#stalker!joel miller
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CARNAL : PROLOGUE
Read Part 1
Carnal Masterlist / Masterlist
Summary: 2.9K/ f!reader, dark!joel, stalker!joel.
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap (unspecified but reader is late into college), female masturbation, joel masturbating, dominate & aggressive joel, cam girl, pet names, praise kink, he briefly talks you through it, tells you what to do. talk of: trauma (not graphic or specified as SA), pain kink, fingering, sucking fingers, red flag girl stalker!joel is coming, the usual pure filth
“You thought you had it all figured out before him. Animals. Tender, primal flesh. That’s what we are at the end of the day, right? Fucking, testing one another and then eating each other alive, heart first. Maybe the heart is the sweetest part of the body- or maybe it’s just the easiest to get to.”
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *
It started as a way to claim something back for yourself. Pieces that you’d given away over the years, ones that had been ripped from your hands, your body. This way, you had a say.
Strip, open your lips for a stranger to coo praise towards your teeming core… and then pay you. You cried a couple of times afterwards, languidly sitting in the filth of your own desire. Through the guilt of it all, it was hard to explain why it pleasured you so deeply.
No man had ever, in real life, truly pleasured you. Taking cock this way and that just for you to squeeze your walls together and moan, tired of the wrestle and hoping it would end soon. “I came.”
This, behind a camera, didn’t feel like real life, though. Most of the time you didn’t see their faces, just the curvature of desperate dick and tiring arms. That made it easier, of course, until the money became second thought to how pleasing their whispered obscenities were, dripping from their mouth down to their sobbing cocks.
You read somewhere that some kinks are a result of trauma, which makes sense. Having an angry father and a mother who didn’t leave her bed until after you left for college, was just the first lock on a heavily bolted door. You raised yourself, your brother, your mother, your father. Labeled an ‘old soul’ or whatever the fuck the grownups always told you as they patted your back and sent you along.
Scratching your way through childhood, you decided it would be easier to be invisible in high school. You painted, and finally you were noticed. You told yourself college would be different. But the only interest shown was that of your body, or that of your art.
Maybe if he praised the way my tits looked after he marked himself into them, I’d feel better about myself. Maybe if he slipped his spit-soaked fingers into the right place, I’d be cured.
The cure never came, no matter how many different sets of fingers you had inside of you. No matter how many tubes of oil you emptied onto primed canvas. Everyone always wants to know the story of how the canvas came to be covered, but do they really want that truth?
Maybe the desire to bare yourself to these men stemmed from never being wanted or loved the way you loved others. So much so that it caved in your chest the first time you fell in love. You fundamentally could not understand why he wouldn’t try as hard as you, why he didn’t love like you did. “I just don’t know if I want to stay with you because of your body, or if it’s because I love you.” Watering yourself down was preferred, it hurt less, even though there’s shame in that, too. So love hadn’t really crossed your mind since. You wondered where that little girl was, who so deeply believed in it, despite the fact she never received it back. Desire, pleasure, pain with no connection? That was easy.
So uttering your want…need, to be hit, spit on, filled, devoured- as if it was an act of release- to any sexual partner, lover, or even therapist, never seemed right. Especially when you were aware that you would collapse into yourself afterward, falling over the thin line of possible pleasure and needing safety. Of wanting to, but not being able to let yourself go completely.
The stranger across the screen? They could tear you apart in every way you wanted, without you having to beg or be asked “why?” Without touching you. Afterwards, you could shut the computer screen.
This was your secret, the squalor. A juxtaposing new kind of fight.
You thought you had it all figured out before him. Animals. Tender, primal flesh. That’s what we are at the end of the day, right? Fucking, testing one another and then eating each other alive, heart first. Maybe the heart is the sweetest part of the body- or maybe it’s just the easiest to get to.
You learned quickly that he was in charge. Submitting to him felt like second nature. You’d long ago given up the belief that someday, someone would save you.
@texanblackbird
You look like you need to be put in your place sweetheart. Havin your sweet little holes out for all these men and what worthwhile could they possibly be givin you back?
You
Well Texan Paul McCartney, right now they’re giving me a lot more than you. $100 and I’ll enter a room with you for an hour.
@texanblackbird
Let me help you little bird, you sound fuckin pathetic. $300 and you’re mine for 30 minutes. Don’t open your mouth until I say & don’t you dare smart off to me again, got it? Then I won’t clip your wings, not just yet.
You felt your cheeks swell with heat, but more so you felt the pull in your core. His profile picture was missing his face of course, but you couldn’t deny that from the small circle, the body filling it looked intriguing. You got off of the bed, sat up your laptop and checked yourself in the mirror above your desk. You brushed out your too-perfect lipstick with your finger, making it look a little more worn. Making it seem like you were a little more experienced, that you put on a good show. That you were worth the money.
You let him in and waited.
He was breathtaking, sat in a simple office chair. His shoulders spread the entire width- he engulfed it. His collarbones adorned by freckles and warm-toned skin. Like the sky had kissed him over and over, singing praises into his skin. He had gotten a little sun recently, his chest blushing and soft looking with a few scars from time. His arms splayed across his lap, jeans still on but wantonly unbuttoned. He was thick, rugged- dirty even. He needed a shower from whatever laboriously hard work he had just completed. You could already see the length of him pushing against his jeans. His hips protruding slightly, curving at his thighs. Veins running down his hallowed v line.
He wasn’t big in the sense of grotesque protruding muscles, but large in a soft way. His biceps pushing against his skin, showing that he would easily overtake you, lay you down and pin you where he wanted. Strong. His shoulders could support you. His fingers thick… one was the equivalent of your two. He could caress the spongey insides of you with absolute ease. His palm greatly bigger than your entire face. You imagined it sprawling your mound, fingers tall enough to push down on your stomach at the same time his thumb was pushing down into your body. His build was that of an older man, someone whose body has seen years, been loved, discarded, kissed, and maybe even hated. His stomach lightly spilled over his half open jeans, hair curling above the seam and crawling up towards his belly button.
You didn’t dare say anything until he instructed. You sat pretty on the edge of your bed and took him in. Oh, you would do anything he asked of you. Then, he took out his cock and spoke a voice that sent fire down your spine.
Husked, vibrating, basey. You never had an affinity for a southern drawl until his lips parted.
He spent most of your sessions hungrily ordering you around your own body. He was abhorrent in ways you’d never dreamed before. You discovered parts of yourself you didn’t know needed touching, panting and babbling for him. Right when you’d hit a new spot he would huff a laugh at your desperation, breathing out, “Good girl. Goooood. Now do it again, harder. That’s it baby.”
“Turn around ‘n spread open those pretty lips for daddy. I wanna see what you look like drippin from the back. Bend over. Mhmm, oh so good,” he paused as you did what he asked, “God damn I know that pretty pussy would love to swallow this cock. Don’t ya think so Birdie?”
“Y… yes sir.” In reality, it would absolutely destroy you. But imagining the stretch of your hole as he slipped himself into you was enough to pull out another orgasm. Your entrance tightening and losing slack each time he sheathed himself into you.
“Let it out baby girl.” You did. You let it out for him, unabashedly.
If his deep voice wasn’t enough by itself, then even looking at his hands was sometimes enough to send you over the edge. The way he grabbed himself, spitting multiple times into his palm in order to cover the width, moving his middle finger in lazy circles around his angry head. Drawing spit into strings to wet his slit, pushing the precum down the veins of his length. Breathing heavily and moaning from his chest.
He told you that all of your holes needed to be filled simultaneously until you were whimpering, begging for reprise. You agreed through overstimulated tears.
By the fourth encounter, you’d given him your phone number, not thinking too deeply into it, considering by this time he was paying you enough to cover your phone bill three times over. And rent.
You lived alone in an apartment a few minutes outside of campus, far enough to drive but not far enough away to feel like you weren’t in the mix of everything. Everyone around you was around the same age, so no one thought twice about the moans you failed to stifle. Or the dad-aged man who often sat in the lobby, head down- unbeknownst to you, of course.
You still didn’t know each others name, but you were instructed to call him ‘daddy’ and ‘sir’. When he wasn’t calling you filthy pet names he called you ‘darlin’’ or ‘sweetheart’. You Googled his phone number but couldn’t find anything worth following. The ignorance to who he could be was good enough for you, blissful even. It fed into your daydreams between seeing him every Thursday.
You’d never had a true conversation with him, never dared ask why that day over any other. Upon his request you would send him multiple pictures a day, your fingers in your mouth. He wanted to see the wetness in your underwear, begging for you stick your fingers in and play with it so he could see what he’d done to you.
By the seventh encounter you knew you wanted to be completely devoured by him. You wanted to fill the space between his teeth.
“I want to bring you pain so that you know what real pleasure feels like. Bring you so close to the edge that I’m the only one who can bring you back. I want you to fall on your knees for me, I want you bruised and beggin,” he husked, “at my mercy, not the world’s.”
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡
One Thursday, someone knocked at your door amidst your indecency. You had a few friends, mostly those with the same major and classes. It didn’t make sense for them to be showing up, considering you’d just spent a three hour class time with them.
Your movements stuttered.
“You gonna get that?”
“Are you gonna let me?”
“And let whoever it is see how wasted you look right now? Absolutely. Tell ‘em I said hi,” he smirked.
The knocking continued until you finally made it to the door. Whoever it was, could by no means enter your apartment, especially not your bedroom.
“Sarah!” Oh god.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay? Have you been crying? Who hurt you, let me at ‘em!”
Always full of energy, this one. She was a few years younger than you, a photography major you had met when she approached you one day in the Student Union, asking if she could take your portraits because you, “had a certain aura about you.” Of course you agreed, how could you say no to someone who was so entirely happy? You exchanged numbers and had at least one new text from her daily, since. You hadn’t seen the photographs yet, she took them on an old film camera, but you kept meaning to ask if she’d developed them.
“I’m okay, promise. I just wasn’t expecting you. I would invite you in but I’m not feeling too great at the moment. I think I caught the cold that Shay had,” you pouted, hoping your were selling it well.
“Oh no worries, I texted you but you didn’t respond so I thought I’d walk the couple doors down! I just wanted to see if you wanted to grab dinner on campus, but we’ll reconvene another time.”
“I’m sorry,” you palmed your forehead, “it’s been a day. I promise I’ll answer next time. Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Sure! See you then. Text me if you need anything.”
“Always,” you said with a smile as she walked away and you closed the door.
You hadn’t been to her place just yet. She has a roommate she absolutely despises, you learned. You didn’t know she had an ill bone in her body, but she spends most of her time outside of her apartment, understandably so. It made you feel a sort of calm though, knowing she lived so close. You were going to miss her liveliness whenever you graduated and she returned to her hometown for the summer. You wished you’d met her earlier in college.
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡
He had heard everything, you rushed too quickly out and didn’t close your bedroom door entirely. The apartment is small, he thought, if it was anything like Sarah’s. Sound travels. He wondered if Sarah was there to drop off the pictures she’d taken of you. Oh she was so excited about them, FaceTiming him months ago to show him. She insisted that she would wait to give them to you, as a graduation present. At the time, graduation was a semester away.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” You were. There was something in your eyes that fell to the pit of his stomach. Who had hurt you so badly that your eyes gave it away, pleading? You looked so small, sitting at a table with pencil in hand, drawing. You looked so familiar, he felt your stare in his core.
He would never admit that he had taken a screenshot of one specific image as Sarah continued on, “She was just sitting there, and I went up to her and asked her! And now we’re friends. I feel like we’ll be best friends soon. She’s a senior though, but she lives right down the hall. And oh! Her taste in music is so similar to yours too, you’d like her.” She smiled.
He looked at the picture shamefully. Between jobs, in the bathroom, in his work truck. He felt gross the first time he touched himself to you, but it felt so good, the way his cock would twitch at the thought of all the ways he could ruin you. Fix you.
A week later he couldn’t take it anymore. He found you quickly, you popped up in Sarah’s Instagram friends right under a few other people, smiling in your profile picture. Private, but your social media was all under the same name, so he took you for everything he could find. You were an artist, loved classic rock and always retweeted sad poetry.
The day he came across your secret Twitter felt like an answer to a prayer. He knew you had it in you. What a naughty girl. But why would you follow yourself? That wasn’t very smart of you. Did you even think about your own safety? Did you even care?
He made an account on the cam site you promoted on said post- and he was in. As far as he knew, Sarah had never mentioned him to you… never had a reason too.
You’d surprised her one weekend, showing up to have dinner with her. Not before sitting in the lobby for a few minutes, hoping to catch a glance of you. For you to pass by without a thought, the air bringing your scent to his nose. He even walked down the opposite side of Sarah’s hallway when he got to the fourth floor, trying to see if there was any indication which apartment was yours. Maybe he would knock on it, accidentally, apologize and say he was looking for his daughters apartment. He wanted more of you, anything he could get his hands on.
The money wasn’t an issue for him, he lived alone and didn’t need much. He gave it to you happily if it meant that you were his for an hour, through text, whatever. He gave you a fake number, one that led back to some app he texted you on. He’d had these obsessive tendencies before.
You returned to him, blushing while dropping the robe you had hastily grabbed. As you sat on the edge of your bed, spreading your thighs open for him, tracing wet lines towards your cunt, he knew that you were his, you would be. An hour later he was texting Sarah.
“What time is your friends capstone show next week?”
Extra: Joel in his truck
Part 3
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *
A/N: Thank you for all the love in Part 1! I haven’t written in a while, but I’ve just graduated college and I have some downtime and a busy brain to satiate.
I just wanted to state that I’m pro-sex work & pro-therapy! This is me writing parts of myself and my own trauma into the main character…forgive me! ‘Art’ is embarrassing sometimes, huh?
I have an entire Pinterest board filled with ideas, pictures, quotes for this fic. I hope you guys are enjoying ☺️
Tag List: @paleidiot @sarap-77 @i-love-rafe
#joel miller#pedro pascal#tlou#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#pedro pascal x you#tlou fanfiction#carnal#pervy!joel miller#perv!joel#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#stalker!joel#stalker!joel miller#smut#pascalsbby
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beach walks
7k, Joel x f!reader; surf instructor Billy x f!reader (Billy gifs)
night walks au
A/N: Picks up right after beach walks prequel.
SUMMARY: Paths cross, and Joel can't let you go.
WARNINGS: I8+ angst, infidelity adjacent if you squint, drugs, dubcon (drugs/location) p in v, somewhat possessive!joel, exhibitionism, homoerotic tension if you squint. cuck!billy but you also sit on his face.
Joel can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling and keeps drifting back to what he shouldn't have seen - you in the pool with Billy. Plus, he evisions you fucking on the beach, in the hotel, in that stupid shack. He's not happy about it, but you’re so damn hot. He can't help the way his body reacts. He keeps hearing that moan, fuck.
He figures out what helps him get back to sleep, and by the end of the night, he's used all the lotion in that little bottle.
He wakes up for the last time around five. He showers and packs his bag. It's still dark when he goes for a walk on the beach. As the sky hints at sunrise, he stands with his fingers interlaced on the crown of his head and listens to the birds. He’s been doing his best, and it turns out his best sucks. On a sandbar, he finds a live starfish missing an arm and gently tosses it like a Frisbee back into the ocean.
What is he doing? He could've left it all alone.
He walks back to the hotel and gets a cup of coffee and a newspaper. He goes out on the cafe porch to read. There's a yoga class in view on the beach, and he looks to see if you're in it. Yeah, there you are. His stomach drops and his nostrils flare with a deep breath. You look great, but he can't see your ass. Right behind you, there's Billy.
Why Billy? He's impossible to hate. At least he's also impossible to tame. No way it goes beyond this vacation. But if anyone can make him wanna change, it might be you. Joel used to think Billy had it made, but he's a lonely guy underneath it all.
—---you------
Four of you are eating breakfast at a table for six in the dining hall. You're sitting across from Billy.
“Can’t miss with Billy’s Bistro. Never burn the toast, never give ya salmonella . . .”
“Salmonella?” Your friend Kari asks. “Was there an outbreak here?”
Billy has a spoon in his mouth, but his eyes widen. He looks back and forth between all three of you as he slowly swallows his chia pudding, then says, “Explains the Groupon, doesn't it?”
“Gross,” Kari pushes her plate away.
Billy shrugs, then looks at you. “Billy’s bistro,” he mouths with a subtle sparkle in his eyes. His face softens, then comes to life when he looks behind you.
“There he is,” Billy announces.
You look back and do a double take. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes widen. Joel gives you a nod of acknowledgement.
He’s wearing swim trunks, and his thighs look massive. All of him does. Did the memories fade, or did he manage to put on 10 lbs of muscle in what, two months? His hair is longer – only an inch or so, but enough to curl. You can’t stop staring. Your face is cold and tingly.
“Have a seat, mate.” Billy uses his foot to push out the chair to his right, at the head of the table. He puts his hand on Joel's hulking trapezius as he sits down.
“Joel Miller. This man is a legend,” Billy tells you.
You glance at your friends, and they're as shocked as you. They met Joel once, at the restaurant.
“Taught me how to roll my first joint,” Billy says. “Now I can't even get’m to take a bong rip.” He turns to Joel. “That was some good shit ya brought, mate.”
“Yeah,” Joel says barely above a whisper, glancing at you.
“Hey Joel,” your friend Nahlah says.
“Hey, Nahlah.”
You had barely let him sit down to say hello at that restaurant.
“So you know each other,” Billy concludes. “Brilliant! What a world.”
“Yeah, we know each other,” Joel subtly nods, looking at you. He looks tired.
“Do they know the new you?” Billy asks.
“The new you?” you ask Joel.
“Health nut.” Billy grabs Joel's arm, beaming. “Look at’m.” He turns his attention to Joel. “On the straight and narrow. Can't believe it.”
“Really?” you ask Joel.
Joel sighs and side-eyes Billy. “No. Just had to, kinda. . . get my life together for a minute.”
It’s a punch to the gut. Getting his life together meant dropping you? That’s where he went? Your face burns, and your nostrils flare.
“Excuse me,” you tell the rest of them, and stand up with heat in your chest, determined not to make a scene.
“Catch up later,” Billy says and reaches for you as you come around Joel’s chair. You lean in and he gives you a kiss on the cheek. You don't look back on your way out the door.
—
You get down to the beach, take off your sandals, and walk, heading nowhere in particular.
Soon enough, Joel is calling your name, jogging. You keep walking, but he catches up. He walks beside you in silence, between you and the ocean. You try to ignore the stride of his hulking form in your periphery.
“Guess I don’t fit in your new life,” you mutter, then swallow the knot in your throat and put your shades on, even though it’s not sunny. You keep walking.
“Yeah ya do, baby,” he reaches for your hand. The tenderness almost gets to you, but it’s out of nowhere. You just can’t. You cross your arms and slow your pace.
“Guess I never did,” you mumble.
“I’m sorry.” Joel looks at you. You keep looking down, taking slow, careful steps.
“For what?” you ask, looking at the sand for an answer.
“Bein’ a fuckin’ idiot. Wrapped up in my own shit.”
“What shit?” you ask.
“I’ll tell ya everything, but–”
“--But what?”
“We’re supposed to head out in like (he looks at his watch) fuck. Like ten minutes.”
You scoff. “Did something happen?”
“No—well, yeah.” He looks around then asks, “You okay?”
You don’t answer.
“You looked happy,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder toward the dining hall. It sounds more like a question than an observation. Yeah, you were finally having a good time without him until he showed up. Now you’re confused, and mad at him for confusing you.
You stop in your tracks and turn to face him and the water. “What happened? You couldn’t even text me?”
The sky gets darker as thicker cloud cover creeps over the sun. “I should’ve,” Joel nods.
You barely have the energy to walk. You sit down on the sand. He better tell you, right now, if there's any hope.
He swallows and looks down and away, then takes off his sunglasses and joins you on the sand. “Got in my head,” he mumbles. “So many times, I was gonna. . .even walked to your door one night.”
“.. .okay?” You wait for him to continue.
“Thought ya might think I was lame, cause I wasn’t the same, I was. . .”
“You were trying to get your life together,” you recite, genuinely trying to digest it for the first time. A tear falls out of your eye and you angrily wipe it away.
He shakes his head. “Never shoulda said it that way. I had somethin’ to take care of. Tell ya ‘bout it when we've got time”
The lump is back in your throat, full force. He’s really gonna swoop in just long enough to make you sad, then leave you as confused as ever.
He looks dejected. “I know, I’m an idiot.”
“So what do you want?” you ask.
He looks at the sea for a moment. “To start over.”
“Why?” you ask and wipe away more tears. Your voice becomes strained. “What do you regret?”
“Nothin’, pumpkin. . . shit, I’m so bad at this.” He groans in frustration at himself. “And I know it, that’s why I. . .” he trails off and shakes his head.
You glance at his eyes and curse yourself for a twinge of empathy.
He claws a handful of the dry sand between you into a little pile and mumbles, “You deserve better, always did.” He smoothes out the pile, then pivots to face more in your direction. “Look at me, pumpkin’. Please.” He reaches for your sunglasses. You pull back your head away and take them off yourself. You turn and face him. He wipes his hand off on his shirt before brushing tears off your cheek with his thumb. “Only thing I regret is bein’ such a dick.”
You begin to stand up, not wanting to feel him suddenly leave you again. Once you’re standing, you cross your arms again. You dig the toes of one foot into the sand. Joel’s hands gently engulf each of your elbows, and he gets as close as he can. You don’t pull away, but you don’t open up either. He hugs you anyway.
God, his arms are huge. He holds you tight and breathes into your hair. He mutters, “Think about you all the time.” You let out a held breath, then his scent fills your lungs. A wave of affection threatens to break down your walls.
Your arms uncross on their own, and he hugs you with his body fully against yours. It feels like a warm mistake. It’s too late now.
“Ya know, I would’ve done it with you,” you sniffle. “Whatever this lifestyle thing. . .”
He whispers your name and hugs you tighter. He holds you for a minute, and you dab your eyes on his hulking shoulder. The weight of his arms is as soothing as his scent. This isn’t fixed, you tell yourself. You’re not going to pick up where you left off. If he invited you back to his room right now, you wouldn’t go. But somehow, you feel for him. You’ve never seen him anxious or vulnerable. He’s always been so sure of himself. So full of himself, but in a charming way.
You begin to pull away, still determined not to be the one who gets left. “Guess you’ve gotta go,” you mutter.
He looks sad as he slowly drops his arms, running his hands down your back. “Talk when you’re home?”
You sigh and look at your feet. Your self-preservation instincts tell you to cut him off. Quit him while you can. While you have the upper hand. While he can’t hurt you worse than he has. “What can’t you say right now?”
“A lot,” he answers without missing a beat. He seems to glance at your neck, but you can’t be sure.
You shake your head no.
“Please. Then I’ll leave ya ‘lone if ya want.” His eyes shift away. Does he mean that? Your eyes cloud up again, and you put your glasses back on.
“I dunno.” You walk back to the main building in silence and slip on your sandals on the way in. Joel hugs you goodbye. It feels like he doesn’t want to let go, and you don’t want him to either. Your arms faintly itch as he walks away, and you brush off the sand.
—
After Joel leaves, your friends finish eating and emerge from the dining hall.
“Where’s Billy?” you ask.
“He has a lesson,” Nahlah says.
-
You go back to your room and take a shower, trying to wash it all away, but Joel’s presence lingers, even as you turn off the water. You lie on your bed looking at the ceiling. Nahlah and Kari are on the other bed, watching ghost hunters on the free cable.
“How was last night?” Kari asks.
You sigh and mutter, “I need a nap.”
“I bet you do,” Nahlah teases.
You drift off, hoping everything will sort itself out while you dream.
–
You sleep for hours and wake up alone, without the clarity you’d hoped for, except that you resent what Joel’s doing. You’re already falling under his spell again, and you don’t like it. It would be too easy for him to break your heart again. You know what could take your mind off it.
-
You walk down to the shore, and Billy is finishing up a lesson. He sees you and nods toward the shack. You let yourself in and wait on the sofa, emo and increasingly horny.
He comes through the door and takes off his long sleeves. He tousles his hair and stretches his neck with his hand on the tattoo. He takes a sip from a squeeze bottle, then asks, “You alright? What happened earlier?”
“Nothing,” you rest your head in your left hand, with your elbow on the arm of the loveseat.
“He’s a good guy,” Billy says, then looks at his watch and shifts gears. “Got fifteen minutes.”
He joins you on the loveseat, then leans over you, pressing a kiss into your lips and pulling you closer. The kiss is loaded. You welcome his tongue, soothed by his touch, but your energy is gone. You’re practically catatonic compared to before. He kisses you for a few more seconds, then breaks away and asks, “You alright?”
You nod and kiss him back, then reach for his shorts, cupping his semi-hard package.
He breaks away and reads your eyes. “‘S’alright, love.”
He pulls away entirely and slumps into the loveseat, using the opposite arm as a pillow. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and opens his arms. You lay face down on his warm, bare chest, beads of sea water transferring to your beach dress—through one of its crochet holes, a pierced nipple teases your skin.
Billy holds you. You lie there, relaxed, one leg over his. A tear rolls out of your eye and onto his hot skin. “Shh,” He rubs your back for a few minutes, his chest rising and falling under you. His cock twitches against your thigh between his legs, and a shock of desire zaps through you. His hips lift slightly, just once, and your eyes flutter open. He sucks back his chin to look down at you, then his fingers lift your chin to look at him. You’re no longer crying at all.
“There she is,” he murmurs, with his pupils widening before your eyes. He reads your eyes and glances at your lips. “Fucking gorgeous.” His face drifts toward yours, your neck extends, and his lips nudge your upper lip before your mouths come together. You prop yourself up with your forearm so neither of you has to strain your neck. The kiss starts languidly, then heats up and his hands come to your hips. As you kiss, his hips lift into you, and his cock hardens against your quad. As he licks into your mouth, you slowly grind on his thigh. He breaks away, searches your eyes, and whispers, “attagirl,” before claiming your lips again. With your limbs slotted together, you make out, grind, and quietly grunt.
For a while, your thoughts are gone, then Joel walks back into your head. You wonder how good he’d fuck you now, if he thinks it’s his last chance. Still moving on Billy’s thigh with your mouth half-connected with his, your breaths get heavy with desire. Would Joel be rough? Would he be tender? Would he be how he is so often–ravenous, but deliberate and appreciative of every inch of your body? You imagine his cock shoving into you and the way he’d sigh, yeah.
Now you’re gushing wet, already about to cum. You break the kiss to moan, and Billy breathes, “Yeah, good girl.” He grinds against you and his hands move you on his bare thigh, now coated with your slick. “Fuck, that wet for me.” Not just for him, but, yeah, that wet. His cock has hardened against your hip. “Mmm,” he moans into your mouth as his lips take yours again. Joel’s a good kisser too. A little more forceful, but still smooth. You’re thinking about Joel being under you. Imagining the first time you were in Joel’s basement, when he pulled you into his lap so decisively. You’re on the edge of bliss, sliding on Billy’s thigh. You bite your lip, then moan. “Yeah,” Billy encourages you.
When it’s clear you’re not quite there, Billy breathes, “Sit on me. C’mere.”
His mouth hangs slightly open, and his eyes are black with lust. You carefully lift your knee off the cushion between his legs, and the light touch of his hand helps you on top of him as he watches, spellbound. You lower yourself at just the right angle and moan at the first direct contact with the stiff shape in his shorts. Your eyelids are heavy.
He lifts up the hem of your beach dress, and you take it off. He moans at the sight of your body.
His lips remain slightly parted as his hips lift, grinding against you. He palms a breast, and you massage your other one. He begins to reach between you, fingertips sliding into his waistband, then looks behind you at the clock. “Sit on my face.”
He scoots down to put his head flat on the cushion, and you rise off his shorts. He takes his cock out with a sigh and spits on his fingers as you knee walk forward. He spreads the spit on his cock and breathes vocally, eyes on your tits. You could swear you smell his precum.
He unties your swimsuit bottom and lets half of it fall, leaving your slippery cunt bare. His palms on your ass bring you down, and his scruff drags against your inner thigh. His warm, humid breath envelopes your most sensitive place, then his lips make contact.
One hand leaves you to attend to his raging erection, and he grunts a short “mm” into your cunt at the relief. He laps at your entrance, licking upward, then latches onto the space just above that. He licks your clit, then sucks. He moans into the bundle of nerves, and your thighs tremble. He breaks away for short moments, breathing hot against your folds as he strokes his cock behind you. He eats you voraciously, and you whimper. He’s at just the right spot, doing just the right thing, and he keeps at it.
You brace your hands on the arm of the sofa and think about Joel looking up at you from between your legs. You take a deep breath and see stars. Your body twitches and you moan, riding your waves, with Billy moaning into your cunt. He gently laps at your entrance and strokes himself faster. As your climax wanes, you rise off his mouth, with Billy still stroking himself, not finished. He gathers slick from your folds, brings it to his cock, then pants pants, “How ‘bout another?” He begins to pull you back down.
“No,” you whisper, “that was perfect.” You allow him to keep you there, hovering over him.
“Wanna ride?” His voice is shaky as he keeps pumping his cock behind you.
“Not now,” you answer.
He turns his head slightly, seals his lips on your thigh, and sucks. You reach down between your legs and grab hold of his damp, salty hair to pry him off.
“Mmm,” he responds,“Yeah.” His strokes are heavier and so are his breaths. You experimentally tug at his hair again. He shudders, then paints his stomach in cum, with a warm squirt reaching your ass.
He scoots out from under you and asks for the third time, “you alright?”
You tie your swimsuit again and settle into the loveseat, face and chest still heated from your peak. “Yeah,” you nod.
He fixes his swim trunks then prowls toward you to give you a gentle kiss and you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re tasty, love,” he murmurs, then pulls away.
He puts on his rash guard, then points at you, “Aqua tonight.” Right, his DJ thing. He gets off the loveseat and looks at the clock. “Before I forget,” He grabs his bag and unzips a front pocket that looks to be full of condoms and pill baggies. He turns his head to ask, “How many of ya?”
“Three, I guess.”
He rummages around, then holds up a little baggie with three pills. “Just a little X.”
“Oh, I dunno if we’ll–”
He shrugs. “Might try it.” He looks at the clock and mutters, “shit.”
He presses the baggie into your palm and closes your hand. He holds up a few condoms and asks, “just in case?”.
---Joel----
On the road, Tommy and Maria talk and listen to music. In the back seat, Joel looks out the window, or he wants to look out the window, but he looks at his reflection. He can’t shake the feeling of your warm tears wetting his shirt, or the image of you kissing Billy, or the glance at what he’s pretty sure was a hickey on your neck. He’d be surprised if it wasn’t after what he saw the night before.
The further they get from the resort, the more Joel’s chest tightens. He takes out his phone to text you. He types, “I can’t leave you with him,” stares at it for a few seconds, then erases it.
Who even is he anymore?
Something clicks.
At a stoplight, he says, “Stop at that gas station.” Tommy parks at a pump. They need gas anyway., “Open the hatch,” Joel says. Tommy pops the trunk and gets out of the car to pump gas. Joel grabs his bag from the back and Tommy does a double take.
“You goin’ back?” Tommy asks, not shocked.
“Yeah.” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll find my way home.”
“We can take ya back,” Tommy offers, nodding in the direction of the resort.
“Nah,” Joel scratches the back of his neck. “Need the fresh air.”
He and Tommy share a brief, manly hug and pat on the back, then Joel walks off with his bag on one shoulder.
-
Joel’s coming for you. He might not have the right words, but he doesn’t need them. Never did. None of this was built on words. It was something unspoken under something physical and fierce. He pockets his phone and puts on his shades, walking with new resolve. There are things he wants to tell you, and some of them need words, but not all of them. The words can wait. They’ll come easier when you’re back where you belong.
Two hours later, he’s back at the hotel. He smells his own sweat soaking through his shirt, and his phone’s about to overheat.
“Long time no see,” the receptionist says.
“Yeah,” Joel mumbles without humor, then forces a smile. He gets a room, puts his things away, then heads out to find you.
You’re not at the pool. You’re not in any of the common areas.
He goes down to the beach, toward the surf lessons.
-
Billy’s showing off for a customer. Joel sits in the sand and waits. He admires the way Billy moves in the water, resenting him at the same time.
When Billy’s done, he walks up to Joel. Joel’s eyes fall on Billy’s swim trunks, then his mind goes to your hands, your mouth, your perfect cunt.
Billy extends his hand, and pulls Joel up. He pats Joel’s arm, then lets him go. “Got some time if ya wanna catch a wave.”
“Where is she?” Joel asks.
“I dunno, mate. Prob’ly with her friends?” He motions for Joel to follow him to the shack. Years ago, Billy more or less offered Joel a handjob in that shack. Joel declined, and that was that.
As they enter the shack, Billy unzips his quarter-zip long-sleeve top and pulls it off. He takes a sip of water, then wipes off his mouth. “So,” Billy starts. “What’s the story?” He turns up the water bottle again and it makes a high pitched sound as he sucks it. “Ex-lovers?” he asks with a smile.
Joel’s jaw clenches. He takes a breath through his nose and calms himself. “Not ex.”
Billy chokes on his water, then wipes his mouth again. “Does she know that?”
Joel rakes his hand through his hair, at a loss. “That’s my girl,” he nods, heart pounding.
“I don’t think she is, mate. Women aren’t property-”
“-cut the crap, Billy.” Joel’s chest is heaving.
Billy’s eyes fall to Joel’s right hand, which is flexing into a fist.
“Hit me if it makes ya feel better,” Billy puts down the water bottle and braces himself in a welcoming stance.
This fucker. No, Joel isn’t going to hit him.
Joel forces himself to relax, puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight, shaking his head at the floor.
Billy lunges toward him, light on his feet as if he’s gonna sucker punch Joel. It’s playful, but Joel drops his shoulder and tackles him to the floor before he can get in a jab.
On the floor, Billy fights back, eyes wild, but Joel’s too strong. He pins him with his left forearm on his chest, straddling him.
Billy grabs Joel’s left tricep. “Look at that,” he marvels. “Unbelievable.”
Joel looks into the blue eyes staring up at him and wonders if you’ve had this POV. For a brief moment, he’s tempted to slide his forearm up to his neck. Billy looks at Joel’s right hand which opens and shuts in the air, stretching.
“I can take it,” Billy urges. “C’mon, knock me around.”
Billy’s enthusiasm takes the wind out of Joel’s sails and brings him back to reality. He releases his forearm and sits back on his knees, still bracketing Billy’s hips. Joel slowly stands with a groan, then helps Billy to his feet.
—- Later at Aqua —--
Billy has given you the closest VIP table. You and your friends are sitting there with a drink. He points at you from his DJ booth, which is on a raised platform. All three of you hold up your drinks and smile at him.
Kari and Nahlah have had their eyes on a couple of guys who are finally approaching. It's a group of three. You decline to dance, so the third guy sits down to have a drink with you instead, shouting over the music, “HOW LONG ARE YOU IN TOWN?” You look past the man, and Billy is laughing, looking down at his mixer board. After indulging the man for another minute or so, you excuse yourself to the restroom, hoping the man will take the hint and disappear in your absence.
On the way to the restroom, you pass a couple of dark rooms with hall windows and suspect people might be fucking in there. The half-pill you’ve taken isn’t doing anything, but you know better than to double it just yet.
When you come out from the restroom, the guy is still at your table. You curse him under your breath and head outside for some fresh air.
-
You duck out a door that’s propped open. Smokers are milling about. A few partiers are comforting a crying friend. You walk just far enough to get some space from that scene and the artificial light. You lean against the brick wall to breathe. The tiniest droplets of sea water tingle merrily on your face. You open your mouth and can taste it in the air. You fill your lungs and savor the breath. A buzz hums from your skin.
Your dress has a slit on one side and is long enough that you can lift your knee and rest one foot on the wall behind you without exposing yourself—but that wouldn’t be the end of the world anyway. You watch palm leaves rustle in the ocean breeze and look at the sky. There are more stars here than at home. Maybe you should take a walk.
You’re still gazing into the sky when you notice someone in a colorful shirt approaching. They flick their cigarette away and it sparks. You smile, and as they come into focus, they turn into Joel.
Are you rolling that hard after half a pill? You’ve still got your wits about you, don’t you? You watched Joel leave this morning, and you’ve never seen him dressed like this. The colors vibe perfectly on his silk shirt, and a gold chain sparkles underneath. His curls are fluffier than earlier.
He slowly approaches and wets his lips when he’s a few feet away. His eyes rove your body. When he’s close enough, he rests his hand on the brick wall to lean over you. He smells like cloves. He looks tired. He leans a little closer, and you look him in the eyes.
“Thought you left,” you mutter.
He shakes his head, and continues to gaze into your eyes. “Couldn’t do it.”
You run a hand up his chest, palm gliding across his shirt. His chest is strong, and the fabric is like cool shaving cream under your fingers. In the back of your mind, you still have so many questions, but you don’t ask them. Not now.
“You can be mad at me,” his brows knit and he nods twice. ”I deserve that.” His eyes lock on yours. “But I'm not gonna let ya go.”
Your nipples harden with a chill, and your lips part.
His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and you tilt your chin up. His eyes fall further, to your neck, and he inhales sharply through his nose. You turn your head the other way. Still braced on the wall, he nudges your chin so he can look at the bruising. You feel his heart rate quicken under your hand, and you slide your hand up to the cold sweat beading on his neck.
His thumb brushes over the bruising. He brings his mouth and nose to the other side and grazes your sensitive skin with his nose. His tongue teases you and you shiver, then he plants his lips. He grunts softly as he marks you. His breath hits your wet skin as he lingers there to murmur, “Missed how ya taste.”
He returns to the bruised side of your neck and licks the mark, tenderly, then harder. It’s sore, but you don’t react. For a moment, his lips lay plush and soft against your damaged skin. Then he opens his mouth wide. He scrapes his teeth, then plants his lips and sucks, and you try not to flinch but let out a little gasp. He tongues and sucks at it for almost five seconds before releasing you.
He soothes the spot with the light touch of his lips, then kisses up your jaw, to your ear, where he murmurs, “What are you on, and how much?”
You tell him.
“Should be fine,” he mutters to himself as he pulls his head back.
“Why?”
He looks back and forth between your eyes. “Wanna make sure you remember.”
You wet your lips and swallow.
He’s close enough that his body heat enhances yours. His whole presence is a warm embrace. You half-heartedly try to conjure what you went through earlier—the hurt, the resolve not to let it happen again. You can’t find it under your affection, wonder, and empathy. Something tells you it’s going to be okay.
He looks at your neck again.
You open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off, “Shh.” He takes your hand and leads you back inside.
-
It’s dark, minus the red and pink lights washing over the dance floor, which is crowded but not quite packed. He gets two soda waters from the bar, and you sit down in the VIP booth. He has his arm around you, caressing your shoulder. Soon, you have your legs in his lap, just happy to have him close. You reach into your dress for the small plastic baggie. Joel is watching the dance floor and idly stroking your leg as you pour the other piece of the pill into your hand. Some of it is powder by now. Joel’s eyes return just in time to see you put it on your tongue.
He squeezes your chin to open your mouth, then, with the same hand, sticks two massive fingers between your lips to retrieve the pill. “You don’t need this,” he mutters, then sticks what remains of the pill in his mouth and takes a sip of water. “What else ya got in there?” Joel feels you up through the fabric on and around your tits, and his eyebrows shoot up when his hand catches on something.
He shoves his hand down your dress and finds it tucked under your arm: a small, foil square. He turns it over and the clear backing reveals a glow-in-the-dark condom. He tosses it onto the table, then pulls you tighter against him. Your hip brushes a warm bulge in his soft black pants, and it twitches. These pants would be so easy to slip your hand into, you just know it. But before you can try, he brings his mouth to your ear. “C’mon, let’s dance.”
-
On the dance floor, Joel stands behind you, and his heavy arms snake around your torso. He moves with you, with the music, and runs his palms over your dress. His dick hardens, and those silky pants leave nothing to the imagination as the vivid outline grinds against you. You lose yourself in his touch, in the soft rub of his cock, until you sense someone watching and glance toward the DJ booth. Billy smiles to himself and goes back to his mixing board. Joel shamelessly grabs your tit again. You’re already so wet for him. In the corner of your eye, you see Billy still watching but pretend you don’t notice.
“You’re so damn hot,” Joel growls right against your ear as he massages your breast and grinds against you with his arm crossing your body and one hand on your hip. “Uggh,” he groans in arousal. He jostles behind you, adjusting his pants, then gathers the long skirt of your dress. He covers your ass with himself before the air has a chance to hit you. Then his hard, naked cock slides between your thighs. You gasp and look back. He kisses the side of your neck. You’re gushing all over him. Your thong is soaked through, and he’s sliding along your folds, hot and hard. He moans in your ear. His tip pushes the front of your dress out with every thrust through that warm, wet sleeve of your thighs against your cunt.
Each pass of his tip makes you need him so bad. You turn your head back to say, “Let’s go somewhere.”
“You want it?” he asks and slides out from your thighs, reaching down between you to put his dick away before letting your skirt down.
You nod and begin to lead him to the restroom, but he firmly holds your elbow. You turn around and put your arms around his neck to plead, “Let’s go,” nodding toward the bathrooms. He grabs your ass and grinds against your front, raging hard. He holds you close and you give up for the moment.
He dips his head and noses your chin up. His lips brush a sore area, and you twitch. You slot your fingers into his curly locks, making him growl silently into your skin. "Joel," you sigh. "Let's go."
Either he doesn't hear you or pretends not to. "Mmm," his hum vibrates into your skin. He pries his lips off your neck only to plant them on your mouth. Your tongues meet, and you need him, you really need him. Now.
After a few seconds of bliss, you break the kiss to plead, "Let’s go." He reads your face and shakes his head no as a dim red light falls over you in passing. Your mouth falls open in protest. He grinds against you, letting his answer sink in. And in case there's any doubt, he brings his lips to your ear. "Gonna take it right here."
He gathers the front of your dress. You swallow, stunned and throbbing in anticipation.
He takes his cock out under your dress, then lifts one of your thighs, and you hook it around him. He keeps your raised knee against him. Your shoes are just the right height. He pulls your thong to the side and there’s no mistaking how wet and ready you are. Right away, he notches at your entrance. You tilt your hips. His fingers dig into your thigh and the plush of your ass. He plunges in with a grunt, pushing a gasp out of you as he divides your walls in what feels like slow motion. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back as his cock makes its place inside you. He holds you against himself, and your leg stays hiked up as he retreats, then begins to slide into you to the beat of the music. He brings his lips to your ear. “Ohh–good girl.”
You’d envisioned this every day since the last time and somehow forgot it was this good. He holds you close, his body flexing, expertly moving inside yours. You’ve missed this, you’ve really missed it. He grunts and moans into your hair, unrestrained. The music is loud enough.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he practically shouts, holding you by the ass and thigh as he fucks up into you. It’s a thrill being full of his cock in a sea of people. The song changes and you glance toward the DJ booth. Billy is looking right at you. Joel’s pace slows to match the new tempo. You melt into his arms with the perfect shape of his length dragging between your walls. Billy’s eyes smile, and he slowly nods. You catch him adjusting himself just below the DJ table which makes your walls twitch. You bite your lip.
The grip of Joel’s fingers tightens, pressing firmly into your flesh. Billy’s hand is still below the mixing table when Joel turns your face back toward him and kisses you. Everything else fades away except his mouth on yours and his cock thrusting into you. The smooth slide of his tongue makes you twitch. His thrusts become sharper, deeper with the aid of his bruising grip, and your mouths break apart with labored breaths and moans. God, you’re wet, and only getting wetter.
Joel searches your eyes as he thrusts into you. The lights wash over you again, and his pupils are wide. You gaze at each other, and you hold the back of his head, fingers tangling in his long curls as he slowly fucks you on the dance floor. There’s a glance from one or two dancers, but no one cares.
You steal another glance at Billy, and he looks to be in a trance with his mouth hanging slightly open. He wets his lip and he closes his mouth, then runs his hand through his hair. You bury your face in Joel’s neck, and his familiar scent enhances everything. Pleasure is building more with each thrust of his cock making you whole. Nothing compares to this.
Joel grunts and sighs, and twitches. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs. Is he going to come like this? God, he’s sexy. He tilts his head down and noses your nose so your chin tilts up and he finds your lips again. He kisses you sloppily, loosely, breathing and grunting, and the way he fills you up— shit, he feels good. Are you going to come like this?
“Don’t let me fall,” you plead.
He stares at your lips and his mouth draws yours in. He bottoms out and stays deep, moving in short pulses, holding you so your front grinds against his.
You break the kiss to sigh, “Fuck.” You whimper against his lips as it overtakes you in slow motion. You don’t hold back. The moan rips out of your chest as your body clenches around his. You pulse, and your body spasms. He holds you tighter. “Ohh,” you moan.
“Oh, baby,” He pants. Each thrust is sharp. “Oh, fuck,” he bottoms out and groans as he pulses powerfully. “Ohhh.” He holds you still as you milk his cock. “Ohh, gg–unghhh.” When he’s nearly spent, an air horn sounds. Joel groans, and you both look toward Billy. He nods and gives a low thumbs up as the last of Joel’s cum dribbles into you. Joel laughs into your hair, “I’m gonna kill’m.”
Joel dips his knees to let his cock slide out. He lets your leg down, then your dress, and fixes his pants. He holds you for a whole song. His cum dribbles down your thigh, and you don't even wipe it with your dress.
“Let's get outta here.”
-
You look for your friends, and they're still with the guys from earlier. Joel waits as you go over and say goodbye. When you return, he puts his arm around you as you walk outside.
Outside, he hugs you as you wait for an uber. The night has dulled your anxiety, but it’s still there somewhere, and it reveals itself as you think about spending the night with him.
“I still don’t understand,” you whisper.
“I know, baby. Ya will. Promise.”
“Can you just answer one thing?” He waits for your question. “Who drives a black Mercedes?”
You pull back to watch him react.
“Black Mercedes. . .” His brow furrows and he searches the pavement for an answer.
“The SUV you were in.”
“Oh, pumpkin’,” his face softens. “Just my lawyer, baby.” He kisses you on the forehead, which pauses your thoughts and weakens your eyes.
Your phone buzzes with a call from Kari, but the call cuts off. Kari hasn’t texted, but in your messaging app, there’s a new group thread with three unread:
“come over to mine,” Billy had texted minutes ago. Then, “key’s under the cactus.”
Joel had already responded, “not tonight.”
---
---
---
if you want the lore about the surf shack in didn't years ago here it is
I'm watching the comments and rbs for what people are excited about and what people want to see 👀
Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate your patience and support. Your love of night walks Joel and investment in these two makes me really happy. Love you guys 🖤
@silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading @rainstorms-library
#night walks!joel#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#billy skeleton twins#billy boyd x reader#toxicanonymity ☠️#boyd holbrook smut#pedro pascal smut#crossover#cw dubcon#cw drugs#female reader#cw talk of being clean#joel miller x female reader#cw stalker energy#the skeleton twins#cw infidelity adjacent#boyd bungalow ☠️#👱♂️#boyd holbrook
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I think these Pedro’s fans experiences and the Pedro himself answer on Reddit are enough to understand who he is and what happened to that “pseudo- fan” in Malta.
#pedro pascal#game of thrones#joel miller#oberyn martell#daddy pascal#fyp#got#papi pascal#the mandalorian#stalker#fandom#fans#pedrohub#jose pedro balmaceda pascal
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Watchful Eyes
Pairing: Joel Miller! Stalker boyfriend! x female reader
Summary: Joel hates when you go drinking.
Content Warning: shit writing, I’m drunk soooooo, stalker boyfriend Joel, reader is female and drinks alcohol, not seeing red flags.
Note: I’m drunk and this is trash.
Joel hated this—your one day of the two of you not working; and yet you’d insisted on seeing your friend, your best friend. You insisted. Pleaded, tried to make him see reason, that this was worth it, for you.. it was something that you’d hardly ever got to do. The stress of work and trying to keep a healthy relationship was diffficult, and Joel knew the struggle too.
He had to unlearn how to check your location, eyes lingering on the text chat where you’d messaged fifteen minutes ago stating you loved him. But did you really, if you’d not replied to his message. Could he really change his habits? Probably not.
12am rolls around and still no sign of you.
“Call me baby. Where are you?” You were drinking with your friend, of course a few others, all female, which he was thankful for. But that wasn’t enough to stop his mind from wondering. Maybe you’d explore something about yourself if only surrounded by women.
“Got some people coming over. Talk soon!” You texted back as normally as you could, thanks to auto correct.
He growls at the text, why in the world would you message him something so vague, who was coming over, when, were you going somewhere? When would you be home? Were there going to be men? He dreaded it, the anxiety and insecurity he faced as being with someone as beautiful as you.
“Fuckin Jesus Christ!” He cursed to himself, as his fists slammed onto the recliner he sat on. He trusted you, of course he did. You were a sweet woman, a loyal and wonderful women who had never given him a reason to ever doubt him. So why did he?
He didn’t trust a single soul to care for his girl. Especially while she was under the influence.. vulnerable.
As he started his car, he thought of every reason to excuse his irrational behaviour. He wanted to make sure you were safe, cared for, that no one were trying to grab onto you with their venomous hands. “Need to make sure you’re okay.” He murmured as his truck roared to life. Like all of his actions would be excused somehow if he said it aloud.
It’s almost humourous, how close you lived to your friend. Less than two minutes drive, a few streets away.. but he knew they would recognise his car, it was blantanly obvious, a white pickup with all of his construction gear on the back. So he turns the truck off and the lights, letting it roll down the hill until he can see you, standing on the balcony with a drink in your hand.
Only then does he pull the hand break as quietly as he can. He readjusts his blue cap so that he can tuck his stray curls under them, they’re unruly, and blocking whatever vision he has of you… finally.
You’re laughing. Of course you are, you’re a social creature when you drink, a few friends surround you as you make them all laugh. God he’s jealous—no, envious. Why couldn’t it be him? Hearing your sweet laugh and seeing those wonderful eyes staring into his own as he hears whatever you’ve said is so funny.
He texts you again, he can see your friends frown, and complain about how clingy he is, how you have no freedom where Joel is concerned. “Oh shut it you guys he loves me!” You excuse his behaviour and frown as you read the text.
“Oh.. Joel’s sick. I need to get him to the hospital. It could be his heart.” Your friends all give each other a look. You’re frantically packing your belongings before they could protest and Joel drives the short way home, getting into bed before you even start your car to drive home.
“Joel?” You call out wearily. He coughs and murmurs distantly.. “baby?”
Mad, you see him, your heart drops, his cheeks are stained with tears and his hand is clutching his chest. “Oh baby you look like you’re really struggling.” He can only nod at her shoulder as you come closer.
“It’s better now that you’re here. Thank you for coming. I really thought I was a goner..”
Fingers caress his outgrowing stubble.. “I’m here baby. Let’s get to bed.”
The alcohol still flowed through you—your veins, but you were holding him, and he’d never let you know that he smiled as you lie behind him, tucking him under the fleece blanket.
Joel was a bad man, and he loved it. For as long as you were his, he would do anything it took to keep you safe.
#anyway I’m absolutely plastered#drunk writing drunk rambles#imagine Joel#stalker Joel#the last of us#joel miller#pedro pascal#female x reader#Joel miller fanfic
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The Last of Us Part II
#the last of us#the last of us part 2#the last of us part ii#ellie#joel#joel miller#joel and ellie#ellie x dina#abby#cordyceps#infected#zombie#clicker#runner#bloater#shambler#stalker#seattle#naughty dog#ashley johnson#troy baker#laura bailey#neil druckmann
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me finding out about stalkers
#except i erased stalkers from my entire memory so tlou 2 was Not Fun#incorrect quotes#hbo tlou#joel miller#ellie williams#tess tlou
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Last of Us
#last of us#joel miller#ellie williams#tv series#aesthetic#bloater#clickers#stalkers#runners#riley abel#sarah miller#moodboard
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will you make a masterlist for all of your fics?
ITS FINALLY HERE !! Get ur vibrator & a bucket of popcorn for this wild ride 😁 It’s probably not everything but it’s most, srry :( some r drabbles, some r not
There will be more to come!
Bunny’s Masterlist ♡
Warning: contains 18+ themes
(read content warnings pls!!)
Scream (Ethan Landry, Chad Meeks Martin, Amber Freeman):
Perv! Sub! Neighbor Ethan with bimbo! Reader (smut)
Camp Counselor! Ethan Landry bending you over a picnic table and fucking you raw (smut)
Sub! Ethan and bimbo! Reader going down on each other <3 (smut)
Fucking stepbrother! Ethan Landry on a camping trip (smut)
Subby himbo Ethan (smut)
Ultraviolence- Stepbrother! Ethan Landry feat. Chad Meeks Martin (not completed yet) (mostly smut w/plot)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Sub! Chad meeks Martin only wanting to please you (smut)
Mutual masturbation with stepbrother! Ethan (smut)
Somnophilia with stepbrother! Ethan (smut)
Getting caught being with Stepbrother! Ethan Landry (angst)
Lactation kink with Ethan (smut)
Ethan marking you with his cum (smut)
Getting punished by Ethan and Chad (smut)
Service top Chad with sub! Ethan and reader (smut)
Ethan tied up and overstimulated (smut)
Knifeplay with sub! Ethan (smut)
Pegging Ethan (smut)
Chad and bimbo! Reader teaching sub! Ethan how to give head (smut)
Bimbo! Reader using a fleshlight on sub! Ethan (smut)
Sub! Ethan Headcannons (smut)
Dom! Reader with sub! Ethan and brat! Chad (smut)
Helping sub! Ethan relieve stress (smut)
Overstimulating sub! Ethan while riding him (smut)
Blowing Ethan in his knight costume (smut)
Perv! Ethan x bimbo! Reader (smut)
Somnophilia with Stalker! Ethan (smut)
Soft dom! Ethan and soft sex (smut)
Ethan with bimbo! Reader Headcannons (smut)
Chad and Ethan taking turns with sub! Reader (smut)
Sub! Ethan getting rimmed & pegged (smut)
Knifeplay with Amber Freeman (smut)
“stepbrother I’m stuck” trope with Ethan (smut)
Ethan wearing your underwear <3 (smut)
Dark! Ethan Landry Headcannons (smut)
Vampire! Ethan Landry x Werewolf! Chad Meeks Martin x reader (smut)
Outer Banks (Rafe Cameron, Pope Heyward, Barry)
Obx Porn Links
Dark! Rafe Cameron Headcannons (sfw & nsfw)
Best friend! Rafe taking your virginity (smut)
Sub! Rafe (smut)
Rafe with a crazy reader (mentions of sex)
Rafe brainrot (smut)
Stepbrother! Rafe comforting reader (hinted smut, fluff)
Barry with bimbo! Reader Headcannons (smut involved)
Gunplay with dom! Barry (smut)
Spiderman! Pope hcs (sfw & nsfw)
Barry kidnapping cameron! Reader (smut)
Dark! Rafe Headcanons (smut + sfw)
Florida Kilos— Rafe Cameron x fem! Best friend! Reader (smut w/ plot)
Part 1
Predator/pray kink with rafe (smut)
stepbro! Rafe fluff :)
Fear Street (Tommy Slater and Nick Goode)
older! Nick Goode + fucking you in his office (smut)
Kissing Tommy for the first time (no smut)
Sweet Serial Killer - Younger! Gf! Nick Goode x reader
Part 1
The Hunger Games (Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Sejanus Plinth, Reaper Ash)
fucking switch! Finnick in the arena while everyone watches (smut)
Coriolanus with a breeding kink and an escort! reader (smut)
Virgin! Coryo fucking Sejanus’ girl (smut) pt 2.
angsty reaper ash blurb (smut)
Sejanus + size kink blurb (smut)
coryo + jealous reader blurb (smut)
Cowboy! Coriolanus au (smut)
Angst + dark coryo & plinth! Reader (smut)
munch coryo x maid! Reader (smut)
virgin! Coryo blurb (smut)
Sub! Coryo fucking his way up to the top (literally) (smut) pt 2
The Last of Us (Joel Miller)
Somnophilia with dark! dbf! Joel + grinding (smut)
Avatar (Jake Sully)
size kink with Jake (smut)
House of the Dragon (Aegon Targaryen)
sub! Aegon with Aemond’s wife (smut)
Halloween Series (Corey Cunningham)
blurb of giving Corey head <3 (smut)
The Lost Boys (Star)
a cozy night with star <3 (smut)
Spider-Man (Miguel O’Hara)
Miguel taming you (smut)
American Psycho (Patrick Bateman)
Patrick x trad goth! Bimbo! Reader (smut with some complicated feelings)
Saw (Adam Stanheight, Mark Hoffman, Peter Strahm, Amanda Young)
night terrors and handjobs (smut with angst)
mark coming home to his lover (smut)
Cockwarming with Mark + a threeway with Strahm (smut)
a little psycho! Fem! Reader x Adam blurb (smut)
dom! Adam (smut)
yandere! Mark blurb (smut)
eating out dom! Amanda (smut)
Hayden Christensen (Anakin Skywalker)
spanking with modern! Punk! Anakin (smut)
Insatiable (aka, dbf! Neighbor! Anakin and his many affairs with you) — masterlist (smut with plot)
Dbf Anakin! + flashing + milkshakes = fucking (smut)
Anakin x overwhelmed reader blurb (smut)
Anakin + reader with bad memory (fluff)
Dbf! Anakin + religious reader (smut)
Queen of the Damned (Lestat De Lioncourt)
bath scene with sub! Lestat & reader (smut)
Fnaf (Mike Schmidt)
Mike nsfw headcanons (smut)
small lil Mike x succubus blurb (smut)
#bunny’s masterlist ੈ✩‧₊˚#masterlist#outer banks#obx#scream#scream 6#scream iv#ethan landry#Chad meeks Martin#rafe Cameron#barry (outer banks)#p. links
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you have me, you have me only
joel miller x reader
you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k
a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3
___
"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."
The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.
"How's the head?"
Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.
"I'll live."
He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.
"Thanks for back there," he says.
You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell.
"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."
You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.
But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.
He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."
"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?
"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."
Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"
"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."
He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.
"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."
The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.
"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."
"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."
Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.
"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."
Jesse laughs.
Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.
It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.
You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.
The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.
He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.
"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.
Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.
"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"
"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."
His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.
Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.
In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.
"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.
"You wanna explain...this, then?"
His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.
But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.
You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.
"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."
He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.
But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.
Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.
"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."
He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.
"Gotta clean that," he says.
"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."
Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.
"Shower," he says. "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.
You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.
"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."
More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.
It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.
You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.
But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.
You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain.
Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.
"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"
"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."
The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on.
Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.
He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"
You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.
"What're we dealin' with, here?"
You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.
"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."
"You sure?"
You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.
"Cut could use a stitch."
He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.
"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."
His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.
"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"
"Joel."
He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."
You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.
"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.
"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.
"Nothin' broken," he says.
"Told you."
He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.
"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'
You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.
"How was your patrol?" you ask him.
He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.
"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."
The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.
Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.
"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."
You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.
It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.
But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.
You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.
"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."
"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."
"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.
"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."
Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.
"Fuckin' hate those things."
"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."
"Should've been wearing gloves."
You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."
"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.
He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.
But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.
The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.
"Lucky me," you say softly.
You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.
Joel drags his lips along your cheek.
"Knees," he says.
He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.
"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."
He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”
You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.
"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."
"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.
"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.
He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"
"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."
You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.
The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.
You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."
He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."
"Now who's flirting?"
Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.
You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.
Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.
He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.
And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.
It's just another way he takes care of people.
"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"
"And hungry."
He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.
"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.
You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.
"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."
"C'mon, now."
He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.
"I'll heat some soup."
Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.
He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.
You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.
"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."
He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."
"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"
Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.
Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.
"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"
You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.
Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.
But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.
Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.
Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.
Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.
You can hold each other in the dark.
"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."
You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."
Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.
"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."
It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.
thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!
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CARNAL / 6: DEVOUR
Chapter 5 / Masterlist
Summary: 4.5k, f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brattamer!joel
It didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.
Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, cum eating, car sex, anal play, dominate & aggressive joel, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth + WAY MORE. This is filthy. Gotta feed you after being gone for so long.
A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. Maybe. I kinda went feral. Love you <3 Let me know what you think & what’s gonna happen to these two.
"I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones. Try to be gentle when you rip me apart.”
- Jamaal May
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You woke up that morning (the second time), around 10AM on Joel Miller’s couch. He was standing at the counter, back to you. His shoulder blades flexing under his thin shirt. His hair was getting long, kissing the nape of his neck. It was curly at the ends, too. Ruffled, reminiscent of hands being flushed through it. Yours. You wonder now if he’d let it grow or would let it meet its end.
Was this your end?
Turn around Joel.
Please.
You started to open your mouth but he spoke up. “Didn’t want her t’see you in my bed.”
He still hadn’t turned, his voice silently echoing against the tiled back wall of his kitchen. It was soft, still commanding in its baritone. He wasn’t angry anymore… couldn't have been. He had already accepted the invitation and stored it away for later, too. He sat a cup of coffee in front of you and sat across from you at his table. He bent down beside you and whispered, “She hasn’t come out yet. I swear to God f’she heard you fucking screaming last night I—“
Sarah’s bedroom door shook closed. She was walking down the stairs now, fake yawning as if she had only opened her eyes seconds before. She looked tired, as if someone had been keeping her up all night. The chair creaked beneath Joel’s thighs as he settled backwards into it, tearing himself away from your reprimand.
Of course he was mad. Delusional. That’s what this was. Sneaking around your best friends house, fucking her dad? And the thing was, it didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.
He had made a permanent indentation in his bed with your body, fucking you into it, and then he carried you down the stairs and to the couch like it was nothing, right past her door. Like you hadn’t been dripping on the dark hardwood the entire time he carried you here. Like your muffled screams fell silent to other ears.
Fuck.
He would, too— devour you. And you would sit at his feet and watch as he chewed the love from your ribs. “Thank you, Joel. Thank you. Please, more. Take more of me.”
His snarl when he realized it was you. How angry he was that you were making him do something like this; taking his daughter's best friend and filling her womb with himself, in the most selfish way he could think to tie himself to you. But if that didn’t give, then the raised skin of his initials would do. How dare you open that door and guide him to temptation, as if he wasn’t completely releasing himself into it already? Into you. Onto you.
She hit the bottom step and looked around the living room. “You’re up early.” It was directed at you, but she turned to Joel and spoke in his direction, mirroring him a million times before as her chin tilted slightly down— eyes settling upwards. Big, brown eyes beckoning. And then seconds later her face softens and she gives you both the “I’m not fucking oblivious to this” look.
You laid there and listened to them go about their morning, in his safe space. He smiled real big when he realized she was still happy to see him, of course. Why wouldn’t she be? This has been a man who stood between her and anything that could ever possibly hurt her. He was her shield. And it hurt, still. That he couldn’t really be yours. He was undressing you, instead. Taking off the metal plating and throwing it to the ground. And it was hard to remember that this man was years your senior, your dad’s best friend. He was someone who had been following you for months, paying you to defile your frail body for him. He had hunted you down and sunk his teeth into your skin, bone, marrow. His fingers into your mouth and through the desperation of your thigh.
He scratched his way into your life and you let him, because he feels so good. It was so hard to remember that he was not a good man. Despite his reverence to Sarah’s being. Despite the hole he’s dug through your chest.
Joel Miller was a murderer in his own regard. He hunts you out and down, gets what he wants and then serves you a slow, painful, death. You were sure of it.
Why can’t you be a good man?
Why can’t I have a good man?
You ate breakfast together, the three of you sitting at their two-person table. You were in the middle, one knee touching him and the other, Sarah. He felt of fire, every inch of his denim that touched your naked knees. It rubbed against the rawness of last night, where you were looking up at him, mouth stuffed, praying to him. His cock, as it slid languidly down and up your throat. “Birdie,” he whispered into your hair over and over. Fists full of you. A prayer, a question, a deep rumbling.
Birdie Birdie Birdie.
“Birdie.”
You returned to yourself and realized he was trying to get your attention. It dawned on them that he had just called you the girlish nickname in front of his daughter. It was a moment too late, already it passed his lips and christened the air around him. The melody in his voice changed.
Sarah dropped her fork and it rang through the plate, sending fissures through the porcelain as it echoed the quiet room.
“Who?”
“I’ve called people that before. C’mon. Jus’ like I used to call… fuck what’s her name? Hanna. Just like I used to call Hanna, Ladybug? Remember? Jus’a nickname Sar.”
Excuse me?
“You know exactly why I’m upset. It wasn’t just a nickname for her Dad. You know that.”
“Just a fucking nickname, Jesus.” He was angry that he was being questioned. Outed.
Caught.
It made sense they held secrets for each other. Ones that only swim to the surface during fights. You sat at the two-person table, three people deep. You, sitting outside of your body while the real you is turning your head towards Joel, now. Eyes eating into his own, gnawing on the beauty of them. You try to figure out who the fuck Hanna is. If she’s played this same game before, too. How far did she get? How far was Joel’s cock inside of her? How did he find her?
How old was she?
Sarah was quiet during breakfast. Everyone was. You cleaned the dishes and she rubbed them dry, silently beside you. Joel left as soon as the last bit of ketchup and hashbrowns left his plate. He walked out of the doorway and sat in his chair in front of the TV. He turned the volume out and pretended like he wasn’t leaving his girls to figure it out. He would let you do the hard part.
He always does.
“Sarah, I—“
“Do you know who Ladybug is? He didn’t tell you, did he? He didn’t fucking tell you. I knew it. I knew it,” your name passed out of her chest violently. “He got you too, he got you. I to—He promised me he wouldn’t do it again I-I—“
Suddenly she was too worked up for it to stay between the two of you. Joel’s voice carried from the living room as you hurried after her trying to meet him in the middle. Her fingers already pointing in his direction as he walked towards her with his arms out.
“Joel Miller, you fucking perv—“ calling him by his name.
“Sarah. He hasn’t done anything bad to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I feel held with him. ‘Member the conversation we had? About how you somehow understood that he and I are similar in a way I haven’t been able to find with anyone else. He— he takes care of me.”
She winced, visibly hit.
“I’ll bet he does.” She spat.
“Hey, s’not like that baby girl.” He was begging.
“Get out of my fucking house, Birdie.” She mocked, completely ignoring anything falling out of your mouth.
So you sat down the dish silently and walked towards the door.
You. You were the first casualty of war. Not even him. Never him. He gazed into you, seeing you. Like he usually did, but never said.
“She was my babysitter and she was his little Ladybug, Birdie,” she spit. You were still in a locked gaze with Joel, body halfway out of their front door.
He turned and looked away.
You walked out of the door.
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It had been two months and 26 days since he carved his initials into your begging flesh. A scrappy ‘JM’ slightly sideways, now slightly raised on your inner thigh. You found yourself tracing it sometimes, wondering if you left any invisible marks on him. Probably not. Your skin is pink and soft, new. It has spent its days tucked away against your heat, hidden from the light. From the man who put them there. Whenever you were sleeping that night, he must have invisibly carved himself into you a thousand more times, because your skin is festering in his absence. His fingertips, name, gripping hands, all falling into the creases of him, left upon you. Long ago bruised and now just scabbed over in refusal to let you return to that night.
That’s what I felt like every single time you texted Sarah, “Can we talk? Please?” or, “I am sorry, please let me explain. Miss you.” She never reads them, infact, they never get to her. She blocked you. And that hurt so much more than just leaving you on read.
Suddenly your skin is ripped open again, by the teeth of your own guilt. Of another lie added to the bracket. But alas, you return home, lock the door, and let him free again in the only way you can— by stripping yourself naked and opening your thighs to the light.
It’s easier to hold a funeral when it's your own. Here lies yet another person who didn't save you— who didn’t stick around to see it through. Whatever it was.
You've been discarded before, it wasn’t a new phenomenon. Rather it was one your chest is familiar with— knows the aching well. Although oftentimes you weren’t even left, just sat to the side, unnoticed and quiet. No one had really done you the favor of actually leaving, never really departing; all still loosely lingering around, almost like they were orbiting you. A distant star in the night sky. Then, like a meteorite, Joel. He became your refuge, a far-off celestial body that crashed into yours. Free from the chaos, cradling you in his arms.
He wasn't just a mosaic of broken mass and matter forcibly reassembled; thrown and kneeled like dough. He embodied the resilience of stardust, a reminder that matter never truly vanishes but transforms into something or someone new. Filtered through fingers above to loosen their ties to who they were before, or what. Joel was something before, to you. Maybe on another plane, he was bending you over his knees right now. His hand kissing your skin— Good morning, Birdie. His touch a gentle caress against your skin, with a warmth that felt like the first rays of dawn. Warmth that would completely devour the incessant nightmares. And the truth of him.
Wake up.
Another nightmare.
They never really ended, the fucked up silver screen tucked tightly against your hippocampus, played on and on. They seethed and sang their screamed pain to the night. Bursting out in missing, of emptiness and holiness (not of the Godly kind).
There was a hole, burrowing itself into your breastplate, spreading and grasping for whatever it can grab hold of, inching ever closer to your heart. You screamed his name like it came directly from him, like he planted it there, kissed it on its forehead goodnight, a silent promise, and then walked out the door and never returned. It was kind of like that— his leaving, the absence of him. So your brain held close whatever it still could and replayed it to you every night. It felt like dying. Like wanting to rip-the-wall-open-and-set-yourself-in-there-too, dying. Plaster over yourself and have some professional match the paint color perfectly, so that it's as if you were never gone from him or his room, dying. His ruined sheets on behalf of your body. Rotting.
Joel told you that he wouldn’t clip your wings, not just yet. What had set off the ‘yet’? He was haunting you, now, the whispers of his voice fading more each day. You thought about that morning so much that you haven’t been present in your own, in weeks.
You haven’t painted in weeks, either. They were sitting against your wall in your childhood room, not even able to face the outside world. Just the canvas beside it. A mirror.
You had been writing more though, filling pages of a journal you didn’t even know you had. The cover was foiled, gold and glistening. Water Serpents l, Gustav Klimt, 1907. You’d always preferred Water Serpents II. Where the fuck did this come from?
Sarah probably left it here in the beginning of summer. She came over daily, helped you unpack. Laughed with you. Held you in that way. Took pictures of you amongst your things.
“You’re like… a big girl now.” She said.
You’d always had a poster of Der Kuss hanging above your bed. It moved with you, from your room to a dorm room, apartment, and back. On her knees for him, engulfed in him. Her feet hanging over the edge, facing some other reality. He held her head in his large hands and kissed her Goodbye. Goodnight. Drift softly into the night.
I imagine he stayed on his knees and watched the flowers shrivel. First, the ones upon her dress and hair, then he picked every single flower in the field they graced and watched them shrink and gasp for life, too. But he stayed.
You remember Dr. Andrews, walking to center stage of the auditorium on a foggy Wednesday morning, four semesters ago. It was 45 minutes into a 3 hour chapter titled: Byzantine Frescoes: Life In Gold. “Each work aids final comprehension of the allegory, which represents the mystical union of spiritual and erotic love and the merging of the individual with the eternal cosmos.” That of Der Kuss. Eternal cosmos.
You felt as if you were meant to be with him. Regardless of the rage you felt towards him. How he had just magically been there at every intersection of your life, thus far. How your parents loved him. Sarah. Meeting her again, or the first time even. All synchronicities pointing to the both of you. Joel and Birdie, sittin’ in a tree.
Whenever you felt control slipping, you would write down the words of someone else. Sometimes it was too hard to find your own in the strung-together way you wanted them. But people have been talking, crying, wailing into the night, since forever ago. You found something that stuck a key into your heart and opened it. This fell out:
“I hated him because I could not remain detached, could not remain standing at the top of the stairs watching him depart. I felt myself going down with him, within him, because his pain and flight were so familiar to me. I descended with him, and lost myself, passed into him, became one with him like his shadow.”
- Anaïs Nin, Winter of Artifice
Your pen gave out, stopping its bleeding before you even reached the end of shadow.
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You had been at home a lot more the past couple of weeks, in a perpetual state of ‘no-call-backs’ from jobs and The Miller’s. You hid from arguing like you’d never left. Like you weren’t nearly 25 years old. You listened to wildfire over and over.
“Been home longer than expected. Looking for a job or just gonna stay here forever?”
“Yeah, Dad. No one is calling back. I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.” He always says it under his breath, not even looking you in your fucking eyes.
Yeah. Not hard enough.
“How ‘bout you ask Joel if you can work for them as some assistant or something?”
You try not to outwardly scoff. “I’m not talking to Sarah right now. Please don’t invite the Miller’s to anything, just for a while.” You knew exactly what was coming up. But you turned to him and looked in his eyes— something you shied away from him most days, thinking that sudden reveal would get your point across. He spoke before you could, again.
“What’d you do this time?” He looked away.
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It didn’t surprise you one bit when Joel fucking Miller, in the biting flesh, walks past you in your own backyard, three months and 28 days later. Eyes tearing into where another man’s hand rested upon the small of your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. John caught his eye, his fingers releasing from your skin upon Joel’s wandering scowl.
Looks like he wasn’t expecting him either.
John was standing at your side. You decided you’d meet him first, as to not have a reply of the last time you met one of your customers. He actually lived a few houses down, your other too-old-for-you neighbor. How funny. He walked up to you one day when you were getting the mail.
“N’ what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here barefoot? Gonna hurt those soles.”
You decided that you haven’t felt full in a while. You wanted to feel it again, the tickling stretch of someone sliding into you. Even if the entire time you try not to sing the song of another man.
Eh. He fits the bill.
So now his feet (boots) were slowly sinking into the September grass in your parents backyard. He was five beers deep. You, about three or so. Enough. It was the best you could do under the circumstances.
In reality, he came because he thought he might be able to get you alone in the room he’d seen so many times through the computer screen. Smell your sheets, your room, your pussy.
In reality, you just invited him in hopes that Joel would be here. That he would see you around another man and realize the mistake he’s made by not choosing you, too.
You were mid-sentence, explaining what a BFA is to some other neighbor and you felt as if you could hear him growling from across the yard. You would sway yourself just the way you know he liked- especially when your family was involved. Oh, it angered him. That you should be so bold in front of your own father. In front of this man. But he was ignoring you, so why wouldn’t you try and regain his attention?
“Did I leave my wallet in your truck?” John put on his thinking face. “Don’t think so, but here, go look.” He handed you the keys. Coulda came with you at least. You lead yourself back inside and out of the front door. His car is about 4 back. You see Joel’s navy truck a few more back and you catch yourself staring for too long.
As you attempt at unlocking John’s truck, your knees are suddenly pressed onto the footstep, arms spread against the leather seat. And then Joel’s smell is all around. His nose is poking your ear and his gray stubble is poking into your face.
“How fucking dare you? I give you space and this is how you spend it? Stuffing another man’s dirty cock into my cunt?” His back is lowered, attempting to match your height, pointing and spitting about. “If you wanted to be fully stuffed you should have just asked, Birdie. But I get whatever hole I want and he can have whatever’s open. I didn’t know you wanted me to share you, baby.”
You felt full of his voice, even at its melting whisper. You missed bulging full of him.
“I woulda at least ask you not to choose one of my coworkers. Actin’ like a fucking slut.” He whispered the last part, but not quietly enough. “Gonna take care of him later, been wanting to since I saw that you followed hi—“
He was so angry he was giving away his secrets, the way he had still been keeping up with you. You were pulsing.
But… he was looking at you, was paying attention to you. And you hadn’t looked into his soul in so long. You fought against his palm, as it filled the expanse of the back of your head, hair and all. Your cheeks pushed against the seat of John’s truck.
You hear Joel sigh in impatience, then he drops his belt.
He pulls his hands away so he can pull up your dress and he moans as his thumb pushes your thong away from your holes, tickling them. He hooks his thumb in front of you, against the hood of your clit and holds it in place. A constant rush of pressure originating from where his wet finger is pushing. You rut your hips against it and he moans as you breathlessly look up and around at him, eyes widening and eyebrows raising at the feeling of his presence on your body.
“Look into my eyes.”
How could you? How could you possibly focus on the lifting of his lips and his tongue meeting his teeth when his arms were gracing himself, wrestling heavily against his chest, stomach, fully. His cock, long and full. Slightly less straight. A little off. Just like him. Just like you liked it.
He turns you over on your back, lifting you up so that your naked ass meets leather, fully in another man’s truck. He sets you further inside and then looks at you. His cock jumps to meet your gaze and he lets you take it in.
“Been thinking about this.” You try to reach out and touch the veiny girth of it. The heaviness.
“Mm, nuh uh. Not being a very good girl, are you? Told y’ to shut up didn’t I?”
No. And you know he would never. Likes hearing you whimper for him too much.
You scoff and he dips into you in fever, his nose is kissing your clit, unable to get out of the way as his tongue pokes into your slobbering hole. You are every one of his senses. His fingers in your cunt, stretching the soft tissue between your legs. The taste of your warmth on his tongue, pooling. The wetness that got into his nose.
If anyone were to be looking, from most angles it looks like he’s lost something in his floorboard. Until someone moves too closely and sees Joel Miller with his face buried in someone’s daughter's pussy.
He hears something and removes his dripping mustache from your cunt. He then spits on it and lets it talk to him as his veined and heavy cock slips through the cream he’s making of his precum, collecting it with his pretty pink, angry, tip before he slides it back down your slit, covering every inch with himself.
It felt good to sing for him again.
“Oh Birdie, just like that, sounds so good whipping up your pussy’s excitement with my cock, don’t you? Filthy lil’ thing. Gonna make it wetter n’ cover it in my cum, too, okay?”
He reaches down and fingers at your pussy, pushing himself deeper into you and thumbs where you are gripping his cock. He spits down on it. “She missed me.”
“Need you t’ fill me up.”
“Already begging? Don’t wanna get caught in his truck, do you?” He was mocking you now. “Baby girl, that’s just not good enough.”
“Need-need daddy to fill me to the brim with his fucking cum. Let me have it, sir, please. Plea-“
“Show me who you belong to.”
You widen your legs further and let the orange streetlights filling the car shine on his initials.
“There you go baby.” He growls as he fucks his thick length inside of you, letting go as deep as he can as your pussy clenches around his sputtering cock.
He stops looking at your hole clenching onto him as hard as possible and is instead watching his initials in the jiggling fat of your inner thigh. He grabs it, rubs his fingers over the skin.
His thighs are even thicker from this angle. He moans towards the sky but forces himself to look back down, just as his cum falls from his slit and falls down to your open mouth. He lets go of his cock and lets it throb independently, shooting more of himself into his plump stomach. He’s dripping down himself, coating his own skin.
“Uh uh uh.” His voice catching in his throat every single time the skin between his heavy balls and asshole contract and expand, throbbing.
He admires as the cum chokes back out of your tight pussy as he pushes himself in and out, then removes himself. He watches it slide down and kiss your puckering asshole and decides to finger it back into your cunt, tsk-ing at you.
“Gonna let it drip down to your pretty asshole and not even fuck it back in baby? After all that work? Let me do it for you. Relax n’ let me fuck you here, too.” He slides his thick finger into your ass and lets out a low groan as it swallows him.
He pops himself back out, gently cooing praises at you.
“Whose Hanna?”
“That’s none of your fucking business, Birdie.”
“Is that so? Shouldn’t I have a right to know? Am I just another victim of you and your inability to show the fuck up?”
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy showing up to your little party and making a mess in your little hole?”
“Joel.”
“I never fucked her.”
You stared at him.
“Get down there and clean up your fucking mess.” You deserved this. You weren’t being good for him, asking questions.
You pulled your dress down as he tucked himself away. He held your hair back and grabbed your jaw, aligning it with his cum on the black leather seats.
“Now lick.”
°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•
I know I’m missing some of you on the taglist, I’m sorry!! I need to come up with a better way of doing it.
Taglist: @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rubyfruitjungle @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @sarap-77 @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter @livingdeadmaria @morallyinept @kittenprincess710 @jubilee82 @cool-iguana @vickywallace @capitulo3-celos @taeslarityy @moonlightdreamingworld @worhols @milla-frenchy @sheepdogchick3 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @bratty-lxndry444
#pedro pascal#joel miller#carnal#tlou#the last of us#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#joel miller x y/n#pascalsbby#carnal!joel#pervy!joel miller#dbf!joel miller#bfd!joel#stalker!joel miller#smut#Fic rec#pedro x you#pedro x reader#angst#slow burn#fast burn#ao3#dbf!joel#pedro pascal x you#dark!joel#Sarah miller
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omg.. imagine dark!joel in like the qz era, where he’s obsessed with the reader from afar and he finds out the readers boyfriends cheated, so he kills him. 😂
Warnings: dark, manipulation Delicious. Like he waits until he feels like he can morally justify it on some level, not wanting you to get hurt. . . And then he positions himself to comfort you. Maybe he knows your schedule and puts himself in the right place at the right time and gives you a reason to talk to him. Maybe bumps into you "accidentally" and spills your coffee all over you. In the course of apologizing, he happens to say he's distracted because it's the anniversary of his wife getting killed. So you think it's this wild coincidence, that you have something this huge in common. He also has a towel handy to help wipe you off. Then he buys you a new coffee. And you sit together. It turns out you have a lot of other things "in common" too.
It's a "small town," so maybe Joel "accidentally," innocently reveals the cheating, too. "Oh, him? I thought he was dating ___ . . . oh god, I'm so sorry, please forget I said anything. God I'm an idiot."
You think Joel is a gift from the heavens in your time of need. Finally a good man, and a hot one, too. You run into each other again and he innocently mentions he's been thinking of you and hopes you're okay. You've been thinking of him, too. You ask if he wants to join you for lunch. Lunches turn into picnic dinners. . . He plays it cool, hangs back, lets grief be your aphrodisiac. . .
#dark!joel#dark!joel miller#stalker!joel#joel miller imagine#he's depraved#joel miller x reader#toxicanonymity ☠️
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𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬
*vision bored doesn't describe readers' looks it describes the vibes of the story*
Pairing: dark!stalker!Joel Miller x fem!reader
Summary: Life takes a sinister turn once you begin renovations on your old, eerie house. Strange occurrences start piling up—like missing security camera footage and mysterious messages from an unknown stalker. The tension really amps up when you stumble upon red roses, serving as a chilling reminder of the stalker's presence and danger. Despite trying to brush off the threats, the situation escalates when the stalker directly reaches out to you, leaving you fearing for your life and bracing for a potential confrontation.
IMPORTANT: This fic is based on haunting/hunting Adeline i do not claim or own any characters from the series I only used it as inspiration, all the credit to H.D Carlton for being an amazing inspiration and writer.
Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, stalking, breaking and entering, bondage (rope and tape), groping, grinding, fear, non/dub-con, rope burns, toxic people, degradation, praise, feet kink? (maybe kind of), pussy eating, fingering, spit, biting, clit biting, breeding kink, kissing, protected sex wrap it before you tap it, kids. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME
WC: 6.5k
Small things, it all started small. Ever since renovations started on the house, life has gotten strange. The old dark house didn't help much, but it was cheap to buy such a run-down place when you originally got it. It's worth more now that you've fixed up parts of it, but you still feel like it's dark once those cobweb-covered walls are watching you like you're something to be hunted, or like you're in a horror movie and aren't noticing the obvious hints of a killer.
And you weren't entirely sure you weren't avoiding a killer with how many small changes you saw around the house. Glasses were left on the counter, seemingly freshly poured, even if you didn't remember pouring any. Your nice scotch bottle had less fluid in it every time you checked it, yet whenever you wanted to check the cameras your friend Daphne suggested you put up for your safety, there was missing footage from certain hours of the day even during the night, whatever or whoever was doing these things was smart and calculated with every move. You don't even feel safe showering, Over a month of weird stuff, no face no answers just fear
The more you tried to be rational about how you couldn't have a stalker, the weirder things got. Like he wanted you to know he was there. You started picking up on little changes, the stuff you initially brushed off as maybe just your mind playing tricks on you. But then it became crystal clear when you kept finding those red roses laid out for you, no thorns in sight. Every time a red rose without thorns appeared, it felt sinister. You'd thought how considerate it was of the stalker to avoid using the thorns, but it felt more like a taunt like the person responsible wanted to remind you of their presence with every rose and to show you that they could easily hurt you, but chose not to.
Tonight wasn't any different. You came home from some grocery shopping to see three red roses sitting on your kitchen counter, trimmed and tied together. You groaned and put down the bags of groceries before tossing the roses completely, trying not to pay it any mind. You'd done that the past five times, hoping giving him no attention would make him go away. Your phone buzzed, interrupting your unpacking. You read the text message, and a chill ran down your spine when you realized it was from an unknown number.
Unknown: Do you not like roses?
You saw the message and dropped your phone, immediately scrambling to find something to defend yourself with. You ran to the knife block, grabbing a large, semi-sharp knife. You could worry about the melting ice cream tomorrow, not when your life was at stake. A stalker's murder attempt was imminent, and you weren't going down without a fight. Your phone buzzed again, indicating a new message from your stalker. Your muscles tensed as you carefully picked up your phone to check the message, feeling a sense of dread wash over you when you read it.
Unknown: I see you're taking precautions. But trust me, violence won't solve anything. Let's have a civilized conversation, shall we?
The audacity of the message sent shivers down your spine. How could this person be so calm, so composed, while installing such terror in your life? The thought of engaging in conversation with them made your skin crawl, but you knew ignoring them wasn't an option either.
You took a deep breath, trying to gather your courage. You replied with the knife still in hand, determined to stand your ground.
You: I don't want to talk. Leave me alone.
The response was almost immediate.
Unknown: Ignoring won't make me disappear. You can't escape me.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and the gravity of the situation intensified. The stalker's persistence was chilling, and you knew you needed to involve the authorities. As you dialed 911, another message flashed on your screen.
Unknown: Calling for help? It won't make a difference. I'm always one step ahead.
Fear tightened its grip on you, but you continued with the call, silently praying that law enforcement could indeed intervene in this sinister game. As you spoke with the emergency operator, your stalker's messages continued to flood in.
Unknown: You can't hide forever. I'll be watching, waiting.
Each message felt like a dagger, cutting through your sense of security. The operator assured you that help was on the way, but that didn't stop the ominous texts.
Unknown: The sirens won't save you.
The final message came through, short and ominous, making you block the number.
Unknown: Tick-tock.
You waited almost the whole night, but no one came. The silence was deafening, making you doubt that your stalker would make a move on you. Perhaps your fear has gotten the better of you, making you panic unnecessarily. Either way, you couldn't shake the feeling that danger was just around the corner, leaving you a bit on edge.
As days turned into weeks, the quiet dragged on, and you started second-guessing yourself. The fear kind of faded, replaced by this sort of 'what now?' feeling. A whole week passed, and you didn't spot a single red rose anywhere. The absence of any signs from your stalker had lulled you into a false sense of security, the fear becoming a distant memory. The red roses that once haunted your thoughts had blurred into the background, and life had cautiously resumed a semblance of normalcy.
Just when you thought the nightmare had ended, he resurfaced. On an ordinary day, as you hesitated at the threshold of your home, a cold shiver ran down your spine and you saw something on the ground. You squinted at it for a moment before realizing what it was; a few red roses, perfectly trimmed and tied together with string. Your phone buzzed. You gasped, your heart racing as you realized that the rose had to be from your stalker.
Unknown: "A week is a long time to go without hearing from me, don't you think?”
Your fear grew as you considered possible reasons for your stalker's sudden absence. They'd been relentless with the red roses until now, constantly reminding you of their presence through the ominous messages tied to them. So why would they wait an entire week before finally breaking the silence? Was it a psychological game meant to make you believe you were safe long enough to let your guard down? Perhaps they'd been watching your house, waiting for a good opportunity to strike. Your mind was reeling with possibilities, yet the uncertainty only added to your mounting anxiety.
You quickly walked inside the house and blocked that number as well, not bothering to bring in the roses. You left them on your doormat to rot, as you had no desire to let the flowers remain in your home. Soon after, you heard a buzzing sound coming from your phone and instinctively answered.
"Hello," you said, hoping to hear a familiar voice on the other end. There was no reply for a second. Then suddenly, a deep, gravelly voice infused with a Southern twang unexpectedly responded, sending shivers down your spine. You froze for a moment, pondering the uncanny timing of the call. What gave it away wasn't just the voice, but the chilling familiarity of the situation. The sudden appearance of the roses, the ominous messages, and now this call from "Daphne 💕" at the most unsettling moment – it all clicked into place. It couldn't be a random coincidence. Your gut twisted with certainty; it had to be the stalker, cunningly using the guise of your friend's name to unnerve you further.
The voice spoke again, "I missed our little game, I'm glad you blocked my last number, as it made our game much more interesting," the voice taunted, sending shivers coursing down your spine.
"Why are you doing this? Is Daphne okay?" You shouted into the phone, your thoughts running wild with a million questions and concerns. The stalker's laughter sent chills down your spine and increased your frustration. "Why would I hurt Daphne if you're the one I want?" the stalker laughed again as if your worry was a joke to them. It seemed clear that the stalker had little to no compassion for your best friend's safety.
You desperately needed a way to get to the point, so you chose not to waste any more time. "If you're after me, then why are you pretending to be my best friend? Wouldn't it be easier to just text me with your number?”
"Well, that doesn't seem to work. You've blocked every number I've tried," the stalker replied, their tone oozing with smugness. It dawned on you that they'd been meticulously keeping track of every number you blocked, instead of simply moving on like a normal person would.
"Touche," you responded evenly, sensing the stalker's growing frustration as you stood your ground. Their voice took on a darker edge as they acknowledged your resistance. "Blocking my numbers isn't cutting it. Looks like we need to switch up the game," they declared, sending a chill down your spine. You couldn't shake the feeling that their next move would be far more sinister than merely sending flowers.
"So, what do you propose we do now that blocking your numbers isn't working?" you asked calmly. The stalker laughed, a menacing sound that only added to the tension between the two of you. "I have a few ideas," the stalker replied, their tone of voice hinting at something sinister. "Let's hear them," you replied, keeping your tone of voice as calm as possible to disguise the fear growing inside of you. The stalker paused for a moment before speaking, as if they were plotting their next move.
You walked into your kitchen and grabbed a knife like you did a week prior. The stalker's dismissive response sent a chill down your spine. "And a flimsy kitchen knife is a solution... sweetpea, those knives in that block of yours aren't as sharp as you think," the stalker responded, making you look around nervously. The stalker had made it clear that they could see you, which raised several new questions. How much could they see? Could they see you right now? Were they hiding nearby?
"Like that would deter me. In my hands, this knife can and will kill you," you spoke with false confidence as you walked to your bedroom. The stalker's dismissive attitude frustrated you, and you were tired of being the one who was afraid. You wanted to gain the upper hand in this situation, and you were prepared to do whatever it took to protect yourself.
You grabbed your desk chair and a pillow before taking a seat with the phone and knife still in hand. The stalker responded in a mocking tone, "Oh, what are you going to do with that knife? Stab me through the phone?" They were challenging you, and you were determined to prove that you weren't as afraid as they thought. You were determined not to let them get under your skin and decided to respond with your mocking tone. "Maybe I will," you replied, deciding to match their confidence.
"No need for hypotheticals… you smell good by the way," he responded, so casually it made you gasp audibly as you suddenly imagined how close he was. "No need to get all fussy," the stalker continued, their tone of voice a mixture of amusement and malice. The thought of the stalker's presence just inches away from you made you hot and uncomfortable in a way you hadn't felt before.
You shut the blinds in your bedroom and frantically rummaged through your closet, stabbing at clothes out of sheer terror. Opting to take a seat, you vowed not to sleep until the psycho lurking in your house was either gone or dealt with permanently. The idea of him being in such proximity sent waves of unease rippling through your body. Uncertain of his capabilities, paranoia set in, making you hyper-aware of every subtle sound or movement. It felt like only a matter of time before you'd hear him drawing closer.
The night felt like it stretched on forever, filled with nothing but anxiety and dread. You must've checked the locks on every door and window a dozen times, feeling more paranoid with each click. Even going around, peeping through the blinds and peeking under the bed, making sure nothing was lurking in the shadows before finally settling down in your desk chair for the night. You could barely stop yourself from jumping at every little sound. Around 1 am, you started to feel tired but kept yourself awake for as long as you could. However, your exhaustion soon caught up to you, and you began to yawn constantly, fighting against the urge to fall asleep.
It was 1:30 am when you decided you couldn't take it anymore. You were thirsty and tired, and the three-day-old water bottle on your nightstand didn't sound too appealing. You grabbed the knife as you made your way down the stairs, trying to stay alert while simultaneously fighting the exhaustion that was starting to take over. You finally reached the kitchen and took a deep breath, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. You poured yourself a glass of water and gulped it down quickly as you thought of the long night you still had ahead of you.
You can feel the exhaustion slowly taking over as your eyes start to feel heavy, and the surroundings turn hazy. You can feel yourself starting to lose control as the exhaustion takes over, and it becomes harder and harder to stay alert. You feel as if you're caught in a fog, losing touch with reality more and more as time goes on.
You stumble into your room, your vision getting blurrier by the second. Exhaustion has you barely standing. Darkness starts to take over, swallowing everything up as your surroundings turn fuzzy. It feels like you're losing control, like a heavy blanket pulling you down. A fog surrounds you, making everything dark. As darkness closes in, you can feel yourself slipping away, struggling to stay upright as your vision fades to black.
You jolted awake as something rough brushed against your wrist. Your surroundings rushed back into focus as the exhaustion subsided a bit. You tried to see what had touched your wrist, only to find your hands tied securely to the headboard with rough, coarse rope. After the initial shock wore off, you started to feel the tension in your wrists as the ropes began to dig into the skin.
Your room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight flooding in from your window. The blinds and window were now open, letting in a cool breeze. You looked around in a panic, and that's when you saw him. The contractor you hired 2 months ago to help with house renovations stood menacingly in the moonlight, his large frame and pepper-sprinkled hair glinting in the moonlight. His appearance made you feel a wave of fear and suspicion, which was only furthered as he stepped forward into the light.
You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat as you realized he had covered your mouth with tape. Panic surged within you, questions swirling in your mind like a tempest. Why was this happening? Why are you? What was the significance of the roses? And the most pressing question: How did he get into your house?
His presence loomed over you, a sinister silhouette against the moonlit backdrop. Every detail seemed amplified in the dimness—the way his eyes bore into yours, the rough texture of the tape against your skin, the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted closer. Fear pulsed through your veins, a relentless drumbeat drowning out all other thoughts.
You struggled against the bindings, the coarse rope biting into your wrists as you attempted to break free. But his gaze held you captive, a silent reminder of your vulnerability. During the chaos, a desperate longing for answers consumed you, driving you to seek clarity in the shadows that enveloped you both.
As the stalker's words filled the dimly lit room, they carried a weight of uncertainty. "I just want to keep you safe," he said, his voice oddly calm, though it sent shivers down your spine. Despite his calm demeanor, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about his intentions.
"I gave you those roses because they mean something to me," he explained, his tone determined yet unsettling, the twang of his accent adding an eerie quality to his words. His explanations felt like pieces of a puzzle you couldn't quite solve, leaving you with more questions than answers.
His justifications for his actions only added to the confusion. "Breakin' in, you see, it was necessary," he continued, his explanation sounding more like a feeble excuse. You couldn't help but wonder what drove him to such extremes, what twisted logic fueled his intrusive behavior.
With each passing moment, the lines between concern and obsession blurred further, leaving you to navigate the murky waters of his intentions. As he spoke of protection and affection in that Southern accent, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his story than he let on.
"Now," he murmured, his voice taking on an eerie calmness, "I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth. I suggest you cooperate." His tone held a chilling finality, a warning wrapped in false benevolence. "Behave, and we won't have any problems."
As the words escaped his lips, a twisted narrative unfolded, stirring a disturbing sense of familiarity within you. Despite the fear gnawing at your core, there was an unsettling draw towards him, as if his words carried a hidden allure.
His voice, soft yet commanding, stirred conflicting emotions within your mind. Memories of your first encounter flickered like distant flames, igniting a spark of attraction amidst the chaos of fear and confusion.
His eyes, once unsettling, now seemed to hint at vulnerability, reflecting a mirror to your uncertainties. His determination to protect you, though shrouded in ambiguity, blurred the lines between reality and manipulation, leaving you to wonder at his true intentions.
Amidst the turmoil, a nagging sense of unease whispered warnings of danger, urging caution in the face of the unknown. The chill that ran down your spine couldn't be dismissed, as his calm demeanor masked the darkness lurking beneath the surface.
As he reached to remove the tape from your mouth, a fleeting thought crossed your mind, betraying the depths of your confusion. Despite the fear and uncertainty, an undeniable attraction lingered towards this enigmatic figure, the same one who had once breathed life into the walls of your home.
Trapped and bound, vulnerability heightened with each passing moment. The stalker's unsettling words hung in the air as he approached, his eyes now a mix of intensity and what seemed like genuine concern. The tape on your mouth held back the words you longed to shout in defiance.
As the tape peeled away, a shiver coursed through you, a mix of fear and inexplicable attraction. The dim room bore witness to the conflicting dance of emotions, a macabre waltz where danger intertwined with a bizarre sense of connection.
His fingers brushed against your skin as the tape came off, sending a jolt through you. "I suggest you behave," he murmured, his words dripping with a possessive edge that made your skin crawl. Tension thickened in the air as his touch lingered, tracing an unsettling path along your bound wrists.
His actions became increasingly invasive as he leaned closer, his eyes piercing into yours with a sinister intent. "I'll behave if you stop this madness," you retorted, your voice quivering with defiance and desperation. The stalker's eyes narrowed, a sinister smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Ah, but this ain't madness, my dear," he drawled in a Southern twang, his voice dripping with unsettling calmness. "This is love, a love that you'll come to understand in time."
The words sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to let him see your fear. "Love doesn't involve tying someone up against their will," you shot back, determination lacing your words.
His laughter echoed in the darkness, a hollow sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh, but my love, you'll see," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "You'll come to realize that everything I do, I do for you."
Your heart raced as you struggled against your bindings, the stalker's presence suffocating in its intensity. "Let me go," you pleaded, your voice betraying the fear you fought so hard to hide.
But the stalker only leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, his Southern twang adding an eerie quality to his words. "I'll let you go when you understand," he whispered, his words a haunting promise of things to come. "Until then, we're playing a game, you and I, a game of cat and mouse."
Your pulse quickened at his words, the sinister game unfolding in the darkness. "I don't want to play your game," you countered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.
"But you've already joined, my dear," the stalker replied, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact, his Southern twang accentuating the unsettling atmosphere. "And you'll find that I'm quite skilled at it."
His words loomed in the air, casting a weighty tension that embraced the room. Each of his calculated moves and carefully chosen words served the purpose of unsettling your equilibrium.
"I won't let you win," you declared, rallying every ounce of courage within.
The stalker's grin widened, a predatory gleam sparking in his eyes. "Oh, but that's what makes it so exhilarating," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "The chase, the uncertainty. It's what keeps us alive."
A hard swallow marked the acknowledgment of your grim reality. Trapped within the twisted game he orchestrated, you recognized the stakes were high. Refusing to play the role of a pawn in his deranged scheme, you vowed to escape, regardless of the price.
As the tension simmered between you, the air crackled with an unsettling energy. The stalker's gaze bore into yours, a magnetic pull tainted with danger and an underlying primal essence.
"I won't be a pawn in your sick game," you spat, your voice trembling with a blend of fear and defiance, yet underscored by an undeniable undercurrent of something more.
The stalker's smirk deepened, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh, but my dear, you already are," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "And soon enough, you'll come to relish every twist and turn."
He reached for the blanket and slowly pulled it down, revealing the t-shirt you had worn earlier. The cool breeze in the room caused your nipples to harden. "What are you doing?" you panicked, attempting to move away, but the rope still tightly bound your arms and ankles. "I said behave." Gosh, you wished you could put a name to the face; it had been so long since you'd talked to your contractor that you'd completely forgotten his name.
He removed the blanket completely, walking to the end of your bed where your ankles were tied. You felt a sense of relief when you saw him start untying your ankles. "If you do something stupid, there will be consequences," he finished untying your ankles and kissed your feet softly.
The change in move had you taken by surprise. You didn't know what to expect next, but you were suddenly aware that you were in a very vulnerable position. He planted his hands on your hips and pinned you down on the bed, his strength overwhelming. You were completely at his mercy, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. A shiver ran through your body as you realized how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to.
Your body goes into survival mode, and you fight against his hold with all the strength you can muster. But it's useless. He's too big. Too heavy. Too imposing. He moves to straddle you, pinning your legs between his screams with frustration, attempting to buck him off. He laughs at the attempt, the rich sound of his amusement sending a chill down your spine,” Shh..just relax sweet pea I won't hurt you” he gently brushes some stray hairs out of my face.
"Get off me!" You shouted, kicking your feet up and down, but there was no budge in his position. He grabbed your face forcefully, drawing it closer to his own, and you could smell the mixture of liquor and mint on his breath as he spoke with a threatening tone. "Keep pissing me off, I dare you."
A panic starts to come over you, sweat starts to drip down your hair like a pulsing sensation starts to pulse between your legs, “the stalker whispered with a sickening grin. As he lifted your t-shirt, exposing some of the skin on your stomach, you felt his breath on your ear, and a shiver ran down your spine. Your body was reacting to his touch in a way that filled you with shame.
His rough calloused hands started exploring higher, slowly but surely making their way over your stomach and up towards your chest lifting your t-shirt more and more with each movement. You felt the soft touches against your skin, his fingers slowly tracing up your body, creating a sense of danger and excitement. You were frightened, and your mind went into panic mode. "What's your name? Is it Josh or Jake?" the words came spilling out suddenly as you wanted to distract him from what his hands were doing.
The stalker was caught off guard by your sudden question, and the change in your tone pulled him out of his trance for a moment. He chuckled, as his fingers continued to explore your body. "My name is not Josh or Jake," he whispered. "My name is much more interesting than that." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers continued to trail up toward your chest. He started to knead your breasts softly.
"My name is Joel, and I'm shocked that you don't remember," Joel said with a sadistic smirk. He sat up, allowing your legs to move freely, and you immediately rolled around to cover your exposed skin. It didn't matter whether you got rope burns on your wrists or not, as long as he wasn't able to touch you intimately. Your body was still tingling from his earlier touches, and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, the sensations were still there.
"Maybe I should make you remember it for next time." Joel's voice had a harsher tone to it as he spoke, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes as he watched you roll around to cover up the exposed skin. Maybe he was angry that you didn't remember him, or maybe he was angry because you seemed to be resisting his advances. The reason didn't matter. What mattered was that he looked pissed.
He walked back over to your ankles and started to tug on your pants making them come off in one swift motion before grabbing one of your legs and lifting it roughly kissing your ankle and lower calf you tried to kick your legs but to no avail, it was like it didn't affect him it was kinda hot, what no? Get it together he's your stalker
You were left helpless in your t-shirt and panties scared and unsure of what to say or do as you're body was betraying your brain my pause in thinking gave him enough time to discard your panties and put them into his jeans pocket…You glanced over him swiftly, taking in his broad, fit physique, which seemed to defy his age. He carried a presence that suggested he might even be older than your father if not the same age. what had felt like 15 seconds had been long enough for him to pin your knees down to your bed
If you tried to buck and get away you would only shove your pussy closer to his face, you had an intense pink blush on your cheeks at the action he was so quick and seamless unlike any male you'd ever been with you stiffen the moonlight barely allows you to see him making you angrier feeling even more exposed to him.
He starts to kiss your upper thigh making you gasp at his actions as he slowly makes his way closer to your mound he teases you knowing that your body is betraying you as your legs shake suddenly the closer he gets to your core. He took his time kissing both your legs and even your lower stomach every so often as he switched.
“The only sounds I want to hear out of you are praise, my name, or your moans'' he placed a kiss directly onto your clit making you arch your back in pleasure causing your hips to lift off the bed. “You smell and taste like candy” he gripped your hips and roughly brought your hips back down onto the bed “Now stay still and let me enjoy my food”
Joel didn't hold back he kept his hands on your knees keeping your spread and ready for whatever he wanted to do to you, he didn't hold back in his movements his tongue lapped up every juice your body produced like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted you bite your lip trying not to give him and satisfaction of knowing the pleasure he was giving you. You were grateful your hands were bound if not you weren't sure you could hold off on running and tugging your hands through his hair.
You feel and smell your arousal your body is shaking and you're struggling to stay quiet he knows it and isn't making it any easier as he starts to change his technique he uses his teeth to bite your clit softly allowing his tongue to attack no mercy his movements calculated as he listened to the sweet sounds of your moans started to escape.
He pulled away making you whimper before changing the position he sat on her knees before pulling your ass off the bed and pushing your legs so they were at the side of your head he spit on your pussy before using his hand to spread the spit around your pussy making the surface even wetter. “You're not behaving you're holding back” he pauses and puts two fingers into your pussy pumping in and out slowly making your eyes roll to the back of your head and moan softly…fucking heaven. “See how much better it feels when you don't hold anything in?” he taunted you as he began to curl his fingers hitting that one spot that made you see stars.
You moaned feeling on edge you tugged on the ropes holding your hands hostage you wanted to touch him so badly. He began to bite on your clit just enough to give you pleasure but not enough to hurt. He brought the hand that wasn't fingering you so deep you were seeing stars up to your breasts moving your stupid t-shirt out the way to pinch and kneed the smooth skin.
You couldn't take it anymore. Your orgasm was coming faster than ever your moans were not contained. You were grateful for the seclusion of the woods that surround your house. It probably sounded like a murder was taking place with how loud your moans were getting.
Joel knew you were close as well. He stopped kneading your breast and used his free hand to hold one of your legs down as they began to shake rapidly, he added another finger and made his motions faster. You couldn't take it anymore you screamed out “OH GOD JOEL!!!” you started to shake as he continued to finger you and hold your legs open he moved away from your pussy to get more leverage to hold down your shaking body “JOEL…stop.., it's too much” you gasped and started to cry at the overstimulation he was giving you.
Then he finally let go, letting your legs down. Your vision was blurry from your tears. Joel stood up at the end of your bed. The sun was beginning to rise, giving you a better look at him. God, he was just as hot as the first day you met him. “I hope you don't think we're done so soon?” he joked you were shocked for a man his age he's lasting longer than you thought possible, the started to undress himself revealing his chest he was even broader without a shirt he had a small belly but bellow it was a large raging cock it had to be as thick as a soda can and longer than any dick you'd seen in real life it was majestic .” cat got your tongue?” he climbed on top of you and met your lips with a sloppy kiss.
You both began to make out like horny teenagers. You could taste your arousal on his tongue. He ran his hands through your hair and down your body he pulled back for a second before ripping your t-shirt in half “Hey!” you protested, “it kept getting in the way of what I wanted” he started to kiss down your neck leaving bruises as he moved along your neck and collar bone. You groaned in frustration as you couldn't touch him, your wrists were becoming raw and red with pain. He noticed and kissed your wrists but didn't untie them, making you squirm to try and loosen the ropes. Joel grabbed your face roughly "When you misbehave, you don't always get what you want," Joel said, using a more stern tone. "Now be good and stop squirming around like a child who didn't get what they wanted." he let go of your face and started to stroke his cock.
He put his hand in front of your mouth “Spit” You spit into his hand and watched as he used your spit as lube for him to stroke his dick, he spread your legs open again he pushed your knees back close to your head but not far enough for your ass to be off the bed but enough to give him a good view of your pussy glistening in the morning light.
He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your folds causing you to gasp nervously for what was to come, he slowly started to insert his dick into you screaming at him and moved your hips away as he tried to insert the tip “Ah!” you kick at him “stop it doesn't fit” you plead with him for him to stop or maybe stretch you more. “Aww poor baby never had a real cock have you” he inserted the tip of his dick filling causing you to arch your back slightly you rapidly shake your head no to answer his questions “Words” his voice sounds cold and dominant as he pulls you by your hips onto his dick
It's so deep you feel it in your throat you can't help but moan out at the feeling so painful but so pleasurable “Now…” he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in “Have you never been with a real man like me?” He continues to apply slow deep thrusts as he talks to you making your eyes roll to the back of your head “god I can barely fit” he eggs you on as he begins to use his thumb to rub your clit adding just enough pressure to have you moaning out for more.
“Please…more I want more” you beg as your hips start to meet his thrusts. He begins to pump into you faster grabbing onto your hips and roughly digging your hips into the mattress as he thrusts harder and faster into you the pain has completely faded and all you feel is pure euphoria as he fucks you.
You haven't been able to stop moaning and you quickly get embarrassed as a loud shriek leaves your mouth as he hits that spot again you'd never had anyone fuck you like this you don't feel pleasure for a moment he's made you feel good over and over listened to your body and understood how a women's pleasure works. “Joel…please” You didn't Even know what you were begging for, you just longed for more for anything he was willing to give you.
“Do you wanna cum?” he taunts biting your shoulder as he continued thrusting into you, you were lying if you said you didn't want to come you wanted so too so bad and he knew it he was experienced he could tell by the way your pussy was pulsing, your breath became sloppy, the way your toes curled he knew he just wanted you to say it. “Answer me or I won't let you cum at all” he growled, applying pressure to your clit using his thumb “Yes yes god yes please make me cum” Your back arched and you moved your body into him as much as you could.
You're juices dripped down your thighs a set of continuous moans fall out your mouth “You're gonna cum with me sweet pea fill you with all my baby’s” he groans and pulls your thighs into his arms so your legs are flat against his chest allowing you to feel him in your spine the sound of the bed squeaking fills the room as his thrusts became more erratic “ready?” he groans deeply and rubs your clit faster and faster until your vision suddenly went fuzzy as your orgasm washed over one another. You felt his sticky cum flood into your pussy. The feeling was so warm it felt like it would never stop cumming thank god for IUDs.
Joel didn't let go of your legs, instead, he pushed into you making sure as much of his cum as possible would stay inside of you, he leaned down into you making your legs right next to your ears he leaned in for a passionate kiss before pulling out of you.
A dead silence reigned over the room the morning sun shined through your bedroom window as the smell of sex overwhelmed your senses, after a few moments Joel undid the rope that had your hands tied to the headboard your wrists were red and bruised from rubbing against the rope so hard, Joel put his clothes back on as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling finally releasing what you just did you fucked your stalker and liked it?
Your thoughts raced as Joel came back into view, the last person you wanted to see at that moment. "My real number..." he muttered, tossing a business card in your direction. You glanced over the card.
‘Miller Brothers Contracting and Co….’
He hesitated at your bedroom door before exiting the room entirely.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller fic#joel miller#joel miller x you#joel tlou#joel miller au#fanfic#the last of us#sinfulmindjoyfulthoughts#tlou#tlou au#joel the last of us#joel x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x female reader#joel miller smut#dark!joel miller#dark!joel x reader#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal x reader#pedrohub#pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal fandom#tlou smut#the last of us smut#tlou hbo#smut
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scream queen
6.6k / pairing: ghostface!joel miller x f!reader
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summary: A stalker outside your window at night forces you to beg for your life in more ways than one. You do what it takes because you're a survivor. And you kind of like the mask on.
A/N: please heed these warnings, as they can be triggering for some individuals. No one is forcing you to read this, and if it sounds unappealing, please keep scrolling. This is far different from what I usually post, but I’m feeling spooky and have rewatched the entire Scream franchise in 72 hours. Indented chat means ghostface’s voice changer is on. Thank you to Emmie @hyzer34 for the FREAKING AMAZING ghostface!joel edits!
warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), horror, dark ghostface!joel, dubious consent (dubcon via manipulation/guilt/survival), reader has a boyfriend (what a drag) so I guess cheating/infidelity, swearing, taunting/stalker behavior, masked anonymous individual, strip show to save a life, male masturbation, threat of violence/death, begging for life, manhandling, spanking, rough oral (face fucking)(m!receiving), pet names, praise kink, degradation kink, clit smacking (?), life-threatening knifeplay, unprotected sex (p in v), the mask stays on ladies, plot twist ending? very barely edited heads-up
You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh.
You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him.
“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him.
“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties.
“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more.
The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame.
“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.”
It was a quiet fall evening. You sat on your boyfriend’s couch, ankles crossed along the extent of the cushions as you leafed through what was available on different streaming services. You wanted something spooky for Halloween but not something that would over-excite your imagination while alone. You’re wearing the same thing he left you in, red panties and an oversized black tee you had snagged from his closet.
You figure your boyfriend should be home soon, so you start a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You sit up on the counter and kick your feet gently against the cabinets as you watch the time tick down, listening to each pop as it slowly rattles up its pace.
Your phone’s ring catches your attention back in the living room. You assume it’s your boyfriend as you hop off the counter and swipe it from the arm of the chair.
Unknown Caller
With a roll of your eyes, your tongue rutting out against your cheek, you deny the call. Probably a wrong number or an asshole troll since Halloween was nearing. You’re about to turn back to the kitchen, hearing the popcorn bag rattling with intensity when your phone goes off again.
Stopped in your tracks, you watch your phone buzz with uncertainty as the screen flashes with the Unknown Caller tag once more.
All of a sudden, the air is tight in your lungs, and your body is riddled with goosebumps. Now you were annoyed. You slid across the call button and pushed the phone to your ear.
“You have the wrong number. Stop fucking calling me.” You jam the blaring red end call button before huffing and returning to your popcorn.
The timer slowly counts down, but each pop from the bag makes you jump. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Your body jolts as you hear something pound against the windows, throwing yourself back against the counter with wide eyes.
“What the fuck!” You gasp as you rotate your head, searching from open window to open window where the banging was coming from. But there was nothing. No one. Your heart rate is slowly increasing, you can feel it jumping in your wrist and your neck.
Your feet quickly skid across the room, locking the house’s back door before running back towards the front entrance, flicking the lock in place. Even if it was nothing, at least you were safe.
Standing still in the entryway, you observed the home to be dead quiet. Your fears were still nesting on your shoulders, that you weren’t alone.
Your phone rings again, causing you to jump from the silence you had grown used to. With a distasteful grimace, you glance around as you walk towards your phone. You accept the call with hesitancy.
“Who is this?” You ask, already maneuvering around the house and shutting all the curtains and blinds in your wake. “Whoever the hell you are, just stop fucking calling me.” You try not to let the panic that’s sitting in your throat be exposed over the phone. Whoever has called you hasn’t spoken yet.
“Hello?” You ask, pausing in the kitchen as you finish your rounds around the first floor.
“Now that is how you answer a phone call.” The voice isn’t familiar, it’s almost… animatronic? It didn’t sound like a person, but the languidness of their voice was all too human. It was low, primal.
Now, you’ve seen these movies before, you weren’t an idiot, and you weren’t going to be one tonight.
“What are you going to ask me? What’s my favorite scary movie?” You taunt, yanking the microwave door open and retrieving the piping hot bag of popcorn from inside, sucking in a harsh breath as your fingertips branded red from the heat.
The voice on the line laughs. It’s almost sinister, not at all comforting. You’re not even sure why you’re entertaining this jackass who’s calling you when all they’ve done so far is giggle at your expense.
“How did you even get this number, you fucking troll?” You probe, frowning as you squeeze your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you pry open the popcorn bag. Of course, it bursts, sending a few pieces scattered around the kitchen. You simply roll your eyes and sigh at the inconvenience.
“Why don’t you be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?”
You squat down to pick up the kernels you dropped, only realizing the extent of what the voice said a moment later. Your eyes widen, and your chest surges with panic. You look around, but all the windows are closed and covered. Was that just a lucky guess, or is someone watching you?
Out of instinct, you reach for the knife block on the kitchen counter and yank out the biggest one. The blade gleams silver in the light, and you realize how exposed you are.
You set down the knife on the counter and quickly move around the house, shutting off the lights and concealing you in a dim darkness.
“What happened to the show? Why did the curtain close?” The low, sinister voice asks, and you whimper quietly in your hand to conceal your fear. “I liked watching you walk around,” he pauses, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, “in those red little panties.”
You hate to admit that this flicks a nasty switch in you, chased and taunted, talked down to by an unknown figure. As much as you’re scared, a small churning begins low in your tummy, and you clench your thighs tighter together.
With a shaky breath, you nibble on your lower lip and slowly move towards the front windows. You slowly peek them open, seeing nothing but your reflection and darkness.
“Can you see me?” You ask nervously, licking at your lower lip.
“Ahhh, there she is.” The voice praises, forcing you to swallow a lump down your throat. “Push those curtains open all the way. Want to see all of you.” You shiver, and the pooling in your panties only becomes more urgent. Someone’s watching you, and they like what they see.
Following the anonymous caller’s instructions, you slowly push open the curtains, your body backlist by a dim light still on in the kitchen. The voice hums in appreciation.
You blame it on your state of panic for not thinking clearly or logically for that manner. This creep wanted you, you could hear the slight desperation clinging to their voice.
“Promise me you won’t fuckin’ harm me, and I-I’ll put on a show for you. Isn’t that what you want? You said you liked my panties.” You breathily point out, opting to put the phone on speakerphone and setting it down on the bench in front of the now curtain-drawn windows.
The voice on the other line hums, pondering your offer. A shiver rolls over your spine as you subconsciously cross your arms in front of your body, scared and nerve-wracked.
“You have a gorgeous body. Let me see it. All of it.” The voice echoes within the quiet home, and you blink back the fear that is resting heavily on your chest. You take in a shaky breath and do as you are told.
Your hands go to the hem of your top, about to lazily toss it off when you are tsk tsk-ed at. You frown and quickly pull the t-shirt back down.
“Not like that!” The voice barks, angry and condescending, making you whimper. The voice pauses and takes a breath. “Slower.”
“Slower..” you whisper back, hearing the voice hum. You still couldn’t see outside, merely darkness and your reflection. You were fucking terrified, but if this was what they wanted, just maybe they’d let you be.
You try again. Your hands slowly start at the sides of your neck, pretty and dainty fingers cascading down to your clavicle. You push one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, lightly ruffling the strands while the other skims lower to more dangerous territory.
The heel of your palm skirts down the front of your shirt until your fingers flitter over the hem of your panties.
It feels stupid what you’re doing, but it makes you feel alive. Your heart has never beat faster. You’ve never turned on a complete stranger, stalker, even. You were in control of the show here.
You’re not exactly sure what to look at in the window, so you admire the reflection. You hum sweetly as you hook your thumbs into the tops of your panties. You loop them around, from front to back, stopping at the sides and lightly pushing down to show glimpses of your hips.
The breathing on the other end shuffles. It almost makes you stop.
“This turn you on?” You ask. “Does this make you have your hand around your cock?” You ask into the phone, smiling lightly as you turn around, lifting up the shirt from covering your ass, giving them a peek-a-boo of you from the back.
The evil voice echoes a laugh. “How did you know?”
Being correct makes you all the more turned on. “How could you not?”
I mean, look at you. You looked gorgeous and confident, silhouetted by the light, awed by a strange man. You can hear them jerking it on the line, murmuring little grunts to try and not get ahead of themselves. The show had just begun.
With your back turned to the window still, you cross your arms over your threshold, retrieve your shirt, and lift it up and off of you. Your hair cascades and dances around your back and shoulders. You felt bare, cold. Part of you wished they would come inside and warm you up.
You peer over your shoulder, hearing the approving grunt on speakerphone. You bit on your thumbnail, looking through the glass with big doe eyes.
“You’re not so innocent, pretty girl. Let me see you.”
Now, with your body to show, you felt a bit more nervous. Your fingertips twitched, and you felt shaky on your legs. You did as the voice asked, turning to face the window. Your arms are crossed, covering your bare breasts meekly.
That’s when you see him. A masked man standing a fair distance away out your window. It quickens your pulse and surges you with adrenaline.
Yet you don’t run. You don’t hide.
Your eyes flitter down to their hand shuffling up and down the extent of their cock. The sight alone, even in the dark, being able to see his impressive length was enough to make you let out a needy whimper.
“I-I don’t know about this,” you whimper, your head falling a bit shamefully. It’s like your head caught up with your foolish actions.
“I’m warning you. Put down your fucking arms.”
You let out a shaky breath and wince at the voice, tears simmering on your waterline. You put yourself in this position, you can’t believe you thought this would work.
You slowly drop your hands to your sides, exposing your breasts. And how embarrassing they were, taut and at peaks. They were flush with color, begging for attention. You interlocked your fingers behind your back and chewed on your bottom lip, shyly looking down at the floor as you clamped your thighs tightly together.
“You’re a real beautiful girl,” the voice grunted, flattering you with attention. “Why don’t you let me in.”
The demand didn’t frighten you like maybe it should have. Frankly, you were turned on to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t know who this mystery person was or what their intentions were, but they were getting off to seeing you exposed, scared, and alone.
“Come on,” the voice continues. You hear shuffling, and when you look up, the masked man outside your window is gone. You move closer and peer outside, but it’s quiet. Empty.
“Let me take care of you, sweet girl.”
Breaths fans out hastily from your nostrils, panicked as you looked around slowly from the front entrance to the back.
The doorbell rings, and it makes you jump nonetheless.
You bite down on your bottom lip as you retrieve your phone and slowly cross to the door in just your socks and underwear. Your forearm covers your breasts. Your hand rests on the handle, but you have a hard time willing yourself to open it.
The doorbell rings again, another jump through your bones, but this time, it implores you to swing the door open. And there he was.
He was tall, you had to crane your neck to look up. Your lips part, doe eyes taking in how close he is, stepping back in shock at his appearance. Broad shoulders cloaked by a black hooded robe. It was tattered, lined with rips and tears at the seams that draped from his arms. He also wore large, black, combat boots. The scariest thing of all was the mask. It was white with black eyes and a sloped open black mouth.
Whoever was behind the mask was fit. Their toned body could be discovered even behind the robust black robe. He wore black gloves, too. You don’t realize that as you’re taking him in, the protective arm you had concealing your breasts has since lowered.
“Scary night to be alone, isn’t it?” The voice is still animatronic as the masked man’s head tilts and observes you through the black cloth eye holes.
You nod your head, its pace quick.
“Invite me in. Don’t want you to catch a chill.”
It was disturbing to admit how stupid you felt letting this freakshow stalker into your boyfriend’s home, but in a really weird and taboo way, you found the anonymity of the man attractive. You saw his cock while he stood outside, his large hand stroking over himself at the sight of your body. You figure he must have put the gloves back on once he wanted to come inside.
As if he could read your mind, the masked man stepped inside with his tall stature looming over yours. He slowly plucked off one of his gloves, and you see his flesh.
You watch him carefully as he brings his hand to cup your cheek. You flinch at first, but there is truly nothing to be frightened of. He strokes away a dry, panicked tear from earlier. You can’t help but let out a shaky, wavering whimper. He touches you with such delicacy but hides behind a mask that scares you to your core.
“Just as I thought,” His animatronic voice echoed, his hand dropping to your hair that fell around your face and sweeping it behind your shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”
Your hair was no longer concealing your breasts. You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh.
You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him.
“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him.
“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties.
“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more.
The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame.
“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.” He aggressively cups your sex, feeling his fingers squish with the soaked material of your red panties. You whimper and clutch his arm, biting back whimpery moans that you’re so desperate to let out. You were secretly begging to be touched. Your thighs clamp around the man’s hand.
He deviously chuckles. “This is all for me, sweet girl?”
The man walks you backward until your back is flushed to the wall. You’re still holding his arm in place between your thighs. His fingers add pressure to your bundle of nerves. You lightly grind your hips down into his fingers and let out an embarrassed little moan.
“Y-Yes.” Admitting in defeat made your stomach churn. “But I want to hear your voice.” You whisper, unsure if you can even make demands in your position right now.
Ghostface sighs weakly but plucks something out from under his mask. It looks sort of like a smaller walkie-talkie. It was a voice changer. Your eyes flitter to the eyes of his mask. It was black, empty. Finally, you would hear his true voice, and you prayed it was as sexy as he looked.
“Is this what you wanted to hear, darlin’?”
You lightly gasp at the southern drawl, deep and guttural, musk-filled and leaving you in a tailspin. His voice was hot, causing a pool of your white-hot heat to leak once more into your panties. You finally nod to his question and let your hands skim across the man’s front. He was toned, like you imagined, with hardened plains and a toughened, thick torso under his black cloak.
“You’re comin’ with me.” The voice growls. He leans down and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you gasp and whimper, feeling him trail you up the stairs. His black combat boots echo loudly through the stairwell. He’s so strong. How he knows the layout of the house scares you and implores you. It’s like he knows you, and you may know him.
He takes you to the master bedroom, the one you share with your boyfriend. Fuck, your boyfriend. A naughty sin to cheat, a naughty sin to like it. It’s hard to picture him right now with the man above you captivating your full attention.
Your breasts jiggle when he throws you back onto the mattress. You scramble further up it, putting a safe distance between you and Ghostface. He grips you at your ankles and pulls you to him in an eager yank. A cry escapes your throat, but it’s just because you’re nervous. You saw how big he was in his hand outside, and now, soon, you’d hope he would be inside of you.
“Please,” you whimper, and Ghostface tilts his head. “I-I..” you trail off and shake your head, embarrassment and shame pumping through your veins.
“You, what? Spit it out, pretty girl.” The voice says as he slowly takes off the hooded robe. He wears black pants and a black t-shirt under it but keeps the mask on. You like the mask on.
“I… I need you, Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. Since he pulled you by your ankles back to the edge of the bed, your centers lightly graze one another. You make it a point to grind your hips eagerly into his, smearing the front of his pants with your slick.
The masked man hums in appreciation. You feel his hardened length concealed by his pants. Whimpers leave your mouth as you sit up and reach forward, unbuttoning the black pants with shaky hands. You unzip him and yank him free of his confines. You nearly freeze at his length, prominent veins lining up and down his cock from his pink tip to his swollen balls.
“You wanna live tonight, baby girl?” The low southern voice asks. You quickly nod, big, desperate eyes wanting to fill his every carnal need.
“Then get on your fucking knees, m’gonna fuck your throat.”
He’s aggressive as he pulls you down onto the floor by your hair. You scream out of instinct, but the heat on your scalp brings needy relief.
You quickly scramble properly to your knees and shuffle your hand over him. One hand isn’t enough, so you add your second. He’s so large and girthy. Fucking your mouth would hurt so good. You hope you’re a slobbering mess for him once he’s done with you.
“Did I say your hands?” You frown and slowly stop, shaking your head. “I said your throat, want your fucking throat, you little slut.”
You whimper and force yourself to put your hands behind your back, your breasts perking out more as you spit over him, watching it glide down his shaft and spill onto your shaking thighs. You lick your lips and wrap your mouth around his sensitive tip.
The masked man seethes through his teeth. He takes off both gloves and knots his fingers into your hair. You’re intimidated by his size, anyone would be, so you try to relax your throat and let him sink further and further in.
Your eyes go wide as he rams himself down your throat impatiently. Your hands instinctively fly up to his thighs, smacking at them and clutching desperately, trying to explain with a lack of words that you’re choking on him. You cry out, but his cock muffles you.
“M’not a patient man, I’m warning you now.”
You clench your teary eyes closed and sniffle, trying your best to swallow around him and breathe through your nose. Your black mascara tears turns him on, and he twitches in your mouth.
With a shaky breath, you try again. You have to start slow at first, but you remember how impatient he is. You slick his cock with your spit, trying to work up his shaft inch by inch.
“Open your mouth up, nice and wide for me.” The sight of his mask makes you twitch, but you do as he says and drop your jaw for him. You even go as far as to stick out your tongue for him.
“Wow,” he admires, as both of his hands wind up into your hair and carve out sections of your hair to create ponytails in his fists. “Such a good girl f’me.”
His praise makes you purr, bringing your hands up to your front as you massage over the squishy flesh of your tits.
You let out a low mewl as he stuffs your mouth again, stuffing your face with his cock. It takes a few moments, but you gradually learn how to accommodate him. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, and he likes it when you choke around him. You try to see him through your teary eyes, whimpering around his cock.
The masked man’s grip on your hair tightens as he pulls you into his cock and holds you there, balls flushed to your mouth as they smack against your chin. He groans, long and low, holding you down as his cock suffocates your throat. You swallow around him, tasting drops of precum, whimpering around him as you struggle to breathe. Despite it causing you to choke even more around him, you stick out as much of your tongue as you can and teasingly lick at his balls.
He sucks in harshly through his teeth and moans, gripping the ponytails even tighter, making your scalp sear in pain. But it was all worth it because he was so goddamn big in your throat. You hoped he would split your pussy.
With a harsh yank, the masked man rips you from his cock. You instantly cough and gag, trying to swallow around the excessive puddles of saliva grouping in the back of your throat and now dripping out of your mouth. You looked like a disgusting mess.
You plant your hands on the floor and drop your head, looking like a dog as you shakily regain your breathing. You slowly look up, seeing his hardened cock slap up against his toned stomach, dripping with your slobber.
You meekly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand up, your legs shaking beneath you. With as much courage as you can muster, you reach for Ghostface’s hand and slowly pull it to your center as you sit on the edge of the bed.
“Please,” you beg in a meek whisper, swallowing the messy amount of existing saliva and precum down your throat as you blink through black, mucky, mascara tears. Your eyes flutter as his long, meaty fingers slowly circle around your clit through your panties. It’s jaw-dropping, stomach-fluttering madness. It’s like he knows you like the back of your hand. “Please, fuck me.” You whisper desperately, pulling him slowly towards the direction of the bed. Towards you.
You don’t feel any more safe with him, but you like the excitement of feeling on the fence. Would he be rough or gentle with you? Call you his sweet girl or his little slut? The edging of unsureness and torrid manipulation has forced white hot heat to pool into your core, and you sure as hell spoiled these red panties enough.
The masked man drops his gaze to your mound. His hands reach up to the sides of your hips.
It’s slow and desperate at first, he almost fools you. Ghostface weakly chuckles before he begins to rip the measly material from your lower half. You yelp out as it causes your body to get tugged around. Your panties are now a mess of threads on the floor. You whimper desperately, clamping your thighs closed on instinct despite wanting the opposite.
Ghostface grabs your ankles and forcibly parts your legs, turning his head slowly as he watches your glistening core.
“Y-You could have a taste, y’know, if you take off the mask.” You offer, your heart pounding in your chest. You loosely hook your leg around his hip and pull him closer. Ghostface plants his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you as his heavy breath puffs through the mask.
Ghostface pulls one hand away to his side and shucks something off his belt. You gasp and flinch your eyes closed as a large knife glimmers in the moon’s light.
“You think I’m going to show you my face, you stupid bitch? Huh?” He taunts you, wielding the knife closer and closer to your throat as you cry out, but clamp your legs tighter around his waist and pull your centers together. You can feel his fat cock sliding up and down your exposed folds. You’re so needy, and it’s repulsive.
He sickeningly laughs, jutting the tip of his knife against the underside of your chin. It hurts, it stings, and you hope it leaves a mark from him so you can look at it later when you replay this night in your mind. You hope he spares you so you can think endlessly about him.
“I-I want you to keep the mask on.” You purr nervously, your hand drifting down your stomach towards your exposed mound.
Ghostface chuckles, low and demonic. “You want me to fuck you with the mask on?” He asks slowly, trilled with curiosity.
It fills you with a pit of guilt and shame in your stomach. But you slowly nod. You were willing to risk everything, your boyfriend, your safety, your life, just to ensure this man filled you to the brim like you know he could.
“Please do. Fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.” You beg. Though you can’t see, you imagine him smirking behind his mask, looking at you with a sense of intrigue and disgust. How could you be so twisted?
“My pleasure.” He says goadingly, ripping the hold you had on the sheets and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You cry out as he forcibly spreads your legs with his body and slaps his cock against your aching center. You’re so sensitive from waiting, you needed to have him this very second.
A smirk twitched on your lips, but you forced yourself to bite it down, shakily moaning as Ghostface tucks away his knife and wraps his large hand around his cock, lining up his tip to your dripping center. You flinch every time he purposely flicks your anxious bundle of nerves.
“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand clutching his bicep greedily. “Please, need to feel you inside of me.” You whimper.
Ghostface reaches up and smears his hand down your face, your cheeks smudged with your mucky tears as you whine like a little brat. For your insolence, he strikes you across the face before nastily grabbing you by your cheeks and forcing you to look at him.
“Bein’ a real fuckin’ brat for a stranger’s dick, such a fucking hungry cock slut, aren’t you?” He degraded you to your very core, soiling his cock in your gushing slick. You were pretty sure that if he even just breathed over your mound, you would come.
Ghostface enjoys your desperate whimpers for his dick. He’s more than happy to deliver. He angles his tip to your entrance and notches himself inside. Your gasp surges his adrenaline as he parts you egregiously.
You hook your hands on the underside of your legs, keeping yourself wide and spread for the masked man above you. Inch by inch, you feel your head lose focus, your mind floating as you see stars that consume your vision.
The moans you give him are heavenly, he thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful thing. He’s a sadist watching you take his cock, knowing it hurts, knowing you’re forcing yourself open for him, knowing how much you’re drunk off it. He just can’t help himself to wait.
Air is knocked from your lungs when Ghostface decides he’s, again, not a patient man. He fucks the last few inches into you and hard, pushing you to your limits and filling you to the brim.
Your head is thrown back as you scream in shock, never having been fucked by someone who feels so good. You sob as your walls flutter around him, attempting to accommodate the size in such a short amount of time.
“Yes! Jesus Christ- Fuck!” You moan out, to which Ghostface chuckles lowly.
“Take me so well,” he’s trying to breathe through being squeezed so tightly by your walls, even he finds it difficult. “Such a pretty girl, just needs to be fucked to keep her- shit - her goddamn mouth shut.” The man growls behind the mask and starts to fuck you at an earth-shattering pace.
You cry out in shock, gripping Ghostface at his biceps and whimpering at how strong he is. He pulls himself nearly all the way out of you before he flushes his hips right back to you, slapping your ass cheeks with his clothed thighs. That’s when he really begins to rail you.
You see stars, still adjusting to his size, your slick pooling around him with excitement. You hazily smile, fucked dumb by a stranger, filled to the brim as you stare at the ceiling. Your visions jumps up and down as Ghostface pounds you senselessly. The bedframe rattles and the legs skirt against the hardwood floors.
Impatient whines from you fill the room as he pulls himself from your pussy, moaning out for him needily. He manhandles you, grabbing your hips forcefully and flipping you over onto your stomach.
“Ass up, let’s go.” He commands.
You were still in a funk, head wiped empty of any palpable information. You whimpered as you tried to move but at the pace of a snail.
His impatient hands grip you tightly at your hips, forcing a broken yelp from your throat as he pulls you up to bend over, shoving your face into the mattress and angling your ass up for him to use.
“Yes, please use me,” you whimper desperately, reaching your hands back and parting your ass cheeks for him. “Finish inside me, use me as your cum dumpster.” Where was this language coming from?! This wasn’t you, you didn’t sound or look like you. He was turning you into someone new, someone satisfied by his anonymity. You’d never know who was fucking you senseless, and it might drive you mad until you find out, if you ever will, that is.
Your thoughts are squashed from your mind as a harsh slap followed by a greedy grip is splayed across your ass. A yelp is pulled from your throat, instincts telling you to flinch away and protect yourself.
“Ah-ah,” the man teases, his angry fingers creating bruises on your hips as he pulls you back to the edge of the bed to be his little sex servant. “Good girls take what they are given, so take it,” Ghostface says as he smacks your other cheek, reddening them both, jiggling the flesh much to his appeal.
His large palms seared his prints into your ass, gripping your ass and pulling you to his cock. He lines himself up, and you take him again.
You don’t understand unless it’s happening to you, how it feels like you’re floating in space, fucked numb but also feeling like you’re on pins and needles. It’s indescribable to enjoy being fucked by a stranger, but it’s happening, and it’s happening to you.
He penetrates you, parting your walls, making himself a home inside you. You squeeze around him, and he moans. It satisfies you so intensely.
“Beg for me,” he mutters through the mask, grunting with each thrust. He must be close.
“P-Please, keep fucking me so good, please Mr. Ghostface-”
“No!” He strikes your pretty ass again, hard, and your warm flesh singes with heat. You whimper, imagining how red, angry, and large his handprint looks stamped on your ass.
“Want you to beg... for your life.” His voice had turned as cold as stone, ridged with a sadist tone that left goosebumps bubbling on the surface of your skin. A scared feeling sunk into the pit of your stomach. You swallowed a lump down your throat and shyly peeked around your shoulder to take him in.
“P-Please… I want to live,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets as Ghostface slowly picks back up the paces of his thrusts. He’s turned on by this.
“Oh my- please, I know you d-don’t know me, but I’m good, l-look how good I’m being for you,” you begin to cry as he fucks you harder, your ass clapping aggressively against his thighs and the grip he has on your hips intensifies.
He loves fucking you until you cry. Such a sadist.
Ghostface gives a few last gut-twisting thrusts, and his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly. He’s so large you can feel him in your tummy. His hand reaches around your hip, and the other stays gripping your ass while he spanks your clit lightly with his fingers.
“Fuck!” You cry out, beginning to throw your ass back into him, creating your own unique rhythm together. You’re so sensitive, and you’re coming before you can even fully register it.
“Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. “I-I’m coming so fu-ucking hard,” you mewl for him, your thighs twitching along with your walls that squeeze around him, begging to milk him for his seed.
Ghostface’s thick and angry cock twitches inside of you, desperate to fill your needy hole with his sperm. He grunts and pants into the mask, filling his own body with a heat that makes him sweat. He pounds himself into you until you’re flattened against the mattress, begging for release, begging to live.
There’s something about your obedience that he gives into, his cock twitching deep inside the warm comfort of your walls and between your beautiful ass cheeks. He pulls out and pants, handling his cock as he paints your ass white.
The warm droplets of come make you twitch, but it’s so hot to be painted white by the man who praised you and degraded you all night long.
You’re a heap of nothing strewn about the mattress. You can’t seem to calm your shaky breath. You lay there limp, unable to move, unable to think. All you can think about is the man behind the mask and how irate and perverted he is. And how much you fell into his trap.
Shame twisted your guts enough, forcing you to get up and turn around and face your stalker. But when you turned back, he was gone. How long were you not paying attention?
You quickly retrieved your robe, forcing yourself to walk despite your legs feeling like liquid gelatin. Checking room to room, you survey your boyfriend's home and are left empty-handed. It’s like he was never here.
From the top of the stairs, you hear the door open and close.
“Honey?” Your heart sinks, hearing your boyfriend kick off his shoes on the mat.
Rushing down the stairs, you collapse into his arms and cry out of guilt. You tell him everything. Everything besides the show in front of the windows and getting fucked by Ghostface in his own bed. There’s more to leave out than to leave in, but the short story is that you were taunted over the phone by a masked man, scared to death, and begged for your life.
His first reaction was to call the police, and despite how much you hesitated, you let him. Two nice offers responded to the call. They sat you two down separately and asked you what had happened. You were wrapped in a blanket and your robe, shaking in disappointment.
It was scary, lying to the cops, withholding all of the truth. Making sure not to overshare any details. You also didn’t want to give away that you liked it. To the bone, you liked it.
You were hunted like prey tonight, used, fucked hard until you couldn’t breathe. Left in the dark, feeling a little crazy if it even happened in the first place. But you could feel him still inside of you, stretched and still leaking between your thighs. You tugged your robe tighter, smiling weakly at the officer as he closed his notebook.
“We’ll figure out what we can ma’am. For now, keep everything locked up. I wouldn’t leave the house alone.” You wipe away the mucky mascara on your cheeks and sigh, nodding as you walk with the officer to the door.
His badge read J. Miller. He was older, stippled with grey hair within his dark curly locks. He had an aquiline nose and plumish-rose lips. His broad chest strikes something somewhat familiar to you. He glances behind you at the officer who is still asking your boyfriend a few questions.
Officer Miller sighed, looking over the door frame curiously.
“Said you locked the doors?”
You hesitate but nod compliantly.
His pointer finger shapes over the lock, then the entry metal hinge. “No forced entry.” He notes, looking at you curiously.
You evade his eye contact and conceal yourself tighter in your blanket and robe. “I.. I don’t know how he got in.” Your eyes find the floor, planting themselves there as you stare at Officer Miller’s familiar black police boots.
He hums curiously, looking over you slowly.
“You’re tellin’ me everythin’ that happen to you tonight?”
Your doe eyes go wide, your head snapping up to Officer Miller’s. “I-I promise, please, Officer Miller-”
He holds up a hand to cut you off, and you weakly stand there with your lips parted. Then he starts to nod and slowly smile. “That’s a good girl.”
It strikes you like a bolt of lightning, fear and curiosity consume you. You hear footsteps behind you, the other officer, and your boyfriend, who collects his arm around your shoulders.
Officer Miller watches you with a glint of intrigue but nothing more. His eyes shift to your boyfriend’s arm protectively wrapped around you. It makes him twitch up a stomach-twisting smile before he turns to his fellow officer.
“Got everything you need?” Officer Miller asks, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt while he observes the other officer’s notepad. The officer nods and places his small notebook and pen in his breast pocket.
“Got everything we need. You two stay safe.”
The other officer ducks out first and nods curtly, Officer J. Miller stands there a moment longer.
“Happy Halloween.” He said with a sickening smile. “Be sure to lock the door behind me.”
You gulp as you look over Officer Miller meekly before he disappears outside and into the night. Where he belonged.
---
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Creep - Dark!Joel/Creepy Neighbour!Joel x Reader Dark fic.
Taking part in the Haunted Hoedown - I did a randomised one so here we goooo:
Prompts: Urban Legend(s), “I’m so close, can you feel it?”, fate worse than death, mirror sex, the creepy neighbour is too hot to be insane, right? Thank you @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for setting this up! [Extra thanks to @beefrobeefcal and @patti7dc for beta reading this to let me know if it hit right!]
[Read on Ao3]
Part 2 of 3 here:
General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.
Specific warnings: This is a dark fic, it’s twisted af, Joel is a creep, Joel is mean and fucking nasty in this, drug use, dubcon(reader is high AF), coercion, mouth fucking, unprotected PiV, Creampie, breeding kink, degredation(lots of Joel calling Reader a slut/whore etc.), (heavy)stalker vibes, let me know if I missed anything! Enjoy you beautiful THOTs.
Creep.
You’d heard the stories, of the creepy neighbour down the hall, the one Jenny said to avoid like the plague. But she also thought that pot smoking was the work of the devil, and that sex before marriage was a fate worse than death. But you didn’t listen too hard, especially when you realised just how hot Mr Miller was. You’d bumped into him a few times when collecting your mail, or when you’d snuck up onto the roof to smoke.
Tonight is one of the latter. The fire escape rattles as you hear the tell-tale groan of Mr Miller, it’s weird how a pained groan could make your stomach flutter as heat rises on your cheekbones. You take a long drag, the tickling burn of pot threatening to make you cough but you stay quiet, waiting for him to make it up to the roof.
“Damned knee,” He grumbles to himself, cresting over the roof of the building like a bed-headed angel, fuck the pot is already affecting you as you giggle quietly at your own train of thought. The sound makes Joel perk up, dark eyes locking onto yours as he realises he’s not alone, “Hey there gorgeous.” He says with his syrupy Texan drawl dripping from every word.
“Evening Mr Miller.” You say as you take another hit, flicking the ash over the side of the building. Your legs dangle over the edge, feet bare in the oppressive New York summer air.
“Please, sweetheart call me Joel.” He says with an exasperated sigh, as he trudges over to you, his equally bare feet slapping softly on the flat rooftop.
“Mind if I join you?” He asks, sitting just far enough away from you to give you some space.
“Never,” You say as you offer him your blunt, which he willingly accepts, “Always a riveting conversation with you Mr-, I mean Joel.” You giggle to yourself, the high already making you feel light and airy as you can’t help the stream of giggles that erupt from your lips as Joel eyes you with a look you can’t quite perceive.
“You been up here long sweetheart?” He asks and you swear he inches closer to you, but you either don’t care, or the weed is just making you horny and hopeful. Maybe it’s all of the above.
“Not long, just been a long week.” You say airily as you watch the older man purse his lips around the tip of the joint, you feel the ache between your legs build as you watch the tendrils of smoke escape from his mouth as he exhales.
“It’s Tuesday sweetheart.” He chuckles, handing you back the joint and for a second your fingers brush against one another and you find yourself chasing his touch. His eyes sparkle in the darkness as he notices your parted lips, knees clamped together as you try and relieve some of the ache in your soaked cunt.
“Don’t remind me.” You grumble as you lie back on the rooftop, a heavy sigh leaving you as you try not to think about how hot Joel is, how his grey sweatpants leave nothing to the imagination. You also try very hard not to get caught staring as you realise his dark eyes are glued to you.
“You ok there babygirl?” The new nickname makes your cunt throb and you know your eyes are wide and glassy as you try to make up an excuse.
“Sorry just-,” You start but Joel lies down next to you stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his t-shirt pulling up far enough that you get a glimpse of the stretch of tan skin, dappled with curls leading down to the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Just what babygirl? You checking out this old dog?” He grumbles but you can hear the humour in his tone.
“Maybe,” You say with yet another string of giggles as you, “What of it?”
“Just surprised such a beautiful girl like you would be interested in someone like me.” He says with a shrug as a chuckle escapes his lips.
“Whaddaya mean? Like you?” You ask, already noting how slurred your speech has become.
“Creepy old neighbour, sniffin’ up all the girls skirts, and so on.” He says with a sigh, as if it actually pained him to say the words.
“Don’t think you’re creepy, pretty hot for an old man.” You say with a giggle, trying to lighten the mood, and it seems to work as he barks out a short laugh.
“Don’t tease babygirl, not nice to kick a man when he’s down.” He grumbles but you can hear the levity in his tone.
“Not teasing, not unless you want me to.” You say as you roll onto your side, looking at him as he mirrors your actions, rolling on his side, you’re almost nose to nose now, the tension between you is palpable as you wet your lips in anticipation.
“You’re high babygirl, don’t go makin’ decisions you’ll regret in the mornin’.” He grumbles but you can hear the strain in his voice. You throw caution to the wind and palm the growing bulge straining against his sweatpants. The moan that escapes him tells you all you need to know as you press your lips softly against his. They’re chapped, warm, plush.
“Take me to bed Joel.” You say softly as you pull back, his eyes are glassy, pupils saucers as he bites down on his lip as he considers it.
“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He growls and brushes his lips against yours once more before pulling away to roll onto his feet, offering his hand out to you, muscles rippling as he hoists you up.
He helps you down the fire escape, steadying you on the gantries as you try your hardest not to fall helplessly to your demise. Once you’re back at your floor you’re crawling through the window to the hall, stumbling against the wall as your legs wobble.
“Easy there,” Joel coos as he grips your elbow, steading you as he pulls you close, “Your place or mine?” He says softly as he rubs his thumbs back and forth against your biceps.
“Yours, mine’s a dump, don’t want to scare you off.” You admit with a giggle and he rolls his eyes at you as he steers you to his apartment, you note that the door is unlocked as he pushes you into the dimly lit living room.
Immediately his mouth is on yours, a large hand grips your hip, pinning you to him, the other fisted in your hair as he pushes you further into his apartment. Your hands claw at one another’s bodies, stripping you both bare to the humid air as you crash into the unmade bed. All you can smell is Joel, the musk on his bedsheets, the waft of his detergent. It’s all consuming.
“Look at you.” He says darkly as he stands at the end of the bed, bare for you, one hand rubbing the patchy stubble on his chin as the other pumps his length slowly. And length is the right word for it, he’s so big you shudder.
“Mr Miller please.” You whine as you clench around nothing.
“Such a needy brat, c’mere.” He beckons and you scamper up onto your knees to look at him. He smirks and pushes down on your shoulder with one hand, the other still secure on his cock. You’re forced to sit back on your ankles as he pulls your head towards his angry, red tip, beading with precome already.
“Please Mr Miller, fuck me.” You whine as you eye his dick hungrily. You expect him to become bashful, disheartened, but there’s a darkness that settles over his eyes, his posture shifts.
“Suck.” He says with a grunt as he fists his hand in your hair, tugging painfully but you groan at the sensation as your lips are forced against his tip. You whimper as you take the tip into your mouth, suckling gently as your tongue flattens along the underside.
“Fuck, dirty little mouth, knew you were just fucking begging for it, seen the way you look at me babygirl.” He grunts as he rocks his hips slowly, pushing further and further into your mouth. You’ve only got about half of him in your mouth and you’re already struggling. He laughs at you, a cold, condescending sound.
“Shouldn’t pretend to be such a slut if you’re not willing to take my cock babygirl.” He growls as he pulls your head back, opening your throat up for him so he can force the rest of his brutal length into you. His balls rest heavy on your chin as you choke and splutter around him, saliva dripping down your cheeks as you cry at the stretch.
“Fuck, come with me.” He grunts as he unsheathes himself from your mouth, yanking you up with such force your shoulder hurts. He pushes you into his bathroom, bending you over the sink so hard you almost hit the mirror with your head.
“Mr Miller, please, I’m sorry.” You whimper, the anticipation of him fucking you with such a big dick making you shake. But you’re excited at the same time, a sick and twisted desire leaking from you as your arousal coats your thighs.
“Too fuckin’ late sweetheart,” He growls as he notches himself at your entrance, “You wanna act like a slut, gonna treat you like one.”
You cry out as he stretches you out, squirming under him as he bottoms out. You’re so full, raw and split open but it feels so damned good. He fists your hair again and pulls you off the sink to look at him in the mirror. His face is contorted in a sick snarl, you can’t help but whine at how he looks. Dominant and brutal as he uses you.
“Look at you, all fucked out on my thick cock, spearing you like the good little slut you are.” He growls as he fucks into you at pace, not giving you a moment to adjust but it feels too good. You’re drooling, blissed out as a hand comes to your clit, thick, calloused fingers swiping furiously against your swollen bundle of nerves.
“Wanna feel you milk this cock dry little fucking slut.” He growls as he pistons into you as he expertly plays you like a fucking instrument. You feel your release slide down your spine, making your whole body shudder as your clit twitches painfully. You scream as his dick slams into you, your orgasm blurring the edges of fantasy and reality as you fall apart around him.
“Fu-fuuuuck.” Joel groans as he snaps his hips into you a few more times.
“Joel I’m not on birth control.” You babble, the realisation finally hitting you that he isn’t going to pull out.
“Too fuckin’ late you dumb slut, going to fill you up, ‘m so close, can you feel it?” He taunts as you feel him stutter inside you, the sensation of his cum filling you has you whining. It feels so fucking good.
“Fuck.” He grunts as he pulls out of you, immediately walking away, you stagger upright only to have your clothes thrown at you.
“Get dressed and get the fuck out of my apartment you fucking whore.” He snaps and you do as your told, trembling as you dress before scurrying across the hall. You fumble with your keys, as you unlock the door and quickly slip inside, locking the door from within as you slump to a heap against the door.
Your smile is so broad it hurts as you make yourself get up and head to bed, not bothering to shower. You flop down onto the pristinely made bed and laugh to yourself as you prop a pillow under your tailbone, staring up at the ceiling as you hope it takes. You’re ovulating after all.
You smile to yourself as you look up at the collage above you. Blown up photos of Joel from his social media, snaps you took on the sly on nights like tonight on the rooftop, that one time you caught him jacking off on the roof while high on god knows what. Your secret shrine on full display as you pray his seed will take. He thought he was in control, fucking you like he was the one pulling the strings but he was wrong, so very wrong.
“You’re going to be mine Miller, all fucking mine,” You groan as you play with your clit, arching your hips up so no more of his spend leaves you, “All fucking mine.”
Part 2 of 3 here:
Tagging for interest: @beefrobeefcal @cool-iguana @gracieispunk @toxicanonymity
#pedro pascal#fanfic#pedro pascal characters#joel miller#smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#dubious consent#Dubcon#weed#smoking#creep!Joel Miller#dark!joel#dark!joel miller#the last of us#tlou#Dark fic#Joel is mean#dom!joel miller#joel miller x afab!reader#brattamer!joel#joel miller x f!reader#tlou smut#haunted hoedown#writing challenge#writing prompt#Reader is unhinged#joel x reader#joel the last of us
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masked up | joel miller x f!reader
pairing: joel miller x fem!afab!reader
summary: joel fucks you while wearing his gas mask
warnings/tags: 18+ content MDNI, very self indulgent smut (unprotected piv oops, mask kink 🤭, vaginal fingering, riding joel cowgirl because that is for sure his fav position, little bit of a bulge kink, oral [m receiving]) descriptions of blood and violence, established relationship (married!! whoop whoop!!), making joel call you “my wife” because i’m weak for that shit, soft!joel, protective!joel, this got sappy, pet names galore as usual, NO USE OF Y/N
word count: 4.2k
a/n: i can’t explain how i feel about joel wearing a gas mask. i swear every time he put it on while i was playing tlou pt 1 i moaned /hj. just HEAR ME OUT PLEEK. JUST WATCH THIS (it’s a tiktok edit) OK YOULL UNDERSTAND.
You don’t mean for the mask to become a thing.
But it does. It becomes a Thing™.
It all starts and ends with Joel, like good and bad things usually do. And this thing is no exception.
But it all begins with something bad.
Coming across spores nowadays is few and far between for you. You're not usually on patrol much, your job being to tend to the crops in the greenhouse and feed the livestock.
Today, though, you’re not so lucky. With Tommy out sick, you’re filling in for him. Thankfully, though, you’re paired with Joel, your very lovely and very experienced in the art of dealing with infected, husband. So you know if you come across spores, your husband will have your back.
Spores are annoying, but they're manageable with gas masks. When you and Joel enter an abandoned office building on a new patrol route and you catch sight of the little specks floating through the air, you immediately put yours on, Joel doing just the same.
The floaty fungal fuckers themselves aren't scary, especially not when you have the gas masks to keep you safe. It's just what waits in the shadows that scares you, because where there are spores, there's infected. Lots of them.
And usually interspersed in that conglomerate of stalkers and clickers are the big, meaty ones. The kind that have been sitting and festering for years. The kind that could literally rip you into pieces, regardless if you have a gas mask on or not. Bloaters, yeah, those big shits. The fucking bane of your existence.
Unfortunately, the one lazing around in this abandoned office building must somehow pick up on your undying hate for them because within minutes of you and Joel looting the place for all it’s worth, it comes clambering out of what used to be a conference room.
It's a big one. Noticeably disgusting, outrageously hideous, growling and slobbering as it slings mycotoxin at you. It's not very fast, and yet it's so fucking terrifying as it lumbers after you, because you know exactly what it’s capable of.
You're shooting at it with whatever arrows you have left in your backpack (though they’re mostly just bouncing off it’s thick fungal exterior), and Joel's crunching out shot after shot with his shotgun, but neither of you are hardly making a dent.
God, you wish Joel had brought the flamethrower he keeps in his storage room. You’d make a Molotov cocktail, but with the other infected hot on your heels, there's no time.
A stalker comes crawling out of the shadows behind you, knocking over an office chair in the process, and you whip around to lodge an arrow right between its eyes. Two more come swinging out of nowhere, and you're so focused on trying to get rid of them so that they can't reach you—can't reach Joel—that you don't realize you've left your back unattended until a large, gross excuse for a hand lands hard on your shoulder, lugging you backwards with inhuman strength.
Joel shouts your name with increased panic, and you hear his gun fire off more rounds into the bloater's back, but it doesn't care, it's hands finding your head and jaw, gripping you so tight you think it might shatter your mandible.
"Joel!" You scream, eyes squeezing shut as the pain in your jaw multiplies.
This motherfucker is about to rip you clean in half—
You think this is it, I'm about to die in front of my husband by being torn from the jaw down, but, thankfully, death never comes. Instead, the bloater releases you with a pained roar as the sound of squelching fills your ears. You manage to back away enough to watch Joel tug the bloater off of you by the handle of his machete, the blade lodged in its chest.
He pulls the machete out only to swing it down in an arc straight into its head, repeatedly. Blood splatters all over him as he bludgeons the wretched thing. Over his veiny arms, his black mask. It sinks into the fabric of his flannel.
And funnily enough, this is when it becomes a thing.
The bloater crumples to the floor with a gurgling groan as it finally dies, and Joel turns to you, chest heaving and eyes wide and panicked. They soften, relieved when he catches sight of you physically intact, though, mentally a bit checked out.
Whether that’s because you’re in shock or because your brain is rewiring as it files this new image of Joel away, who knows? Maybe it's a little bit of both.
“Are you okay?" Joel asks, sheathing his machete to look you over. His hands catch your jaw gently, a welcome contrast to the bloater. He turns it this way and that, checking for any damage or possible bites.
A traitorous thrumming starts up between your thighs as he stares you down through the lenses of his mask.
"I'm fine, Joel," you say, breathlessly. "Thanks."
“Thank god,” he squeezes your arm lovingly, grateful to see you in one piece. “Let’s get outta here.”
- - -
"Do you like the masks?" You ask him eventually, when you're back outside, the setting sun warming you pleasantly as the tall borders of Jackson rise in the distance.
You both took the masks off the minute you escaped the spores, but a part of you secretly hoped Joel would keep his on.
Joel scratches at his graying beard. "They keep us safe. Don't feel much for 'em at all really." He glances sidelong at you, a curious quirk to his lips. "Why?"
You shrug, "No reason."
Just trying to figure out if you'd wear it during sex if I asked you to, that's all.
“Alright, somethin's up," Joel says. "You've got the look.”
“What look?”
“The sex look.”
You halt in your hike, turning to narrow your eyes at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Joel fails to stifle a chuckle. “You’re horny. That’s the face you make when you want to have sex. Like you wanna eat me alive.”
Shit. He’s found you out.
“How would you know?”
He blinks. “Honey, I’m married to ya. Of course I’m gonna know.”
Valid. Still-
"I’m not horny," you try to defend, though you've never been good at lying, and based on the self satisfied smile Joel wears, you know he sees right through you. "We almost died, Joel. Maybe this is my 'loving every minute of my life' look."
"I know that look. This ain't it."
Jesus Christ.
You sigh heavily. “Okay, yes. Maybe I am a little horny.”
"Because…what? We almost died? That gets you goin'?"
"No," you grit. You can’t even look at him when you say it. “It’s the mask.”
His brows knit. “The...gas mask?”
You nod tightly.
“I don’t think I’m followin’,” Joel says.
Is he seriously asking you to spell it out for him?
You take a deep, steadying breath. You don’t quite know how to phrase this, so you just go for it. “Watching you save my life in the gas mask just sort of woke something up in me. It was hot.”
“Oh.”
Yup. He definitely thinks you’re crazy.
“So, what, you want me to fuck you while wearin' the mask or somethin’?”
Heat pools heavy and thick between your thighs at his words, your heart hammering behind your ribs. “Something like that, yeah.”
Joel straightens. “...Okay. I can do that.”
Your head whips up. “Wait, seriously?”
“You’re my wife. If you asked me to fuck you with a damn jester’s hat on I’d do it.”
You laugh. “Okay, let’s not go that far.”
“I’d really do it for you.”
“It sounds like you actually want to wear it.”
He chuckles, and you two resume walking back to Jackson. “Alright, so, gas mask on tonight,” he says. “Any other requests?”
“Since you’re asking…maybe you could wear a cowboy hat sometime…”
- - -
"Jesus, you're really lovin' this," Joel muses.
You're laid out beneath him in your shared bed, his long calloused fingers deep in your cunt, his thumb circling slowly over your clit, drawing out your pleasure, stretching it like taffy. Your jeans are still on, unbuttoned and unzipped, and your soiled underwear is pulled to the side as Joel’s hands unwind you.
You're grasping onto his muscled forearm for dear life, moans leaking out of you in a steady stream as he fucks his fingers into you, curling up to stroke that spot that has you clenching down hard on his digits as the burning starts in your toes, climbing up your thighs.
He looks so fucking good with that mask situated over his handsome face, his peppered hair flipping out over the straps that keep it snug on him. His eyes are dark through the lenses as they watch you unravel before him, almost black from how dilated his pupils are.
His jeans are still on, his erection straining hard against his zipper. The flannel he wore earlier is gone, giving you the perfect view of his toned chest and the dark hair that dusts it. There's still some blood stains on his mask. Every time you catch sight of them, your body ignites with something carnal and hungry.
"’Cause, you look hot," you huff between moans.
Joel laughs, deep and rumbling, and the mask warbles it a bit, adding a distortion to his voice that for some reason makes everything happening so much hotter. “I still don’t really get it, but if it’s makin’ you this wet, I don’t care.”
You moan particularly loud at the sound of his voice muffled through the mask and cant your hips against his hand, the combination of his thumb circling your clit and his fingers fucking up into you has you dangling dangerously close to the edge.
“I-I’m close, Joel.”
His brows furrow behind his mask, and he quirks his fingers inside you even more, and you jolt against his hand.
“C’mon then, baby. Come for me. Show me how much this pretty pussy loves this mask.”
Fucking shit. When you first met Joel, he hardly spoke a single word, and even when you got him to open up more, he was thoughtful with what he said, chose his words carefully. Unless he was angry, then he could be a bit of an ass.
In bed though? Shit, if you can get him to shut up it’s a damn miracle.
“F-fuck, Joel,” you whine, legs stiffening as your orgasm swells inside you, a match striking, lighting up your viscera as pleasure fast-releases inside your veins.
“There you go baby, that’s it,” Joel purrs. “So pretty when you come.”
You inhale shakily as the last few shocks fizzle through you, your clit throbbing as you come down from your high.
“Fuck…” you huff, trying to catch your breath.
He strokes your thigh lovingly, and if you could see him behind the mask you’d assume he’s probably wearing that soft smile that he gets sometimes that melts you into a puddle of mushy gushy feelings.
Joel leans back on his knees. “Now it’s time to deliver on that promise,” he says, and your skin tingles at the sound of his zipper.
“Wait,” you tell him, and he stops, looking at you in concern.
“Somethin’ wrong?”
“No I just…I wanna show you how much this means to me.”
“Me wearin’ this mask? It’s not a big deal-“
You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, pushing him down until his back hits the mattress, effectively shutting him up.
You swing your leg over him, situating yourself right on his lap and peel off your tank, delighting in the way his eyes widen and his hands come down to settle warmly on your thighs.
The muscles in his arms shift as he squeezes your flesh. The drag of the crotch of his jeans against yours has you biting your lip, a zing of pleasure shooting through you.
Joel’s eyes have darkened behind his mask, his pupils swallowing his irises whole besides the thin circle of hazel remaining at the edges as he watches you.
“I’ve never hated jeans more than I do right now,” he says lowly, his gaze dropping to the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
His strong hands slide up from your thighs to your hips to your waist, his dry, calloused skin causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. Finally, his palms cup your breasts, unrestrained by a bra because they’re too hard to come by in this day and age.
He squeezes gently, and your nipples tighten beneath his palms. And then he rolls one between his thumb and forefinger, and your back arches, pressing you further into him. Your hips grind down automatically, and Joel releases a hazy moan.
“Maybe,” you gasp when you roll your hips again, reveling in the delicious friction against your clit. “You should take them off.”
“Yours first.”
You don’t press him on it. You want your jeans off. So you lift yourself off of him and the bed to tug at your zipper, and Joel watches raptly as you pull your skinny jeans down your thighs, kicking them off your ankles.
And then you’re only in your underwear, and you throw your legs astride him again, the cloth of your underwear catching deliciously on the tent in his jeans. Joel’s hands find your body immediately, like a sweet tooth to a chocolate bar. His fingers dig into your flesh, and he grips your thighs, pulling them apart to set you on him fully. A shudder wracks your spine at the feeling of him pressed against your throbbing core.
“Goddamn,” he growls, eyes roving over you hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect.”
You grind down on the hard outline of his cock, and Joel can’t help his reflexive thrust into you, and you sigh.
“I need you in me, Joel,” you whisper, leaning forward to plant your hands on his broad chest, your fingers messing with the hair dusting his sternum. “Need your cock filling me up.”
“Christ,” he swears, eyes falling shut as he bucks again. “Need’a be in you, sweetheart.”
His hands find your hips and then your ass, squeezing the muscle cultivated there from twenty years of surviving in an apocalyptic world.
His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, warm and confident. He lightly rakes his fingernails over your skin, running his calloused fingertips reverently over the stretch marks on your hips.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers through the mask. “Wish I could kiss you.”
You shiver and your arms loop around his neck. His back is scarred beneath your hands, and you rub gently into the muscle of his traps, causing Joel to release a groan.
His hand gravitates from your hips to the apex of your thighs, and your breath catches in your throat at the warmth radiating from his fingers when he positions them just below where you want him most.
He circles your clit again, smooth pleasure seeping through your nerve endings and your head falls back in a relaxed moan. You grind against the hard outline of his cock and the pads of his fingers against your clit, each slow drag of your hips causing pleasure to fizzle through you, like a flavored tab in a glass of water.
Your hands travel down his chest and stomach, outlining the thick, jagged scar there. Over his dark happy trail that starts just above his belly button and leads down to what your body is desperately craving. A little treasure map.
You deftly undo the button and zipper and Joel makes a wrecked noise in the back of his throat when your hand brushes the hard outline of him through his briefs.
“Wanna show you how much I like you in the mask,” you purr as you palm him. “How hot it gets me.”
“Fuck,” his head falls back when you tug him out of his briefs, stroking his thick length to full mast. “Please, baby.”
You inch yourself down his legs so that you’re face to face with his weeping cock. Joel’s eyes widen and his hand comes up to gently stroke your hair appreciatively, tucking a lock of it behind your ear. He looks at you with adoration, and your heart swells in your chest.
“I love you, y’know that?” He says, softly.
You can’t help but get a bit misty-eyed, always a fan of Joel when he gets soft like this. “I love you, too.”
He smiles, and glances down at his dick, maneuvering it so that the head skates across your lips, leaving a trail of precum. His heated eyes find yours again. “Go on and show me then.”
“Yes sir.”
You keep eye contact as you lean forward to give his cock little kitten licks, and his head drops against the pillow with a groan, eyes lidded. “Shit, you can’t be lookin’ at me like that.”
You just smirk, and lick a long stripe up a prominent vein and kiss the tip of his cock sweetly before slowly taking him into your mouth. You take in as much as you can (which isn’t much, he’s pretty fucking big), and your hands find whatever you can’t fit.
You start sucking him in earnest, pressing the flat of your tongue against the ridge of his cock, delighting in the way the hand that had softly petted your hair before is now gripping it tight when you tongue that sensitive spot that always gets him reeling.
“That’s it, honey,” he groans, his hips twitching with tiny little thrusts as he tries to hold himself back. “Just like that.”
You moan against his cock, which has him bucking up reflexively, shoving his dick further into your warm mouth. Your throat spasms around the head of his cock when it hits the back of it, gagging lightly and tears forming at the edges of your eyes.
“Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he says, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumb.
You shake your head slightly in reassurance, moaning around his cock again, and he releases a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut once more as you continue to suck and bob and lick, effectively ruining him.
“Okay, okay, baby,” he says after a little while, lightly tugging on your hair to try and get you to stop. “I’m gonna come if you keep doin’ that.”
You release his cock with an audible pop and send him a pout, “But that’s the whole point.”
He chuckles a bit, sliding the mask off for a second so he can pull you up to kiss you softly, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. You moan gratefully into his mouth when he tilts his head to deepen it, opening up greedily. As attractive as you find the mask, you certainly do miss being able to kiss him. You sigh happily when he pulls back to mouth at your jaw and throat, sucking and nipping his way down.
“I wanna be in you when I come,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough and gruff and you don’t think you’ll ever tire of it. “How’s that sound?”
You moan softly when he bites down on your throat, his beard and mustache tickling your skin. “Sounds…sounds good.”
He gives you another kiss before tugging his mask back down over his head, and your skin ignites, pussy fluttering.
Joel laughs. “I can literally see the cogs in your brain turnin’ when I put this on. You really do like it, huh?”
You shrug with a guilty smile. “The heart wants what it wants.”
And what it wants is him. Real bad.
So you drift a hand down to pull your panties to the side and shift your hips to position yourself over him, the head of his cock catching on your entrance. You sink slowly down, his length filling you.
The two of you moan in tandem.
“There we go,” he sighs.
“Mm, so big, Joel…” you whimper, and his dick jumps inside you.
You both just hang there for a moment, suspended in time as you get used to the feeling of each other. You’ve done this so many times, know each others bodies inside and out, yet it’s still a brand new experience every time.
You always have to adjust to his thickness.
You break the spell with an experimental roll of your hips, and Joel’s hands clamp down on your hips with a vice grip.
“Christ—“ he swears. “You’re so good, so good for me.”
He’s filling you so fully, so deeply right now, you’re practically speared on him, and each roll of your hips has your clit brushing against his pelvic bone, amplifying that white hot pressure building inside you.
When you and Joel first started getting intimate together, he was quiet in the bedroom. Probably a bit nervous around you—he was the one that fell first, after all.
But now after years together, he lets it all out.
Grunts and moans leak out of his gritted teeth as you fuck yourself on top of him. He’s dousing you in praises, telling you what a good girl you are. How perfect you are. How lucky he is to call you his wife.
It’s all so very adorable and very sexy and you just love him so fucking much.
Joel plants his feet down behind you, just to get some leverage so he can thrust his hips up into you at a steady pace. Your hands find purchase on his chest, keeping you upright while he fucks you.
His large palm slides around the front of your stomach, pressing down, and you can feel the way his cock moves inside you as he does it.
“You see that, baby?”
You haven’t really looked down, so focused on the way he looks in the mask, how his breaths are coming out heavier and rougher through it. The way he sounds wrecked. But now that he’s asking, you do.
You look down, only to see a slight bulge in your stomach with each thrust of his hips.
A pleasant shudder runs through you. “Oh fuck.”
“Love seein’ the way I fuck you,” he rasps.
You watch his cock disappear and reappear with a slack jaw, eyes glazed as his hands stray to your thighs, squeezing and kneading the flesh.
You’re losing strength in your arms, your nails scraping through his chest hair as you try and remain upright, but the effort of matching his thrusts with your own along with the steady ecstasy filling your marrow is enough to have you collapsing against his chest, boneless.
And now Joel can really take the reins. His big hands grip your ass, holding you still as he pounds into you, your cheek smushing against his pecs with each heavy thrust, your clit rubbing against his sweat-slicked skin.
“F-fuck, Joel. Oh my god—“
“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts. “Atta girl.”
Within moments you’re already there, eyes squeezing shut, brows pulled together in ecstasy as your climax crashes over you in rolling waves. It ebbs and flows within you as you listen to the heated pants modulating through Joel’s mask, watching his eyes gloss over as he chases his own release.
It’s so fucking good. So right. Your husband never fails to give you exactly what you want.
His thrusts grow sloppier as he follows soon behind you, the fluttering walls of your cunt pulling him over faster.
“I’m comin’,” he grits. And then he’s grinding his cock into your pussy, holding you still against him as he paints your insides with thick ropes of cum, releasing a long, drawn out, wrecked moan of your name.
You lay pliant on his chest, practically drooling on him as you both come down and his cock softens inside you, slick and cum running down the inside of your thighs. His heart pounds under your ear, a steady reminder that he’s alive and here and that you, thank fuck, didn’t die earlier today.
“Thanks,” you mumble against his perspirant skin.
He tugs the mask off, his hair sticking to his sweaty temple. “‘Course, darlin’. Though as hot as that was, I dunno about having sex wearin’ that again. I think I was startin’ to get light headed from the lack of air.”
You giggle, “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. I liked it. But now anytime we have to wear them again I’m just gonna be thinkin’ about this. Gonna get a damn hard-on when I’m on patrol.”
You smirk, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He opens up beneath you immediately, moaning softly into your mouth.
“Maybe that was my goal all along,” you mumble, smiling into the kiss.
He pulls back with a quirked brow and crooked grin. “You are into some sick kinds of torture.”
“I mean, if it gets you coming home to me quicker…”
“Oh I’ll be comin’, alright.”
Your face scrunches. “God, you’re sick. Why did I even marry you?”
His eyes melt, one hand squeezing your ass cheek, the other stroking your jaw. “Because you love me.”
That causes tears to well in your eyes again, because despite everything, despite all the fucked up things about this world, you do love him. You’re capable of loving him. And you’re grateful that, even with the terrible way life has treated him, he’s capable of loving you too.
“Yeah, I do,” you say.
He kisses you again, sweet and passionate and filled with all the things he never knows how to say. “I love you, too.”
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller#joel miller x you#tlou#game joel miller#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal#hbo joel miller
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hey there, first i would like to thank you for taking my request cause i love your writing so much and it is a special request that I could only read from you, it's a joel miller x fem reader, fluff age gap (ofc not illegal), i find so much comfort in your joel's fics, so, thanks again and wishing you the best. <33
Stargazing
pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
word count: 3.7k
warnings: age gap, ellie plays matchmaker (common troupe), alcohol consumption, drunk confessions, mutual pining, anxiety and overthinking, this is a heavy dialouge fic, joel being awkward, just general awkwardness but fluff at the end I promise :)
a/n huge shoutout to the person who asked this! i was silly while editing this and accidentally deleted their ask, and they were kind enough to resubmit it for me. also, just a side note almost in every one of my joel fics there is an age gap, I just don't normally specify it but with this one they really deep dive in to it. I'm sorry but I am a younger person, I don't think I could write from the viewpoint of someone close to my parents age.
summary Ellie tries to set Y/N and Joel up on a date
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read time: 13 mins 34 seconds
It was past closing time in the bar. Maria, Tommy, and Joel sat around the dimly lit bar at the last table. Tommy had assured the bartender that he would close up; Tommy was more than capable to.
“Truth or dare,” the drunk man slurred. All three of them were collectively wasted. Joel sighed, downing another shot. He felt seconds later that he shouldn’t have. “Truth.” Joel spit out. This seemed like the hundredth round of this childish game Maria insisted on playing.
“Who in all of the population here would you want to bang in bed on your last night alive?”
Joel knew the answer immediately. A secret he had been keeping to himself for the few years he has known you. And the secret he had been denying and denying for so long. He knew Tommy was fishing for something. But that last shot began to ring through his system as he spoke. He let out a disappointed sign.
“Y/N.”
Maria snorted, almost falling out of her chair. Tommy looked at Joel with his brows furrowed. “What?” Joel asked in defense. “Joel, ain’t she like 20?”
“22.” he said in defense. There wasn’t much to defend, he was a great much older than you. And Joel was more ashamed than ever. He had known you since you were 19, ever since you helped escort Ellie across the country. It felt gross, it felt wrong. But whenever he thought of you, something just couldn’t resist. Your mannerisms, the way your voice sounded, how you responded to maturely to everything. You were an old soul, one that Joel got along with well. Crossing the platonic line never crossed his mind until he settled down in Jackson.
Joel’s eyes darted to the floor. “Hey, you said anyone!” he argued. Maria could not contain her laughter, almost falling on the floor. “Whatever. You guys suck.” he said, pushing his glass of whiskey that was almost finished off towards Tommy. Joel got up and began to leave. “I shouldn’t have said nothin’.”
“Hey!” Tommy yelled after him, over Maria’s laughing. “Quit it,” he muttered at her, making her laugh even more. “Joel-”
It was too late. He drunkenly made his way down the street and to his house. The light in your bedroom was still on he noticed. Joel wasn’t being a stalker and being weird, but you were his neighbor. What were you doing up so late? Reading something he figured. Or talking with Ellie, the girl really seemed to never shut up. As he was about to turn away, you came to the window. Confused of why Joel was out so late, you opened it. The cool spring breeze entered your room.
Joel seemed to panic, and pretended to have not noticed you at all.
“Miller!” he heard you yell. He stopped in his tracts and turned around. “L/N!” he called back. The repetition of your gesture towards him made you smile.
“What you doing up so late? Don’t you have patrol with me tomorrow morning?”
Joel let out a sigh. His hands rested on his hips. “God, is that tomorrow?” he lied. He totally knew. He was looking forward to it all week. “Yup. 7 sharp. Better get to bed, old man.”
The old man comment definitely hurt his ego. He couldn’t pick up on it, but that was your way of flirting. Teasing almost. But to Joel it just proved to himself that you just wanted to be friends—when you totally wanted the opposite.
“And what are you doing up so late?”
You held up the landline phone in to view. “Ellie,” you sighed. “Get some sleep!” he called, and began to head back to his house. The vision of you in your nightgown was getting too much for him, making him realize he wanted things he never thought he could ever want again. “Goodnight Joel,” you called. He waved, and entered his house.
You flopped down on your bed after you closed your curtains. Holding your pillow over your chest, you squeezed it hard. Your stomach fluttered as you childishly re played the memory of what had just happened. Finally, your bedroom light went out.
-
“Y/N,” Ellie sang, circling into your kitchen. It was your fault for leaving the back door open on such a nice day. It unfortunately tracked in things such as unwanted Ellie’s. It was midday, your patrol with Joel had ended about an hour earlier.
“Yes?” you sang back, sitting on your couch and looking up from your book. “I have news.”
She came and sat down next to you. “And what is this news? Is it important enough to distract me from my book?” you asked. Ellie sensed your pissed off tone.“Bookmark the page. You’ll never guess what I heard.”
“Ellie, if this is gossip—” you sighed, setting the book down next to you. “It’s not gossip when it involves you,”
You sighed and rolled your eyes, praying Maria didn’t share one of your embarrassing stories you confided in her. Everyone knew Maria had a big mouth. You slowly crept forward “What is it?”
“Joel has a crush on you.”
A quick laugh escaped from your lips. Ellie looked at you confused. “I-I’m telling the truth.” Your laughter continued. “I call fucking bullshit. Where did you hear that?” “Dude, Maria straight up told like everybody in the dining hall today.”
Your face scrunched. "What?"
“Your definitely fucking with me Ellie. Not funny.” you laughed.
“No!” Ellie exclaimed. “She got wasted with Joel and Tommy last night and he confessed that he would ‘bang you out of everyone in this town’ according to Maria.”
So that’s what he was doing out so late last night.
The thought of the older man that escorted you and Ellie across country a few years ago having a crush on you was absurd. Wasn’t it?
“Well, I thought you should know because remember what you said when we passed through that one small town and…”
She was waiting for you to confirm the pushed down memory that lived in your brain rent free.
It was a small midwestern town in the middle of nowhere. You and Ellie sat outside a coffee shop Joel was currently ransacking for supplies. It was a nice day like today, you and Ellie were sitting on the steps keeping watch as Joel went through the kitchen.
“You know, if the world wasn’t shit I would like my own store. Maybe a coffee shop, it sounds nice. Calm, definitely.” Ellie confided in you. “What would you be doing?”
Your foot tapped on the concrete as you thought to yourself. What would you be doing?
“I would be in college by now. For what, I’m not sure. I would have eventually liked to be married but… that’s never gonna happened.”
“Never say never. You always have Joel.”
You scoffed and giggled. But you had to admit, you had gotten to know the older man well. He was bitter, but you saw through the cracks sometimes. He was quite handsome anyways. Something about his rugged appearance and peppery hair just sat right with you. He had a few soft moments with you along the journey, patching you up after a fight or comforting you after a nightmare that Ellie didn't know about. But that was ridiculous. Ellie was talking nonsense.
You laughed out loud to Ellie’s suggestion, just like you had previously. “Don’t deny it. I see the way you look at him Y/N.”
“Your full of shit,” you joked, giving Ellie a slight push on her shoulder.
“Joel would make a nice husband though. Strong, resourceful, handsome. If I had to pick… sure. I’d be Mrs. Miller any day.”
When you said the words you wanted to suck them back in. Too soon, too much, too quickly. Ellie stared at you blankly. Joel exited the building at the perfect time with a few cans of fruit and spoons. Perfect timing. You remembered the awkward silence as you ate on the pineapple bits, but the phrase rung in your head for days.
“Mrs. Miller”
Being brought back into reality, the memory of expressing interest in Joel re lit something in you. You felt your stomach churn.
“Ah… see?” Ellie exclaimed. Your face turned red as you wanted to bury it in your book. “Mrs. Miller!” she yelled, leaving the living room towards the kitchen and out the back door.
“Ellie!” you yelled firmly, following her with your fists clenched. “Where are you going?”
“To find Joel.”
“Why?” you asked panicked, finally catching up to her on the street panting. You were more nervous than ever to hear her response. “To set you and Joel up on a date, duh!”
"Ellie!" you scolded her, looking around to make sure no one heard her. "What?" she whined, breaking away from your eye on her and making a straight line for Joel's house. To your luck, he was in his garden tending to his flowers. He hadn't seen either of you yet.
You let out a quiet shout, a simple “Ah!” as Ellie pranced down the street. You couldn't watch it, you couldn't look. You ran back in to your house and shut the back door behind you. Sliding down the back of the door and sitting on your kitchen floor, you prayed he responded positively. Or that Ellie was just trying to scare you in a ‘I’m telling the teacher but actually just asking to go to the bathroom’ way. And if Ellie actually went through with her plan, you hoped he didn't take this the wrong way. Even though you really didn't think he would. Would he?
-
It was the next day. You had refused to leave your house in sheer embarrassment. Running in to Joel right now was just a no. You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard the pattering of feet in your downstairs. Praying it was Ellie, you grabbed your knife and held your towel against your chest. "Ellie?"
"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed. You sighed. "You know, you cant just break in to my house whenever you want." you said, sticking your knife in to your banister.
"It's important!" Ellie exclaimed. "Is it important enough to wait until I can get dressed?"
"He said yes."
You were confused. "Who said yes?"
"Joel!"
Your mouth slightly dropped. "And when did I agree to this?" you asked, venturing in to your bedroom to get dressed. In all honestly, you could have stood and talked to Ellie for a few more minutes comfortably in your towel, but you wanted to hide the wide grin that couldn't seem to leave your face even if you tried.
"When you told me you wouldn't mind being Mrs. Miller," Ellie teased, acting like she was stating the obvious. You poked your head out of your door and looked down your stairs and gave Ellie a sour expression. "I only want you to be happy, that's all!"
"I'm perfectly fine as it is. I didn't need you meddling in my life."
"Well, nobody else was going to do it. We all see how your cooped up here, reading all day. We just want to make sure your okay."
You came out of your bedroom dressed, wrangling out the ends of your wet hair with a towel. You met Ellie at the bottom of the stairs. "And who is we?" you questioned. Ellie sucked her teeth. "You caught us," she chuckled, staring at her converse. "Tommy and Maria and...maybe Dina?"
You sighed audibly, closing your eyes for a moment. "All three of you! Wow." you said somewhat sarcastically.
"Ellie!" you heard a yell from outside. It was her new friend, Dina, who she was almost inseparable with.
"Gotta go." she said, opening your front door and skipping down your steps.
"Ellie- wait!"
She turned around and looked at you, you saw Dina anxiously waiting for her. "When is he coming?"
Ellie shrugged. "Dunno. He said he'd be around."
Your face scrunched in confusion. Be around...?
Before you could ask any follow up questions, the two girls were gone.
———
“This is so damn stupid,” Joel whispered to himself. His doubt was creeping in. The bouquet was hidden behind his back. Fresh picked from his garden, tied off with a bit of twine. His other hand was about to knock on your door. It wasn’t too late… 7 o’clock? You wouldn’t be in bed yet, right? Knock knock.
There was some shuffling from inside the house, and you opened the door. Almost yanked the door open, actually. Joel took a step back due to the commotion. “Joel?” you nervously asked, pretending you weren’t anxiously waiting for the random arrival of your not-so blind date all day. “W-what are you doing here?” you asked, playing dumb.
“If it’s not a good time I can-”
“Oh—no! It’s perfect, d-do you want to come in?” you asked the older man, looking up at him. Joel never seemed as intimidating as he did now. And you’ve seen him torture people before.
You let Joel in to your house as the two of you just stared at each other awkwardly. What did you really have to talk about?
“What are those?” you asked anxiously, referencing down to the flowers in his hands.
“Oh!” he exclaims, kicking himself mentally for not remembering to give them to you. “There for you. Fresh from my garden.”
You recognized the flower as tulips, your favorite. Joel was touched by the sparkle that came to your face once he presented them to you. Accepting them, your hands grazed his a bit. The both of you let go, almost dropping the flowers on the floor. An awkward laugh was exchanged. “Thank you, there beautiful.” you sighed in awe, moving in to the kitchen to get a glass to put them in. “How did you know tulips were my favorite?”
“Wild guess?” Joel responded. Not from Ellie prepping Joel for this date, not at all.
“So what did you have in mind for tonight?” you asked, cutting off the stems of the tulips so they would fit in the glass jar you had filled with water.
“Uh,” Joel mumbled. “I- you know that trail around the fence?”
“Up the mountain?” you asked him, setting the flowers down in the middle of your table. “Yeah. Your up to it?”
“That's a great idea, Joel.”
He let out his breath he was holding, thrilled that you agreed to his idea. Ellie said it was stupid, that walking the trails at night could be creepy. Ellie suggested a nice dinner, but Joel thought that was just so boring. Every date he had ever been on had basically been a nice dinner. He had this planned ever since Ellie even brought up the idea of a possible interest in pursuing Y/N.
Stargazing.
The cool air was refreshing. You kept in rhythm with Joel. He was slower than you, and he was worrying that it would be a turn off for you. But you didn’t mind. You enjoyed taking in the silent night and the hums of nature slowly.
The moon was full and it was a clear night. The trail was overgrown, but still manageable. Joel had trekked up here earlier that day to get ready. As the clearing began to come in to view, Joel felt his anxiety rising. What if you didn’t like it? What if he put too much effort in to it and you thought it was weird? Joel was a quiet kept man, but his thoughts were screaming almost constantly.
“Joel!” you gasped, stopping at the edge of the clearance.
A blanket was laid on the ground with a few decorative pillows. A canteen with two cups sat on the grass along with a book and a lantern. Joel reached down and clicked the lantern open, and it began to emit a soft warm light. It wasn’t like the harsh, recreational ones that would blind you.
“Did you do this? It’s… beautiful.”
Joel’s eyes cast up at you. “It’s nothing much…”
You sat down next to Joel on the blanket he had set out. “Nothing much?” you chuckled, taking in the beautiful view that shown over an abandoned city where Jackson got a lot of their supplies from.
“I think this is the nicest thing a guy has ever done for me.”
“Then you obviously haven't met many nice guys,” Joel said, his voice shaking slightly. He realized how detrimental and self-deprecating that sounded and tried to re-phrase it. “You haven't been on many dates… right?”
And that now sounded predatory. “I-I mean-”
“Actually, this is my first date. Ever.”
Your confidence and comfortability answering him calmed Joel’s nerves. “I don’t mean to pry,” you began. “But did you ever have someone? Like before all this. And if you don’t want to reply that’s okay, I was just wondering but-”
Joel chuckled a bit at your eagerness. “Nah, no worries.” he re assured you, slowly moving his arm around you. Accepting his touch, you moved in to his embrace as the two of you stared up at the stars. “I had a wife- she was my ex-wife. My daughter’s mother. We had her real young, and she just wasn’t ready for the commitment of a family.”
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, watching a blinking star above. “It’s alright. Gave me the best life I could have ever asked for, for thirteen years.”
“And your daughter?”
Joel knew this was bound to come up sooner or later, just not this soon. He didn’t even realize he mentioned Sarah until you asked your follow up question. “She didn’t make it past outbreak day like most people didn’t.” he said bluntly. “But anyways,” he said quickly, saving the awkward response from you. “What about you? Any family?”
“Just Ellie. No relation as you know, but she’s my sister.” Joel nodded. There wasn’t much in this world, and family became what you made it. “What’s that?” you asked, perking your head up from Joel’s chest and pointing over to the grass. “What?” he asked. “The coffee or the book?”
You gasped. “You got coffee?”
He smiled and smirked. “I’ve always wanted to try coffee!” you exclaimed.
Joel looked at you with an odd look. “Your tellin’ me you've never had coffee?”
“No!” you exclaimed. “I used to have this every morning before the outbreak. Withdrawals the first few weeks were definitely difficult.” he explained as he poured you a glass. It was dark and steaming hot. “Coffee is a delicacy, dude. No one in the QZ had this where I was from. It would occasionally get passed out to the soldiers but man, that’s cool.” you said. Joel forgot—you were a post outbreak baby. You wouldn’t have known of the luxury of Starbucks or an espresso machine. “You may not like it, but it’s very unlikely.” he explained. Joel’s love for coffee was strong.
You took the first sip. It burned your tongue and tasted like dirt water. The smell was unmatchable, but the taste was just horrible. You froze, not wanting to disappoint Joel.
Joel couldn't help it, he couldn't keep in his laughter. “Not a fan?” he asked, looking at you behind his cup as he took a sip. “It’s very…interesting?” you said, forcing yourself to take another sip.
“Don’t torture yourself now,” Joel said, extending his hand for the cup. You gladly gave it back to him. “It was a nice thought,” you said dearly, giving him credit for his sweet gesture. “Ellie said the same thing when I made her try some. Must be a…”
He didn’t want to say it. His words came out faster than he could think. “What, a post outbreak baby thing?” you finished his sentence.
That was exactly what Joel was going for. “I mean, I didn’t mean it that way but…”
“It’s okay. Stop worrying Joel, you seem so nervous.” you flirted. “Aren't you?” Joel asked, feeling like that emotional wall was just broken down by your comment.
“Me? Oh, I’ve been a nervous wreck all day. Ellie didn’t give me a time, place, or any context other than that you were coming.”
“Your kiddin’ me. That damn kid,” he sighed, reaching for the book on his side. “Speakin’ of Ellie.” he said, handing you the book.
“Constellations and Stars.” you said in awe.
“For kids,” you added, reading the small line under the title. “This some kind of cruel joke?” you asked Joel, opening the first page. “I promise it not,” he chuckled. “Found it in Ellie’s old storage bin she keeps in my basement. Thought it was useless, well, until now.”
“Do you see any?” you asked Joel. The two of you were laying flat on the blanket. Your head rested on his chest as his arm draped down protectively over you. Your legs were touching, feet and calves were intertwining. “The Big Dipper is always easy to find… if you look.”
You opened the book and flipped around a few pages until you found the page for the Big Dipper. “Like a kite,” you said. “Yeah, kind of like a kite.”
After a few minutes of intense searching in the sky and enjoying your other’s companies, you found it. “Joel, I think I found it.”
“You did. I found it like five minutes ago.” he said shyly. You sighed in defeat. “I guess your just better than me.” you sighed sarcastically. “I guess I am.” Joel hummed.
“You know, back when the world wasn’t like this people would buy each other stars?” Joel asked. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” you laughed. “With real money? Like the physical stuff?”
“Yup.” Joel confirmed.
“I would buy you a star if I could.” you said suddenly. Joel suddenly felt a warmth grow inside of him, one he hadn't felt for many years. He had to spit out his thought, he just had to. Didn’t want to waste an opportunity.
“I’d buy the whole sky of stars for you.” he said softly. You looked up at him, a hand resting on his chest. “Would you really?”
“In a heartbeat.”
The rest of the night was filled with laughter. You told Joel old stories about your QZ, he told you old stories about his life. Sharing what seemed like useless future plans now sounded promising with Joel. The two of you never wanted the night to end.
tag list(sorry if this appears twice tumblr is glitching currently) @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy
You noticed the small wrinkles around Joel’s eyes when he smiled. When he smiled at least, you don't think you have ever seen this man so filled with so much joy before. You took in the detail of his smiling face intricately, not wanting to forget the feeling of the moment you were in. This man just said he would buy the whole sky of stars for you. You would do quite literally anything for him, but not like you wouldn’t have done it before. The feelings were very obviously now mutual.
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tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy
#peterparkersnose#joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller angst#joel miller x reader#joel miller imagine#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller headcanon#joel miller one shot#joel miller age gap#joel miller age gap fanfiction#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal fanfiction#troy baker#the last of us#the last of us hbo#the last of us joel fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal fan fiction#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal angst#peterparkersnosework
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