#who will come to my kitchen and be hungry for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

proxima-writes · 15 hours

Text

𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

PAIRING: JACKSON!JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY | Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | One glimpse of Pedro as Joel in the new season has turned me into a woman possessed. Thank you @undrthelights and @janaispunk for giving this a read for me 💕

ways to help palestine

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, porn without plot, mild angst, able bodied reader, no physical reader descriptions or age mentioned, jackson era, mentions of joel's weight (in the context of looking healthier in jackson), emotionally constipated joel, dirty talk, praise, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex - f receiving (while standing), unprotected p in v, limited aftercare. let me know if i’ve missed any!

A noise breaks through your dreams, a loud banging that startles you from sleep and leaves you blinking at the ceiling. Thoughts still fuzzy, you stumble down the stairs and through your kitchen to the back door that rattles in its frame with each pound of a fist against it. You glance at the neon red numbers of the stove clock and at this hour, there can only be one culprit.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you groan, opening the door. “It’s two in the morning, what is wrong with you?” He doesn’t answer, simply shoulders past you and into your house. “Oh, sure come on in, make yourself—“

Your sarcastic remark is abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against yours, mouth hot and hungry as he skips any semblance of pleasantry and dives straight into carnal desire. His teeth graze your lip, the sting soothed by his tongue before it tangles with yours. Your fingers curl into his jacket sleeves, hanging on for dear life as he backs you into a wall, the two of you hitting one with a dull thump that disturbs the picture frames.

He shoves a knee between your thighs and pins you to the plaster, every sense invaded by him as he continues to consume you. When his mouth leaves yours and begins to leave hot kisses like brands across your neck, you finally find your voice again.

“Joel, what—“

“Shut up,” he grunts. You’re taken aback by the command and you have half a mind to smack him across the head for it, but he’s got his teeth on your earlobe and he adds, “I just, I need this, okay? Please?”

The fight leaves you in one fell swoop because you’d do anything for Joel if he just asks nicely. You nod and he returns to his task of turning you into a puddle with a single minded determination. When you start to rock your hips against his denim clad thigh in a desperate bid for friction, you feel, rather than see, the grin on his face.

“Mm, just as needy for me, ain’t you?” He teases. You frown.

“Don’t push your luck, Miller,” you snap. He laughs, a deep rumble that reminds you of the thunderstorms in the spring. “I can still kick you out of my house.”

“You won’t.” Confident, cocky, a man who knows he has you in the palm of his ridiculously skilled hands. “If you’d been smart, you would have kicked me out the first time. Now I’m just like a stray dog, ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

The first time, when he showed up in Jackson with a chip on his shoulder and a frown on his face. His hair had been shorter, his frame a bit smaller, his eyes a lot more vacant. He walked you home one night from the Tipsy Bison and when he kissed you under the glow of your porch light, his mouth tasted like whiskey, not unlike it does tonight.

Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

While your thoughts drifted to the past, Joel has dropped to his knees and is curling his fingers into the elastic of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your thighs.

“In the kitchen? Really?” You huff. “There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“Too far,” he says, tossing your underwear aside.

Despite your complaints, there is something undeniably sexy about having Joel kneeling before you, impatient enough that he’ll take you right where you stand. He shuffles closer, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and lavishes your clit with broad swipes of his tongue.

Your head drops back as you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls out every trick in the book of your pleasure, alternating between fast circles and sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips. It’s not long before you’ve reached the precipice of your release, teetering on a razor thin edge before finally falling into oblivion with a gasp of his name. He groans against you as you come, waves of it rolling through you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he says as he pulls away. You look down at him with a half-lidded stare, his chin wet in the low light and his own gaze dark with lust. He stands, slowly, with a bit of a wince because of his bad knee that he tries to hide with a grin. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you away from the wall and into his arms where he kisses you, his lips and tongue drenched in your taste. He walks you back to your little kitchen table, kicking a chair out of the way so that he can turn you to face it, a palm between your shoulder blades urging you down until you’re bent over the wooden surface.

The clink of his belt buckle falling to the linoleum makes your muscles clench in anticipation. Joel’s palm smooths down your back, almost reverently, before reaching your ass and giving it a rough squeeze.

“You’re killin’ me, you know that?” He asks. You turn your head, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, I’m waiting for you to quit teasing.”

“That’s just it,” he says, sliding the head of his cock through your messy pussy before notching himself at your entrance. “You ain’t gotta do anythin’ except exist and you’ll drive me crazy.”

Any response you had dies a swift death as he presses inside of you, filling you in the most tortuous way. The ache of the stretch quickly fades as he bottoms out with a deep groan, his hands gripping your waist tight enough that you know you’ll feel the phantom sting of bruises in the morning. He sets a rough, demanding pace, the sound of skin against skin cacophonous in your little kitchen. You can’t hold back the noises of pleasure he wrings from you as he slams in deep with each thrust and pulls out so far that you’re practically empty before doing it over and over again.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, so tight,” he grunts. You arch your back the slightest bit, changing the angle so that each drive of his cock drags against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars and whimpering his name. “God, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it so pretty.”

“Joel,” you moan. “Please, please, please.”

“Beggin’ to come again?” He asks. “So greedy, ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Need to come, please, Joel!”

“I gotcha, baby.” His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers pinch your sensitive clit. “Come on, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

It’s an empty threat, but one that works. Your muscles go tight with your second orgasm, your cunt pulsing around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated as he chases his own high. He pulls out just seconds before making good on his word, painting your skin with warm release.

As you catch your breath, his warmth leaves your side. You vaguely register the sound of running water before a cold rag is wiping away the mess on your ass and cleaning up the slick between your thighs, the rough fabric over your sensitive flesh making you jump. Joel shushes you, another pass of his soothing palm down your back as he finishes wiping you clean.

You stand up straight on shaky legs and collapse in the chair that he’d kicked from the table to make room for your bodies. He’s already pulled his pants back up, the only evidence of your tryst in the sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair in disarray. His jaw grows tense as you watch him and he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the awkward aftermath.

“Thanks,” he says. “Needed that.”

“So you said,” you reply. “Did something happen?”

“Just some bullshit with Tommy.”

“Brother bullshit or town bullshit?”

“Bit of both.”

“Oh.”

He nods, glancing at the door. “I should get goin’.”

“Right.”

Joel doesn’t move for the door, though. No, he steps in close, taking your face in his warm hands and kissing you softly, gently, a wild juxtaposition to his earlier attentions. When he pulls away, you can’t help but reach up and smooth a thumb between his eyebrows, trying smooth the line of concern there.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whisper. You’ve said it before. You’ll say it again. You’ll keep saying it, until the ship that passes you in the night returns to your harbor.

“I do,” he replies, stepping back. You give him a tired smile.

Tonight isn’t that night.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed! You can find more of my writing below:

Joel Miller masterlist | All character masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #no use of y/n #jackson era joel #long hair joel

342 notes · View notes

green-eyedfirework · 3 days

Text

It started with the Morino contract.

No. That was a lie. It really started—not really really, that was the time Nightwing leaned up when Slade was pinning him to the wall and grinned, soft and slow and wicked, and Slade had growled don’t be a tease and Nightwing murmured who said I’m teasing and Slade had half-thought it was a trap, but no, apparently Nightwing’s taste in people that could overpower him ran to villains too—with a lazy morning in Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven.

Slade had been making breakfast, idly watching Dick walk around in a too-big shirt and nothing else, when Dick had gotten a phone call. The lazy mornings were...he didn’t want to say content, but after the third time Dick asked him to stay for breakfast, blue eyes sleepy but bright, and clarified that he wasn’t making it a Thing, Jesus Christ, Slade, I’m not trapping you into a promise ring, it’s just food—they were peaceful. The kid wasn’t a half-bad cook, he definitely didn’t believe in covering clothes, and sometimes Slade even got another fuck before he headed out.

Dick ended his phone call and came back into the kitchen, giving him a wry smile. “You’re going to have to leave. B will be here in ten minutes.”

Slade raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the cooking hashbrown.

“Don’t be a baby, you can make some more. Or just buy some.” Dick had grabbed his arm and was tugging him out of the kitchen. “What you definitely don’t want is to still be here when Bruce shows up.”

Slade allowed himself to be pulled out, casting a last glance at his hashbrown. “Don’t tell me you’re ashamed of me.”

“Ha. There are several things that Bruce should never know, and that I’m fucking Deathstroke the Terminator is one of them. Shoo.”

“Rude.”

“I’m sorry, do you want Batman on your ass? No? Then I’ll see you later, Slade. And thanks for breakfast!”

“You’re a brat,” Slade collected his stuff—he hadn’t come to Bludhaven for business, so there was only one gun and a couple of knives to grab—and headed for the window. “And I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I’m flexible,” Dick grinned at him as he shimmied into a pair of leggings, as delightfully shameless as always, and Slade allowed himself one last look at that ass before leaving.

He didn’t understand the twisting feeling in his stomach.

Dick had done nothing wrong aside from stealing his breakfast, Slade had absolutely no desire to meet Batman, and Slade had just as unceremoniously kicked Dick out from his own safehouses.

It was nothing. He was just hungry. He hunted down food, and put it out of his head.

Until the Morino contract.

Slade didn’t usually take assassination contracts in Bludhaven—best not to rock that particular boat—but he’d followed Morino down from New York City, and he wasn’t going to wait for him to leave just to put a bullet in his head. Besides, the way his luck went, Morino would end up fleeing to Gotham, and Slade was not dealing with the Bats.

The setup was easy—he took position, unpacked and assembled his rifle, waited. And took the shot.

He was halfway through disassembly when he heard the whine of a grapple.

“You chased someone into my city,” Nightwing was stalking forward, all furious lines, “to kill them?!”

Slade made a show of glancing around. “I don’t see your name on it,” he said dryly, palming his knives as he rose up.

“Real cute,” Nightwing snarled, slipping his escrima free.

“Next time I’ll take them outside city limits to spare your delicate sensibilities,” Slade drawled.

Nightwing growled and lunged, Slade met his attack, and the familiar motions of a fight began. Just when Slade was starting to suspect that Nightwing was actually pissed and this fight wasn’t foreplay, Nightwing made an inarticulate sound and practically smashed their faces together, kissing Slade like he was trying to devour him.

That, Slade could get behind, and he let the niggling question go as he matched Nightwing’s intensity.

~#~

Slade slipped out before Dick woke up—not an unusual occurrence, but certainly rarer over the past few months—and told himself it was because he didn’t want to deal with Nightwing’s whining over Slade killing someone in his city.

~#~

It was a lot harder to excuse his avoidance of Bludhaven. He rationalized it by saying he was giving Dick time to cool down—except Dick had made no indication of being angry after the fight, he’d cuddled up to Slade without only a sleepy yawn after the fuck, and Slade wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so uncertain with the state of their relationship.

They had sex. Great sex. Sleeping afterwards, well, that was just comfortable, and breakfast in the morning was a bonus. Their respective jobs had never gotten in the way before—Dick hadn’t made any mention of ground rules outside of sex, didn’t care. It was just sex.

He could almost see Wintergreen’s raised eyebrow when he kept passing up contracts on the Eastern Seaboard.

#my snippets #sladick #slade catches feelings first #he wants a refund

62 notes · View notes

richeeduvie · 1 day

Note

Plz can you bless me with more sweet papa lalo with his daughter/s

"My chubby princesita, look what I have for you!"

You don't want to say Lalo buys your daughters too much, especially for how young they are...but he does. But you're too weak when it comes to them as well. With how cute they look in his gifts. But Lalo wouldn't use the word weak, it'd be deserved.

"Look at this pretty dress! Do you like it?"

"...Ba...be - dress. Pretty."

Lalo laughs loud, picking her up and pinching her perfect chubby cheeks.

"How smart you are - of course it's so pretty. You know it. Papa can't wait to see you in it. Are you hungry?"

Lalo takes her to the table, sitting her on top of it before he puts a kiss to your lips.

"Where's my other girls, they gotta eat. They were too busy being sweet ones to us - so we ignore how they miss breakfast. Smart Salamancas, I tell you."

You hear little footsteps stop behind you.

"I'm hungry, Papa-"

"I can tell. Be patient. What you doing running into the kitchen like that? Could've slammed into Mama."

"Lalo."

Your son crosses his arms.

"You got mad at me for being on the table-"

"Well, bebita's not tryin' to do damn cartwheels on my table, hm? And Papa put her there. Go away. Lunch will come later."

"...I'm taking her with me-"

"Ah! Leave your sister alone." Lalo slaps his hand away, putting a piece of cold meat he took from the fridge out in his mouth.

"Lalo, I think we can watch them play."

"What's the boy gonna do with a toddler? He and his brothers were talking about using her as a ball out on the grass. No, go away. Papa will call you for later."

"I just want her to see my cars-"

"Ah!"

"See? Princesita wants nothing to do with those cars. She can see Papa's cars."

Your son hangs his head low and you sigh, catching him before he does go away and kissing him on his cheek. You know your little baby girl did her ah for her brother, reaching out for him.

You sit him on the table.

"Let them play."

Lalo sighs, heading tilting off to the side. He puts his hand on his hip before he kisses your hair.

"You know how to get family together, huh?"

He smiles with you, taking Princesita up into his arm, holding her like a ball with smooches all over.

"Who's that, hm? Is that your brother?"

"Yes!"

"Hey! Let her answer."

Lalo combs her hair as she babbles things that are nearly words.

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #lalo salamanca x reader

17 notes · View notes