apologizing about the sex?” you ask with a smirk.
“I wasn’t sure if it was okay.”
“It was.”
“It was?”
“Stop overthinking it.”
“…Really?”
“You’re acting like I didn’t enjoy it.”
“You did?”
“Was it not obvious?”
“Yes. I mean no. I just…. I don’t know anymore.”
“Hey,” you say, leaning forward and grabbing his hand, “I know you have a lot going on in your head right now. And I’m sure a lot of it is confusing but I’m here to help in whatever way I can.”
“But why? Why do you want to help me even after I was so terrible to you?”
“I just… I feel bad. You had no idea what you were getting into. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
“Thank you,” he says softly. 
“Of course. But don’t get sappy on me.”
“Got it,” he says, spinning around in his seat and facing the control panel again. 
It doesn’t matter what you find, or what you research. You’re stuck with me. 
All he can do is close his eyes and try to drown out the voice. 
-
He’s walking side by side with you towards the university, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He’s anxious about what you’re about to find. But what’s his place from here on out? Is he supposed just to drop you off and reunite with you when you’re done? However long that will be…
Standing in front of the library, he prepares to bid you goodbye, confused about why he’s got a pit in his stomach. 
“I guess I’ll see you when you’re done?” he says, mentally wincing in anticipation of your response. 
“What? Why?”
“I just assumed-”
“You can stay.”
“I can?”
“If you want. I’m not sure how long it’ll take and it might be kind of boring but… you’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”
He pauses, thinking about what you said. He’s welcome to stay but do you want him to?
“Do you want me to?”
Kriff, he didn’t mean for that to actually come out. 
“I do.”
“Okay then,” he says, walking into the library with you. 
The library is packed with students and as you walk through the aisle picking books off the shelves, they turn their heads when you pass them by. He’s used to it but for some reason this time it makes him self-conscious, as if they’re piercing into his soul and aware of the secret he’s harboring. 
After you have your collection of books you bring him to one of the study nooks in the back of the library away from all the prying eyes. He watches how your brow furrows when you’re lost in thought, scanning the pages for anything to help him out of this mess. He feels a bit useless, watching you pour yourself over book after book for hours on end while he sits and does… nothing. 
You put your elbow on the table, resting your head in your hand. As you lean to the side, your neck becomes exposed and Din’s eyes settle right on a spot that looks like the perfect place to sink his teeth…
Stop, he tells himself. 
But he fears the voice has taken over and he’s no longer looking at you with adoring eyes, but lusting ones instead. 
Take her here, now. Bend her over the table. Who cares about anyone who sees?
His cock twitches in his flight suit and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. 
“Din?” you ask softly, setting down your book. 
“Hm?”
“Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“What do you mean? I thought you had to do research.”
“Well, yes but I can just continue researching in my office,” you say, eyes looking past Din and scanning the library. 
“Why? Are you worried about people looking at us?”
“No! No, that’s not it at all. I just wasn’t sure if you were-”
“Who cares? But if you want a little more privacy then why not?” he says, standing from his seat and gathering the books. 
He shuffles them to one arm and grabs your hand, proudly leading you out of the library without a single care in the world about who may be looking at him. 
“Where to?” he says, turning to look at you once you’re outside. 
“Across the quad in the North Tower.”
He nods and grabs you by the hand again, not caring about the people stopping to stare, many of whom are your students. You keep your eyes on Din, on the sunlight bouncing off his helmet, watching as his cape billows in the wind with his confident stride. 
He lets you take the lead once you’re inside the building, walking up a grand staircase until you arrive at your office, a large room with high vaulted ceilings and towering bookshelves. Floor-to-ceiling windows draw natural light in and a long wooden desk sits in the center of the room. He sets the book down on one of your chairs and grabs you by the waist, setting you on your desk. He grabs the waistband of your pants and practically rips them off of you. 
“So much for researching,” you say smugly, looking up at him with a grin.
“Gonna have to do something about that smart mouth of yours, mir’sheb,” he says darkly.
His hands gravitate to the bottom of his helmet. A look of realization flashes in your eyes and you reach your hands out, trying to stop him. But he’s stronger than you, grabbing your hands and forcing them by your sides. He pulls off his helmet, revealing the same matted curls and piercing purple stare. He spreads your thighs apart and kneels on the floor, face hovering over your cunt. He licks one slow stripe up your cunt before flicking his tongue around your clit. His strong arms lock around your thighs, keeping your cunt flush against his face. His eyes don’t leave yours, looking up at you as he slowly eats you out. The eye contact is intense, almost too much to bear. But when you try to look away he stops, starting to pull his face away until you look at him again. With one last swirl of his tongue around your clit, you cum against his face, thighs shaking against the desk. He laps up your release, moaning at the taste until you’re done. And now he just has to have you. 
He stands up and pulls out his cock from his flight suit, stroking it a few times before gathering some of your release with his fingers and slathering his cock with it. He reaches forward and swipes away the contents of your desk, pushing you down so you’re lying against the wood. He thrusts into you in one slow motion, staying still inside you for a moment before drawing his hips back and slamming into you repeatedly. He pulls off one glove, tossing it on the floor and bringing his thumb to your clit. One hand grips your hip while the other rubs circles around your clit. He glares down at you, his body towering over yours as he rails you against your desk. You cum around his cock, eyes locked on his once again. The sensation of your cunt gripping his cock pulls his orgasm from him, warm cum spilling inside you with a grunt. He pulls out of you and sits in your desk hair, holding his head in his hands. You scramble off the desk and reach for his helmet, kneeling in front of him and lifting his head. He looks at you with the same look in his eye like last time, like he just let himself down. You replace his helmet on his head, cupping the hollow part where his cheeks would be.
“It’s okay,” you say softly.
“I know,” he sighs, “I would just like to do… that without feeling bad.”
“About the helmet,” he quickly adds.
“I know,” you chuckle, “I’m not offended. I get it. But I can’t lie and say that the eye contact wasn’t hot.”
“It was?”
“It was. But it would be hotter if it were your choice, not the other way around.”
“Right… Thank you… for understanding.”
“Of course,” you say, rising from the floor and grabbing your pants, “But back to business.”
“Back to business,” he agrees.
-
Months go by with Din glued to your side, helping in whatever way he can with the research. You think you might have found some sort of motive behind why someone would do this to him but the question of who is still a mystery. 
“To travel to another galaxy?” Din asks.
“I think so. It’s just a theory.”
“There are other galaxies?”
“You think we’re the only one?”
“I guess not. But why?”
“That I still don’t know. And I’m just assuming about the traveling to other galaxies thing, too. The planet Mortis was said to be in a different realm.”
“Interesting…” he trails off. “How much longer do you think?”
“I’m not sure. If you think you have to get back to Nevarro, I understand.”
“I don’t want to leave you. But maybe I’ll go check the Crest for any transmissions.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll be here,” you say, looking up at him from your desk. 
He caresses the side of your face, his gaze lingering on you before he leaves, walking through the campus and back to the docking yard where the Razor Crest is parked. On the way there, he thinks about his time here and how one good thing came from this… you. If he’s forced to be a monster all his life, at least he has someone that understands. But then there’s the other thing… He’ll be a monster all his life, until the end of time, outliving you and anyone else he may care about. He tries not to think about that. 
Once he’s inside the ship he sees that he has a transmission from Greef Karga, which could mean one of two things; Karga’s got bounties and he’s wondering where Din is or the droid actually returned.
He presses the button for the transmission to play and listens;
“Mando! I’m not sure where you’ve been but the droid from that strange bounty returned… It didn’t bring the reward, though. It said his client will meet you where you captured the bounty in the first place. Strange request, I know. But supposedly the client will have the credits. Just be careful.”
Back to Malachor, it is. 
He bolts from the Crest, anxiously heading back to you to tell you the news. You’re where he left you, of course. 
“I have news.”
“Oh?” you ask, looking up from your book.
“I received a transmission from Karga. The droid returned. It said to meet the client on Malachor.”
“Really?”
“Yes… So what do you want to do?”
“We go to Malachor,” you say, rising from your chair.
“Let’s go,” he says, with a tip of his helmet.
As you’re sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, you grab his hand as he’s preparing the ship for takeoff.
“Whatever happens… I love you, okay?”
He stops, turning to look at you, stunned by what you just said. He feels it, too, but it breaks his heart knowing that this love will end in one of two ways; he’ll outlive you or he’ll choose to take off the amulet. And both choices make him unsettled.
“I love you, too,” he says, squeezing your hand before turning to face the control panel.
This is it. Months of research have led up to this. 
-
The familiar sight of Malachor comes into view. He lands the Razor Crest by the same pyramidal stones he saw months ago. So far, no sign of anyone. Surely they’re waiting for Din in the Sith temple, ending this where it all started.
He takes you by the waist, holding you as he lowers himself down to the temple underground. He gave you a blaster before you left the Crest, turning to make sure you have it drawn before proceeding further.
As you head towards the pyramid, someone from behind you clears their throat. You both spin around, blasters drawn and ready to aim at whoever’s there. It’s a man, someone neither of you recognizes. He’s wearing all black and his hair is gray. There’s a lightsaber attached to his belt but he hasn’t drawn it… yet.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he says, glancing at Din, “It seems you brought a friend.”
“Who are you?” Din asks.
“A Sith,” you say in disgust.
“Not a Sith,” the man says, looking over at you.
“Then why did you lead us here?” Din asks.
“Din Djarin,” the man says, “Do you know the significance of that amulet you’re wearing?”
“It belonged to one of the Mortis Gods.”
“Very good. And do you know why I sent you to find it?”
“You want to use him to travel between the galaxies.”
The man looks at you again, taking a step closer.
“Clever girl,” he says, “But do you know why?”
“I know you,” you say, looking at him and the way his face is illuminated with red light from the temple behind you.
“Do you?”
“You’re… You’re Baylan Skoll.”
“Clever, clever girl. Look at the two of you, both so smart. But neither of you have answered my question… Why?”
“I don’t… I don’t know. What could you possibly be trying to find in another galaxy?” you ask.
“Mortis?” Din adds.
“So close yet so far,” Baylan tuts, “Forget about Mortis. I’m searching for Peridea.”
Din looks at you, searching for answers but the truth is… you don’t have any. 
“What do you want with Peridea?”
“To bring Grand Admiral Thrawn out of exile,” Baylan says.
“...Who?” Din asks.
“You’re funny,” you snort.
“I’m being serious. With the Mandalorian’s immortality, nothing is going to stop me.”
“Why Din?” you press.
“He doesn’t have the reputation of being the best bounty hunter in the Galaxy for no reason.”
“I can’t let you bring Thrawn back to the Galaxy,” you say, raising your blaster.
Baylan draws his lightsaber and ignites it, a vibrant orange hue emitting from the blade. Din raises his blaster, too, and a fight ensues. It doesn’t matter how much you shoot at Baylan, he just deflects all the blasts with his saber. He inches closer towards you, deflecting your blasts faster and faster as he corners you against a stone. He knows he doesn’t have to do anything to Din and he just assumes the voice will take over, forcing Din to join Baylan’s fight against you. 
Join him and kill her. Join him and kill her. Join him and kill her!!!
But Din doesn’t. 
Instead, he raises his blaster at the back of Baylan’s head. Baylan turns around, getting ready to defend himself against Din but it’s no use. With one blast to the head, Baylan falls to the ground. It turns out the urge to protect you was stronger than the voice’s pull to get him to join Baylan. 
Din rushes over to you, putting his blaster back on his hip and pulling you into his arms.
“It’s… over?” he asks, feeling your racing heartbeat.
“I think so,” you sigh. 
“But you’re stuck like this,” you say, pulling back and looking at him.
He knew it could end like this, with him living out his days without you once you pass. 
Or… There was a third option all along.
“What are you going to do?” you ask, snapping him from his thoughts.
He fiddles with the chain around his neck before saying, “Take this off when the time is right.”
You nod, leaning against him just a little bit longer before leaving the temple together, hand in hand. 
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Mando dividers/support banners by @saradika-graphics !!!
Thank you to @pedgito for beta reading, reassuring me that this was any good, and helping me plot this all out 🖤
@pedrostories
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endlessthxxghts · 3 months
Text
Do You Like It Here?
Joel Miller x afab!Reader || W/C: 2k
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Summary: Joel contemplates shaving his beard. You are absolutely against that idea, and he makes you explain why.
Content/Warnings: Pics above are for aesthetic purposes only. Neutral descriptions of an AFAB reader (“your top”, “your shorts”, “your breast”, etc.). No use of “y/n”. Joel can carry you but there are no other descriptions of reader. Implied age gap if you squint. Joel being big and burly. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Joel being a menace. Hints of body worship. Dirty talk. Reader liking facial hair for dirty reasons🤷🏻. Joel on his knees for you…. ✨Bathroom counter✨ Cunnilingus. Tongue fucking. Face grinding. Hair pulling (m receiving). Joel’s fucking nose deserves a warning😵‍💫 Allusions to further sexual activity. As always, let me know if I’ve missed anything!
A/N: Can we tell how much I think about Joel eating pussy?💚 My sweet sweet Roman Empire. Enjoy. :-)
MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG -> @endlessthxxghtsnotifs
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“Should I shave it off?” 
You choke on your own spit, eyebrows hitting the ceiling. “What?”
“My beard. All this scruff. Should I shave it?” Joel asks you, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against his jaw, his eyes surfing his jawline in the mirror much too critically for your liking. 
“Do you want to?” You reply back, curious to understand what is going on in that chaotic mind of his. 
“No? Yeah? I mean,” he breathes. “I dunno. A lotta white is startin’ to come through, ‘n I feel like it makes me look… raggedy.” 
You frown. “Baby,” you say softly. 
You woke up before Joel, last night’s activities knocking him out cold right after you two cleaned each other up. Unfortunately for you, no matter how hard you fell into your slumber, your body always woke you no later than 7am. It was a blessing and a curse. You decided a shower was in order. 
As soon as you finished and got dressed, your burly, grumpy and sleepy baby of a man stumbled into the bathroom. Wanting his presence always, you hopped up on the bathroom counter, your legs hanging off the edge, and stayed with him as he continued his morning routine. It was after he brushed his teeth and washed his face that he posed his question to you. 
You place your hand on his jaw and pull him closer so he’s standing in between your legs. The light press of your fingertips never leave his face. “You don’t look raggedy,” you scold. “You look… well, you look fuckin’ sexy, for one. I love this look on you,” you admit, a little sheepish. Your eyes scan his facial hair once more before you glance at his eyes, then to his lips. Your finger traces his bottom lip. “So fuckin’ sexy,” you mutter, emphasizing your claim.
You don’t have to look into his eyes to know his demeanor shifted. You can feel the way his gaze darkened. He pulls himself closer to you, his knees knocking the cabinets. His hand starts on your knee, dragging it up your thigh and up your side until it settles on your jaw, his fingers grasping your chin to make you meet his eye. “Oh, is that so, darlin’?”
You gulp, your head softly nodding at his words; unable to speak as your eyes gloss over. “What else d’ya love about it, darlin’?” He pushes, his fingers tightening on your chin—words, he’s telling you. 
You can feel every part of your body heat up. “It…it…” you stutter. His eyebrow flicks up with a faintness only you’d catch. You clear your throat in hopes it makes you speak up. “You- you’re already so big ‘n broad, ‘n this… the scruff… it just adds to- to you,” you tell him shakily, your brain starting to flood with just how much you love his facial hair. “P-plus, it- oh my god,” you whine, unable to stop the spew of shit that’s about to fly out of your mouth. “It feels so good when it rubs against my thighs ‘n my-” you gasp. You don’t remember when it got there, but his other hand is gripping your thigh, his strength tightening at the last words that fell from your lips.
Slow, tantalizingly slow, he leans in. He places a lengthy kiss to your lips; your eagerness gets the best of you as you try and deepen it, but he’s already breaking away—moving down. His lips grace your jaw, your neck—more open-mouthed and needy these ones are, and he pauses. “Ya like how it feels here?” He says against your neck. Then he’s moving lower. 
He peppers kisses along your shoulder and the exposed parts of your chest your top shows. He licks and sucks at a particular sweet spot atop your breast. A breathy little moan escapes you, your arms falling limp to your sides—and out of his way. He pauses his kiss to breathe you in. Lavender. Vanilla. The shower you just finished still clinging deliciously to your skin. “Ya like it here, too, don’tcha?” He places one more kiss on the mark he just gave you, not giving you a moment to respond.��
Then. He’s falling to his knees. Today was supposed to be a lazy day for you two, so you settled on solely a pair of sleep shorts. Nothing more. His hands settle themselves underneath your thighs, scooting you as close to the edge as possible without making you off balance. He’s so tall that on his knees, his nose is belly button level with you. 
He pushes your thighs open. Starting at your knee, he places a swift kiss there. The higher he goes, the wetter and slower they become. A drop of sweat beads down your neck. His hands make their way to your sides, fingers dancing along the waistband. He meets your eyes for a silent confirmation. Planting your hands behind you for stability, you lift your hips for him, a whimpered please leaves your mouth. 
He pulls your shorts off slowly—the wetness staining the center of your shorts peels off of you, the cold air interacting with your slick sends a shiver down your spine. Joel lets your shorts fall to the floor beside him, his eyes darting to your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ wet,” he growls. “All worked up from my white beard? My old age?”
“‘S not what I meant,” you sputter, the kiss he places to your mound throwing you off-kilter. His hands grab onto your waist and he’s angling your hips forward, giving himself a full view of you. He does it again—kisses your sex—but this time, he puts his whole face into you as he uses his tongue to aid him, his scruff tickling all around, on your thighs, your clit. Your hips buck into his face at the sensation, a louder moan reverberating against the bathroom walls. 
“Oh,” Joel smirks. “Right there, huh. Ya like the way it feels right there? Right there on that sweet, perfect fuckin’ cunt, huh? Drives you mad? Wild?” He teases. 
You lament at his words, conflicted between which you want more—hearing his mouth or feeling his mouth? You're pulled from your internal battle when you feel yourself become impossibly wetter: a glob of warm spit lands right where you need him most. Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah okay, you want to feel him. 
One hand behind you leaves from its place and reaches for his curls in an attempt to pull him into you. “Joel, baby, please,” you cry. 
His head doesn’t budge no matter how strong you are. “Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Tell me what I wanna hear,” he tells you. “Tell me what I wanna hear first, and then I’ll give it t’ya exactly, baby. Just be the good girl I know y’are f’me.”
“F-fuck. Fuck. Please, Joel, please-” you say impatiently. “I love the way it feels when I grind my fuckin’ pussy all over your face, baby, I love how it feels when it starts to burn against my thigh, the way it nudges and scrapes every part of me- it makes me feel like I’m on fuckin’ fire, baby, please,” you rasp.
“Atta girl, darlin’,” he coos, licking his lips before his hands pull you flush against his face, his tongue flying straight to your seam, licking a messy path that sends your slick and his spit everywhere. Instantly your head flies back, your hand curls into the roots of his hair once more as you moan and squirm against his grasp. 
Joel loves spending his time down there, but regardless of the fact, you’ll never get used to how fucking good he makes you feel. Joel is ruthless when it comes to eating you out—always making you see stars even in the light of day. 
“F-fuck, j-just like that, baby,” you pant, your one arm keeping you up threatening to lose balance at the greedy touch of his skillful tongue. He drags his muscle from your entrance and up to your clit, running circles and figure eights on it for a moment before he latches onto you—his lips completely wrapped as he suckles and continues to flick where you’re most sensitive. His dominant hand leaves your hip and he drags his fingers to your opening, his middle finger sliding in with ease—the sensation sending you to the edge of something white, hot, and all-consuming. 
“I’m- I’m gonna cum, Joel, shit, I’m gonna cum-” you squeak, your entire body feeling flushed at his actions. 
He pulls his finger out of you, his hand finding its rightful place perched against your hip as he pulls you impossibly closer once again, your ass nearly hanging off the bathroom counter, his grip the only thing keeping you up. Your arm loses its strength and you fall limp, your head thumping against the bathroom mirror, completely at the disposal of your man as he ravishes your sobbing pussy.
He lifts off your clit momentarily. “Give it t’me, sweet girl,” he tells you in a frenzy. His mouth is on you again, his tongue going straight to your hole—his tongue pushes inside of you as much as he can, his face pulled tightly against you. He begins moving, advancing his tongue in and out as you mindlessly begin grinding against face. With every upward push of your hip, his nose nudges at your clit and the pure ecstasy that washes through you is evident in the way you’re practically mewling above him, your obscene moans and gasps enough to make Joel’s hips thrust into nothing on their own accord in an attempt to seek some kind of relief. 
More arousal pours from you, and Joel is quick to drink it up. You can feel the way his tongue flexes as he gulps, and fuck, that is what sends you reeling. You yank onto his hair tighter, driving your hips into his face at a ravenous pace—practically fucking his face—and then it hits you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your back arches in this awkward angle, your orgasm hits you hard. It’s without warning, heart-pounding, toe-curling, addicting, and everything Joel. 
Your lips are babbling nothing coherent, the occasional drop of his name escaping your mouth as he continues to fuck you through your high. He’s moving much slower now, much more precise—as if he’s doing this solely for his benefit now, not yours. Which, you don’t mind. Even as you start to slip into overstimulating territory, you don’t want him to stop. 
You’d lay at his mercy for him to use you in any way he pleases if it meant you got to experience what it means to be loved by a man like Joel. With him, it’s all or none—none of that half in, half out bullshit. No, when Joel loves, he loves hard, and it’s evident in everything he does for you. Especially when it comes to your pleasure. 
A particular lick to your clit causes you to yelp out in a pleasurable pain, so Joel finally rises again, kissing your spent cunt one last time before he pulls you up, rubbing up and down your spine to ease the uncomfortable position you were in. 
“You okay?” Joel asks, slight concern and slight amusement on his features as he looks at your face. Pure bliss and contentment fills your features; he can still see the fog clearing from your head. 
“Yeah,” you mutter softly, a lazy grin plastered on your cheeks as you look up at his shiny face. Weakly, you bring your arms up and wrap them around his neck, pulling him in to kiss you. He takes the hint, and he bends down, letting your lips meet in a soft yet enthusiastic embrace. You love the way you taste, especially when it comes from his mouth. 
Pulling away breathless, both your and Joel’s eyes are aflame again. 
“Don’t shave, baby.”
“I won’t, darlin’.” 
You kiss him once more before he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you back to bed. 
You were wrong. It’s going to be a busy day after all.
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A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope it made your private parts tingle you enjoyed💚 If you’d like to be notified for upcoming fics, follow my notif blog!
@pedrostories
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janaispunk · 3 days
Text
little lion
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pairing: Oberyn Martell x OFC
word count: 394
tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, i think that’s it?
a/n: @catchallfangirl gave me the prompt “finally, something we can agree on”, oberyn and thirty minutes to write. this is the result :)
follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here!
dividers by @plum98 <3
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She sips her wine, tuning out her father who is rambling on about uniting houses and how much good it would do for the people of the realm.
It’s not about the realm, let alone the people living in it. She knows it, he knows it, everybody in the room knows it. It’s about power. It’s about the iron throne and ensuring who will sit on it.
The man two tables over from hers catches her wandering gaze and raises his own cup in a quiet toast. As he drinks, he winks at her. She hates the blush creeping up on her cheeks, hates the fact that he can see it, even in the candlelight, if the smug look on his handsome features is any indication. She hates his dark eyes, the glinting of the golden chain around his neck, the way it accentuates the panes of his strong chest, his golden skin, visible through his robe.
She needs some air.
Quietly excusing herself, she rises to her feet and leaves the hall, climbing stairs until she reaches one of the higher floors where the thick stony walls open into big windows, overlooking the city below them.
Lights are twinkling in the darkness of the night, until the city gives way to the ocean, moonlight reflecting off of its surface.
She feels his presence before she hears his quiet steps behind her.
“Prince Oberyn.”
“Hello, little lion.”
Goosebumps form on her neck. He’s closer than she anticipated, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. His voice is low, gravely behind her, his accent wrapping around the pet name. The stupid pet name that he won’t stop using and that sounds way too good from his lips.
“I told you not to call me that.”
He tuts gently, twirling one of the long blonde curls of her hair between his fingers, before giving it a light tug.
“Why did you leave?”
“I was bored.”
It might not be the whole truth, but it’s not necessarily a lie, either. He chuckles, still playing with her hair.
“Finally, something we can agree on.”
She turns her head towards him, eyes searching his. He’s much too close. He gently trails one finger over her cheekbone.
“We shall leave the talking to your father and my brother. Let me walk you to your chambers, little lion.”
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thank you for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask. interaction is what keeps writers going <3
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palioom · 1 month
Text
starving
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summary: joel comes back from patrol to find you have kept your promise to him.
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: 2.8k
warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; established relationship; overstimulation; orgasm denial/edging; dirty talk (joel has a filthy mouth); oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; creampie; some softness in the end; choking (a lil)
a/n: we're back after almost a month of hiatus, with a fic also written last summer! I hope you enjoy
thank you to my love @aurasjournal for the moodboard 🖤
IMPORTANT as tlou is made by a Zionist, as well as part 2 being based on the oppression of Palestine by Israel, I urge you to educate yourself in the light of the genocide happening in Palestine, specifically Gaza, right now. I cannot in good conscience post for Joel without bringing awareness to the horrific things that have been going on for 5 months.
banners by @/saradika-graphics
follow @palioomfics & turn on notifs for future updates
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She had been wound up tight all week - always was when Joel was on patrol somewhere, made worse by the fact that the way back had been cut off by an unexpected, small avalanche.
She was worried about whether he was safe up there with Tommy. He would be. Joel was good at surviving things, she gathered that much from the little talking he had done with her.
He was an interesting man, only too quiet, never liked to talk about his past too much, so she had gathered everything of importance from Ellie or Tommy once they had become a little more serious.
Of course he’d be fine.
But if she had known he’d be gone for a little over a week instead of a day or two, she never would have promised him shit before he left.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself, darlin’.” He had said to her before he left, his rough, calloused palm on the softness of her cheek. “Wanna see her dripping and needy for me when I come back.”
Oh, dripping and needy she was. And it was even now, having fought the urge back ever since day three.
Day one was easy, two became just a little annoying, so used to having his thick length buried inside of her almost daily. Unless he had to patrol, which really was the only time he didn’t fuck her. 
Because even when he was too exhausted, she would simply turn him onto his back and bounce on his dick until she was satisfied. Much to his amusement.
On day three, the throbbing between her legs became more than annoying, it bothered her, clouding her thinking. It was tempting to just sneak her hand into her underwear at home and get herself off with her fingers.
But she didn’t, only squeezing her thighs together to find some semblance of relief.
After that, things had only gone downhill.
So when he was finally back, safe and unharmed, it hadn’t taken long to go from sweet kisses by the entrance to demanding ones in their bedroom.
Ready to burst right here.
Joel had barely managed to take his thick winter coat off before she had dragged him there, his large hands now opening her flannel, then wandering beneath her undershirt to feel her warm skin.
A hiss left her, caught by his mouth as he pushed his tongue against hers, goosebumps breaking out on her skin at how icy he felt. Pressing himself against her as if to warm himself.
He was fucking freezing, his fingertips a little numb despite his thick gloves, and she was so damn warm, he just couldn’t help himself.
“Fuckin’ missed you, sweetheart.” Joel rasped, hands leaving her skin to open her jeans as quickly as he could, slowly regaining the feeling in his fingertips. “Been a good girl for me?”
She hummed affirmatively, stilling when he shoved his hand down the front of her jeans.
“Oh, baby, she’s desperate.” 
His cold fingers pressed against her clit over the wet material of her panties, the change in temperature making her shiver. That was almost enough to make her cum, her hand coming to claw at his wrist.
“Not like this- Fuck me, Joel.” She whispered, desperate and impatient. 
Surprised that he just pulled his hand back out, now hastily working to get her undressed, her own hands started working on his pants.
The air felt even colder when he had her naked, pushing her onto the bed, leaning over her to kiss and nip at her neck, then down to her chest.
His beard scratched over her skin, her hands in his grey hair, slightly wet from the snow. 
Like a man starving, he sucked bruises into her skin, bit at her until small imprints showed. Showed she was his.
Joel knew he didn’t have to worry, there were no signs she would ever stray. Not with the way he fucked her, the way he took care of her.
She had it too damn good with him, he kept the creeps away and generally kept an eye out for her.
Still, he liked to show she was his, that no one else could have her, even if they tried.
His tongue found her pebbled nipple, sucking it into his mouth while his hand squeezed and pinched at her other breast, making her arch into his touch with a drawn out whine.
She was always so responsive to his touch.
So cold but so good, goosebumps on her skin, hands tugging at his hair.
“Stop teasing.” She whispered breathlessly, earning a harder bite from him, his dark eyes finding hers as he looked up at her. So hungry.
“Someone’s impatient.” His mouth wandered lower, despite his words, hands staying on her breasts when he found her wet heat.
Joel's tongue dipped into her and made her moan, just about ready to burst. Especially with the way his tongue flicked over her clit, sucking on it before letting the tip glide over it again.
Joel noticed how quickly her legs started shaking, her fingers curling into his hair tightly, his own digging into her thighs as he spread her open. Feeling her muscles spasm below her skin as he kept licking at her, eating her out like she was his last meal.
It happened way too fast, throwing her head back as the coil inside her tightened and snapped so suddenly, her body shaking as her orgasm rushed through her unexpectedly.
“Oh fuck- Joel-” She moaned, her legs fighting against his broad hands but he kept her spread open, working her through it.
Too worked up from him having been gone that she just couldn’t last any longer, feeling a little self conscious about just how quickly he had pulled her apart already.
“Seriously, sweetheart?” Joel asked when he lifted his head, looking up at her from where he kneeled between her open thighs. His beard was wet with her, a ravenous expression on his face. “That was way too damn short, darlin’.”
His words burned on her skin, unable to look him in the eyes so she stared at the ceiling instead. 
That really was embarrassingly fast, her fingers carding through his silvery hair.
“Sorry, Joel. I’ve been so damn horny all week and-”
He shushed her, pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh. His beard scratching her, making her shiver.
“Let’s go a little longer, I’m not done with you yet.” His chuckle was deep, tongue finding her middle again with a hum.
She whined, still a little sensitive as he worked his tongue over her clit repeatedly, back arching and her fingers curling back into his locks.
The heat came back immediately, settling in her abdomen, his tongue now moving down to find her soaking entrance, pushing inside.
Feeling her pulse around him when he fucked into her, his nose bumping against her clit in time with his movements, making her whine.
“Right there, Joel, yes!” She breathed, already feeling another orgasm approaching rapidly. “I’m close already, fuck. You feel good.”
Pushing her over a second time, he made her cry out, her legs shaking as he once again worked her through it.
But he didn’t stop. 
Joel just kept going, not giving her time to come down from her high, the buzz steadily moving through her body.
It was then that she realized he really was far from done with her, looking down at him with furrowed brows, while the glint in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.
“Joel-” She whined, feeling another rush coming, trying to scramble away from him somehow but he had an iron grip on her thighs.
He hummed against her, shaking his head No. She could swear he was grinning, doubling down on his efforts, tearing another orgasm from her.
The pleasure bordered on pain at this point, every nerve feeling like it was on fire as she shook, his tongue alternating between her clit and her pulsing hole.
God, he could be such an asshole, going on until tears were in her eyes, right on the brink of the fourth one.
Leaning back and licking his lips while he looked at her, squirming and shaking. A gasp left her when he worked two of his thick fingers into her, her legs clamping shut around his arm as he began to pump them in and out of her.
“Told you I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.” He rasped, using his other hand to open her legs again, teeth sinking into the soft skin before his tongue soothed over the marks. “She’s hungry still, must’ve been starving the whole time.”
Her hands fisted the sheets, head rolling from side to side as he built her up, scissoring his fingers before pushing into that soft spot inside of her again.
Then he let her fall, pulling his fingers out, laughing at the long whine that left her, the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Like she didn’t know what she wanted, to cum again or to be left alone.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.” Joel chuckled, like he was mocking her. Somehow she liked it, the pulsing between her legs becoming worse, feeling empty. “Thought I’d give your little pussy some lovin’, she must have been so neglected.”
She lifted her head, trying to glare daggers at him but failing when his fingers rubbed over her clit, once again building her up just short of the peak, then removing them, his hand finding her breast, groping and squeezing at it.
What wonderful sounds she made, first feeling too much and now too little.
Maybe he should leave for extended periods more often, she clearly enjoyed the way he treated her right now, making up for time lost but also depriving her of what she really wanted.
“You’re mean.” She gasped, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.
She looked so fucked out already, yet he hadn’t even gotten his fill.
“I can be mean, sweetheart.” Joel said, letting go of her again and standing up, just watching how she writhed, deprived of his rough palms. “Wouldn’t like me when I am.”
“Joel, please!” She cried, one of her hands wandering over her stomach and to her aching pussy. But Joel was quicker, grabbing her wrist tightly.
“Don’t worry, baby, gonna get what you want when you’re fucking patient.” He said, letting go of her, moving to take off his pants. “Spent a whole week without me, can wait a couple minutes longer, can’t you?”
She watched him, growing frustrated at just how slowly he seemed to take off his jeans, then his underwear.
Then, finally, his hard cock was springing free, head glistening with precum.
Hovering over her, he nestled in between her legs.
She squirmed more, her hands running over his arms, feeling his muscles flex beneath the skin, coming up to cup his cheeks.
“So, so needy.” He chuckled, taking himself in hand, hitting her sensitive clit with the fat head of his cock a few times. The action made her whimper, fingers curling into his arms. 
Shooting electricity through her, her whole body taut, just needing him to push inside of her.
“Joel, can you fucking move?”
The corner of his lips curled slightly upwards, finding her entrance before pushing inside with one fluid motion, knocking the air out of her at the sudden intrusion.
His lips attached to her neck with a groan, feeling how tight she was gripping him. Like she wanted to strangle his dick, always so damn tight.
“Don’t get mouthy with me, sweetheart.” Joel said, hooking her leg over his hips, squeezing the soft flesh.
“‘M not.” She gasped, feeling so full of him, ready to burst again.
Slowly he began to move, shallow at first before thrusting deeper.
Pushing her up higher on the bed with each thrust, making her cry out and hold onto him, her head too dizzy and hazy as he fucked into her, letting out the week’s frustrations.
All that escaped her were incoherent ramblings, slurred whimpers and moans as she threw her head back, exposing more of her neck to him, his lips still dancing over the skin. 
“Shut up pretty fast with some cock in you, sweet darlin’.” He chuckled, voice strained and clearly losing himself slowly. Her wet pussy and her cockdrunk face were too much even for him after he’d been away from her that long. 
He’d gone without it for longer, but now that he could fuck her every night, even just a day had seemed like an awfully long time.
“Joel-” She mewled, voice high-pitched and so, so desperate.
“Yeah, tell me who makes you feel this good.” Joel said, lifting his head to look at her, one of his broad, rough hands coming up to wrap around her throat. Making her gasp as he squeezed the sides lightly, feeling her pulse throb in time with her sweet hole around him. “Say it, baby, keep sayin’ it. Whose cock is feeding your starvin’ pussy?”
She opened her eyes, finding his dark ones. 
“You- Yours, Joel!” She cried out, feeling her head become lighter as he cut off the blood flow, hazy smile on her face, jaw slack as he fucked into her. The words caught on her breath as she forced them out, stuttering. “Your cock, fucking- Fucking me so good!”
Joel almost snarled, thrusting harder, losing his rhythm. Jaw set so tight she could see the veins throb on his neck.
“That’s right, pretty girl. Hungry little pussy, what a poor thing.” He groaned, grip tightening around her throat, grinning at the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “C’mon, be a good girl and let me feed it.”
The coil inside her snapped again, almost painfully as she sucked in a shaky breath, her cries muffled by his mouth when he bent down to slot his lips over hers. Her heels dug into his lower back, pulling him deeper as she trembled, nails digging into his skin.
Everything hurt as he kept pounding into her, her veins filled with fire, his skin against hers hot, like it was burning her, her clit too sensitive as the coarse hair above his dick kept brushing against it.
But she loved it, the pleasure that wasn’t bordering on pain anymore, but actually hurt her in the best way possible, her entire body too stimulated.
It didn’t need much more for him to break, stilling inside her with a hiss that was swallowed by her mouth as he spilled himself inside of her, giving her exactly what she needed. Filled to the brim by his cock and his cum, humming as the pulsing of him didn’t seem to end, his hand around her throat just tightening a little more.
He loosened his grip when he felt her legs falling away from his waist, moving back to look at her face, blissed out while her body became boneless beneath him.
“My good girl.” He said, seeming less tense as he hovered above her still, the corners of his mouth slightly curled upwards, his hand moving up to brush some hair from her damp forehead. “Been too hungry.”
She giggled, catching her breath, feeling the blood rush back into her head as she laid there, feeling him soften inside of her.
“Not anymore.” The words were barely more than a quiet mumble, her weak hand coming up to cup his cheek, his coarse beard biting into the soft flesh of her palm. “Really missed you, though.”
In the quiet afterglow, the worry finally crept back in. She had been too pent up, too excited when he had walked into the door earlier, relieved to see him back but her need for him drove away all the worries of the past week.
Joel saw the change in her face, kissing her forehead tenderly.
“Been at the lodge when it happened, don’t worry, sweetheart.” He said, seeing her nod in understanding.
Silence fell between them, and she grew tired as she looked up at him, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Joel had worn her out pretty well, boneless and spent.
After pulling out slowly, he helped her get under the covers, his body finally warm again as he pulled her against his chest.
“You can take longer patrols, you know.” She said, her hot breath fanning over his neck where she had buried her face. “Hated you being away but if you fuck me like this every time you come home…”
Her words trailed off into the silence, making him chuckle.
“But no avalanches.” He said, making her giggle. “Love when she’s starved for me, sweetheart. Will see what I can do tomorrow, yeah?”
She nodded, eyes closing and enjoying his warmth again, his firm body against hers, strong arm wrapped around her waist.
Yeah, if he fucked her like this every time he came home from a long stretch of patrol, she definitely could manage being away from him for some time.
Starving for his touch and his cock.
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undercoverpena · 3 months
Text
it means something
joel miller x f!reader | masterlist
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summary: compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.
to @joelsflannel, i took aspects of all your prompts. i tried to make it fluffy, her a little romantic, i tried to give you a quote that i hope you adore, with a man i know you already love. and i sprinkled in a hard day for you, but with some stress-easing fun to unwind with. merry christmas <;3
wordcount: 3.2k warnings: softer!joel, soft sex (p in v), talks of love, jackson era joel, mentions of ellie, joel in a towel (like damn). written for @pedrostories secret santa event.
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You’re tired, drained.
Somehow, you find yourself able to drag your feet from the livelier part of Jackson to the quieter, almost more peaceful part. The soles of your boots draw lines behind you, all of which will likely be covered by the newly settling snow within the hour.
It's picturesque, this place. The kind of location you expect would have once been on postcards that people would be sent to loved ones saying 'wish you were here'.
You don't have to wish.
If your eyes weren’t like pinholes, you’d take a second to admire it.
Stamp your boots in one spot, and enjoy the crunch of it under your feet. A thing you’d do on any other day, if not for the fact, that you were so ready to be in the warmth, to be with him—to curl into him and breathe in his scent.
The kind of scent which buries itself into your nose, to your soul. It wraps its fingers around you and digs its clutches into you. Not that you complain. You'd bathe in it if you could, happily letting him smear it over your skin whenever the two of you have the chance.
It’s why you continue to move. It's why you force one leg in front of the other, muscles begging for reprieve.
By the time you’re up the steps, fingers wrapping around the handle of the front door, you realise how badly you wish to shed your layers. Desiring nothing more than to slide out of your coat, unwrap your scarf, remove the hat, gloves and second pair of socks.
Twisting the handle, the door doesn't fight letting you inside. Instead, it welcomes you. Allowing you to move quickly inside, more than anyone would expect from someone so fatigued—removing the layers, hanging each in turn on the rack beside his.
A sight which tugs at something inside you. It loops its fingers around that feeling within, gently pulling—it is all warm, unexplainable; all hard to describe, but the closest word is lovely, nice—welcomed.
That feeling had been born before the end of days, but it had been nothing but an ember then. Now, it was a roaring fire, all lit by him.
You're sure he knows. Not that either of you talk about it. It added to the long list of things you never speak, not for his sake, but for yours.
Even when you first began your… thing with him, you’d found it as difficult as him to know what to call it. Especially, when it had all happened so randomly, with no explanation or sight that it would occur. It just did.
Smiling, you allow yourself a moment to think back to it. How warm it was. How the setting sun smudged an array of shades across the sky, how you'd been bitter about something, mumbling under your breath until a noise cut through your dismay. His laughter. All gruff and born from his throat. It had expelled into the space between the two of you, cut through your bad mood.
Because it had been louder than you’d ever heard it as the two of you walked back, as you did on so many other nights. But that night had felt so different—and it was.
One moment you were staring, and the next his lips found yours, all chapped, but soft. His fingers around your cheek, whispering your name so gently. Stroking your skin, all worn, a bit rough.
Now, the two of you are a habit. A routine.
Nothing has ever been discussed, nothing ever exchanged. Just some nights you ate dinner with him—knee pressed against his. Sometimes your things sat along his in his home, bobby pins and whatever book you were reading.
Some days Ellie let herself into your house, had made a bedroom out of one of your spares, and sometimes she asked if you wanted to come round to theirs.
The only constant thing is that at least once every week, your limbs found themselves tangled with his. His mouth latched itself onto your neck, hand grasping at your breast, fingers pinching the peak of your nipple as he gruffly told you how hard you’d gotten him.
You liked it. Craved it.
Enjoyed the way you took him apart as he focused on making you a mess.
You liked seeing his salt and pepper curls cling to his forehead, liked running your nails through the hair on the back of his neck—back arched into him, feeling fuller than you’d ever imagined you could. Hearing his gruff voice in your ear, saying words he'd never say if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside of you.
But then, you only call him Joel when he's between your thighs too.
"Miller?"
His name rings around the first floor of the house.
Checking the package in your pocket, you sigh as the day drips from your tight muscles. Hand moving to rub the back of your neck, staring at Ellie's half-open comic and the pencils you'd lent her over the table.
You knew she wouldn't reply, not when tonight was movie night. A Christmas one, she'd told you. She had already let it slip she was going, told you as she kept watch on the door so you could continue your surprise for him.
Her request for you to join her faded when you looked up at her, likely seeing the same look which now greets you in the dust-covered mirror.
Kicking off your boots, and removing one layer of socks, you sigh at the way your feet can all of a sudden breathe—even inside his thick socks. Wiggling your toes, you smile as you begin to curl and unfurl them, before your hand finds the bannister, dragging yourself up the stairs until you reach his room.
His empty room.
Heart falling, you consider calling out again. Using his first name this time—letting each of the four letters carry around the house.
But, his bed looks comfortable. It calling to you. Somehow finding yourself lying on it, your face pressed into his sheets, your bones and muscles sighing in relief that you're in a bed.
Eyes wishing to flutter shut, body unwinding against the mattress, the sheets. It’s on the third heavy exhale, do you realise you hear water. It falls in pitters and patters, distantly, likely from the bathroom across the hall.
That’s when a smile curls across your face because you’ve always found comfort in the sound of running water.
Whether it’s rivers or rain, and showers or leaks. It reminds you of calmness, of things fading from reach—washing away, starting anew. Memories of times trying to colour themselves in your mind, fading before they do as sleep tries to coax you away.
The only thing which displaces the grip sleep has on you, is the comforting sight that comes to a stop at the foot of the bed.
Steam swirling around him, all broad shoulders and still damp skin—the hair on his chest, arms, and stomach, clinging in half-swirled curls and straight lines, the towel clutched at his hip.
The first time you saw Joel Miller naked, you’d almost lost the function to speak. All man—all soft and muscle simultaneously. Something constructed from fantasies, made in real life, carved and moulded by hands you think never thought he’d be real. You were close to not being able to speak all over again now.
Eyes tracing, outlining and shading—squirrelling away a sketch of him you’ll think about when the other side of the bed is cold and not filled with him.
“Didn’t hear you come in.”
You hum, lifting up onto your elbows, admiring him, finding him doing the same—even if you suspect you’re not half as good-looking right now as he is.
Least of all when he takes your ankle in hand, moving you sideways with him as steps between your legs now hanging off the bed, the fabric of his towel brushing over your jeans, his palms coming down on the mattress on either side of your neck, staring at you with a look of concern.
“Y’not been sleepin’?”
“Just been busy,” you reply, arms looping around his neck. “Not lots of time to rest.”
You suppose at some point between summer and winter, things became soft—less about need and company, and something along the lines of real.
In another world, one not ridden with fungi and death, you suppose it would have been labelled, added something which tied the two of you together—something meaning more to others than it likely would do to you.
Smiling, you force your eyes to open properly. Watching that look of hunger slowly bleed out over the concern, vanishing entirely when you smirk. If the two of you were different, you suspect you'd tell him you miss him. Tell him you've thought about him.
Instead, you whisper, “Want you, Joel.”
Even more so when you trace the words over his mouth. Aware of his hands on your jeans, and how he's popped open the button, how he's dragging down the zipper. The fabric freely slides from your skin as your hands slide down, dropping to the towel at his waist—thumb digging over it, all ready to pull, unravel it. “Need you.”
His eyes narrow swallowed in darkness. “Yeah?”
Nodding, you roll your lips, dragging your fingers to the tuck, undoing it, not taking your eyes off him. Seeing something in his eyes that is more than just reciprocation of the words spoken, but the ones left unsaid.
“You want me?”
However, you’ll have me.
You’re not sure you speak it, but you're sure he hears it all the same.
For how aloof people think he is, he’s a man who listens—not just to the crunch of branches and the rustle of trees, but to the things people don’t say. He hears their secrets and pulls away their lies. Skills he told you one night he levelled up in when the world tried to keep taking more than it had already.
You suppose it’s how he knows you, your body, what you want and what you crave.
More so as he tangles his tongue with yours, all heady—gripping him firm, tightly as his fingers snake between the two of you. Desperation thrumming through your fingers as you push them into his skin, into his muscles—feeling the coil tighten as he moves his fingers with nothing short of precision. Knowing you, having mapped you out, learnt your cues—it’s why you don’t fight it, the incoming wave ready to drench your taut muscles, let him undo you, unravel you out so you’re nothing but spread out for him.
He likes it like that, you can tell. Likes how you surrender to him, how you lay out for him, letting him move you how he needs you.
It used to be rough, desperate—pure carnal. But, it’s been replaced by something else, something not soft or romantic, but you’re sure it’s a distant relative.
Once you’d gotten a bruise on your hip that pulsed, shifted in shades from being nudged against your kitchen table. Now when he leaves them, he traces them with his thumb, hoping to suck out the sting. Because now you’re treated to comfort—too recently washed bedding and his fingers inside your cunt as your body bends into him, practically curls, sings, hums.
“Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”
Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show. Each lick of his gaze makes you glow, and feel like something worth choosing, having been picked, plucked—and placed on some mantle you don’t even mind being perched on.
Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, breathing a struggle, practically gasping, you mumble his name—murmur it, almost a whine. “Fuck me now, Joel. Want you inside of me.”
Then, you’re overwhelmed.
Bathed in both the scent of fresh soap, dewy skin and absolute fullness. Your legs wrapping, crossing at the ankles as he slides into the hilt—pausing, just as he always does, fingers brushing over your jaw until he’s tilting your chin.
That same look—the one you first witnessed after the kiss under the dusk.
It doesn’t vanish until you show him, either in a whisper of the magic words or a movement he can read as a spell. Your hips rolling, rocking—please, please.
Your hands take in the feel of him breathing, the way his chest expands, fills with the knowledge, the realisation, nails digging, almost all in order. One he answers, delivers, fucking stamps.
Joel makes your toes curl, makes white noise appear in your ears, and makes you forget every important thing you’ve ever filed away. All hot, scorching against your skin as you grasp him closer, hoping you’ll be smothered in burns—hoping the same when you swallow his grunts, his hisses off your name. His hips pistoning, aiming to send you over the edge before him, hands—riddled with the evidence of his survival and his new hobby keep you rooted, don’t allow you to wander off into bliss without him.
“Too good f’me, sweetheart.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, right against your pulse, before he licks against what beats under your skin.
You snort amidst your whine, clutching all the strings which keep you whole as you close your eyes—banish him from looking into your soul. He’s seen all there is there, let him in before, provided flashes, evidence of your shattered soul and broken mentality. It comes to the surface easier here, when your walls suck him in, and your body calls for him in a chorus of pleading and begging.
Because you’re close—not needing too much from him tonight, the sight of him is enough. The knowledge of his existence, knowing he’s yours without confirmation.
“There, right there,” you moan, heels digging into the base of his back, feeling the jostle of him, the way he rears and fucks.
He smirks, shifting, just enough to make the head of his cock hit the spot which makes your thighs shake, tremble, fucking quake. His mouth still split open, words there on his tongue, all ready to drape over your skin—
But, you just feel it’s incoming arrival. All white-hot, blinding—too much pressure, yet needing just a little bit more. Your body is not yours, mind empty, gone, faded. You want to sink your teeth into him, bite down, cut into him and leave a mark like the ones he leaves inside you each time the two of you do this.
Because it means something. This. The two of you in this little house in fucking Jackson. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?
“Yea’,” he grunts, palm on your face, tilting you up roughly, forcing your eyes to open.
And you swear he smiles when they flash open. You swear it.
“Means somethin’, sweetheart. This—fuck—us.”
The words grind into you. As though he's the pestle and your mortar. Your breath is lost, unable to be grasped, your body hanging, pleasure a bigger force—swallowing the room, casting you in shadows and misting over you—until you cry out. Squeezing, fluttering.
Not able to see anything but his face, the look on his face—the twisted expression of his lips and the deepness of his eyes. More black, than brown—but they’re somehow still soft, still full of something you hope is pleasant and full of emotions.
It only vanishes briefly when he spills inside of you.
When he collapses on top of you—his heart hammering against your ribs. And, even if it isn’t the first time, you feel yourself still—pause, no rash movements, because this is nice, this is something you want without asking for it.
“Can’t believe I can hear y’brain already.”
Snorting, you roll your eyes, glancing over—finding his lips have slid into his cheek.
It gnaws at you, the reason for your lack of sleep. The thing which you've traded hours of rest for. That dormant part pushed to the edge by exhaustion, now awake and very much worrying.
“Got you something,” you whisper, biting your lip, watching his brows furrow and lines appear between them.
Standing up, you steal the dressing gown from the back of his door—the one you’d traded for months ago. The one which is far too big, even for him, making it only cosier when you borrow it. Shooting him a smile, you almost disguise it, worried it's far too soft, too normal, before you mumble about being right back.
It's a hurry to the front door, all feet hammering down on wooden steps before your hand digs in your coat pocket, retrieving the wrapped thing you’ve lost shuteye over.
When you enter, he’s under the sheets—hair at odd angles, looking both a mixture of energised and fucked out that you wish you could paint with your fingers, so you'd forever have it.
“Didn’t wanna give this to you on the 25th—just in case you popped a vein trying to figure out what it means.”
Kneeling on the bed, you take a levelling breath, before handing it to him. His eyes travelling from you to it, fingers taking it—all delicate, measured. Before he unpeels the ribbon, undressing it with more care than he often shows you, before it rolls free of the paper you managed to find. It catches the ceiling light, glinting, gleaming, the handle looking even more detailed in this light than under the candles you’d had to use to remain discreet.
In your hand, the knife had appeared large, and menacing. In his, it looked right.
Yet, his face looked as though it was anything but.
Enough for you to prod, needle. To nudge closer on your knees, to smooth out the sheets and then flick your lashes up, finding him already staring, weighing it up—whatever coated his tongue, had been written in his mind.
“Sweetheart… I don’t… I don’t deserve this—”
More words fall in silence, not quite spoken, yet somehow loud.
Enough for you to say his name, to rest your knee on the bed and deeply sigh.
“You…’m not a good man.”
You almost laugh, but you don’t. Crawling up, placing your hand on his chest, you take a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I care.”
And you don't.
Because it's easy to feel something for him, to love him. It's natural, there one day and the day after. It wasn't hard or difficult, but very fucking easy.
Your mouth even opens to say as much, but you close it again before a syllable is muttered.
Wrapping the gift, he moves it from between the two of you, to the bedside table. His fingers linger, hovering over the carved wood—the one which caused splinters and made your eyes almost cross over. “Y’should. M’not an easy man to love.”
“I disagree,” you whisper, fingers having slid up to the base of his neck, your fingers teasing his curls. “Since I’m pretty sure I already feel those things for you.”
His brows lift, and you smile—letting it speak the words you can’t say, and you’re sure he’s not willing to hear.
“Don’t sweat it, alright? You’re mine, I’m yours. Yeah?”
Nodding, he bites his cheek, placing the knife back into the packaging—moving it, replacing what he’d been holding with your wrist as he pulls you close.
“Got you somethin’ too.”
Nose bumping his, you shift closer, thighs finding themselves on either side of him—his hands finding a place on them, sliding up, callouses grazing on your skin, before squeezing.
“But y’gotta wait until the 25th. Like a good girl.”
Smirking, you cup his cheeks. "Okay, Miller. I'll wait."
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an: merry christmas, i hope you love this <3
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