dlwrish

[dlwrish]

touch

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI

WC: 1.5k

Summary: You test Joel with lingering touches knowing he can never resist you. It always seems to land you in trouble, but after almost two weeks of not seeing each other, Joel is the one who ends up in trouble this time.

Tags: afab reader, sexual themes, sexual tension, public indecency, exhibitionism kink, dry humping, joel comes in his jeans, unspecified age gap (legal), established relationship, pet names (darling, baby, sweetheart), soft!top!reader (kind of??), dash of dirty talk

A/N: I saw someone post about joel losing it during a makeout session and here we are...enjoy? this turned into so much more than i meant it to.

your favorite thing to do was tease him.

whether it was lingering touches as you passed him at your parents parties, pressing back against him at the Tipsy Bison while he bought you another beer. blinking up at him innocently each time, the slightest hint of mischief in your gaze. 

it was powerful, knowing his cock would twitch in his jeans every time. you hadn’t known that little fact until he’d told you one day, fully pressed against your back after you’d “accidentally” stepped back into him at a summer party. he’d groaned in your ear, his hands tight on your waist as you both kept an eye out for anyone watching. 

“gettin’ me hard like a damn teenager.” he’d mumbled, his cheek pressed against the side of your head. “this fuckin’ dress, darlin’. you have no idea what it does t’me.” 

you’d grinned then, pressing back further into him until you could feel the hard outline of his cock against your lower back. “what’s it do you to?” you ask sweetly, your voice breathy as arousal courses through your veins. 

he’d shaken his head, stepping away from you and disappearing for a while. you’d let your mind wander then as you weaved in and out of the crowd, knowing he was likely somewhere with his cock in his hand because that was his only relief for now. 

so you kept teasing him, keeping him on edge all time time so he’d bend you over the back of the couch and fuck you until you were both exhausted, covered in cum and sweat. 

you’d been outed relatively early in your relationship after getting caught making out in an alley, joel unable to keep his hands off of you after a few drinks together. 

your parents weren’t happy, of course, screaming accusations at joel while you’d stepped in between them and defended him. 

but hey, at least you’d had the defense that he was younger than them.

still, a year and a half into your relationship and no warming up had been done. 

you’d claim to hate it, but the secret thrill of knowing how taboo your relationship was never failed to get you soaked. sneaking him into the house after your parents had gone to bed, fooling around in the stables knowing anyone could walk in…it was a thrill you never got tired of. 

so that’s how you’d ended up sitting in his lap during movie night, innocent at first as you’d merely wanted to cuddle, half focused on the rom-com that had been chosen for the night.

you shift in his lap again, feeling particularly fussy as cold air blows into the community space with each newcomer. he’d directed you straight to the back, tucked away in shadows, hidden. your heart had picked up until he’d grumbled “no funny business” and had directed you into the chair next to him. you’d pouted a little, sitting down a little harder than necessary. 

he’d complained when you insisted on attending, annoyance thick in his voice when he’d griped about getting off patrol hours before. but you’d given him your best weapon, a simpering look as you begged him to go. he’d grumbled and given in, knowing he’d do just about anything for you. 

by the time the previews were over, you were shivering, pressed into his side. he’d sighed heavily as he patted his lap, rolling his eyes as he’d watched you bite back and grin and settle on his thighs, leaning back into him. 

his thick arms were currently wrapped around you, keeping you warm even as you fret. 

“cut it out.” he rumbles into the side of your head, his arms tightening as you squirm again. 

you make a noise of displeasure at being held still, a small crease starting to form between your brows. you shift your hips again, your breath leaving your lungs as you feel he’s hard under his jeans. tilting your head back against his shoulder, you grin mischievously as you wiggle again, more purposeful this time. his arms tighten further, the softest of groans leaving his parted lips. 

“i won’t say it again.” his breath hot against your ear sends a shiver up your spine, your mind providing images of him doing the same in other scenarios. 

“you like it.” you tease, turning your head to brush your nose against his neck. “i like it.”

you hear him sharply inhale through his nose, looking up just in time to see his eyelashes flutter. he likes it too. the knowledge sends a thrill through you, goosebumps racing across your arms. you shift your hips again, purposefully grinding against him, his body stiffening under you. 

you bury your nose against his neck again, right under his ear. ‘i’ve missed you.” nearly two weeks without sleeping in the same bed had practically driven you to insanity, your own hands no longer satisfying you. “been thinking about how good you feel when you’ve got me stuffed full.” 

it’s a low blow, you know it as you feel his hands move to your hips, fingers digging in so you’d stay still. “if you were feelin’ so needy why’d ya drag me out?” the rumble of his voice vibrates against your back, low and menacing. you don’t have it in you to defend yourself, rolling your hips in retaliation. 

his breath tickles your hair again, a heavy sigh. “baby, please stop.” 

he sounds wrecked, his fingers held so tight they might leave bruises through your jeans. you roll your hips again, taking a cautionary glance around the room, checking that no one is paying you two attention. 

his forehead falls to your shoulder, a rumble vibrating in his chest again. you grin almost triumphantly, knowing he’s starting to give up the fight. 

you turn your head, pressing your lips to his temple. you continue a steady roll of your hips, keeping the movement subtle enough it won’t cause a distraction. “i’m not sorry. i just missed you so much.” you let your lips brush softly against his skin with each word, feeling him achingly hard even though your layers of clothes. 

he lets you move against him, his fingers still gripping tight as he puffs another breath of air. “keep doing that and i’ll end up embarrassing myself, sweetheart.” 

“what if i want you to?” you ask, your own voice quivering at the thought. 

“jesus christ.” he mumbles against your jacket, lifting his head as his hand quickly moving down, pressing over your clit through your jeans. just enough to tease you before pulling away. “gonna be the death of me.” 

you gasp against his cheek as he pulls away from you, resuming the slight movement of your hips. “what if i told you i need it? that nothing would please me more knowing you couldn’t hold it together just because i’m grinding against your lap?” you weren’t usually one for dirty talk, but your own sexual frustration and desire was coming to a peak, the intense need to feel any type of satisfaction winning out. “that if you dipped your hand just a little lower i’d be soaked through my jeans knowing exactly what i’m doing to you?” 

his responding growl is answer enough, and you swear you can feel him pulse against your ass. a heavy twitch that you’re more than familiar with. you can’t help the smile that tilts your lips then, feeling the effect you’re having on him. it pushes you further, your own body pulsing with need. 

“i love the idea of you making a mess in your jeans because of me. god, joel, you have no idea how much it turns me on.” 

he whimpers. actually whimpers. and it’s almost your undoing. “darlin’...you gotta stop. i’m begging. wait until we get home. i can’t-” 

you shake your head, reaching down to dig your fingers in his outer thigh, the action desperate. you face your eyes forward again, unseeing as you grind against him. “please, joel.” you breathe the words, so quiet you’re afraid he won’t hear them. “come for me.” 

your begging is his undoing, his entire body tensing under you. you feel his teeth dig into your shoulder through your leather jacket, a satisfied hum going through you as he pulls you down harder against him, his own hips subtly grinding his clothed cock against your ass. 

you can tell it isn’t a powerful orgasm, his cock pulsing weakly against you. but it’s enough. you shudder against him, a strong wave of wanting crashing through you. “come on, lets get out of here.” you mumble once he loses his hold on you. 

he grumbles weakly, letting you stand as he pulls his jacket over the front of his jeans to hide the wet stain. "fuckin' menace. you're gettin' it tonight, darlin'."

and he more than delivers his promise for your teasing once you’re in the safety of your own home, bringing you to the brink of orgasm over and over again with his mouth and fingers, only letting you fall once he’s satisfied. 

but you’ll never learn your lesson. 

because teasing him is your favorite thing to do.

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THE LAST OF US ( 2025 )

directed by craig mazin and neil druckmann

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please don’t fuck my dad

At the end of the day it’s up to him

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she was soft edges and wild dreams—he was rough hands and quiet wisdom. and somehow, they fit just right.

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hi bb your blog is so pretty!! how are u?

IM GOOD BABYYY, yours are much prettier luv! how are you??

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missin’ my old man

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me turning into this bitch the second someone is interested in me

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What's the point of a diary if you're not lying in it?

On Anaïs Nin, literary self-mythologizing, and why personal writing should always be slightly dishonest. (from my substack)

If you’re not lying in your diary, you’re just journaling, and journaling is for people who don’t know how to edit.

A diary is not a record of events; it is an act of creation. The best diarists know this instinctively. Anaïs Nin knew it better than anyone. Her diaries were not mere confessions but performances, half-lit mirrors where the truth shimmered, distorted but no less real.

Nin understood that life is not lived in a single register. Her diaries are a study in contradiction—one moment, she is in love; the next, repulsed. She is independent yet wholly consumed by those around her. But contradiction isn’t falsehood; it’s literature. She rewrote and edited her diaries, sculpting herself into the character she wanted to be. And is that really so dishonest?

People love to be outraged by the idea of a diary that is not entirely factual. But fact is not the same as truth. Diaries, at their best, are emotional truths, shaped by mood, by desire, by the need to impose a narrative on the chaos of daily life. Nin was not interested in being objective—she was interested in being immortal. She once wrote, “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” But why stop at tasting? Why not rewrite, reshape, embellish? If we can curate the lives we present to others, why should we not do the same for the versions of ourselves we leave behind?

Nin herself was a master of this. She edited her diaries before publication, removing, refining, turning herself into a protagonist. She blurred lines, shifted timelines, made herself more alluring. She called it shaping reality. Others call it lying. The truth, of course, is that all personal writing is selective. Even in confession, there is curation.

The danger, of course, is that history will take the performance at face value. That the diary, once private, will harden into biography. But this, too, is a kind of truth. A diary is not a static object. It lives, it breathes, it deceives, but always in service of something larger than the mundane details of existence.

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my man.

pedro pascal as my beloved general acacius

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" he's way older than you " my honest reaction :

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send help

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— Shadow, shadow, what a show, every other step, there’s a cross-eyed crow

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it’s addicting

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