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joelscurls · 7 months

Text

to the ends of the earth

pt ii of feel it in your bones | epilogue

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12k

summary: You spend the week of Spring Break in Austin with your long-distance-boyfriend Joel. As you settle into a comfortable routine together, questions regarding your future arise.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), fluff, angst (ik ik i’m sorry), smut, phone sex, masturbation (f, m), semi-public touching, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie, soft dom!Joel, hair pulling, tiniest bit of nipple play, implied oral (f receiving), brief mention of shower sex, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.)

a/n: i’m honestly so overwhelmed with all the positive feedback I got on part 1 - thank you all so much! there will be a part 3 in the form of a lil epilogue, so stay tuned for more of these two! as always, ty to @caffeinated-validation for giving this your eyes <3

Long distance sucks.

It’s been six months to the day since Homecoming Weekend, five since you and Joel put a label on things: “exclusive”. Not like you’d been talking to anyone else. Since Joel left Vermont that first time, he’d occupied your mind, made a home there, nestled deep between grooves of soft brain matter.

He’s been back a couple of times since. Quick weekend trips — much like the first one — just without the bad art and couch surfing. And each time he’s come and gone has been more painful than the last. More memories to reminisce on when you lay in bed alone. More words exchanged to drown in. You feel as if your heart has been ripped apart and stitched haphazardly back together every time he slips from your embrace.

The last time you’d seen him in person was New Year’s, when you’d rented a cabin in the Green Mountains, watched Joel react to his first snow, exchanged I love yous for the first time under falling flurries.

It feels now as if it were a lifetime ago.

It’s never enough — time, kisses, touches. It’s all so fleeting. You want, more than anything, to burrow into Joel’s chest and make a permanent residence there. To go with him where he goes, be with him where he is, always.

But you know you can’t — it’s not realistic. You have your life here, and Joel has his there. You remind yourself of this fact more times a day than you’d like to admit.

You will be with him again soon enough, though, and for the longest stint of time yet. An entire week in Texas, you and Joel.

The thought of it keeps you going in the leadup to spring break.

It’s the night before your flight, an early-morning departure from Burlington International Airport. You’ve waited until the last minute to pack, so here you are, hovering above your suitcase — which lays sprawled out on your bed — aimlessly throwing pairs of underwear and t-shirts into the main compartment.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A much welcomed distraction.

And then you notice that it’s Joel calling.

Your heart skips a beat. You answer. Put it on speaker-phone.

“Hello?,” you purr, flopping down on the small empty space on the bed.

“Hi baby,” he drawls, his voice so sweet and saccharine it makes you melt. “All packed?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I’m ready.”

“Me too,” he says. “So ready. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” you parrot. “How was your day?”

He sighs. “Fine, I guess. Had a bunch’a loose ends to tie up at this site before Tommy takes over for the week. A lot’a back and forth on the phone, orderin’ shit.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I hope you won’t be stressed all week thinking about it.”

He hums, so deep it vibrates through the phone. It goes straight to your core. “Impossible, babygirl. Once I have you here, ‘m not gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout anything else.”

Your face heats. An unignorable pang of desire swells in your chest.

“Joel,” you say, desperation already coloring your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

Phone sex has become somewhat of a norm for you and Joel, that overwhelming need to be close to one another manifesting as desperate touches of your own fingers and half-coherent pleas through the speaker. It’s rare that a bedtime conversation between the two of you doesn’t end in panting down the line, telling each other goodnight through labored, satiated breaths.

Tonight, your need for him is bordering on carnal, carving into your skin like a sharp blade. You know you’ll have him tomorrow, and a number of days after that, but still, it feels so intangible, unreal. Like you can’t let yourself fully believe it until he’s in your arms.

And so you need him — right now — in any way you can have him.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

“Yes Joel — please.”

“Fuck babygirl,” he breathes. “Okay. Lemme take care’a you.”

You slip your fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants impatiently. You feel yourself through the thin fabric of your panties and, unsurprisingly, you’re soaked. It’s like you’ve been pavloved — like all you need is the sound of Joel’s voice, soft and deep like crushed velvet, and you’re gone — every single time.

“I’m so wet,” you mewl.

Joel groans on the other end. He sounds almost pained, like not being there to feel you, to taste you, is physically hurting him. If it is though, he covers it up well, snapping his attention back to you like a reflex.

“You still got your pants on?,” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Take ‘em off for me. And your panties.”

You do as he says, pulling your sweatpants and underwear down in one tug, letting them bunch at your ankles.

“They’re off,” you say.

“Good. Now touch yourself baby, go ahead.”

You shallowly dip two fingers into the pool of arousal that’s formed between your thighs. Then you glide slick digits over your aching clit, back and forth, a quiet whimper slipping from your mouth.

“‘ts it, darlin’,” he coos, “rub that pretty pussy for me.”

You pretend your fingers are his — bigger, rougher — as you increase the pressure you’re applying and begin to rub tight circles against your clit. The thought of your touches being his, instead, leaves you failing to swallow back a moan.

“Joel – ngh – it feels good.”

“‘Good, baby,” he says. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You keep going, your breaths becoming increasingly uneven, your hips inadvertently canting off the bed in an attempt to create more friction. You can sense that you’re dripping onto the duvet below you, staining it with your arousal. You’re way past caring at this point — you just need to cum.

You bring your other hand between your thighs, teasing your entrance. You sigh when you find how much wetter you’ve gotten in just a few minutes. You’re sure Joel must be able to hear the lewd slickslickslick of your fingers swirling against your sopping cunt — which he confirms when he curses under his breath.

“Fuck; that all for me, darlin’?”

“Mhm,” you moan.

“Gonna fuck yourself with your fingers for me? Cum all over ‘em, imaginin’ it’s my cock, instead?”

“Yes,” you cry. “Please, Joel, need your cock so bad.”

“I know babygirl, I know.”

You push two fingers inside as deep as you can get them, crooking them against your walls until you find that spongy spot. You fuck yourself in time with the fingers rubbing your clit, your pace reflexively increasing when you start to feel that familiar warmth growing in your abdomen.

You feel it build, up up up — and then it falls, fading completely.

“Fuck,” you murmur.

You don’t relent. But again and again, even with the perfect amount of pressure applied to your clit and the fingers in your pussy curved just right, you find your orgasm just out of reach. You let out a frustrated whine, your movements stalling completely. You can’t get there, not like this, not alone.

“Joel,” you punch out, “need you to touch yourself. Need you to cum with me.”

He inhales a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuck, sweetheart — okay.”

You hear a faint clink of his belt on the other side of the phone, followed by the telltale whir of a zipper. There’s rustling over the line. When you hear him sigh, you know his cock is in his hand. And then there’s a shift in his breathing, subtle, but enough that you pick up on it. Evidence that he’s started stroking himself.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Miss that perfect little cunt so bad, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you again. Gonna ruin you.”

You love when he talks to you like this — when he loses himself in it and his tongue works faster than his brain. You’d never imagined when you first met him, reserved, quiet Joel, that he could be so filthy.

“Tell me —“ you plead — “tell me how you’re gonna fuck me, Joel.”

“Fuck, gonna get you in my bed, burry my face between your legs until you’re beggin’ me to stop…”

“Shit,” you gasp, your fingers stuttering at his words.

“‘N then ’m gonna fill you up with this cock, make you go dumb on it, fuck you so good your eyes roll back in your head.”

You whimper. You know he’s not just all talk from experience, and the thought of him fulfilling all these promises so soon has you plummeting toward the brink. As long as he keeps going, keeps talking, you’re not going to last another minute.

“Gonna make you soak it, make you cum all over my fuckin’ cock. Fuck — swear ’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

You feel your orgasm approaching again. But it’s not waning, not this time. You chase it, letting Joel’s words run on a loop in your head: gonna fill you up with this cock, gonna make you feel so good, bury my face between your legs until you’re beggin’, gonna make you go dumb on it, gonna make you feel so good, so good, so good…

“So close Joel,” you breathe. “So fucking close.”

“‘ts it, darlin’”, he says, his voice strained. “‘m right behind you — shit — let me hear you cum. Wanna — ahh — wanna hear you.”

That’s all it takes, just his encouragement, and you’re cumming so hard the room spins.

You can faintly register Joel talking you through it, able to make out a string of good girls through ringing ears. When you finally start to come down, you can tell he’s nearing his own climax, panting down the line as your own breaths begin to even.

“Please Joel,” you beg. “Please cum for me.”

He lets out a low growl, and then your name is spilling from the tip of his tongue, over and over again, in between strangled moans.

The line is quiet for a moment, apart from you and Joel’s shallow breathing.

“Fuck,” he says when he’s recovered from his orgasm, “how many hours til you get here?

You laugh. “I don’t know — too many.”

“Yeah, too many,” he agrees.

There’s another lull. You yawn exasperatedly, only now realizing how exhausted you are. An earth shattering orgasm will do that to you, you guess.

Joel chuckles on the other end.

“Go to bed, baby. It’ll make the time go faster.”

You sigh. You don’t want to hang up. Don’t want to be without him again. But he’s right. He usually is — though you’d never admit it out loud.

“Yeah, okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“I love you,” he hums.

“I love you too, Joel.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” he adds.

You smile. You’re glad he can’t see you right now, can’t see how ridiculously giddy he makes you.

“Me either,” you say. “Goodnight.”

“Night, darlin’.”

You’re still grinning like an idiot when you hang up the phone. You lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the ceiling, willing time to move faster.

Eventually you peel yourself off the bed and finish packing. You throw in some lacy bras you know Joel will love — if you end up wearing any real clothes this week, that is. Then you zip your suitcase shut, toss it onto the floor somewhere, and slip under the covers.

You flick your bedside lamp off with a sigh, and begin your attempt to coax sleep. You are tired, but you’re more excited.

When you finally do drift off — at some ungodly hour of the morning — you dream of Joel, of his large arms wrapped around you, his honeyed voice in your ear. Tomorrow, he whispers, again and again. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

You wake up the next morning with butterflies the size of baseballs in your stomach. You get to the airport unnecessarily early, make it through security in record time, and plant yourself down at your gate with a coffee in hand two hours before your scheduled departure.

Your body is practically vibrating in your seat, only partially due to the caffeine. Joel will no doubt still be asleep at this hour, so you shoot him a text to wake up to:

at the airport, all checked in. can’t wait to see you, cowboy <3

And then you send one to Sarah, who you know will be awake, her study-abroad trip to Cambodia meaning she’s probably studying or eating dinner right now.

On my way to see your dad; miss you! Can’t wait to hear all about your studies sometime soon :)

She almost immediately responds:

Yay! Miss you both so much! Yes, talk soon pls - lots to catch you up on. The professors here want me to stay forever (I won’t, dw, need to be able to bother you and my dad on a more regular basis).

You laugh to yourself.

Sarah had been thrilled when she’d found out about your relationship. Had been way too proud of herself for setting you up. When you’d learned she’d faked sick the night you met Joel at the art exhibition, you’d found yourself unable to feign disapproval. How could you care, really, when you’d ended the night straddling him, kissing him?

Not that you’d told her that, of course. She didn’t need to know every detail of that weekend.

It had been…interesting, to say the least, navigating a long-distance-something with the father of one of your students. But Sarah hadn’t pried, even when you’d suspected she wanted to. She’d let it bloom into something more, something real, before beginning to pester you with the questions: isn’t he the worst cook? do you think you guys will get married? can I be your maid of honor if you do?

To which you’d responded: yes (affectionately), I don’t know, and of course you can.

You’ll miss her this week, but another part of you — a more selfish part — is thrilled to have a week alone with Joel, without any distractions.

So thrilled, you can barely steady your shaking hands enough to plug your phone into the outlet under your seat.

You scroll mindlessly on social media as it charges until it’s time to board. Then you’re shuffling single-file down the aisle of the plane to your row, hauling your suitcase into the overhead, and taking your seat next to the window.

It’s your first flight of two, separated by a three-hour layover. You make it to Philadelphia in just over an hour, halfway through the cheesy 2000s rom-com you’d selected on the inflight entertainment screen. You make a mental note to finish it on the next leg.

You get lunch once you’ve tracked down your new gate — pay seventeen bucks for a soggy airport sandwich and a bag of chips that, upon opening, is mostly air. When you sit down to eat, you notice that Joel texted you back.

Got one foot out the front door already. Can’t wait to see you babygirl.

You can’t help the embarrassing smile that pulls across your face.

You re-read the text no less than ten times before you board your next flight — then once more for good measure just before you put your phone on airplane-mode and shove it in your sweatshirt pocket.

This is it, you think as the wheels lift off the ground and the clouds come closer into view. No more countdown. It’s here.

You have to refrain from sprinting off of the plane as soon as it’s landed in Austin.

You grab your suitcase from the overhead with reckless abandon, nearly knocking another piece of luggage out of the compartment and onto a passing flight attendant.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse.

She glares at you, unamused.

“I’m just…I’m meeting someone here,” you ramble. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Too excited.”

She nods. Pops her gum. “Mhm. Have a good day, ma’am. Thanks for flying with us.”

You keep your head down as you disembark.

It’d been a packed flight, and so you find yourself weaving through the crowd that’s gathered at the gate as you exit, around parents who have stopped to tie their kids’ shoes and solo travelers pausing to book their ride shares.

You check your phone as you walk, unwilling to waste even a fraction of a second. Find the directions buried in the text thread between you and Joel detailing how to get from your terminal to the passenger pickup area.

You follow them, suitcase rolling behind you as you trudge along, down a couple escalators and through a corridor.

You round one last corner — and then you see him, standing with his back to a pillar, hands anxiously fiddling at his sides.

Now you are sprinting.

Your suitcase is abandoned somewhere behind you as you run toward Joel. He doesn’t see you at first. You make it a few feet, shoes squeaking on tile, before his head snaps up and his eyes catch yours. And then he’s bounding forward, meeting you in the middle, your bodies colliding, hard.

He throws both arms around you, squeezes you so tightly you think your blood vessels may burst. You accept your fate willingly, breathing him in, letting your hands rove along his broad back.

He smells like pine and worn leather and Joel.

He feels like home.

He bruises a kiss in your hair, whispering against your scalp in disbelief: baby, you’re here.

You stand wrapped up together for a long moment, Joel rocking you back and forth as you catch your breath. Then you pull apart to look at each other.

Only then does it begin to sink in — Joel is right in front of you, touching you — and you’re about to spend a whole week together.

“C’mere,” he drawls, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing his lips into yours. It’s a slow kiss, punctuated by gentle strokes of his fingertips along your jaw. Your tongue rolls against his and your fingers anchor into his shirt collar. It simultaneously feels like it lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

“C’mon,” he whispers against your lips when you part. “Let’s go home, darlin.”

You grab your forgotten suitcase and pull it behind you with one hand, the other in Joel’s as you walk to his truck. It’s parked just outside, at the curb, hazard lights blinking.

“Was supposed to wait here for you,” he explains as he opens the passenger door, helping you in. He takes your suitcase, throws it onto the backseat like it weighs nothing.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smile as he gets into the driver’s seat. “Felt like a rom-com — I liked it.”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his key in the ignition. His cheeks flush. “I liked it too.”

You stop for fast food on the way to Joel’s — Whataburger, naturally. They don’t have these in Vermont, so you try to savor your burger, but your long day of travel has you ravenous, so you wolf it down, ketchup smearing on the corners of your mouth between bites. Joel just laughs at you from the driver’s seat, piece of lettuce lodged between his front teeth.

You get it for him — fingernails prodding at his gums, but he lets you. Even sighs at the contact. When you flick the leaf off your fingertip, he pulls you in for a kiss, much softer than the one you shared in the airport, but dizzying, nonetheless. “Better?,” he whispers, and you’re not sure if he’s asking about his teeth or you, but both are true, so you hum affirmingly.

You sink back into your seat, adjusting your seatbelt where it’s tightened around your neck.

You feel full and drowsy as you throw your trash into the paper bag the food came in, tucking it by your feet.

You let your head rest against the window. The glass rattles against your skull as the truck begins to move, but you ignore it, too tired to care. And then you let your eyes shut — just to rest them — that’s all.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You come to when you feel Joel at your side, trying to move you from the passenger seat.

“Baby,” you hear him say. Your eyes flutter open. He brings a hand up to your face, peeling stray strands of hair from where they’re stuck to your forehead and pushing them behind your ear.

“We’re home,” he drawls. “Let’s go inside, yeah?”

You nod groggily, still letting your eyes adjust to the daylight. You take in your surroundings: you’re parked in his driveway, his house right in front of you. Somehow, it’s just as you’d imagined it to be — big, sprawling porch at the front, meticulously kempt yard ornamented with a beautiful red oak tree. It’s so Texan, you think, so Joel.

He grabs your luggage from the truck. Then he helps you out, walks you with a large hand wrapped around your middle to the front door and into the house. Once inside, he sets your suitcase down.

And then he hugs you again, like he’s afraid to let you out of his embrace, lest you vaporize into thin air.

“Still tired? Wanna take a nap?,” he asks.

You yawn, right in his ear. He laughs; that’s enough of an answer.

“Alright,” he says. You follow him to his bedroom, too sleepy to argue. You pass through the kitchen and living room on the way. Through drooping eyes, you notice scattered pieces of Joel — the guitar leaning against its stand next to the couch, the pictures of him and Sarah lining the staircase. It makes your chest tighten, being here in his house, seeing the parts of him that he can’t bring with him when he visits you.

His room is the most him though — masculine and minimalist. A canvas with a ram painted on it hangs above his bed — a gift from someone, you assume. You can’t exactly imagine Joel strolling the aisles of Target, picking out artwork to hang in his house. There’s another photo of him and Sarah on his bedside table that must’ve been taken at her highschool graduation, cap adorning her head full of curls.

It makes you smile — all of it.

You lope over to the bed, climbing in when Joel pulls back the covers for you. He tucks you in with a kiss to your forehead. His duvet wafts his scent, when you pull it up to your face. You inhale it deeply. Commit it to memory.

“Wait,” you say as he turns to leave the room. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?”

He leans against the doorframe, wood creaking under his weight. “Well I don’t really nap, darlin’,” he admits. “You get some rest, I’ll just be doin’ some stuff around the house.”

“Please,” you say, sticking out your bottom lip at him. You watch as he thinks on it for a minute, then sighs in defeat.

“Okay, I’ll nap with you baby.”

He climbs in next to you. “Only for a little bit, though,” he mumbles, like he’s trying to convince himself.

His broad chest presses into your back. He drapes an arm over your side as you nuzzle into his embrace, so warm, so safe. He noses at your neck, leaving gentle kisses along your exposed shoulder. This, you think, is what heaven must feel like.

The sound of Joel’s breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up, the room is cast in shadows. It’s dusk, you realize, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. You roll over. Find that Joel is no longer next to you.

His side of the bed is still warm, you notice, so he must not have gotten up too long ago.

You clamber to your feet, ignoring the blood rushing to your head as you stumble out of his room. You make your way down the stairs, hand braced against the wall as you descend. The lights are on in the living room — a sign of life. But Joel isn’t there.

You wander into the kitchen. He’s not here either. Did he leave the house? You look around for a note, fish your phone out of your pocket to see if he texted you. But you have zero notifications and the dining table is empty, apart from a pair of salt & pepper shakers and a napkin holder.

You call out for him, to no avail. Stumped, you make your way to the door that leads to the garage, the only room you haven’t checked yet, and wedge it open.

To your surprise, you find Joel standing at the back of his truck, loading something into the bed. Upon further inspection, you see that it’s blankets.

Huh?

“Hey,” you announce, making your way down the small set of stairs. He whips around at the sound of your voice. The color in his face drains, like he’s just been caught in the act of something.

“Darlin’,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re up.”

You join him by the truck. Let him rest a heavy arm on your shoulder. You peer up at him with a quirked brow. “What are you doing out here?”

“Well, I uh, I had planned somethin’ for you. Not sure if you’re up for it?”

You look back at the blankets in the truck bed. It’s not just blankets, you discover. There are pillows too, big ones, like the kinds you put on patio furniture, plus a small radio situated in the corner. And there’s a bag of chips leaned up against one of the pillows, next to a box of your favorite candy.

“A picnic… in your truck?”

He laughs. “Not quite. There’s a drive-in movie theater down the road. Thought we could go.”

Those butterflies from this morning suddenly return, swarming your insides at the realization — Joel planned a date for you.

It’s not that he isn’t normally romantic, because he is.

You recall one particular weekend he’d visited — he’d insisted on cooking dinner for you at your apartment, determined to make it perfect for you. He’d ended up burning the chicken and oversalting his sauce, but you hadn’t cared one bit — not when he’d gazed at you so adoringly across the candlelit table, one of your hands in his as he’d peppered each of your knuckles with kisses.

On another visit, he’d scouted one of the only nearby mountains you hadn’t hiked yet and climbed to the top with you — because the internet said this was the best spot to catch the sunset. You’d stood at the lookout, hand in hand, and shared your greatest dreams — yours to have your research published in a major publication, his to leave contracting behind and buy a sheep ranch. And when the sun had dipped behind the horizon, the sky bleeding vibrant pinks and oranges, he’d just looked at you.

So you know he’s romantic. Still though, you’re practically swooning at the scene in front of you.

“So, you wanna go?,” he asks. He scuffs his boot along the concrete floor, awkwardly. “It’s okay if you d-“

“Joel,” you say. “I wanna go.”

He smiles. Rolls the cover over the truck bed. Presses a kiss to your temple.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The sky is dark by the time you get to the drive-in. There are already quite a few cars in the dirt lot, parked in neat rows facing the giant movie screen that sits at the edge of a treeline. There’s a person directing traffic, a teenage boy, you guess, based on his stature, and he twirls his light-up batons in the rearview as Joel rounds the corner to the back row.

He backs into a spot at the far-left, car to your right parked a good ten feet away. And then he cuts the ignition with a quiet grunt, steps out, and makes his way over to your door to open it for you and help you down.

The pillows in the truck bed had jostled around a bit on the drive over, Joel finds when he unfurls the cover. So he adjusts them, making sure everything is just right. Then he unlatches the tailgate and helps you hoist yourself up, following closely behind you as you crawl toward the back.

Once he’s set the radio to the right channel, Joel sits with his back flush to the truck cab and spreads his legs, patting one of his thighs in invitation. He doesn’t need to ask twice — you immediately crawl between them, letting your head fall back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in him.

A satisfied hum escapes your lips. The realization hits you then that you hadn’t even asked what movie you were seeing. Not that you care much — it could be a documentary about grass, and you’d still have a good time, thanks to the company.

It’s some dystopian sci-fi thriller, you find, as the opening credits begin to roll, with a title you vaguely remember hearing in passing at some point.

And it’s good. You’re invested in the story by the end of the first act, curious to find out how the main character is going to save her love interest.

But then you lose interest, quickly, when you feel the white-hot touch of Joel’s fingers against your skin as he slips them under your shirt, inching down your stomach.

He halts when he gets to the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitches, lodged somewhere in your throat when he dips one finger under the denim. Your hips lift reflexively and he laughs lowly in your ear, prompting a shaky exhale to sputter out of you.

“Stay still, darlin,” he whispers, slipping another finger into your pants.

You try, you really try not to move, but he’s teasing you, his fingers moving the pace of molasses toward your core, where he hasn’t touched you in months. You feel like your entire body is going to combust if he doesn’t make contact with your clit in the next five seconds.

You whine, quiet enough that it’s muffled by the sounds of the movie echoing from the radio, but still too loud for Joel, apparently. He reaches his free hand out to turn the volume up, pushing the nob a few decibels higher.

He returns his attention to you. “You want this, babygirl?,” he asks, fingers reaching the hem of your underwear.

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly. “Please touch me, Joel.” You feel his cock stiffen behind you, prodding your back.

“Okay,” he says. He pulls his hand out completely to unbutton your pants and unzip them halfway. Then he’s cupping your sex through your panties, letting his fingers brush over the wet spot that has already formed.

“Gotta be quiet then,” he purrs. “Can ya do that for me?”

You’re not sure you can, to be honest. He’s barely touching you and you already feel like you’ve lost all control over your body. Whatever it does, however you react — you have no say in the matter. Still, you’re not about to tell him that, risk him stopping, so you nod, furiously, your desperate face illuminated by the flashing light of an action sequence playing out on screen.

He dips two fingers into your underwear, immediately pressing them to your seam. He curses under his breath behind you, clearly pleased with how wet you are for him, with how easily he breaks you down. He brings them up to your clit, then, swiping back and forth, back and forth, his calloused touch forcing you to suppress a yelp. His fingers feel so rough compared to yours, so good. Breaths are pouring out of you in quick succession, your chest heaving with pleasure.

You’re briefly paranoid as Joel continues his ministrations that someone might see — but as you glance around the parking lot, you realize that you can’t see anyone else, just shadows in cars and on folding chairs, all focused on the movie in front of them. Slouched within the walls of Joel’s truck bed, it’s impossible for anyone to clock what’s happening.

So you let your body relax, melting into Joel behind you, your hands clinging onto his thighs to hold yourself steady. “‘ts it baby,” he says, your pliancy encouraging him to press his fingers down harder. “Always so good for me, huh?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, your voice still hushed.

“Yeah, you are” he agrees, rubbing your clit faster, more deliberately. He knows by now just how to touch you — exactly how to bring you straight to the edge and send you toppling over. And it’s clear that time apart hasn’t affected this in the slightest, your abdomen already tensing, familiar coil tightening threateningly in your core.

You warn Joel with a squeal. His free hand flies up to your face, covering your mouth in an instant. Your eyes roll back instinctively at the lewdness of it, of him muffling you with his palm. You moan freely against it, teeth scraping the skin there as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer and nearer.

It hits you hard. You have to bite down on Joel’s hand to keep from screaming out as it scorches through you, heating every inch of your skin as it does. Your fingernails are digging into Joel’s legs so hard you think you may be drawing blood even through thick denim. He talks you through it, quietly, his utters of atta girl, look at you, ya cum so pretty for me baby keeping you tethered to reality.

When your breathing begins to even and the trembling in your thighs subsides, he removes his hand from your mouth and the other from your pants.

You gaze up at him through bleary eyes just as he brings the fingers that were pressed against your pussy straight to his mouth, sucking on them through a satisfied hum. He pulls them out slowly, and your body nearly buckles at the sight.

“Taste so sweet,” he whispers in your ear. “Always taste so goddamn sweet.”

Your head swims.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“We need to leave. Right now.”

He cocks his head at you, confused. “Are you alr-”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off. “But I need you to fuck me right now, and I don’t think we can do that here.”

You see his eyes darken, his jaw twitch.

“Yeah,” he says after a few seconds. “Let’s get out of here.”

Joel speeds the entire way home.

The hand he doesn’t have on the wheel grips your thigh, making you dizzy with desire by the time he pulls into the driveway. He lodges the passenger side door open so hard you’d think there was an emergency (maybe needing to fuck your significant other after months of not seeing them in person does constitute as an emergency, though — who’s to say?).

He unbuckles your seatbelt for you, barely letting your feet hit the pavement before his lips are on you and he’s slamming the truck door shut, caging you against it. It feels like he’s everywhere all at once, his tongue sliding along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You’re panting by the time he pulls back, begging him in not so many words to bring you inside and pound you into the mattress.

It must take you five whole minutes to get from the front door to his room. Joel’s hand is splayed across the globe of your ass as you walk. He stops you every ten feet to spin your around and kiss you again, sucking on your tongue, needy moans slipping from his parted lips. His shirt has been discarded by the time you get to the stairs, and your hands greedily take in every inch of skin they can reach as you make your way up step by agonizing step.

When you finally make it upstairs, he backs you through the threshold, straight to his bed. You tumble down onto the mattress in a heap, mouths melding together in desperation as he reaches a hand behind you, under your shirt, and unclasps your bra. You help him out, reaching up your sleeve to tug down one strap, then shifting your weight to pull down the other. When you move, he follows you, not letting his mouth part from yours a second sooner than it needs to.

He tugs the bra the rest of the way off your body and pulls your shirt up over your chest, revealing your bare breasts. Only then does he unlatch his lips from yours so that he can admire you.

“More gorgeous every time I see you,” he mutters, rolling one of your nipples between two fingers until it hardens under his touch. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. He leans down, lathing his flat tongue over the sensitive peak, eliciting a heady moan from you.

“Joel,” you cry beneath him, a hand coming up to his shoulder. You push against him lightly.

And he gets it — as much as he loves teasing, now is not the time. You’ve been teased enough by the miles between you and him. So he pulls back. Lets you roll him over. You straddle him, bracing your hands on his chest and experimentally roll your hips. You immediately feel his hard cock straining against his jeans underneath you.

You reach between your bodies then, prying open his button and yanking the zipper down. Then your hand is in his pants, tracing the outline of his heavy cock where it bulges under cotton.

You lean down and press a kiss to his clothed length. He hisses through his teeth.

“Baby,” he groans, hand coming down to tilt your chin up towards his face. “Another time. I need to be inside you. Right now.”

You don’t argue. He sits up. Shuffles back to the headboard, bringing you with him. He pulls your shirt the rest of the way off, over your head. And then he’s helping you slip out of your jeans and panties so that you’re completely naked atop him.

He pulls you in for another bruising kiss as he tugs his pants and boxers down, just enough to free his leaking cock. He strokes it languidly, smearing pre-cum from the tip down his length. You’re already impatient by the time he’s lining himself up with your entrance, so much so that you have to refrain from taking him all the way down in one go. You use your better judgment, sinking onto him slowly, until you’re flush with his pelvis, the hair at his base tickling your inner thighs.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing labored as you adjust to the size of him. You’ve missed the sweet, burning stretch of him, the fullness you feel when he’s inside you, like you’re complete, whole. You’re pretty sure you could stay like this forever, make a home here on his throbbing cock.

When the sting dissipates, you begin to move, rocking on top of him. He grabs onto your hips, steadying you, his eyes blinking half-open to take you in.

“Fuck,” he rasps as you set a steady pace, his cock disappearing from you, then filling you to the brim again and again. “‘ts it baby, take my fuckin’ cock; ridin’ it so good.”

His hips snap up, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. You wrap your hands around his neck reflexively, digging your nails into his shoulders, indenting crescent moons in the muscle there as he ruts against your g-spot. Your face falls against his chest, your muffled pleas for Joel to fuck you harder, harder, right there barely coherent.

He gets the message regardless.

He pulls you down onto his cock, essentially spearing you on it. You think he must be bruising your cervix, the way his thick head is repeatedly bumping it, but you don’t care. You need every inch of him, need to take everything he has to give you; it feels as essential as the air being punched out of your chest right now.

He’s fucking up into you so brutally that you find yourself delirious, eyes rolling back in your head for the second time tonight. You can’t even find the strength to warn him of your rapidly approaching orgasm, your body going limp in his grasp. He doesn’t need you to, though — he can tell just by the way you squeeze him that you’re close.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?,” he growls, hitting that spongy spot over and over and over.

“Uh — ahhh — uh-huh,” you moan weakly into his skin. Your fingers loosen at his neck, too weak to hold onto him any longer.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head off of his chest and holding it up so that you’re looking him in the eye.

His gaze is lascivious, almost carnal, like going without you for so long has him ready to swallow you whole.

“Look at me,” he spits, “look at me when you cum.”

You nod wearily. You want to give him that, want to give him anything he asks of you. But you’re not sure if you can, not when your eyelids feel like boulders on your face.

“C-can’t Joel,” you manage through moans as they fall shut again.

“Nuh-uh,” he snaps, yanking at your roots. Your eyes fly open at the intrusion.

“You can do it baby, c’mon. Missed these pretty eyes so much — wanna see ‘em.”

You can only imagine how absolutely fucked-out you must look, using every last ounce of energy in your body to keep from slipping again. Your eyes glaze over slightly as he gives a particularly rough thrust, and you feel yourself skyrocket to the edge.

You feel like putty in his hands — and maybe you are. You’d let him mold you to whatever shape he pleased right about now, when he’s making you feel this good.

“There ya go,” Joel coos, bringing his thumb to your clit. He lazily swipes it once — twice — and you begin to fall apart in his arms.

It’s almost violent, your second orgasm of the night. It rips through you, your body thrashing on top of Joel’s, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he continues pounding into you. It feels different too, something more intense lingering, the threat of it just behind your walls.

And then he hits that spot again, the one that makes you see stars, and you’re gushing around him. Your release splatters out onto the duvet below you, soaking it. If Joel notices, he doesn’t care.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans.

Your eyes adjust as you come to. You take in Joel’s, charcoal black and blown-out with lust. You feel shy, almost, which you know is ridiculous given he’s still inside you. But even so, the way he looks at you, like you’re the most desirable thing he’s ever seen — it makes your cheeks heat.

He flips you over onto your back in one swift movement, slipping from you momentarily as he helps you to wrap your shaky legs around him. Presses a gentle kiss to your trembling ankle as he does. And then he’s burying himself in you again, right to the hilt, his pace slowing as he nears the edge.

“Please baby,” you cry. “Please cum inside. Need to feel you.”

Your body feels boneless under Joel’s weight, like he’s fucked near everything out of you. And now you need him to feel good, to take whatever he needs from you, whatever you have left to give.

“Fuck,” he grunts. His hips stall abruptly. He spills into you, deep moans pulling from the back of his throat. You dig your heels into the meat of his ass, dragging him closer, forcing him so deep he paints your cervix.

He pulls out with a hiss, his length softening against your mound as he lifts himself up on his elbows to kiss you. It’s a meager kiss, both of you still too out of breath to deepen it, but it soothes you, along with the soft graze of his thumb over your ribs.

You hold each other for a while, in no rush to move from this moment. You’re pretty sure you drift off more than once, awoken each time by the vibration of his gentle hums against your neck. When you finally do move, it’s not far, just up the bed and under the covers. And then his arms are right back where they were, around you, pulling you tightly to him.

He falls asleep before you, snoring quietly at the crown of your head. You try to wiggle from his grasp, move to the other side of the bed, but even in his sleep, he’s acutely aware of your presence. He just grips you harder, nuzzles his head deeper into your hair. You’ve never felt more content being stuck somewhere.

You slip under again eventually. You’re pretty sure you dream of nothing — no need for your brain to conjure up anything more than what you already have.

The following morning, you wake up with Joel’s tongue between your legs. He nibbles at your inner thigh, waiting for you to give him the go ahead to continue. And then he makes you cum twice on his mouth before you even eat breakfast.

He doesn’t let you get up for that, either. He brings you hot coffee in a Texas Longhorns mug and a plate of toast, slathered with butter and grape jelly, and doesn’t complain when you get crumbs on the sheets.

You’re satiated and caffeinated before you even start your day — which Joel has planned out to a t.

He brings you to his favorite spot for lunch, a BBQ place by the river, and acts smug when you tell him these are the best ribs I’ve ever had in my life. Then you go home, take a shower — together, of course — and you rinse shampoo out of your hair with his cock nestled comfortably inside you.

He fucks you with your hands braced against the shower wall until you’re screaming, the echoes bouncing off of tile, and then you get back in bed, laze around in your towels until dinnertime.

Joel orders takeout — sushi for you, lo mein and teriyaki beef for him. You sprawl out on the couch as you eat, your feet in his lap and the calming buzz of the tv on in the background.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a long time.

You easily fall into a routine over the course of the week: wake up, fuck, eat breakfast in bed, fuck, get up around noon, shower, eat lunch, grade papers while Joel cleans up or does yardwork, eat dinner, fuck, go to sleep.

You almost forget that this isn’t permanent, that you’re going to have to get on a plane and go home soon, that this isn’t your home, here with Joel. That is, until Friday night, over dinner — when Joel abruptly pulls you back down to earth.

You’re finishing your pasta, spooning the last remnants of sauce into your mouth. Some western flashes across the tv — Joel’s choice, and as you put your bowl down on the coffee table and snuggle up to him, he sighs.

“This has gotta be the best vacation of my life — or, staycation, I guess.” He says it innocently enough. Still, you feel jolted. Vacation, you repeat in your head until your brain catches up with reality. You feel smothered, suddenly, warm, like your whole body is an ore about to be smelted. You extricate yourself from Joel’s arms and settle on the other side of the couch.

“Just hot,” you lie. “Sorry.”

“‘ts alright,” he murmurs, unphased, eyes glued to the tv.

He doesn’t notice the way you tense, the way your breathing picks up when you excuse yourself to the bathroom. But why should he? There’s no reason for you to be freaking out.

Except there is.

Because the thought of leaving in a couple days, leaving behind Joel and this routine, not seeing him again for several more months, and even then, only having a weekend, or if you’re lucky, a week with him – it’s making you spiral.

You lock yourself in the bathroom. Close the lid to the toilet. When you sit down, your head falls into your hands, heaving breaths warming the skin of your palms uncomfortably. I can’t do this, you think. I can’t keep doing this.

You love Joel — you do, more than anything. And you can’t begin to imagine living without him. But you also can’t help but wonder, elbows digging into your knees, how this has become your life — all the leaving.

Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach. You feel nauseous.

You get up. Splash cold water on your face. Curse your reflection, all sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks. So stupid. This is why you didn’t want to get into another relationship. The pain, the pain, the unbearable pain.

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

There’s a clanging on the other side of the door — Joel clearing your dishes from dinner — an act of domesticity that plunges the dagger deeper into your bleeding heart.

You wipe your cheeks with your shirt sleeve. Huff at how pathetic you feel.

It’s so stupid, so silly, crying in Joel’s bathroom when he’s right outside, right there waiting for you. Even still, you can’t seem to shake the dread that hangs over you like a storm cloud when you make your way back into the living room with dried eyes, back into his arms.

You hope, silently, that it’ll go away with a good night’s sleep. That this is just a minor breakdown, a hormonal thing, maybe, and you’ll feel better in the morning.

It doesn’t, it’s not — and you don’t.

Joel can tell something is wrong the moment he hands you your morning coffee. You’d slept in today, legs tangled under the sheets, trepidation still clawing its way up your throat. You’d been quiet, had only hummed in response when he’d told you good morning.

That, he hadn’t noticed. But when he passes you the mug, steam billowing from the mouth, he detects the way you won’t look at him, your mumbled thank you.

You catch the way he steps back with a dejected hmph, and rounds the bed to climb in next to you.

You feel awful.

The mattress springs creak as he settles, balancing his full mug in one hand, laying the other over yours where it sits on top of the duvet, resting on your covered leg.

“Y’alright?,” he asks, even though you know he knows the answer. It’s why you don’t lie, shake your head. Your eyes flick up to his as a frown sets under his nose.

You downplay it. “I’m fine, really. It’s just — I — I’m sad that today’s our last full day. I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Don’t have to go,” he drawls, drawing light circles over your skin with his index finger.

And you know he means it — know he’d let you move in with him in a heartbeat. But you also know you can’t. Can’t leave behind the life you worked so hard to make in Vermont.

“I wish,” you sigh, taking a cautious sip of your coffee.

“Well…d’you wanna do somethin’ today? Go into the city? I know we haven’t done much’a anything this week.” He smirks. And just for a moment, the look on his face — that dopey smile and those sweet cinnamon eyes — makes you forget about the darkness fogging your mind.

“We can do touristy stuff,” he continues. “Do anythin’ you want. To take your mind off things. Make the most of the day, ya know?”

His brows are raised as he anticipates your response. He’s so eager to do whatever it takes for you to be happy, and that makes your chest clench. More than you want to protect your own heart, you want to appease him. He deserves that, at the very least.

So you say yes, let’s do it; show me around Austin.

The cracks in your heart deepen when he nearly jumps out of bed in excitement.

Joel is a great tour guide, for what it’s worth.

He brings you to his favorite hiking trail in the city. It runs along a lake, the water busy with kayakers and paddle boarders.

The sky above is overcast. A sliver of sun cuts through the clouds, casting your forehead in a light sheen of sweat as you walk.

Every single passerby waves at you or says hello, all in the same singsong twang. Joel waves back, grunts a greeting. It throws you off, how nice everyone is here. You’ve grown used to New England, with its temperamental weather and even more temperamental people.

“Busy,” you note when another group passes you.

“Mhm,” Joel hums. Wraps a sweaty arm around you, pulling you into his side. It’s awkward to walk like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Sarah used to love this place. We’d come all the time when she was little.”

You lean into his embrace. Nuzzle your face into the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I know you must’ve missed her this week. Is this the first spring break she hasn’t been home?”

“Yeah,” Joel’s other hand rests at the back of his neck, fingers absently working at a knot in the muscle there. “Gotta get used to it though, I guess, with her stayin’ north after school is over and all.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” you admit. “When did she decide?”

He sighs so deep you can almost feel it in your own chest.

“Couple weeks ago,” he says. “Guess she got some unofficial job offer for after she graduates, from this research institute in Boston. She’s all excited about it.”

You know Joel is proud. He’s always proud of Sarah. How could he not be? But you also know his heart is breaking right now, the long-established plans for Sarah to come home to Texas, to come home to him after finishing undergrad, suddenly squashed.

And then there’s you — leaving too — again.

The thought of hurting Joel is overbearing, more so than the thought of hurting yourself. He doesn’t deserve to be so far away from the woman he’s in a relationship with when his own daughter is already out of reach.

You feel selfish, suddenly.

It plagues your mind for the rest of the day — when you go to a diner after the hike and split a strawberry milkshake the size of your head with Joel — and still, later, when you wander hand-in-hand into a tacky gift shop.

You try your best to ignore the ache in your chest as you scan the store.

The back wall is stacked top to bottom with cowboy boots of varying colors and styles. There are cowboy hats too, displayed on a long table.

Joel picks up an oversized straw hat, resting it on the top of his head with a laugh. “Looks ridiculous, right?”

“Somehow, no,” you say. And it’s the truth. You think he’s the only person who could put that thing on and look hot in it.

He grabs another hat off of the table, a more traditional one — brown leather with a braided band wrapped around the base of the crown. You let him affix it on your head. He steps back to get a good look at you and nods.

“Looks good. Looks sexy,” he amends.

“Yeah?” You dip your head in faux greeting, fingers pressed into the front corner of the brim.

He scans over you then, his eyes darkening. It looks like he’s pondering something, the corner of his mouth curving.

“What?”

He steps closer. Leans down to whisper in your ear. “Think we should get ‘em. Wear ‘em later.”

Your breath pulls. The thought of Joel wearing that and nothing but that underneath you is enough to make you forget your quandaries, temporarily.

“Yeah,” you respond way too quickly. “Let’s get them, Cowboy.”

You watch his entire body tense at the nickname. And then he’s yanking the hat off of you, bringing both to the register in a hurry.

The house is dark when you get home, bag of Greek takeout in hand.

Joel flicks a light on in the entrance. You squint reflexively, your eyes adjusting as you set the food down on the coffee table in the living room. Joel brings your new hats upstairs, then joins you on the couch. You pull out two styrofoam containers, passing the one with Joel’s name scribbled on it to him and leaning back with yours in your lap.

“‘m starvin,” he mumbles as he cracks his open, squeezes a wedge of lemon over his rice.

You eat quickly, something else clearly on both of your minds as you shovel falafel into your mouths. You even forget to turn the tv on.

When you’re done, you insist you’ll clean up, bringing the trash into the kitchen as Joel disappears upstairs. Once everything is tidied, you re-situate yourself on the couch.

He returns a few minutes later — shirtless, that ridiculous cowboy hat fastened on his head, dark jeans sitting low on his hips. He’s holding your hat in his left hand.

There’s a dull throbbing between your legs. He starts across the room, toward you.

“Joel-”

He cuts you off with a kiss, bracketing you against the cushions, his hat bumping into your head. He pulls it off immediately, like if it’s going to interfere in any way, it’s not worth it. It falls onto the floor somewhere behind him.

Joel pulls at the fabric of your shirt. Your back arches, allowing him to pull it up and off before tossing it aside. His mouth moves from yours, trailing lower, lower, and settling at the column of your throat. He sucks a bruise there, the contact sending your hips bucking off the couch, the need for him to touch you already borderline painful.

And then that voice returns, the one that’s been screaming in your head since last night.

This’ll be the last time for a while. Maybe forever. Last time he touches you like this, kisses you like this. Don’t think about it — don’t. Just enjoy it. Just-

“Joel,” you pant. He stops immediately. Pulls back.

“What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Tears well in your eyes, blur your vision. You can barely make out the look of concern plastered across Joel’s face as he kneels down in front of you and grips both of your shoulders.

When you speak, your voice comes out shaky. “No, it’s not — I just.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What? What is it darlin’?,” he tries, massaging tense muscle under his palms.

You hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You feel embarrassed that he has to comfort you like you’re a child who’s just had a nightmare, and not a grown woman with a PhD. You groan. Catch your breath.

“Fuck. I’m fine,” you try. Joel clearly isn’t buying it. He quirks a brow at you.

“C’mon baby, talk to me. I wanna help, whatever it is. Let me in — please”

And you want to, you do, it’s just — you don’t know how to even explain how you’re feeling.

“This is all so hard,” you start. Joel nods. He wants you to continue. “This whole — situation,” you try. “Being long-distance. It’s just — being here for a whole week and waking up together every morning, having coffee, watching tv at night, like a — fuck — like a real couple — and now I have to go back to normal?”

His face falls.

“Real couple? Is this not real to you?”

“It is real,” you sob. “It’s too real. That’s why it hurts so fucking much. I just, I can’t —”

“Can’t what?” His voice is quiet. Low.

“Can’t do this. Can’t handle the pain. And it must be hurting you too, Joel. Between me and Sarah—”

“I’m fine,” he barks, suddenly jumping to his feet. He takes a deep breath. “This isn’t about Sarah. This is about us. Do you not want this? Me?”

Your hands tremble in your lap. “Of course I want you, Joel,” you sniff. “I want you more than anything. But-”

“But not like this. This is too hard.”

You nod weakly.

He sighs.

“You know you can move here — stay with me.”

You do know. He’s said it so many times before. But you’ve worked way too hard to pack up and start over, to give up your professorship after only three years with the blind hope that you’ll land a new position in Austin. And now you’re mad — infuriated, almost, that he keeps suggesting it.

You scoff. “You know I can’t just give up my life, Joel.”

“So what, you’re just gonna give up on us, instead?” His voice is strained.

“I’m not giving up,” you clip, defensively.

“Certainly doesn’t sound like you’re tryin’.”

He stares at the ceiling. You watch as his eyes mist, his concentration palpable as he wills the tears not to fall. Your anger dissipates into guilt.

This is exactly what you’d feared — breaking his heart. It’s like you can see it fracturing, chipping at the edges.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “I don’t — I don’t know. I just can’t.”

His face contorts. A single tear slips down his cheek, which he wipes away quickly with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he curses.

You stand from the couch, begin to move cautiously toward him. “Joel, I-”

“Don’t,” he snaps. Throws his hands up defensively. And then he’s turning, heading up the stairs, leaving you standing there in the middle of the living room with a ringing in your ears.

When you climb into bed twenty minutes later, he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You fly home the next day. Joel doesn’t say anything on the drive to the airport.

Once there, he pulls over to the curb at the drop-off and puts the car in park. You’re not sure what to do — should you kiss him? Tell him you love him? Because you do, so fucking much. You’re just — not sure if he wants to hear that right now.

He makes the decision for you, cradling your face as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. He lets his forehead fall to yours with a sigh, and then he pulls back.

He doesn’t open your door for you, though. Doesn’t grab your bags from the back when you clamber down from the passenger seat.

It’s as if he’s saying: I love you, but I’m going to give you space.

You pry open the back door. Pull out your suitcase and rest your new cowboy hat over the handle. You almost wish now that he hadn’t gotten it for you. It’ll just serve as another reminder of everything you’ve left behind once your home.

“Text me,” he offers once your things are all gathered on the curb. “Let me know when you board, when you’re home safe.”

“Yeah,” you nod. Search his eyes for something. Some indicator that he’s okay. But he’s stoic, his lips set in a straight line. “I will. Promise.”

His mouth opens, like he wants to add something else. But whatever he’s thinking, he decides against saying out loud. Instead he just tells you safe travels, and then he’s pulling the passenger side door closed from the inside.

You stand unmoving. As his truck disappears down the roadway and out of view, a list of all the things you should’ve said rolls through your brain like the end credits of a film.

You send Joel a message when you get home. Let him know you got in safe. You don’t call, like you normally would, because that’s not what he’d asked of you.

Then you climb straight into bed, still in your clothes, and let the tears consume you. You wallow in them for what feels like hours, the natural light in your bedroom gradually sinking into the floorboards. You welcome the nightfall, the way the darkness soothes the pounding in your head, the way it feels like nothing.

Morning comes before Joel responds. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, the time on your phone reading 11:09, and the notification from him just below it nearly jolts you:

Okay. Thanks.

No love you, no miss you.

You curse under your breath.

Why did you have to say anything? Why did you have to ruin this?

The pain of possibly losing Joel for good makes the pain of long distance feel like a papercut. All you want is to go back in time, take back everything you said, tell Joel you love him a million-and-one times. Anything to undo this.

You fleetingly consider quitting your job, handing in your resignation letter the second you get to campus tomorrow. You’ll take your unpacked suitcase and head right back to the airport.

You don’t let the temptation win. But it lingers, sits at the top of your chest like a threat. Like if he asks one more time — you’ll do it.

He doesn’t, though. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything — which you should’ve expected — but it still stings. You hadn’t broken up, not technically, so you’re stuck in this weird limbo, one in which neither of you wants to talk about what happened in Austin.

Instead, you text each other once a day or so — weird, surface-level messages, ones you’d send to an acquaintance, not someone who literally knows you inside and out.

Finally above 60°, you say, on Monday morning, attached to a screenshot of your weather app.

Your walk to campus must’ve been nice today, he replies.

And the next day:

Guy at the job site today was talking about that show you like.

Parks & Rec?!

Yeah, that one.

It’s barely enough to keep you going, to keep you sane. You feel pitiful, looking forward to Joel’s text-of-the-day like it’s a re-up of your drug of choice. Better than heroin, you tell yourself.

Two weeks pass with no phone calls and minimal messages. It’s 5:45 pm on a rainy Tuesday when you sit at your dining room table with a pile of papers to grade in front of you, some low-fi playlist on in the background, unable to focus.

Because Joel hasn’t texted you all day.

Usually he’d send something by now. And it’s not like you hadn’t texted him — in fact, you’d double-texted, one message sent this morning about how you burned your tongue on your coffee, and another after your final class of the day when you’d seen he still hadn’t responded:

Busy day?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the gears in your mind whirring as you debate whether or not to send the words punctuated by a flickering cursor on your screen:

Can I call you later?

He’ll probably say no. Or worse, continue to ignore you. Maybe this is it — maybe weeks of dancing around residual tension have driven him to call it quits. He’ll block you, and then you’ll never hear from him again.

The thought has bile rising up your throat.

You close out of the app and put your phone down before stalking over to the living room, letting yourself fall stomach-first onto the couch. You stuff your face into a throw pillow and scream.

You almost don’t hear it over your muffled yells — the rapping at your front door.

You still, lifting your head from the pillow. Listening intently. It comes again — rapraprap.

Ugh, you groan, lifting yourself onto your elbows, then your feet. You pull your cardigan tighter over your front. Drag your feet across the hardwood to the entranceway, wondering who the fuck could be at your door on a Tuesday evening, unannounced.

Is it the property manager?, you speculate as you reach the door. Was there an issue with my rent?

Your fingers wind around the handle apprehensively. You peer through the peephole and your heart plummets into your stomach.

Because Joel is standing right outside your apartment.

You wonder if you’re seeing things. If you’ve gone full-on hysterical. But it’s him, it’s unmistakably him — in his favorite flannel and his workwear jacket, which is smattered in rain spots. His gaze is trained on the floor by his feet and his hands are fidgeting at his sides — just like the first time you met him.

You throw the door open. Joel’s eyes shoot up. For a long moment, you just stare at each other, waiting for the other to say something — do something.

When your breath pulls, he rushes forward and crashes his lips into yours. He backs you into your apartment, letting the door slam shut behind you.

You barely hear it, still registering that Joel is here, he’s here and he’s kissing the hell out of you. And just minutes ago, you’d been sulking on your couch, convinced it was over between you two.

You feel dizzy. You pull back, only because you fear if you don’t, you’ll literally topple over. Joel’s breathing is heavy — it matches yours.

“What are you — fuck — what are you doing here, Joel?”

“I need to talk to you,” he pants.

“Could’ve called,” you say, as if there’s any universe in which you’d prefer that.

You lead him to the living room. Fall back onto the couch. He sits down next to you, taking both of your hands in his. You get a good look at him for the first time since he’d barreled into your apartment, and he looks wrecked.

“Are you okay?,” you ask.

His response isn’t much of an answer. “’m selling my house.”

Your head spins. “You — what?”

“Listed it last week,” he says. “Already got a couple offers.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Okay.”

“‘m gonna move up here.”

Oh.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of your chest. You’re — speechless.

“I put an offer on a place,” he continues. “‘ts a ranch with some land. Room for sheep. I’m sellin’ my half of the business to Tommy. Leavin’ Texas.”

He exhales. His eyes search yours with tangible desperation. “Say somethin’.”

“I — fuck, Joel,” you breathe. “You’re — when? How?”

“Found the place a couple days ago. ‘ts about thirty minutes Southeast of here. Just went and saw it in person. Sent my offer letter before I came here.”

“Right,” you nod. “But Joel, you can’t just leave-”

“Sure I can,” he interrupts. “Nothin’ there for me anymore. Not Sarah, not you.”

A beat passes. And then he adds:

“I can’t lose you.”

Your heart swells in your chest as you imagine Joel this past week, making all of these plans to rectify the distance between you, to be sure he doesn’t lose you. And still — you’re not sure if you deserve it after the way you hurt him.

“You — you still want me, even after what I said?”

“Darlin’,” he says, in that honey-sweet drawl. “I love you. There’s nothin’ you could do to make me not want you. You were right. This isn’t feasible. We can’t do this forever.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “I just — you’re sure you want this?”

“I want you,” he says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — like nothing else matters. “And you need to be here. So it’s a no-brainer”

The rain picks up outside. It patters against the windows.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he says. “I’ll retract my offer. Go back to Texas.”

“I do Joel — want you here more than anything, love you more than anything. But-”

“Good.” He cups your face in his hands. You stare into his eyes, your future.

“It’s settled, then,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m movin’ to Vermont.”

“This is crazy,” you laugh. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you more,” he beams. “No gettin’ rid of me now.”

You smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Cowboy.”

end notes: ty again for reading! pls consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you liked it <3

tagging everyone who expressed interest in reading a part 2 (lmk if you don't want to be included going forward): @anoverwhelmingdin, @joelalorian, @lol-im-done, @bensonispunk, @sereindreams, @survivingandenduring, @stevie75, @vee-bees-blog, @brittmb115, @casssiopeia, @bbyanarchist, @janaispunk, @barbellpedro

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

675 notes · View notes

afeelgoodblog · 1 year

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The Best News of Last Week

TikToker raises $186,000 for woman, 81, to pay off her mortgage and finally retire. He saw her on break at Walmart and recorded her clearly having a bad day.

Devan Bonagura, 19, works for a third-party company that sells products to Walmart, and it’s at the retailer where he met 81-year-old Nola Carpenter.

One comment read: “GOFUNDME ASAP” — before going on to receive 130,000 likes. Devan would honor the request of his followers, and later set up a GoFundMe to help Nola retire. Needless to say, the response was overwhelming.

2. Grandma and man she accidentally texted for Thanksgiving to reunite for 7th year

An accidental text message has led to a Thanksgiving tradition that is now continuing into its seventh year.

On Tuesday, Jamal Hinton confirmed in an Instagram post that he will spend this Thanksgiving with Wanda Dench, who in 2016 thought she was texting her grandson to invite him to Thanksgiving when she actually texted Hinton.

3. Flossie, 26, officially crowned world's oldest living cat by Guinness World Records

British-born Flossie has set a new record as the world’s oldest living cat. Guinness World Records have officially awarded the title to the feline, who was born in 1995. The cat has had a number of owners during her lifetime, but currently resides in southeast London.

But she’s still got several years to go if she wants to beat the oldest cat ever recorded. That title goes to Creme Puff, who lived to an incredible 38 years and three days in Austin, Texas.

4. Nano-robot antibodies that fight cancer enter first human drug trial

Scientists in Israel have created the first nano-robot antibodies designed to fight cancer. The first human trial for the new nano-robots will start soon, and it will determine just how effective the antibodies are. What is special about these particular antibodies, too, is that they are programmed to decide whether cells surrounding tumors are “bad” or “good.”

The trial is currently underway in Australia and if it goes according to plan, the nano-robot antibodies will be able to fight cells around tumors that can help the tumor while also boosting the capability of the cells inhibiting the growth of the cancerous cells.

5. Nepal Fights Deforestation, and Wins

This transformation is visible across Nepal, thanks to a radical policy adopted by the government more than 40 years ago. Large swaths of national forest land were handed to local communities, and millions of volunteers were recruited to protect and renew their local forests, an effort that has earned praise from environmentalists around the world.

6. Amazing quote from Richard M. Fierro, the Club Q hero that probably saved dozens of lives

“These kids want to live that way, want to have a good time, have at it,” he said as he described the night. “I’m happy about it because that is what I fought for, so they can do whatever they hell they want.”

7. First Drug to Delay Type 1 Diabetes Approved by FDA

Last week, the Food and Drug Administration approved the first drug to delay the onset of Type 1 diabetes.

That’s it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Have a great week ahead :)

#best news of last week

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dreamingofep · 7 months

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Sinned Awakening pt. 8 🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/Vampire Austin!Elvis × reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Request: No

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you fear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, angst, some smut, aggression, blood/gore!!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.6K

A/N: Hello everyone!

Welcome to part 8 everyone! I appreciate your patience as this was a MONSTER to write! This is Vampire!Elvis so there is going to be mentions of blood/gore from here on out. If that's not your thing, sorry but it's needed for the story. I hope you enjoy the story from Elvis' perspective in this part. He is very very bad so please be prepared 🤭 I think it was important to understand him better. Please let me know what you think in the comments or send me a message!

If you’d like to start reading from the beginning, start here. 🩸

Thank you again!

Sorry for any spelling mistakes and overall goofs.🖤

Day 1 With You

The sunshine slips through the cracks of the heavy curtains and illuminates the otherwise stark bedroom of his. He groans and shuts his book harshly and goes to close the curtains. He huffs, pushing his hair back, and sits on the edge of the bed. It was only noon but he was so restless and wanted to get out of the penthouse. He knew it wasn’t an option though. It would be too easy to be recognized and he was starving. His lack of control was worsening by the day and the longer he starved himself, the more he craved blood.

It was all he could think about. When could he sink his teeth into something warm and feed himself to contentment? He knew it was morally wrong and that’s why he tried to contain himself and ultimately hide up here all day and drown himself in books. Not only is his appetite ravenous, but the longer he goes not feeding, the weaker he physically gets.

He gets up and goes to the bathroom to take a shower which distracts him from the burning thirst that resides in his throat. The bathroom light makes him wince and he hunches over the sink, annoyed that he has to walk around feeling like this. Looking up at his reflection, those red eyes stare back at him and he feels disgusted looking at them. He doesn’t have a normal life already and he can’t even look normal because of this choice he made. He felt no physical pain but the thirst that resided in him made him feel like he could collapse any second. The last time he felt like this was in the Army. How some nights they didn’t eat and the blistering cold penetrated so deep to his bones he felt as if he was dying.

He takes another deep breath and opens the medicine cabinet. The short vials stared at him menacingly and the burning in his throat felt like fire the more he looked at them. There was a small amount of blood in the viles but enough to calm his thirst for a short time. He grabs one of them out of the cabinet and takes the small cork top off. The smell of it hits his nose and he grumbles, lifting it to his lips and letting the crimson liquid pour down his throat. It was just what he needed and he made sure to not let a drop go to waste. He tosses the vial in the trash and looks back up at his eyes which are now a stormy blue, a bit more human-like. But it wasn’t enough. He could drink all the remaining vials in the cabinet and calm his thirst. But the issue of getting more blood became an issue.

There were other vampires in the area and the common thing was to steal from blood banks. However, with more coming to Las Vegas, it was becoming too conspicuous that all these blood bags turned up missing at the closest blood banks. Elvis’ men went out and got him as much blood as they could so Elvis would have enough strength to sing and put on the best show possible.

For the last few years, Elvis restrained from feeding on humans, even how much he loved it. It was the best way to feed.

He became too addicted to getting a girl in his suite, make love to them, feed just until she couldn’t take it anymore, and making them forget he ever bit them. He had never felt so good. But people started to notice the weird behavior of the girls that would come out of Elvis’ suite and suddenly not remember certain portions of the night.

He still had some morality in some sense and knew it was wrong and had to find other ways to feed himself. So that’s when the blood bank idea came to be. It wasn’t terrible but not enough for Elvis.

A knock on his bedroom door turns his attention and he quickly goes to answer it.

“Hey, EP. Just reminding you that a new housekeeper starts today,” Jerry says stoically.

Elvis grumbles annoyed and looks at Jerry.

“Are you kidding me? Another one? The last one was good. She was quiet and kept to herself and I never wanted to suck the life out of her.” He says annoyed. “This is not a good time for someone new to start man. My appetite is not under control and I can’t risk anything,” he explains.

Jerry nods his head and looks down to the floor.

“I understand EP, but they assured me this new girl is really good and one of the best. You can control your thirst, I’m sure she won’t be a problem,” he assures.

Elvis takes a deep breath and nods his head too.

“I’ll make sure to lay down the rules with her. I don’t think I can handle a human here for more than an hour,” he huffs.

Jerry agrees and tells him that you’ll be here at three. Elvis thanks him and closes the door to his bedroom again and prepares himself to meet you. The other housekeeper never said she was leaving to him and was very peculiar. She never asked questions about when she would find blood splatter on the sheets or why he never made any contact with her for fear she would get concerned over his body temperature. Ever since getting bit, his body temperature drastically dropped and made it clear that he was not human. In the rare cases, when he did have to shake people’s hands, he made the excuse that he was not feeling well and usually people would not ask other questions about it. He decided to get back into bed and continue to read his book until he had to get up to meet this new housekeeper.

Three o'clock came before he knew it and he heard the lurch of the elevator make its way up to the penthouse. He runs his hands across his face, not mentally prepared to be so close to a human that he’s never met. He grabs his sunglasses to hide his dark eyes and more importantly, hide the hunger that resides in them. He puts on a new shirt and begins to button it when he hears a peculiar sound.

Thump, thump, thump thump…

A heartbeat. A very peculiar one. He’s never heard something like this. It was like music to his ears. The sound kept getting closer and louder.

Nervous little human, he thinks. Good, she should be nervous, she has no idea what I am capable of, he scoffs to himself.

The sound of the front door opens and quickly shuts, but the sound of your heartbeat only quickens when you don’t see anyone around.

He quietly opens the bedroom door to examine you. That’s when it hits him fully. Your scent. So alluring and beckoning. He literally had to hold his breath to keep his fangs from descending. He knows he can’t step another inch closer to you or disaster can strike. He watches you look around the living room and the current state it's in. Last night’s party was a lively one no less and the evidence was all on the floor. You keep peering around and he decides to stand in the corner of the room, motionless, examining you.

The sound of your heart pitter pattering away combined with the way you smelled was practically killing Elvis. This was exactly what he didn’t need. He didn’t need a new housekeeper at this time where he was practically starved. But to have you here smelling this irresistible was going to be an issue no doubt. His lack of restraint has always been an issue, even when he was a human. He always did what he wanted and if he liked something, he was going to get it. Nothing changed in that aspect once he became a vampire. You smelled so sweet to him, practically like honey and the sound of your heart was like a symphony. Like it was perfectly created for his ears alone and rose and fell so easy for him. What he would give to make that orchestra only play for him and get you all excited. Get you so close so he can feel your heart pound against his body and keep the symphony playing for him.

Fucking hell this is not going to end well.

He closes his eyes and tries to refocus, get her to clean this up, and get her out, he thinks.

“About time you showed up,” he says gruffly. He watches you snap your head in his direction and sees the most beautiful eyes. The way they glimmered in the low light but nevertheless brightened up the room almost instantly.

Oh lord, she’s beautiful…

Your heart danced wildly again, nerves rushing through you and it made Elvis even more eager to be around you. No matter how dangerous it may be for you.

You clear your throat nervously, “I’m very sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Presley. My name is y/n, I’m your new housekeeper.” You say timidly, placing your hand in front of you to shake his. He looks down at your hand, and your heart pumps louder.

Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, he thinks. He tries not to recoil from you but he has to get away from you.

He looks down at you with hunger, he knows you can’t see the ravenous look he has in his eyes but he knows he doesn’t have enough control to even shake your hand without the thought of trying to take a bite out of you. He watches intensely how you quickly retract your hand and put it at your side, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

Hmm good stay nervous, I want to hear your heart louder, he thinks.

“Um, where would you like me to start cleaning?” You ask.

“Where do you think?” He snaps coldly at you. This makes your breathing accelerate and he likes it.

“Okay, no problem. Do you mind if I open the drapes so I can see what I’m cleaning?” You ask gently.

“I don’t care, Just get it done,” he snaps at you. He starts to make his way to the other side of the room by the sofa. As he passes you, he gets another whiff of you passing by and his mouth salivates from it.

He studies you, watching your every move and how careful you are. He notices your wandering eyes. How you want him. He knew how he looked and most humans wanted him. That was part of his curse, the way he allured people in just so he could get close enough to bite. But you kept glancing over at him, unable to resist his presence. Sitting there with his legs open, he watches how your eyes get drawn to his legs and bulge. A smirk forms on his face, liking the attention he’s getting from you. He watches you clear the floor and go to the cleaning cart to grab something. His thirst was becoming insatiable the longer you were in here. His eyes bored into your backside and wandered down to your perfect legs. Your uniform didn’t showcase your physique very well but he wanted to see more of you. Particularly on his bed…

“Make sure to dust the other bedrooms,” he directs, “and under no circumstances do you go in my bedroom without my permission. I forbid it,” he says gruffly.

You quickly agree and move away from him to start on the next room. He follows you into the bedrooms and he gets dangerously closer to you the more you move.

Just get her closer and do it…

Your heart never calmed down and your nerves got the best of you. He wasn’t so concerned about how you were cleaning, he just wanted to keep you in here as long as he could so he could make his move.

He had to hurry up and figure out where he wanted you. His meal. Where he was going to take his first bite of you and drink his problems away. He wanted to get you in his bedroom, pin you to the bed, ravage your neck, and then, make you forget it ever happened. He was too indecisive though. He might as well just do it now, you would probably resist him in some way and he should just surprise you and make it quick.

Come here, he whispers, compelling you to him so he can get what he wants. You don’t respond though, and this shocks Elvis. Maybe he’s weaker than he thinks and he can’t compel you in the condition he’s in.

No, that can’t be, he’s always been able to compel no matter the circumstance. Maybe you just didn’t hear him…

Come here honey, he says a bit louder, you turn around to look at him but instead of obeying, you leave the room to start cleaning another area. He is beyond baffled, were you resisting him in some way? How was this even possible no human can resist a vampire’s abilities?

His frustration got the best of him and he was fed up with not getting what he wanted. It’s easier to have you under his control while he feeds from you rather than having you flail around and try to escape.

Just do it when she’s not looking…

Devour her.

You move quickly and efficiently throughout the suite and try not to linger as his eyes continue to bore into you. Finally finishing the remaining room, you are about to excuse yourself when his keen eyes scan the room for anything you missed.

The glimmer of a champagne bottle that rolled underneath the piano catches his eye and he thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get her back turned and he goes in for the bite. He smiles to himself, “There’s a bottle underneath the piano,” he grumbles.

Your face drops in disappointment as you aren’t as thorough as you thought. He watches you move the piano bench aside and crawl underneath, scanning for the bottle hidden under the curtains. His eyes trail over your backside, liking what he’s seeing. He moves quickly and carefully, walking to the piano where he wants to pull you out from underneath it and suck you dry.

He hears your bewildering hum as you did not see the glass there. You start to retract back out from the piano and he’s inches away from your body. His breathing quickens and he feels his mouth water, getting ready to let his fangs descend down and bite. He wants to grab you but he wants you to turn around so he can look at you.

You turn around quickly and your body jumps, making you gasp at his close proximity. Your hands involuntarily squeeze on the bottle, making it shatter in your hands and making you cry out.

You gasp as you feel shards of glass get pierced into your palms. You drop the remnants of the bottle on the floor and watch the glass fall at your feet. Letting out a frustrated groan, you stare at your palms filled with glass as blood starts to quickly leak out of the wounds, the pain stabbing at you over and over.

The scent of you floods his nose and makes his eyes roll back. The frenzy inside him thirsty for blood over overtook everything inside him. Elvis lets out a frustrated groan and touches you for the first time. It sends an electric shock through his body and combined with the blood spilling out of you, he is on fire.

His grasp in your wrist is tight and he can tell you notice the unusual amount of strength he has.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He barks loudly, sending another chill through your body. You try to back up and the piano keys hit your thigh, making a tumultuous amount of sounds behind you as you try to get free from his grip. Your balance gets wobbly and you place your other hand on the keys to keep yourself from not topping over. He looks at the keys covered in your blood and he feels his eyes burn as they start to shift into the terrifying black and red hues.

The more you move, the more blood comes out of your wounds, and the sound of your scared heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears.

The pressure of this only makes the shards of the glass go deeper inside your hand and you cry out again.

“Ahhh! Please, I'm so sorry about this. Let me clean this up,” you cry. You glance over at the other hand he is holding up and see the trails of blood drip down your arm and his, along with his fingers also covered in your crimson blood. Your eyes grow wide and your breathing becomes uneven.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls violently, disgust filling his voice. Your body shakes uncontrollably and he quickly lets go of your wrist, your feet try to scurry away but they feel like jello, and you manage to stumble your way to the door. You pick the large shards out of your palm and throw them on the floor. You don’t care about the mess you’ve made you just need to get away from him.

You slam the door and he hears the ding of the elevator and the descending of it down to the basement.

He can’t control the descending of his fangs any longer and hisses when he feels them. He drops to his knees in the middle of the suite looking at your blood dripping down his hand and arm. There was no control left in his body and wanted, no, needed to taste you. Dripping like decadent honey down his body.

He licks his finger carefully and groans deeply when he tastes you. It was the best thing he’s ever had. His tongue laps up the rest of what’s on his hand and licks up his forearm not leaving anything behind.

He instantly felt his strength rise and his hunger subside. You were perfect, so fulfilling he couldn’t get over it. There was not just one word to describe how to taste. You were sweet and savory and overwhelmingly delicious. He's never fed on anyone like you. Most people were just satisfactory but not you. Oh no, you were the most satisfying thing that graced this planet.

“Oh my god, fuck,” he hisses.

He looks at the shards of glass left on the ground and carefully picks them up. He was going to save the last of the remnants for another time and savor you.

His breathing remains heavy and uneven and cusses under his breath. He walks over the the piano where your remaining blood was spilled. He places the shards of glass carefully on top of the instrument and sits down on the bench. His eyes cannot comprehend what he has in front of him. He wipes his finger across the ivory key, gathers it on the top of his finger, then places it in his mouth. Another shock wave of pleasure hits him as he swallows. His hand grapples onto the lip of the piano top where he tries to calm his breathing.

Jerry comes barreling in the door looking at him hunched over at the piano and stops in his tracks when he also smells your blood.

“Oh god EP, are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I… I don’t know. I wanted to bite her so bad and she got so nervous around me and broke a bottle,” he says in a daze, holding up the shards in his hands.

“God she is amazing… I’ve never experienced anything like this… I want to keep her around,” he instructs.

Jerry’s face grows panicked and he shakes his head.

“EP I-I-I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely control-,” he says before Elvis cuts him off.

“You do not tell me what I can and cannot do you hear?!” He commands, raising his voice and striding quickly to look him in the eyes.

Jerry looks down at the floor and nods his head in agreement.

“Write a letter to housekeeping that I want her to come back up here tomorrow. I want her here permanently,” Elvis says gruffly.

Elvis moves past Jerry and out the suite doors.

“NO, EP where are you going?!”

He quickly runs down the stairs in a flash and can smell you in the garage. Your wounds are bandaged but the scent of you is something he’ll never be able to forget for as long as he lives.

He hides in the shadows as you briskly walk to your car. The sound of your fast heartbeat gives him a smile as he inches closer. Then, he hears you weeping, struggling to get air in between sobs. His heart suddenly ached for you, seeing you sad made him want to comfort you in some way.

You pop your head up from the steering wheel, feeling a particular set of eyes on you, but Elvis is already back upstairs in the Penthouse. He sits down on the sofa and takes a moment to breathe, contemplating what he wants to do about you.

Day 2 With You

One of the worst things about his curse, he didn’t sleep. He no longer could rest in the traditional sense and the constant wandering thoughts that swarmed his head were like a dense fog. The scent of you lingered in the suite and it only made Elvis more desperate for you. He wanted you back up here so he could bask in your presence and try to figure you out.

He paced the rooms all night, trying to rationalize why you didn’t succumb to being compelled by him. He hadn’t experienced anything like this in the last few years he was a vampire. There had to be a rational explanation. He tried to blame it on the fact he was starving and he wasn’t focused. He wanted to try today and see what would happen. He felt physically stronger just from the small amount of blood he consumed. His eyes were a much more vibrant blue and his skin didn’t look so ghostly.

He continues to grow restless and looks at the clock. It was only one o clock and he let out a frustrated growl. He quickly rushes to the door and peers out into the hallway.

“Call her up here. I want her up here now.” He barks.

The men look at each other nervously and stay silent.

“I’m not asking again!” He shouts, making everyone jump.

Jerry was the first to face him but kept his head lowered.

“She doesn’t start til three… that was the agreement with the hotel…” he says sullenly.

Elvis grunts and frustratedly puts his hands through his hair, “fuck, fine. You get her up here the second the clock turns three.” He barks before slamming the door. He wallows in his own self-despair for the next few hours until he finally sees the clock reach three and gloats with happiness.

He could hear your nervous heart from down in the basement and get closer and closer as you rode the elevator up there.

You quickly make your way to the door and step inside. The decedent smell fills your nose again and you quietly close the door behind you. There’s so much more light in the room today and as you turn around, you realize the curtains are all open, letting in that fresh sunlight. Your eyes dart to the moving figure moving in your peripheral. Elvis stands a few feet away from you in all black again, a white shirt buttoned down to the middle of his torso and his hair perfectly combed back in his signature way.

He smiles to himself, thankful he didn’t completely scare you away and glad he could be in such close proximity to you today. The sound of your nervous heart filled his ears and didn’t stop the more you looked at him. He had to admit you were stunning, the way you looked was like something out of a book, too perfect for words. Your beauty outshined anyone and he was in awe.

Your mouth felt dry and you weren’t sure what he was going to say to you after yesterday’s events but had to try to talk to this brooding man before you.

“H-hello, Mr. Presley,” you say intimidated, giving a slight smile at the last second.

Your voice called out to him like a siren. The way you said his name made him feel something he couldn’t pinpoint. All he knew was he liked it. He liked you around and he liked his name coming from your lips. He noticed how smooth your skin was and it made him want to touch it.

Touch her, touch her…

“Hello, y/n. I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a grin. He makes his way toward you in a slow, nonchalant manner and raises his hand out in front of him.

He waits in anticipation for your skin to touch his. He didn’t care about the noticeable temperature difference, he just needed to know what it felt like.

You realize he’s not wearing any sunglasses today and can see how blue his eyes are for the first time. They’re electric, so captivating, and alluring. They’re like clear blue tropical waters, something you’ve only seen in books. No photograph could properly capture this shade of blue and you just wanted to swim in them. This makes your heartbeat flutter again and you try to regain focus on what Elvis is saying to you. He smiles to himself as he watches you analyze his features.

“I’m very sorry for how I acted yesterday. Maybe we can start over. I hope you don’t think I’m a rude asshole,” he suggests with a chuckle.

He watches you look down at his hand waiting for you to grab it. You carefully wrap your fingers around his large hand and shake it. He holds his breath, relishing the sensation of your warm skin on his. It felt perfect and he thinks he found his new obsession.

You.

You look up into his eyes willingly for the first time and meet his alluring blue eyes, melting into them.

“It’s alright Mr. Presley, I was also a bit nervous yesterday and wasn’t myself.” You assure. You notice he still has your hand in his grasp, rubbing the faintest circle on the back of your hand distracting you from making a coherent thought. He wanted to tease you, make you fall apart for him and he knew you had the same reaction to his touch as he did with yours. Even though his temperature was off from yours, the way his skin felt on yours was obsessional. The way it tingled effortlessly through your body down to your toes and you wanted more. He loves it when he hears your heart continue to dance in your chest and makes his gaze intensify.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Presley? You were very…cold yesterday,” you say shyly.

He lets out a small hum before answering, “Never better honey. You definitely brightened up my day,” he says coyly.

He watches how your cheeks flush red, unable to resist his charm. He regretfully lets go of your hand and starts to walk toward the couches.

“Please, sit with me. I want to get to know you better,” he coos, drawing you in and compelling you to his every last wish. Standing there unable to speak, you nervously smile and shake your head at him.

“No, that’s okay Mr. Presley I don’t sit down in the guest's spaces when I’m on the clock. I really should get started cleaning.” You defer.

How the hell… he thinks.

“Oh no, please, I insist,” he says cheekily, hoping you will finally listen to him.

“That’s okay Mr. Presley. If you want, you can ask me questions while I clean, I’m okay with that,” you say cheerfully. Turning to your cleaning cart you left here last night, you grab a trash bag and begin to clean up the remnants of last night's party.

He was beyond baffled. He has never experienced any human to so easily resist a vampire’s abilities. He needs to try and find any lore that talks about this. There had to be a logical explanation.

You quickly glance over at him sitting on the couch, watching you like a hawk with a smirk on his face.

“What did you want to know about me?” You ask, picking up bottles and throwing plates away.

Elvis hums softly to himself, trying to find the words to ask, “How old are you?”

“I’m 30, but I really feel like I’m 16 still,” you quip cutely. You hear a low chuckle come from him. “How old are you,” you throw back to him.

“Hmm, I guess I’m 38 but sometimes I feel 33, maybe even 21 at times but based on how many times I’ve traveled around the sun, I’m just 38.” He remarks.

“Okay, I’ll say you’re young at heart,” You say and you hear him chuckle.

“What do you like to do for fun?” He asks next.

This actually makes you pause and think because quite frankly, you don’t know.

“Well, it’s hard to say… I work pretty much all the time so the days I do have off, I just clean up my apartment or go swimming or something. I just don’t have a lot of time for fun,” you say a bit defeated. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, hearing the sadness that is behind those words.

“I’m sorry to hear that. That’s no way to live,” He noted. You nod in agreement as you tie off the trash bag and reach for another one.

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest, but I get by and that’s all that matters,” you try to say cheerfully.

“So, do you ever leave the penthouse?” You ask him cheekily.

He snickers and nods his head, “only when I have to. I just don’t like it. There’s nothing out there for me,” he broods.

“Ah I see… do you miss being able to walk down the street without being noticed?”

“Sometimes, but my fans gave me all of this so I can’t complain,” he says stoically.

You fall quiet but be doesn’t mind. He likes to watch you how you move in your clumsy little human way.

You move to the next room and he follows closely behind you. This was one of his guest bedrooms and he sometimes liked to read in here. It was dark and decorated with candles and had books along the walls. This was where he kept the books on the lore of supernatural creatures and history. He had a lot of time on his hands so reading was the only other thing to keep him occupied and not think about feeding so much.

He sits on the edge of the bed as you reach to dust the books and the shelves above the bed, something you didn’t get an opportunity to get to yesterday. His eyes wander over your body as you have your back turned toward him. He can’t help but stare at the curve of your ass and how your long hair flawlessly fell down your back. When you dusted, you made short little movements that made your body jiggle in the best of ways. Elvis keeps staring at you, wanting you to move more for him. You made short, cute little hums trying to reach the shelf and Elvis liked how you sounded.

A wave of hunger washed over him, but this time it was different. This hunger was for your body. Pure raging lust burned through him and wanted to have his way with you in this room. He didn’t enjoy sex anymore like he did when he was human. He would use sex to get whoever he was feeding on all excited and their heart pounding just enough before he sunk his teeth into them. He didn’t see it as pleasure anymore and thought of it as an easier way to get a girl in his most private room and feed to his heart’s content. It didn’t interest him anymore and he could barely remember the last time he made love to someone and really enjoyed it. He didn’t feel like he had enough control to be so close to a human and not think about taking a bite. It was too risky and he was trying to be better.

This wasn’t what he was thinking about though. Sure, it would be nice to feed on you in such a way but right now, all he wanted was to bend you over, rip your skirt off, and stuff you to the hilt with his cock. Making you moan his name over and over and beg him for more. God, he knew you would feel like heaven there was no doubt about that. He wanted to get you so wet and make your core throb for his cock. He already tasted your blood but right now he wanted to taste the arousal that would be spilling out of you once he made you nice and needy. It would be so easy for him to put his hands all over your body, discover where you like to be touched, and make you beg for it. His hands trailing over your soft skin, squeezing those perfect legs and spreading them apart so he can fit in between them and fuck you to his heart’s content.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt his cock twitch in his pants with just the thought of having you. He adjusted himself and knew you wouldn’t notice and sat back down on the bed. Those wandering thoughts were killing him though. You suddenly became his new addiction in a matter of twenty-four hours and he thought it was bad enough that he craved your blood, now he craved your body on a new unprecedented level. He wanted to watch you writhe on the bed and scratch down his back as his cock split you in two, all night long.

Oh god no you can’t, he thinks. It’s too risky…

No, he can and he will. He needed to fuck you and have you make those beautiful sounds he knows you make when you’re getting pleasured.

He feels his cock grow harder down his leg and he starts to get uncomfortable. He starts to reach out to grab your arm to make you look at him but he doesn’t. He quickly retracts his hand and just takes in the view and bites his lip, trying to calm himself down.

You look over your shoulder at him and see where his gaze is directed at. Your cheeks feel on fire being the object this man is looking at lustfully. You haven’t gotten this much attention from a man in years and you can’t lie to yourself, you kind of like it.

You get off the bed and fix the comforter, fluffing up the pillows as you stare back at him with a similar intensity.

“Can I ask what you’re staring at?” You jest.

He presses his lips together to not show the deviant little smirk he wants to give you and shakes his head. “Nothing honey don’t worry. You’re just very beautiful that’s all,” he says calmly, ignoring the hard erection forming in his pants.

His eyes continue to wander and they stop dead in their tracks when he sees your finger. It was faint, but you had a suntan line on your left ring finger.

Fuck, she’s married…

“So you’re married?” He says flatly, trying to keep the agitation in his voice to a minimum.

“Huh?” You say confused.

“You have a suntan on your ring finger, I assumed it’s because you’re married and don’t wear your ring while you work,” he observes.

“Oh, well no, I’m not actually married. I’m just engaged and yeah I don’t normally wear the band at work so it doesn’t get damaged… You have good eyes, Mr. Presley,” you say jokingly.

“Mhmm…how long have you been engaged?” he continues.

“A couple of years,” you say embarrassed.

Years?! What kind of fucking idiot would wait that long to marry you? he thinks angrily.

“Why is that?” He snaps. You shoot your eyes back to him and he’s now standing up, looking at you like he could jump over this bed and attack you.

“I don’t know… We haven’t gotten around to setting a date or picking a venue or anything. It just isn’t the right time,” you say sheepishly, defeat tainting your voice.

He knew he shouldn’t touch you, but you called out to him so strong he couldn’t fight it.

“You deserve better,” he mumbles, reaching out and touching your cheek with his cold hand, rubbing his thumb softly there, giving your body a shiver. His eyes drink you in as he stands there with your face in his hand, chest beginning to rise and fall quicker. You watch as his chest heaves, inspecting every detail of your face and trailing down to your collarbone to the swell of your breast. He didn’t have to see you naked to know you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. It took every ounce of willpower he had left in him to not push you up against his body and kiss you. He wanted to kiss you passionately and feel your body become weak for him to take care of you. Your skin gets chills as he continues to stare at your body and he notices, bringing a smirk to his face.

“If only you knew…” he trails off.

If only you knew how bad I want you…

You grab his wrist, feeling your breathing increase with his close proximity making the room spin. Your vision gets blurry and you grab onto him tighter. You wanted him to comfort you in way you didn’t quite know about. You just wanted his body close to yours, like that would fix all your problems. A complete shift in thought compared to yesterday when all you wanted to do was say thirty yards away from him.

“Elvis, I-I -I should get back to work,” you say a little breathlessly.

His chest continues to rise and fall quickly and he bites his lower lip, nodding his head to you.

“Of course, I’ll leave you alone. Leave whenever you would like,” he says quickly. Before he turns away, he takes his hands off of your face and gives the back of your bandaged hand a kiss. His lips barely grazed your skin but the way his lips dragged down along your fingertips before he left was all too much to handle.

The way his body screamed for more was frightening. Why did he want you so bad? He walked to the other side of the suite and felt like he was on fire. Every cell in his body wanted you and he knew it wasn’t going to disappear overnight. He knew you felt the same too, he could sense it. Just the way you looked at him or how your body desperately tries not to touch him but loses that battle instantly.

He grabs his wrist you touched moments ago and feels it tingle and your scent stays on him.

More, you need more…

That stupid voice inside his head wasn’t shutting up and he knew this was going to be a very long night. He looked down at his pants and he sees the bulge in his pants waiting to come free. He winces and tries to ignore it for now. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to pleasure himself but would wait til you left. There wasn’t much else to clean in the suite so he knew it wouldn’t be long until you left.

After some time, he takes a shower and clears his head a bit. These last few days were overwhelming, to say the least. He wanted to know so much more about you but he was afraid to lose control with you around. He would keep you here all day if he could but he knew that wasn’t an option. The way you talked about being engaged bothered him. You didn’t seem overly enthusiastic about the whole thing and it seemed more like a burden to you. He didn’t know the whole situation, but from what he had observed in the past with other women, they were happy to be engaged and didn’t talk about it the way you had.

He wanted to make you happy and carry this weight you had on your shoulders. He didn’t know if it was because of your fiancé but he was determined to find out. Getting out of the shower, he drys himself off with a towel and puts on his black and red robe that had his initials embroidered on the left side of his chest. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees a pathetic creature. His eyes were still vibrant but he was still in need of you.

He paces his room for a while, outweighing the negatives of having you around as his housekeeper. Other than the fact he could lose all control and kill you, he needed you to stay. Maybe this would be a good thing and he can learn some control. He wasn’t too confident on that part but he’d sure as hell try.

It was getting late and the sun was setting. His mind was wandering again and the craving for your body began to worsen. He hadn’t heard you rustle in the suite for hours and assumed you left already for the day. His mind kept replaying when he touched your hand and how you touched his. How satisfying you were just to be close to him was almost enough.

But Elvis became greedy and it wasn’t going to be enough for him. He closed his eyes and all he could see was those pretty eyes matched with those pretty lips. Of how he wished those eyes could be looking into his while he fucked you on this bed.

He felt his length harden and he groaned, wishing you were here right now, wrapping your lips around him and helping him come. He rubbed his eyes and wished he could get your body off his mind.

He went to put on the tv and a devious thought popped into his head. He had this porn video he got a few years ago and for the most part, he liked it. He just wanted to distract himself, not think about you, and just block it all out.

He rummages through his tapes and finds the x X-rated movie hidden behind the box. He puts it into the receiver and sits on the end of his bed. Adjusting the volume, he watches the scene unfold before him. How the man starts kissing the woman passionately and the way she would moan because of it. His finger found her soaked panties and teased her there.

Oh fuck, I want to do that to you, he thinks.

Elvis can feel his cock throb against his leg, begging to be touched. So much for trying to distract himself from you because that’s all he’s thinking about as he watches the TV. He starts to take his robe off, uncovering his body and looking at his leaking shaft.

Suddenly, his ears pick up a nervous little heartbeat. Yours. He doesn’t glance over at the door but he knows you’re watching. He stupidly forgot to close the door it seems.

Or he wanted you to stumble in on him in this condition and see what a mess you’ve made him…

He brings his hand up to his mouth and he spits in it, wrapping it around his length and he starts to rub it back and forth in his hand. You didn’t care what was on the TV you just wanted to watch him. He focuses on the tip of his cock, rubbing some of his precum along the shaft. There’s a vein that pops from his neck the longer he does this, making you wish you could just bite there. He moans from the feeling of this and hearing your breathing quicken makes him agonizingly needy. Every time he shut his eyes in pleasure, your face was there beckoning him to come apart.

The moans escalate from the movie and his hand picks up pace, making his own delicious moans that drown out the others. He focuses on your heartbeat and the sound of your blood rushing to your core, making you dripping wet for him.

“Oh fuck,” he moans deeply.

Another moan slips from his beautiful mouth and his hand jerks his length harder. Your breathing picks up and that need inside you grows. You feel so naughty, so dirty for even remotely like this.

He likes hearing you get this way for him and wishes he could look into your eyes. But he relies on his senses to show him how you’re feeling. His eyes glance at the mirror and he can see how you’re looking at him. Your face dripping with lust and need.

God, I want you. I want you now, he trembles.

“Mmm, yes… you like that,” he groans.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, his hungry, and yours, petrified. The sound of your scared little heart made Elvis’ mouth water. You sounded so perfect and wanted you here in his lap. But you don’t do that and run as quickly as you can out of the suite. Elvis feels frustrated that he scared you off. There was no point in trying to talk to you as that would probably freak you out more.

He turned the tv off and groaned, looking at his hard cock dripping with precum. He wanted to come and make himself feel something good. He brought a towel with him from the bathroom and laid it on the bed. He stands at the edge of the bed, one knee bent up on the bed and focused on you again, and rubbed his hand along his shaft, moaning heavily as he felt his orgasm about to release. His mind keeps picturing how you’d look taking his cock, your tight walls hugging him as you took each inch of him. He grunts as he feels the heat form in his lower belly and his cock begins to twitch. His thick, white seed comes out of him quickly and he groans in pleasure. Images of you continue to fill his head and for the first time in a long time, he feels so good. He watches the last of his seed come out of him and he hunches over the bed, almost breathless. He could not wait to have you all to himself.

There wasn’t a logical explanation for why he felt this way for you but he wasn’t complaining. He wanted to experience this feeling over and over. More importantly, he wanted that feeling to be with you. He wanted to see you tonight and be in your presence again. He quickly gets some clothes on and rushes out the door. His men throw him concerned looks and he doesn’t bother to tell them where he’s going.

He starts to run and follows your scent down the street of Paradise Road and before he knows it, he’s in front of a small apartment unit with your car in the front. He slips inside the front door easily as it is left unlocked. Elvis shuts it quietly and locks the deadbolt. The scent of you here was astonishing and made him grin in delight. There was another scent lingering in here though, a male’s mixed with alcohol. This made him annoyed but was more focused on finding you. He only heard your heartbeat in the apartment so he knew you two were alone again.

The squeak of the shower faucet directs his attention to the back of the unit. He carefully walks in that direction and you quickly walk across the hallways into the bedroom, never noticing Elvis there. He continues to walk slowly to your bedroom and he stops in his tracks when he hears you grunt frustratedly. He’s confused by your sudden outburst and wants to see what you’re doing.

He carefully peeks into the room and finds you on the side of the bed, the towel draped off of your body, and sitting there completely naked. He presses his lips together to not let out the moan he wants to let out. You were stunning, just as he had thought and he saw how your body ached with need. He watches as your fingers carefully slide down and find your aching bud. You take a sharp breath in as you discover how sensitive it is.

Rubbing it in slow circles, you feel so much relief, so much pleasure instantly that you’re pretty sure it’s not going to take you very long until you come undone. The amount of slick that came out of you was embarrassing but you didn’t care, you kept focusing on yourself. He hears how much wetness has gathered in between your legs and how you easily rub your slender fingers there, making you come apart.

Your hips involuntarily grind into your fingers and a louder airy moan comes out of you. Your index and middle finger glide through your sopping folds and moan more as you rub them on your clit, sending another shock in your body.

“Oh god,” you moan breathlessly, putting more pressure on your bud.

Oh God, yes, he thinks, watching in awe. He starts to feel his cock grow hard again, wanting you unabashedly. He puts his hand in his pocket and rubs his warm length again. Watching you get off was so hot to him. He knew it was bad he was invading your privacy but god he could watch you for hours like this. Your heartbeat began to rise and by the look on your face, you were close to coming apart.

You let your head fall back and squeeze your eyes closed, working yourself up to orgasm. He continued to rub his shaft trying not to make a sound watching you.

“Ohmygod,” you moan out, “Oh my god E-Elvis,” you hiss and you gasp at what just came out of your mouth so easily. You sit there shaking, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm reel through your body.

Elvis stops, looking wide-eyed at you. The way you moaned his name was heaven-sent and made him want to fuck you like never before. He was in just as much of shock as you were. He would have never thought that you would moan his name like that especially when you were pleasuring yourself.

You sit there breathless on the bed and feel something staring at you. You snap your head in the direction of the door and a dark shadow moves in the corner of your eye. There’s nothing there but a huge chill runs down your body and your breathing continues to grow heavy. You were being paranoid and the shame and guilt ran through you.

Elvis quickly ran to the living room so you wouldn’t see him. He could not believe what he heard and witnessed. The sound of the bedroom door closing followed by the switch of the lock made him want to get back to you. But it was probably best to leave you to have some peace. Today was a whirlwind even for him. He couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow and quickly went back to the Hilton.

The next day came and the clock hit three o'clock. But he wouldn’t call you up to the penthouse. Elvis also needed time to think. He needed to control himself so he wouldn’t hurt you. He took out the shards of glass that had your blood on it and would set it in front of himself, trying to withstand the want to taste it. He tried to get stronger in that sense for your safety. If he couldn’t do this, maybe he shouldn’t be around you anymore. He succeeded mostly when he was doing this little experimentation. His fangs would descend almost every time but by the time the end of the week came, he managed to hold back and have the utmost amount of strength.

But that wouldn’t stop him from checking in on you at night and watching you sleep. You were so peaceful laying there and he liked hearing your slow, soft breathing. He caught you a few times saying his name in your sleep and it made him so happy. He had to get stronger and get you back to the suite.

On that Friday, he thought he was ready to call you back up to the penthouse but he had a sudden lapse of judgment and his eyes turned into the terrifying crimson orbs when he smelled your blood. He was so frustrated with himself, he thought he could be good and control himself but the beast inside him always won.

“Tell her not to come. I can’t do it,” he tells Jerry frustratedly. Jerry leaves the room quietly and does as he’s told. Elvis hears him make the phone call to housekeeping and he sits there frustrated with his head in his hands. Suddenly, Jerry pops back into the room frantically.

“She uhh.. she hung up on me,” he says in shock.

“She what?” He hisses.

“She hung up on me and the elevator is coming up here now,” he hisses.

Elvis stands up and growls, “fuck I’m not ready,” he grunts.

Jerry leaves the room again and the ding of the elevator sends chills through Elvis.

You come to the double doors with fumes radiating off of you as you are ready to give Elvis a piece of your mind…

Now

You stare motionless at Elvis, unable to say anything after everything he just described to you. You feel as though the whole world is going to come crashing down on you. Not only was Elvis a vampire, he craved your blood. So much that he barely had enough control to be around you.

So much more made sense now. The way he acted on his first day with you. It wasn’t that he hated you, he was starving for you. Letting his need for blood overshadow any rational thinking he had left in him. It scared you, how much he wanted you. It was the dark creature that resided within him that overtook his mind and made him an animal. The draw you had to him also scared you. This was all a mess. An engaged woman should have never been acting like that but you did and now your life will never be the same.

“So now you know, everything I was thinking that first week of seeing you. How you turned my entire world upside down and there’s nothing else I think about but you.” He states.

You stay silent, looking at his beautiful face that has so much hurt in it. You fidget with your clothes and wish this was all just a dream.

“I don’t know what to say…” you mumble. “You compelled Daniel I assume?” You ask.

He nods his head, “yes. I shouldn’t have but he wasn’t going to go away,” he says with annoyance in his voice.

“And you watch me… sleep?” You say with a shiver running down your back.

He stands up to sit next to you on the same couch. You can’t help but recoil from him, so unsure of what he might do now. He picks up your hand and stills you, looking into your eyes intensely.

“I understand if you never want to be around me again or ever do anything physical with me, but you deserve to know the whole truth. I’m sorry I’ve lied to you so much but it was for your safety. I’m trying to be better I promise you,” he pleads.

“Elvis this is just so much for one day. I don’t know how to feel,” you admit.

“I understand baby, I do. But I need you to know one thing; I’ll never stop wanting you. I need you. You’re all I need and more and the way my body feels for you is something that I can’t control.” He says frustratedly.

You pull your hand away and get up from the couch, needing to put some space in between you two.

“I need a second to think you’re so suffocating you know that?!,” you rasp, your nerves getting the best do you.

“Please just, give me some time alone.”

He has so much betrayal in his eyes but he stands up slowly and quietly agrees.

“I’ll be here… if you need anything,” he says solemnly.

You rush to the spare bedroom and lock the door behind you. Like that really mattered.

Elvis was a vampire. He craved you like nothing else on this planet and it scared you. He was never going away. He was going to find you no matter where you went.

And secretly, way deep down, you liked it.

Tagging:

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#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presely smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x oc #vampire elvis #sinned awakening #samfangirls #elvis smut #elvis presley #70s elvis

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freetheshit-outofyou · 10 months

Text

It is currently 2339 in Texas right now. My little brother who lives North of Austin was just visited by the BATF, at 2300hrs, on a freaking after work Friday. Why would the BATF be showing up at someone's house at such an hour? To fucking intimated my brother over his possible purchase of one or more Rare Breed FRT-15 trigger (Forced Reset Trigger). The odd thing is, this government overreach, unlike others I know that have been approached about FRT's because of "alleged" debit/credit card buys, my brother is accused of buying them with cash. Hummmm, if such a buy was done, and I'm not saying one was, with cash how would the BATF be able to follow a cash buy? I can only think of a few ways that could happen, this is the former LEO in me speaking. 1. Someone you know dropped a dime on you for whatever underhanded Blue Falcon bullshit reason. 2. The location you bought the item from rolled over on you for buying an item that was a legal commodity in the open market when it was bought. 3. Big Brother's nose is tracking your shit, this covers everything else. My little brother said he could not help them in their search and tried to close the door. An agent put his foot in the door and asked if they could search the house. He said, If you don't have a warrant, you should get your foot out of my door before I take this as an act of aggression and I am forced to defend myself. At this the BATF drew their weapons but removed there foot from the door while backing away. My SIL had already called the Williamson Co Sheriff and apparently after my brothers words the BATF called in the whole planet in. The Williamson Sherriff came to his door and was allowed in and told my brother that the BATF was saying he threatened to kill them if they did not leave. My brother said he laughed out loud and a lot. He explained To the Sheriff what he said and why, he also added that the entire exchange was recorded not once but twice from two different home security camera. He showed the Deputy the footage from both and was visibly angered, he got up and said he'd be back. By this time more BATF folks had gathered just this time better armed. The Deputy was out there about 20 minuets with the BATF yelling about threats and fear of being shot. Apparently someone with actual power on the ground told the agents to leaved. The Sheriff came back and said there would be no more trouble from the BATF and that an agent would be contacting him by phone in the morning to discuss what transpired. Folks, the police, all of them, have to follow the law by not following the law they put themselves in danger and endanger the public through their criminal actions. Police CANNOT stop you from closing YOUR DOOR even if they reasonably suspect a crime is being committed on the other side of the door. Further they cannot conduct a warrantless entry into a dwelling without "exigent circumstances" or permission from someone residing in the dwelling. That is case law set in Payton v. New York, 445 U.S. 573 (1980) and supported by Steagald v. United States, 451 U.S. 204 (1981). The Fourth amendment was written to stop these very things from happening. The BATF is out of control. They cannot make a rule, then make that rule punishable by both imprisonment and or fines and removing ones RIGHTS forever. THE BATF CANNOT MAKE ANY LAWS!

#me

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cha-melodius · 29 days

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hot pianist ass wip pls what's going on there

HI ROOP! So, hot piantist ass wip, which does not yet have a name (except maybe now it does lmaooo), is an AU I dreamed up one night while I was at the symphony listening to Tchaikovsky's first piano concerto. Alex is the conductor/music director of the Austin Symphony and Henry is a guest piano soloist performing Tchaik 1 with them, and of course they have some bad blood in their background so they don't work well together until they sort that out.

Guest soloists are usually only around for a couple of days before flying off to the next city, and Henry is of course very hot shit and in demand, so all they get it one amazing night together and then everything is long distance pining for a while. But THEN, Henry convinces Alex to apply for a conducting fellowship/residency with the NY Phil without telling him that he's also going to be an artist-in-residence there, and that leads to some angsty exchanges, like this bit of dialogue:

A: how long have you known about this? H: that it was a possibility? Since before I sent you the job ad. I was in NY finalizing everything during your interview. A: and you never said anything. H: I didn’t want to jinx it. Nor did I want to sway your decision to apply. A: what if I hadn’t applied? H: someone from the orchestra was going to reach out to you. A: you’re telling me that the NYPHIL knows who I am? H: why wouldn’t they? And when I told them about your season— A: wait. Is that why I got an interview? Because you told them they should? H: of course not A: I don’t need you pulling strings to get me a job, Henry. I have a very good one

Fun fact there's not actually an ending in my outline for this one, I wrote it all (including a fair amount of dialogue) in a mad haze after that first concert and I've never returned to it lmao. Some day!

[Ask me about my badly summarized WIPs]

#my wips #rwrb wips #orchestra au

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

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Lavender No Outbreak AU - Ch. 4

You and Joel balance home and professional life. A continuation of Lavender No Outbreak AU Ch. 1-3 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :) Minors DNI 18+ Only, no use of Y/N.

Length: 2.1K

Saturday, May 16, 2009

“OK, Mom’s next,” Joel said, Evie on his hip. She’d been squirming most of the graduation ceremony, desperately trying to drag her dad or her sister to the stairs so she could run up and down them. But Joel knew she had to be here, you had to know she was here. That you’d been able to do exactly what you wanted to do, that you’d done it with him and your daughters.

Sarah screamed and whooped when they called your name and you walked the stage. You found them in the crowd immediately, waving on your way to get your diploma.

“I might have underestimated you, Joel,” your grandmother said as she sat back down once you were across the stage. “I thought you’d ruined her life. But what you two have built here…”

“I thought I’d ruined her life, too,” he said, still watching you as you made your way back to your seat. “But she didn’t let that happen.”

“No,” she smiled a little. “I suppose she didn’t.”

You’d matched to a surgical residency program in Austin in March and you’d been giddy, jumping on the couch with glee. One less thing to have to work through. Joel had smiled as he watched you twirl in the living room that night, Evie on your hip and an album in French on the record player.

It had been a hard four years. You were immensely busy. Sarah was practically an adult for most of it and was a fully fledged one now, moving out the fall before to go to A&M - you and his oldest daughter trading jabs about being a house divided during football season - and living on just his income. But you’d found a way to stretch every dollar while doing well enough in school to graduate with honors, all but ensuring that you’d end up matched to whatever residency program you wanted.

Every second of it was worth it when he watched you smiling at your daughter, when he held you at night, when you closed your eyes in the lounge chair by the pool and listened to Joel play guitar on quiet summer evenings. He wouldn’t trade an ounce of it for anything.

“Dr. Miller,” he smiled when he closed the bedroom door behind you that night. You smiled back.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?” You teased. “Have a growth that needs examining?”

“Something like that,” he laughed, tugging you against him and kissing you. “Always had a thing for doctors.”

“Really?”

“Mmm.”

“Good thing you’re married to one then.”

“Lucky me.”

He kissed you and pulled your clothes off quickly, almost as quickly as you undressed him. He tugged you back toward the bed but you turned and sat him down on it instead, straddling him, taking him inside of you slowly, your body tight around him. He held your hips in his hands, guiding you down onto him, pulling you closer until he was fully within you. He kissed down your jaw, your throat, looking down to where the two of you were joined, where he disappeared into you. He wanted nothing more than to live inside you, have you be a part of him and he a part of you, be this close to you all the time.

You started moving over him, slowly at first, your channel gripping him like a velvet vise as you rose and fell. He slipped one hand around to the front of you, pressing into your clit, making you moan and your motions stutter.

“Distracted, Doctor?” He breathed.

“Feels too good,” you moaned, your head falling to his shoulder, trying to keep the steady motion of your hips. He kissed your neck and pressed harder into your clit as you tightened around him, working your hips down harder against him until you came around him, whimpering as you did.

He took advantage of your orgasm, moving you so you were on your back and he could drive into you, holding your body against his own as he did, your back arching into him as your pussy fluttered around him.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted as he adjusted your hips so he was working your clit with every stroke, his head pressing into the spot inside you that he knew made you melt. “I…”

He drove into that spot harder, making you stutter.

“Yes Baby,” he knotted his fingers in your hair, making your eyes meet his.

“I love you,” you gasped. “Need to feel you cum, please…”

He groaned, your body already tightening around him again. He moved harder, faster, clutching you closer, biting your neck until he felt you start to shatter over him again and he finally let himself go, emptying himself into you.

“Love you, Baby,” he panted. “Love you so goddamn much.”

***

Saturday, May 16, 2015

“Still feel like she’s young for this,” Joel muttered as you straightened his tie.

“She’s 25,” you said. “Same age I was when we got married.”

“Different with her,” he ground his teeth. “Doesn’t feel like she’s lived enough life yet.”

You stepped back and examined your handiwork before grabbing the pocket square from the side table in the hotel room. You tucked it in his suit coat pocket and adjusted it.

“You like Brandon,” you reminded him, going to pull the curlers out of your hair.

“I do like Brandon,” he replied. “Besides the fact that he’s fucking my daughter, he seems great.”

You leaned out of the bathroom to glare at him before going back to fixing your hair.

“What?” He said. “I’m allowed to be mad about that.”

“Such a puritanical view that you really don’t hold about anyone else’s daughters,” you said, leaning out of the bathroom again. “Namely me.”

“You’re different.”

“Joel,” you sighed, pinning some curls back from your face so they wouldn’t get in your way all night. “She’s a grown woman. She has a career and a life, you can’t expect her to be a nun. She’s found someone she loves, someone who makes her happy. Isn’t that what you want for her?”

“‘Course it is,” he said.

“And have you ever known Sarah to not do what she wants and what she thinks is best?” You asked, coming out of the bathroom and resting your hand against his chest.

“No,” he sighed. You kissed him.

“Should listen to your wife more,” you said, patting his chest before going to find your shoes. “I hear she’s smart.”

“Smartest damn woman I’ve ever met,” he replied, watching you. “Hottest mother of the bride on the fuckin’ planet, too.”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m 36,” you teased, pulling on your heels. “You cradle robber.”

You’d finished your residency program the year before and were just ending your first year as an attending physician. You’d had to beg, borrow and steal to get the whole wedding weekend off but, luckily, you’d made everyone you worked with love you immediately and no one wanted to deny you a favor.

You missed spending as much time with Joel and your kids. Evie was 11 now and she reminded you so much of Sarah at that age. It was hard, thinking about how you’d spent more time with her older sister than with her during her summer vacations as a girl.

But Joel always found a way to make things better. On particularly bad days, you could text him and he’d bring Evie to the hospital for dinner, the three of you sitting in the cafeteria, eating shitty hospital food and laughing about something one of Evie’s friends said at school that day. You’d kiss them both goodbye before going back to work, always whispering a quick “Thank you” to your husband who would whisper back “Anything for you.”

You cried a little, watching Joel walk Sarah down the aisle, kissing her cheek as he handed her to her husband. Evie took the bouquet from her sister, smiling proudly in her bridesmaid’s dress. Joel came to his place beside you, tears in his eyes and you put your hand in the middle of his back, resting your head against his shoulder. He put his arm around you, holding you close for a moment, watching as your oldest daughter got ready to say her vows.

Thursday, July 4, 2019

“Whose BBQ are we going to again?” Joel asked.

“That new social worker who works a lot of the peds cases?” You replied. “Her name is Jess, her and her husband Andrew are throwing it but they haven’t lived here all that long, they moved from Boston I think. Anyway, I said we’d go. She’s really sweet and they’ve got an adorable little girl…”

“Just a reminder that I’m supposed to go to the fireworks with Jeremy tonight,” Evie looked up from her phone for just a second before going back to it. “He’s picking me up at eight.”

Joel ground his teeth and you patted his leg.

“We’ll get you there in time,” you replied.

“OK cool,” she said. “And Dad. You can’t embarrass me. He’s actually cool.”

“Oh well since he’s cool,” Joel muttered. You snorted and Joel smiled a little at you. You caught a glimpse of Evie rolling her eyes in the rear view mirror.

“Your sister’s coming home this weekend,” he reminded her. “So make sure that Jeremy knows he has to respect family time…”

“Dad, I’m NOT going to tell him about family time,” she said. “But… I’ll be there. I miss Sarah.”

Sarah had been especially busy lately. Her and Brandon had a one-year-old little boy, Carson, and Sarah had gone back to work only a few months after he was born. Between a career, a marriage and a child, she didn’t make it home nearly as often as she used to.

But the three of them were coming to spend the weekend. Joel had already gone to the store to pick out meat to grill and you’d stocked up on Sarah’s favorite wines, looking forward to a chance to get tipsy around the pool with your oldest daughter when you weren’t on call.

“We miss her too,” Joel said, turning into the subdivision as the GPS instructed.

You headed around to the back of a house with a sweeping yard, carrying your strawberry cupcakes with red, white and blue frosting.

“You made it!” Jess jogged over to you, pulling you in for a quick hug when she took the cupcakes. “I’m so relieved, so far everyone who’s shown up are Andrew’s work buddies…”

“Well it is July 4th,” you shrugged. “Everyone’s blowing off their fingers so everyone at work is busy getting their yearly dose of weird trauma cases.”

She laughed and flagged down her husband, who came over carrying a toddler on his hip.

“Andrew, this is Dr. Miller, she’s the head of pediatric surgery at the hospital,” she smiled. “And this is Andrew and Elizabeth!”

“Nice to meet you, Doc,” Andrew smiled. The little girl in his arms clapped her hands and you introduced Joel and Evie. Elizabeth squirmed and reached for Joel and you laughed. “Sorry, she’s not usually like that…” Andrew said quickly, trying to get a grip on her.

“I don’t mind,” Joel said, hands out. Andrew shrugged and dropped the girl into his arms. “Hey there cutie, are you just causin’ all kinds of trouble?”

“Joel is a girl dad through and through,” you smiled proudly.

“Yeah, two girls will do that to ya,” Joel said, letting Elizabeth grab at his nose. “She’s not much bigger than our grandson, he does the same thing…”

“Grandson?” Andrew looked at you. “How old are you?”

You laughed.

“I’m 40,” you replied. “Sarah’s our oldest, from a previous relationship of Joel’s, she’s got a one-year-old now.”

“OK because I thought I was losing my mind for a second,” Andrew laughed. “C’mon, let me get you a drink.”

It didn’t take long to figure out that you and Andrew got on like a house on fire. Same sense of humor, same taste in movies. It was like meeting a brother you never knew you had. He worked writing software at a local company and the only thing you didn’t immediately love about him was his taste in music.

“I will not stand for Phoebe Bridgers slander,” you said. “She is the Joni Mitchell of our time. Your generation just doesn’t appreciate good music…”

“I’m only seven years younger than you, we’re the same shitty generation!” He laughed. “I’m just saying, true appreciation for rock is going down the drain…”

“Alright,” Joel kissed your temple. “We need to get Evie home before she doesn’t have enough time to primp for Jeremy, we don’t have time for you to go down that rabbit hole.”

You snorted.

“We’ll do this again,” Jess smiled. “Soon!”

“Definitely,” you smiled.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic

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hlupdate · 2 years

Video

Harry tying Pauli’s shoe in Austin - 25/09/22

#harry styles #250922 #flashing tw #residency: austin 1

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so-idialed-9 · 2 years

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Slow mo version of just the part where Harry picks up the OTB flag. From the full context video he appears to have seen it before, ignored other pride flags later, and then it looks like he's searching for it when he comes back here and picks it up.

#otb #hslot austin residency 1 #pride flags #harry styles #walk in your rainbow paradise #harry and rainbows #husbands on tour #9.25.22 #2022 #hslot

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

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Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 5

A/N: read part 1 ! read part 2 ! read part 3 ! read part 4! Taglist: @midgetpottermills @casssiopeia @flyingmushroomss @amethystwonders11 @hiphopdancer101universe @kiszkawagnerwhore @littleshadow17 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @alm0501 @ch4rcuterie @lodeddiperrodrick @amandalove1355 @laurathefahrradsattel @moshpot24x @middleof-thenight @kettlechips3 @happymakercollectorsworld @alainabooks143 @mikariell95

Warnings: dark themes; substance abuse; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2891 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

----

Joel fell out of a restless sleep to his head spinning in the dark room. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the come-down of a hard drunk from his eyes. His dream clung to the inside of his mind like a fading shadow.

He’d been home, in Austin. Before the outbreak. Sarah had been there, calling to him from her bedroom down the hall. She was scared, he could hear it in her voice. He’d tried to get to her, tried running to her, but the hall warped and elongated as he moved through it. Her screams had gotten farther and farther away the harder he’d tried to run.

He gave up, calling out to her, even though somehow he knew she couldn’t hear him. He stopped running, stopped trying to fight the hallway. He let it stretch and contract with him inside it. Part of him hoped it would squeeze him to death.

Then, right before the walls caved in on him, he’d heard something. Someone, calling his name. Behind him. He’d turned: he knew that voice. It sounded like hope, fresh and soft and gentle. He hadn’t heard anyone say his name that way in years. Around a corner in the hall - a corner that hadn’t existed in the real Austin hallway. It was you. Y/n.

Unable to get to Sarah, he tried running to you. The hallway didn’t stretch: this time it blew open like a water balloon bursting. He saw you from the corner of his eye as the force of the hallway splitting apart threw him past you into the darkness. You were reaching out to him. He could have grabbed you if he’d reached out his hand. But he was afraid he’d pull you down. Instinctive fear took over, and he hesitated for just a moment, but it was too long. He flew by you, boomeranging alone into the darkness. You vanished from sight behind him, your eyes full of grief. He felt himself falling, falling…

That’s when he woke up. The same dream, different night. Four months he’d been having that dream. Didn’t matter how much he drank or how much he fucked. It was the same dream. Sarah and you, you and Sarah. He’d known Sarah for all of her thirteen years before the outbreak ripped her out of his life. You, he’d met only twice before he’d ripped you out of his life. The irony was darkly funny and deeply painful.

Joel fumbled around the graveyard of empty bottles next to his nightstand, knocking a few over with muted, metallic clinks. Fuck. No more whiskey.

Next to him in bed, Tessa stirred but didn’t wake. Joel looked over at her, watching the bright moonlight paint her face in shadow. It was strange how he felt when he looked at her. A mix of pity, self-loathing, and disgust. But mostly, Joel didn’t feel anything at all. She was a means to an end, a distraction from his own thoughts. Ever since the dreams had started, restlessness had taken up residence deep in Joel’s bones. Nothing sated it, nothing soothed the ache in his soul. Nothing, except…

“Fuck that.” He clamped down on that thought before he let it finish, his teeth grinding. A surge of anger roared through his head. He wanted to break something, to crush it, have it splinter and fracture and disintegrate under his touch. That’s how he felt most of the goddamn time anyways. He reached down, picking up the first bottle his hand touched and hurled it against the opposite wall. It shattered with a crisp tinkling as glass shards scattered across the floor.

“What are you doing?” Tessa’s voice was thick with sleep. He ignored her, picking up another bottle and chucking it. The sound of glass colliding with the cracked drywall took just enough of his edge off to keep him from unraveling there in the dark.

“Joel.”

He ignored her still, the anger beginning to ebb.

“Joel!” Tessa’s voice was clearer now, her irritation and being ignored rousing her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunted back, hoping she’d let him be.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he heard a distant rumble and felt a slight tremor in the walls. He jumped up from the bed, ignoring the shards of glass that burrowed into the soles of his feet. Adrenaline sharpened his senses. Following the sound, he strode to the window overlooking the open city, pulling back the tattered curtain. Rising from an otherwise black horizon was a plume of orange and yellow flames in the distance.

“What the hell was that?” Tessa was beside him in a heartbeat, wrapping a blanket around her naked body. They both stared out at the flames, eyes straining to make out any details of the flames.

“Some kind of explosion,” Joel commented aimlessly. His mind ticked through the possible explanations. He’d lived in the QZ almost the entire twenty years since the outbreak, and he’d been in the open city more times than he could count. Not once had he ever seen an infected - even a herd of them - set off an explosion like that. An old transformer degrading, maybe? Some sort of gas build up?

Tessa’s eyes narrowed as she watched the plume of smoke pour up from street level, fanning across the night sky and blotting out the stars.

“Gas line, maybe. Come back to bed.”

Tessa slunk into the bathroom off the bedroom, and Joel heard the meager trickle of the faucet as she filled a glass of water. On her way back to bed, she handed the glass to him.

“Your breath smells like a damn distillery.”

Joel acquiesced and sipped the water. He could smell the chlorine that FDRA used as disinfectant before dumping it into the city’s deteriorating water main. He ignored Tessa’s continued pleas for him to rejoin her, his eyes glued to the spreading fire. Worry settled in his chest like concrete, although he couldn’t say why. Dawn broke before Joel found sleep again. He dreamt again of Sarah and the hallway. This time, though, you weren’t there to call out to him…

****

You woke up to the sound of crinkling plastic and a painful throb under your right breast. You peeked out through slitted eyelids. Ellie was across from you, sitting next to a long neglected fireplace. It was the first time you’d seen her clearly. Her hair was a mousy brown and tied back in a ponytail, her eyes dark and far apart. She moved quickly, like a caged animal or a predator cat, and her lips were pursed together in concentration as she opened a package of crackers. The gray t-shirt under the red hoodie had a dark crimson smear of blood across her chest, and the soles of her sneakers were worn down.

You sat up, straightening your back against the door as you looked around, getting your bearings. You were still inside the house from the night before. Dust hung heavy in the air, motes floating idly in the afternoon sunlight that shafted through one of the boarded up windows.

“You’re awake,” Ellie observed without looking up at you. She was munching quietly on the crackers, picking at a hangnail on her thumb.

You took a breath in, causing your ribs to spasm in pain. White seared across your vision and you struggled to gasp.

“Pretty sure you broke a rib or two.”

You shot the teenager a sour look.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“What was that last night? The explosion?”

Your mind flicked back through your recollections from the night before.

“Propane truck. Damian must have shot it.”

You remembered the truck, tipped on its side probably three or four houses down from where you were now. You could still see Damian as he’d turned around to shoot at the horde. Whether he meant to or not, one of his bullets must have hit the truck’s tank, setting off the explosion.

You tried to pivot on your hip to look out through the mail slot of the front door.

“Don’t bother, there’s nothing out there but roasted shamblers.”

You opened the mail slot anyways. Maybe Damian had managed to survive.

As your eyes adjusted to the bright light, you saw Ellie was right. The entire opposite side of the street was burned out, smoke still curling up from a few of the smoldering foundations where houses had been. The street was littered with charred lumps you could only assume had once been the infected, and your group mates. Luck must have been smiling on you to make sure none of the sparks drifted your way on an errant breeze. You didn’t see anything that looked alive.

You let the mail slot fall closed, moving slowly back to seated, your ribs screaming in protest. You closed your eyes to fight the nausea, leaning your head back against the door.

“What’re we going to do?”

She sounded scared.

“I dunno, kid. I’m not much good like this. You might be on your own.”

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Yeah, neither do I. And you’ll not know where you’re going a lot faster without me.”

Ellie considered your words for a second before she looked away. For the first time since you’d met her, you saw a note of fear in her eyes. It reminded you of how young she was. Only a few years older than Gabriel. You always wondered how it felt to be born after the outbreak, like Ellie and Gabriel. To not remember the world without infected, without QZ’s. You had memories of time before: memories of vacations and Christmas shopping and doctors appointments and traffic jams. Those were the things you missed the most - the little things. Things that Ellie and Gabriel had never known.

“Who are you, anyways? Why did the Fireflies send an armed unit out to get you?”

The fear in Ellie’s eyes melted away, replaced by suspicion. She didn’t answer.

“Look, kid, if you can’t tell me what’s going on, how am I supposed to help you anyways?”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed at you.

“I thought you said I was on my own.”

You chuckled, immediately regretting it as agony ripped through your body.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be a very good person if I let a little kid walk around the open city now, would I?”

As much as you couldn’t bear the idea of moving, you knew it was true. You couldn’t leave Ellie alone, even if she was a scrappy thing. You thought of Gabriel, and how you would feel if someone left him alone in the open city.

“I’m not a little kid,” she spat back, indignant.

“You’re littler than I am.”

You’d used that line on Gabriel all the time. Looked like Ellie hated it as much as he did.

“So, now that we’ve established that I’ll somehow go with you, where is it that we’re headed and who are you supposed to be meeting with?”

“Marlene said I shouldn’t tell anybody.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered this.

“Well, Marlene’s probably dead, and if she isn’t, she sure as hell isn’t going to know to look for us here. So it’s just you and me. Which means I need to know why you’re out here and what the hell we’re walking into.”

Ellie sized you up from across the room. Afternoon sun was giving way to the warm gold of evening. If you wanted to put any distance between you and whatever was left of the horde, you’d have to start moving soon.

She stood up abruptly, walking over to you as she rolled up one sleeve of her hoodie. She thrust her arm towards you, a large scarred-over gash on the skin of her pale forearm. You looked at it, momentarily confused.

“Don’t you recognize that?” she asked with a hint of challenge.

You looked at the mark, something familiar about it plucking at the back of your mind. Surely, it couldn’t be…

“That’s a bite mark. From an infected.”

She rolled the sleeve of her hoodie down again, obscuring the scar from view.

Your thoughts felt like they were weighted down in cement. You looked up at her, a million questions in your eyes, the pain in your ribs momentarily forgotten.

“That’s… not possible.”

“Not possible or not, that’s what it is.”

She went back to her original seat by the fireplace, tucking her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them.

You tried to piece together the facts. Bites were how the infected spread their fungus to living hosts. Bites were always effective. You’d never seen or heard of anyone getting bitten and not turning eventually. You’d seen people try all kinds of things to slow and reverse the effects of the fungus in the early days: amputations, cauterization, pouring battery acid into the bite, eating mass amounts of antifungal medications, cannibalizing healthy human flesh. None of it worked. There was no cure, no antidote, nothing to ease the pain or slow the transition. It had been that way since the outbreak first hit in 2003. It was the only truth that mattered, the foundational fact that your world was built on.

And yet, here she was. Flesh and blood. Perfectly human. The scar tissue on her arm spoke to how long ago she’d received that bite.

“Not… possible…,” you whispered in disbelief.

“Not just possible. True.”

You stared at Ellie, dumbstruck. She held your gaze and waited for your thoughts to catch up with reality.

This was why Marlene and Damian hadn’t told anyone about who Ellie was. This was why the Firefly network was passing her along with armed guards along the way. She was a medical miracle, proof that there was a way out. But how?

“There’s a vaccine?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

Ellie shook her head.

“No. It’s not a vaccine. It’s me. I’m immune.”

Immunity.

You tried to imagine it. What immunity would mean for the world. Immunity would change everything. People would be saved, hell maybe even some of the infected could get turned back. Immunity meant no more living in fear. Immunity meant no more QZ’s, no more FDRA, no more infected vs. survivors.

If immunity could be replicated.

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place.

Your eyes widened in understanding as you took in the sight of the most valuable person in the world: a scared, sixteen year old girl with worn-down sneakers, cowering in the moldy, rotted-out remains of a South Boston house.

Now you understood. You’d seen Marlene move expensive cargo before, but nothing could even come close to Ellie’s value. She was everything. The answer, maybe the only person in the entire world who had the key to unraveling this puzzle. People would kill for that. People had died for that.

You swallowed, the gravity of your situation beginning to press down on you.

“So. Where am I taking you?”

Ellie shook her head, balling herself up tighter.

“I don’t know. I was supposed to rendezvous with Marlene. She knew where I was headed next. No one tells me anything.”

You didn’t know much about Marlene’s larger-scale Firefly operations, but you knew one thing: if Marlene was dead, the answer to where Ellie was headed had died with her. Damian might have known - maybe - although you doubted it. Marlene was nothing if not tight-lipped.

“Well. We better hope that Marlene survived, then.”

The girl shrugged.

“If she survived - which is a big if - she’ll head back to the QZ. I can get us there… I think. If we can get back, I can find her.”

You knew most of Marlene’s haunts in the QZ. Not all of them, but there was enough of the Firefly network for you to get a message to her.

Sensing a decision had been made, Ellie rose from her seat, zipping up her backpack and sliding her arms through the straps. The bag was heavy, weighted down with what you assumed were her traveling supplies. It hung low and saggy off her lower back, the straps pulling away from her shoulder blades like suspenders.

“Here kid, help me up.” You reached out an arm. Ellie obliged, tucking under your armpit and heaving as you rose. The pain was excruciating, white dots peppering your vision, but you managed to brace yourself against the back of the door enough to stay upright.

You tried to keep your breathing shallow so as not to move your ribs. After a few ragged gasps, you nodded at Ellie.

“The QZ is almost directly due west of here. We move quietly, take our time, but we don’t stop. If anything happens, keep following the sunset until you reach the QZ wall.”

Fear pulsed in Ellie’s dark eyes again, but she nodded in understanding.

“Alright, kiddo. Let’s get going.”

Trying to move your upper body as little as possible, you shuffled back from the door as she opened it a few inches, scanning the street for any infected. After a moment of surveying, she nodded, pushing the door the rest of the way open. You followed her out into the late afternoon light, praying and hoping that your luck from the night before had a little juice left in it…

read part 6 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters! ty to everyone showing this series so much love! <;33

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #last of us #last of us hbo #last of us imagine #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal imagine

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