#c: joel

[theancientcitylibrary]

title: quietly rewrite them (masterlist) author: theancientcitylibrary rating: teen and up audiences warnings: no archive warnings apply category: multi; gen word count: ongoing fandom: empires smp relationship(s): solidaritygaming | jimmy & smallishbeans | joel & pixlriffs | pixl & ldshadowlady | lizzie & katherine kg | katherine, smallishbeans | joel/ldshadowlady | lizzie, implied solidaritygaming | jimmy/dangthatsalongname | scott, implied katherine kg | katherine/shubbleyt | shrub, implied fwhip | fwhip/pixlriffs | pixl characters: smallishbeans | joel, ldshadowlady | lizzie, solidaritygaming | jimmy, pixlriffs | pixl, katherine kg | katherine, dangthatsalongname | scott, shubbleyt | shrub berry, joeygraceffagames | joey, mythicalsausage | sausage, geminitay | gem, fwhip | fwhip, pearlescentmoon | pearl, xornoth (esmp) additional tags: au – canon divergence, mind control, brainwashing, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, minor injuries, referenced minor character death, mild language, panic attacks, vomiting (warned when appearing), other tags that are descriptors, summary: With their empires invaded, and their friends lost under Xornoth's sinister command, the Cod Alliance has to come together to fight a battle they can't afford to lose. But the failures of those who tried before them overshadow their efforts, and raises the question of if they can even succeed where the others once failed? And with the encroaching corruption threatening to swallow them, they face not just Xornoth and his seemingly unending power, but the fear of losing themselves—and all their friends—to the darkness. Especially as they learn that the dangers lurking in the darkness are only one half of the fight, and that they're not just fighting the corruption but destiny itself. series: destiny averted

link to full story: "we're going to have to leave soon."

link to individual chapters: one || two || three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

Paring: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Tonight’s the night Joel Miller finally let’s his feelings for you show. Or; Joel Miller half-assedly teaches you how to ride him.

Warnings: PWP. UNPROTECTED P-IN-V, big age gap, Joel is 57, Joel takes your virginity! Wow! Riding/lap riding, tummy bulge, daddy kink, creampie, pussy and cock pronouns, mentions of female masturbation, Joel, BIG DICK Miller.

Author’s Note: Here, take this no beta’d word vomit while I work on reqs! ;)

It was Joel’s neck covered in kisses, stained the color of your muted red lipstick. 

It was Joel’s hands firmly purchased on your waist as you humped his denim-clad thigh. 

Kissing him with a will and invite for his tongue. Vibrations of your moans shook down his throat. Your body finally starting to settle into his lap as he sat in the middle of your bed, your white shabby comforter detailed with a pattern of little pink flowers pooling around him, his legs tucked underneath his thighs. 

You sure as fucking hell were bound to lose the daughter-of-the-year award if your daddy comes home to a dirty house and a Joel in your sheets. 

He pulled away, the kiss ending in a sharp, wet sound. 

“This. Off.” He ordered, his eyes flicked to your top.

A free hand came up, his fingers curling underneath the hem of your tank –the same impossibly tight one that your tits have been threatening to spill out of all fucking day. Rolled over your head and thrown to the floor beside your bed, bound to be forgotten about and eventually hidden away underneath your bed skirt to be found again in the coming months.

Willing and ready you found yourself leaning in on your knees, hovering over his lap as you squirmed out of your shorts. Joel’s hands reached to pull it down your thigh at his best attempts to help you. Quickly those hands came in focused on his own clothes, his dick suffering underneath the confines of his tattered jeans.

He worked the clasp of the belt with his thumb, struggling to manage precise movements while the only light spreading into the room would be the pale glow of the moon that snuck through the slit between your curtains. Finally with a click the belt had loosened, able to thread out from the loops of his jeans, falling to the carpeted floor with a muffled sound of metal clanking against itself. 

Leaning back you awaited what you knew was to come- nearly whimpering just from the twisting low in your belly. Thick digits clamped the zipper of his jeans as he pulled it down. After a few difficult tugs down his thighs his cock sprung out. Quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it motion accompanied by the sound of the thick length slapping up against his tummy.

Luckily, you didn’t blink. 

You couldn’t sit, not yet at least. Your body stilling as your brain faltered for a moment, the sight of his painfully blushed tip, precum crying from the slit– well, was distracting. It made you ache.

You stood up, your legs bucking as you tried to fight off the dizziness, giving Joel time to kick off his jeans as you kicked your shorts off of your ankle, your panties followed up. It was slow, it was fucking messy. It was two seconds away from his palm and your waist already missed the warmth. Luckily, he was quick to the scene.

His hands squeezed into the plush of your thighs, pressing his nose into your navel, craning his head forward to draw a path down to your pelvis, pressing a firm, sweet kiss to the soft skin. The pull his hands were giving your legs was silently telling you he was ready. His bare chest inflating and deflating with every long, deep breath. 

Something different twisted in your gut now. You were anxious. 

“You know I haven’t–” 

“I know.”

He did know. But he also knew a couple other things too. He knows how you fuck your pillow every night to the thought of this, he knows how you make your fingertips abuse your clit till your wrist burns. Secrets that had flurried out of your lips as you two stumbled through the doors earlier that night. 

Things you most definitely admitted to too quickly, though, you felt it couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sit. He ain't goin’ in on his own.” He said simply. Truthfully, he made a good point. 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you slowly began lowering yourself, his hand splayed on your lower back. Closer… Closer. Until you were there, your warm, wet, bare pussy pressed against his writhing dick, now bowed between your folds. Safe and warm but not quite happy. 

Joel was shocked he hadn’t lost his mind yet.

His fingers crawled up behind you, finding the clasp to your black push-up bra and undoing it, letting it fall into his grasp before– you guessed it, throwing it to the other side of the fucking room. 

He brushed your hair out from blocking your breasts, the flesh tender, swelling with each breath. 

“Fuck me. Why’ve you been hidin’ these from me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, an act of attitude turning into one of pleasure half way as his calloused thumb runs over a half-hard nipple. 

“I wouldn’t have minded if you noticed them before.” 

You knew your pussy was making you say that. Though, there lied some truth. You couldn’t say if Joel did walk up to you and grab your tits before all this that you wouldn’t have slapped him across the cheek. 

He swallowed as he let his face nestle between your breasts, his nose dragged up your sternum before halting at your collar.

“You would’ve.”

He stated. Simply. The palm of his right hand soothed down your waist, running his thumb across the divot between the top of your thigh and your hip before working over to your cunt. Pressing the pad firmly against your clit. Swelling up under the hood. 

“You like touching yourself here?”

Oh great, he remembers. 

Oh fuck, he remembers. 

“Yes.” You breathed. The feeling making your hips stutter into the touch. 

You were quick to get impatient especially in your pretty little head beneath every other disgusting thought, you really knew you didn’t need the foreplay, or, any more at least. You came for the real deal and that’s exactly what you wanted from him. Needed.

“Fuck me Joel, c’mon.” You were frustrated.

He would’ve told you to wait another minute, get real ready which is what he was making sure you were. He could feel how you pulsed against his cock. The pressure he felt in his length was unbearably numbing. 

He guided your legs to tie a knot around his hips, wrapping a strong arm against your lower back. 

“Gonna put your hand here– right on my chest.”

Your fingers had clung around his thumb as he guided your hand over, splaying your palm flat against his chest, his nipple pressed between your middle and index. 

“Like that?” You questioned, bordering innocence. 

“Like that.” 

Your other hand rested on his knee, that light touch turned into a firmer grip at the feeling of his cock jumping between your slit. It was a warm, sticky mess of precum and your own juices. 

“Lift.”

His breath fanned out against your neck, a warmth already creeping up your skin there. You obeyed once again, lifting your hips just a bit so he could grab ahold of his base. Trying to ignore the pulses, he glided his cockhead through your labia. Puffy, aching, leading a path to your opening. Drenched. 

It’d be a tight fit, that was for fuckin’ sure. 

He started slow, pushing– pushing. His head in a constant nod to check between your entrance struggling to stretch around his bulbous head and your beautiful, little face. 

“Breathe.” He reminded. “C’mon babygirl, let ‘Im in.”

Your hand moved up, cupping his nape instead of contently settling on his chest. You had to breathe. 

You let out another mewl as it got heavier– the pressure, the feeling of him invading your cunt. He was unnaturally large. You could excuse that maybe the female body wasn’t built to take a cock so over the six-inch mark. 

That was until you felt it: Your muscles relaxing enough to take him in with a tender inhale. Popping past your virginity, your eyes glossed over as you finally let out the moan that had been stuck in the middle of your throat since you got in his lap. Your fingers threading between the damp curls that fell against the back of his neck. 

“There she is.” His breaths were quick to turn shallow, feeling your muscles clamp down. An unwelcoming-welcome into your walls. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl…” 

“Joel–” You’d whimper, the feeling was heavy, tight. You could only imagine how he felt. 

A broad hand finds your hip, guiding you into quick, strong movements as you worked your hips back and forth, soon enough– bouncing. Joel’s balls were heavy, hitting your ass in a staccato rhythm. He was a pleaser, there wasn’t a second doubt about that fact. He fucking needed you to feel every. Last. Inch. 

Though, there was a dichotomy. Fucking your brains out or trying his best to find the words to help you. Teach you. Ultimately, it had to be the second option. Another deep pump and his head curved to kiss a soft give on your gummy walls making you moan. Loud.

If only your eyes had the strength to open– turn your head to the side to look at the hands of your clock, though in the dark room you wouldn’t have much luck anyway. Dad would be home around one– AM, Jesus Christ, It’s not that you had hoping that Joel’s old cock would be outta you soon. But at this rate, you’d need to clean, do the dishes– wash your fucking sheets now, apparently. Worry was quickly fucked out of your head, an uncontrolled rut of Miller’s pelvis led to his tip bumping into your cervix, grazing along the tissue. Fuck, that made your head spin. 

“Don’t think.” He noticed. His lips pressed against the top of your breast, hands sliding to your ribs.

“He’s too big to think, daddy.” Shaky. You had enough in you to tease him. 

His lips traced all the way to the tip of your nose, planting a firm cloying kiss there. Then your cheek, your eyelid as it fluttered shut. He could’ve came right there. He pulled you closer, his hips jumping into yours. Every now and again the rocking would get fast– thrusts mean before they slowed to calm again. His brows knitted together before he found himself taking your hand into his again. Sacredly bringing it to his chest for the second time, right below his clavicle. 

“Right there– feel that? Feel how fast you got my heart goin’, baby?” 

At first you could think the worst and assume he was trying to insinuate he was going into cardiac arrest– no, he wasn’t that elderly. W–was he? 

“I– I do.” You stammered. Nodding quickly as you pressed your hand deeper.

But once you really felt it. Heavy bumps against the middle of your palm. A fast thump-thump-thump–. It wasn’t long until you felt your gut twist. Your mouth fell slack with a sharp whine, you could feel every motherfucking vein throbbing, your walls gloving him tight, giving him zero room to breathe. 

“I do.” 

You repeated. Your thighs felt hot. Hot as in; like all the blood in your body decided to all go there. Making them buzz, your legs occasionally kicking out. Now with your body ready and begging, screaming to just reach that climax already, you were really fuckin’ struggling. It was a war between you, your body and Joel’s cock. You’ve never tried harder to keep a poker face in your life. You were teetering the line, you were gonna cum. Joel could see that. See your facade slipping. 

“She’s real good, y’know.” He said, “Squeezin’ me like she needs it.” 

“She does.” You were quick to reply to his praise, it sounded more like a cry than anything. Something that was making his ego inflate. And his cock. 

“Hurry– my– Jesus. Christ.” It was like he was waiting for your next words to push deeper, harder. His thrust pausing midway to really drive himself in. “Dad– dad’s gonna be home soon–” 

Joel bit back a smirk at the mess he was making of you. Understanding how it must’ve felt for you. Poor, pliant girl. Completely cock-drunk and there was no way around the fact. Your body squirming, wriggling against him. His fingers dug into the soft plush of your ass. 

“Hm? Daddy’s right here, baby.” He cooed.

Oh, you were gonna fucking kill him after this. 

He withdrew, his jaw slacked as shallow, shaking breaths puffed out from salvia slicken lips. The slick, glistening head of his dick quickly forced right back into you, continuing the rhythm he had found that perfectly suited. Back and forth. Back. And. Fucking. Forth. 

His eyes locked on you. Not your face: your thighs, him between your thighs. The bump-out in the low of your tummy showing just where his cock was. His thumb ran right above where his base was buried, up, up, finding that pretty pink pearl hiding beneath the surface. With a firm pressure, he began thrusting his thumb forwards and back. Your cunt fluttering every time.

“Feel that? Feel me?” His cock curved up, pressing against yet another dizzying spot.

Your slender fingers moved down your highly sensitive body, haphazardly ghosting over your low stomach. And there you felt– him. So close, so intimately close. 

“C’mon, cum f’me, baby. I know you need’ta…” He urged.

It was your final straw, apparently your body’s as well.  

“Fuck, fuck–Joel–!” You felt the knot in your pelvis pinch tighter. “Daddy– fuck–!”

It was a choked cry as your hands spastically found his shoulders, fingers squeezing into the muscle painfully hard. A thick, pulsating numbness that made your walls spasm around Joel’s cock, forcing your head to be thrown back, eyes squeezing shut. You wanted to scream. Your body scorching hot, every damn inch of you. It wasn’t an orgasm you had given yourself from pure clitoral. No, so fucking different. It was– wetter. Joel’s hips slammed upwards a final time. This time faltering, stopping to press right into you as he came. Balls drawing up as thick, hot ropes of semen filled your poor, abused cunt. Painting your walls an opaque white. 

“Shh shh– s’okay.” He whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, salt and pepper facial hair tickling, testing your sensitivity. 

Your clit rubbed against the greying, wiry curls crowning his base, a mixture of your orgasms dripping down his shaft, your lips parted, heavy pants mixing with whines continued to shamelessly drip off your tongue. And suddenly, Joel stopped, you swore, from what you could see, the color drained from his face– 

“Pill?” 

Pill–? The fuck was he– oh.

Oh, motherfucker. 

The aftershocks of your climax still buzzed throughout your body, clouding every inch of your breathing– the fog especially swelling inside your head, though, you mustered up enough to reply.

“I thought I told you. No.”

You stated. Firm.

Funnily-e-fucking-nough, you did tell him. Granted, maybe it was mutterings of a half-baked version of you, but, inevitably, still you. Your head fell forward into his chest as his hand wrapped around his base, wincing as he pulled himself out of you. His dick throbbed, aching to bask in your warmth once again. It was one helluva way to kill a moment. Whatever moment that was supposed to be. 

Your body still bloomed with warmth as he laid back with you, soothing his palm down your arm.

“The pharmacy is right on my way here.” He murmured. “I’ll pick up Morning After’s before you even wake up.”

His promise was calming to you, a lazy smile came over your face as you relaxed with him. He was trustworthy, this wouldn’t be a man who’d say something like that and not follow through, this was, well, Joel. It was Joel. 

You could always rely on Joel. 

Sweet silence was soon rudely interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling into the asphalt, Fuck fuck fuck! That was your dad’s truck, the brights shining blindingly through your sheer drapes, you and Joel laying in bed, well, like deers in headlights.

You so rudely pushed away from Joel, stumbling over to the bath robe hanging on the knob of your closet door– and Joel, well, was too fucking slow is what he was.

“You need to get the fuck out!” You hissed.

Joel, standing in the middle of your room with a cock still slick with both of your cum, scrambling to find his fucking boxers– did you have a fucking void in your floor?! He picked his jeans up, tripping into them as you placed your hands on his arms, pushing him towards the window–

“Jesus, sweetie– h-hold on–!” 

That’s the thing, you couldn’t. As soon as you heard the front door open your stomach sank, nauseatingly low.

“Out, NOW!” 

You were harsh, sure. But for all the right reasons. You felt bad kicking him out in unzipped jeans and no shirt, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead only forcing him to do the walk of shame alllllll the way back to his house. Which luckily was only a block away. Anyone with eyes and a window facing the sidewalk could see him– so theoretically, everyone in the neighborhood. 

You were just about to slam the window shut into his fingers before he stopped you, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb running along your bottom lip like he had the time. 

“See you in the mornin’.” 

He smiled. Lazy, tired. But genuine. It made your stomach flutter. 

“See you…” You returned the smile. Shutting the window as silently as you could as you watch him stumble his way out of your yard. 

The fact you had turned this poor, fifty-seven year old man into a hormonal teenager again was starting to set in. 

[nezhanetwork]

distant memory

[kotikaleo]

That's what family means!!!

HELLL YEAHHHHHHH!!! LET'S GO JOEL!!!!

I am back with last stained glass drawing for now. I am so so hyped to see them irl, sadly they won't be too big, only 6 inches, but I am still hyped as hell to have them in my hands!!!

As always I encourage you to tell me what you thinks, what detail you picked up from drawings, reblog, comment you know the regular and...

If you like what I do please check my shop!!

I am smart, and I have not forgot that I have to advertise myself constantly yeah yeah

[bigchumpus]

Rewatched a bit of double life :D

[vicedmuses]

being  an  outsider  looking  in  meant  that  he  didn't  really  have  to  focus  on  the  group's  politics  too  much.  whether  joel  let  people  in  normally  or  not  didn't  matter  to  him.  ozian  wasn't  going  to  leave. 

he  was  comfortable  there. 

again,  that  wasn't  something  that  everyone  could  say,  but  it  was  the  truth.  he  didn't  need  a  big  grand  welcome  mat  on  the  floor  or  consistent  smiles  to  feel  like  he  belonged. 

all  he  needed  was  someone  that  didn't  outright  tell  him  to  leave.  since  the  older  man  hadn't  used  those  words,  at  least  not  yet,  then  he  wasn't  going  to  make  any  plans  to  do  so.  instead,  he  just  cleaned  up  a  little.  crumbled  up  the  wrapper  of  his  sandwich  and  threw  it  in  the  bowl  of  the  food.

of  course  he  wasn't  going  to  leave  the  miller  home  without  cleaning  out  those  dishes,  but  technically  all  that  he  brought  was  his  own.  so  even  if  he  wanted  to,  he  could  just  pack  them  up  dirty  as  they  were  and  then  wash  them  when  he  got  home.  he  would  still  throw  out  the  trash   and  do  a  couple  of  other  things.

quietly  of  course.

not  that  he  thought  joel  was  going  to  mind,  at  least  inwardly,  but  he  knew  how  the  man  could  get.  in  the  short  time  that  he  had  been  around  him,  there  were  certain  things  about  him  that  he  had  registered.

so  he  would  tread  light  enough  where  he  didn't  cross  any  boundaries.

at  the  same  time,  he  would  tread  hard  enough  that  he  was  going  to  get  through  to  him  at  some  point.  he  wasn't  going  to  take  no  for  an  answer.  he  wasn't  going  to  be  pushed  away  like  a  forgotten  toy.

when  he  heard  those  words,  he  could've  smiled.  maybe  he  would  have,  a  little  too  eagerly,  in  any  other  cirumstance.  if  the  man  wasn't  bruised  and  wounded  beside  of  him.  he  didn't  like  looking  too  happy.  just  enough  that  he  could  remind  him  there  was  a  light  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel,  but  no  showboating. 

so  he  just  smiled  softly.  no  teeth  and  the  barest  sign  of  his  dimples  showing  up.  then,  he  turned  slowly  to  face  him.  again,  no  fast  movements.  not  like  that  was  going  to  change  what  he  had  just  said  anyway.

"thanks,"  he  could've  poked  fun  at  the  stuck  with  you  part.  “radio's  a  good  thing.” 

but  he  didn't.  he  didn't  want  to  give  the  man  any  other  reason  to  want  him  out  of  here  or  to  be  alone.

a  part  of  him  wanted  to  say  they  could  watch  the  novela  together,  but  he  didn't  push  his  luck  either. 

he  never  invited  himself  places  he  didn't  know  he  was  welcomed  to.

so  he  would  wait  for  a  sign.

for  the  time  being,  the  man  was  content  glancing  out  at  the  window.  he  actually  liked  the  snowfall.

something  about  it  reminded  him  that  things  could  be  still,  even  for  just  a  moment.  no  clickers,  no  bloaters,  no  spores,  no  serial  killers.  just  frozen  in  time,  locked  in  by  the  snow.

not  that  he  couldn't  leave  either.  ozian  was  always  good  at  making  sure  that  he  was  dressed  for  the  occasion  and  prepared.  he  had  on  his  boots,  waiting  for  him  at  the  door,  and  a  thick  coat.

still,  that  didn't  mean  that  he  wanted  to  leave.  it  also  didn't  mean  that  he  was  going  to  leave  either.  until  joel  fell  asleep  or  kicked  him  out,  he  would  just  stay  there  around  him.  he  wasn't  crossing  any  boundaries  either.  this  was  just  good  bedside  matter  from  a  nurse.

yeah,  he  had  a  reason  to  be  here.  “nope.”  a  short  answer,  but  the  explanation  was  certainly  coming.  “my  friends  out  out  on  a  weekend  long  patrol  and  there's  no  school  tomorrow.” 

that  was  his  way  of  admitting  that  he  didn't  really  have  a  social  life.  work,  school,  and  four  friends.

then  the  question  caught  him  off  guard.  was  joel  trying  to  actually  get  to  know  him? 

eventually,  he  knew  that  he  would  crack  the  man's  tough  exterior,  but  he  didn't  think  that  it  would've  happened  so  soon.  not  that  he  was  complaining.  he  wasn't  going  to  look  a  gift  horse  in  the  month.

“i  don't  think  i  have.”  he  shook  his  head  slowly,  trying  to  remember.

then  he  worked  his  mind  through  all  of  the  shows  and  movies  he  had  watched  to  register  their  titles.  it  was  certain.  he  had  never  watched  curtis  and  viper.  so  he  wasn't  against  doing  it  now.

could  he  stay  that  long?

“i  love  action  flicks  though.  the  80s  and  the  90s  are  my  favorite.”  he  nodded  slowly.

not  that  he  needed  to  kiss  ass  to  joel  or  anything,  so  what  he  was  saying  was  the  complete  truth.

those  movies  made  him  think  of  a  time  before  he  was  even  born.  a  time  where  the  world  wasn't  infested.

a  time  that  they  can  hopefully  get  back  to  if  they  all  just  worked  together.  so  he  smiled  and  almost  looked  excited.  “can  we  put  it  on  now?”

joel  didn't  answer  right  away.  didn’t  smile,  didn’t  scowl  either.  he  just  sat  there,  the  empty  bowl  on  the  table  and  the  weight  of  someone  else's  company  still  lingering  in  the  air  like  the  scent  of  fire  smoke  on  flannel.  it  wasn’t  unpleasant.  it  wasn’t…  bad.

he  just  wasn’t  used  to  it.

ellie  had  once  told  him,  sharp-tongued  and  too  smart  for  her  own  good,  that  he  made  people  feel  like  they  had  to  earn  the  right  to  breathe  next  to  him.  maybe  she  was  right.  maybe  he  just  didn’t  know  how  else  to  be.

he  thought  about  her  now  —  ellie  —  because  ozian  had  reminded  him  of  her,  not  in  how  he  talked  or  looked  or  even  acted,  but  in  how  he  just…  stayed.  the  way  he  pushed  past  the  walls  joel  built  out  of  guilt  and  silence.  she  did  the  same.  they  both  had  a  way  of  prying  open  the  locked-up  parts  of  him,  and  god  help  him,  he  let  them.

they  were  a  pair,  him  and  ellie.  two  broken  halves  welded  together  by  bad  luck  and  worse  choices.  he’d  fought  it  at  first,  resisted  that  pull.  she  had  too.  she  was  angry  and  mouthy  and  so  damn  young  —  she  deserved  better.  but  they’d  both  been  too  stubborn  not  to  care.  meant  to  be,  maybe  not  in  the  way  the  world  wanted,  but  in  the  way  that  mattered.

she  was  everything  now.

or  had  been.

he  hadn’t  seen  her  in  months,  not  really.  not  since  she  found  out  what  he’d  done  and  started  pulling  away  in  that  quiet,  sharp-edged  way  of  hers.  no  blowout.  no  slammed  doors.  just…  distance.  and  joel,  for  all  his  grit  and  fire,  didn’t  know  how  to  cross  it.  not  this  time.

jackson  was  full  of  people,  but  it  felt  emptier  than  the  goddamn  wyoming  plains  without  her  in  it.

most  of  his  time  had  been  ellie  time  and  when  that  vanished,  it  left  a  cold  space  in  its  place.  a  void  he  didn’t  know  how  to  fill.  dina  stepped  in  and  it  helped,  for  a  time.  but  the  void  never  went  away.

then  he  almost  died  and  ozian  stepped  into  his  life.  met  him  by  accident,  before.  joel  had  barked  at  him  about  his  gun  grip  out  on  the  range.  one  thing  led  to  another,  and  the  kid  kept  showing  up,  mouthy  and  insistent  and  infuriatingly  gentle.  joel  hadn't  asked  for  company.  hadn't  asked  to  be  looked  after.  but  ozian  was  here  anyway,  somehow  never  overstepping.  just...  there.

and  now  he  was  talking  about  not  having  anyone.  about  people  not  being  able  to  handle  him  all  the  time.  joel  could’ve  said  something  —  a  deflection,  maybe.  but  instead,  he  just  looked  at  the  kid  beside  him,  this  persistent  storm  of  care  in  a  too-small  room.

“s’not  so  bad,”  he  muttered,  after  a  moment.  ��bein’  stuck  with  you.”

not  exactly  a  compliment.  not  exactly  a  confession  either.  just  enough  truth  to  sit  between  them  like  steam  rising  off  the  food  they’d  finished.

he  glanced  toward  the  front  window,  where  the  snow  piled  against  the  glass.  they’d  have  to  light  the  lamps  soon.  joel  didn’t  feel  like  getting  up.  he  didn’t  feel  like  being  alone,  either.

“guess  i  ain’t  catchin’  that  novela  tonight,  then.”

maybe,  just  maybe,  he  was  starting  to  catch  on  after  all.

he  muttered  it  low,  a  small  concession  wrapped  in  worn  sarcasm.  not  even  a  smirk  to  follow.  but  his  tone  didn’t  quite  carry  the  bite  he  liked  to  pretend  was  still  there.

the  lamps  stayed  dark  for  a  while  longer.  the  room  dimmed  with  the  thickening  snowfall  outside,  and  joel  didn’t  move  to  light  anything.  not  yet.  didn’t  want  to  break  whatever  quiet  peace  this  was.

he  heard  ozian  shifting  beside  him  on  the  couch.  not  fidgeting,  not  impatient  —  just...  present.  a  body  still  there,  still  warm,  still  breathing.  it  shouldn’t  be  something  worth  noticing,  but  these  days,  it  was.  especially  after  everything.

especially  after  waking  up  alone  in  that  fucking  chalet.

joel  leaned  back  slowly,  the  kind  of  motion  he  had  to  think  about  now.  his  body  wasn’t  what  it  used  to  be  —  stiff,  slow  to  trust  him.  but  the  pain  didn’t  claw  quite  as  sharp  tonight.  maybe  the  meds  were  working.  maybe  the  food  helped.  or  maybe,  just  maybe,  the  quiet  wasn’t  so  heavy.

“you  got  plans  tonight?”  he  asked,  gruff  but  not  dismissive. it  wasn’t  small  talk  —  joel  didn’t  do  small  talk.  it  was  a  clumsy  way  of  asking  if  he  had  to  go.  if  ozian  had  someone  else  to  check  on,  somewhere  else  to  be.

he  could  feel  the  way  his  mouth  tugged  at  the  question,  like  it  was  fighting  him.  like  asking  for  company  was  still  something  dangerous.

ozian  didn’t  answer  right  away  —  or  maybe  he  did  and  joel  didn’t  catch  it.  his  thoughts  drifted.  wandered,  like  they  tended  to  when  he  sat  too  still  for  too  long.

he  looked  at  the  blanket  still  pooled  around  their  legs,  at  the  empty  bowl  still  sitting  on  the  table.  didn’t  move  to  clean  it  up.  didn’t  bark  about  chores  or  proper  order.  instead,  he  sighed  through  his  nose  and  let  the  silence  settle  again,  heavier  now  but  not  suffocating.

“...you  ever  watch  curtis  and  viper?”  joel  asked  suddenly. it  came  out  quieter  than  he  meant.

not  many  people  had.  ellie  hadn’t  until  he  showed  her.  sarah  had  loved  it  first.  he  used  to  watch  it  with  her  on  fridays  —  it  was  their  thing.  then  it  became  ellie’s  thing.  dina  took  pity  on  him  for  a  while.  and  now...

now  it  was  just  his. unless  ozian  said  otherwise.

“if  you  don’t  like  80s  action  flicks,  you’re  shit  outta  luck,”  he  added  a  beat  later,  slower  drawl  to  his  words.  “‘cause  i  got  the  whole  series.”

he  let  that  hang  there,  not  looking  at  him. just  enough  space  for  the  kid  to  say  he  was  leaving. or  —  maybe  —  that  he’d  stay.

either  way,  joel  didn’t  move. he  just  let  the  moment  breathe,  sore  leg  stretched  out  in  front  of  him,  the  faintest  flicker  of  something  like  hope  curling  behind  tired  eyes.

[aarontveit]

THE LAST OF US | 2023 — S02E06: The Price

"I'll tell you what, I promise you I won't get pregnant if you let me train for patrols. Deal?" "I'll see what I can do."

[starcrossedandstupid]

Just saw Etho’s TCG card and. Oh my god

Now you may think ‘what are you talking about that’s just etho at his base?’ But no, you silly man. That’s Joel’s base. The Etho statues in front of that style of arch? With the cherry blossom tree? That isn’t Etho’s base. He made the conscious decision to do that. I will NEVER be over this bit.

[kedsandtubesocks]

Born Again

Priest!Joel Miller x F!Demon Reader

summary: you want the handsome priest more than anything, he wants you gone…but what transpires between you & him is either a curse sent straight from hell (or a twisted blessing in disguise)

word count: 5.9k

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. dark themes. no outbreak/modern AU, enemies to lovers, Catholicism themes & imagery, multiple character deaths & discussion of death, heavy priest kink, blasphemy & corruption kink, morally gray!Joel, morally gray!reader, unspecific age gap (Joel is in his 50’s & older than reader), biting & blood drinking, moments of violence, manhandling, blood imagery, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m), finger sucking, major yearning & angst, protective!Joel, use of gendered language, hint of bi!reader, one use of “good girl,” reader addresses Joel as “old man”

a/n: This is my entry for @pedgito SpringFever25 [cemetery + supernatural] please be aware of the warnings - this fic I know won’t be everyone’s cup of tea & I kindly ask if it isn’t please scroll away! Divider credit & thanks goes to the wonderful @saradika-graphics

St. Jude’s church is quaint, rather simple. A coziness inside reflects its small Texas community that sits on the outskirts of Travis County. Beautiful stained glass windows line the walls illuminating the space.

The opening hymnal starts, and you sing the songs like you care. Then your eyes are drawn forward as your prey arrives.

The priest moves around the altar, readying himself for the mass. The cream and purple ecclesiastical robes paint him a holy shepherd of his flock.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…” He makes the sign of the cross deep with an accented twang, and your lips twitch.

You never would’ve expected such a rich southern voice to leave a pastor. Then again, this man doesn’t seem like an ordinary priest.

Father Joel Miller is rugged, reminding you more of an outlaw wearing a costume. The stern look on his handsome face seals a gruff nature to him. Yet you’ve seen his soft heart when the congregation flocks to him after mass finishes.

Many in the church lust after him. You can sense it. Even if it wasn’t in your nature, it’s hard to miss the multiple women during the service batting their eyes and wearing rather revealing tops that would make a nun faint.

You aren’t the only one who wants this man. But, maybe you might be the only one who wants to devour this man’s soul.

As a demon of lust, you’ve always wondered what it would taste like to indulge with a man of the cloth.

And Joel is your perfect target.

This priest has been challenging. Unlike other humans, you haven’t been able to read his desires.

You wandered into this town a few months ago and settled in effortlessly. This church called to you like a siren’s song. The amount of carnal desire seeping out begged for you to feast, made your mouth water. Then you saw the reason why.

Currently Father Joel focuses on preparing the eucharist, his brow heavily furrowed and meditative in prayer.

Distinguished in his age, scruffy beard, strong nose, gorgeous eyes - it’s unbearable witnessing a man like him waste under the holy robes. A bitter taste fills your mouth just thinking about it.

After the service, the church opens their food drive pantry for the weekly breakfast to serve those in the community who need a meal.

It’s your first time joining.

Originally, you had planned to lurk, slowly get accustomed to being around holy ground until finally working up the strength to pounce.

But of course, being a new face in a small church, you were singled out immediately.

You shared a fake sob story about how you were searching for God. Multiple parishioners immediately took you under their wing, even dragged you to bible study. Unfortunately they’ve now roped you into helping out with the event today. But, you view it as a step closer to your handsome goal.

Except the hot priest doesn’t give you a second glance.

You try everything to be in his eyesight, purposefully being extra disgustingly holy and helping out.

Even one of the deacons compliments you.

“A young woman such as yourself taking the time on a Sunday to do this? You’re a fine example.” Deacon Matthews beams at you proudly.

Yet Father Joel ignores you, not once acknowledging your presence.

It pisses you off. Annoyed, you’re sent back to the pantry at the rectory building to put away the plates. In the quiet storage room, heavy footsteps approach behind.

You turn around -

Whatever words you want to say die in your throat.

Father Joel stands in the doorway, staring furious. This is it, your chance. An unbearable excitement bubbles in you.

“Oh, Father! I’ve been meaning to-”

Your words get cut off immediately when the priest raises up a small crucifix, clutching it painfully tight in his grasp. He remains silent.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” You’re slightly confused and glad it leaks into your voice.

“I know what ya are…” his voice rumbles low and deadly.

“God damned creature of sin, I cast you out.” He spits the words seeping with venom.

A sharp pain strikes straight into your chest as if a lightning bolt just struck you. Your eyes sting. A distorted screeching noise, an internal alarm, roars in your ears while an animalistic panic claws across your skin.

You recognize this feeling.

Once after you had slept with a nun and devoured her soul, her hellbent convent quickly found you. The head mother superior, instead of a cross, raised a rosary at you. She spoke similar words to what this priest just said, invoking the same reaction you feel now.

Everything clicks.

You bark a laugh, shaking the sensation away, and look the priest dead in the eye.

“So…You’re an exorcist, huh?” You grin surprised, borderline gleeful.

This is going to be fun.

—

You show up to mass next Sunday, walking prouder than ever entering St. Jude’s church.

Joel murderously glares at you any chance he can. You get tempted to blow a mocking kiss at him during communion.

After mass, you even stay to wish him well. The priest keeps silent, doesn’t even shake your hand. Just nods politely knowing others are around watching.

“Oh what did you do to make Father Joel look at you like that?” One of the sweet grandmothers from bible study jests with you.

“Wait, I thought he always looked like that?” You joke back. The older woman laughs, swatting your arm.

“He’s quite grumpy at first.” She nods. “But after what he went through, I don’t blame him.”

That peaks your interest instantly.

You want to ask more, see what gossip she could spill. But the woman leaves too soon with her husband, and you’re left more curious than ever.

You’re about to leave and slink back into the shadows. Until a hard hand yanks at your arm, stopping you.

Stunned, you find Joel frowning with pure malice.

His touch sparks an immediate reaction. An electric chill runs up your spin. As strong as you are, you can admit, this man must be incredibly formidable to hold such blessed power. He could burn you alive.

“If you’re going to grab me this hard, at least take me to dinner first.” You scoff.

He doesn’t say anything but drags you to a secluded area alongside the shadow of the church. He’s alarmingly strong.

“How the fuck are ya even here?” The priest snarls.

The guy knows his stuff. Normally your kind doesn't last long around churches, especially when a mass is happening.

But you’re strong too. And the sins festering in this house of worship keep you strong, tarnishing the holy ground’s sanctity.

“Maybe you need to recommend more confessions, father. Your flock isn’t as holy as you think they are.” You sneer amused, yanking your arm away from his grip.

He’s closer than ever, and a caged desire rattles to pounce. It begs, aches, for you to consume him and feast.

Soon voices approach, and you slide out from his grasp.

“See you next week.” You wave, happily slipping into the shadows.

Keeping your promise, you arrive at the church the following week. Except this time you’re here for bible study. Of course you play along, the perfect curious believer wanting to learn. But you’re honestly here for the gossip.

“So what’s the deal with Father Joel?” You ask when the pastries are brought out.

Two of the women glance at each other sharing knowing looks.

“We forgot… you’re still new here and don’t know.” One of them mutters quietly.

Apparently, the priest was married before. Not only that, he had a young daughter.

Honestly you’re not entirely shocked. He’s gorgeous. Good for him for enjoying the fun before he decided to become boring and holy.

“But the three of them were in a horrible car accident, and both his wife and daughter perished.”

You don’t have a heart as a demon. But the echoes of sorrow, emotions you understood when you were human, flutter awakened.

“That’s… awful.” You mumble.

“Isn’t it?” The other woman nods sorrowful.

He apparently begged God for mercy the day his family died.

“And after that, he took on the path of a priest.” The other woman finishes bright like this is a happy ending of the story.

You feel upset for Joel now, for his family, getting diminished as a way to remind people of God’s grace.

“Thanks to God.” You say robotically. The words taste awful, and you hate them.

When bible study ends, the sun slowly starts to sink over the horizon. Saint Jude’s is not just a simple church, but an older one. There’s even a cemetery right beside it.

You walk along the graveyard’s edge cautious not to fully step inside.

Further inside among the headstones, the priest sits on a bench beside a tree, looking down at the ground with rosary beads in hand.

Now more than ever Joel looks like a man, beautiful and human, not a holy warrior of God.

He must sense you. Immediately his eyes snap up, and pure rage twists his face.

“What are y’still doin’ here?” Joel snaps low.

“Had bible study.” You shrug.

Daring to be bold, you take one step into the cemetery.

Being in here among the dead is more dangerous even compared to the church. So you remain close to the entrance.

“Y’know I can exorcise your ass right here and now.” He growls, and it sounds beautiful.

“You’re forgetting where we are, old man.” That nickname slips from you effortlessly.

His mouth falls. Eyes, dark as the graveyard dirt, fill with trepidation. It’s a strange reaction that paints him small, almost lost and begging for something.

But you simply shrug it off, kicking a bit of dirt towards him.

A cemetery is the one true neutral place where both demon and saint can walk alongside each other. Neither you or the priest have any power here. In theory, you’re as weak as a mortal. But so is he.

“What the fuck do ya want?” Joel says exhausted with an anger brewing below his voice.

“Demons want everything, that’s a silly question.” You reply.

His earthen eyes narrow, pinning you right where you stand among the dead.

“But what do you want?” He emphasizes his words sounding delicious this calm and deadly.

“Maybe I just want you.” Your answer, earnest and casual, rings borderline soft.

Exiting the cemetery, you wave goodbye to him.

“Until next time, Father.”

A new plan of action hatches.

Being a lust demon you indeed hold the ability to sense the carnal wishes of others. But it also means you can draw out and read what a person’s desires are, erotic or not.

And you want to know why Joel desired to become a priest.

Sometimes you can catch hints of a person’s desires from those they’re close with. So since your abilities, for whatever reason, don’t work on the handsome priest, your next option is Deacon Matthews.

He’s a boring man. Has two kids about to head off to college and a wife he doesn’t know is secretly having an affair. He’s been earnestly trying to talk with you more, and you swear you catch a whiff of lust floating off him.

So you sign up for another church event. This time it’s a rummage sale. You gladly offer to help at the stall Deacon Matthews works.

You catch the look on Joel’s face when he spots you. How disgusted he scowls almost makes you laugh.

“He seems extra grumpy today doesn’t he?” Deacon Matthews notices it too, and you playfully snicker alongside him.

“What happened to Father Joel embracing the heavenly gift of joy?” You joke.

The deacon sighs. “Well, after the trials he’s been through, I understand how hard it can be for him to find grace sometimes.”

Shifting in your plastic seat, you give your full attention to the deacon. Now you sense it, the heated sensation of a man feeling eager being the center of attention.

Deacon Matthew leans closer and of course tells you the same story you already know.

So you decide to act now. You touch Deacon Matthew’s arm expressing your sympathy, but it allows your power to slowly trickle in and search.

You find a glimmer of Joel in the deacon’s memory, but a terrible sensation crashes in.

Anguish and hurt, a frozen grief ripping fierce…

The holy mantle weighs a burden for Joel.

This man swore the vows, took on the blessed robes, as atonement for letting his family die. He wants to punish himself for not saving them, believing he doesn’t deserve to indulge in this world.

Pious, prudence, all punishment.

And by exorcising demons as God’s warrior, he gets to ignore his own.

You didn’t expect this much guilt, and heaven splitting heartbreak.

It makes your lips quiver, and you can’t explain why.

Immediately your hand draws back from Deacon Matthew. His eyes have hazed over, borderline lewd, and you subtly shift away.

“I’m sorry Deacon, can you maybe get me some water?” You ask politely, faking exhaustion.

“Of course, you’ve done so much today. Sit and rest.” He agrees, eagerly scrambling out of his seat.

You exhale, closing your eyes and trying to relax in the uncomfortable plastic seat.

“What? Can’t have me so you’re going after him?” Joel’s voice cuts through sharp, and your eyes snap open.

Standing hands crossed over his chest, he wears his typical glare.

He’s in a simple black button up with the white priestly collar gleaming through. This attire shows off his built arms, his strong physical form. The afternoon light also highlights the glorious grays in his beard and hair.

He’s older, beautifully older - you know this. But it feels as if you’re finally letting it sink, like fully understanding why an art piece is stunning.

You don’t say anything, simply stare at this man who’s slowly been eating away at you.

Deacon Matthews thankfully arrives just in time. Batting your eyes, you exaggerate your thanks. The deacon blushes, and before he can even greet Joel the priest storms off.

You don’t even have the heart to go after him or even make a joke.

—

In the bible, the book of Joel tells a somber tale. Scripture depicts the prophet Joel, in the midst of a dooming plague of locusts, urges the people to repent.

You think it’s almost ironic, a sick goddamn joke, that this man is named after such a biblical figure.

Because Joel Miller has become a plague upon you.

Your thoughts are only of him. You stay at the church more just to see him.

You haven’t feasted or eaten in weeks. Your body feels exhaustedly sluggish, more human, but you don’t even mind.

A new hunger ripens in you now anyways.

At night, your fingers constantly dig deep into your pussy thinking of Joel’s firm hands all over you, strong and dangerous, burning your skin. Demon of desire or not, this craving is unbearable. Your mouth dries parched at the thought of tasting him.

More, something dark in your whispers. You want him more…

After mass, a choir member tells you Father Joel wants you to meet him in his office. This could be the most twisted trap, but you realize you won’t be mad if it is.

“Come in.” Joel’s gruff voice comes muffled through the office door.

A strange nervous energy bubbles in you. Entering the office, you feel younger than ever, faintly human.

The beige room stands desolate, spartan and bare, except for a picture of the Divine Mercy on the wall. At his desk, Joel scribbles away at paperwork.

Closing the door behind you, his eyes flicker up.

“Didn’t expect you to exorcise me in the middle of the day and with your poor cute secretary right outside. You’re getting bold, old man.” You snicker.

The priest dully glares.

“So, care to tell me why I’m here?” You ask, sliding into the seat across the desk from him.

He remains silent.

A prolonged pause follows.

“You know… this office feels very naughty professor and student vibes more than hot priest and demon-”

“Enough.” His snarl cuts you off.

He seems more on edge like he’s teetering.

An apocalyptic tension suffocates the room fast, a choking incense that stings your lungs.

Joel suddenly leans back in his chair rubbing a large calloused hand over his face.

“Do you remember… anything from when you were human?” His voice has never been so quiet.

It’s strange hearing this powerful force of a man sound this meek.

“Uh…Sorry I don’t have memories of my old life.” You tell him truthfully.

The only memory you hold of your human days is when you sold your soul. There was pain, absolute wrecking grief that was swallowing you whole. You remember wanting to save the people you love, wishing you could trade your life to keep them alive.

That’s when the quietest voice had asked among the despair - what would you trade, to save those you love?

Anything, you had sobbed out.

Then, the pain drifted away. You woke up brand new and hungry, a clean slate. Now the heartbreak that crystalized you to this new life collects cobwebs in your lost soul.

“You remember nothin’ at all?” Joel presses again, and you shake your head no.

An ancient sigh escapes him, weary and anchored by the test of time. Something in you begs to comfort him.

“You seem tired.” You comment soft.

His endless eyes find yours.

Silence settles thick in the quaint and hauntingly barren office.

There’s so much you want to say. A demonic being of craving, of want, cursed to be silent, how cruel.

You want to ask what plague has he placed upon you. Is this a new form of exorcism? What evil has he unleashed? Because you’ve never wanted someone as badly as you want him.

A knock on the door shatters the stillness.

Joel’s secretary pops her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt Father, but the archdiocese is on the phone.” She’s smug. You sensed her desire before, a powerful drunken feeling knowing she gets to order Joel around.

“Alright,” he nods, and the secretary closes the door. You don’t miss the side eye she gives you.

You take your cue and stand up to leave.

“Hey…” his voice stops you.

“Demons… they have true names. What’s yours?”

That question surprises you.

Of course you’ve been using a fake name this entire time. He must have figured that out. Smart man.

But if he knows your true name, your human name…it’s over. A demon’s true name gives an exorcist the power to permanently destroy them.

A wide knowing grin pulls at your lips.

“You still haven’t even taken me to dinner, Father.”

The smallest wave of emotion flashes across his face. A tug pulls his lips, a hint of a smile he’s fighting against.

You’re about to leave when you stop.

“Oh…Also that secretary of yours definitely wants to dom you. Don't ask me how I know.” You mention casually.

You smirk walking out of Joel’s office, especially hearing his indignant squawks as you close the door.

—

The wind blows gently, barely rustling the leaves to let the dead rest peacefully for now.

A storm approaches. Serious enough that the annual Easter festival is now in question of being canceled today.

In his simple black button up and white collar, Joel stands like an ink blot against the graveyard. You’ve noticed he always stays by this particular tree with the bench.

“I know you’re here.” Joel’s gruff sharp twanged voice pierces through the silence. His face stays focused on the gravestones, holding a rosary tight in his large hands.

You smirk and step out from the shadow of the angel statue you've been hiding behind.

This is the deepest you’ve gone into the cemetery.

“Your senses are getting better, old man.” You greet him.

He scoffs insulted.

“You know… you really are too hot to be a priest.” You’ve made the joke to him before, and you make it again.

“Pressin’ your damn luck…Remind me why I haven’t fuckin’ exorcised your ass yet?” Joel mutters rubbing his temples.

“Because I’m just too fun to get rid of?” You offer with a weak grin.

An unsettling silence grows in the cemetery.

“Or maybe…you really are here just to torment me.” The words come out mumbled, like Joel doesn’t realize he spoke them.

“I could say the same for you, priest.” You openly tell him.

Finally he turns to you.

A strange corroded weight fills your chest. You realize it’s the desire now calcified into your very being keeping you anchored to this man. You wonder if this is your eternal punishment, to crave a man you can never have.

“Tell me… What’s your real name?” Joel asks simply, no hidden motive.

Here in the graveyard, he’s just a human man. Just like you’re the whisper of a human standing before him.

A painful smile tugs at your lips.

You give him your true name, the only thing left of your humanity.

Pure dread falls over Joel’s face.

Then he snaps.

“Ya damned fuckin’ demon from hell… Get the fuck outta here!” He yells, angry and violent, like a vengeful God ripping open the sky.

Demon.

He’s never called you that. It stings more than you thought it would.

But he’s right. It’s what you are, a creature warped from a human soul now relying only on sin. Demons don’t dream. Nor do they cry. But the way your chest twists, you wonder if this is the closest it feels to crying again.

Not saying another word to Joel, you leave the cemetery.

You don’t even know why you stayed to help with the festival. You adamantly refuse to look at Joel. Everyone notices the change in your demeanor. You lie saying it’s the weather.

“Ugh, it really is quite dreary for such a holy day, huh?” The sweet elderly woman from your bible study group coo’s sympathetically. She urges you to rest in the rectory.

“No one will bother you there honey, take some time to just catch a breather.”

You take her advice, especially as the thunder rolls ominous like the heavens stand ready to strike you at any moment.

The rectory is eerily quiet. You wander around until of course find yourself at Joel’s office. You can’t take this ache raging in you anymore. Once the festival fully starts, you decide to leave in the shadows and never return.

The front door out in the main hallway opens. Spurred by a strange sense of hope, you rush out.

You’re not one for prayer, but you pray it’s Joel.

Deacon Matthews, in his boring salmon colored shirt, instead stares at you. Danger gleams in his eyes.

“Finally…I was hoping to get you alone.” His voice boils with desire, radiating from him a rancid stench.

“You’ve felt it too haven’t you? What we have between us?” He grins, a serpent slithering closer to you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You play dumb and confused.

“You've been flirting with me this entire time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His voice jumps more erratic.

His desire is brewing to a poisonous level that threatens to clog your throat. So you try walking towards the door, but he stands firmly blocking it.

You haven’t eaten in months. Any time you consider feasting, your stomach now turns sour as you only think of Joel. He really has ruined you in so many ways.

With your senses dimmed, you’re too late to react when a greedy hand grabs your shoulders and pulls you closer.

Panic erupts. Feeling like a cornered animal, your teeth sharpen. Your hands twitch, itching for the attack. But your mouth acts first.

You bite down hard on the deacon’s hand, and a violent scream rips from him.

You haven’t tasted blood in months. This bite, you thought, should have sent you into a frenzy. Instead you gag tasting this pathetic man’s blood.

“What the fuck are you?!” The deacon yells in terror.

You realize you must look quite the monster now.

So you decide to show him.

Hellish claws, your claws, yank this man’s face closer. Then you whisper into his ear the tongue of the damned -

“…ⱤØ₮ ł₦ ⱧɆⱠⱠ…”

The deacon screams horrified.

Someone yanks you away.

Then Joel’s fist collides with the man’s face.

At the impact, Deacon Matthew’s cries in agony while Joel holds you close to his side. The smell of his shampoo, his cologne and something so familiar, surrounds you in a heavenly cloud.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her.” Joel snarls deadly.

Blood spills across the deacon’s face and his hand while he sobs.

Joel holds you protective, hand cradling and covering your face. Slowly you revert to normal, the demonic retreating to hide.

No surprise, the commotion is heard.

People swarm in. Joel effortlessly explains what transpired and how you even used self defense against the deacon.

The bleeding terrified man however screams that you’re the monster here.

You stay quiet against Joel's side, keeping your face hidden, clinging to his black button up shirt. The church reacts ready to reprimand Matthews.

Everything goes hazy. Your head even aches painful, like something is trying to break through your skull.

“If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna stay with her.” You hear Joel say.

Of course everyone strongly agrees. A few even offer to stay with you instead. But Joel keeps you in his hold.

In a blink, a door closes and you realize you’re in his office.

Then Joel’s hand slides up to your cheek. The simmering heat from his skin touching yours burns beautifully.

Even without the claws, or monstrous eyes, you still must look every bit a terrifying creature.

Then, with a white small handkerchief, he wipes away the blood on your face tenderly, cleaning you with the delicate care of someone who is precious.

“Y’got a good bite. Scared the shit outta him too.” Joel mutters, faintly joking, but you catch a hint of pride.

You stay quiet now.

“Hey, look at me.” Joel orders low, but concerned.

And you do. His eyes search yours.

He’s never been this close. You soak in the sight of him, a sharp gorgeous hawkish nose, aged wrinkles, soft touches of storm cloud greys floating among his chocolate curls. Heaven never looked more beautiful.

No words reach you. You can’t think of anything to say.

You don’t know who moves first, but a revelation comes when your lips surge to meet his.

It’s raw, consuming, rattling your bones.

You barely get to chase this greed, the taste of this man, before a searing pain cracks open your skull.

Your vision goes white. You don’t even know where you are.

Glimpses of home warm and welcoming, with a loving man and a wonderful daughter you’ve raised like your own, fill your mind.

Soon, the picture crystalizes clearer. The man driving, holding your hand. The young girl in the backseat laughing at something you said.

Then your world ends in fire.

The truth resurfaces you frantic and panicked, like emerging from the flood of ancient times. Blinking back into reality, everything is clear, pure as crystal.

Someone calls your name, and it sounds like home.

“Y’alright? Talk to me darlin’ please.” Joel begs frantically, still holding your face.

Darling, the word rips through you wild.

“Joel.” His name leaves you blessed and sanctified. You see him with eyes brand new.

The closest thing to a sob escapes you.

Confusion colors Joel’s face while you clutch onto him like a life raft.

You swallow hard.

“My old man… my husband.” You whisper.

You jokingly, affectionately, had started calling him ‘old man’ when he pulled his back after a job. Tommy and Sarah had laughed so hard at the nickname. Back then he was a few years older than you, but now…

Joel cracks. His face falls. Tears simmer in his eyes threatening to spill.

He kisses you again. This time it’s filled with an ache that draws you back from the grave.

The kiss grows heated fast. Desire explodes off Joel now and you want to drown in it. He licks into your mouth, pushing you against the door. You moan, sliding your hands into his hair.

Commotion returns outside interrupting the moment.

You growl annoyed.

Joel shushes you against your lips, yet his hands continue holding you tight.

Eventually you untangle out of his arms. Yet you feel like a newborn foal on shaky legs. Joel keeps you close the rest of the day. No one from the church thinks anything of it especially after what happened.

If only they saw you now.

Sprawled out in his bed, Joel devours your pussy and grinds into the sheets. You moan loud enough for all the angels to hear. He eats you starved, as if he’s found divine communion between your thighs.

“Need you inside, Joel please,” you beg, yanking at his grey curls.

Who is he to deny you, not just a demon of sin, but his wife?

Sliding into you, Joel feels like the beginning of the world, a Genesis life changing. It’s a lust that makes you melt, pure and dangerously addictive.

Joel’s lips stay attached to your skin, biting and licking every inch of you.

“Fallen Angel, light of God, you are crafted in beauty and loved.”

You remember that’s the prayer the nuns said. Now Joel whispers it reverently against your skin.

“Lost creature of heaven, you are found.”

You cum hard clutching at his shoulders. You worry about hurting him. Yet Joel bites at your skin like he’s the one now longing for your blood. You wonder if you and him could both dig into each other’s bones.

But once the passion finally simmers, and your poor husband needs to rest, the heavy reality sets in.

Naked in his arms, you know understand the strange passion and awareness Eve must have felt being in her husband’s arms after biting the forbidden fruit.

“You really sold your soul…” Joel mutters.

You sigh, rubbing your face into his warm strong chest.

“I didn’t care… I begged for anyone to save you or Sarah.” You whisper.

Your sweet sunshine girl.

Even without a heart, thinking of Sarah brings immeasurable pain. You mourn her with Joel, his arms becoming your sacred church.

—

“Sweetheart, ya need to eat,” Of course Joel notices how weary you’ve become.

“It’s okay… I’m fine.” And you’re half right. The desire unleashed between you and Joel helps maintain you enough. You wouldn’t dare devour his soul now. After all, there are other things you gladly want to consume from him.

You kiss the palm of his hand holding your face.

But ever the provider, ever the caretaker, your husband moves his hand down to your lips. His fingers trace your mouth. His eyes darken, and your body hums wanting him again.

“Bite me.” He mutters.

You bluntly tell him no.

“Do it or I’ll exorcise your ass.” His words hold no threat.

“Come on baby,” he adds, a soft purr, your personal temptation.

You’re worried. Worried if you bite you won’t be able to stop. You don’t want to hurt him.

Joel’s hand returns to cradle your face, stroking your cheek tenderly. He whispers your name.

“You won’t hurt me.” He’s always been able to read your mind.

It’s why he draws your face to his neck, the perfect spot to hide beneath his robes. Reverently you kiss his skin thanking him, then your teeth sink in as gently as you can.

His blood rushes into your mouth tasting of salvation. Your mind shuts off, instantly consumed by him. You lick and suck, pouring your devotion into this man. You moan or maybe it’s Joel. Because the way his hips grind seeking release, he’s drunk on this too.

This is the ecstasy saints dream of, a holy feast of unbelievable bliss that has you coming untouched.

This is your sacred sacrament you would die for.

—

“My husband, the priest.” You snicker watching him get ready.

You hate how incredibly sexy it is watching him slide the white collar on.

“Well, my wife’s a demon.” He smirks.

“I think there’s an actual shirt that says that.” You wonder.

Joel rolls his eyes and you laugh.

Kissing him before he heads to mass is pure sinful bliss. It only gets worse when you visit his office. Closing the door, Joel sits at his desk raising an eyebrow seeing you.

You make it known why you’re here when you sink onto your knees between his legs.

Nuzzling against his thigh, a possession overtakes. Joel’s hand runs to your face.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” You mutter peering up at him.

His thumb swipes across your lips, and his eyes melt into dark pools. Especially when you slide his thumb into your mouth and suck, moaning at the taste of his skin. Your teeth ache to bite him, taste him like you did again this morning.

“Y’look like fuckin’ sin.” He mumbles, but rapidly draws your face up closer to him.

“Gonna be my good girl and keep quiet?” He asks leaning down to kiss you, meeting you halfway. Nodding, your hands fly to his belt.

A knock on the door comes. Joel cusses sharp under his breath.

“Should let your secretary walk in and see us like this.” You grin.

He shushes you.

“Next time let’s try to fuck in a confessional.” You mutter against his lips.

“Little fuckin’ trouble maker.” He growls, a beast that you welcome with open arms.

Later, in the witching hours, you wander around Joel’s living room. You spot a photo of you, him, and Sarah at Halloween the one year she dressed up as a power ranger princess.

Warm strong arms suddenly wrap around you from behind.

Joel’s gorgeous nose nuzzles against your face.

“You don’t mind… that I’m like this and not like how I used to be.” A shadow frozen forever, a creature condemned to hell.

He places the softest kiss on your cheek.

“Ain’t who I used to be either. M’old now.” He mutters.

“You’re hotter than ever.” You tell him firmly, and Joel snorts amused.

Shifting in his arms you embrace Joel tight.

“I’m a selfish demon now. You’re the only one who can get rid of me.” Both figuratively and literally.

“Like hell I ain’t.” Joel replies firmly, inhaling your scent.

“Besides, ‘m not so holy anymore.” He adds.

“Are you okay with that?” The question escapes you quiet, small and worried.

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ change it.” It’s the last thing he says before he dives in to kiss you.

Maybe in another life you would’ve been blessed to be Joel’s wife, pure and human, would’ve grown old with him…maybe even adopted a cat like Sarah had been begging.

Heaven will never greet you. So you hold this version of it tight in your hands.

You used to wonder why you had wandered to this specific town. Now everything aligns. A piece of you was trying to return to your other half, the love of your life.

Walking into the cemetery, you find your husband again praying at his favorite spot.

That’s when you finally notice a small memorial plague against the tree. Walking towards it, you read what’s on it.

There’s a scripture verse…then Sarah’s name and yours below it.

An emotion too powerful to describe swells in you.

Done with his prayer and alone in the cemetery, Joel soothingly now rubs his hand against your back.

“Let’s head home, sweetheart.” He mutters, your home and salvation.

A particular line from the exorcism rites suddenly comes to mind -

Lost creature of heaven, you are found

As you head out of the graveyard by Joel’s side, you truly believe you are.

[anastacialy]

guys, i think the hermits are going to accidentally start a prank war again. because just like last time, a game of telephone has begun. first, false made iskall's build into ''false beans,'' her shop from the previous season. however, to give herself plausible deniability, she signs it with "love, Joel. x" due to his username, smallishbeans.

next, iskall sees this, and completely believes it. he thinks it was joel who pranked him, and as he says to pearl while showing off the sign, which he kept even after tearing the prank down, "joel gave me a kiss." in his most recent video, he pranks joel by sending him loads of anonymous messages in order to completely spam and fill his inbox, preventing him from getting any more mail, with notes such as "thinking about you. x"

of course, joel is going to have absolutely no context for this, because he didn't make the initial prank. so who is joel going to assume sent him all those messages while he was away on holiday? well, i have a guess.

etho.

[theancientcitylibrary]

title: finding safety in the horror of the wild author: theancientcitylibrary rating: teen and up audiences warnings: no archive warnings apply category: gen word count: 829 fandom: empires smp relationship(s): solidaritygaming | jimmy & smallishbeans | joel & pixlriffs | pixl & ldshadowlady | lizzie, characters: ldshadowlady | lizzie, solidaritygaming | jimmy, smallishbeans | joel, pixlriffs | pixl additional tags: au – bigfoot games setting, minor violence, non-graphic violence, minor injuries, summary: It wasn’t a pretty cabin, looking like it had been abandoned long ago, the boarded up windows and dilapidated roof speaking it’s age. There’s a worry, a minor one, that it might not work as a hideout, but honestly—it was something. || or: a camping trip in the middle of the woods, the group find themselves being hunted by something they’ve never seen before. series: bigfoot au || whumptober 2024

link to ao3

Lizzie tightened her grip on the axe, her eyes darting back and forth as she watched the tree lines, waiting. “Are you done yet?” she called out softly, the sound of a breaking branch pulling the words from her lips as she moved closer to the cabin.

It wasn’t a pretty cabin, looking like it had been abandoned long ago, the boarded up windows and dilapidated roof speaking of it’s age. There was a worry, a minor one, that it might not work as a hideout, but honestly—

She gave a quick look towards Joel; he’s knelt in front of the door, his knees on the chipped concrete doorstep, his hands working smoothly as he picks the lock on it. Another look to her sides and she spots both Pix and Jimmy standing around much like herself, each holding a different weapon—they're on edge and desperate to get inside, especially with the sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon. She understands; they need a shelter, any type of shelter will do, regardless of if it's a bit rundown; they can’t do another night out in the snowy weather, not with that thing on their tails.

“Almost,” Joel hissed.

Almost wasn’t good enough for her, and she looked back to tell him so when the door clicked, the noise echoing loudly in the clearing. She tensed, bringing the axe higher up in the air. Though she knew it was only loud because of how quiet everything was, she still readied herself, because if that thing came rushing at them, she’d get as many hits on it as she could before it ran away—or worse, finally managed to kill one of them.

Joel pushed the door a slight bit more, pulling her from her thoughts as he shined his dull torch through the pitch black area. From her location, she can see just the barest of furniture littering the entrance area, nothing of interest. “It’s empty,” he said after a minute. He sniffed the air, lifting his face slightly as he did so. “Stale and empty.”

She nodded. That was good—they needed that, well, not the stale part, but the empty. “Okay, Joel goes first, then Pix with Jimmy, and I’ll go in last,” she said, her voice clear and sharp in the air. “No lights.”

It wouldn't matter, not really. The creature that was hunting them seemed to be able to find them even when they traveled in the dark, but she didn’t want to risk it. Not when their exact location was unknown to them—all they knew was that they had traveled for three days from their first campsite, and that had six days from the main road that led to the nearest town which was a whole week away.

She swallowed as she listened to Joel’s footsteps against the concrete, the door creaking slightly louder as he pushed it open, and then silence. A minute passed in that silence, and Lizzie spent that minute checking out the area around them; there wasn't much, just a few pieces of trash blown there by before Joel softly called out, “Okay, come on in,” and the steps of Pix and Jimmy followed.

Moving backwards, her eyes never leaving the forest, she waited with baited breath for the feel of the building against her back. She was hoping that the steps that they had taken to get the thing off their scent was good enough to give them a days of rest, but she wasn’t sure, and that scared her.

A roar ripped through the air.

Her breath froze in the air, the droplets hanging there as she listened. Every night since they first ran into the creature, they had heard its’ roars right as the sun went down, the noise their only warning of what was coming for them. She swallowed, her back rigid as she waited for any of the other noises that precipitated the creature: the thundering of its’ footsteps through the forest, the sound of breaking branches and howling wolves, the sound of heavy breathing as it lurched closer.

Nothing.

“Lizzie?” A hand touched her, and she fought back the urge to scream, instead turning sharply towards Joel as he moved back an inch. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” she muttered, shaking her head as she gave one final look out to the forest. Somewhere out there is that creature, it’s dark eyes searching in the dark forest for any sign of them. There was a chance that crossing that freezing river could’ve hidden their scent well enough that it would give a few days of space between them and the creature, and there was a chance that this abandoned cabin might offer a safe place to hide out in and recoup from the troubles that they’ve found themselves in, but as the sun continued it’s descent behind the trees, she knew that it wasn’t so. “I shouldn’t be standing here, we’ve got things to do.”

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Word Count: 1721

Summary: After pleasing you all night, it’s only fair to wake Joel up with some pleasure of his own.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Oneshot. Somnophilia (?) Oral M!receiving, ball worship, daddy kink. Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’. Unspecified age gap. 49 year old!Joel. No beta.

A/N: Very quick blurb because his lil ‘Hey, Kiddo.’ made me [redacted]. Anyway, Relax by Frankie Goes To Hollywood is purely about sucking DI—

“Atta girl,” He sputtered. “Got yourself into this mess, now you’re gonna swallow every. Fuckin’. Drop.”

Not only did Joel fuck your brains out last night, he had also fucked out his own.

While your knees buckled every time you stood, legs trembling like a newborn fawn, Joel wouldn’t even open his eyes. For a moment, you weren’t sure he was breathing before you placed a palm to his broad chest, smiling faintly at the gentle swell with each breath, you’ve never seen him so peaceful. Or, any man, at that.

Your father being out on a business trip had you scheming day one. Texting cute, flirty texts that mostly consisted of: ‘Home alone this weekend ;)’ or, after a stream of ‘OK’s and thumbs up emojis from him, there was a more desperate plea of ‘10 PM sharp, come over here and fuck me, Miller!’

You suppose that you can defend him, he was pushing fifty, and Gen X wasn’t known as the text savvy generation.

Nonetheless, Joel had arrived and plunged himself deep within you. With a proper, almost annoyingly drawn out foreplay. Over prepared would always be better than under. Joel still had PTSD from the nails on a chalkboard sensation with his first girlfriend circa ‘92.

And now, pussy-whipped and knocked out in your bed, you’d move your hand over his tummy, feeling up the fabric of his grey tee he had thrown over his sweat slicked body last night. Comparing the calm rise and fall of stomach to the huffing and puffing, asthmatic level breathing your cunt had him in last night. Fucking wrecked. The sunlight glimmering into your room from the slits between your curtains outlined every relaxed crease and wrinkle on his face. You’d gently cradle his face in your palm, thumb stroking over his bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering as his nerves picked up on the sensation before he did.

This man had the look of someone who would be out of commission for the next week. At forty-nine, while also being a man who has been working his ass off, hammering siding against classy homes while the sun boils off his skin, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that one night of good pussy sends him into comatose. Poor guy.

And without even a droplet of water this fine morning, your own mind began wandering. Fingers tickling down his clothed torso, brows pinching together in focus. You pinch your digits against the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards towards his chest— just beneath his collar, perfect.

In awe, just about, your palm glided over the soft expanse of his belly. Down… Down… Before the heel of your hand brushed against the hem of his boxers. Heat was already bubbling low in your pelvis, curling an index around the elastic edge, tugging down in a swift motion to no slap against the stomach, but a soft, gently curved cock. Still wielding the power to make your mouth water.

Joel, slowly but surely began to stir. He’d only ruin the surprise if he wakes up before your lips were on him. Couldn’t have that, now could we?

Your mouth began to press slow, wet kisses that began at his hip, paving a path down to his pelvis. Your breath fanned across the wiry, greying bush of hairs that crowned his base. Smelled like musk, cum, whatever fluids had seeped and matted into it last night— and surprisingly, the headiness of the fragrance only made you wetter. Dizzy.

One by one, your fingers would clasp around the middle of his—currently—flaccid length. Lips pressing firm kisses against the calmly flushed head. Tongue flicking out to tease his hole, soon enough, there was a twitch.

And a voice. All-too familiar.

“Kiddo…”

You felt heat rush to your face embarrassingly fast, stomach plummeting as if you had been caught wrist deep in the cookie jar. As if, you weren’t doing this with the full intent of waking him by turning him into your own personal breakfast in bed before his eyes could even flutter open to witness it.

Though, it had all been whisked away once his thick fingers began carding through your hair. Tangling in the strands to eventually lock a makeshift ponytail.

“Feel alright?” You swallowed, continuing to pepper kisses up his dick, swelling in real time. He had to stifle a moan. Forearm laying across his forehead.

“Perfect. Now, don’t fuckin’ stop.”

You took zero time to reply with anything more than an unnoticeable nod of your head. Declawing yourself from his length to spit a glob of saliva into your palm, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Now, with slow, steady slides of your fist up and down his cock, he was quick to become fully erect. You’d let go, finally getting that beloved, spring-back-onto-his-belly motion you had come to enjoy. Large digits tugging at your hair, bringing you close. It wasn’t long until you had lunged your face forward, tongue lapping hungrily from the bottom to the top, soon before your pretty lips encircled his head, just barely accommodating his size, suckling greedily.

You gag when his hips rut forward involuntarily, your poor old man can’t help it. He can’t help but babble when you take him deep, either.

“Sweet fuckin’ girl. Always so needy f’me, huh?”

You’d only gargle on a slobber slicken whine, in attempt to respond.

“Don’t try’an talk, Sweet Pea. No point when daddy’s got you all choked up like this, huh?”

He grunted in tune with the bobs of your head, voice gravely and rough on account of just waking up. Daddy’s first words in a whole eight hours of sleep.

Your drool was dribbling down his shaft, long drips surrounded by little bubbles. Cheeks stuffed, lips stretching out around the sheer girth of his member. Fuck, familiar, huh? Just on the opposite end of your body.

He adjusted, very slight and very slow, just so he wasn’t flat on his back. The pillow he had borrowed from your closet last night was propped underneath his lumbar, thick thighs spreading out to gift you some more room.

You felt a deep pulse against the plain of your tongue, eyes squeezing shut every time his balls would hit your chin. You’d use the proximity to your advantage. Moving a hand up to his scrotum, thumbing down the seam making him groan.

Fuck, didn’t those look tasty?

You sheathed himself out from your mouth, lips tender and red, wet with a mix of your spit and his precum. His cock laid against the thick of his belly, glistening in the warm, yellow light of the morning sun. Sweat gathers on his forehead, upper stomach. The condensation sparkling on his skin.

He lets his teeth sink painfully sharp into his bottom lip. His fingers curled tight and taut around the edge of your duvet, his thumb stroking against the embroidered flower sewn into the fabric. He could’ve fucking sworn his eyes rolled back into his skull the moment your hot, wet tongue stroked his sac.

“Oh fuck, Pumpkin—“ His voice cracked, nostrils flaring. “Fuck. Look at’chu, lickin’ daddy’s balls like a good girl, huh? Wanna make your daddy feel good— fuckin’ slobberin’ all over them.“

“Mhm.” Was, unfortunately, all you could muster with a testicle shoved halfway past your lips. You could feel them gently give against your tongue the more pressure you let on. Softer, heavier. Fuller. He was there, almost there. Just a little fucking more.

His lips formed an ‘o’ as he breathed out, eyes shutting, squeezing, praying. He soothed a broad, hefty palm down his gut, gripping at his base once in reach to began jerking himself forward. Bringing his swollen, heavy, spit dripping length back within an inch from that pretty face. His tip poked your cheek, watching your face visibly scrunch at the touch.

“If you wanna make daddy feel real good,” He began, Adam’s apple bobbing while he drew a line with his cockhead as he languidly inched it down towards your glossy, pink lips. “Why don’t you finish him off?”

With a sudden surging—pulsating feeling deep within the walls of your cunt, your whole body had shuddered the second that the warmth of his balls was stolen from your mouth. Clit throbbing, suffering beneath the safety of your undies. With a flattened tongue, you traced the line that ran up the underside of his shaft, circling your tongue, slowly, a couple times around his deeply blushing tip.

The taste of his skin had turned into your chosen addiction— salty, bittersweet. A moan that came deep from your throat vibrated down the length of his cock, the engorged vein running down the muscle throbbed against the inside of your cheek. Bobbing your head properly now. Neatly, keeping your form, lips tingling from the stretch. When you had him so deep that you couldn’t do anything other than whine and cry on his dick, you suddenly missed being able to moan.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the full body chill run through every vein on his being. His hips snapping upwards.

“Atta girl,” He sputtered. “Got yourself into this mess, now you’re gonna swallow every. Fuckin’. Drop.”

In desperate, last minute preparations, your hands would brace on his meaty, hairy thighs. Squeezing the skin harder the tighter his fingers grasped your hair. Hips stuttering one last time, thrusting into your mouth, groaning out your name as his balls draw up— fuck. And there he was.

He was buried so deep in your mouth that thick, burning ropes of cum shot straight down your throat. Shit— your eyes glossed over, halfway beneath your heavy lids as you stared up at him. Each pump of semen had his cock beating hard, seemingly in sync with your own fucking heartbeat. His tummy twitched as he unloaded himself. Spend riding down the slope of your throat, glazing your tongue.

You tried to clean him up the best you could. Thickly, swallowing the sinfully warm load like a shot. Even keeping a straight face, not because it was unpleasant, much like alcohol, the heat and taste would be strong but the buzz was stronger— the buzz, being, how your brain suddenly turned to mush and your panties were half slidden off your pussy, purely from the amount of slick built up. Poor, sweet, plaint girl.

You can count on daddy to take care of that. You always can.

[zero-is-nebulous]

Tee bee atech I might jig this design a bit but this is what I have so far, he's a Japanese dragon because uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh he's a big tall strong handsome man and allat

[diioonysus]

women in art: titania

[yuywonzzz]

happy (late) anniversary to my favourite married couple !! sorry odypen

this took a while to make, a whole month probably lol (i procastinated alot 😅) anyways i rushed to finish this bcuz it's lizzie and joel's anniversary and i needed to make smth special for it!!

hope they see this (joel i hope u're using ur undercover tumblr acc)

[vicedmuses]

if  people  got  a  good  glance  at  them,  confusion  would  probably  ring.  sometimes  cathal  wondered  what  had  lured  him  over  to  joel  too.  he  normally  didn't  like  people  in  high  authority  figures  or  that  were  commanding.  he  didn't  seek  those  roles  out,  it  seemed,  but  they  were  thrusted  upon  him.  apparently,  that  was  part  of  the  attraction. 

he  was  still  going  to  be  a  pain  in  the  ass  though.

show  him  that  he  wasn't  going  to  just  sit  around  and  take  shit  willingly. 

one  thing  that  he  was  adamant  about  was  making  sure  the  the  old  man  knew  he  wasn't  a  baby.  he  didn't  need  to  have  things  dance  around.  he  also  didn't  want  to  be  treated  like  he  wasn't  big  enough  to  make  his  own  decisions.  sure,  he  could  be  messy  at  home.  sometimes  it  didn't  even  look  like  people  lived  there.  if  he  needed  to  tend  to  himself  though,  he  would.

it  wasn't  hard,  he  just  didn't  find  the  point  in  making  everything  perfect.  why  when  the  world  was  ending?

"yeah,  but  you're  pretty  stubborn  in  your  old  age.  you'd  tell  me  that  the  sky  counts  as  being  purple  and  no  one  should  tell  you  otherwise."  that  was  something  that  he  liked  though.  wasn't  easy.

the  smell  that  was  filling  the  air  was  good.  it  made  cathal  think  that  joel  had  a  reason  to  be  as  cock  and  hardheaded  as  he  was.  he  would  never  be  able  to  make  something  like  this.  even  if  it  was  from  a  can  or  just  diced  up.  his  stomach  grumbled  a  bit,  but  he  tried  to  shut  it  up  with  his  annoying,  loud  voice.

“y'  gonna  let  me  starve  to  death  now  too?  good  to  know  you  care.”  he  chuckled  softly,  not  really  thinking  about  skipping  dinner.  plus,  watching  the  man  work  in  his  own  element  was  nice.  normal  even.

having  a  hand  on  joel  was  almost  a  form  of  possessive  nature.  he  was  the  only  one  that  could  be  here  and  have  him  like  that.  although  he  hated  putting  a  label  on  things.  he'd  never  start  that  conversation.

“don't  be  jealous,  doesn't  suit  you.”  he  poked  a  little  more  fun  at  the  whole  thing.  if  people  were  to  see  them,  they  would  never  hear  the  end  of  it.  he  wondered  what  those  like  ellie  and  tommy  think.  would  they  even  care  if  they  knew  everything  that  happened  behind  closed  doors?  at  least  joel  was  happy  with  him.

that's  what  he  chose  to  believe.

the  truth  he  made  up  in  his  own  mind.

“y'  gonna  poke  around  places  that  aren't  yours?  careful  now,  they  might  think  that  you  have  sticky  fingers.”  it  would've  been  obvious.  one,  because  his  apartment  was  vacant.  nothing  in  sight.

two,  because  he  didn't  feel  the  need  to  hide  what  he  took  things  from  someone  else.  the  blanket  would've  been  on  top  of  the  couch  or  bed  until  it  no  longer  smelled  like  the  man.  which  he  tried  to  keep  it  that  way.

the  choice  of  where  he  wanted  to  eat  was  interesting.  at  a  table  there  would  at  least  be  a  piece  of  furniture  in  between  them.  on  the  couch?  what  was  to  stop  them  from  the  younger  man  getting  too  close.  he  was  insatiable  when  he  got  going  and  hadn't  had  a  release  in  a  couple  of  nights. 

so  there  they  went.  he  was  going  to  have  his  fun.

he  followed  along,  for  once  not  fighting  a  command.

he  left  the  kitchen  after  what  felt  like  a  long  time,  but  stopped  in  the  doorway  of  the  living  room.  he  tilted  his  head,  looking  at  joel  from  this  vantage  point,  then  chuckled  softly  when  the  man  spoke.

“you  know  i'm  anything  but  scrawny.  you  wish  you  had  this  ass.” 

even  though  he  crossed  over  to  the  couch  and  walk  talking  a  big  game,  he  didn't  think  anything  was  wrong  with  joel's  ass.  he  sat  down  right  next  to  him  and  threw  the  blanket  over  both  of  them.  by  that  point,  he  thought  he  was  warm  enough  already.  plus,  the  plate  of  food  was  still  warm  too,  so  that  meant  that  he  could  finally  relax. 

cathal  grabbed  the  bowl  of  food  and  leaned  in  closer  to  the  man.  the  movie  had  slowly  worked  its  way  to  his  top  three,  but  he  didn't  know  if  that  was  because  joel  seemed  to  like  it  so  much.  did  the  reason  behind  his  favorites  matter?  no.  so  he  just  enjoyed  the  time.  he  took  his  first  bite  and  let  a  pleased  noise. 

good  cook,  liked  taking  care  of  him,  good  shot.  was  there  anything  that  miller  wasn't  good  at?  a  question  that  he  didn't  really  need  to  find  the  answer.  his  thigh  pressed  up  against  the  other  man's  and  he  took  another  bite.

then  he  continued  that  small  routine,  getting  used  to  it.

“guess  you  are  good  in  the  kitchen.”

sometimes  joel  wondered  how  the  hell  this  even  started.  how  the  thing  between  him  and  cathal  —  whatever  the  hell  it  was  —  managed  to  happen  at  all.  ‘cause  outside  of  the  world  ending,  their  paths  never  would've  crossed.  and  even  with  the  world  gone  to  shit,  he  still  figured  the  odds  were  slim.  cathal  was  a  brat.  bold.  loud.  more  mouth  than  sense,  more  trouble  than  most.  joel  didn’t  go  out  of  his  way  to  befriend  people  like  that.  usually  went  out  of  his  way  to  avoid  them,  actually.

then  again,  ellie  was  kind  of  a  brat  too.  but  she  was  his  brat.

so  was  cathal  now,  it  seemed.  not  that  he  ever  said  it  out  loud.

only  difference  was  cathal  hadn’t  wanted  to  stay  in  the  “kiddo”  category.  never  made  that  a  secret.  why?  hell  if  joel  knew.  he  asked  himself  that  every  time  he  woke  up  with  the  kid  tangled  in  his  sheets,  wrapped  around  him  like  he  belonged  there  —  and  joel  let  him.  every  time.  maybe  that  was  the  part  that  bothered  him  most.  not  cathal  pushing  for  it,  but  joel  letting  it  happen.

he  didn’t  know  what  he’d  do  if  the  kid  changed  his  mind.  probably  the  same  thing  he  always  did  —  pretend  it  didn’t  matter.

“pretty  sure  it  still  counts,”  he  muttered,  voice  low  as  he  stirred  the  ravioli.  he  didn’t  look.  not  again.  not  after  the  smug  grin  cathal  had  thrown  his  way  when  he’d  taken  too  long  getting  dressed.  it  didn’t  mean  anything.  not  a  damn  thing.

he  didn’t  fumble  the  ingredients.  didn't  burn  anything  either,  even  with  the  brat  in  the  background  poking  and  prodding  with  that  smart-ass  mouth  of  his.  ravioli  wasn’t  fancy,  but  joel  had  spruced  it  up.  jackson  had  resources  if  you  knew  where  to  look,  and  if  you  didn’t  mind  trading  for  spices  or  extras.  meat  sometimes,  if  you  were  lucky.  but  this?  this  would  do.

“don’t  gotta  eat  it  if  you  don’t  like  it.  brat.”  the  insult  was  low,  half-warm,  half-grunted.  not  meant  to  sting.  joel  didn’t  look,  just  moved  around  the  kitchen  like  it  was  muscle  memory.  it  was  his  house,  after  all.

he  should’ve  seen  it  coming  —  the  endless  sass,  the  nudist  comment,  the  way  cathal  clung  to  that  damn  blanket  like  he  hadn’t  just  sworn  up  and  down  he  wasn’t  cold.  joel  saw  past  it.  always  did.

“you  handlin’  it  better?  tsk.”  he  didn’t  believe  it,  not  for  a  second,  but  let  the  kid  have  his  pride.  cathal’s  fingertips  brushed  past  his  arm  on  the  way  through  the  kitchen  —  not  an  accident.  joel  didn’t  flinch.  wondered,  not  for  the  first  time,  when  that  started.  when  touch  stopped  being  something  to  brace  for.  with  tess,  it’d  mostly  been  drunken  comfort.  not  like  this.

cathal  slept  in  his  bed.

willingly.

without  a  word.

and  joel  let  him.

“like  it  ain’t  gonna  be  obvious  when  i  find  it  in  your  empty  apartment,”  he  muttered,  shaking  his  head  as  he  pulled  down  two  bowls  and  made  sure  to  give  cathal  the  bigger  serving.  he  needed  it.  not  that  the  town  let  anyone  go  hungry,  but  joel  still  kept  track.

cathal’s  question  stopped  him  cold  for  just  a  second.  “i’m  peachy  keen,”  he  replied  dryly,  a  huff  of  something  too  short  to  be  a  laugh  in  his  throat.  joel  stepped  around  him,  bowls  in  hand,  and  dropped  down  on  the  couch  with  a  quiet  sigh.  he  should’ve  taken  it  to  the  table  like  a  normal  human  being,  but  this  wasn’t  a  normal  night.

none  of  their  nights  really  were.

“c’mon,”  he  called  over  his  shoulder.  “sit  with  me.”

comfort  over  formality.  warmth  over  pride.  he  didn’t  say  any  of  that  out  loud,  of  course.  but  he  figured  cathal  would  hear  it  anyway.  they  had  a  way  of  hearing  each  other  even  when  nothing  was  said.

“bring  the  blanket  and  your  scrawny  ass  over  here.”

he  didn’t  mean  to  look  toward  the  tv,  but  his  eyes  always  did.  reflex  by  now.  old  habit.  jackson  had  power  —  most  days  —  and  joel  never  stopped  being  grateful  for  that.  electricity  meant  light.  heat.  safety.  and  maybe  more  important  than  any  of  that:  it  meant  movies.  for  a  few  hours,  they  could  pretend  things  weren’t  so  bad.  for  a  few  hours,  he  could  remember  what  it  felt  like  to  live  in  a  world  that  hadn’t  fallen  apart.

he’d  made  a  point  of  collecting  dvds.  a  lot  of  them.  half  scratched,  most  outdated.  didn’t  matter.  curtis  and  viper  2  had  been  sarah’s  favorite,  which  made  it  his  by  default.  later,  it  was  ellie’s  too.  they  used  to  watch  it  when  things  felt  heavy  —  like  things  always  felt  heavy.  it  wasn’t  even  about  the  movie.  just  the  act  of  sitting  close.  sharing  something  good.  he  missed  that.

now?  now  it  was  cathal.  curled  beside  him  like  he  belonged  there,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  he  refused  to  admit  he  needed,  mouthing  off  with  that  crooked  little  grin.  and  joel…  well.  joel  queued  up  curtis  and  viper  2  again  anyway.

same  couch.  same  movie.  different  life.

maybe  some  things  didn’t  need  to  be  said  out  loud.