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Listen, I am very allergic to cats and tend to avoid them. But this cat?! I will take all the Benadryl so I can attempt to snuggle this cat 😭

I love him so much and I’ve never even met him

🥩 BEEF LORE 🥩

Beefro, my beloved. I would like to hear some stories about a very special Beefcal Quat, The Fry. I think about him all the time. I’ve never seen anything like that special little guy.

Ah yes, the Fry!

The Fry is a special orange boy who never seems to quit (although I highly doubt he knows what's going on enough to fathom what quitting is).

Yes, he is named after Philip J. Fry from Futurama and yes, the name is very fitting. No, his ears haven't always been like that and yes, he can still hear perfectly fine. In 2016, the Fry got a hematoma on one ear, and almost exactly a year later, he got another one on the other ear. I think he looks sweet.

He doesn't meow as much as he hoots. It can be a bit disconcerting to hear his ominous sounds in the middle of the night, but he's honestly just looking for a cuddle buddy.

I once tried to leash train him, but it ended with him tucking his tail so hard between his legs that he walked like a little, four legged John Wayne. Leash training lasted all of 5 minutes.

Sometimes he goes a bit walleyed when he's very happy. This happens mainly when someone is brushing him. He was notorious for shoving Gertie off the couch while she was getting brushed just do he could have his turn.

He is not one for being picked up, but he does love a good 'scoop and snug'. This is him sitting on his butt in your lap, facing you, while you administer tummy rubs and face scrunchles.

Despite all the odds, the Fry wasn't supposed to live past 6 months, but this August, he will be 11 years old!

Thank you for the ask about our beloved orange, Strange!

Yours in absolute sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

More about the Fry below the cut.

It all started back in 2014 when Mr. Beefcal and I had relocated to a new city with two cats (Noisy Jim and ScootyPuff Jr). In the months prior, we'd lost Jim's litter mate, Pazuzu, and once we were settled, we really felt like we were more of a 3 cat family. We went to a humane society in a small town just outside the city and met many, many cats. There was this huge Maine Coon named Hugo whose purr sounded like a tug boat, and lovely black cat named Bonkers who just ruled every room she wandered into. Then, in a secluded corner was this sickly little orange baby - he didn't even meow. He had been brought alone with one sibling to the shelter after their mother a few other siblings didn't make it in a barn. His sibling thrived and was adopted out and the Fry was left behind. We were told if we took him, there would be no cost because we'd essentially be giving a kitten palliative care. Even so, my husband and I were smitten. The first few weeks were really rough. He needed a lot of care, and it was like having an infant in the house. Up almost every hour to feed and clean him up (he had a lot of accidents). But the Fry, who was only supposed to live for 6 months began to thrive in his own little way. Every milestone, no matter how small, was celebrated. When he hit one year, all the neighbours thought we'd lost the plot because we had a barbeque to celebrate. Little by little, the Fry got bigger and stronger and needed less and less medical attention. Waffles joined us soon after, and all four cats seemed to be doing well. Then we lost Jim in 2016. Nothing in our house felt right and the Fry started to regress. Then we got a call from my husband's coworker, asking us to take in a sweet old lady who needed a home with other cats, and that's when the Fry met his beloved Gertie. She pulled him from whatever depths he'd slipped into and they became a pair. As you know, we lost Gertie in January, and unfortunately, the Fry is just not the same. He's had some medical things start to pop back up, but he has been a very brave boy during every vet visit. The staff at the clinic coo at and cuddle him and he does enjoy all the hands that give him pets. He is just getting used to Beanie. They chase each other a round the house and sometimes, the Fry forgets that's what they're doing, so Beanie reminds him with a gentle bap on his face, and then the game resumes.

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A little stupid, a little horny. The usual.

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Ah yes. Dealing with this a lot currently 🤣😂

me as a writer

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I fucking did it. One whole year. I can’t believe it’s been an entire year.

I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am for the friends I’ve made here and how much they truly have helped along the way of getting to an actual year! Honestly, I was only going to try and make it to a month, give myself a nice break but then realized I felt better without booze.

I was telling @hessofather earlier it’s weird because I remember the morning of this day a year ago pretty clearly…

Tw: alcohol mentions, depression, rambling, personal thoughts and gettin’ real fuckin’ vulnerable here so please please don’t be an asshole

I was supposed to stop drinking the night before but there was still alcohol in the house, thought to myself “Well… I can’t have alcohol in the house if I’m gonna quit drinking. Better get rid of it… by drinking it” so I woke up on Tuesday very hungover, which wasn’t unusual at that point I was a hangover pro. I got ready for work, had to put my dog in the kennel and she was on the opposite side of the bed that morning. I picked her up and as I was walking with her to put her in the kennel I tripped over a pair of my husband’s boots and fell. SHE WAS OKAY! She was just a little scared. I literally held her onto until I knew she would be okay to drop to the ground and then smacked my face into the doorway and broke my glasses. I was irritated, got her in the kennel and felt like I was already ready for it to be 8:30pm so I could have a drink. I messaged a friend telling her how upset I was at myself for drinking the night before and tried to move on with my day. Went to work, had to leave work so I could get new glasses frames then went back to work.

I had rules for myself and my drinking. 8:30pm is when I could start and 10:30pm is when I needed to stop. Never before and I would be very irritated if I started after. I had to keep to a schedule but then the schedule started to get blurry. I’d still wait til 8:30 but the stopping time became “Well… I’ll open my last one at 10:30 and then be done” then it became “Well… It’s 10:40…”

“Well… it’s 10:50…”

“Well… it’s 11…”

Get the picture? Yeah. Some nights it wouldn’t be until midnight and then I’d get 5-6 hours of sleep before waking up for work, feeling like death, and make my way to work. I was constantly agitated, I was constantly depressed, I knew something needed to change.

I felt like a fucking idiot because I know the pattern. My dad’s an alcoholic. Several other members of my family have a bad relationship with alcohol. I fucking knew what would happen but still had it in the back of my head “But not me.” Yeah, okay. Sure Jan 🤦‍♀️😅

Anyways, if you read all the above thank you! If you want to make a change, do it. It’s hard, I’m not going to say it was easy breezy and anyone can do it. It’s okay to have more than one day 1! You have to learn different habits, you have to learn to be okay with feeling things, you need a good support system!!! I already mentioned it but I seriously can’t thank my support system enough for helping me get to a year ❤️

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I love that gif so much 🤣

Glad you enjoyed! Thank you for sharing! ❤️

Fresh Meat

Joel Miller x F!Reader wc: 3,452

Summary: Finally deciding to get your first tattoo, you go to the best in the business - Joel Miller. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+, No outbreak AU, Joel is a tattoo artist, Explicit Language, random female character(iykyk), reader has shoulder length hair, unprotected PinV, fingering(f!receiving), Joel Miller has a filthy mouth(I blame Pedro’s gym picture for this) , I went off memory on tattoo aftercare, reader is getting her first tattoo A/N: First, thank you for your eyeballs and help on this one @beefrobeefcal, @noxturnalnymph, @jennaispunk, and @strang3lov3. Second, this is a very belated birthday present for @jay-zzle who I have screamed about more times than I can even count. It all started with her making a random post looking for Pedro Pascal character fic recs and here we are over a year later! I would not even be writing if it weren't for her. I love you, I'm so very glad we met and I’m so happy you are in my life ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist||AO3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

The thought has crossed your mind plenty of times. It wasn’t as if your family was against tattoos. It was just a lot to consider, between marking your body permanently, and the pain of a needle stabbing into your skin hundreds of times. What if you wake up one day, look at yourself in the mirror and hate it? What then? Laser removal is more expensive than a tattoo and, from what you’ve heard - even more painful.

You’ve done the research, asked the right questions and on your twenty-seventh birthday, you finally decide to bite the bullet and do it. You’re getting tattooed by the Joel Miller. He’s been in the tattoo business for over thirty years now. You studied his line work extensively, scrolling through his Instagram page for hours on end. His name is in tattoo magazines around the world claiming to be one of the best in the business. You steady yourself before grabbing the door handle, feeling the cool steel against your palm, before pulling it open to hear a ding above your head.

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” the platinum-blonde woman says, giving you a friendly smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Uh, J-Joel?” You stammer, eyes wide looking around the shop, colorful pieces of art plastered on the walls, the faint sounds of buzzing surround your ears like a mosquito searching for a spot to bite, “I’m su- supposed to meet-,” you clear your throat, shaking your hands against your sides, gripping the strap of your purse that rests across your body tightly, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Sorry, nervous. I have an appointment with Joel.”

“Ah!” She smirks, clicking around on the computer in front of her. “You must be his three o’clock! Girl, you got lucky with that cancellation. He’s been completely booked for the next six months!” She adds with a laugh, lightly smacking the counter before leaning her tiny frame against it. “Joel!” Her voice booms, “Your three is here!”

“Ah, fresh meat!” Joel’s voice echoes down the hall. “Think she can handle it, Miko?”

“I think so,” she shrugs, smiling while eyeing you up and down. “This your first?”

“Yeah,” you murmur shyly, eyes glancing at your shoes, kicking nervously at the checkered floor.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she beams proudly, “Joel will take good care of you!”

—

You sit in the chair, glancing around the walls of the room. Multiple magazine cutouts praising Joel’s work are hung in black frames, and beautiful artwork is scattered throughout the space. You notice a sticker plastered on the wall that says No Weenies Allowed and let out a soft laugh.

“So you’re wantin’ it behind your ear?” Joel asks. You jump at his sudden presence, stepping into the room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he smirks, “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

“It’s okay.” You state, feeling your face heat up. “Uhm, yeah, I was hoping to get it behind my ear, like right here.” You rub the spot behind your ear with a single finger, dangerously close to your hairline. The messages you and Joel had swapped back and forth; he had mentioned possibly needing to shave some of your hair to do the tattoo.

“Ya mind?” He asks, sitting on a stool before you, studying where your finger sits.

“Go ahead,” you murmur, moving your hand away to make room for him.

Joel reaches toward your neck, gently brushing your hair back to examine the spot behind your ear. His hand rests gently against the side of your neck, covering most of it. Your breath hitches, feeling the warmth radiating from his palm. He hums, stroking his thumb against the spot behind your ear.

“Good news,” Joel smirks, his big brown eyes looking into your own, “Shouldn’t have to shave any of your hair.”

“Th- that’s good!” You stutter with a shy smile as his thumb continues stroking the spot behind your ear. ��Is it a good spot for my first?” You ask, feeling your face get hot again.

“S’perfect.” Joel whispers, “No need to be nervous. I’ll take good care of ya.” He adds with a playful wink.

—

“A’right,” Joel starts, putting on a pair of black latex gloves and grabbing a razor. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?”

“No.” You squeak out, glaring at the comically small razor in his hand. “I thought we didn’t have to shave my hair?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He grins, “Jus’ gotta get the baby hairs off your neck. Won’t touch any a’ that beautiful hair on your head.” He grabs a bottle off the small table beside the chair, squeezing a small amount of the cool liquid out behind your ear before gently gliding the razor across your delicate skin.

“I noticed the ‘No Weenies Allowed’ sticker, but what if I am one?” You ask, a soft giggle escaping your lips. He moves to throw away the razor in a container labeled sharps on the wall.

“Nah, you’re a tough one,” he laughs, turning slightly to look at you, giving you a wink, “Can feel it in my bones. Gonna put the stencil on ya next.”

“Where did you get that, anyway? " you ask, pointing at the sticker in an attempt to distract yourself from the shiver running down your spine as he rubs more of the cool liquid onto your skin with a paper towel. His knuckle nudges against the side of your chin, turning your head slightly to the side, and he gently places the stencil against that spot behind your ear, smoothing it out firmly with the pads of his fingers.

You can feel your face growing warmer again. You knew Joel was attractive by the pictures you’d seen of him, but in person? The ink etched into his skin, the dark brown of his irises, the broad expanse of his shoulders, his gentle but firm touch against your skin, the easy way he can soothe your nerves, the way he walks you through the entire process, there’s no wonder why they say he’s the best in the business.

“My kid got it for me! Thought it’d be perfect for the shop.” He states, gently removing the stencil and fanning your neck with his hand. “Gotta let that dry for a bit.”

You let out a soft sigh, waiting for the stencil to dry, listening to him prepare the small table beside him. His fingers gently tap against your neck. “You can go ahead and look in the mirror. Make sure you like the spot; if you don’t, we can move it.”

You stand from the chair, walking towards the mirror, and turn your head trying to glance at the stencil placement.

“Shit,” Joel grunts, standing up “Wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, sweetheart, here.” He stands behind you with a mirror. He brushes your hair back, placing the mirror for you to see the stencil more clearly. Your smile is beaming as you see the outline on your neck, chancing a look at Joel in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, a soft smile on his face as his broad body stands so close behind you. “Like it?” He asks. You nod, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Just gotta get a couple more things ready.” He states, walking back to his stool, “Go’head and sit back down.” His biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt as he shakes a bottle full of black ink, squirting the ink into small containers on the table. Your mouth feels dry, watching him move around like an expert within the little corner of his shop. “I have to show you that this is a brand new needle,” Joel instructs, showing you the packaging of a needle. Your smile falters, eyes widening, staring at the needle, nodding dumbly as he opens it and places it within his tattoo gun.

“Okay,” he announces, fiddling with the tattoo gun in his hands, starting and stopping it randomly, “ya ready?”

You take a deep breath in, slowly letting the air escape your lungs before nodding. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you murmur.

“Go ‘head and turn your head towards the wall for me, darlin’,” Joel says, his thick fingers lightly pushing your chin in the direction he wants you to go.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths in and out, awaiting the feel of the needle against your skin.

“Here we go,” Joel murmurs in your ear, you hear the buzzing of the tattoo gun grow closer, feeling a slick ointment pressed into your skin, wincing when you feel the sharp needle pierce your skin. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, taking note of the grimace on your face.

“Doing okay,” you breathe out, resting your hands against your stomach, focusing on the rise and fall of your tummy. The needle strokes against your skin, creating a permanent fixture on your body for the rest of your life. The slight tinge of pain creates a wave of goosebumps to ripple across your flesh. Joel hums softly in your ear to the tune playing on the radio as he moves the needle with precision. Your nipples harden under your shirt, your face warming with embarrassment, hoping with everything in your being that your bra has enough padding to cover the traitorous peaks of your breasts.

“Doin’ good for me, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, swiping the towel against your neck. “Just a couple more lines, and then we’ll be done.”

“Okay,” you squeak out, careful not to nod as he speaks, “This doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, a cocky lilt to his voice, “Told ya I’d take good care of ya.”

“Yeah,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “Kinda feels good.”

“Careful now, you’ll get addicted!” He chuckles into your ear. The buzzing stops, and he wipes the towel against your neck again. “A’right, all done,” Joel murmurs, turning your chin towards him. Your breath hitches as you look into his deep chocolate eyes, pupils dilating before your eyes as his gaze travels down your neck to your chest. Clearing his throat before instructing you, “Take your time getting up, okay? Don’t need ya passin’ out on my floor thinkin’ you’re all fine an’ dandy.”

You give a slight nod of your head, averting your eyes from him quickly. Joel takes his gloves off and starts cleaning things off the small table.

“Ya a’right?” He asks softly, glancing over at you.

“Yeah, just worried about the passing out thing.” You murmur, holding in an anxious laugh.

“C’mere,” Joel instructs, holding out his hand. You grab it to help hoist yourself up from the chair. He keeps a firm but gentle hold of your arm, walking you towards the mirror. “Here, darlin’,” he gently coos, holding the mirror up behind you so you can see the permanent art on your body.

“Oh my god, Joel,” you breathe, feeling a lump in your throat, “It’s beautiful!”

Joel can’t contain his smile behind you, his pearly whites on display as he continues to watch you studying the art on your skin. You stumble forward towards the mirror, feeling a slight rush of headiness. Joel grips your hip, pulling your back flush to his front.

“Sorry,” you giggle, your hand shooting up, trying to cover the grin on your face. “I think I got a little too excited.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joel hums, his thumb sneaking up the hem of your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your hip. Your heart races from his simple touch. You glance in the mirror, watching as his eyes travel up and down your body. “This okay?” He asks, cocking his brow, his hand resting against your stomach, fingers tracing soft patterns above the waistline of your jeans. You nod dumbstruck, glancing away from the mirror to look at the door. “S’okay, baby,” Joel huskily whispers in your ear, “No one’s gonna come back here.”

He slowly blows on your new tattoo, feeling the cool air against your heated skin; a small whimper escapes your lips, back arching against his chest, your ass pushing against his groin. You can feel the outline of his stiff erection through the denim of his jeans. Joel lets out a soft groan, pulling you impossibly closer to him, his hand skimming down to the button of your jeans.

“Still okay?” He coos, teeth nibbling against your ear.

“Joel,” you whine softly, your hand grasping against the arm holding you, the other reaching behind you, slipping your fingers between the thick curls on the nape of his neck.

“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he growls into the crook of your shoulder, “You did so good getting your first tattoo.” One of his hands moves, gripping your chin and turning your face to crash his lips into your own. His tongue sliding between your lips, swirling the thick muscle around your mouth, claiming the soft moan that rolls out of your throat into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp, chest heaving, your lips catching the corner of his mouth as the hand that was rubbing gentle patterns into your skin deftly works the button and zipper of your jeans open, slipping his hand down to feel the cotton of your underwear. Your hips buck as his thick fingers press firmly against your cloth-covered clit, a whine erupting out of you.

“Shhhh,” Joel smirks, nosing your temple, “Look in the mirror, baby. Did someone figure out that a little pain is nice?”

Your eyes close, head leaning back against his shoulder, warmth spreading throughout your body, wiggling against him as his fingers continue to rub circles against your swollen clit.

“I said look in the mirror,” he grunts, gripping your chin harshly forcing you to look at the mirror. A gasp escapes your lips, eyes widening as Joel’s dark eyes stare at you in the mirror. “You gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?” He asks, firmly grinding his bulge into your ass.

“Yes,” you breathe out, swallowing thickly. Joel smirks, kissing your jaw. “Fuck,” you whisper, your thighs beginning to shake from the delicious pressure Joel’s putting on that bundle of nerves.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he softly groans against your skin. His lips placing soft kisses and gentle sucks against the crook of shoulder, making sure to be careful of your new tattoo. “So glad that fucker cancelled so you could come in,” Joel sighs, sliding his fingers under the band of your panties. “So fuckin’ wet, sweetheart,” he hums. “This all for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, trying to catch your breath. You can feel the band in your stomach about to snap. “Joel,” you mewl, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” Joel smirks, his index and middle fingers ghosting along your weeping hole as his thumb continues its pleasurable rhythm against your nub.

“More,” you beg, gripping the arm that’s down your pants, nails biting into his forearm. “Please -fuck- more. So close.”

“You gonna come, baby?” Joel husks against your hairline, “Come all over my fingers?”

You let out a pathetic whine, hips bucking into his hand and pleading desperately for more before feeling his thick fingers plunge into your tight heat.

“Fuck me, pretty girl,” Joel growls, moving his fingers in a syrupy slow rhythm, “Pussy’s just beggin’ to be filled, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, the band in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as Joel continues to spew filth into your ear. His fingers crook up, reaching that spot that very few before him have been able to find, bumping against it on every stroke in and out of your sex. “Oh god,” you moan out, “Joel, please, faster.” You can feel your walls clamping down against his fingers, just needing that extra bit more to throw you over the edge. Joel pumps his fingers in again, holding them at that spot, firmly swiping them back and forth.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna- I’m gon-” cutting yourself off as that band finally snaps, gushing all over his hand.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smiles, slick lingering between your thighs and sliding against your tummy as he removes his fingers, bringing the soaked digits to his mouth, sucking them clean with a lewd -pop- as they leave his mouth. “Taste so fucking good.”

You giggle, in shock, unable to believe that just happened. First tattoo and you got fingered by Joel Miller? You would mark this birthday a success as is.

“Now,” Joel says, clearing his throat, gently brushing your hair to the side, “In all seriousness. You need to make sure you keep this clean,” he states, you hear the jingle of a belt buckle and a zipper being undone before he’s grabbing your jeans and underwear, slipping them down your legs. “Mmmm,” he hums, peeking down to get a good look at your ass, gripping the root of his cock, swiping the tip between your soaked folds. “Feel so good, baby.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing toward the door again.

“Uh-uh,” Joel tuts, gripping your chin to force your vision to focus back on the mirror. “You keep lookin’ here, a’right?” Your eyes bore into his dark orbs, nodding. “Good girl,” he grunts, notching himself at your entrance. “Just keep lookin’ in the mirror, don’t worry ‘bout anythin’ else,” he instructs, pushing his thick length into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp quietly, hands reaching out, landing on the mirror before you.

“Oh fuck, pretty girl,” He grunts, gripping a handful of your hair. “Look at ya,” he sneers in the mirror, taking in the fucked out expression on your face, “This what ya needed? This cock inside your tight little pussy?”

You whimper, feeling him saw in and out of you at a punishing pace.

“Where was I?,” he grunts, his hips smacking against the flesh of your ass, “Thas right, keep your tattoo clean.” Joel pulls his hips back, glancing down at his glistening cock. “Fuck me,” he whispers in awe. “Three times a day should be good,” he huffs, thrusting back into you, tugging on your hair. “You listening, baby? Shit’s important.” 

You nod, trying to focus on his instructions.

“Need ya t’put a small amount of aquaphor on it during the day,” he groans, “Just enough t’keep it moist. Not a whole bunch though, don’t need your new ink as wet as this pussy.” Joel chuckles, watching the way your ass ripples as he slams back into your squelching cunt. “It gets itchy? Smack it - don’t - fucking - scratch - it.” He punctuates his instructions with powerful thrusts between each word. “Don’t fuck up my art, baby.”

“O-o-oh god,” you mewl, feeling your walls flutter around his length.

“Repeat it.” Joel commands, sliding his fingers down to your throbbing clit. “Need t’know you were listenin’, baby.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, taking a shuddering breath. “W-wash it, three -ungh- three times a day, a-a-and put on aquaphor.”

“How much aquaphor?” Joel asks, snapping his length into you sharply.

“Small amount, not a lot.”

“Not a lot like what?” Joel chuckles, gripping your hair tighter. His fingers swirling circles around your bundle of nerves.

“M-m-my pussy,” you moan, feeling so close to falling off that ledge of ecstasy.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Joel grunts, “Know you’re gettin’ close. Can feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock, baby.” You moan softly, nails sliding against the glass of the mirror, the walls of your pussy growing tighter with each of Joel’s thrusts, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you, finally tipping you off that ledge. 

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, loosening your hair in favor of gripping your hips tightly, pulling you roughly towards him half a dozen more times, chasing his own climax before he erupts, hot ropes of his come paint your inner walls. “So fucking good, baby.” He huffs, his head landing between your shoulder blades. Sweat clinging to both your bodies, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll go over tattoo aftercare again,” Joel grunts, pulling out of your wet heat, twin groans escaping both of you, chuckling against your shoulder blades, “Don’t want ya missin’ anythin’ important I might have told ya.”

“Don’t think I could.” You smirk, giggling, feeling him fumble behind you, “Not with that sort of lesson.”

Joel turns you around, kneeling down to grab your pants. “Hey wait a minute. In our messages you said this was your birthday present to yourself, right?” He asks, smiling up at you.

“Uh, yeah.” You nod, avoiding his eyes, face warming while remembering your nervous rambling to him as he helps you right your clothes. “It’s today, m-my birthday is today.”

“Well then,” Joel stands, his hand gripping your jaw to tilt your face to his, giving you a tender kiss, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, sweetheart.”

NPT for those who seemed interested: @whocaresstillthelouvre @vichons @pinkypromisepascal

Thanks for reading! If you liked please comment or reblog letting me know!

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that man looks pathetic and yet whimsical ! im keeping him

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This is so great! Absolutely love the man whore that is Lucien 😍

Kudos to Georgia for saying what she wants too!

honest work

lucien de leon, 3.4k words, explicit 18+

summary: every thursday, five women let lucien ease their stress tags: dumb porn with plot, no the uninvited spoilers, deconstructed gangbang, infidelity, sex volunteering one could say, 1 man 5 married women, cucking with consequences, fucking sucking riding etc a/n: i never post full fics on here, only on my ao3, but this one was so short and stupid i didn't feel like making a whole ao3 post. enjoy the freebie lmao

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One can find anything they need on the internet these days. 

Need to order groceries? Book a cleaner? Have flowers delivered?

It’s simple, it’s two clicks away. Credit card number, expiry, CVC. Place order, it says. No fuss.

Dog sitting? A bright pink acrylic table with five chairs to match? Click. Click. Click. It’s at your doorstep. 

Need to become a phoney licensed counselor to have an alibi for fucking five different women in an abandoned massage therapy office every Thursday evening? 

No problem, baby. The internet is here to help.

LUCIEN DE LEON Licensed Somatic Counseling Practitioner* 

It’s a bullshit title. You can just as easily become an ordained minister. There’s even an asterisk next to the professional title saying as much. 

*Does not refer to any licensed profession in any state or country. Fine Print Inc. is not an educational or professional institution, nor is it a governing body for any of the careers or professors for which they produce licenses. These are strictly for personal use, and protected under US parody law. 

But all of that is on a document that nobody reads. All that matters is this: Lucien De Leon calls himself a licensed counseling practitioner if he has to, and nobody will ever ask him where or by whom he’s licensed, so none of it matters. 

On Thursday evenings at seven PM, five women gather at the Sunrise Springs Professional Center, in an office on the third floor. The sign outside the door says Anisha Jacobs Wellness Center, but Anisha took off when the IRS began to snoop around her tax forms and, well, she’s been back in Lapland ever since. 

Everything stayed in the office when she left, and Lucien happened to push the door open in search of the men’s room when he had attended an audition in one of the adjacent offices. It looked like the lobby of any new age-y, warmly lit spa. 

And there was a key in the door, somehow. A key that worked. 

He pocketed that key, and a few days later, returned to the space to see what was left behind. The number on Ms. Jacobs’s business card was no longer in use, and the place had stood empty long enough for the plants to wither. The office had two rooms: a lobby, and a treatment room. 

It isn’t interesting how it got to this point, but as of now, the office looks like this: in the main room, six chairs of different styles, including a small loveseat, are arranged in a circle. On the sign beside the door, a piece of paper has been taped over with writing that says SOMATIC THERAPY SPACE. 

It’ll do. 

In the next room, there is not much to note but a massage table that sits collapsed up against the wall, and it looks, by all means, like a room that is not in use. It looks left behind, in fact, just entirely forgotten. 

And Thursday evenings look like this: 

The computer left behind on the desk by the window no longer turns on. It is little more than a prop. There’s a water dispenser on the side of the room next to a few new plants and various blown glass vases. Beside the open window, wind chimes clatter in the breeze. A plastic-wrapped Costco order of tissue boxes sits up against the wall. One box is on the coffee table that has been arranged in the middle of the chair-circle. 

Paper cups, a trash can, a key to the bathroom on the same floor. 

Tia arrives first, peering past the open door to see Lucien behind the computer. “Hey!” she chirps, pushing a silky mass of brown curls over her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, and gestures towards the chairs. “Have a seat.” 

It’s only six-fifty-four. 

Jasmine, Georgia and Ingrid filter in one by one, taking their seats and beginning to fill out their arrival forms. 

What is your name?

What do you wish to get out of this session? 

Before they leave their houses, they tell their husbands that they are going to their weekly women’s discussion group. If pressed, and with great reluctance, perhaps a few tears, they say it is group therapy and that there is a confidentiality agreement that cannot be breached. 

A few rules are followed: 

The meeting lasts for two hours. Each participant is given twenty minutes of time devoted specifically to them, with five minutes of downtime in between. 

No payment is exchanged — the sessions are part of Lucien’s ongoing professional development, and both he and the women involved agree that voluntary participation is integral. 

The order is randomized every week, however those trying to get pregnant — with a man at home who hasn’t seen a vegetable in three years and blames his wife’s age for their fertility issues — go first. Those who only want oral are scheduled in between those who want a full fuck. Lucien gets a bit of a breather that way. 

While the massage room is occupied, a clipboard is passed around in the circle where a prompt is written out in lazy handwriting at the top, and everyone writes their reflection. The other group members’ answers are to be halfway memorized, as well as the short summary script that Lucien provides on the second page. 

Today’s prompt reads as follows; If I try to picture my ideal life, how does this feel in my body? And what can I do to make this a reality? How do the people around me affect my hopes and dreams?  

There’s also a shredder under the desk. 

The participants are allowed to do whatever they want before their slot, and after, until the meeting is officially over. Their phones stay on silent. 

When Jeanette has arrived, the door is locked and the session begins. Lucien collects the arrival forms and sets a schedule for his dedicated attention. There’s also a whiteboard that sits on the floor, leaning against the front of the desk. He grabs the black marker and writes out the schedule.

JASMINE

INGRID

TIA

GEORGIA

JEANETTE

Once they see the schedule, two of them pull their laptops out of their handbags and grab their Airpod cases, ready to catch up on work. Tia folds open a book, marked halfway finished. Jeanette stretches out on the loveseat and closes her eyes. 

“Jasmine,” he says, and nods towards the open door to the room where the massage table has been unfolded. 

There’s nobody else left in the building by this time, and the overnight cleaners don’t show up until eleven. 

Leaving her bag on the chair, she follows him into the room and closes the door behind her while he sits at the edge of the bench.

“Did you test?” he asks. 

Jasmine nods. “Peak.”

With that, Lucien pulls her between his spread thighs and begins to unbutton her blouse. 

Jasmine’s son just turned three. He looks more and more like Lucien for every month that passes. 

It was just the two of them and Tia at first. Only two women with grievances about their husbands’ lack of ability to take direction, three bottles of wine and an old friend who offered to help just that one night. He also didn’t mind helping when Ron’s test results came back fucked beyond belief and he somehow remained steadfast in his belief that he was virile. 

It just became a thing after that, and he has never minded being shared. 

Twenty minutes isn’t much but it’s enough to get the women where they need to be, and Lucien is hard within a minute, dropping a pair of slacks and throwing them to the floor. He knows well what Jasmine wants, learning her over several years and utilizing his time as best as he can. Kisses up and down her neck, his tongue on her nipples, on her pussy, then his cock inside, deep thrusts on her hands and knees until he comes, bare and unprotected. 

He assumes the ladies on the other side of the door can hear the two of them, but nobody seems to mind, and he can’t say he does either. There’s a window as well, mostly covered by venetian blinds, only leaving a gap at the very bottom, through which he can see them typing and reading and sleeping while he strokes a hand down Jasmine’s spine, staying inside until the time runs out. She keeps his semen in her as long as possible, getting dressed and laying down on the couch after Jeanette gets up and offers it to her, switching to a chair with a wickered backrest. 

“Ingrid?”

The brunette pops up, laptop already slipped back into her handbag, and she begins to shimmy her skirt down while he shuts the door behind them. On her ring finger, a large, rectangular diamond shines next to a gold wedding band. She doesn’t need much warm-up, he finds, laying down on the bench and letting him slip off her panties, spreading her legs and laying back, waiting for his fingers inside and his tongue on her clit. 

“How’s your day been?” she asks, pushing a hand through his hair. 

“Living the dream,” he says, eyes closed, tongue sliding over her opening. “And you?”

She tips her head back and he pushes his fingers further in, curling them while they withdraw. Back in, and back out. 

“Good,” she exhales, “Great.” 

And then she doesn’t say anymore, except when she whispers that she’s going to come, the quick first time and the slow second, a third before time is up and Lucien wipes his wet mustache and lips on his forearm, hard as steel when she kisses him and skips back out of the room. 

He cleans up at the sink in the corner of the empty space again, where hand soap and intimate wash is placed before the session starts every week, before he opens the door and waves for Tia to join him. He’s flushed, he looks just-fucked, chest reddened and hair messy. She likes that, though, touching his hot skin and smelling his sweat, making out while he slides down the wall with her in tow, until she’s straddling him. 

The timer starts again, just a clock in his peripheral vision ticking while clothes are ripped off as fast as possible, and she’s sinking down on his bare cock, riding him for a few strokes before she rolls her eyes at herself, groans, and reminds them both of the condoms that sit above them on a shelf.

She watches him put it on, gliding a big hand down thin, shiny latex, that hand lifting and curling two fingers, middle and ring finger coaxing her close again, up on her knees and then back down onto his cock. 

Tia wants it the hardest, wants one hand grabbing roughly at her tit and another gripping her ass tight, Lucien’s legs bent for leverage, his tongue constantly in her mouth. She likes to be overwhelmed, he thinks, fucked into the floor and into the massage table, against the wall, bent over the bench with her hands on her back. Droplets of sweat slide down his temples from his hairline when she’s in the room with him, the air is thick and her inner thighs are covered, slippery and wet. He grabs a towel from the underside of the bench, slips it under her, catches when she begins to squirt from the beating of his cock, soaking the white cloth. 

That’s when he can’t hold back any longer, feeling that spray on his own thighs, and comes inside of the condom. He slips it off, ties it, tosses it and cleans her up. She’s boneless after that, breathing slowly, taking a minute to get off the bench and into her own clothes. It’s always a half-awake thanks, Lu he gets before she leaves and curls up next to Jasmine on her phone, then promptly falls asleep. 

Georgia wants the same thing every week, and Lucien doesn’t question it. He slips off her leggings, her panties, and eats her for the full twenty minutes she is allotted. Though today, halfway through, when he stands up for a moment to readjust, she looks down at his pants and sees the bulge that is ever present whenever his tongue is on her — an erection she has only ever seen behind the secrecy of fabric. 

“Can I see it?” she asks, sitting up. 

He takes it out then, unbuttons the pants with no boxers underneath, and lets it bounce between the sides of his zipper. 

Her eyes flick up, seeking permission, and he nods once, lifting his eyebrows while he holds up the bottom of his shirt.

She just touches it gently at first, runs her fingertips down his shaft and his head. It twitches in response, bobs a little in the air, more blood streaming to his mostly-hard cock. A clock ticks outside the door, and Lucien stands quietly with his hand over bunched-up silk fabric, just lifting it enough to show a cover of trimmed, dark hair, and then a long, thick cock. 

Georgia leans forward, with a hand lightly touching his underside. She runs her lips up the side of his shaft, and he twitches again, gets even harder, but he breathes calmly while the woman begins to kiss and smell at him. He pushes his pants down a little bit further, letting his balls hang firmly in open air.

She spots them, gives them a kiss too, and Lucien licks his bottom lip, bites it, watches her sit on the bench with nothing on from her waist down, kissing and licking softly at his cock. She reaches his tip, licks there too, and then pulls away with her eyes still on it. 

“Can you put it in a little?” she asks, and her hand is already between her legs, the tips of her fingers disappearing between her folds, touching herself gently. 

Lucien nods, his voice hoarse when he says, “Yeah… Yeah.” 

“I just wanna feel it,” she says, gazing down.  

His cock bobs once more, veins popping out of his skin to form little bulges all along his length. “You want me to, uh—” He clears his throat. “You want me to wear a condom?” 

Georgia nods, chewing on the inside of her lip, and Lucien steps over, grabbing a foil packet off another small shelf. While he opens it, while he threads the latex on and glides his hand over his dick to roll it down, her fingers slip in and out of her, arousal leaking onto the leather of the bench. 

“Lean back,” he says, hand coming to the inside of her thigh, “Spread your legs.” 

His hand is still around his root, and he enters her slowly, pushing inside until she gasps and he’s at her end. When he’s there, he lifts the shirt up again, and draws his hips back before he pushes forward. She gasps again, and looks down, eyes widening at the sight of how much she has stretched around him. 

“T— take it off,” she whispers, shakiness in her voice.

“Huh?”

“Take the condom off.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, and pulls out. 

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers then, at how much cock just fit inside of her a moment before. 

He pushes the condom off, lays it on top of the empty wrapper in the shelf, and before he gets inside of her again, he kisses her, with slow strokes of his tongue, and his hand on the back of her neck, the tip of his cock brushing against her entrance. She sucks him in, his cockhead wet with lube gliding between her folds so easily, smoothly parting them and pushing inside while she arches her back. He kisses her neck then, while he pushes the rest of the way, until all of him is inside once again and he breathes a moan into her shoulder before he begins to slowly thrust. 

“Make me come,” she begs, “Please make me come.” 

With both hands around her hips, he pulls her forward, ass nearly lifting off the edge of the massage table while he leans over her. He reaches across, holds onto the edge of it behind her, and grinds into her, his curled hair against her clit while the table squeaks across the floor. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit,” she whines, “There—”

He grinds harder, slower, feels the wet clench of her around his cock, and then the pulsating orgasm that overtakes her, body going limp when it tapers off. 

He pulls out then, and his head brushes along her inner lips. 

“Thank you,” she says, a little bit dazed, and he helps her up with her hands in his, holds up her panties for her to step inside. 

Not what he expected, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. 

“That was really good,” Georgia whispers, leaning against the door with her fingers curled around the handle, “We should do that again.”

“We should,” he says back. 

Clean-up, clothes back on, a hand pushed through his hair to smooth down the messy waves at least a little, condom wrappers and tissues tossed. 

Jeanette is up last. Her hair up in a bun, pants suit on, bracelets jangling on her wrists. 

“What are you in the mood for today?” he asks. “All it said on the form was ‘cock’ and I’ve never known you to be a woman of few words.” 

“Chef’s choice,” she says. “What are you in the mood for?” 

“Pshh.” He shakes his head, kisses her with a grin still on his face, “What could I possibly be in the mood for after all that?” 

She looks between his eyes and presses her lips together. “Did anyone suck your cock today?” 

Lucien shakes his head, and he’s still hard from before, always hard when he sees any one of these girls. Even run-in’s in public run the risk of an inappropriate boner in the freezer aisle. 

“Looks like I have my work cut out for me then, don’t I?” 

She strips down while he does the same, both of them entirely in the nude while she lays down on the table and takes his cock in her mouth. She has no gag reflex, her and Tia both glad to take Lucien down into their throats, but only until he’s close, forever teasing him, only letting him come inside or on their tits or back or pussy after fucking them. He could call it selfish but he likes it too much. 

He plays with her hair while she spits on him, jerks his cock, sucks at the tip and then swallows around him, only gagging lightly. He pulls her hips up, gets her on all fours, slaps her ass, sneaks a finger down between her cheeks and revels in her muffled moan when he rubs the tip of his middle finger over her asshole. 

“Deeper,” he grunts, thrusting his hips until she’s gagging fully, then draws back and sees the spit covering him, and her soaked lips, smiling while she looks up at him. He holds the underside of her jaw, watches himself slide in and out between her lips, and he lasts longer now. 

She raises up again, slides his cock between her tits and then turns around and angles her ass up for him, ready for his entry into whichever hole he desires most.

—

“Goodnight, ladies.” 

The door shuts behind the last of the five and Lucien wraps up the trash, grabs his things and turns off the light. He drives home along empty streets, between palm trees, past houses and dive bars and surf shops. There’s a thick script laying in the passenger seat with a pair of sunglasses thrown on top. He picks up dinner on the way, taking a seat on a chaise lounge by the hostess’ stand at the restaurant while he waits. Someone recognizes him on their way in, and tells him that they love his work. He thanks them, shakes their hand, touches their shoulder and obliges when they ask for a photo.

At home, he drops his keys and kicks off his shoes, steps through the foyer and makes his way to the living room where he sets the boxes down on the coffee table and he clicks around on a few buttons before the blinds roll up along his living room windows. Flat rocks form a footpath from the seating area to the pool, between lush plants and trees, right outside of where he sits down and turns on the TV.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

hope you enjoyed! if this is your first meeting with my writing, feel free to check out my selection of series and oneshots on ao3, including javi p, joel, and frankie :)

[bitchesuntitled]

🥵🥵🥵

In My T-Shirt

|| Joel Miller x Female Reader ||

A/N: this is VERY loosely based on a true story, but if it was Joel Miller in front of me at that time…well, I would have been a puddle. Thank you @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for listening to me lose my mind last night. This is not at all beta’d or proofread, so just take what you get. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

C/W: kissing, flirting, dirty talk, lots of teasing, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), fully clothed orgasm.

Word Count: 2.6k

My Masterlist

Working in a male dominated has more cons than pros. Most of the contractors coming in for supplies treat you like you haven’t been doing this for ten years, but not Joel Miller. No, Joel is your favourite customer, and you reckon that you might be his favourite supplier. He comes in every other day, and today you watch him from the window of your office as he hop out of his truck with a Starbucks in hand.

“Iced London Fog,” he beams. “Half sweet and with oat milk.”

“You remembered?” You all out gush.

“Course I did,” he says with a wink before telling you what he needs and you ring him up. As you pull your radio from your safety vest to call his order out to the forklift operator, his eyes flick to the logo on your shirt. His company logo.

“Nice shirt,” he teases.

“Oh thanks. Some guy I know gave it to me. Heard he’s pretty good at his job.”

“Heard he’s the best,” he jokes, puffing his broad chest out. “Got an award recently and everythin’.”

“That so? I heard his supplier put some pressure on the vendor to get that product for him AND waived the delivery fee. Lucky guy to have someone like that.” You know you’re flirting, but so is he. Your staff will probably gossip about it later. Even though you’re their boss, they all know you have a small crush on him.

Joel’s perfect lips pull into a smile, dimples forming into his sun-kissed cheeks. He leans forward to grab his invoice, his rough hand purposely caressing yours as he says, “you have no idea how lucky.”

Your phone rings about ten minutes before close, “Joel - Miller Construction” across the screen.

“Hey Joel,” you say, your usual greeting when he calls.

“Hey, sorry, I know ya close soon, but I need another few bags of that polymetric sand and I need to finish this job tonight.” You can hear the stress in his voice, yet he’s nothing but polite.

“All good. When will you be here?” You’re slightly annoyed that you’ll have to stay longer since you have a bottle of red wine at home that’s been calling your name. The thought of getting to see his big, brown eyes one more time today though wipes out any negative feelings.

“About twenty minutes or so. I can give you my card number if you wanna leave them outside the gate.” Disappointment swirls in your gut at the thought of him not wanting to see you.

“No, it’s ok. Just slide the gate open, I have some stuff to catch up on. I’ll wait.” It’s a lie. An outright lie. You don’t have anything to catch up on.

“Thank you. I’m sorry,” he coos.

“It’s all good, Joel. That’s what I’m here for,” you say with a smile, using your best customer service voice. “See you soon.”

Shortly after all your staff has punched out and left, the door bings. You pop out from the back to see Joel, his hair messy, a smudge of dirt or grease on his face from his workday. He smiles when you come into view.

“Sorry again,” he apologizes.

You’ve gotten to know Joel pretty well over the past few years that he’s been your customer, so as you pull up his order you say, “You really don’t need to apologize, Joel. I’m sorry you have to work late on a Friday. Where’s Sarah tonight?”

As he slides the chip of his credit card into the pin pad he replies, “Stayin’ with her friend Ellie from school. Havin’ a sleepover or whatever it is girls do.”

The machine beeps the sound of approval. With a soft, nostalgic laugh you say, “God I miss being a kid.”

When you look back up at him he’s looking at his company logo on the upper left part of your T-shirt, your safety vest now removed and hanging in your office. His eyes trail to the small hole in the collar part. In any other job you’d never get away with wearing a ripped shirt, but the safety vest covers it and it’s also your favourite shirt. The cotton of it is so soft, and every time you put it on you remember how shy yet proud Joel looked when he brought it in for you. It was his first round of shirts after he finalized his company logo, you’d supported him with his first job - and every job since - and he wanted you to have one.

“Looks like ya need a new shirt,” he quips, smirking slightly.

“No way, I love this shirt. Ripped collar and all.” The two of you walk towards the showroom door, he holds it open for you and both wander towards the sand he needs.

“You sure? I just got a new batch of swag. Shirts. Sweaters. Hats. Might even have a water bottle or a note pad or two in my truck.”

The two of you stop in front of the pallet of sand. “That so? How do I get some of those?” It comes out much flirtier and suggestive than you mean for it too.

Joel easily lifts two of the three bags he paid for, each of them weighing fifty pounds. His large, strong, vein-lined hands wrapping around the bags as he hoists them to rest on one of his broad shoulders. The hem of his T-shirt lifts, exposing the V of his hip. Your mouth goes dry as you look away and go to lift the third bag.

“I can get it,” he says, but you lift it with ease, holding it more like a toddler than a sack of potatoes in the way Joel is.

“I’m friggen ripped, bro,” you joke with an attempted baritone, making him laugh. As the two of you walk to his truck, you repeat, “So, what do I have to do to get one of those new shirts?”

Your gazes meet and you watch as his eyes trail slowly down your body and then back up, his eyes hungry as they pause for a second too long on your lips.

“Well…” he nearly growls, before a devious smile parts his lips.

That awkward, introverted side of yourself wants to squeal out a giggle and push at him jokingly; luckily, your cool, flirty side wins.

“You wish, Miller.”

He pops the tailgate and flips the sand bags in one smooth motion. The gravel of the parking lot crunches under his boots as he spins towards you and then steps in close. You can smell the sunscreen and freshly cut grass of his day at this proximity. His hand brushes against your stomach as he scoops the bag from your arms. Before stepping back he says, “If you ask me really nicely, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

You haven’t even registered what he just said when he steps away. Without him close, you almost feel like you might fall over. Like his eyes locked to yours were the only thing keeping you upright. Your world starts to spin, and then there’s Joel again; Deep, coffee brown eyes looking down at you with an intensity you haven’t seen before. And, hooooly fuck, does he look sexy right now.

“I’m waiting,” he murmurs.

You clear the pins and needles from your throat gently then stammer, “Pl-please Joel?”

His breathing quickens as he watches your lips form the words. “You can do better than that. Come on…ask nicely, sweetheart.”

His hands come to your hips. You’ve imagined Joel in scenarios like this for years, but the reality of it is soooo much better. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you try to recall what it is that you’re supposed to be asking for.

“Joel,” you purr sweetly. “Please may I have a new shirt?”

His head lowers to yours, and now, not only does he smell like sunscreen and freshly cut grass, but also the mint of his breath.

“That all you want?” He taunts.

“N-no,” the shaky whisper of your voice barely sounds like yours.

“Water bottle?” His voice is cocky and playful. He’s a menace, you always knew it, but this is the first time you’ve really seen it. Unable to form a sentence, all you can do is nod in response. “Can’t ask nicely if you don’t use your words, baby.”

Your pressed flush against him. Joel is solid and steady against your pliable body and erratic breathing. “Can I pretty please have a water bottle, as well?”

The tip of his nose grazes just barely against yours. “Atta’ girl.”

He steps away abruptly and all the air feels like it’s been sucked from your lungs. He wanders to the rear passenger seat door as you grip onto the tailgate to attempt to ground yourself. He shuffles some things around and then wanders back to the back of the truck. He places the shirt and bottle beside your hand.

“Thank you,” you say with a gulp.

Joel’s eyes seem glued to your lips. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself. “I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want you thinkin’ that you have to do it. This is different from our business relationship.”

“Kiss me,” you rasp.

His hands meet your waist again. He’s close. So very fucking close and your entire body is humming with anticipation.

“Are you giving me consent to kiss you?” He whispers. “Knowing that you can say no and it won’t change anything?”

“Yes, Joel. Yes. Please kiss me.” He chuckles darkly at your neediness.

“And you’ll tell me to stop if you want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flush and the frustration of being kept on the edge builds. You need Joel’s lips on yours; in fact, you don’t think you’ve ever needed anything this badly.

“I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to. Kiss me, Joel. Kiss me or I think I’m going to die.”

“Goddamn, baby girl. You have no idea what it does to me to hear you beg while you’re wearing my T-shirt.” His hard cock presses against your hip as he says it. Your hands scramble for purchase on his forearms, his nose bumping lightly against yours.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, poking out your bottom lip.

He nips at it quickly and then his mouth is on you. His warm lips fuzing with yours passionately. He wraps one arm around your back, the other cupping the back of your head. You go completely boneless for him, letting him bend and manipulate you to be closer, head tilting to let him in more. That’s all you can think. More.

You slide your hands up his forearms, over his tanned biceps until they’re wrapped around his neck. Your lips part, calling him to take whatever he wants from you, and when his tongue passes your lips to lightly swipe against yours, sparks burst behind your closed eyes and you let out a desperate whimper.

At the sound of your need for him he kisses you harder, the passion evolving into something much more heated than you’ve ever experienced. His knee presses between your thighs, getting you as close as possible while still fully clothed.

He nips your swollen bottom lip again as he pulls away, just enough to tug your hair to the side and expose your throat to him. You tense at the pain, but when his warm tongue runs up your throat you basically dissolve into him.

His facial hair scratches against your ear as he says. “Be a good girl and thank me.”

“Th-thank you, Joel,” you obey, your voice a crackling whisper of need and desire.

“You’ve been drivin’ me wild for years in that shirt,” he rasps, his lips ghosting along the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hips move on their own, grinding against the leg he has pressed where you need it most. He continues between kisses, “Did you know that? How goddamn hard I get when I see my name sitting on top of your heart.”

All you can do is pant and cant your hips.

“It’s like you belong to me.” Your nails scrape along his scalp, a mix of a gasp and moan filling the minuscule amount of space between you. “Mmm, you like that, don’t you? Me saying you belong to me?”

You capture his lips with yours, kissing him deeply as you moan a sound of agreement. Joel spins the two of you, then lifts you slightly so you’re sitting on the still lowered tailgate of his truck. You normally wouldn’t be this public with your desires, but all the businesses around you are closed and the sun is starting to set. Plus, between the tall gate that encloses the yard and all the pallets of product, the chances of being seen are low.

“More,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his hips. You can feel his cock pressing against you. “More, please. Touch me, Joel.”

His hand slips between your bodies, his warm palm cupping your pussy over your jeans. Heat spreads as you grind into his palm.

“Been imaginin’ you like this for years, baby girl. Those moans are so much prettier in reality.”

“Same,” you coo with a smile, running the tip of your nose along his jaw. You feel his entire body shudder as you gently graze his earlobe with your teeth. You whisper seductively, “I want you to kiss all of me.”

Neither of you want to break apart. Neither of you want to stop this. But it can’t happen here, not on the tailgate of his truck in the parking lot of your work.

“Come over,” he practically begs before kissing you gently, just once. “I have to install this sand, I can be home in an hour. Meet me there.”

You fake another pout and grind into his hand again. “But I’m so wet for you right now,” you tease.

“I know, sweetheart. Can feel how you’ve soaked through these jeans that hug that perfect ass of yours. Come over, I wanna be able to strip you down slowly, giving every inch of your perfect skin the attention it deserves.”

You feel your orgasm building and you tip your head back to see the deep oranges and purples of the summer sunset forming in the sky.

Joel’s lips find your jaw, his palm pressing harder into your center. Between kisses he says, “Can you come like this?”

“Yes. I’m close,” you say, bringing your eyes to meet his. The deep sparkling chocolate brown of his irises send a flush of warmth through your entire body. You feel like you’re being slowly burned to death and you never want it to stop.

“Show me,” he encourages, then you watch as his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. “Use my hand.”

It doesn’t take much longer for you to come apart. He holds you tightly to his body as your boneless form twitches and shakes.

“Fuck - Joel. Oh…oh my god.”

“That’s my girl. Just let it take you.” His eyes dance along your face.

“K-kiss me,” you ask with a shaky breath as the clenching of your pussy starts to slow.

His lips meet yours tenderly, so soft that you almost think you might be imagining it. If it wasn’t for his scent surrounding you, or his strong arm still wrapped around you, you’d be convinced this was a dream. Your hips slow, but he doesn’t pull away. He kisses you, keeping you pressed to him until you’re ready.

You pull back slightly and he follows your lead.

“Come over tonight,” he states again and tucks your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His cock strains even harder at how blissed out you look. “One hour. Let me taste you properly.”

You nod, a crooked smile lifting your lips as you look up at him. “One hour,” you repeat.

[bitchesuntitled]

This was a fun, hot and oh so sweet read 😍

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: 18+ 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

Updated Word Count: ~90k

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Content Warning: In order to avoid spoilers I will not be warning you of everything. This story will contain sexually explicit material around the world of BDSM. Please remember that even with the age gap betweeen Joel and Reader, they are both legal and consenting adults. Although my intentions are never to trigger anyone, you are solely responsible for the content you consume. That being said, as a survivor of sexual assault none of this story will contain dubcon or consensual non consent. At the heart of it all, this is a love story.

AN: I figured that @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @burntheedges and @joelmillerisapunk are all sick of me yelling at them about this story so I should start sharing! Thank you to the 4 of you for all your kind words and encouragement. To the 800+ of you that follow me, thank you for being such beautiful souls and encouraging me to work on my craft. I hope you love this series as much as I love each and every one of you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Part One

Chapter 5 - Part Two

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

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You can really tell by my movie collection the phases I have gone through 🤣 Especially as a teen

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Sharing this now because I kinda forgot to on the first 😬

BUT

Thank you to everyone who has shared this post and the lovely words 🥰 As I get closer and closer to a year without alcohol it amazes me how different my life is? It’s so fucking cheesy to say but if you’re struggling with wanting to make changes in your life, it really is never too late and you can do it! ❤️

Another creative challenge!

Remember how I hosted a 5 months sober/birthday(because I’m selfish) creative challenge back in November- Get Dieter Sober? Well I’m here to do it again because GUESS WHAT on June 11th, I will have officially hit my ONE YEAR sober milestone! What better way to celebrate than to host another sober creative challenge?

During the month of June I’d like to see how Dieter Bravo and/or Frankie Morales stay sober.

Make it happy, make it angsty, make it goofy, make it sad, make it spicy, make it however you would like to make it! The important part is to have fun with it ❤️

Please be sure to tag me @bitchesuntitled and use #ddsoneyear in your post, I will be making another masterlist and want to make sure I include everyone’s submissions!

Tagging some moots to help me spread the word: @beefrobeefcal @strang3lov3 @pinkypromisepascal @noxturnalnymph @goodwithcheese @secretelephanttattoo @jolapeno @whocaresstillthelouvre @hellfire-state-of-mind @yopossum @covetyou @mothandpidgeon

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I’m in love all over again! Chefs kiss, Chloe, chefs fucking kiss! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

midlife crisis

Joel Miller x OFC │ new chapter every Friday Summary: The first rule of fucking your dad’s best friend is you don't talk about fucking your dad’s best friend. The second rule of fucking your dad’s best friend is you don't talk about fucking your dad’s best friend. No condoms, no stupid questions. The situation will go on as long as it has to. You do not talk about fucking your dad’s best friend. You do not talk about fucking your dad’s best friend.

Tags: smut/angst/fluff holy trinity, age gap, stressed out firefighter dbf Joel, double baby daddy Joel, modern AU, family drama, fwb to lovers, heavy emotion and adult topics, daddy kink, casual dom/sub, full tags on ao3

A/N: TLDR I gathered the bones of my first ever Joel series, took it to my penthouse and freaked it. Now it's a new series. To my longtime readers who have been here since the start, I hope you enjoy the easter eggs. Shoutout to my bestie for the word salad aka chapter titles!

Chapter I: Prologue Chapter II: Menu Music Chapter III: Hum of a Distant Motor Chapter IV: Apocalypse Video Game Chapter V: The Longest Shadow of a Man Chapter VI: Blue Light Chapter VII: Gas Station Hymns Chapter VIII: Slowly, Slowly, Slowly Chapter IX: The Beach of Orbit Chapter X: Blade Chapter XI: Prayer Emoji Chapter XII: Epilogue

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I’ve said it already to Chloe but I deserve thank yous for giving a slight push encouragement on a rewrite! 👀🤣😂 jkjkjk

coming soon...

It’s strange, that feeling, of another person tearing you in half with no way of protecting yourself against it, living on nothing but hope that they’ll meld half of their own self with you, so that you’ll become one together at the end of it all. He breaks me open so he can put me back together, or so I believe anyway — isn’t that what it means to love someone?

subscribe to my AO3 to be notified about new chapters of midlife crisis aka the great Without a Warning rewrite aka BTJ 2.0 aka firefighter dbf joel aka Miller in the Middle

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YESSSS!!!!!

Jeremiah fans please report to the front of the classroom NOW !!!!!!!!

our fav guido will be making a crossover appearance in my upcoming joel series heheheheheehhe