koshkaj-blog - Tumblr blog

koshkaj-blog · 19 days ago

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summary: DDDNE sequel to Bad Neighbours. Set in modern AU. Joel finds an opportunity to blackmail you and bring you to your knees.

warnings: unspecified age gap, misogyny, talk of drugs, slut shaming, mention of past noncon penetration, degradation, dubcon facefuck, forced throat pie, blackmail, dacryphilia, flirtacious!Tommy, mean!Joel, grumpy!Joel, possessive!Joel.

word count: 5,250

___________________________________________

Joel hadn't seen much of you around the neighbourhood lately. You had become something of a ghost in these last few months.

Since the night he had barrelled his way into your house and fucked the shit out of you, Joel had hardly seen you make an appearance. He hadn't seen you strutting around your driveway in skimpy shorts while you washed your cute little car. He hadn't seen you out for a jog around the block like you sometimes did. You never sit on your porch steps to paint your toenails anymore, either.

He had spied you coming and going from your house a few times, when he coincidentally peeked out of his living room window, but he could never get a good look at you. You quickly scurried to and from your car, always dressed in jeans and a baggy shirt, face tilted down in an effort to avoid anyone's eye. You were quick to get inside the house, never lingering outside to talk to any of the neighbours like you used to do. You hadn't had a single party at your house since that night, either.

That was to be expected, Joel supposed. Yeah, he could admit that he had been pretty tough on you, had maybe been a bit overzealous in reprimanding you for your carefree ways. But he hadn't really had any other option but to break your spirit, to put you in your place. There was only so much a man could take before losing his patience.

It pleased Joel that he had been the one to teach you some humility, that your unruly behaviour came with consequences. It satisfied him that there were no longer any nights of loud music disturbing his sleep. He was smug to no longer see any of your friend's cars blocking the street and revving their engines as they sped around the block.

Things around the area were back to being peaceful once again. Quiet, which Joel liked. But they were also a little....boring. Sometimes he found that he actually kind of missed the exerburance you brought to the neighbourhood, like a breath of fresh air.

He would never admit it, though.

And although things were quiet, there were still nights where Joel just couldn't get to sleep. Nights when his mind wouldn't stop ticking no matter how many shots of whiskey he downed. He'd lay in bed, body weary and muscles tight after a long day at work, and the sweetness of sleep would still evade him.

In those lonely hours of the night Joel's mind would often drift to you. He hadn't been with a woman since that fateful night with you, and his body fucking craved the feeling of a woman's soft curves pressed tightly against him. He didn't just crave just any woman though - he craved you.

His cock would be throbbing with the memory of your pussy clenching around him, the way your body trembled as he punished it for your vivacity that Joel deemed so offensive. He'd fist his cock while imagining you beneath him writhing and moaning, his own groans filling the empty darkness of his bedroom. It never took long for him to climax, cum spurting over his knuckles and stomach as he moaned and grunted like a pathetic old man.

He would lazily wipe at the mess with his shirt, doing a half assed job before tossing it on the floor and finally collapsing into sleep.

___________________________________________

One Sunday afternoon Tommy came over to discuss plans for a site the Miller company was currently building on. Joel sat at the dining table with a cup of black coffee in hand as he listened patiently to Tommy report the latest issues that needed dealing with.

From the very first day it had proved to be a stressful project to work on - in the first few weeks there had been a delay in the timbre and brick shipments, followed by stormy weather that set the schedule back by atleast a month. Bad luck seemed to follow, with half the labour crew then struck down with a stomach bug that lasted several days. Tommy grimly joked that the whole operation seemed to be cursed.

Joel was close to tearing his fucking hair out. He was working longer hours in an attempt to catch up, and when he wasn't on site supervising and directing the crew he was on the phone to different building supplies companies renegotiating contracts. The mental load was exhausting. Sarah was always telling him to go on a vacation, to get away from it all and take a break. Maybe she was right.

Joel was secretly relieved when Tommy downed the last dregs of his coffee and stood up to leave. It was Joel's first day off in weeks and he was looking forward to kicking back and watching the football game with a beer or two, just by himself.

"By the way, I need to borrow the DeWalt," Tommy casually mentioned as they walked out the front door. "Gotta reinforce some screws on the deck at my place."

"Yeah, yeah," Joel dismissed with a gruff wave of his hand. "Just don't forget to return it this time."

Tommy's head swivelled around, surveying the neighbouring houses while Joel dug his car keys out of his pocket and fiddled around with the garage key.

"Where's the princess?" Tommy asked, jerking his head toward the direction of your house. "Ain't seen her in a while."

Even with his back to Tommy, Joel knew exactly who he was talking about, and his jaw ticked in irritation. He didn't know why his little brother's teasing pissed him off so much. He certainly wasn't jealous. Why would he be jealous of his brother eyeing a little slut like you?

"What do I look like - head of the fuckin' neighbourhood committee?" Joel grumbled, unlocking the garage roller and bending down to haul it upward.

At that very moment, as if tempting fate, your car came rolling down the street with its windows down, obnoxiously loud pop music blasting through the speakers. Both the brothers turned to watch the car skirt past and zoom into your driveway.

"Well, speak of the devil," Tommy huffed a chuckle.

Joel didn't expect his stomach to flip a somersault the way it did, like he was actually excited or something. Get it together, Jesus Christ. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms to maintain an detached facade, but he still couldn't drag his eyes away from your house.

The car door swung open and its driver stepped out, revealing not you but another young woman around the same age as you. She climbed out and almost instantly spotted the older men staring at her across the way. A smile spread over her face and she waved at them.

"Oh, hey!" She called out. "Excuse me!"

Joel glowered, squinting across the road. Tommy returned her wave with a lazy two finger salute.

"Well what d'ya know," he murmered to Joel. "Looks like somebody wants to say hello."

The two men watched as she practically pranced across the street and up Joel's driveway. She was wearing a tank top that showed off her cleavage and jeans that Joel thought were much too tight.

"Hi," she smiled brightly as she approached them. "Sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could help me out?"

Joel narrowed his eyes down at her. She was no where near as pretty as you, but she had that same peppy spirit you had - before he broke it, that is. She was also instantly annoying, he deduced.

"What is it?" He grunted.

"I borrowed my friend's car. She lives across the street," she hooked a thumb back toward your house. "And well, the engine keeps cutting or something." She gave a sheepish grin and looked between the two brothers. "Either of you guys know much about cars?"

Joel had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't have the patience or the energy to deal with your airhead friend batting her eyelashes and expecting him to fix your damn car. He wasn't running a charity here. All he wanted to do was retreat back inside and flop down in his recliner like the weary old man he was.

Tommy seemed to sense his older brother's exasperation, for he took a step forward and gave the girl a kind, genial smile.

"You've come to the right place, sweetheart," he said, oozing charisma in the effortless way he always did with women. "Name's Tommy. How about I come over there and take a look at what you're workin' with?"

Your friend giggled, an airy and flirtatious sound that grated on Joel's nerves. "I'm Maddy. And yeah, that would be awesome."

"Let's go," Tommy winked at her.

Joel gave a disapproving shake of his head as he watched the two of them cross the street back over to your driveway. Typical Tommy, he thought. Always the knight in shining armour, always the one playing the good guy hero just to get some pussy.

But while Joel was partially disgusted at Tommy's predilection for playful banter with women, he couldn't help feeling a little impressed, perhaps even the slightest bit jealous of how easily women fell under his spell. Joel certainly was the more reserved of the two, always the stoic and pragmatic counterpart to Tommy's convivial personality. He had never been the kind of man to possess the finesse for seducing women, and the older he got the more woefully out of practice he was becoming. So out of practice, in fact, that his last sexual encounter had consumed his subconscious and became the centre point of all his fantasies.

Joel sighed before sauntering into the garage.

___________________________________________

A short time later Tommy swaggered back over to Joel's, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans and his boots clicking over the driveway cement.

"Alternator's shot," Tommy announced to Joel, as if Joel actually gave a shit. "She's gotta take it to a mechanic."

"Too bad," he replied flatly, grabbing the drill from his work bench.

"Yeah, too bad," Tommy echoed, grinning wolfishly. "She needs a ride to town, so I offered to take her."

The implication of his words clicked when Joel caught the cocky expression written all over Tommy's face.

"Fuck sake," he muttered, shoving the tool into Tommy's middle. "You ever think about anythin' else besides gettin' your dick wet?"

"Hey now, I'm just bein' a gentleman." Tommy grinned, opening his truck to toss the drill into the back seat. "Helpin' a young lady in distress and all."

Joel just scoffed. He was more than ready to retire to his armchair and zone out for the rest of the afternoon, to forget about all the stress and headaches that he had been dealt with these last few weeks. He was about to say goodbye when Tommy leaned over and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial murmer.

"Wild little thing, too. She left some blow in the glovebox."

Joel pulled away and frowned at Tommy, not bothering to hide his disgust. He hated drugs - hated what they did to people, hated how they ruined lives. But what did it matter to him if your friend dabbled in them?

"So what?" He grunted with as much indifference as he could muster. "So she's a slut and a junkie. Congratulations."

Tommy laughed heartily. "You're such a fuckin' square, man. Just thought you might wanna tell the princess her friend left her a little gift."

Joel's eyebrows raised at the mention of you. "The hell's that got to do with me?"

"Well, you're gonna be the one holdin' onto her key. For safe keeping." Tommy spun a set of car keys around his forefinger, that same shit eating grin spread across his boyishly handsome face.

"Goddamnit, Tommy, don't drag me into this mess!" Joel hissed angrily. He could feel his blood pressure rising by the second.

"Maddy ain't got a key to get into the house," Tommy replied with a shrug. "Needs somewhere safe to keep the car keys. You don't gotta do anythin', just wait for her to show up."

He tossed the set of keys to Joel, who managed to catch it with a clumsy fumble of his hands. Maddy came trotting over at the same time, her tits bouncing as her hips sashayed. She snapped a wad of bubblegum between her glossed lips and grinned over at them. Tommy gave Joel a sly wink before turning to open the passenger door of his truck for her.

"You ready to go, little miss?"

___________________________________________

The anticipation of seeing you gnaws at Joel's nerves all afternoon. He can hardly focus on the football game on the tv, his eyes flickering to his longueroom window with every flash of outside movement that catches in his periphery. He has no idea when to expect you, when you might end up on his doorstep to retrieve your keys, so he remains alert to the sounds and sights that could signal your arrival.

It's not like he could call you and ask when you'd be home. There had been no reason to exchange phone numbers when you had first moved in - even though he was sure you had with several of the other residents on the street. Would you even answer the phone if he did call? Maybe you'd prefer text instead - he heard somewhere that young people only text these days. He hated texting and how his large thumbs couldnt quite hit the letters properly, how it took so long just for him to type the most basic message. Sarah had laughed at him once, calling him an old man when he complained about not understanding text talk or emojis.

The sun eventually sinks into the west and dusk spreads, twilight stars twinkling against the backdrop of the purple sky. Joel wonders aimlessly around the house, searching for small chores to complete to keep himself distracted, but the restless energy buzzes throughout him like a live wire, making him agitated and excited all at once.

Maybe he should've refused to take your keys and told Tommy to fuck off and sort it out himself. He was the one who jumped in to help your friend, so he should be the one to deal with you.

But Joel knew Tommy better than anyone else, and he knew just how magnetic his little brother could be with the opposite sex. He had also noticed the lingering, lustful glances Tommy threw your way whenever the two of you happened to be in the neighbourhood at the same time. Tommy would surely love any excuse to catch you alone and try get into your pants. If he succeeded, he would rub it in Joel's face and never let him forget it for the rest of his life.

And the more Joel thought about it, the more that tiny seed of ugly jealousy inside him grew stronger. You weren't Joel's and you never would be, but the irrational possessiveness he felt seemed uncontrollable. He hated you, but you had gotten under his fucking skin, clawing your way into his flesh like a tick so he couldn't get rid of you. And even so, he couldn't stomach the thought of another man sinking his dirty fucking dick into your perfect pussy.

Joel forgoes dinner and plants himself on the couch with a couple more beers. Yhe alcohol flows through him, calming his nerves as the blue glow of the TV casts shadows over his face. He even unintentionally falls asleep for a brief nap, only snapping back awake when a loud used car sales advert blares through the sound system.

It's late at night when a muted knock at his front door alerts him to your arrival. Joel springs to his feet and swipes the keys from his coffee table before stalking to the door. His heart pounds as he opens the door.

You stand there on his welcome mat with your head bowed like a scolded puppy and your fingers twisting nervously infront of you. His eyes scan you up and down, taking in your casual outfit of jeans and a baggy hooded sweatshirt. He wonders where you have come from - work, perhaps, or possibly school. Maybe a boyfriend's.

Joel keeps his expression impassive as he stares down at you wordlessly. You say nothing, and the heavy silence hangs in the air between the two of you. It seems to go on forever before you find the courage to utter something that has Joel straining forward to hear you properly.

"My friend gave you the keys for my car," you speak in a whisper, still not looking at him.

The sound of your gentle, feminine voice makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Just the sound of you, the mere sight of you on his door step has the blood rushing to his cock. His massive hand flexes on the door knob as he fights the primal urge to drag you inside his house and throw you onto the floor again.

Fuck. He needs to stay in control before he blows this whole thing.

"Can I please have them back?" You ask meekly.

Oh, you are so fucking sweet when you're timid like this. Joel inhales a measured breath in order to calm himself. He crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. "Yeah. But first we got somethin' to talk about."

He sees the slight flinch that jolts through your body, the way you automatically tense up at his choice of words. He keeps his eyes trained on you like a hawk, waiting patiently for a response. You ball your hands into fists and when you speak again your words come out shaky and stuttered.

"I-I can't...t-talk...right now..."

"I suggest you come inside and listen to what I have to say," Joel replies calmly, uncharacteristically soft, almost paternal.

You finally lift your chin up to meet his gaze and he's surprised to see you scowling at him. You look disgusted and annoyed, like he's some kind of creep propositioning you.

"I don't want to hear what you have to s-say, Mr. Miller," you snipe. "Now give m-me back my keys."

So you are still a bratty little bitch, Joel thinks. Still got that entitled attitude. His jaw ticks once. Even though you're scared, you still have the balls to try stand up to him. It's almost admirable - if he didn't have so much contempt for you.

"And what about that little baggie sittin' in the glovebox in your car?"

He cocks an eyebrow at you expectantly. You stare silently back at him, your face pinched into a confused frown as your mind tries to decipher what the hell he's alluding to.

It takes a few moments for the cogs to turn, for the realisation to hit you, but there's no mistaking when it does. Your face drops almost instantly. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes open, but no sound comes out.

A tendril of wicked amusement coils inside Joel's belly. Oh, you look cute when you're scared. "What you got to say about that?"

"It isn't mine," you blurt out. "It doesn't belong to me - it's my friend's."

Joel gives a derisive snort. "Really think the cops'll buy that bullshit?"

"The...the cops?" You question nervously, the colour draining from your face.

"Yeah, the cops," Joel bites back. "You think I ain't gonna tell them about this? What kinda person would I be to let illicit drugs come into a good neighbourhood like this?"

"M-mister Miller, please," you plead pitifully, a shrill edge to your voice now. "I swear to you, it's not mine--"

"That cocaine is stashed inside your vehicle," Joel cuts you off sharply. "Cops won't give a shit if it belongs to your friend - they'll find it in your car and haul you on down to the station so fast your head will spin."

Your eyes begin to well with tears as you shake your head, disbelieving and petrified all at once. He has to suppress the cruel grin threatening to break out over his face.

"Oh, you better believe it," he warns you. "My daddy was a cop. I know how the law works, sweetheart. Don't think they'll let you off the hook just cos of your pretty face."

"Please," you whisper, "please don't."

"They'll charge you with possession, at the very least. It'll go on your record. Might not look too good to any potential employers. Ain't too many folks who'll be happy givin' a druggie a job."

You start to cry, your nose and cheeks tinging with pink as fat tears drip from your waterline. "P-please," you sob hopelessly.

Joel watches you cry, his features fixed in a mask of calm indifference despite his cock being half hard. He's breaking you down so quickly; you're caught in his web now, tangled and terrified, and he's about to reap his prize.

"S'pose we could come to some kind of arrangement," Joel muses, more casual and cordial than he has ever sounded before. "Why don't you come inside so we can talk about it some more?"

You sniffle and drop your head back down in defeat. You give a little nod of your head, a sad gesture of acquiescement that makes Joel's stomach flip with perverted excitement. He presses back against the door to give you space to pass through the threshold, covertly inhaling your scent as you slip past.

He shuts the door and locks it.

You shuffle into the middle of Joel's living room and he follows behind you, his hands are already working on unbuckling his belt.

"Now I think I might be able to keep quiet about that little stash," Joel says as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans. "But I'm gonna need some convincin'."

You stand awkwardly by the couch, your eyes downcast and fixed on the carpet at Joel's feet. He shoves his jeans and underwear down his thighs, freeing his aching half erect cock and heavy balls.

"So go ahead and convince me," he murmers, cupping his sack in his hand and giving it a light squeeze. Your face crumples and a fresh set of tears spill down your cheeks.

Joel might enjoy watching you cry, but what he really wants to see is you crying while his cock defiles you, and so he doesn't care to make this scene stretch out longer than it has to. He's waited too long and now the pent up anticipation of it all is making him even more irritated.

"Get on your knees," Joel commands coldly. "Hurry up."

You slowly sink to your knees in the carpet, hands shaking as they come to a rest on your thighs. Joel takes a couple strides until he's standing directly above you. He wraps his fingers around his cock and jerks it twice, slow and leisurely.

"Don't even think about bitin', or else you leave this house with no teeth at all, you understand me?" He warns you sternly.

"Yes," you whisper back.

"Yes sir," he corrects you.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Lick my balls, bitch."

A look of revulsion passes over your features and your lips curl with revulsion. He angles his cock slightly upward to give you better access and shuffles closer so that your face is only inches away from where he wants your mouth. He swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, gathering the precum and smearing it all over the tip.

"Go on'," Joel rasps above you. "Show me how you use that tongue, sweetheart."

He watches in predatory fascination as you reluctantly poke out your tongue and give one of his balls an experimental lick. You grimace a little and pull away, clearly disgusted at the sensation of his pubic hair against your tongue.

What a prissy little bitch you are, he thinks.

When you lean in again and give another half hearted lick, he feels his patience start to wear thin.

"Come on, I ain't got all night." Joel grabs a hank of your hair at the back of your head and shoves your face closer to his ball sack. You let out a pathetic little sob. "Make this good for me, 'else I'll march your little ass down to the police station myself."

His threats seem to scare you into action. You start to lick a series of slow stripes over the seam of his sack, your nose nudging the underside of his cock. Joel groans, fist tightening over the head of his dick as he watches you.

"That's it. Give 'em both some attention."

You shift your tongue to lathe the other ball and he let's out a gravelly moan. Maybe Joel's just touch starved and horny, but you're actually pretty good at this shit. Do you do this for all your boyfriends? Maybe in a more normal, less fucked up scenario, this is an act you actually enjoy performing, with a man you trust and have feelings for. A man who isn't old enough to be your father.

"Now kiss 'em. Make it sloppy."

He senses your hesitation and flexes his hand in your hair in a subtle warning. He'll slap you around again if he has to - surely you would've remembered just how painful that was. But luckily for you, Joel doesn't have to; you begin to place wet open mouthed kisses all over his ballsack, your lips and tongue simultaneously smacking and sucking the wrinkled skin. Aroused tingles flood Joel's body and he hums with satisfaction.

"Dirty fuckin' mouth you got," he growls lowly.

You continue to caress his balls with slack, spit soaked kisses. You're a fucking natural, he marvels. But if you keep going, he will end up shooting his load very soon.

"Alright, alright - enough," Joel pants, jerking your head away from his balls. "Now open your mouth."

You obey and let your jaw fall open. There is nothing seductive about the detached way you move, but the authority Joel weilds over you right now excites him enough to make up for it. He rubs the head of his cock over your bottom lip while you stare up at him with vacant eyes.

"That's it. Keep that fuckin' mouth wide open. And remember - no teeth, bitch."

Joel snaps his hips forward and unceremoniously pushes inside your mouth. He moans as the warmth of your tongue envelopes the underside of his girth, expanding over his skin like silk until the head of him knocks the back of your throat. You gag instantly and his other hand quickly grabs hold of your hair in anticipation that you'll try push away. But to Joel's surprise you don't.

Seems you have well and truly been beaten into submission.

"Yeah, you know your place now, huh?" He taunts. "Learnt not to talk back and just take it, isn't that right?"

With his hands glued to each side of your head, Joel begins to draw his hips back and forth, steadily fucking his cock in and out of your gaping mouth. He relishes in the choking sounds that gurgle from you each time his fat tip jabs deep into your throat hole. Tears trickle from your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara in their wake. Your saliva coats his shaft and leaks down your chin, messy and wet. You look a goddamn wreck.

Fuck, you're even more pretty like this.

Joel moans, low and gravelly, his adams apple bobbing thickly in his throat when he swallows. Even though you are doing the bare minimum right now - not sucking or jerking him off, just simply keeping your jaw unlocked - you still feel fucking incredible. There is something so indescribably sexy to Joel about ruining a spoiled pretty slut without hearing her run her mouth or act like a brat. To his dismay, he realises he is not going to last much longer.

But he is content with keeping a measured pace; he sees no point in forcing you to try swallow his dick and vomit all over him. No, he's perfectly happy with weighted thrusts that stretch your lips painfully and that cramp your tongue. He takes pride in hearing the wet thwacking noise every time his balls smack against your chin.

Though Joel's gaze is fixated on you, you don't make eye contact with him, instead staring blankly at his exposed pubic area. He breathes heavily through his nostrils as his orgasm gradually builds, the pleasure of defiling your face too great to temper. He's waited too long to have you again, spent too many lonely nights fantasising about you to be able to hold back for very long.

"Gonna cum down that slutty little throat. And you're gonna swallow every last fuckin' drop," Joel pants.

He fucks your face for another minute, able to prolong his pleasure for just that little bit of extra time. Just before he's about to cum, Joel plunges his cock as far deep your throat as possible so that your nose presses into his pubic hair, and he holds your head in his tight grip. His orgasm crashes into him in one huge powerful wave. He groans loudly and his cum explodes inside your mouth and shoots down your oesophagus. And this time you do fight back - you try in vain to pull away while you gag violently on his seed.

"No runnin'," Joel growls breathlessly. "Swallow it. All of it. Go on, you little cunt. Fuckin' do it."

You do as your told. He finally releases your head with an uncaring push and you fall back onto your ass, coughing and sobbing. Joel's chest expands and falls with his heaving breathes as he comes down from his high. Christ, that was the best orgasm he's had in fuck knows how long. He props his hands on his hips and takes a few moments to let the light headed feeling wash over him.

You don't take as long to recover as Joel does. You scramble to your feet, unsteady but quick, and swipe your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater.

"Keys," you croak out brokenly. "Now."

Joel doesn't bother to acknowledge you as he hitches up his underwear and jeans. You did good. It's only fair he returns your precious keys, seeing as that was part of the deal. He digs into his pocket and takes out the object in question.

"Keep that shit outta my neighbourhood." Joel finally deigns to glance at you. "And I'm sure this goes without sayin', but no tellin' anyone about this little exchange of ours, neither." He gives you a pointed look. "Think you got a pretty good idea what could happen if you don't listen."

You nod your understanding. You look like a cheap whore with your lips swollen and your eyes puffy from the tears you're still crying. And although Joel feels smug pride with the knowledge that he's the cause of it, he's tired now and just wants to sleep.

"Get the fuck outta here."

He tosses you the keys. You catch them, hands shaking, then you scurry to the front door. You escape and slam the door shut behind you.

Joel sighs, weary and content. He staggers to bed and falls into a deep sleep, the scent of your shampoo tainting his fingernails.

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koshkaj-blog · 2 months ago

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And two other legendary writers - swiftispunk and atticrissfinch. Can people stop the bullying and trolling before this fandom totally fucking collapses.

Jrrmint, macfrog, auteurdelabre, gutsby…. This fandom needs to have a real conversation really quick because what the actual fuck ???

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koshkaj-blog · 4 months ago

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I'm really sick of the self entitled and rude critics that I'm seeing on fanfic platforms and tiktok. If you didn't like a fic just move on - there is no need for you to degrade the work or the writer, there is no need for you to whine about how much you hate troupes like dbf or dark content, or how a fic had too much smut or was poorly written by your standards etc.

People who, out of love for a fandom, use their free time and energy to write FOR FREE do not deserve your bullshit critique. Instead of bitching about what you dislike about their writing, go ahead and write your own story for your own satisfaction, and leave writers the fuck alone.

#pedropascal #dbf joel miller #joelmiller #joel miller fanfiction

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koshkaj-blog · 4 months ago

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Koshka's Works

Series:

• No One But Me - dark Jackson era Joel Miller (ongoing, DDDNE)

• You Are Mine - fluffy AU Joel Miller (haitus)

• Yours For The Night - fluffy AU Joel Miller (haitus)

• Honey - Jackson era soft Joel Miller/dark Tommy Miller (ongoing)

One Shots:

• Training Day - AU dark Joel Miller and dark Tommy Miller (DDDNE)

• Bad Neighbours - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Hunt Down - dark raider Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Thirsty Work - AU perv Joel Miller

• Stay Safe - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

• Spoils of War - dark Marcus Acacius (DDDNE) NEW

• Kept Woman - AU toxic Joel Miller NEW

• Earn It - AU dark Joel Miller (DDDNE)

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koshkaj-blog · 6 months ago

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I said this in a reblog but let me just make myself crystal fucking clear:

I want you to know that if you’ve ever sent or wanted to send anons with slurs, racist hate, transphobic hate, or otherwise bigoted nonsense, you could never be the reader character in any of my fics.

these characters would never want you. they would be disgusted by your bigotry, hate and cowardice, just like I am. I hope this sticks in your brain and the next time you try to read one of my fics a voice in the back of your head whispers that this isn't for you. they would never fall in love with you.

maybe you'll stop and think about your actions and the fallout from them for half a second and stop.

from the depths of my heart, fuck off.

and if you're feeling called out by any of the posts today, even if you haven't sent messages like this? please, please do some reading and reflecting. check out these resources @almostempty put together. start actively making this fandom better, not staying quiet and supporting a status quo that allows so many people to be hurt. all silence does is give comfort to racists and uphold that comfort as more valuable than fans of color. make your space inhospitable to racists. it's our responsibility to be proactive with this, as fans in this fandom, but especially as white people (as a white person myself).

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koshkaj-blog · 6 months ago

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I'm so pumped to read more of this impeccably written story.

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Masterlist

Summary: You and Joel were strangers, at a crossroads within this world and using each other for distraction is much easier than facing everything else. Based off this song.

Series Warnings: 18+, DDDNE, dubcon/coercion, co-dependency, age gap, post-outbreak!jackson!joel, selective mutism!reader (this will change over time), mentions of sa and relating themes (not descriptive), graphic descriptions of violence, medical procedures (relating to childbirth —there are no children/pregnancies in this fic), mentions of food scarcity, mean!joel, guilt/angst, all the sadness, injury tw, smut specified within each chapter

— Chapter List:

part one

part two

part three

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koshkaj-blog · 9 months ago

Text

words to use when writing

Appetite:

craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse:

agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault:

attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound

Beautiful:

admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting

Brutal:

atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild

Burly:

able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed

Carnal:

animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean

Dangerous:

alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous

Dark:

atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched

Delicious:

enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty

Ecstasy:

delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled

Ecstatic:

delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild

Erotic:

amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing

Gasp:

catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded

Heated:

ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous

Hunger:

appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst

Hungry:

avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting

Intense:

forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous

Liquid:

damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping

Lithe:

agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry

Moan:

beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl

Moving:

(exciting,) affecting, effective arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling

Need:

compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen

Pain:

ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart

Painful:

aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded

Perverted:

aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile

Pleasurable:

charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent

Pleasure:

bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven

Rapacious:

avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering

Rapture:

bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy

Rigid:

adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering

Sudden:

abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning

Thrust:

(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel

(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick

Thunder-struck:

amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback

Torment:

agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe

Touch:

(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap

(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize

Wet:

bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water

Wicked:

abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched

Writhe:

agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank

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koshkaj-blog · 1 year ago

Text

summary: DDDNE one shot AU. No outbreak. You had a mind blowing encounter with Joel one night after meeting at a club. When you evade him, he decides to track you down and teach you a lesson.

warnings: noncon PIV, stalker!Joel, perverted!Joel, slut shaming, unspecified age gap.

notes: please interact and leave comments if you enjoy my work. It really does encourage me to keep writing.

Joel wasn't going to let you get away this time. He was going to make sure you couldn't up and run like you did the first time - that night two weeks ago, when you had taunted him and tantalised him and even let him taste you, for fucks sake, just to have you disappear into thin air. You had robbed him of pleasure that was rightfully his to take. Tonight, he was going to prove a point.

Joel was going to make you his bitch.

He parks his truck across the street from your apartment and turns off the engine. Your street is shroud in shadows, the dull street lamps doing little to illuminate the area - he doesn't need to worry too much about keeping concealed.

He taps the back of his knuckles on the steering wheel, his eyes vigilantly surveying up and down the sidewalk. He would wait as long as he had to for you to eventually traipse home from a long night out of doing whatever the fuck you and your whore friends do on a Saturday night. He was a patient man. Persistent.

You show up sometime after 2 am. When the taxi pulls up outside your apartment and Joel sees you emerge from the backseat, his hands grip tightly around the steering wheel and he sucks in a sharp breath of air. There you are, finally.

His eyes stay trained on you, transfixed like a predator stalking it's prey. The taxi drives away and you are left alone to totter unsteadily in your highheels up the pathway to your shitty little apartment. He wonders how drunk you are. Your dress is so short that he can almost see your asscheeks. Typical fuckin' slut. His cock thickens in his jeans as he watches you rifle around in your handbag for your housekeys, totally oblivious.

Joel gets out of his truck and swiftly stalks over to you on his long legs, his movements agile and panther like. You don't hear him approach you, too busy concentrating on pushing the key into the lock. Just as you turn the door knob and open the front door Joel clamps his large hand over your mouth and wraps his other arm around your waist. Before you can instinctively scream and fight back he manhandles you into the apartment and slams the door shut behind him with a kick of his boot.

Your keys and handbag fall to the floor. Your body wriggles futilely in his grip as Joel drags you down the hallway to your bedroom, where a lamps brightens the otherwise dark apartment - smart girl, you never know who could be hiding in the shadows. Your hands scratch desperately at his forearms and you squeal into the calloused palm of his hand, your chest heaving as you try to suck in air through your nose. Your back is pressed against his broad chest, his clothed erection jabbing into your ass.

"Quiet," Joel growls. He digs his fingers into the flesh of your cheek and gives your head a shake. "Don't make a fuckin' sound or I'll make you regret it, you hear me?"

You are sobbing in fear now, your body shaking and shuddering. He can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You're so fucking scared - good, you should be, you deserve to feel like this after the shit you pulled last time.

"Nod your head," Joel whispers in the shell of your ear. "Show me you understand."

You nod your head quickly to demonstrate your compliance. He slowly removes his hand from your mouth, your breath hot and shaky as you gasp in a lungful of air. He keeps his arm wrapped securely around your waist, pinning you to his front.

"You remember me, don't you?" He murmers into your ear. His hand trails down to your neck and comes to rest lightly on one of your breasts. "I'm the man who ate that slutty little pussy and gave you the best orgasm of your life."

Your breath hitches briefly, your body stilling momentarily. Yes, you remembered.

How could you not? The chemistry between you that night had been insane, the flirting more thrilling than anything Joel had experienced in a long while. And when Joel had cornered you in a secluded corner of the bar rooftop garden and gone down on you, it was clear that your body had wanted him just as much as he wanted you; your juice gushed in his mouth as you came, barely able to stifle your squeals with your fingers tightly threaded through his salt and pepper curls.

"Ain't gonna run from me now, are ya?" Joel purrs. You shake your head, seemingly too frightened to speak. "Good girl."

He buries his nose in your hair and inhales the sweet scent of your perfume. You smell so fucking good, just as he remembered.

His hand squeezes your breast and kneads it, groaning at the feeling of your soft flesh in his grip. He ruts his hard cock against you, the friction from his jeans causing it to throb and leak.

He needs to feel you. Now.

Joel slides his other hand over your belly and dips it down underneath your dress and inbetween your thighs. The pads of his fingers caress the top of your mound before moving to press on your clit. He feels the scant crotch of your panties sticking to the warmth of your core. You're probably wet, too.

He rubs circles over your clit and you squeal and try to shut your legs to push him away, prompting him to deliver a harsh smack over your pussy. You jolt forward and whine loudly.

"Nuh-huh," Joel tuts. "You're mine tonight, baby. I'll do whatever I want with ya."

He presses his fingers back onto your clit possessively and resumes massaging it in tight swirls. Your thighs tremble and you gasp and mewl, overcome with conflicted pleasure.

Joel smirks to himself - he knew you'd be unable to resist. His other hand continues groping your breast, his thumb swiping back and forth over your hardening nipple.

"Oh my god," you half whisper, half sob. Joel chuckles and grinds his hips against your ass, using his firm grasp on your body to pull you back into his crotch.

"Yeah, honey," he cooes into your ear. "Knew you'd want this, can't help how desperate your little pussy is, huh?"

It would be easy for Joel to get lost in the moment, to drop to his knees and worship your body until you come undone, screaming and moaning his name. He's naturally a giver. He would love to make you cum again - on his tongue, with his fingers, with his cock.

But he has to stop to remind himself why he's here. He needs to remember that tonight isn't about your pleasure. It's about his. It's his fucking turn now.

Without warning Joel abruptly seizes the band of your thong and tears it apart, then flips you around and shoves you forcefully onto the bed. You squeal when your back thuds against the mattress. Within a couple of seconds he's kneeling inbetween your legs and briskly unbuckling his belt, his dark brown eyes looking possessed as he stares at you with intense carnal hunger.

"Thought you could run away," Joel grunts. He hurriedly unzips his jeans and wrangles his thick cock out from his underwear. "Leave me high and dry, like a goddamn asshole, huh?"

He feels a smug sense of pride when he clocks the way your eyes widen in panic at the size of his dick. You shake your head frantically and cover your the area between your thighs with your hands, desperately trying to protect yourself from the inevitable destruction Joel is intent on unleashing upon you.

"N-no, I s-swear," you babble pathetically.

Joel huffs a mirthless laugh. "Thought I'd be like all them other losers at the bar, didn't ya? Let ya play those little tricks to get what you want, then fuck off?"

He grabs both of your wrists in one of his paws and wrenches them above your head. He spreads his knees wide between your thighs and peers down at your sweet pussy. The mere sight of your puffy lips and glistening hole makes his cock weep with precum.

You're all Joel has been dreaming and fantasising about for the past week; it had been impossible for him to focus on work when his brain was constantly envisioning your bewitching body and angelic face, the taste of your juicy goddamn pussy on his tongue.

And now here you were in the flesh, the luscious object of his degenerate desires, trapped right underneath him.

Joel strokes the small tuft of hair on your mound before using his forefinger and middle to spread open your pussy lips. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. He knows he should finger you first and make you cum atleast once before he fucks you with his cock; he knows he's big and that it'll hurt you, especially if you're unprepared. But fuck it, it's your punishment for being a teasing whore. He'll make it fit, whether you're ready or not.

Joel grips his cock and gives it a few pumps before shuffling a little closer to your crotch. He angles the blunt head against your slit and slowly begins to push inside you. You quiver and sob below him, fresh tears leaking from your eyes as you beg him to stop. He's only just inched the tip of himself inside your tight heat when you snap and begin to fight.

"No! Fuck off!" You scream and writhe, trying in vain to kick at him with your heeled shoes and wriggle away. Joel let's go of your wrists but quickly collapses ontop of you, the weight of his much larger body instantly restraining you. He hurriedly slaps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

"None'a that, now," he hisses, his nose nuzzling against your cheek. He propels his hips to further push into your cunt, earning a stifled shreik from you. "You're gonna take this fuckin' dick, right here and right now."

You dig your nails into the flannel of his shirt as he rocks his hips back and forth slowly, gradually feeding more and more of his length. You are crying and struggling to breathe through your nose underneath his palm but he doesn't care. He continues the shallow sawing motion for a minute, only allowing half his cock to enter you, mercifully granting your walls a short time to adjust. His hand comes up to stroke over your hair soothingly.

"You're tight, baby. Relax, let me in."

Joel gives one final stuttering push and buries himself all the way to the hilt, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. He lets out a rumbling moan, luxuriating in how your walls contract around him while you struggle to accomodate the entirety of his thick length. Your body wracks with shudders and your thighs quake against the solid flanks of his body, your muscles no doubt straining from the weight of him slotted between your legs.

Joel withdraws his hips until his cock pulls almost completely out of you, momentarily granting you reprieve, only to suddenly slam back inside. You choke out a scream as your eyes roll back into your head. He repeats the motion again and again, over and over, parting your insides and carving a space so deep that you swear you feel him in the pit of your stomach.

His deviant hunger is growing more fervent with every second, his wicked desire to claim you burning to a fever pitch. He had wanted to go slow, to savour the experience, but his conviction is rapidly dissipating.

Joel's movements soon escalate into a rhythmic assault, his cock plunging into your pussy with brutal, deepseated strokes. He presses his nose against your cheek.

"Feel so good, baby," he moans between panting breaths, "knew this pussy would feel like fuckin' heaven."

He maintains the savage pace of his hips crashing against yours for several minutes, reveling in the euphoric pleasure your body grants him. How dare you deny him such bliss, leaving him wounded and unfulfilled and fucking pissed off. Why hadn't you just given him a chance? Was he too old? Was it all just a funny game to you?

A firey flame of indignation and rage rips through his ribcage and guts, urging him to punish you. He wants to ruin you, to show you just how utterly he can break you.

Joel smushes his palm harder against your mouth as he fucks his cock in and out of your abused hole; you wail with every thrust but it comes out as nothing more than a muffled whine.

"Yeah, you feel that?" Joel growls into your ear. "Feel that cock rippin' you apart, ya bitch? Can't run from me now, can ya?"

He pounds into you with fervour, panting and grunting with animalistic voracity, drowning out the noises of your stifled sobs. The bed squeaks against the bedroom wall from the momentum of Joel's unrelenting barrage. He's so lost in his own depravity that he doesn't realise just how quickly his orgasm has approached.

"Gonna cum in this slutty pussy," Joel groans, delirious from the intense pleasure of your cunt squeezing around his dick. "Fill you up til you're fuckin' burstin'. Won't ever forget me now."

Your body goes lax underneath Joel's weight as he jack hammers into you, chasing his climax. Less than ten seconds later he's coming undone, his orgasm reaching its peak. The pace of his hips falter and warm ropes of his cum paint the insides of your tortured body. He pants wildly, nose crushed against the side of your face, his face damp from your tears and the sweat of his exertion. He removes his hand from your mouth and strokes your cheek with his thumb, unbothered by the deep inhale and subsequent weep you cough out from your throat.

Joel stays like that ontop of you for some time, catching his breath and coming down from his high. When the cloud dissipates from his mind and his cock begins to soften inside your walls, he presses a chaste kiss to your temple and carefully pulls out.

He stands up from the bed and groans, his body now worn and weary. You remain exactly where you are, staring up at the ceiling with your body trembling.

Joel hitches his underwear and jeans up and glances up at you as he buckles his belt. He smirks at the sight of your parted legs and ruined cunt, the trickle of cum leaking out and staining your bed sheets.

"Learned your lesson now, didn't you, baby?" He sneers smugly. "Gonna stop and think before teasin' an old man like me ever again, ain't that right?"

All you do is sob and roll over onto your side, facing away from Joel. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head, as if the whole scenario were a joke. "Don't got to worry too much anyway, honey. Ain't no man is gonna want that sloppy pussy now."

He crouches down and picks up the torn scrap of your underwear and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. "You stay safe now, sweetheart."

Joel doesn't bother to give you one last look before he swaggers out of your bedroom, his ego satisfied and satiated, leaving you alone to wallow in the shattered remains of your soul.

credit to @saradika-graphics for the border used.

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koshkaj-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Such a fun and sexy story. I love seeing gruff Joel lose his composure and fall for a sassy reader.

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no different to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone next:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

2K notes · View notes

koshkaj-blog · 1 year ago

Text

ADDICTED || Max Phillips x f!reader || 3k

Summary: Max gives you everything you need but can you stop when the pleasure gets addictive?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, daddy kink, dom/sub dynamic, biting, blood drinking (not graphic), f/m oral, mind control (dub-con, then very enthusiastic), slapping, unprotected piv, heartbreak, themes of addiction, obsession. Reader has hair. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no physical description.

A/n: this is for @iamasaddie ‘s Kinky May challenge with a prompt daddy kink for Max Phillips. Thank you for hosting it, Aly😘 Thank you @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and holding my trembling hand♥️ it’s my first time writing Max and I’m very nervous. Hope you all will enjoy it!💖

dividers by @saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

You can’t get enough of him.

His fingers gripping your hair, his strong hips between your slicked up thighs, the burn his teeth leave behind, the pleasure his soft lips give you.

Yet most of all you can’t get enough of his voice.

It’s like the sweetest poison that seeps into your welcoming ear, tying you closer to him with every uttered sound. Making you addicted. Obsessed.

“You’re mine. All of you. Every drop, baby.”

“Yes, daddy,” you always agree with him. These are the rules of the game. You do what he says, he doesn’t leave you.

He gives you what you need. Purpose.

“You’re daddy’s hole. Nothing more. I’m here to fill you and feed on you. You don’t need anything else. Just daddy fucking his cum into you, load after load. While your blood satiates me. Drop after drop.”

“Yes, daddy…please, give it to me… want it…take it.”

You get so high on his voice telling you what to do, it’s euphoric. You’re always in a half trance. At work your mind is occupied by him; whenever you spend time with your family or friends, your thoughts are elsewhere. You don’t need them anymore. You are lost in him. In your mind you’re in bed, pressed by his heavy body. Limbs intervened, your sweaty skin flush against his as he’s claiming your body and soul.

It used to be easy. The first time you met at a club where Max tried to pick you up and succeeded. He was handsome, charming as hell, talkative, funny in an assholish way. Absolutely not your type, but you didn’t mind having fun. You two fucked in the bathroom and when he bit your neck and licked off the blood, you thought he was just kinky. The alcohol in your blood didn’t let you think straight. He made you come on his cock and you gave him your phone number.

Max came without a call, just appeared on your doorstep one night, and you let him in. You were cringing at your desire for some corporate suit, but he’d given it to you so good that night and you had never passed on a great fuck.

“I like you”, he said directly, lying on your sofa. He came right after work and told you that he was tired, at the same time exuding energy. You were staring at him, amused by his confidence. Max had an air about him like he owned the place and everything in it, including you.

“There’s something special about you,” he continued, pouting his lips in thought, “I don’t even need to command you. You’re so hungry. You do what I want all by yourself, baby.”

“Command me?”, you scuffed and snapped back, offended by his words, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, baby”. Max was hot but a man would never be the boss of you, you thought.

He bucked his hips, getting more comfortable on your sofa, and shot you a smug smile that made you want to slap him. Before fucking him.

“Get on the sofa. All fours,” He told you, nodding at the spot next to him. His voice was the same, deep and gruff but somehow different. As if he grabbed your will and caged it in his big hand. Made it his will instead. And to your astonishment your body followed the order.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, sitting up, as your hands and knees were already planted firmly on the surface.

He got up and made you stand still while his hands were exploring your naked body — kneaded your breasts, twitched your nipples, glided over your back, slipped between your folds and swirled your throbbing clit. Your head was absolutely empty, your mind already occupied by only him.

“Beautiful,” he praised you, spreading your ass cheeks and admiring the view, “daddy’s gonna have so much fun with you.”

You bit your lip when he called himself that and then whimpered when he latched onto your pussy. He tasted your desire for him as his hot tongue slid between your folds and traced your crying hole. A whine escaped your parted lips when his mouth stopped caressing your cunt and he stood in front of you.

With widened eyes you watched him perch on the armrest of the sofa, spreading his thighs wide.

“You know what’s my favorite thing to do?” He asked, smirking at you.

You couldn’t say anything, so you were just blinking at him while a myriad of emotions were swirling inside your chest.

“Oh, you can’t answer, right. Baby though she’s in charge, huh?” Max chuckled and then leaned closer to you face, bringing his lips to your ear and whispered,

“Let’s see who’s in charge,” and added, “Come for daddy.”

You felt burning in your stomach, your core tightened, pussy started clamping around nothing, and you cried out as a hard orgasm began shaking your whole body, making your limbs tremble. He was palming himself, watching your face twist in pleasure, loud moans leaving your lips as the waves of ecstasy were lapping at your heated body. It was hard to stand still and his previous command was the only thing that kept you from collapsing on the sofa.

“Relax,” he told you and you plopped on the surface panting heavily, while aftershocks were still going through your body.

He stood up and you felt his thumb brush your cheekbone.

“Do you believe me now, sweetheart?” He asked with a head tilt, as his bulge was looming over your head.

You looked up at his smug face, smiled a little and replied,

“Yes, daddy. Please, do it again”.

Now when he’s in your bedroom, time stops. Life stops. As soon as he sits on the edge of your bed, you kneel between his thighs, your big eyes full of deep admiration, a short sheer nightie barely covering anything. He often buys you new lingerie. He enjoys spoiling you. Also blood is hard to wash off.

If he wants you to suck his cock, all he needs to do is nod at his crotch. But tonight he wants all of you.

“C’mere,” he tells you, patting his thigh with his big hand. In a second you’re sat on his lap, your naked pussy soaking his black suit pants.

“Nearly snapped someone’s neck at work today, incompetent idiot,” He grumbles in a low voice and asks, “How was your day, baby?”

You’re pouting your lips. Who cares? Fuck life. This is what you need. This is what makes you happy, ecstatic, euphoric.

“-was ok,” you mumble, as your stomach churns with impatience. Your gaze is set downcast while you’re fumbling with his crimson tie. He nuzzles your neck and takes a deep breath of your scent. A shudder goes through him from the way you smell and you slightly roll your hips, rubbing your needy pussy against his thigh.

“So impatient, baby. Do you remember how Daddy punished you for your impatience?” his cold palm wraps around your throat and tilts your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, where his favorite vein is fluttering like a little bird under his hungry gaze.

You won’t ever forget that punishment. You have been kneeling at the foot of your bed, watching him languidly play with his cock and balls. Your mouth was watering whenever a drop of precum slid down the curve of his fat tip. He has been edging you and himself for what felt like hours until he gave you the permission to suck his cock and you came just from having him in your mouth.

“Yes, I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll wait.”

“Good girl,” he says before his lips start sucking on your delicate skin, right over the artery. He licks the patch of skin there as his hand slithers under the neckline of your nightie and squeezes your breast.

“I’m gonna take a sip and you’re gonna be a good girl and play with Daddy’s cock, ‘k?

“Yes, please”.

You tilt your head even more, offering your blood to him as your left hand slides between your bodies. You find his belt buckle and undo it, stopping yourself from rushing. You don’t want daddy’s punishment tonight. You crave his reward.

You open his pants and moan as he breaks your skin with his fangs.

You got so used to the feeling, you don’t even notice the pain. The pain is like a threshold that you step over to get to the pleasure. A small price you pay each time for the immense ecstasy he’s going to give you.

As he starts gently sucking, you take out his cock which is already hard as steel and caress its velvety skin with your fingers. It twitches in your hand and Max growls.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

You hastily spit in your palm and return your hand to his twitching length. You wrap your hand around it and begin pumping with a rhythm you know he loves.

You flutter your eyes shut, getting lost in the feeling, ready, so ready to give and get more.

You feel his precum on your hand, and without looking, you spread it over his soft skin.

Max’s lips smacking against your neck, his growling that sends pleasant vibrations through you, his tongue, gathering the blood off your skin, mixes with the squelching sounds of your hand, dancing over his cock. It’s throbbing, pulsating in your little hand and you press your body closer to his torso, wishing to feel his length against your belly.

“Daddy, may I have it, please?”

He groans and his lips leave your neck as he commands without using his powers, “lie down.”

You can’t follow the order quicker. You need him more than air. Your empty pussy is weeping to be filled, used, stretched by his manhood. Your whole being craves to serve his needs and after satiating his hunger for some time, your cunt is ready to be fed.

Your thighs fly apart and you look up at him with pleading eyes. Max is not cruel but he’s also quick to punish you if you piss him off.

His cock bobs when he gets between your thighs and a drop of precum lands on your mound. You already whine at the sensation.

“So obedient, you really want it tonight, huh?”

“I always want it… but yes, daddy, please,” you add hastily, batting your lashes at him.

“What do you want?”

As soon as he uses this voice, the atmosphere in the room changes. He was your ‘daddy’, now he’s your god. He asks and you reply without a moment of hesitation,

“I want not to feel anything but your cock deep in my cunt, not to think. Be so cockdrunk I can’t keep my eyes open.”

He smirks but there’s a trace of bitterness in his expression.

“I see.”

He sighs and grabs your thighs with his massive hands. He spreads your legs even wider, and when your pussy blooms for him he harshly spits on your throbbing clit, making you jerk and moan. The next second he lifts your hips up and pierces you with his cock. He’s either in a good mood which you doubt by his roughness or craves a release. With your ass lifted off the bed, you gasp suddenly feeling full as your walls are spreading for him. But you need more and he knows it.

“Do you feel me deep inside, baby?”

“Yeah, you’re so big, daddy.”

“Wanna feel more? “

“Yes, daddy, please. I’m begging you, I want nothing more.”

“ ‘k, baby. You’ve been such a good girl.”

Without a warning his voice changes and he starts ordering you.

“Listen to me, hear only my voice.”

The city noises from the outside are immediately gone. You hear nothing, not even ticking of a clock in your bedroom. Only his voice is in your ears as if he’s speaking right inside your mind.

“You feel nothing. Just. My. Cock. Deep inside your cunt. In your mind. In your veins. Everywhere.”

Your eyes roll back as you’re made to concentrate on his manhood in your trembling body.

“Your pussy is hugging me so well. Make her weep around my cock. Can never get enough of your juices soaking me, baby. You always feel so good. And you deserve to feel good too.”

“Yes, daddy, I do.”

You’re floating in a warm river, his voice, his being are enveloping you. Nothing exists anymore, just him and you are left. Then he rolls his hips and it gets almost unbearably overwhelming. His cock slowly slides in and out of your sopping pussy with ease and your brain, your core, your every cell light up brightly as you already feel yourself at the precipice.

He’s fucking you gently, then gets rougher and marks you with his teeth, drinking your blood. His cock is throbbing between your walls, his hands are sliding over your breasts, twitching your nipples and playing with your clit. His face flashes in front of your eyes and you’re kissing. That’s when you feel the explosion of pure, untainted ecstasy.

“Come harder”, he commands, and you know you’re crying at how amazing you feel. It’s all happening ‘there’, somewhere deep inside you, the place so wonderful you wish you’d never leave.

At the back of your mind you know that you’re getting obsessed. Sometimes you think there’s more of him in you than you. He’s behind your eyes constantly, his handsome face with a lopsided smile flashes there over and over. You could draw it by heart now. Day after day his teeth sink deeper into your neck, his cock pierces you harder and you welcome the pain. The high is so much better after a little bit of pain.

Max is careful with you. He knows his strength and knows the effect he has on you. He’s attentive. He sees your glazed over eyes, parted lips, your breathing almost stops. You’re not here with him, you’re nowhere. You start noticing fear in his eyes when it takes longer and longer to get you out of ‘there’.

Trickles of blood are seeping from two tiny holes in your neck. Your thighs thrown widely apart, his cum is glistening at your entrance as he watches you, sitting naked between your legs. His chin and mouth are red and he’s licking his lips, not wasting a drop of you.

“Baby, look at me.” Your eyes are staring up and to the left. You’re looking at something but don’t see anything.

“Look at me!”

He orders then calls for you, nothing, again and again, you don’t respond. He slaps your cheek, not hard, just to get you back but you refuse to return to him. In your mind you’re still coming on his cock, over and over, dripping, moaning, relishing the feeling of his cum filling you up to the brim. Why would you ever go back?

Suddenly it stings. He’s slapped you really hard and your cheek is burning.

“Daddy?” You murmur, gradually coming back to reality, blinking rapidly with tears in your eyes. He’s hovering over you, his hands gripping your shoulders, his black eyes under the furrowed brows look worried and sad. Then angry.

“I couldn’t get you back! Fucking hell! You were gone for a fucking hour. It’s never been that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad. ‘s good,” You mumble while your hand flies to rub your heated cheek. Your brain is still barely functioning and your whole body is tingling after such an amazing orgasm.

“I won’t do it anymore.” He throws at you, getting off you and sitting at the edge of the bed. “Fuck this!”

Your heart freezes, gripped by the fear, and you hastily sit up. You almost fall off the bed, drunk on the amount of endorphins in your blood and then slowly crawl to him.

“Daddy, don’t say it. I’ll get back alright.”

“Yeah, what if you don’t.”

‘It’s worth it,’ you think but don’t say it. Instead you lie to him. “I’m sure I’ll always get back. It just feels so good there.”

He’s shaking his head and your stomach churns with terror.

“You told me you’d killed people for fuck’s sake! Why do you care so much about me?!” You shout and he turns to you. His pained expression makes your chest hurt. Your heart is fluttering at how handsome he is, how much you love him but love quickly morphs into hate when he threatens to take away the best thing you’ve ever experienced. You beg again and again but he’s unyielding. Finally he gets tired of your whining and leaves.

Max visits you a couple of times after that. He fucks you but refuses to command you. He makes you come on his cock or tongue and every time you cry, beg and shout, demanding to tell you to stop feeling anything except him inside you. You unravel for him again and again but it’s just not enough. Not when you’ve been there, felt that much ecstasy.

“What if I turn you?” He offers at one point.

“Will you be able to tell me what to do?”

“No.”

“Then no”.

“But we can be together forever.”

“No, daddy, please, one more time.”

He curses and leaves and then he stops coming entirely. You text, call but he doesn’t respond. Your efforts to find him are fruitless. He’s never told you the details of his life. Or you just haven’t been listening. It’s like he has disappeared into thin air, like he was just a dream.

You cry and cry, not being able to sleep, eat, feel anything else except the void in your soul and life. Max has been filling it so well and now it’s sucking you in. Without that euphoria, without him controlling you, without your ‘daddy’, you have nothing. You wish for nothing else. Mindless hookups, rebound sex, numerous strangers in your bed— nothing can give you that satisfaction.

Max left and took your life with him.

Thank you for reading!♥️ Please, comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! It motivates me a lot!!🌸

Masterlist

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koshkaj-blog · 1 year ago

Note

Hiya! Hope this is okay but I hoping you might know what happened to atticrissfinch? I went to read Meet Me In The Back for the thousanth time and her blog isn't there :(

(Will actually riot if another one of my fave blogs gets deleted because of this endless hate)

Wow you’re actually the bearer of bad news for me today 😭 I checked her blog this morning and she was there. Guess she deactivated after all the filth and lies and absolute terrible shit that scumbags from the cuntfession blog spewed out. you should subscribe to her at AO3, i don’t know if she’ll continue to post there or if she’ll abandon this toxic fandom completely, but for now MMITB is still up there

Terrible, terrible shame for the community. She was a great writer with awesome stories, no one did it like her and I’ll miss her and her talent.

We once again lost to bullies and assholes.

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koshkaj-blog · 1 year ago

Text

I love the troupe of a tenacious bratty reader breaking through Joel's hard, lonesome exterior, and this story was a perfect fit. Beautifully written and engaging.

too sweet (joel miller x f!reader)

summary: in your fight for survival against a world intent on killing you, you stumble across the humble abode of one joel miller.

warnings: age gap (28/56), post-outbreak, canon divergence (no ellie), canon typical violence, angst, some fluff, smut, cursing, blood, injuries, mentions of dead parents & child, weapons, smidge of voyeurism, inexperienced reader, alcohol (joel & reader are not intoxicated and everything is consensual), unprotected piv, v light choking, 18+ mdni.

notes: so, @perotovar posted a gifset and this idea came to me in a vision. erin, you are a rockstar and i can’t thank you enough for the incredible visuals you provide with your stunning gif work. we love you so much <3 tysm for making these for my header 🥹

a huge thank you to my beta, @macfrog 🫶🏻 max: the time & effort you’ve spent on this for me.. i love you. so much, forever. ty for always being so generous w your brain. so much love goes to @swiftispunk @frannyzooey @joelscruff for their support with my very first real smut 🫡

“Take the gun out. Two fingers only. Put it outta reach.”

Oh, he’s serious.

“So you’ve decided not to kill me?”

“I still might,” he grunts, dark eyes flashing with a quiet rage

You place the pistol on the sagging wooden table, pushing it with a force that sends it spinning towards him. He pockets it, swallowing thickly.

“Now, you wanna try this again?”

You attempt to speak, but your tongue is stuck. Everything moves in slow motion, blood rushes in your ears, and the world turns black.

────────────

Smoke.

You can see it: thick and dark against the pearl white sky, snow frozen on your eyelashes. You haven’t felt your toes for a few days now; your fingers numb this morning.

Smoke means fire, and fire means warmth.

It can also mean a myriad of other things: raiders, murderers, the worst humanity has left to offer. Yet, the blood stains the ice beneath you as you drag your feet, and you know you’ll take your chances.

You don’t have any other choice.

The wound in your stomach is deep, the result of a skirmish with a raider who thought he’d try his luck with your hard-earned dinner catch. He came off worse than you: dead, in fact, but you’re pretty sure you’ll be joining him soon enough if you can’t stop the bleeding.

Your father’s voice echoes in your head, the peeling wallpaper and damp ceilings of the rotting apartment in which he took his last rattling breaths.

There’s gotta be more than this, sweetheart. This ain’t a life. You need to go find it.

You were eight when the Cordyceps outbreak unfolded. He tried to hide you, left you in your bedroom as he took a shotgun to your mother, the woman you once knew already infected, robbed from the both of you.

You’ve never forgotten the sound, though. The snarls ripping from her throat as she lunged, the thud of her body against the floor. Him scooping you up in his arms, tearing through the end of the world to get you to safety.

The QZ was safe, for twenty years. Bleak, depressing, devoid of any joy; but free from fungus and all the destruction it left in its path. You grew up quickly, earning your rations sweeping streets and shovelling shit. Your father worked himself even harder, going without so you could have more.

He trained you for this: taught you how to handle a gun, to break an arm, to hold your breath and purify water you can drink without poisoning yourself. He sharpened you, honed your skills, all whilst his body was failing him. He gripped your hand the day he died, told you he was sorry, for all of it.

And he left you alone.

You crawled under the wire fencing that night, and you’ve been on the move ever since. Six months of chewing rabbit and washing yourself in streams, hiding in trees and gutting clickers from the inside out. All in aid of searching for that idea of more, the one your father told you must be out here somewhere.

You won’t let it all be for nothing.

And yet, the blood soaks your fingertips as you apply pressure to the wound. The tip of your nose remains numb, and flurries of snow cling to you stubbornly, turning to deadly mush inside your shoes, the hood of your jacket, freezing your spine and shortening your breaths.

Smoke means fire, and fire means warmth.

────────────

Picking the lock of the cabin is easy.

Another skill drummed into you, and one you’re savagely glad for. You can’t feel your digits, of course, but you watch them work of their own accord, the catch springing free.

Sure enough, flames are crackling in the grate of a stone fireplace. The place makes you think of a ski lodge you’d visited when you were young: a thick rug across the floor, a table with cutlery strewn across it, a wooden balcony hung with drying linen.

“Nice,” you whistle lowly, crouched and ready to greet the inhabitants. Your precious pistol is cocked in your hand; a poignant gift from your father. You take a step forward; a droplet of blood splashing against the floorboards.

Your ears are pricked, listening for a pair of lungs, the creak of a boot — any indication that you’re not alone. You’re fighting every natural instinct you have to rush to the warmth, heart beating out of your chest.

Nothing moves. Nobody comes.

You drop your shoulders, breathe in and out, sliding your weapon into the back of your jeans. Later, you’ll picture your father’s face if he’d seen what was to come. The way he would’ve reprimanded you for letting your guard down so easily.

Goddamn gun’s no use in your pocket, sweetheart.

Then, a real voice comes from behind you, still out in the snow. It’s harsh, deep, and unforgiving.

“Hands up, turn and face me.”

You raise your palms, turn slowly on the spot. Your brain works fast: calculating your odds, trying to figure out how — if — you can get the drop on your attacker.

He doesn’t shoot, though. He just stands there, hunting rifle aimed at your head, icy drifts swirling round the both of you. Your feet teeter on the edge of what you now guess to be his home.

He’s a lot older than you, for sure.

Dark hair streaked with grey, thick moustache and slivered scruff adorning his reddened cheeks. His eyes look almost black; set beneath a strong brow with a curving nose, full lips drawn into a scowl. Tall and foreboding, but you note that you’re not scared.

You’ve been trained for this.

He makes a gesture, shaking his head, indicating you move backwards. The man corners you once you’re inside, eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t even think about tryin’ to shoot,” he mutters, and you shrug, feigning innocence.

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

He chuckles, the noise rumbling through his chest as he tuts in disbelief. You’re envious of his thick overcoat, the layers he has on beneath it. He’s well-built: broad shoulders and the curve of a belly pushing at his flannel shirt.

That’s good. ‘Least you picked somewhere you might be able to eat a hot meal before he puts a bullet between your eyes.

You’re dizzy from the blood loss by now, the puncture in your stomach draining the fight from you. You lower your arms to your sides, and his eyebrow raises.

“Don’t remember sayin’ you could do that.”

It’s your turn to laugh then, despite your predicament, the fact death could whisper in your ear at any given moment. You’re stubborn as hell and you know it, and you have a feeling he is too.

“Take the gun out. Two fingers only. Put it outta reach.”

────────────

You wake up, seemingly, on a cloud — soft sheets and thick pillows, a contrast to the pallet you slept on in the QZ, the forest floor where you’ve been unceremoniously laying your head.

You feel disorientated, a searing pain across your forehead. Your eyes focus: it’s dark outside besides the sliver of moonlight, a total white-out with flakes still falling.

“What.. The fuck?”

You still have your sweater, torn apart and caked in rusted blood. But, beneath it, bandages wrap round your midriff. Panic swims in your chest, bile rising in your throat. You squirm, grasping at the sheets.

Where the fuck are you?

“Easy, easy.”

You stop thrashing. It’s him: face in the shadows of the candle that burns beside him, slouched in a chair at the foot of the bed. Watching, waiting.

“What did you do to me?!” you demand, failing to keep the tremble from your voice.

“I stitched you back up, that’s what I did.”

Swallowing, you gingerly pick at the bandages and gauze, flesh underneath pulled gruesomely tight.

The bastard saved your life. You don’t know why, or how he even had the supplies to, but he did.

“Think I managed to stop the bleedin’,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, I’m still here, so I guess you’re right,” you groan, pushing to sit up against the pillows.

“Try not to move so fast. You, uh, hit your head when you fell. Don’t want you passin’ out on me again.” He stands, gripping the bedpost, fingers curled round the wood. Your fingers find a lump on your forehead, a scab stretched over it, and you wince.

So much for being fucking capable.

“You didn’t need to do any of this,” you gesture around you weakly, rubbing at your temples. A glass of water sits on the dresser beside you, a shirt and a pair of jeans folded at the end of the bed.

“I know that. Not exactly sure you’d have done it for me, either,” he shrugs.

He’s not wrong. You crossed the threshold of his home, ready to murder any and every occupant if you had to. Instead, you collapsed pathetically, and woke up in the owner’s bed.

“Saw you a mile off, kiddo. Tracked you all the way here, to my place.”

You scoff, regretting it when it aggrevates the fresh threads in your belly. “I don’t fucking think so.”

The man’s eyes narrow, and he sits near your feet, glancing toward the window. You recoil slightly, still unsure of him and the sheer size of his body: wide chest, big hands, solid arms you can see tight against his flannel.

“What, you thought I’d just let you walk right in? You think I’m some kinda fool?”

“So why didn’t you just shoot me back then?” you spit, not enjoying the condescension in his tone.

“Well,” he mutters, looking at your blood-soaked clothes, “in truth, wasn’t sure I’d have to.”

You feel exhausted, even after a few minutes of confrontation. The tiredness settles itself deep into your bones: all you want to do is close your eyes, luxuriate in the simple pleasure of a warm bed.

“Look, I’ll leave you to get some rest,” he murmurs, heading for the door, and you’re nodding, eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

You’re not even sure why.

“Then what?”

He stops, moonlight seeping through the blinds, illuminating the curve of his nose.

“I’ll bring you some soup. When you’re ready, of course,” he tells you, like it’s the most normal statement in the world. The tears sting, and you let them wash over you as the door shuts quietly.

Soup, in a strange man’s bed. The abnormality of your situation is overwhelming, but even if you wanted to escape, high-tail it out the window like your father taught you, you won’t.

You’d be dead within a few days: a hole in your stomach, concussion fogging your brain, fingers and toes saved from the brink of frostbite.

No, you’ll stay. Make the most of your would-be murderer’s hospitality whilst you can.

You don’t even know his name.

────────────

“Rabbit? Again?”

“You got a problem with that?”

His fork stabs at the meat on his plate, knife slicing it cleanly. You chew and swallow rhythmically, unsure of why you’re complaining. It’s not like you had ever dined out on fine steak and fries, but you don’t want him to know that.

Joel.

Fifty-six, Texas native, one dead daughter and a missing brother.

Three months have passed, and you’ve grown accustomed to the quiet, robust companionship on offer. His rushed surgery may have saved your life, but you developed an infection soon after, no thanks to the raider’s rusty knife that had plunged into your stomach.

Joel found it somewhere in his heart to keep you alive: sponging you down when fever burnt through you, swaddling you in blankets when your teeth chattered through the night. You floated in and out of consciousness as he pumped penicillin into you - the vials of which you have no idea how he came across.

Still. You were indebted to him, now. Twice.

You discovered Joel hadn’t been here for long before your arrival: nine months, in fact. Setting up a home to sustain himself during a harsh winter, the previous occupants dying of old age. He wanted a base, somewhere to rest and recoup, before continuing on to find his brother, some settlement in Jackson he’s heard whispers of.

Or so he tells you. You choose to believe him, anyway.

You pulled your weight around the cabin as soon as you were able to, heading out on supply runs to the nearby ghost towns when you finally felt strong enough, compiling a mismatched wardrobe and a library for yourself. Joel hasn’t asked you to leave, and you find yourself, inexplicably, wanting to stay.

Warm showers mean scrubbed fingernails and clean hair. Three meals a day mean relaxed shoulders and a full belly. You’ve shed the skin of the girl you were in the QZ, the girl who survived six months alone in the a world that tried so hard to kill her.

You still see her, in the cracked mirror above the fireplace. You know she’ll never truly leave, but you think you like it that way.

It’s quiet, out here. Peaceful, in a way you’ve never known life to be. The snow is still lingering, but Joel tells you gruffly that spring isn’t far away: new life unfolding, all blossoming trees and baby birds. You can’t wait to see it.

If — when — Joel decides to move on, you think you’ll stay. No infected this far north, he tells you. Raiders don’t bother, either. You’d manage, but something in your heart tells you you’d miss him, even with his tightly-drawn brows, monosyllabic answers and permanent scowl.

There’s gotta be more than this, sweetheart. This ain’t a life. You need to go find it.

You hope your father, wherever he is, can see you’ve found it.

────────────

Joel’s gloves land on the table beside you, leather slapping against oak.

“Thought we could share some of this tonight.”

You look up from the new pile of books he’s found for you: Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë, family recipes and guides to grow vegetables. He’s holding an old glass bottle, amber liquid sloshing inside it, label hanging on by a thread.

“Share... With me?”

He lowers himself into the chair beside you with a groan, bones creaking, overcoat discarded. “You see anyone else here?”

Your eyes roll, used to his remarks. “Nobody likes a smart ass, Joel.”

“You ain’t packed your bags just yet,” he counters, and you snap shut the novel you’d been perusing, dust climbing into the air.

“What is it, anyway?”

“This,” he smirks proudly, “is whiskey. Tastes best neat.”

You take the bottle from him, nose wrinkling at the cobwebbed decoration. “You sure it’s still any good? It’s just, you know, I’m kinda unwilling to risk my life again.”

“It’s fine,” he chuckles, eyebrows raised. “See how it’s unopened? Could be a hundred years old, and would taste just as good as the day it was made.”

“A hundred years old, huh? Means you’ve got about twenty years on it, in that case.”

Joel chews his lip, eyes narrowing at the barb. The push and pull between you both is so familiar now: biting remarks that surely would make others wince.

Not that it matters. No other witnesses exist besides faded smiles in cobwebbed photo frames, and they can’t judge you now.

Sometimes, there’s a twisted, perverse thrill to be had from seeing just how far you can push him.

“‘m takin’ a shower,” Joel mutters, swiping the bottle from your hands. The glass clinks against the chipped china sink, and you watch him rooting around in the cupboards beneath. His shoulders flex as they move beneath his shirt, and you find yourself dwelling once more on how fucking broad he is.

The thought slips away as he stands, two tumblers joining the bottle on the sideboard. Wondering again just why he wants to share it with you, you watch Joel stalk off down the hallway, the sound of the shower humming rhythmically moments later.

You collect your books, decades-old newspaper cuttings acting as place markers. You linger over a novel at the bottom of the pile; a smutty romance you keep well hidden from your makeshift roommate. You save it for after sundown; feeling the blood burn low in your belly when you’re curled in your sheets, poring over line after line of heaving chests, panting moans and torrents of passion.

You’re not sure what Joel would make of that particular title.

You pass the bathroom as you retreat with your stash of new titles, steam seeping out of the crack between the floor and wood. You’re momentarily struck by a startling visual of Joel beneath the stream of warm water, sluicing down the column of his throat, rippling off his collarbones, soaking the dark hair nestled on his sternum.

You flop onto the bed, books clattering to the floor. Stretched out on your back, you stare at the ceiling, longing for a distraction — a way to end the frustration you’re feeling, once and for all.

Where the fuck is this all coming from? Why now?

The lock to the bathroom door clicks in its hinges; you know if you turn your head just a little, you’d be able to see him. So you wait, and you watch him leave, totally oblivious to your staring.

────────────

For once, you don’t complain about rabbit for dinner.

Tongue seemingly stuck to the roof of your mouth, all your thoughts are occupied by the man sitting across from you. Try as you might, you can’t forget what you’ve just seen: that broad chest, dark hair threaded with silver peppered across his smooth skin, growing thicker over his soft tummy.

The thin, white towel round his narrow hips, only partway concealing a bulge of a certain size.

Come on, you tell yourself. It’s Joel. Just Joel.

Twenty-eight years your senior. Not your biggest fan.

All the self-preservation you’ve built upon, clawing your way out of a place determined to suck the life from you, surviving raiders and murders and a hole in your stomach. You’re not about to forget yourself over a glimpse of skin.

Joel collects the plates when you’re finished eating, clearing his throat loudly. “You alright to get the fire goin’ if I clear up?”

You nod, grateful for a distraction.

Soon enough, flames are crackling in the grate, socked feet folded beneath you. You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood; iron washing over your tongue as Joel takes his place beside you on the couch, whiskey in hand.

“Some people would mix water in with this, but I want your first time to be a good one.”

You know he doesn’t mean anything by the words he’s chosen. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

Still. It’s not lost on you.

Joel fills your glass first, before tipping his head toward you, swallowing his down whole. You follow his lead, spluttering as the liquid burns your throat.

“Jesus, girl. What did ya do that for?”

He smacks lightly between your shoulder blades, helping you clear your airways. His fingers linger a little, resting at the nape of your neck, and you involuntarily shudder at the contact.

“Can’t be shown up by you, can I?” you jest croakily, regaining a modicum of composure. There’s a warm feeling spreading from your chest; you’re not sure if it’s the drink, or the sensation of his hands on you. Finally.

You nurse the next tumbler, sipping it slowly, learning to enjoy it. You don’t think you’ve ever spent this much time with Joel — unless you’re out hunting together; you shooting, him dressing, or arguing over who’s next to take the linen to the river for cleaning, or the rare few times you’ve watched a VHS with one another, mostly in silence.

“‘s Burt Reynolds. Someone told me I look a little like him,” Joel points at the screen: an extremely handsome moustachioed man swanning around in too-tight denim jeans and a cowboy hat. You snort, almost choking on your beef jerky. “Was that person your mother?”

The television remains silent tonight, though.

It’s just you and Joel, the fire hissing and spitting, and impossible darkness outside. You relax into the couch, warm to your bones. He cricks his neck, groaning in satisfaction. His hands are covered in scars, forearms much the same. You wonder how they got there; how this stoic, brooding man beside you came to be.

“Joel?”

He lifts his head, huge fingers swirling his tumbler in the low amber light. “Hm?”

“Tell me about Texas.”

────────────

After an hour, the fire has almost died out, the two of you talking too much to notice. Well, Joel’s talking. You’re listening intently, watching his grin grow wide and eyes shine as he tells you stories of his brother and daughter.

“We’d walked for an hour to get these ice cream cones Sarah insisted on havin’. We get back to our street, ‘n Tommy’s showin’ off for one of the new neighbours. Ends up trippin’ over a hosepipe, damn cone went all over him. God, me and Sarah didn’t stop laughin’,” he chuckles, chin resting on his glass.

You can feel it, see it: the raucous, bubbling giggles, dribbling pink splotches of strawberry ice-cream, burning hot sidewalk and the squeak of rubber sneakers.

It fills you with joy and sadness in equal measure. Your own fuzzy memories of life before were never too far away.

“Were you, uh, ever married? To Sarah’s mom?”

He exhales, carding a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Sure was. For about a year.”

You note the way his shoulders slouch, expression unreadable. You almost wish you hadn’t even asked. Still, the liquor makes you bold, so you press a little further.

“Was she your high school sweetheart?”

Joel scoffs. “Now, what would you know about high school sweethearts?”

You move to pour another mouthful into each glass, shrugging. “Hey, I had a boyfriend once — for a few months, at least. Back in the QZ.”

“I ain’t surprised, pretty thing like you. Even if you are a pain in my ass,” he sighs, two thick fingers wrapped round his tumbler.

You’re blinking slowly, registering the fact that Joel just called you pretty. There’s no denying your attraction to him now. The pulsing sensation below your navel is proof enough.

“Okay, so, who’d you lose your virginity to?”

You’re not sure where this line of questioning has come from; all you know is that you’re enjoying yourself.

Joel’s face screws up in disbelief, but he tips the remaining liquid down his throat regardless, glass slamming against the worn wooden coffee table.

“Melissa Horton, summer of 1986. Back seat of my Chevy.”

A giggle bubbles in your chest. It’s just so Joel.

He leans back into the couch, turning to face you. “Let me guess: you lost yours to this boy back home?”

Teeth in your lip, you nod, suddenly shy. “I was eighteen, for fucks sake. Everyone around me was having sex — something to do, I guess, when you’re not shovelling shit in the sewers. A way to feel alive, you know?”

Joel nods, eyes still on you. You look away, face reflected in the blank television screen.

“But there’s been nobody since?”

You shake your head. “Nope. A whole damn decade. What about you, Mr. Big Romantic? Any more hookups in the backseat?”

“Watch it,” he mutters. “I, uh, had someone. Back in Boston.”

You stay quiet, giving him space to continue if he wants to. You’re curious; watching him pick at the loose threads on the couch, moustache quivering.

“Her name was Tess. She and I.. We were together for a long time.”

You nod at his words; some things in this world don’t need explaining. Loss comes in so many different, horrifying forms. Relationships are temporary, connections are fleeting, and nothing lasts forever.

Something you’re trying to remind yourself of right now.

“What was she like?” you ask tentatively.

“She was.. She was somethin’. Brave. Nobody fucked with her.”

You laugh, raising your glass in a toast. “Sounds like I would’ve liked her.”

“I think so too. Wasn’t half as annoyin’ as you are, though.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t see you kicking me out.”

“Guess I kinda like the company. Even if you are a brat sometimes, baby,” he chuckles, warm and low, gaze noticeably trailing over your body.

Hot hooks of desire claw at your skin, burning inside you like you just sunk the whole bottle of liquor. You feel yourself shifting under the intensity of Joel’s stare.

Baby. That’s new, and you like it.

You let yourself wonder what would happen if you reached out to touch him: slide your fingers in his hair, your lips over his. If you climbed into his lap, tasted the whiskey you’ve shared off of his tongue, instead of from the glass?

Would he let you? Would he respond, in kind?

Would Joel Miller fuck you, if you asked him to?

“Joel, I —“

Then, his face disappears in opaque darkness.

────────────

The slow, distant hum of the generator is no more: all electricity gone from the cabin, rendering the lamps useless and shrouding you in gloom.

His voice comes from beside you, harsh and agitated. “What the fuck?”

You don’t move, listening as he ambles over to the matches kept above the fireplace, the dying embers below providing little light. He strikes one, and his features are illuminated, contorted with frustration.

“It was your turn to get gas for the generator,” he barks, and his gruffness throws you back in time; back to that first day, his rifle aimed at your head for trespassing into his space.

“Yeah, last week! Check the chore sheet — pretty sure you’ll see your name there instead,” you hiss, Joel moving to light the candles spread out across the room, in case of emergencies.

“Well — you didn’t think to fuckin’ remind me?!”

You get to your feet, incensed by his words. “Since when did that become my job? Don’t get shitty with me because you forgot, asshole.”

The last hour melts away like the flurries of snow across the plains in the weak spring sunshine. Tenderness replaced with fury, soft confessions forgotten, vitriol in the place of poorly-disguised lust.

Because that’s the way it should be, between you and Joel. That’s the way it works.

Right?

You stay rooted to the spot. He shrugs his coat on, muttering to himself under his breath. The fragile candlelight flickers, spidery shadows thrown over the walls.

“‘m gonna go check it. Grab the flashlights under the sink, would ya?”

You say nothing as the door closes, breeze blowing through the cabin as it does so. You peek through the shutters; moonlight sprawling across the mountain peaks, Joel bent in half as he inspects the generator.

Won’t do any good for his back, you muse.

Seeking out the flashlights as per request, you use one to check the chore sheet pinned to the faded cork board. Nothing more than a scrap of paper, jobs childishly divided under the headings of yours and his names.

“That fucker.”

Sure enough, his name is there. Just like you knew it would be.

“You talkin’ about me?”

You squeak in surprise, and he has you pinned, just like the day you arrived here. No rifle or life-threatening wound this time, but the scowl on his face is just the same. It almost makes you laugh, if you weren’t so pissed at him.

“You see anyone else here?”

You parrot Joel’s earlier words right back at him, watching his jaw tick in annoyance. He closes the space between you, your back against the kitchen cabinets.

“Just like I said,” he mutters, something about his tone turning your insides to liquid, a wetness pooling in your underwear. “Y’can be a real fuckin’ brat.”

A beat of silence follows.

A shared look of longing.

A mutual moment of insanity.

Joel tugs you towards him, your lips finding his in the dim light. Fingers scratching against the scruff along his jaw, you moan wantonly into his mouth. His hands slide against your bare skin beneath your shirt, palms so rough, and you break into goosebumps as a result.

You’re not sure if this is borne of building anger, pent-up frustration or both. All you do know is you’re putty in his hands, already so responsive to him as he continues to kiss you so deeply, your head bent back to accommodate his frame above you.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this: these hands that have held you hostage once — then saved your life — are now exploring the most intimate parts of you.

“We’re really doin’ this, huh?” he murmurs, cradling your jaw. Your own fingers drift over his jeans, skating across the hardening length at the apex of his thighs. His thumb lingers on your lips; you take it into your mouth by way of an answer, watching his pupils dilate as you swirl your tongue around it.

You don’t want to beg. You’d never make Joel do something he didn’t want to do — not that the stubborn bastard would let you. You release him with a wet pop, eyes wide and imploring.

“We really are.”

Your voice is quiet, unrecognisable; thick in your throat with unbridled need for him. It’s all the permission he needs.

Joel kisses you again, pushes you gently downwards till you’re laying flat on the dining table. His tongue is still in your mouth until you break apart breathlessly, helping him tug your shirt over your head.

You’re braless beneath it, his huge, warm hands cupping your tits, rough thumbs catching on the peaks, a growl in his chest as he does so. Joel just stares at you, at your chest, eyes blown black in the muted lighting.

“Christ,” he mutters darkly. “So goddamn perfect.”

His words spur you on; back arching off the wood as he bends to smear messy kisses against your throat, leaving sticky trails across your chest and the scar he repaired on your belly as he travels lower.

His fingers wedge between your jeans and the curve of your stomach, pulling you upright. Teeth capturing your bottom lip, Joel works the button open, and you’re shuffling desperately to try and rid yourself of any remaining clothing.

“What is it, baby girl? You want me to taste her?”

“Fuck, Joel. Please — I’ve never —“

“I know, baby. I know,” he soothes, thick fingers sliding the denim over your ankles, hooking into the band of your panties, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

He’s taking his time, revering in the sight of you — but you need Joel’s mouth.

You need his tongue.

Soon enough, you’re laid out naked before him, still stood there with his heavy overcoat and boots on. Joel shrugs it off, moving to hold your legs apart, spreading you open for him.

“Look at that. Know you’re gonna taste so sweet for me, baby.”

He bites into your inner thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’ve never heard yourself make these sounds before — not even when you’ve touched yourself in the dead of night, struggling to remember the feeling of coming undone like this.

Joel licks a broad stripe over your centre, and you’re already convulsing, trembling as he continues to lavish you with his tongue. You watch his curved nose nestled right where you need the pressure, and before long, stars are bursting behind your eyelids as you spasm against his mouth.

“Good girl.”

His voice rouses you from your euphoria, and Joel pulls you to the edge of the table, into his arms. You taste yourself on him as he kisses you; blood simmering hot in your veins. “You okay?” he asks, lips against your forehead.

“Need more.”

Joel studies you for a moment, checking in, then tugs at his own clothing, buttons and boots bouncing melodically off the stone floor. His chest is as broad as you remember, wiry dark hair peppered over his soft tummy, trailing down to —

Fuck.

He’s huge. Stiff and leaking, flat against the curls beneath his navel.

Joel notices your hesitancy, hand under your chin to reassure you. “Hey, hey. Look at me. We don’t need to do this, not if you don’t want to.”

You swallow, take him in your hand. He hisses as you squeeze him, all soft velvet and hard steel. Your voice is barely a whisper, apprehension bubbling in your throat. “It’s just — like I said, it’s been a while.”

His lips press against your temple, your thumb running across the tip of him. You bring it to your mouth, relishing the salty tang across your tastebuds.

“S’okay, baby girl. We’ll go slow, I promise,” he groans, keeping you upright with a hand on your lower back. You nod in consent: Joel wouldn’t hurt you.

You want him. You want this.

He slides inside you inch by inch, letting you feel the delicious stretch and burn, fingernails deep into his shoulder, face in his neck. Good as his word, he takes his time, peppering kisses against your shoulder blade.

His chest rises and falls in tandem with yours, both of you sharing in the euphoria. “I want you to watch, baby. Watch yourself takin’ me. See that you can do it.”

So, you do.

Joel whispers in your ear, teeth nipping your earlobe, tongue soothing it over. You’re doin’ so good baby, look so pretty spread open f’me.

You feel yourself growing slicker and sweatier at his words until, finally; he’s fully sheathed inside you.

You’re so full. He’s taken over your senses; plugging you, filling you to the brim. You don’t know where you end and Joel begins. He’s everything you’ve ever known and will do, forever.

“Move, Joel. Please.”

He’s crowding over you, fucking into you on the table he almost shot you over. It’s a heady realisation: you urge him on, and his thrusts deepen, and you’re already cresting the wave, riding the blissful sensation of him inside you.

“Baby, ‘m not gonna last long, squeezin’ me so good—“

Joel’s breathing is ragged, knives and plates falling to the floor as his pace increases. You feel him everywhere, fucking you in a way you’ve never experienced before. You’re so close, and you know he is too. “Here, Joel,” you pant, hand on your tummy, and he nods, sweat sheening across his forehead.

“Want one more from you first, darlin’. Know you can give it to me.”

His hand closes round your throat, claiming you as his own. You bite and scratch and sob in his arms, falling over the edge as your legs shake around him. You can hear Joel, vaguely, calling you his good girl, telling you he’s coming, painting your tummy with it.

Foreheads pressed together, your skin is aflame. You’re sticky with him, drenched in sweat, and sated beyond belief.

He kisses you, tenderly this time. In a way that feels more strangely intimate than anything that’s already passed between you both.

Breathing fresh air into your lungs, you press your lips to the tip of his nose. “Now what?”

He tilts you both back upright with a groan, a soft hunger in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“I’m thinkin’ we do that all over again.”

────────────

Dawn bleeds through the drapes, fresh blue sky tinged with rose petal pink. Joel’s sleeping arm is banded round your middle, resting above the jagged scar he’d slid a needle through all those months before.

His breath is warm in your ear; back pressed to his chest, the same place you’d both collapsed from exhaustion a mere few hours ago. Joel fucked you twice more, here in his bed, sucking at your pulse points and moaning your name like a mantra.

You untangle yourself from him gently: dressing in one of his discarded shirts, desperately needing to pee and drink something other than whiskey. Downstairs, all remains as you left it. The half-drunk bottle, two tumblers, and hastily extinguished candles.

You stand by the window, gulping thirstily from the glass you’ve poured. The blossoms are burgeoning on the trees, birds collecting what they need for their nests. Joel was right; spring is looming, and you’re glad for it.

It’s truly a sight to behold — you don’t remember it much from your childhood. You suppose life moved too fast to stop and watch it changing right in front of you. It’s a privilege to see it now.

The bottom stair creaks over your shoulder, and soon enough, you’re engulfed in a bear-like embrace. Joel’s palms rest against your tummy, and he kisses your cheek in greeting.

“Hey, you,” you murmur shyly, turning in his arms. Dark eyes still cloudy with sleep, he raises his eyebrows at your choice of clothing, and you smack him lightly on the chest.

“‘Least you could do was let me borrow it.”

“Guess you’re right,” Joel concedes, hands finding your ass beneath the hem. You hiss a little when his fingers dig in to your skin; you’re still so sensitive from his ministrations the night before.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Y’just — last night was really somethin’.”

Eyes rolling, you kiss him chastely, a contented hum reverberating through his bare chest as you allow yourself to be wrapped into it.

He turned you inside out last night; your toes curling, skin soaked with sweat, his name on your lips as you came. You weren’t sure what to expect of him today: whether he’d tell you it was a mistake, it shouldn’t have happened, or — worse — ask you leave.

You knew, though. As soon as you were falling asleep, the way Joel quietly asked you to stay there in his bed with him. Something had changed, had shifted so irrevocably you weren’t sure he’d ever just be simply the man who saved your life again.

He’d snagged a tiny piece of your heart, a fortress you were insistent on making impenetrable. It frightens and excites you in equal measure.

“We better head out soon, get some fuel. Get that generator up and runnin’ again,” he murmurs, squeezing your sides softly.

You blink up at him incredulously, eyebrows raised.

“We? Need I remind you of that damned list one more time?”

You’re laughing as you say it, pushing away from his chest. His hair is rumpled, crescent-moon shaped scars from your nails along his upper arms, a bruise sucked into the column of his throat.

“I’m thinkin’ we scrap the list. Place belongs to us both now, anyway. Ain’t that right?”

His eyes are wide, searching yours, thumbs stroking across your skin. You already feel your body responding to him; a sensation you cannot deny.

You wouldn’t even want to try.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “That sounds about right.”

────────────

divider by @saradika-graphics & gifs by @perotovar 🤍

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