#joel grabbed her knee and kept it there D:

[thebiggestmenace]

thinking about Joel putting his hand on Sarah's knee when they're in the truck :(

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[stressedkitkatttt]

Hey!!! Can I have a Zabdiel/Joel imagine based on "Wish you were sober" by Conan Gray? Angsty unrequited love where he likes the reader but she doesn't admit it back? Idk. From his POV maybe? Idk I am sorry aghhh love your blog

I made this so any boy could be put into the story.  My first angst and songfic that I've ever written so maybe this is trash, both are not my style but it was really fun to create a story from a song! I will definitely do this again, hands down.  Thanks for the request anon :D

Song - I Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray(great song, totally recommend)(Basically the song is about a boy falling in love with a girl who is an alcoholic and only gets affectionate towards him if she is hammered).

Word Count: 1.5k(including lyrics)

Warnings: Angst, drinking(the reader is sort of an alcoholic) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wish you were so—, wish you were so—, wish you were sober Sober, sober, sober

He watched you down another red solo with God knows what inside it. Parties were definitely not his thing but your sparkling eyes and charming smile always cast some sort of spell over him and he could never refuse you. He felt out of place; the loud music was shaking the house and the smell of alcohol was beginning to make him feel nauseous.

This party's shit, wish we could dip Go anywhere but here Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips And please don't drink more beer

He wished he could have said no, said he had something to do and not come to this party but those eyes... That smile..... Everything about you made it so hard to not say no. He wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Go anywhere but here. But he wanted you to come with him. To stop downing drinks and to follow him out the door and head home, or at the very least somewhere quiet.

I'ma crawl out the window now Cause I don't like anyone around Kinda hope you're following me out

But this is definitely not my crowd

You had coaxed him to dance, leaned up against him now, grinding yourself against him. He grabbed your hips as your lips grazed his. The smell of a mixture of alcohol on your breath fueled the churning in his stomach. He pulled away and watched as you continued dancing to the beat. Memories of when you and he were kids before you changed flooded his mind. You and he did everything together for years and kept no secrets between each other. All except one. He was too afraid to admit that he had fallen for you. And hard.

Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed Take me where the music ain't too loud Trade drinks, but you don't even know her Save me 'til the party is over Kiss me in the seat of your Rover Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

He watched as you talked with another girl, one he didn't recognize and suddenly she handed you her red solo and you downed it. He found a semi-quiet corner of the house and watched as you danced with your now new friend. He wishes he had the guts to say something, tell you to stop drinking, tell you he wanted to go home. Tell you what he's been feeling since... God, he doesn't even remember how long he's loved you.

(Wish you were so—, wish you were so—, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober (Wish you were so—, wish you were so—, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober

He gave himself a mental pep talk and decided enough was enough when he saw you almost tip over trying to down another drink. He got up and came up behind you, grabbing you as you almost fell forward. "Y/N, I think we need to go," he yelled, voice rising above the music. But even if you could hear him, you were probably too drunk to understand him. He managed to drag you away and down the street.

Trip down the road, walking you home You kiss me at your door Pulling me close, begging me to stay over But I'm over this roller coaster

He was thankful to be away from the loud party, even if the silence amplified the ringing in his ears. He hung onto you tightly as he half dragged, half walked you towards your house. "That was fun, wasn't it?" Your words were slurred and he barely understood what you had said. When the words registered, he didn't reply. You didn't notice as you tried dancing to a nonexistent beat in your head. When he saw your house he felt relieved and walked you to the front door. You turned around and leaned against the door and bit your lip. You suddenly leaned in close and your lips connected with his. He couldn't help but return the kiss, ignoring the taste of alcohol. You both break the kiss, panting heavily. He didn't want just a kiss, just a one night stand. He wanted something more from you. But something told him you weren't going to break this cycle you were stuck in.

I'ma crawl out the window now Getting good at saying, "Gotta bounce" Honestly, you always let me down And I know we're not just hanging out Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed Take me where the music ain't too loud Trade drinks, but you don't even know her Save me 'til the party is over Kiss me in the seat of your Rover Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

He watched as you drunkenly pulled the house key out from your pocket and try to open the door, finally giving up and handing it to him. He opens the door and helps you inside, closing the door behind him. You leaned heavily against the wall, staring off into space. He wonders what you're thinking about if you were thinking of anything at the moment.

(Wish you were so—, wish you were so—, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober (Wish you were so—, wish you were so—, wish you were sober) I wish you were sober I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish I wish you were sober I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish Oh, I wish you were sober

He helped you out of your shoes and led you through the kitchen, and to the living room. "Wait here," he says. He goes to your room and finds a loose shirt and some shorts. He walks back and you're leaned back against the couch, giggling like crazy. He sets the clothes down on the coffee table and you meet his gaze, seeing something new in your eyes. You reach up from him and your hands find the hem of his shirt as your lips meet his again for the second time that night. He kissed back for a moment before pulling himself away. He couldn't bring himself to have sex with you while you were in this state. He grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands away from his chest.

He handed you the shirt from the coffee table and helped you changed. You lay down on the couch and he leaves for a moment to grab a blanket. He covers your body and makes sure that you're tucked in before walking towards the door. You suddenly called out his name, making him stop and turn around. He watched as you beckoned him back. "C-can y-youuuu stayyy with meee tonighttt?" He stays silent for a moment before nodding. He places himself behind you and you snuggled into his chest instantly. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close.

You fell asleep almost instantly, leaving him to his thoughts. He wanted something serious but it was clear you weren't ready to grow up just yet. He finally understands that you'll never be sober enough to understand that he loves you. You'll never be sober enough to tell him that you love him too. As much as it will kill him on the inside and destroy him mentally, he has to let you go. You aren't healthy for him and he knows it, but your smile, your eyes, your everything makes it so hard for him. He wishes things were back to the way they were - before the drinking. Before the partying. Before everything went downhill. He wished you were still sober.

Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now Knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow Ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed Take me where the music ain't too loud Trade drinks, but you don't even know her Save me 'til the party is over Kiss me in the seat of your Rover Real sweet, but I wish you were sober ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up to a horrible pounding in your head and you groan, slowly opening your eyes. Rubbing your eyes to wipe the blurriness from them, you see a glass of water alongside some painkillers. You quickly down two pills and the water, noticing the small white piece of paper. You open it and read it out loud.

I know I should say this in person, but I've come to realize that you will never be sober enough to understand that I love you. I have for a long time. I wanted something serious out of our friendship, thinking maybe we could be something more than just friends, but I  now realize that you aren't ready to grow up just yet. I'm sorry but I can't keep riding the same roller coaster that you are. I hope you're sober enough to read this and know that I still love you. And if you're not, I hope you are soon because I still miss my best friend, even if we can't be anything more.

Love,

Your Sober Friend

Your phone buzzes and you look at the bright screen, eyes squinting against the harsh light.

Bestie 😝

You wanna head down to a house party tonight?

[thatoneloser-kid]

With the amount of adult references in the last of us I’d be surprised if theres been no scene of someone trying to outrun something and they end up in an adult store lmao bc I would totally see Dina smuggling stuff in her bag and being like “ hey ellie ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)” and Ellie being so flustered

A/N okay, this got smutty…

The swarm took them both completely by surprise.

They had managed to take out a few of the walkers but there was too many so they ducked into the first open store they could and locked the door.

Ellie stood with her back against the door, panting, while Dina wandered off, Ellie should have known she was being too quiet.

“Hey, Ellie,” There was a mirthful tone to Dina’s voice that made Ellie almost not want to open her eyes.

When she did open her eyes, and they adjusted to the dark, she definitely wished she hadn’t.

Dina was peeking around the end of one of the isles, a smirk on her red, sweaty face, and a large, purple dildo in her hand.

“Guess where we ended up?” She said, waving the object before disappearing again.

Ellie’s face was on fire, her heart hammering against her chest, and it certainly wasn’t due to the running.

“Dina, be careful,” Ellie said, rushing to catch up with Dina.

She wasn’t down the first two isles, surprising Ellie at the third isle, causing her to startle.

“This place isn’t safe, D-“

“Open up,”

“What?”

“Open up,” Dina repeated and, against her better judgement, Ellie opened her mouth.

Dina smirked, taking the ball-gag from behind her back and placing it in between Ellie’s teeth.

Ellie stared down at her girlfriend, her cheeks tinted red and her eyes hooded.

Dina stared right back, gauging her reaction. “You’re into this,” Dina whispered and Ellie felt her ears burn. “Good to know.”

Dina removed the gag and disappeared again, leaving Ellie behind to try and catch her breathe.

“I’ve read about shops like this before,” Dina called from somewhere at the back of the shop. Ellie made her way along the stacks, finding Dina at the end of one, holding a strap on harness against her hips, and Ellie felt like she might just faint at the sight. “People used these?” Dina glanced up at Ellie quickly. “I can get behind that.”

Ellie’s mouth was dry and she was flustered like a stupid teenager.

Dina dropped the strap on back onto the shelf and picked up vibrator and eyeing it curiously, pressing one of the buttons and startling when it began buzzing and vibrating in her hand. “Wow,” she murmured, pressing the button a few more times, making the intensity of the vibration increase. “Shit, this would be a lot of fun.” She said, smirking at Ellie.

“You are not putting anything you find in here inside me.” Ellie said. “That ball was enough.”

Dina huffed playfully. “You’re no fun.”

Dina made her way through the store, picking up and playing with a few of the toys around the store, squirting out some of the lubes, and feeling all of the lingerie.

She tried a pair of handcuffs, a velvet cuff,  and leather cuffs on Ellie, smirking when Ellie groaned a little when she gave the restraints a little tug.

Ellie broke completely when Dina appeared with a black, lacy mask on and that gleeful smile on her lips.

Ellie’s hands found Dina’s face and she backed her up against the front desk, kissing her for a few seconds before easily picking her up and sitting her on the counter. “You are a goddamn tease, Dina Grover.”

“I think you like it,” Dina shot back, smirking against Ellie’s lips, hooking her heels behind her ass and pulling her in. “I think, had it been back before all this started, you would have let me use anything in here on you.”

“I think you’re right,” Ellie breathed, her eyes training on Dina’s lips.

“We need to head back, or Joel’ll be out here looking for you.” Dina brought her lips closer to Ellie’s, but not quite touching. “And I don’t think you would want Joel walking in on all the things I wanna do to you.”

A little groan escaped Ellie’s lips at those words, and she tried to kiss Dina but Dina easily kept an inch or so between them.

“Let’s get back,”

Ellie groaned when Dina pushed her back, attempting to move toward her again but Dina stopped her with the toe of her shoe against her chest. “Easy, tiger,” Dina smirked, sliding off the counter and pressing herself against Ellie, kissing her cheek before whispering. “Save it for tonight.”

Dina walked away and Ellie groaned to herself, staring up at the ceiling. “Holy shit,” she whispered before taking off after her girlfriend.

Ellie was called away less than five minutes after arriving back to help strengthen a part of the wall that had taken a beating a few days prior.

Dina kissed her on the lips, telling her she would have something on the table for her to eat when she got in. The mirth in her eyes telling Ellie that there was more to it than that.

Ellie spent the next four hours helping out with the wall before telling Tommy she was done for the night and heading.

She opened the door, her mouth open to tell Dina she was back, but the words died in her throat at the sight before her.

Dina, perched on the kitchen table, was dressed in lingerie (Part of Ellie wondered how long she was waiting, but a bigger part of her didn’t give a shit).

It was a lacy ocean blue-green colour, complete with thigh high socks and suspenders.

Ellie stumbled over her own feet as she dropped her bag haphazardly on the floor and made her way to her girlfriend, eyeing her hungrily.

“Welcome home, baby.” Dina purred and Ellie found herself stopping a few feet from Dina and just staring.

Dina smirked at that, repositioning herself, her legs spread as she faced Ellie completely.

“Holy fuck,” Ellie groaned. “Where did you even-“

“Took them from that shop, but who cares?” Dina crooked her finger at Ellie. “Here, now.”

Ellie nodded, sharp and fast, and rushed over to Dina, her hands finding her cheeks as she crashed their lips together.

Dina let it happen, for a few seconds before she pushed Ellie away, her thumb tracing over Ellie’s lip, and down her chin, wrapping her fingers around Ellie’s throat, causing a little gasp to escape Ellie’s lips, her mouth parting slightly.

“What did I say to you when I left you in the yard earlier?”

Ellie frowned, trying her best to think back to what was said, wracking her brain for a few seconds before it dawned on her. “Something to eat on the table,” Ellie whispered, arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach.

“Exactly, good girl.” Dina licks her lips, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Well, make yourself useful, girl.”

Ellie nodded obediently, pecking Dina on the lips before kissing down her neck and chest, using her strong hands, wrapped around Dina’s thighs, to pull the girl to the edge of the table as she dropped to her knees with a soft thud.

Her eyes didn’t leave Dina’s as she traced her fingers up her inner thigh, and Dina stared right back, her fingers finding their way into Ellie’s hair.

“You’re just- you’re so beautiful.”

“Yeah? Prove it,” Dina challenged.

Ellie swallowed, her palms running up Dina’s thighs, her thumb brushing against the girls clit through the lacy underwear, causing her to gasp sharply.

Ellie licked her lips, using her fingertips to press against Dina’s dampening underwear, softly at first, her eyes not leaving Dina’s.

Dina didn’t react to the soft pressure, so Ellie pressed harder, in small circles over Dina’s clit until the woman reacted, first sinking her teeth into her bottom lip then her eyes fluttering closed, her fingers tightening in Ellie’s hair.

Ellie pulling the fabric aside, her fingers sliding down Dina’s glistening center before dipping inside, grinning when Dina’s fingers flexed in her hair.

“Ellie,”

“Mm?” Ellie hummed with a little smirk.

“Don’t,” Dina growled, her heel pressing against the top of Ellie’s back, pulling her in a few inches. “Make me wait, Williams.”

“So demanding.” Ellie murmured but done as she was told, giving a few tentative kitten licks before going in with broad strokes of her tongue, causing Dina to moan softly.

Ellie shuffled herself closer, one arm curling around Dina’s strong thigh to rub at her clit.

Dina’s hips raised from the table, her hand planting behind her and her back arching.

Ellie sucked and flicked her tongue against Dina’s clit as she slid two fingers into the girl and curved her fingers, causing Dina to gasp and buck her hips.

Dina didn’t last long, she never did when Ellie went down on her, and within ten minute she gasped sharply, her fingers tightening painfully in Ellie’s hair as her body went ridged.

Ellie wiped her mouth of Dina’s thigh before kissing her way up the girls body until she was standing.

“Seriously,” Ellie whispered, her hands pressing against Dina’s taut stomach, her forehead falling against hers as she stared down at her girlfriend’s body. “You are incredible.”

“Me?” Dina was still breathing heavily. “That was incredible.”

Ellie merely shrugged, her fingertips ghosting up Dina’s stomach, the valley between her breast, to curl around the back of her neck.

Dina smiled softly, her fingertips dipping into the waistband of Ellie’s jeans. “Take me upstairs, I may have grabbed this nice cuffs you liked.”

Ellie grinned, one arm hooking around Dina’s lower back as she lifted her, her other hand grabbing onto her thighs when they wrapped around her waist. “Yes, ma’am.”

[honeyhesharrystyles]

THE NUT CASE    |      CHAPTER 1     |    GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN INNOCENT

+ D E T E C T I V E   H A R R Y    S T Y L E S

Cold.  That's all I felt as I trudged through the snow that covered the ground  in front of my house. The sound of my phone ringing is what was heard  through the quiet of the night. It's been ringing all day, pissing me  off more and more. I inhaled a slow breath, and exhaled, the cold air  instantly making it look like a cloud of smoke. Snatching my phone out  of my pocket, I opened the door to my car and snapped into the phone  with a voice like venom, "Styles."

"H-Harry?" a small voice whispered.

My brows furrowed, the bitterness in my voice quickly being replaced with concern. "Gem?"

When  I turned my car on, the soft voice of Billy Joel began coming out of  the radio and I shut my door, hopefully stopping the cold from making my  nose and cheeks any redder.

"Harry... J-Jake... H-He's... He's not getting any better. S-so.. they took him. Harry, they took him."

I sighed sadly for Jake, my once strong and happy brother in law. "Where Gem? Where did they take him?"

"Orange  County's Mental Hospital. I-I'm... I'm here now, but they won't let me  see him harry and I-" she let out a loud sob, not able to finish her  sentence.

"Okay, Okay, listen Gem. I'm on my way just- Just stay there alright. I'm sure they'd let us in if I speak with them."

Plugging  the keys in the ignition, I turned the car on and was slightly calmed  by the soft purr of my engine. Backing out of my drive way was pretty  hard to do at night and I cringed as I heard the sound of a trash can  hitting the ground. Ignoring it and telling myself Maria would pick it  up when she came over, I finally backed out of my driveway and drove  off, listening to the sound of my older sister's heart shattering over  and over again the longer she waited for news on her husband.

+

"Harry?"  was the first thing I heard as I stepped through the doors of the  hospital. And then came the trembling arms that wrapped themselves  around my neck.

I rubbed my sisters back, whispering calming things into her ear.

She  pulled away and sniffled, watching me with watery eyes. "They took him  about 2 hours ago and- and i've been begging the lady upfront to let me  see him but she's been ignoring me and I don't know what to do Harry,  I-"

"Okay shhh. Let me handle this."

My boots clicked   against the ground as I walked up to the lady, smirking as her blue eyes  met my green ones and she visibly tensed up as I got closer. "Excuse   me, Miss? My older sister an I would really like to see someone very   close to us. Is it possible you can give me his room number?"

She gulped. "U-Uh, I... S-Sure... What would h-his name be?"

"Jake  Bryan." Her red nails tapped against the keyboard quickly as she  searched the computer for Jake. I noticed the way she kept looking up at  me and the way she'd blush when I caught her looking. She was cute. I  don't understand how someone like her could give anybody a hard time.  "U-um... I'm sorry sir but Jake Bryan has been announced unstable and  isn't allowed any v-visitors until-" She squinted at the screen and  pursed her lips. "Until December 30th."

Behind me, I could hear Gemma's sharp intake of breath. I knew it would be a matter of time   before the sobbing started up again and the thing i hate most in this   fucked up world is seeing my older sister cry.

I smiled back at  the woman, putting on my most charming smile I used mostly on female   witnesses who don't want to confess. "Listen. We really need to see   someone very important to us. Would you please let us through? We'll be in and out. I promise."

She stared at me for a second longer,  finally agreeing after I bit my lip nervously. I did a small victory  cheer as she walked in the back room to grab a key for Jake's room. A  small scoff came from my right and I looked down to see my sister  staring at me in disbelief. "How the hell??"

I laughed quietly  as the nurse walked back into the room, flicking her wrist as a gesture   for us to follow her. Walking through the halls of a Mental Hospital   should freak me out but it didn't. I've been through way to many cases   that are far worse than the things happening here. From mutilated bodies  to the remains of someone who has been set on fire. But walking through  these halls still make me feel for the souls that lost their way.

"Okay."  The nurse said, stopping in front of a door that read 'ROOM 310' in bold  letters. "He's in here. But if someone comes by and you guys get in  trouble, it's your fault." She snapped. We nodded and she turned the  lock. The click of the lock sounded and signaled us that the door was  open as the nurse nodded at us and walked away, leaving us to see Jake  ourselves.

When we walked in, Gem and I expected the worst, but  instead we found Jake sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. It  snapped up instantly at the sound of Gemma's shaking voice. "Jake?? Oh  my god.."

Gem ran towards him as the two embraced, both holding  on each other for dear life as I strode over to the bed and stood  against the bed frame.

"Gemma..." Jake sighed into her shoulder.  She pulled away, allowing him to speak clearly. "I-I'm sorry babe I  just... I keep hearing the explosions a-and the screams- Oh my god  Gemma, the fucking screams. They sound so painful." A lone tear slid  down Jake's face, dripping off of his chin and splashing onto the gown  that the hospital gave him. "A-And it hurts so fucking bad to know  that... I could have saved them. B-But I was weak- I let them die Gemma,  it's my fault-"

She shook her head, pulling him back into her  chest, crying with him. "No baby, it's not. You tried your best. You did  what you could."

I frowned and immediately felt like I was  intruding on a personal moment so I quietly excused my self from the  room and left the two of them to sort things out. I shut the door with a  soft click and walked down those halls again with a heavy heart. Seeing  Jake like that is so weird to me. He was strong. He was okay. But now  he's broken. Jumping at even the smallest thud. As I passed the desk of  the lady from earlier, I heard her snapping at someone. I guess I was  wrong about her not being able to hurt someone.

Chuckling at my  little revelation, I sat down in a seat in the lobby, waiting for Gemma  to come out with news. My phone buzzed in my pocked for the millionth  time and I finally gave in, picking it up and answering it.

"Styles!" I snapped.

"Harry, where the hell have you been all day?" Niall, my best friend, asked.

"Is that any of your damn business?" I said, rolling my eyes.

He laughed. Of course he laughed.

"Guess not. But hey, guess what?"

"What Niall. What can possibly be so important that you've called me 400 times today?"

"Well. Chief Liam found out about you and Pam."

"WHAT?"  I sneered. Pam is one of my co-workers. She's annoying, she's loud and  she's rude. But she's a good fuck, and we'd been going at it in my  office almost every chance we got.

"Yep." He said popping the P.  My anger began to fuel up even more as I heard Niall crunching on some  crisps, rather loudly might I add, in my fucking ear. "I came into the  station today and saw him yelling at her. When he got finished, I went  up to her to ask her what happened, and she just spilled everything.  Apparently, the station camera's caught you outside of your office."

"Fucking  hell. I thought I was careful. Shit, Liam's going to kill me." I told  him, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Alright, when I get back, we have  to-" I was cut off as a woman sat in the row of seats across me. "Uh,   Niall... I'm gonna call you back." I told him, hanging up before he   could reply.

She was short and very small. Her hair was long and  ginger. The red veins in the white of her eyes and the bags under them  told me that she wasn't getting any sleep. And her pale skin also told  me that she didn't go out much. The cuts and bruises on her lips told me  that she bit them a lot, maybe out of nervous habit? And the white  scrubs she had on told me she was a patient.

It took me a while   before I realized who she was. Everybody at the station talked about her  a lot, and there was even talk about her case re-opening and one of us  being assigned to it.

"Hello..." I said slowly, studying her, my fingers twitching as if automatically wanting to reach for my gun.

"Hi." She whispered, staring right at me.

"Can I help you?"

"Why do people always ask that?" She said, tilting her head at me.

I gulped and cleared my throat. "What-"

"Why do people always say 'Can I help you', when they know that they have no intentions of helping anyone but themselves."

I stared at her weirdly and looked around, searching for a nurse, then darting my eyes back to her. "I'm... I'm not sure."

"Well if you're not sure, then why'd you say it silly?"

I looked down at my watch, then back at the corridor where my sister was. "Um, I have to go-"

"Wait!"  she exclaimed, making me jump as I stared down at her with my knees  bent, about to stand up. "I'm.. I'm sorry if that was weird, I just....  I'm not good at this."

I sat back down in my seat, straightening up and clearing my throat again. "Good at what?"

"Talking.  I mean, I don't really get out much because of the rules here. They're  so strict, you know? And it's hard because I've been stuck inside  these walls for 13 years and I'm becoming very claustrophobic. What's  changed out there? Did they finally finish that amusement park they were  opening downtown? What about milkshakes, do milkshakes still exist?  God, what i'd do for a chocolate and fudge mil-"

"You're rambling." I told her, stifling my smirk as I saw her blush and drop her head.

"Sorry, I-"

"Scarlett  Rose!" Someone called, making us both look away and over at an older  woman rushing towards us. Scarlett stood up quickly, looking down at the   floor with guilt written all over her features. "What are you doing out of your room? You know you're not allowed!"

She flicked her  head up, her fiery orange hair flicking out of her face at the gesture.  "I'm sorry nurse Matthews. But I got bored-"

"Yeah, but you  could get us BOTH in trouble for being out here." The nurse then glanced  over at me, smiling softly. "I'm sorry if she caused you any trouble."

I  nodded once, watching her drag Scarlett away. I watched as she looked  back over her shoulder, green connecting with brown for a moment as she  disappeared behind the double doors that led to that corridor and left. I  looked back down in my hand, after feeling my phone vibrate as a text  from Pam came through.

But I didn't get the chance to read it  because when I looked up, I saw Gemma coming from the hall, a small  happy smile on her face. I forgot about the text from Pam and addressed  my tear free sister.

"So?" I asked.

"He says he's okay  for now. They're feeding him properly and he's soon going to get scrubs   too. He also introduced me to his nurse, Ronnie. Ronnie told me that for  now, I can only make hour calls to him but in a month or so, I'll be   able to visit him regularly." She told me with her eyes shining.

I smiled widely. "That's great Gem."

Gemma  and I walked out together, the cold hitting us and making us pull our  coats tighter against our body for warmth. As I walked towards my car,  Gem spoke again. "Uh Harry? Is it alright if you drop me off at my  house? I took the bus here."

I nodded and gestured for her to  get in. When we got in the car, I turned the heater on and shut the  door, blowing into my hands to warm them up.

Gemma and I sat in   silence as both of us got lost in our thoughts. I should have been   thinking about chief liam finding out about Pam and I's secret affair,   or the fact that I still need to buy a new laptop after the coffee   incident yesterday, or even that fucking trash bin I knocked over   tonight but the only thing that was plaguing my mind at the moment was   the rambling ginger, and her innocent brown eyes.