#seams like sarah

[bumblebeeappletree]

Thanks for watching!~ I'm so happy I found the time to film again. I hope I can be more consistent with uploads in the future! I have big news to share soon, so stay tuned 💕

Brachiosaur Plush Sewing Pattern:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1GZvn...

Stegosaurus Plush Tutorial:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVTnU...

[mycroftrh]

I made a plushie… diorama… thing… of the little dinosaurs that play tug-of-war in the Jurassic Park ride :D

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

V ║Raw Edge

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part IV: Notch | Behind the Seams: Part V | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, a proper E!

Summary: One lazy afternoon, Joel tests your patience.

Warnings: Sexual tension, some language, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, flirting, fingering, explicit grinding, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2k

Notes: It's been a long and winding road y'all, but I'm finally back with an update on the main series. It is a short one, more of an interlude, but it will get us where we need to go for the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, I don't take you guys' understanding and love for granted for even a second. Releasing this during the Seams sleepover, more drabbles coming your way for the remaining month of March!

Raw edge - the raw, raveling, and unfinished, cut edge of the fabric.

It’s fitting that Joel is a patient man. He’s built for it, after all.

Those broad shoulders, the sturdy thighs, his sure hands - he’s steadfast as the mountains that loom over Jackson.

As the sun shifts over the ridges and valleys of the sierra through the seasons, bringing shadows into light, so does Jackson on Joel, and you learn that he’s many kinds of patient.

On lookout duty, even in the depths of winter, he becomes one with the stillness of the night, patiently watching over the safety of the town in the loneliest hours.

When townsfolk stop him on the high street for neighbourly chit chat, he obliges with polite patience, never rushing, but careful not to encourage conversation that is longer than necessary.

With Ellie, when she prattles on with a long-winded story from school, he listens with amused patience, letting her run her half-full mouth over dinner with half-hearted admonishment.

And with you - he is agonisingly patient with you, and yet, never in a way that leaves any doubt of his want for you.

You cannot be more grateful.

And in turn, you’re patient with him. As the green of summer softens with the tail end of the season, you pick up bits and pieces. You hear whispers of names. Tess. Bill. You glimpse ghosts of his past. Sarah. Frank.

You don’t expect him to, but you have the audacity to hope, that one day, if he finds it in him to let you in, you have shoulders to spare.

When the heat fades and the brisk autumnal chill starts to linger in the morning mist, you start to find that you like it when he’s not patient.

Not necessarily for the lack of patience thereof, but the fact that it’s worn thin by something else.

The way heat bleeds into his eyes when Lucy holds you up after your shift ends, fingers twitching, as if the caveman in him wants to grab you and drag you home, where you have planned on dinner - and more.

When you’re two bodies tangled in your sheets, breath short as he kisses his way down your neck and nips the underside of your breasts, bra cups pushed up only halfway because you’re still too shy to take it off completely. You feel him shudder, nails digging into your skin, nostrils flaring like he’s holding back from ripping the scant fabric off of you.

And late one evening, when you ask him for it, in heated whispers and your lower lip caught in your teeth, he oh so patiently works his fingers inside your wet heat - 

One, then two; 

Slow, then fast; 

Tender, then frantic - 

Until he feels you clench tight around the crook of his fingers for the first time, watch you arch clean off the bed, he bares his teeth and lets out a primal growl at the cry of his name on your swollen lips.

You find the thrill in getting under Joel Miller’s skin.

As the fall deepens, and trees start to shed in golden surrender, you’re caught off guard when he turns the table on you.

You don’t see it coming, your desperation, that lazy afternoon. It’s just another Saturday when Ellie is on her shift at the Outfitter with Lucy, and Joel is spending those free hours with you.

You’re not sure what got him into the mood, but the man is relentlessly teasing that afternoon, almost bratty in the way he toys with you. His hands go everywhere while you’re cooking, squeezing the swell of your ass then going north to cup your breasts, and stopping off everywhere in between.

Tips of your ears burning, you smack the back of his hands - so big and mapped with veins - just so you can get drain the pasta. Joel chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth. ‘I like it when you’re bossy, sweetheart.’

He insists on eating on the sofa, with you between his legs, and you can feel him already hard and straining through his jeans. Neither of you really make a real go at the rapidly cooling marinara, and the plates are quickly pushed to the side as them meal degenerates into a full-blown make out session.

Not yet ready to let him strip you bare or for him to disrobe him completely, clothes hang half unbuttoned and unzipped on you both. The part of your brain that still has enough blood to reason likes it though - the demure flashes of skin under creased fabric, blindly touching and feeling where you can’t see.

Your jeans are pushed halfway down your thighs, bra pushed down under your breasts, the elastic straps digging into your shoulders. His shirt is open down to the second last button, bare chest rubbing against your nipples, the contact making you whine. His belt hangs open and his jeans are unzipped, but before you can reach down, his fingers slide inside your panties, twisted and sticky, teasing your wet folds. 

‘Joel,’ you whimper as he pushes two thick fingers inside you to the knuckle, your pussy slickly opening around him. 

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ he asks, mouthing at your collarbone.

‘More,’ you gasp.

‘I got two in you already -’

Your voice cracks in a sob, your nails digging into his back. ‘Joel, I want more. Please.’

He glances at the clock ticking away on the wall and hesitates. The rational part of him knows that he has to leave in less than twenty minutes to pick up Ellie. But feeling you leak onto his fingers, pushing your hips against him to get his fingers even deeper, his cock twitches painfully hard in his pants.

He breathes through his nose to steady himself. ‘Sweetheart, we don’t have time -‘

‘Joel!’ you whine, almost petulantly.

He stares down at you, eyes wide at your desperation. He’s never seen you like this before, and fuck, he wants to give it to you. Wants to give you what you want, what he wants. What he’s wanted for long fucking months, woken up hard and throbbing dreaming about. But he steels himself - no, not when he’s on the clock, he won’t rush it. He will give you what you deserve, and not an ounce less. 

So he kisses you, long and deep, and bargains with you. ‘Listen, sweetheart, we can’t right now - but if you want to, we can try something new.’

‘Ok,’ you reply without hesitation.

A sharp breath catches in your throat when he eases his fingers out of you, and he brings them up to his mouth to lick them clean, his brow furrowing at your taste, thick on his tongue. Then you watch, transfixed, as he pushes his unzipped jeans down with his boxers, kicking them off his ankles - and his hard cock springs free of its confines. 

It’s taken you many months to drum up the bravery to map his body with your touch, and you’ve mostly done so in the safety of darkness, your shyness holding you back. To see all of him, jutting hard and thick in the stark afternoon light, you don’t even hear yourself whimper at the sight.

Joel holds your gaze as he slowly wraps his fingers around the swollen length and strokes himself, lips parted, watching you watch him. ‘You trust me, sweetheart?’

‘Yes.’

‘Gonna make you feel good, ok?’

His words make you squirm beneath him. ‘Ok.’

Grabbing the base of his cock, Joel shifts, looming over you and pushing your thighs apart so they’re bent at the knees to accommodate him. Then with a delicate finger, he traces under the seat of your panties and pulls them to one side, baring your spread pussy to his eyes. 

Your jaw goes slack the same time Joel bites out a filthy fuck. You know this is the first time he’s laying eyes on you there - you’ve been demure about that, preferring to be nose-to-nose with him while he buries his fingers inside you. But now, watching his eyes go black, nostrils flaring, an inexplicable high goes to your head, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

His eyes fly to yours, and your lips part. Did he see that?

Before you can find out, Joel moves, and you hold your breath when he bows his head right where your legs are splayed open. Distracted by the beautiful chisel of his nose from this angle, you would’ve jumped right off the couch if not for his hands holding you in place when he dribbles spit onto your clit.

You cry out wordlessly, not understanding the visceral reaction of your body to the unexpectedly lewd act.

‘You’re plenty wet for me sweetheart, but this will feel even better,’ he says, spitting again, lower this time, and you tremble at the unfamiliar sensation of the wetness trailing down your folds. 

Tracing a thumb over you, Joel makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest when it glides over your lips, frictionless. Taking a hold of the base of his cock, he positions the underside of his length in the seam of your folds - and thrusts. 

‘Joel!’ you whimper as the full length of him glides over the lips of your spit-wet pussy, from entrance to clit. He braces himself over you, and you hang onto his impossibly broad shoulders as he carefully rolls his hips, again and again. Rubbing along you just so, making sure you feel all of him despite not being inside you - that will have to wait.

You can feel your panties getting wetter, sticking to your skin, and Joel jolts a gasp from you when he roughly tugs the fabric hard to the side, baring more of you to his drunken gaze, witnessing the mess he’s making of you.

‘Listen t’ you,’ he slurs through gritted teeth, the lewd, wet slide of skin filling his ears. ‘Gonna sound even sweeter when I make you mine, sweetheart.’

With a whine, you arch off the couch, as if chasing the possessiveness in his words. Joel finds a rhythm that has the swollen head of his cock grinding against your clit with every thrust, and above you, he smears open-mouthed kisses over the secret spots he’s patiently unearthed by trial and error, until you’re shaking all over. It’s just what you needed, what you wanted - the elusive more that you didn’t know how to articulate. More than his fingers, but not yet ready to take everything that he can give you.

‘You’re close,’ Joel says, a quiet confidence to his verdict that coaxes a whine out of you. Holding a thumb over his cock, it presses even harder against your clit. His hips quicken in pace, and you know he’s chasing his own release as much as yours. 

‘It’s ok sweetheart, you can let go, let me feel you cum for me, let me feel that pretty pussy -’

And then you’re gone. Any illusion of control over your body is just that, an illusion, when the bubble bursts. White hot pleasure burns through your bloodstream, tendrils of heat blooming and swelling from deep inside you, spilling out your fingertips twisted tightly into his graying curls. 

Over the rush of blood in your ears, you hear Joel stutter fuck, fuck, fuck! before warm cum gushes over you, pooling in your belly button, spilling down your pussy and streaking your thighs. 

Limbs heavy and eyelids drooping, it’s hard to care when the cum stains your panties or the couch below. Not when Joel wraps his arms around you, lips brushing the nape of your neck softly as he brackets you from behind. 

Clinging onto the last vestiges of consciousness, you murmur, ‘You have to pick up Ellie soon.’

He grunts. ‘The little punk can wait.’

You smile, struggling to feel apologetic that the teenager might be waiting a while as Joel’s breathing slows, whistling softly by your ear. 

In the quiet aftermath, his words echo in your head. 

When I make you mine. 

Little does he know, he doesn’t have to - you’re already his.

Notes: Time has really flown by since the last main series update. I've gone through so many ups and downs since, and I really need to thank you guys for giving me the time to figure things out in terms of my writing and how this story will go!

As I mentioned in Behind the Seams: Part V, I have 2 more full length chapters planned for the main series. I don't know if there will be any more after that, but at the very least, I hope that I will be adding to the Seams universe through drabbles and oneshots. I wouldn't write off the possibility of more chapters to add to the main series if I find the inspiration.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter ❤️

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | iv. the real thing

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter rating: Explicit [18+ only, minors dni, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), oral (f!rec), unprotected piv, talks of birth control, sarah's mom sucks so bad, angst, insecurity, joel being both boyfriend and father of the year, not proofread—may contain some typos but i can’t be bothered to check]

summary: you begin to worry that joel's having second thoughts about your relationship, but he makes sure to clear all of that right up.

wc: 5.5k

the masterlist

You woke up to the feeling of stubble grazing your inner thigh and soft, warm lips soothing the gentle burn it left. Peeling your eyes open, you smiled down at the mess of bed head nestled between your open thighs and lifted a sleep-heavy hand down to comb some of it back. Joel’s head tilted up, nuzzling into your touch as he locked eyes with you. 

“Mornin’,” he said with a smile, his voice deeper than usual. 

“Morning to you too,” you said, chuckling. “What are you up to down there?”

“Havin’ my breakfast,” he replied, lowering his mouth to your bare seam to press a soft whisper of a kiss against your clit. Your laugh was stifled, a moan taking its place as he slid his hot tongue into you, taking his time in savoring your taste with a low hum. 

He’d stayed over after fucking you against the wall last night, even after you told him you wouldn’t take it personally if he wanted to sleep in his own bed instead. But Joel insisted that there was no place he’d rather be than with you, and you were more than happy to welcome him upstairs to your room.

Now, in the golden morning light, you couldn’t be more grateful for his insistence. 

Joel unraveled you with his mouth, then once again with his fingers before finally satiating his need to please—to make up for all the time you’d spent being unsatisfied by your exes. Now it was your turn to feed into your desire to give. 

“Come here,” you beckoned, curling your finger at him to guide him up the expanse of your body for a kiss. Joel’s mouth took just as much care of you there, slowly coaxing your tongue to mingle with his as he ground his hips into your still throbbing cunt. You pulled away with a dazed sigh, your hand splayed across the side of his face. “Want you on your back.”

He grinned at that, turning to kiss your palm. “You gonna ride me, honey?” 

“Til the wheels fall off,” you promised, earning the deep rumble of a laugh. 

Joel fell into position with a smirk, folding his arms behind his head as he watched you swing one leg over his hips to mount him. “G’on then, ride my cock, baby.”

You shook your head, pressing your hands against his chest as you started to rock along the underside of his cock as it lay sandwiched between your cunt and his stomach. “I’m gonna make you beg this time.” 

Joel’s brow arched, his smirk widening to a grin. “I ain’t too proud to beg for it, I hope you know that.” 

“I’m counting on it,” you quipped, bringing your thumb to his nipple to circle it in time with your hips. Joel reacted to that as you’d hoped, although it seemed to shock him. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a woman play with my nipples before,” he chuckled, though that all ceased when you brought your tongue down to flick over it. Joel groaned, slipping his hands from beneath his head to grab at your ass, guiding your hips to move faster. “Fuck, I like it, though.”

You gave the stiff peak a nibble, earning a hiss and a buck of his hips. 

“I really fuckin’ like that,” he added, his voice deep and dark and rough. “God, baby.” 

“Mm, what is it?” you asked, toying with him. “You want something?”

“Want that pussy wrapped ‘round me,” he said, unabashed in his desire. “Want to see you bouncin’ on it.” 

Your walls fluttered at the idea of claiming him like that. So much so that you may have intentionally rocked a bit further forward than before to notch his tip into your entrance. The two of you gasped in unison as it slipped inside, not enough to satiate, but enough to tease. After all, he still hadn’t used his manners. 

“Please,” he added, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you remain firmly in place, keeping just the tip of him inside you. 

You grinned and brought your hips down to sheath him completely inside of you, sighs escaping from both your lips as he nestled in deep. But you weren’t done with him yet. 

You kept yourself there, oh so slightly grinding into him. Joel’s hands tightened on your ass before planting a smack to it, biting his bottom lip. “Fuck, you gotta move, baby.” 

“I’m not hearing any begging,” you said, smiling as the stimulation from his coarse hair against your clit began to send chills down the inside of your thighs. 

“Please move,” he amended, his smile long gone and a wanton look of need replacing it. “Feels so fuckin’ good inside you like this, baby. Need more.”

You rewarded him by lifting your hips up and gliding back down on his length, starting a rhythmic bounce on top of him. Joel’s head pressed back into the pillows, his eyebrows lacing together as his bottom lip slipped free. His lips parted to let out a drawn out moan, the sound causing your hips to stutter and walls to twitch. “Fuck, I love your dick, Joel. So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” His hands roamed up to your breasts, cupping the weight of them before focusing in on the stiff peaks of your nipples. He swiped the rough pads of his thumbs over them before giving them a pinch that sent a spike of pleasure down your spine. “Your pussy feels like it was made for me, baby.”

Joel’s words made you keen, your hips rolling to graze your clit against the coarse hair at the base of him. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you there and urging you to grind against him deep and slow. 

“Keep goin’,” he groaned, his brows furrowed and cheeks flushed. “Keep ridin’ it just like that, baby. Want you to come on it, just like that.” 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, shivering and lust-drunk. You swirled your hips until you were on the edge. Until you couldn’t take any more. Leaning forward, you clung to his sweat-soaked chest, tucking your face in the warm crook of his neck. “Want you to fuck me hard, Joel. Make me come.”

Joel growled at that, his greedy hands palming the flesh of your ass as he started to fuck up into you at a devastating and harsh pace. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. You feel that?”

A soft whine was your only response. You were too fucked-out and lost in your pleasure to manage even a single word. 

“Wanna stay buried in this fuckin’ pussy ‘til I die,” he said, turning his face to nip at your earlobe. “That what you want, baby? Want me deep inside like this?”

“Yes, fuck!” Your entire body shook as his words sent you over the edge, your walls contracting around him like a vice grip. Joel groaned, loud and proud, and rolled you over onto your back with his dick still buried deep inside you. 

“Look at you,” he growled, folding you like a pretzel and marveling at the sight of where you were joined, the slick glide of his cock in and out of your cunt. “Fuck me, this pussy’s gonna make me come, baby.”

“Inside,” you managed in a choked plea, your hands kneading at your breasts as every stroke prolonged your orgasm. “Fill me up.” 

Joel’s hips stuttered at your command, his knuckles turning white as he pressed your thighs to your chest. “Alright, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up just like you want.” 

He leaned forward, slinging the back of your knees over his bent arms as he nestled his face into your neck. Letting out a slew of moans and curses meant only for you to hear, he pressed deep inside of you and gave you exactly what you’d been begging for. “Fuck me. You’re gonna kill me, baby.” 

You laughed, smoothing your hands across the warm expanse of his back as you tried to catch your breath, your heartbeats pounding in unison. “I told you I like you alive, Miller.”

You felt him smile against your shoulder, the brush of his stubble tickling you as he pressed a kiss there. “This might be a little late, but…you are on the pill, right?”

Laughing again, you gave his ass a playful swat. “I might like you, Joel, but not enough to have any little Millers running around.” 

Joel finally gained the strength to lift himself up, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face as he peered down at you. “You’d make pretty babies, though. If the time ever comes.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, or how to feel about the butterflies swarming in your stomach because of his words. So, you chose to ignore it. “You’re awfully handsome in the morning, you know that?”

Joel rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle before rolling onto his side with a long, satiated sigh. “You sure know how to make a man blush.” 

Not wanting to part from Joel just quite yet, you decided to take him up on his invitation to come help him out with his renovations. You had no real intention of getting your hands dirty, obviously, but you’d gladly stand around and supervise. Especially when your reward was a sweaty, focused, competent Joel Miller. 

You watched as he tore out his old vanity, his gray t-shirt soaked with a stripe of sweat down his spine, turning the material darker. His biceps flexed with every knock of his hammer, every forceful tug to rip the nailed-in wood from the wall. It was as delicious as it was absolutely torturous. 

You were reaching your breaking point, ready to steal him away from his work just to break in his bed just as he’d done with yours this morning, but as always, an interruption ruined all of your sinful plans. 

He’d gotten a call from his ex-wife, which was unusual judging by the confused scowl on his face as he stared down at his phone. When he picked it up, he was breathless from all of his hard work, though it did little to soften his biting tone. You couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but you heard enough to understand the fury washing over Joel’s face. 

When he hung up and filled you in, you were just as furious. 

Sarah’s shitty excuse for a mom wanted Joel to pick Sarah up because she was having a “friend” over later on, and didn’t want her daughter around to prevent any “interruptions”. 

What a fucking loser. 

She tried to make it better, telling him she’d be happy to have Sarah back in a few days once her guest had left, but Joel only told her to fuck off and forget it. 

“That’s the last fuckin’ time I let Sarah stay with her,” he grumbled, swiping a hand towel across his face. “What kind of mother chooses a goddamn hookup over their daughter?”

“A shitty one,” you said, shaking your head. “A really fucking shitty one.”

“I gotta go pick her up,” he sighed. “She’s probably fuckin’ devastated. She was so excited to spend the summer with her, and that lasted all of…what? A week?”

You weren’t a violent person, not really. But god, you’d love to beat some sense into Joel’s ex-wife. Maybe then she’d realize what a cunt she was. 

“I’ll text you later,” he said, stepping into your space to rest his hands on your face. He tipped your chin up, pressing a gentle but dizzying kiss to your lips. “We’ll figure things out, alright? Sarah bein’ back home will make things a bit more complicated, but—“

“But nothing,” you said, slipping your hands around his waist. “Sarah being back home is exactly where she needs to be. Don’t worry about us, we’ll make it work.”

He didn’t look so convinced. 

“I’ll walk you home,” he promised, slipping his hand into yours as he led you out of his bathroom and down the stairs. 

He was silent on the way over to your house. Thinking, stewing, trying to figure out the logistics of this thing between the two of you now that Sarah was going to be back with him full-time. You tried not to worry, but deep down, there was this nagging voice that told you that this was where he’d start to pull away and distance himself. 

Joel was nothing if not a good father, and no matter how much he’d like to choose you, he’d never put this relationship above his daughter. And you wouldn’t like him if he did. One of the most endearing things about him was how good of a man he was, even if right now, it felt as though that same goodness would be the thing to lead him away from you. 

In a bid to distract yourself, you called up Maria and asked her if she was free for lunch. You didn’t need to sit at home alone wondering what was going through Joel’s mind and how things might change going forward, and there was no one better at taking your mind off things than Maria. 

“So…” Maria started, a smile playing at her lips as she folded her menu. “Wanna tell me why you ran off last night?”

You sighed, slouching your shoulders. The weight of your secret was beginning to become too much for you to bear, especially with what had happened earlier. You needed to tell someone about the shit going on in your head, and you trusted Maria like a sister. She wouldn’t spill your juicy secret even if her life depended on it. That’s just how she was. 

“If I tell you, you have to promise it stays between us,” you said, just in case. Maria held up her pinky in a silent vow to keep her promise. “Alright, so…you know the guy I was telling you about?”

“Mmhm.”

“It’s Joel,” you said, biting your lip as you gauged her response. There was no judgment there, just a bit of shock. 

“Tommy’s brother, Joel?” she gasped. “No fucking wonder you left! Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was flirting with him—well, not actually flirting, but still!”

“You’re fine,” you assured, chuckling. “You didn’t know.”

“I promise I was just using him to get under Tommy’s skin,” she said, her tone earnest. 

“No, I know,” you replied. “Joel told me when he showed up to my place last night.”

“Romantic,” she gushed, swooning. “Tell me all about it. Did you two…you know?”

“Yeah,” you said, biting your lip. “A few times.”

“Fuck yeah,” she said, grinning. “And how was it?”

“So good,” you groaned, hanging your head. 

“Why do you look all sad, then? Did he bail or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” you said, sighing. “It’s just that his daughter’s coming back to stay with him after her mom basically kicked her out so that she could fuck in peace. Now I feel like he’s going to distance himself for her sake, and he should. I get why he’d be spooked, you know. But…”

“But it sucks that you’re the one on the receiving end,” she guessed, frowning. 

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head. “But he hasn’t said anything, so I’m just going to hope for the best.”

“Yeah, don’t get yourself worked up over what could be nothing,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to fuck you and then bail, even over something like that.”

You didn’t want to think about that. It had been so long since you trusted your heart and body with another person. If Joel broke that trust, even for Sarah, you weren’t sure how long it would take you to recover. 

“Enough about me, tell me about you and Tommy.” 

It was Maria’s turn to look lovestruck, which was a rare sight to see. She was never the type to open up to guys, let alone get mushy over them. But here she was, straight up mush. “We spent the night together.”

You gasped, a grin spreading across your face. “You fucked Tommy?”

“And boy, was it good,” she gushed. “I’m not the type to fall quickly, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna marry that boy.”

“Ew, he said the same thing about you,” you teased, chuckling. “So does this mean you’re official?”

“I told him he needs to take me on a real date first,” she said, a confident smirk on her face. “So we’re going out this weekend.”

“I’ll start planning the wedding.”

A day had passed since Joel left to bring Sarah home. A day full of waiting, a day full of dreading. He’d texted you last night to let you know they were back home and that Sarah was pretty down about the whole thing, but he didn’t say much more than that. The status of your relationship seemed up in the air, at least to you, but you assumed that since he hadn’t said anything about calling things off, the two of you were fine. 

At least for the time being. 

Your dad had come back home in the afternoon, bringing Vic along to stay for the week. And in an attempt to ease the awkwardness that came along with meeting your dad’s new girlfriend, he decided to throw a little cookout on the deck out back that he finally completed. He invited both of the Miller boys over, and though you were a bit on edge about seeing Joel again in that kind of setting, it beat having to sit around the table and make conversation with a stranger. 

You chose a simple outfit for the barbecue—a sundress and some flip-flops—and tried to keep your primping to a minimum, even when the insecure part of your mind told you to overcompensate in order to impress Joel. But you didn’t want to listen to that small voice, especially not when Joel has already seen you in your barest state. 

When the Millers arrived at your house, they both brought guests—Joel brought Sarah, obviously, and Tommy brought Maria. You felt a bit of the tension weighing on you lift at the sight of your best friend and the sunshine of a girl that was Sarah Miller. But even they couldn’t help the way your heart seemed to still at the sight of Joel. 

He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. A completely normal and bland outfit, and yet he managed to make it look criminally extraordinary. But maybe that was just the energy radiating off of him. 

He greeted you at the door with a small smile when he and Sarah arrived, one that looked far too sheepish and polite for your taste. Especially now that you’d experienced the unabashed version. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “Brought some corn on the cob.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a timid look. “My, uh, my dad’s in the backyard.”

He pursed his lips, staring into your eyes for a few more seconds before giving you a small nod. “I’ll go say hi, then.”

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat constricting under the effort it took to not voice your insecurities. Joel grazed his hand along your arm as he stepped past you to head into the house, the simple touch almost enough to burn you alive. 

“Hey,” Sarah said, drawing your eyes down to where she stood. She sounded sadder than you were used to, her bubbly joy dulled to something more akin to her father’s personality. It made your heart break. It made your worries over your relationship with her father seem insignificant. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you said, giving her a genuine smile. She didn’t deserve anything less than that. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.”

She shrugged, toying with the ribbon that was sewn onto her summer dress. “Wasn’t gone that long.”

God, you hated the fact that her mother had hurt her this badly. 

“Still,” you said, guiding her into the house. “It’s been boring here without you.”

She remained quiet, lost in thought. And that wouldn’t do. 

“Do you want to help me decorate the cake I made?” You asked, leading her into the kitchen where Tommy and Maria stood chatting with Joel. You ignored his presence entirely, as you normally would’ve before you entered into this situationship with him. 

“What kind of cake?” she asked, seeming to perk up a bit. 

“Carrot, my dad’s favorite,” you said, helping her into one of the stools that sat at the kitchen island. 

“My dad likes carrot cake, too,” she said, turning to her father. “Don’t you, dad?”

“I do,” Joel said, his voice a soothing rasp. 

“Guess it’s a dad thing,” you said, giving him a quick glance. Joel was already looking at you, watching as you set the chilled carrot cake onto the counter. 

There seemed to be a million unspoken things lingering in that gaze of his, things you desperately wanted him to tell you. Even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. 

You quickly turned your attention back to Sarah. “I, uh, have chocolate and buttercream frosting. What do you think? Should we do half and half?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, leaning onto the counter. “Do you have sprinkles?”

“I do!” You turned around to rummage through the cabinet for the sprinkles that you’d bought last Christmas, praying that they weren’t out of date. “Looks like we’ve got a few colors, but I’ll let you choose all that while I go wash my hands.”

“Okay,” she said, already looking a bit more like her normal self. 

You headed upstairs to your bathroom, mostly just to take a breather from being in such close proximity to Joel, but stopped halfway up the stairs as you heard the sound of a pair of heavy boots following you. You turned, finding Joel standing at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes trained on you. He nudged his chin forward, a silent request for you to continue on, and you quickly obeyed. 

Once you were in the privacy of the second story, he slipped into the guest room and waved for you to join him. 

“What’s up?” you asked once he’d closed the door. Joel turned to you, shaking his head before closing the distance between the two of you in two large steps. His hands settled on your face, guiding you to his lips for a deep, bruising kiss. 

“Sorry,” he panted as he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against yours. “I just missed you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. All that worrying faded into thin air as he pressed his lips against yours again, softer this time. “I was worried you’d…I don’t know.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I told you I was committed, and I meant it.”

“I’m not used to guys meaning what they tell me during sex,” you said. It was a blunt thing to say, but it was the truth. You might’ve hoped Joel had meant the things he said, but you certainly weren’t counting on them being true. You’d experienced too many let-downs to ever buy into something like that so easily. 

“Well, I did,” he said, kissing you to seal his promise. “But we’re gonna have to work harder to keep this between us now that Sarah’s around. Unless you want to tell her.”

You furrowed your brows and pulled back to look at him, to see if he was joking, but he looked dead serious. “You want to tell her?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’d prefer not to lie to her, but I don’t wanna rush you into doin’ somethin’ you’re not ready to do.”

“What if she lets it slip around my dad?” She was a child, after all, and they had a tendency to speak without thinking. 

“Honestly?” He let out a soft chuckle. “I’m startin’ not to give a shit about that, either. But I know I’m not the one who’s gonna have to deal with the aftermath of all that. Not really, anyway.”

You lowered your eyes to his chest as you thought about what he’d said, about the choice he was laying at your feet. Telling Sarah was one thing, but telling your dad? You weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

“Listen t’me, honey,” Joel said, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “This thing between you and I is the real thing, alright? It’s the real thing when it’s just between us, and it’s the real thing if we choose to let everybody know. My feelings for you aren’t gonna change, and I want you to know that it’s your choice whether we tell them or not. Alright?”

You took a deep breath and gave him a soft smile, one that was born of feeling nothing but safe and respected by the man you’d chosen. It was new and foreign and would take some getting used to, but god, it felt good to be seen and cared for the way Joel saw and cared for you. 

“Alright,” you whispered, too emotional to say anything else. 

Joel stroked his thumb over your cheek and smiled, pecking your lips softly once more. “We need to get back down there before people start wonderin’ where we went.”

“I’ll be down in a second,” you said, urging him on. “Go make sure Sarah hasn’t devoured all the frosting.”

Joel chuckled as he turned to head downstairs, shooting you a quick smile over his shoulder. “No promises on that front.” 

“There you are,” Maria said, grinning as she slid the sliding glass patio door shut behind her, finding you in the kitchen scrubbing away at the sink full of dirty dishes. “What are you doing hiding away in here?”

“Not hiding,” you replied with a smile. “Just…we’ll, yeah. I guess I am hiding.”

“From Joel?” she teased. 

“From my dad and his girlfriend,” you corrected. “It’s awkward, and I’m awkward. Better to just hide out and wait for them to go to bed.”

“She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah, she is,” you agreed. “But I’m not good with change, I guess. And I can tell she’s looking to bond with me, and I’m not ready for all of that, you know?”

“I get that,” she said, coming to join you at the sink. A moment of peaceful silence fell over the two of you as you washed the dishes and she dried them. “Joel’s daughter’s cute.”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling.

“Does she know about you and him?” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you turned the tap off and dried your hands. “Why?”

“She was just talking about you,” she said, shrugging. “She told Tommy and I that she likes you, and that she wishes you were her mom instead.”

Your eyes went wide, your heart skipping a beat. “She said that?”  

“Mmhm,” Maria hummed. “Tommy sort of filled me in on the situation, and I don’t blame her for wanting you as a mom instead. Her mom sounds like a cunt.”

“Yeah, she’s…horrible.” 

“I think Joel might’ve overheard it,” she said, biting her lip. “I can’t read the guy for shit, though, so I have no idea what he thought about it.”

Neither did you, if you were being honest. He definitely wouldn’t be upset by it, but he was probably more saddened than anything. Sarah shouldn't have to wish for a mother who made her happy, she should just have it. 

“I, uh, pulled him aside and let him know I knew,” she continued. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” you said, smiling at the thought of at least one person knowing that the two of you were together. It made it feel more real, somehow. “What did he say?”

“He just smiled and nodded,” she said. “It’s cute how just the sound of your name makes him smile.”

It was cute, you thought. Cute enough to make your heart clench. 

“He told me that he was alright with everyone knowing,” you confessed, hugging yourself. “But I’m not sure if I’m ready to let everyone in on it just yet.”

“You can take it one step at a time,” she said. “You already told me, so that’s one step. Tommy and Sarah could be another.”

“Yeah,” you said, nibbling on your bottom lip. “We’ll get around to it.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You just like the thrill of a secret romance, you sicko.”

You laughed, too, because a part of you did. It wouldn’t last forever, but you liked the fact that the two of you could just be together for a while without the input of everyone else. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

“Maybe you do, what?” Joel’s voice made you jump as he waltzed in from outside, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he looked at you. 

“Do y’all need me to stick around as a chaperone?” she said, giving you a playful smile. 

“No, fuck off,” you said with a laugh, swatting the dishcloth in your hand at her. She gave you a wink before making her way back onto the deck, leaving you and Joel alone. 

“I like her,” he said, coming to sit at one of the stools at the island. “Well, as much as I like anybody that isn’t you or Sarah.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” you said, coming to stand across from him. “She, uh, told me about something Sarah said.”

He nodded, his smile fading into something more somber. 

“Broke my heart to hear her say that,” he said, sighing. “Not because of you, just…I don’t know. I just don’t get how her mother can treat her like an afterthought. I hate that she makes her feel like this, like she doesn’t have a mom.”

“I know it’s not the same, and I’d never try to make it seem that way, but I’m here, you know?” you said, shrugging your shoulders and offering him a sympathetic smile. “I’d love her the way she deserves, the way every little girl deserves, if she wanted. If…if you wanted.”

He softened at that, his shoulders relaxing as he tilted his head at you. “Everytime I see y’all together, she’s smilin’. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. How much it’s always meant.”

You long to walk over to him and run your hands through his hair, to kiss him and show him how grateful you are to get to see this side of him, to let him know that he’s a good man—far better than any you’d ever met before—but you could see your father right outside, serving as a reminder of why you had to stay put. Even when it hurt to have to do so. 

“So thank you,” Joel added, suddenly turning bashful. “Thank you for bein’ good to her.” 

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” you said, frowning and smiling at the same time. 

He smiled, a dimpled, boyish thing that had you ready to climb across this island just to feel that smile against your lips. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“No, but my dad might,” you said, chuckling. 

Joel glanced over his shoulder at your father, watching him as he sat at the patio table with Vic, Tommy, and Maria. Each of them able to hold each other, to claim each other as theirs. “It doesn’t feel fair.”

You frowned, nodding. “No, it doesn’t.”

With a sigh, he stood up and stretched, feigning exhaustion. “I should take Sarah home. She’s out there sleepin’ in her chair.” 

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft. 

“You think your dad would be opposed to you babysittin’ her while I go sneak off with this beautiful woman I’ve been seein’?”

You reared back, your brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

Joel only laughed. “Least that’s the story I plan on givin’ him to buy you and me a couple hours together.” 

Your confusion was replaced with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, I think he’d buy that. Might even be able to spend the night at your place, especially if you’re planning on spending the whole night with this beautiful woman of yours.” 

“Oh, I plan on it, alright,” he husked, his drawl doing things to you it had no right to do. “I’ll grab Sarah and let him know, you go on upstairs and pack a bag.”

Biting your lip, you turned to obey his command, only to be stopped by him again. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout packin’ any pajamas,” he said, eyeing your frame from head to toe. “We won’t be gettin’ much sleep tonight.” 

[dev1lm4n]

moth to flame

ko-fi | series masterlist

pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader

summary: you're pining over wicked fantasies or who you recently discovered to be mr. miller, even when it's indubitably wrong.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: explicit (18+), pre-apocalypse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, age gap (joel's in his mid 30's and reader is in her early 20's), reader is an exchange student but nationality is not mentioned

notes: set in 2013. do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it!

Turbulent wind pushed on the pickup truck to no avail. That, paired with the soothing rhythmic grunt of the ignition created a perfect moody atmosphere. It was the peak of summer; yet somehow, for whatever reason, Austin was looking awfully somber. Gray and bland like the taste of soaked cereals. Sarah was bound to return to school despite the hefty weekends she’s spent with the newest addition to the Millers, and she didn’t like it at all. She’s making it real obvious too for everyone. Cheeks puffed up like she is five and always a loud thump following her every move.

She landed her dad’s coffee on the table with a loud thump. She stormed back into her room with a louder thump. She swung the pickup truck’s door with the loudest thump you’ve ever heard, before making her way over to the school’s gate. Her small pout remained on her face despite your cheerful wave and words of encouragement from behind the rolled window.

She’s a cute kid, you decided. 

You’re sure things would link perfectly between you and your host family if it weren’t for the fact that you practically avoided Mr. Miller like he’s the goddamn plague. Everytime you slipped out of your room, you had to make sure he wasn’t in a five meter proximity. You’d rather be dehydrated and starved than to meet him after his day-time job (which you’ve recently learned was a contracting gig), lingering around the kitchen with a stale sandwich up his mouth. Similarly, you treated Sarah as a trusty messenger for every message you had for her dad. Whether it’s a leaky sink or a hefty request to drop you off at your college.

It’s a genuine miracle Sarah never questioned you on your abnormal behavior, nor did Mr. Miller. Was this your streak of luck?

You tucked your phone back in your pocket after a quick run through your texts, eyes focused back towards what laid ahead of you. Mr. Miller’s broad shoulders stretched across the length of the car’s cushioned seat, moving with a steady pulse at every breath of air he claimed. Your careful eyes watched over the seams of his shirt; the correct side up after Sarah’s clever remark earlier that morning. Slowly, you traced along the nape of his neck with your bare eyes. Further and further, right until you could finally spot the dark brown strands tangled in with hints of gray. It looked soft.. much like how it appeared to be on his videos. You wondered how it’d feel like to run your hands over it, feel it through the ridges of your knuckles, and pull on‒

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?”

The man’s baritone voice penetrated the thick silence and you were left aghast. Soul sucked out of your body as your eyes flickered towards the rearview mirror, eventually catching the small smile playing on his dangerously charming face. He’d be the end of you that’s for sure. This was a bad idea, asking him to drive you to college just because taxi rates are crazy high this time of the year, leaving the two of you alone. Alone and hidden under the privacy of his truck, you were fucked through and through. You just hoped he wasn’t clever enough to somehow figure out your utterly shameful thoughts.

“Sorry.. um.. I was thinking of something. What were you saying, Mr. Miller?”

Yeah, that’s right. You were thinking of how nice his hair would feel when you’re gripping on it for dear life, but he didn’t have to know that.

“No worries, kiddo. Just.. I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

At the last syllable he uttered, you were already rigid. Parched, feeling like your tongue magically turned into sandpaper; you’d always consider yourself to be an excellent debater at all parts of life, but his lone question left you high and dry. Your eyes darted back onto the rearview mirror and instead of his candid expression, you were met with his scintillating gaze. Curious and prodding into the deepest part of your head. It enthralled you, encouraged you to say the truth.

“You’re always scurrying off when I’m around,” he gave a thought to what he’s about to say. “I get that Sarah is friendlier and a lot more relatable to talk to. Talkin’ to an old man isn’t exactly preferable, is it?”

He let out a polite set of laughter, which was met by a deafening silence. You crumpled under the tension. Awkward and wanting nothing more than to escape the car like some fugitive in handcuffs. Killing Me Softly With His Song by Fugees continued to play faintly in the background, once again becoming a fitting ringtone for your impending response.

“No,” you denied slowly. Effectively lying, but it was as obvious as a kid trying to pocket candies from the cash register. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

His expression eventually twisted into one of mirth; brows quirked with interest, a tight smile edged to unfold. He’s probably finding the telenovela-inspired reply hilarious, but the man’s polite enough to store all his witty comments in the back of his head.

“What I mean is,” you paused to inhale deeply. What were you even supposed to say? You used to watch all his explicit videos and therefore you couldn't look him in the eye without getting reminded of every single scene? Lying has never been your forte, but the other option was far too humiliating. Even for you. “I’m naturally awkward, Mr. Miller. I.. I feel embarrassed when approaching you. Feels like I’m bothering you or something.”

That was half a lie. A white lie, you’d conclude.

“Oh sweetheart, you never bother me.”

The way he said that nickname had you sweating buckets. Seconds away from throwing up your entire breakfast menu out of sheer nervousness. You knew he meant it in a platonic familial-bond type of way, but God did it remind you of what he calls all his pretty co-stars.

“You and Sarah are my number one priority now. You know that, right?”

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“I’m home.”

Exhaustion trailed after your every step as you made your way through the empty hallway. A result of caffeine-induced studying paired with the buzzing busyness of commuting in peak-hour. This was all easily avoidable. You should’ve accepted Mr. Miller’s offer in picking you up after his gig up West, but the fear of making a slip up is overriding your desire for convenience. You wouldn't want to make things even more weird than it already is. Your most prized possession, the laptop you’ve owned since the beginning of time, weighed your shoulder down exceptionally as you trudged through. A loud grunt passed your lips as you stumbled across; appearing exactly like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Oh! You’re here!”

You took a step back to meet the feminine voice, bubbly and hearty from the girl sitting in a criss-cross manner in front of the TV. Sarah was smiling. A big toothy smile that was too hard to resist, despite the fatigue weighing your shoulders down. You’re just soft when it comes to the little girl.

“Dad’s giving me a massage. Do you want one too?”

You must’ve been dog-tired, because you foolishly didn’t notice the large figure looming over her from the sunken couch. It was admittedly dim in the living room, but he was as obvious as an elephant, big and rigged with muscles out of a need for his profession. Both his contracting gig and his other.. scandalous endeavors. Breathing was all that you needed to focus on for now, and perhaps schooling your expression. You’re almost entirely sure you wouldn’t be able to speak no matter how hard you try.

A small unsure quirk of your head was what you settled with and Sarah, being the nicest girl you’ve ever known, quickly ushered you to sit by her side. On the wooden floor. For a damned massage from Mr. Miller.

You complied, of course. Even when you look mildly petrified by the idea.

“What’re you up to all evening?” 

His voice grazed your eardrums, alike to a powerful gust of wind, as you seated yourself on the foot of the couch. Sarah by your side, looking fondly in your direction, giving you all the more pressure to appear put together when you could simply falter at the bare sound of his voice. You needed to get your shit together. Mr. Miller’s an actual man, for fucks sake, it’s horribly immoral to think of him as the Wicked Fantasies in these kinds of setting.

“Studying.”

“Is that why you’re so pent-up?”

No. You’re pent-up because you’ve spent the entire week trying to be on your best behavior, trying to act like you’re not openly thirsting over this sweet girl’s father, trying to act like you’re not tipping into insanity from merely being placed in the same room as he is, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Think so,” you hummed softly.

“Poor thing.”

Anticipation almost killed you right there and then. You knew he was going to place his calloused fingers over your shoulders, knew that it was the basic requirement to give someone a shoulder massage, but you couldn’t help but develop butterflies in your belly at the thought. It wasn’t beautiful nor poetic, instead, it was an absolute nuisance to conceal your thoughts. When he began to place his hands on your upper back, you flinched.

A hitch in your breathing, then a throaty groan.

You were sensitive, touch-starved, and his touch practically confirmed that.

Mr. Miller’s touch was expertly firm yet gentle, the way you imagined it for a long time. His calloused fingers glided along your trapeze muscles with finesse. Fluid and seamless, as if he’s a master to the human body. Your eyes fluttered shut as he focused on the tension points. The nook between your bones which was constantly weighed down by your bag didn’t go unnoticed. His skilled fingers kneaded away every knot and tightness, making you surrender to his ministrations.

You didn’t want him to stop.

You wanted him to touch you more.

To have each one of his rough fingers stroke every soft bend of your body, like how he treated May and Sadie as if they were his own personal ragdoll.

To feel him under the constraints of your thin t-shirt, without a veil separating the two of you.

You craved him so bad, even when it’s wrong.

“You feel better?”

When he spoke, his raspy voice was magnetic to the core of who you were, as if he's able to resonate with all of you when others can barely achieve a fraction of it. It sounded sincere, like he truly cared about your well-being and not to simply feed into your secret desires. He meant well and you’re here acting like a starved pervert. The thought made you cringe ever so slightly.

“Yeah. Much better.”

“Good then, kiddo.”

The nickname turned you sour. You're more than willing to debate him on it, unlike last time.

“I’m not a kid.”

“No?”

He was so smug about it too. Even when you're looking all pissy.

“No. I’m a fully grown adult, Mr. Miller. Do note that I’m in my twenties,” you schooled him persistently.

“Twenties? Wow, you’re truly ancient.”

“Yeah and you’re a dinosaur, Mr. Miller.”

The silly quarrel you’ve gotten into with the older man made Sarah burst into laughter, breaking your tenacity and effectively making you laugh along with her.

It was the first time in forever that the Millers laughed that hard together.

As the evening sun painted the kitchen in sepia hues, you stood before the cutting board; a bunch of onions staring right back at you, waiting to be transformed. You have always been passionate about cooking as you viewed it a stress-relieving activity, similar to those medley of coloring books marketed for adults. With a polished kitchen knife in hand and earphones stuffed in, you began your culinary adventure. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by blind confidence. The rhythmic sound of knife to wood began to echo all around the room.

“What are you cookin’ up?”

You could hear him as clear as day, timbre vibrating through your ear canals. Only then did you notice that he had indeed pulled one of your neatly stuffed earphones away, leaving you exposed to the world. To him who you’ve been avoiding despite your little chat in the truck. You looked dumbstruck. Lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandered up the pools of honey in his eyes. The subtle movements, his thoughtful expression, all seemed to weave a tapestry of intrigue in your mind.

“I’m just chopping up onions here. Nothing exciting, really.”

It took all of you to tear yourself away from his gaze. Even so, the sensation lasted, leaving an anchor of trepidation in your chest.

“You’re back early,” you remarked matter-of-factly.

“Construction guys finished cementing early. Why? You miss me?”

You chuckled fondly. Only to shake your head as you mouthed a brief ‘no’. It’s hard not to entertain the cheeky older man despite your best effort. He was better than you could ever imagine from the confines of your laptop. He had a personality, one that easily made anyone hooked, and a kind heart, therefore it’s terribly hard to keep your burning feelings at bay. It’s wrong. Terribly wrong to view him as such when you’re almost entirely sure he viewed you as his kin, as someone to protect and show guidance to. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, but he didn’t need to know that.

A sudden lapse in concentration caused your knife to slip, nicking your finger in the process.

A sharp sting shot through your hand.

Then a bead of crimson appeared, mingled with the pungent scent of onions.

“Shit..”

Momentarily stunned, you sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widened with surprise. It didn’t hurt that bad yet, but it’s still a sight that made you frantic and out of your element. You instinctively brought your injured finger close to your tightly pressed lips, intending to investigate the severity of the wound. Droplets of blood seeped its way through the slim cut as you pressed on the soft pads of your pointer finger. You need to get the wound clean and so tap water was your first option.

However, fate had other plans in store.

“Oh no.. does it hurt, sweetheart?”

You grimaced at the nickname. This wasn’t a good time to get all desperate, but his voice did nothing but burn you with need. Without hesitation, Mr. Miller took hold of your nicked finger, his touch tender and reassuring. He guided your finger closer to his lips and in the many years you've lived, this was the most sensual scene you’ve ever witnessed. Your eyebrows quivered, a mixture of confusion and anticipation swirled within you. 

He was your drug.

One touch and the intoxication was fatal. Whatever he wants to do is what you’ll do and there isn't a thing you can do to stop him - not that you’d want to.

With gentle care, he leaned in. He had to crouch ever so slightly to get to your level and never once did his velvety brown eyes leave yours. You’re starting to think that he was doing it on purpose. That this entire scene you’re trying to make sense of was just a part of his orchestrated show, that he indeed felt the same way you do and was just as afraid of confronting it. Though you’re never really sure; the sheer attention he gave you made your brain turn into mush.

His warm breath ghosted over the wound, and before you knew it, he pressed a soft, delicate kiss on where crimson was pooling. Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to choke. The sting that had plagued you a moment ago now seemed to dissipate into thin air, replaced by a warmth that spread from your hand to every inch of your aching body. His mouth was a furnace. Plush at all sides as his slick tongue stuck flat against the nick.

The concentration in his face, the emphasized crows feet, the stray strands of brown dappled on his sweaty forehead. 

“It’s a little old-fashioned, I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours, “but sometimes a little love can make the pain go away.”

“Love?” you mumbled foolishly, still in a trance.

“You’re a part of the Millers, remember?”

What he said stung you more than the nick. It pushed you off the ledge of delusions. Your gaze slowly grew somber despite your best efforts to stay nonchalant.

“Of course, Mr. Miller.”

The steady patter of rain upon his window stirred Joel awake, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of the settling moon. A strange occurrence for late summer. Though, the gentle sound brought a certain calmness to his mind; a soothing melody, one that stripped him of fear and incompetence. He looked around, blurry vision still intact while he scrambled to find the time. His alarm clock flashed back the time in big bold numbers. Barely past midnight, he noted internally. Joel wasn’t so sure on why his throat felt incredibly parched, dry to the bone, in need of refreshment even when it’s only been a few hours since he tucked himself in. Was it the one beer he had at dinner?

With an irritated sigh, he groggily stumbled out of bed. His knees creaked at its rusty hinge everytime he took a step down the dimly lit staircase of his home. He felt like a nutcracker. An old worn-out one at that. He wondered if he’s gotten too old for this, too old for construction and his side job - has he developed arthritis? His worries came to a halt when a soft glow caught his attention, emanating from a partially open door. 

If he remembered correctly, it was the small room by the garage he’s gifted to you. 

Curiosity piqued, he hesitated for a moment.

Would he be an absolute prick if he took a short peak? Probably. But you interest him. You’ve always been interesting to him, in ways that confuses him more often than he’d like.

He neared the door. One step at a time, praying to whatever God up there that’d be kind enough not to let the wooden boards ahead of him creak at his heavy steps. In that solitary moment, he felt a mixture of emotions welling up within him. It was as if he knew that he was about to stumble upon a secret, a private moment that’d be permanently embedded in his mind. He contemplated once again when he’s just a step away from getting a clear view. Respect for you tugged at his conscience, yet an overwhelming ugly curiosity pushed him to stay, to try to understand the significance of your nocturnal act.

His brown eyes peered through the small gap left.

He could see you now, but you couldn’t see him.

In the dappled moonlight, he carefully mapped out each and every one of your soft curves. How you were bathed in gentle light, sat comfortably on top of your stacked comforter as you typed away at your laptop with lightning-like speed. How you slowly leaned forward to get a closer look at the blaring screen, hair left relaxed and rear-end clearly emphasized by your inept sleeping shorts. How you eagerly repositioned yourself, straddling two rolled pillows as if you were to ride a horse. Joel didn’t mean to look. He didn’t mean to stare in such a perverted, disgusting manner. You were just too captivating and he was one weak-willed man.

With bated breath, he continued to observe.

Joel found himself captivated, his thirst momentarily forgotten, as he marveled at the scene unfolding in front of him.

This was wrong, he reminded himself. This was you he was looking at, not anyone else. You who he always viewed as a wide-eyed young girl still trying her best to navigate around her life. You who’s naive enough to believe his lies that the pink condom packets in his pick-up truck were single-packet wet tissues. You who’s sweet enough to cook his entire family a good dinner for once; turkey, mash, and green beans. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t crave you, because you’re you and he’s him.

His dilemma fell short when you clumsily tugged both your thin shorts and cotton panties off your legs, shin planted deeply into the pristine comforter. Your cunt gleamed under the thick moonlight, arousal formed in globs of clear stickiness right around where your tiny hole appeared. The visage caused him to stiffen in his sweatpants, twitching uncontrollably as he watched you rub yourself along the soft material.

Joel had a first-class view on how you cautiously ground down against it and he was.. shamefully thrilled. A moan bubbled up, before you did it again, and again, and again, each time the pillow appeared more and more damp.

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself and it drove Joel insane. He pushed his pants down embarrassingly as if he’s some teenage boy catching a coincidental sight of a strip tease, before he cupped himself through his briefs. You’re putting on such a good show, even when it’s not for him, or for anyone on that matter. He watched with anticipation as you leaned back on both hands, edging yourself, before you rutted against it desperately.

Your hole throbbed, contracting and loosening everytime the soft material made contact with your sensitive nub. It’s all that you focus on now. Which was working wonders, considering your quiet gasps and labored breaths were starting to turn into much vulgar noises. Loud moans and whimpers that made Joel’s cock grew with interest, dribbling with pre-cum and desire.

“Please, please, please,” you begged breathlessly.

Both of your hands disappeared for a split second. He wondered silently where it went, but the honest shadows on your wall told him more to the story. You were cupping both your breasts, massaging it kindly before going over to pinch and roll your nipples to harden. You seemed to be sensitive there. Would you enjoy his thick fingers around them?

“More.. oh please,” you begged helplessly.

He wished to come and help you, to stick a finger into that tight hole of yours, to circle your clit with his thumb, flicking indulgently until you gave up. But it’s all a part of his far-fetched fantasy. Watching is more than enough for now. Joel couldn’t even see your face, but this entire thing got him off better than all the pornos he’s personally made.

“I’m gonna- oh, oh, God.”

Your cries echoed around the room, He could see how you quivered, thighs clamping shut around the drenched pillow as you reached your final ecstasy. Everytime you rolled back, he salivated over the sight of your sopping cunt. Untouched and sensitive even from just humping. Your thrusts never falter, not even when you’re making a mess on top of the once pristine, white pillow. What a dirty girl.

Joel watched you until the very end. Right until you collapsed forward, flat on your stomach after exerting such work on your body.

Cock sore and in need of relieving.

Though, something else caught his interest. A revelation that he found to be more important to comprehend than the state of his throbbing cock. 

The video you're watching to get yourself off.

They were his.

[adviceformefromme]

From hating yourself to loving yourself in five simple steps....

1] You are going to set the fucking INTENTION to love yourself. You are claiming this. You are declaring this. Scream it out loud. In whatever words make sense to you. There is so much power in intention, its like the universe starts scrambling like crazy to make the intention possible. Books will fall off shelves, YouTube videos will drop into your homepage. A friend will start talking about an article she read on self-love. The universe will follow your energy. 

2] You are going to get fucking INSPIRED. You are going to use your resources to support you on your new found self-love journey. You are going to edit your feed, delete anyone who does not give the energy of loving yourself or inspiring you, hell even delete social media if you can! You are going to read books, listen to podcasts, listen to self-love music, subliminals on self-love and devotion, you are going to drown yourself in the energy of self-love and self-care. Book days off work, call in sick. Journal and meditate. Do a hot girl walk in nature. Create the space to allow the message of self-love to seam deep into your soul.

3] You are going to start speaking to yourself like a fucking QUEEN. No more slagging yourself off as you wash your hands and catch your reflection. No more of that putting yourself down BS. You are going to make the effort to point out something you love about yourself each time you look in the mirror. The shape of your ears, your eyes, your lips, whatever it is that you accept and like currently. Make an effort to tell yourself that at every given moment. Those compliments will start compounding day by day, and speaking kindly to yourself will become more easy.

4] Start seeing all the fucking beauty AROUND you. The flowers blooming, the shape of the trees as you walk, the woman you just smiled at, the sunset, just stop and look and observe the beauty everywhere. The more you start to focus on the beauty and loving what you see externally, it will start to make waves internally. 

5] FINALLY stop comparing yourself to others. Remember you are a MAIN CHARACTER in your movie. Every single person in your life right now, even me, is a supporting character in your movie. Know that is the power you possess. So go out there today, and remember who you are. Remember there is so much more to you than how you look, remember that loving yourself and accepting yourself sets the tone for every relationship in your life, and despite all the shit from your past you are now in control of how you speak to yourself, how you choose to think of yourself. The choice is yours. 

Resources:  Podcasts: Women’s Impact: https://www.youtube.com/@LisaBilyeu/videos Jerry Flowers: https://www.youtube.com/@officialjerryflowersjr  Sarah Blondin: https://www.youtube.com/@mzblondin On purpose: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nxlc2UcVeY  Music:  Chanters Sheba: https://www.youtube.com/@ChantressSeba Mei Lan: https://www.youtube.com/@Mei-lan

[thelastofhyde]

a mercenary named time.

pairing. jackson!joel x fem!reader

synopsis. as joel begins to age, memories of sarah are beginning to fade. though he wants nothing more than to talk to you about his troubles, there's something standing in his way: he never told you about sarah.

warnings. this is more joel x sarah centric than joel x reader oops, hurt/comfort, ageing + difficulties that come with it, grief, mentions of death/religion/afterlife+ generally other sensitive topics, fluff, does this count as whump? (v minimum editing/proofreading)

word count. 4.9k

hyde’s input. wrote this as an attempt to distract myself from the fact i was on a plane (i hate flying). not much happens plot wise, and it just becomes me analyzing joel (in my own way) halfway through but hey, i wrote it and, though it's nowhere near perfect, i'm gonna post it!

due to the ties tlou has with zionism, here are helpful posts/links regarding the ongoing genocide in palestine. from the river to the sea. ( post, link, post )

Aging has become a threat again.

A part of him wonders if the threat ever truly left, or if it simply migrated south of his brain, chasing a warmth only leisure possesses, to make way for a survivalist winter’s cold. With the safety of walls and the sanctity of the commune, at last he’s caught on to the passing of time, the slow-crawling spider who spun its web into his skin. 

During the cold, there'd only been movement. Pacing down streets divided by those who live in fear and those who brandish riot gear, and tip-toeing past fungal-faced mutations, and stumbling in a daze of pain through snow to find her. A safety distance of unmarked miles, away from that hospital, is what it took for him to finally pull over, cut the engine and exhale. Out with the panic, and the urgency, and the fear. Ellie was there, laid across the back seats, a paper gown as blue as any April sky, a cursed relic upon her sleeping form, terrorising him with images of what could’ve been, had he failed to save her too.

In the warmth, there’s tranquillity. Stretched out legs upon worn out sofas, quiet hums of forgotten tunes on rescued guitars, tangled limbs on love-stained sheets. A home, a daughter, and a you, whatever you may be. A fallen angel, a summer fairy, a ray of sun. Any form you come from, he accepts it, welcomes it. Thanks it for bringing you to him, smelling fresh as a daisy, riding up next to him on his first patrol, smiling as sweet as the honey he’d eaten with his breakfast when you asked him if he needed help reigning in his horse.

No, he’d grunted more than spoken to you. And wound up flung off its back, ten paces later. From the ground staring up, he’d watched your face appear above him. Bitten back laughter, a stretched out hand, and a question of if he wanted to swap rides, take your mare for the day.

She’s far friendlier, you’d assured him, after he let you think it was your strength that pulled him back to his feet. Takes to strangers a little easier than him, you’ll be safe.

And he’d believed it, against his own nature.

Tommy had been the one to notice, to nudge him hours later and nod his head in your direction. Real sweetheart, ain’t she? Joel’d said nothing. Shrugged his shoulders, dipped his head, sipped the whiskey out his cup. Tracked your movement across the room like a hunter stalks its prey. Or, maybe, it was more like a bee examining a flower, wondering if the pretty vibrance of your outsides carried a match to your insides, if the taste of your soft petals was a great enough sweetness to satisfy a craving he’d long foregone.

Four months of observing later, spring came and he stung.

Since then, you’ve been his, whatever that may mean anymore.

He’d already been yours.

And yet he finds himself unable to tell you of his recent trouble, the emerging signs of his age that the needle of time has begun to stitch into his seams.

The greys that curl upon his head grow more frequent. Blink, and they seem to double. His skin stretches differently than before, at times it feels he wears it more than owns it. There’s aches, and pains, and cracks from his joints, where before there’d been numbness and tiredness. A back that refuses to straighten like it used to, no matter how hard he stretches under the fleeting warm drops of his morning shower.

A guilty conscience whispers in a voice much like Tess’, a memory of her telling him ageing means he’s still here, even if she’s not. It’s harder to find the good in it, anymore, when he has so much to lose again.

It’s his memory that scares him most. Like a photo album, the images within seem to fade with time and, the more he grabs at them, the more they wear away.

It started with something small. Forgetting you’d told him you would be heading over to visit Maria and the baby after your patrol shift, leading his heart to near beat out his chest as he raced down to the stables like some crazed man, rambling about how something’s happened to you, you’re not back, only for some kid- Jessie, a friend of Ellie’s- to tell him you came back hours ago. He’d pulled you a little tighter against him that night as you crawled into bed, the earlier unnecessary fear a little too visceral in his racing heart.

Then, it happened more often.

Ellie asked him to help her clean out the garage space for her, he forgot and agreed to cover someone’s turn cleaning the stables.

You told him of your love of mint tea, and instead he found you green.

Tommy asked him across the dinner table- a double date, a cause to debut Ellie’s first solo babysitting duties- if he remembered the name of that old bar they’d liked, and his mind was blank. Empty.

All of it, inconvenient. Yet he could brush it off, let it affect him only like a bruise: momentarily, till it faded.

Until recently.

Until the memories of her began to fade.

He’d woken up one morning, earlier than you like always. Kissed your sleeping face, creeped down the creaking staircase, switched on the stove to boil some coffee. And realised he could no longer remember what she’d liked better: pancakes or waffles.

A few weeks later, he tried recalling what shade of blue her soccer team’s kit was. Was it light blue? Or a darker blue, like fresh denim? Was it even blue at all?

Ellie asked him, the caution she used to bring towards mentioning her name long gone with the changing of seasons, if she’d liked any comic books. The sound of a runner, itching and twitching behind some fence interrupted before she could notice he didn’t have an answer.

Sure, she read. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her curled up in bed, the light of her torch illuminating more than just the pages of a book, but her face, too expressive for her own good at times, reacting to each twist and turn of the story. Sometimes, he’d stand in that doorway, unnoticed, till her eyes dropped shut and the light rolled out her hand. Other times, he’d clear his throat, catch her off guard, and tell her get to bed, kiddo, or I’ll tell Mrs. Atkinson you’ll be round after school tomorrow.

What use is it, however, remembering all that, if he can’t remember if she liked comics?

He should talk to someone about it, he knows. He’d tried to, at first. Had tried to drink the courage into him, sat across Tommy one late night, sat around a fire as they settled in for a night in the ski lodge, stranded by some heavy snowfall. He failed then, just like he failed when he tried to tell Ellie, till she raced off to throw snowballs at some kids and he remembered she was too young to listen to his burden, too beaten by life already to deserve stress within the respite of Jackson’s sanctuary. When he failed a fourth time to speak to Tommy, the real issue dawned on him.

He wants to talk to you. You’re the one he talks to, the one he goes to bear his wounds to, trusting no other’s love but your own to patch him up and calm him down. There’s only one issue, however.

He’s not told you about Sarah.

It was never a conscious decision, some secret he’d chosen to hide. Speaking about her simply hurt and, after the arduous months of crossing the country with Ellie, finding a place to call home in Jackson, and learning to hold somebody close again, he’d wanted to get away from pain, for a little while.

Then came the first anniversary of her death spent inside the commune. He’d drank himself blind, like every year before. There’s a hazy memory of that night he’s glad to suppress, one where he’s covered in his own vomit and you’re struggling to hold his weight up under a pouring shower, the sounds of his sobs muffled into your soaked sweater. He’d awakened, and awaited the questioning. Expected to open his eyes and find you stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Seeing the room empty was a shock, but drifting slowly down the stairs and finding you scrubbing the stains out of his shirts near floored him. 

The very same shirt you wear now, curled up on the sofa. Your eyes are shut, legs are bare, and there’s a gentle breeze that blows at the curtains you’d hung up, your first act upon moving in with him.

With a careful step, he avoids the creaking floorboard as he crosses the threshold. Slow as he can, he lowers the bag off his shoulder and props it gently against the wall, careful it doesn’t slip and let its contents spill out. Then he works at his laces, undoes them one by one, loosens them so his feet meet no resistance as he steps out of them. The summer’s heat affords him the liberation from heavy coats, less layers to shed now he’s returned to you at last.

You lay right, he strays left. Towards the kitchen, footsteps light as he can manage. Two chairs are pulled out at the table, two bowls sit drying neatly by the sink. Ellie must’ve stopped by for dinner. He’s glad to know she’s eaten, glad to know you kept each other company, glad to know the light is off in the shed and her snoring fills the hollow space. And he’s glad to find some food for him. He takes a bite, lifts the plate, finds a note beneath. Your handwriting, what do Joel Miller and breakfast have in common? followed by an arrow, urging him to turn the page around. The answer’s there, weakening his ageing knees. I can’t start my day without them.

Back by the sofa, a book sits split open, spine broken and pages pressed into ageing wood. Its cover is faded, frayed, much like he feels himself becoming.

He recognises it as one he’d gifted you, seasons ago. If he tries hard enough, he can remember the snow collecting in his unruly hair as he waited at your doorstep, and the way your smile melted the chill away, and the mumbling fool he’d made of himself upon handing the present over to you, some version of said you were bored, so I found this for you all he managed before turning on his heel and striding back to his own home, ignoring the teasing smile upon Ellie’s face.

After all this time, you still have it. Still read it. The fact slows his heart, soothes his aching back. Suddenly, he’s more than ready to head back out there, beyond the walls of Jackson, if it means collecting more books for you to remember him by when he’s long gone and withered away, no more than a familiar smell stained into your sheets and a fading warmth in the palm of your hand.

Two loud pops sound out of his knees as he crouches down by your side, the smell of your shampoo flooding his senses the closer he grows to your sleeping form. There’s a want, nestled deep inside his bones, to pull you into his arms and deliver you upstairs to a bed made for two, in search of a peace his soul has not found since he’d left for his shift in the early hours of the morning. It would be cruel, however, to wake you when you’re so beautiful.

Joel once thought he’d liked you best when you were smiling, till you’d fallen asleep on his porch one night, after hours of talking his ears off. Since then he’s liked you best sleeping, resting. Comfortable enough to trust his watchful eye to keep any harm away while your body takes back its much needed rest, even on days like this when he’s not physically there. You’ve got his shirt, his scent embedded into every thread of it, and that’s enough to keep you safe.

The rough of his fingertips reach out to graze the soft of your cheeks, gently dancing up to comb a few strands of damp hair away from your face. It seems you’ve gained your own spider, the faintest of lines beginning to take shape upon your skin. You wear it better than him, Joel thinks, the passing of time upon your body a picture of love, and prosperity, and hope for more time to come. He wears it like a burden, however. A death sentence, a timer on how long till the cold hand of Death takes the place of your warm one clasped in his.

Adjusting to a life he fears to leave has not been easy. There’d been a time where the promise of death was a comfort. To wake each day, reckless with his time and mindless to his body, a thought of all the pain, and all the sorrow, and that overwhelming, heavy, overbearing loneliness that hung over him like a storm cloud at last coming to an end and ceasing to exist, it had kept him going. Though faith died alongside her, a dream of reuniting with his babygirl on the other side was one he clung to on nights when no drop of alcohol and no unlabeled pill was enough to send him off to sleep. Death now, however, means parting from you, from Ellie, from Tommy. It no longer comforts so much as it disturbs him.

Would you comfort yourself, in the wake of his death, with dreams of reuniting someday, down the line, when Death takes you by the hand and guides you back to Joel?

He can only hope his babygirl can forgive the way he now longs to keep living, in spite of her waiting patiently for him in whatever comes after this life. Perhaps his failing memory is a consequence of this, a punishment she sends for making her wait even longer to feel his embrace again, slowly stealing away the only parts of her Joel has anymore.

Even in guilt, he can’t bring himself to believe his Sarah would do such a thing. Her heart was never touched by the bitterness that had hardened his own, her soul pure a freshly fallen snow.

I want you to be loved, dad. Echoes of her voice in his mind, words she’d confessed to him with teary eyes, a half-eaten birthday cake sitting between them, two candles, one in the shape of three, the other a zero, tossed messily on the table. There’d been no real fuss for his thirtieth, at his own insistence. Just his parents, his brother, his daughter. Those he loved, gathered around one table, eating away at food he’d made.

I’m already loved, kiddo. I got you, don’t I?

Joel knew what it meant to feel unloved. For a long time, that’s all he felt. The love only a child could gift died just as quickly in his arms as she had, under the watchful teary eyes of his brother. Grief he dragged around with him, dedicated to both her and the love he no longer felt.

First came denial. A steady 48 hours post-mortem, in which he walked ahead of Tommy and convinced himself she was there, a few feet behind him, talking her uncle’s ears off as he made sure to clear any oncoming threats The denial culminated in him bleeding down the side of his face, a missed bullet somewhere left behind, and Tommy’s pleading voice trying to move him forward, dragging him to tents set up by the army.

Eleven stitches, each one imbedding loss and cowardice into his screaming skin. The anger settled in a few days later. It made a home within Joel, latched onto his heart and began to beat in place of it. It changed him, aged with him, convinced him it was the only partner he’d ever need. A hopeful glimmer of bargaining came in the shape of Tess. But anger and all its roots were too deeply burrowed within Joel, unwilling to be weeded out, no matter how firm the hand. 

Complacency was far easier than any fight. Tommy left, the buzz of a firefly seducing him with the idea of better, of more, of a cure. Joel convinced himself things were easier without Tommy and his morals around. The routine of waking, struggling, drinking, passing out was one he practised well and thoroughly. Till Marlene and her suicide mission.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Ellie, with all her snark, and her crass words, and her humourless puns, reminded Joel how it  felt to be loved. Laid upon his chest, a need for warmth and a plea for him to survive, she became the closest thing that felt like Sarah in twenty years. How could Marlene expect him to walk away, to leave her in that hospital?

Pain rushes in like a wave meets the shore, dampening him in a melancholy he saves for whiskey. Still resting peacefully on the sofa, your chest rises slow, steady, and constant. He tries to mimic it, matching his own breathing to it. It reminds him of dancing with you in the kitchen, barefoot and bare chested, arms entangled and forehead pressed to forehead, doing his best to stay in sync with your gentle sways.

The floorboards creek the further his aching body sinks to the floor. Like a man meets the altar, he’s on his knees. Blunt fingernails dig into the worn out brown leather of the couch, the only grip he has on reality. 

A discombobulated memory dances across his mind. One of a much younger him, with a head full of brown locks and a sleeping daughter upon his couch. Outbreak night. He’d been peacefully unaware of the happenings outdoors, happy to turn another year older next to his Sarah, when a call came through. His brother, dumped in some jail-cell and begging for release. He’d not thought it through much, sighing in frustration yet rising slowly to his feet nonetheless. If he’d known how that night would end, he’d have held his daughter a little tighter as he carried her to bed, he’d have left every kiss he could afford against her forehead, and speak every I love you he had left in him.

Grief is a river that travels the mountain of his mind. Strong, cold, descending upon a downward slope. Its currents are unforgiving, grabbing a hold of anything that blocks the path. Too easy is it for him to slip and fall into the rapids, losing hold of his footing on reality before he realises he’s struggling to breath and there’s a whole new river carving a way for itself out his eyes and down his cheeks. 

His eyes close. His breath halts. He tries to remember those breathing exercises, the same ones he uses any time the pain swells too much and the panic begins to attack his nervous system. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. Choke down a sob. Slow breath out. Joel. He pictures you, feet upon solid ground, hand stretched out as you try to goad him out the trepid waters of his grief. Joel. This image of you reminds him he’s got a name, got a life, got a purpose. To help Tommy on patrols. To make sure Ellie always has a place to call home. To keep you warm in the winter, and kissed during spring, and safe no matter where the sun may sit. Joel. The tears fall faster. Messier. He’s no longer a quiet companion at your side, but a mess of ragged breathing and nose sniffles. 

“Joel?”

Skin to skin. Soft hand to wet cheek. You’re awake faster than he can process, too quick to wipe tears or feign smiles. Legs scramble off the couch, parted and bent at the knee on either side of him. Musk, and lilies, and every scent that makes him feel safe and close to you envelop the shared space between you.

“Joel, baby, what’s wrong?” Your thumb swipes uselessly at his cheeks, fresh waves rolling out his eyes before you finish wiping the last. Sleep is written all over you, woven into your breathy voice and weighing down the bags of your eyes. He feels a whole new wave of guilt, waking you from such a peaceful slumber with the sight of him and all his ailments bursting out the frayed seams that hold him together.

He thinks he says your name. It’s hard to tell. The blurred image of you through his teary eyes inspires a heavy burden of disappointing you that he can not cope with, and so he ducks his head between your legs, forehead pressing on the inside of your left thigh. His breath is short, his heart is sore, and he’s staining your delicate skin with his pain. You let him grieve upon you, pull him closer. A hand soothes up his back. Your voice tells him it’s okay, and you hum a sweet tune he’s sure he’s played you many a drunken nights, when the confidence kicks in and he’s serenading you with his country twang and guitar strings.

There’s no prying, no demand to rightfully know why you’ve awoken to your lover, steadfast and stoic at his worst, collapsing into your hold. You let him cry. He lets you hold him. You’re all he’s been missing, this feeling of support he’s denied himself for far too long. No fear of your judgement, but fear of pulling you in amongst the dangerous currents alongside him. 

An anchor comes in the shape of your fingers carding through his unruly hair, a tether that pulls him back into the living room, into your home, into you. With the patience of any saint, you let him move at his own pace, head slowly rising from your thigh, back straightening to the best of its abilities. His hand, rough and hardened by time and grit and survival, paws at your thigh, clumsy in its attempts to dry his tears off of you, a fear of it sinking into your skin and some part of his sadness taking root inside your bloodstream.

Your hand stills his, gently, coercing his fingers to thread with your own as your other hand cups his face and guides him to look at you. You're beautiful, in a way that makes Joel wish he was better with words so he could spend the rest of his days finding new ways to tell you so. Instead, he has to settle with a simple, “my pretty girl.” You smile, bashful, as if that’s enough, as if you don’t deserve more.

“Hello to you too, handsome.” You peck his cheek, he chases after you with his mouth. Two small pecks, a third he fails to achieve as you hold him back. “Don’t think you can distract me with those perfect lips of yours, Miller. I’m worried about you, and no amount of kisses are gonna change that.”

He refocuses on his breathing exercises. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Deep breath in. No sob this time. Slow breath out. Your gaze, soft as a cloud, rests over him gently, your own chest rising and falling in sync with him. With every night he’d lay awake, trying to think of how to bring up Sarah and the details of her he’s failing to hold onto, never did he imagine the weight to fly off his chest so easily with just a supportive smile from you.

“I had someone before, who I loved.” He pauses. Clears his throat, shifts his weight. His knees are beginning to ache the longer they sit digging into the hard floor. He should have listened to your advice of scavenging a rug. “Not how I love you. Like I love Ellie.”

Silence.

Not the kind where you hear a pin drop, but one that allows the laughter of children playing down the street to blow in with the breeze, and the creaking of the old house you’ve both made a home, and the squeaks and chirps of wild-life continuing on outside, unaffected by the end of civilisation.

Then, “I know.” Joel’s eyes widen, disbelief painted across them. “Tommy’s let it slip a few times. Just when we’re on patrol and he sees something that reminds him of her. Or he’s telling me a story that’s sole purpose is to embarrass you.” A part of him wants to feel angry at his younger brother, stealing his right to reveal such a large part of who he is. The other part of him feels for him too, a reminder that Sarah’s loss is not one he tackled all by himself. She was his daughter, but she was also Tommy’s niece. How could he blame him for feeling comfortable enough to share his grief with you? “Ellie also mentioned it, once. Back before you and I were really…” You fall silent, trail off, as you both usually do when faced with tackling the task of labelling what exists between you.

“Why,” he chooses to distract himself from it, scared of a world where he asks for the right to claim himself as your husband. Those things don’t matter anymore, with the world gone to shit, but a man could still dream. “Didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s your story to tell, I didn’t want to force it out you. I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

He may not know how to label what you are to him, but he knows he loves you. God, does he love you.

“Thank you, darlin’, I really-” He’s getting choked up, caught between his grief for Sarah and his love for you. You seem to understand, as you always do, hands slowly pulling and coercing him up onto the sofa, occupying the space next to you. “Can’t thank you enough.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” You promise, sealing it into his skin with a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t like to see you cry, Joel, but I prefer you do it in front of me. Don’t hide parts of yourself. I want all of you. Good, bad, and everything in between.”

There’s the urge to let himself fall into the river again, now that you’ve pulled him ashore and attached yourself to him like a life vest, an oath to never let him drown. He feels his eyes well-up, but doesn’t let them fall, as his mouth runs ahead of his mind and at last confesses the troubles he’s been keeping close to his chest.

“It used to be like this every day. Tears, unless I numbed myself free of consciousness. Then, things got better. With Ellie and you around. Anytime I felt the anger or the pain swelling, you’d be there and there’d be room for laughter. But I’m getting older, darlin’. Memories’ not the same. There’s things about my babygirl, my Sarah, that I just… can’t remember. And it scares me. Scares me so bad that I don’t know how to cope with it. If I ever woke up and couldn’t remember her face, it would kill me. I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

He speaks slowly. You cling to every word, a gentle nod lets him know you understand. A part of him wonders how deep that understanding runs, if you too had lost a child. He wants to afford you the same grace you’ve given in, and so he doesn’t pry. If you have a story to tell, he can only hope to still be around to listen.

Oblivious to the thoughts of you holding a faceless child swirling around in his head, you pull Joel into you, encouraging him to let you hold his frame. You’ve told him countless times he needs to let himself be cared for, a spark that ignited many  arguments in the early days of your love. It feels nice to comply at last, head drifting down to rest on your steady shoulder. Your legs curl up onto the couch, lay gently over his own, as an arm wraps itself around his aching back.

Only like this does Joel feel he’s finally arrived home after weeks of wading through the depths of his own sorrows, evading a bounty placed upon him by time.

Joel is ageing. Everyday, a new line appears on his face. Every year, a new ache burrows in his bones. But, if each moment he can feel your love in acts of kindness, and left-over meals, and sleepy limbs upon a shared mattress, it doesn’t feel as daunting. He wonders what awaits him in the afterlife, when he and Sarah reunite as he so hopes. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be proud of him for finding solace in a heart like yours.

“Tell me about her.” You plead to him something he’s spent years longing to do.

Without missing a beat, words flow easily and memories play on in his head, his precious daughter no longer blurry in a haze, but fully in focus, smiling wide at him with a mouthful of food.

“She loved pancakes.”

[goldenroutledge]

intimidated

pairing: jj maybank x kook!reader

word count: 5.3k

summary: you’re there for jj when it matters most. (inspired by this post)

warning(s): sprinkles of angst, but fluffy in the end.

a/n: the song i had in mind while writing this was intimidated by kaytranada & h.e.r <3

jj maybank masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

JJ Maybank didn’t need handouts. As he told it, his independence was his most valuable asset. It’s what made him a pogue through and through. “Is freedom anything else than the right to live as we wish?”— An Epictetus quote JJ scribbled down, bored as ever in his freshman English class. His life motto condensed into twelve simple words, whether his newfound ‘freedom’ was out of his control or not. Either way, he played the cards he was dealt.

His friends— no, scratch that— his family, were his escape to comfort. A soft, pillowy landing from the nose dive that was his life. A foreign concept to him until he met John B, then Pope, then Kiara, then you. A refuge of safety, ironically enough, given the many times you all had looked death in the face.

Even though the pogues had already started wearing matching friendship bracelets that Kiara made by the time you came along, it was a smooth transition when you were welcomed into the group with open arms. By some more than others at first, given your kook status. But just as they’d embraced Kie, your initiation into the group was no different.

While it took time for JJ in particular to come around, his reservations were understandable. At first, you gave him his space and he gave you yours. Always letting him set the tone and lead the way.

As time went on, JJ soon decided he wouldn’t mind having you around him all the time, there was no going back. JJ loved to the point of no return, and it was incomparable to anything— or how anyone else could ever make you feel.

At times, he felt like that was all he had to offer. Nothing but fierce loyalty and protection over the ones he loves most. But you. To JJ, you were the fine line between hideaway and heaven itself. Even if he thought he may not end up there, he was sure that it would be you he’d meet at heaven’s gates.

Amongst any conflict or tension within the group, you always provided a safe haven for him to retreat to, though he had difficulty admitting it. In a way you had a solution for everything. Keeping tensions low and spirits high in the process. You were the original peacemaker of the group, before his precious gun came along.

Right now, it was almost all he could think about while he sat there, beer in hand, listening to John B and Sarah argue in the distance. How he wishes you were here, to ease his nerves and settle the anxiety simmering in his chest.

JJ hated this. He hated that nobody seemed to get along anymore. With all that was going on with the others, he wouldn’t even think to mention his problems. The looming eviction notice on his house, one of few things he had left on this island. While everyone’s lives continued to progress, JJ’s was at a standstill. No job, no parents, and now his friend group was falling apart at the seams. And with everyone else occupied these days, he was alone.

JJ, selfless as usual, would hate to bother you, no matter how badly he wanted to. He knew you’d have some inspirational shit to say to him. Though he’d poked fun at it sometimes, he’d never needed anything more right now.

The sound of footsteps came before JJ saw them, watching Sarah storm off and away from John B as he stood there, tense and silent.

JJ could be hot headed at times, that was no secret. He could understand his friends' quarrels to an extent. But he couldn’t look past the fact that you all were supposed to be sticking together, especially right now. When he said that nothing good could happen once you all returned to Kildare, he knew he was right. Call it a gut feeling.

-

Naturally, Sarah told you everything. Confidant, mom-friend, advisor— all titles bestowed upon you by your close group of friends over the years. You’d always tried to be as neutral as possible in times of conflict. Though in matters of the heart it was nearly impossible.

Days after her fight with John B, she found herself laying on your bed, venting all of her bottled up frustrations about him and the state of their relationship.

“I’m a mess, Y/n. I feel like such a mess.”

You looked at her sympathetically, knowing there wasn’t much you could do. Just listen, just be there in her time of need.

“So, I took my bag from the Chateau and I left. Kie’s parents told me I couldn’t stay, then I went to JJ’s and he wasn’t home. He’s working at Guffy’s again last I heard.”

You briefly glanced up at the mention of JJ’s name— and it didn’t go unnoticed by Sarah. Instead of divulging about it, she continued her rant.

“Then I was just wandering around, because it’s not like I had anything better to do. And who sees me drinking at Tiki Bar? Topper.”

“Topper?”

“Topper.”

You internally cringed at the mention of the Thornton boy. He was always nice when you saw him, nothing bad nor good to say about him. But you knew deep down he was Sarah’s achilles heel. He reminded her of everything she once had, the person she once was. Lately, you couldn’t help but crave some normalcy too.

“So.. what happened?”

She sighs heavily, dropping her hand across her eyes. “We went to Mase.”

“Alone?”

“We went with some people from KDC. The old crew, Kelce, Phoebe…”

“Is that it?”

“We made out.”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut in fear of your reaction, knowing it’d probably show on your face before anything.

“Oh.” You swallowed back any judgment you might’ve had, compartmentalizing your love for John B and choosing to hear Sarah out. “And how do you feel about it?”

“Awful. I mean Topper has been so good to me lately with everything going on, he’s always there to pick up the pieces and I just feel bad. It was a mistake.”

“It can’t happen again, y’know. Not if you want to work it out with John B.”

“I do, I wanna work it out with him.” She urged. “And then the next morning we had breakfast. Kie came into the restaurant and saw us together and I think she got the wrong message. She said she’s staying out of it but I can tell what she’s thinking.” Sarah takes a deep inhale, and a deep exhale to follow. “What do I do, Y/n?”

It still baffles you at times that you’ve become the voice of reason. You hope Sarah doesn’t notice that you feel uneasy about the whole thing. “Just… be honest. Don’t let John B find out from anyone other than you. He’s gonna be upset but he has a right to be.”

The blonde sits up, crawls over to you and envelopes you into her arms. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

-

Sun reflected brightly off the boats docked at the marina, the two smoothie cups in your hand sweating from the sweltering heat. Your family's boat was kept here at Guffy’s; particularly when your parents weren’t in town to cruise around the island and daydrink with their kook friends.

At least you had an alibi, just in case you happened to run into JJ. The two medium strawberry banana smoothies you carried might need some explanation, though.

Ever since you all had made it back to the island, JJ had been hard to track down. He was rarely in one place for too long. So where else better to catch him than at work?

“Y/n? How are you doing today?” Billy questions from a distance away, putting on his friendliest smile for the daughter of his best clients.

“Can’t complain. Happy to be back.”

“And it’s good to have you back. Everything alright with the boat?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine, I just realized I left behind my favorite sunglasses.” You explained, hoping your excuse sounded authentic enough.

“Alright. You take care, now.”

“Actually… I was wondering is JJ around?”

“Maybank? He was here a few days ago.”

“Hm, I could’ve sworn he was working today.”

Billy sighs, eyebrows furrowing. “Listen, Ms. Y/l/n, I know you want to advocate for your boyfriend and all but JJ can’t work here.”

Confusion spread through your features this time as you genuinely had no idea what the man was getting at. You chose to not correct him when he’d mistaken you for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid. I know he wants the job back but Guffy put a pin in it. I’m sorry. Really not much I can do.”

You forced a polite smile on your face as the dots connected, remembering the melting smoothie you held in your left hand while your half-finished one remained in your right. The two of you exchanged brief goodbyes before you quickly left the marina.

If JJ really hadn’t been working at Guffy’s again, where the hell was he? His act of disappearing was unmatched, but so was your skill of guessing.

If a game of hide-n-seek is what he wanted, a game of hide-n-seek is what he will get.

-

Grass brushed against your ankles as you approached JJ’s home, your steps careful as you looked around for him.

Going to JJ’s home was forbidden. When Luke was around, that is. He was a phantom— an ugly, dark presence looming over the quaint home that would otherwise feel serene. The chirping birds in the trees couldn’t tell the difference.

You haven't been here many times. The times you had been here weren’t anything you nor JJ wanted to remember. The feeling of uncertainty creeped into your mind from your past visits. You never knew what to expect.

To your left, there was a beautiful, never-ending view of the water past the grass of the Maybank’s yard. You hadn’t noticed that before. This spot had probably seen some beautiful sunsets. In a moment of imagination, you almost pictured sitting there with JJ on the plush green, hand in hand, watching the warm hues of the sky melt into a dark night.

The caution tape wrapping around the wood of the house caught your interest as you made your way onto the porch, also noticing the eviction letter left on the door, moving closer for a better look.

“Y/n?”

JJ called out, appearing from around the corner of his home, startling you out of concentration as you re-read the notice again and again.

As if you didn’t come over to finally see him in the first place. Though you couldn’t speak— for once unsure of what to say. ‘Sorry you’re getting evicted?’, it just didn’t sound right. Then again it might’ve been better than standing frozen and staring at him, silently, like you were doing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- um…. I brought you a smoothie.”

You held out the cup, approaching him and handing it to him. He stood there dumbfounded, eyebrows furrowed. His lips eventually pursed into a smile as a way to say thank you. This wasn’t the relaxed JJ you were accustomed to; nonetheless he was still the JJ you loved.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. The smoothie.”

“You came all the way out here from your mansion on Figure 8 to bring me a smoothie?”

“What?” You scoffed, his tone dictating where the conversation was headed. Most likely nowhere.

“Go back to reading by your pool or something. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I haven’t heard from you in days, JJ. I’m just checking up on you.”

“So what? You touring around the Cut now? Delivering smoothies to lost pogues? Is Heyward’s your next stop?”

He resumed tinkering with his bike, and from the looks of it he was working rather aggressively— desperate to distract himself from the conversation at hand.

“I miss my best friend. Am I not allowed to miss you anymore? I mean it’s not like we were stranded on an island together… not knowing whether we would live or die!”

“Well, we’re not exactly a big happy family right now. You should know that.”

“Yeah. John B and Sarah are on some kind of break. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see you, that doesn’t have anything to do with us. I thought we were past the whole picking sides thing.”

“I’ve been busy.” JJ shrugs.

“Busy working? At the job you lied about having?”

His eyes snapped to yours immediately. Your heart clenched as soon as the words left your mouth, you didn’t mean to go too far. But at least you had his attention.

“What, are you stalking me now? Or did you hire a P.I. to figure that out?”

“Hilarious, JJ. I was at the marina earlier to grab something off my boat. Actually hoping I would run into you but, whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

A few moments of awkward silence lingered between the two of you, as you kicked a pebble around with your foot.

“I know you don’t owe me anything… but you could’ve just told me.”

He paused his movements, thinking about how he was going to respond.

“Tell you what? That I prefer mixed berry over strawberry banana?” He jested, smiling to himself.

“I’m not talking about the smoothie, idiot.”

His eyes drifted over to his home, knowing exactly what you were thinking, just afraid to acknowledge it.

“My problems aren’t your problems, Y/n.”

“And I know that. I just wanna help you, however you’ll let me.”

“Well, you can help me by not helping me. I’ll figure it out. Always do.”

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m here.”

At that, he dropped his tools, running tense hands through his hair. “But you aren’t here! You don’t have to live like this and you should be glad that you don’t!”

He raised his voice at you, frustrated. JJ was never good at putting his feelings into words, especially when it came to actually expressing them.

He didn’t know how he could tell you about everything. The worst day he’s ever had, the lowest he’s ever been. He couldn’t see a way in which he could tell you all of it and carry on the same. You were always a constant in his life. He needed it to stay that way, by any means necessary.

“That doesn’t make sense, JJ. What’s the point of having anything nice if I can’t share it with the people I love?”

The both of you were taken aback at what your explanation implied. In actuality, it took all of your power not to say those three words to him outright. But you couldn’t, not like this.

“You don’t have to pretend to care that much. I’m sure you can find another community service project to focus on.”

“Community service?” You chuckled emptily, baffled at his ridiculousness, though deep down you knew this was how he dealt with things. He simply didn’t know anything other than defensiveness. “That’s what you think this is?”

JJ closed his eyes in exasperation, wishing this conversation away. He could hear it in your voice, your feelings were hurt. Maybe not as bad as when your 8th grade crush asked someone else to the Valentine’s dance— but even a little was too much.

“If you’re gonna reduce our decade of friendship to me doing charity work, I guess there’s no changing your mind. I’m just wasting my breath.”

The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize instantly, but now he wasn’t sure if his apologies were something you’d wanna hear at the moment. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him.

For all the disingenuous apologies he’d accepted over the years, he’d hate to put you on the receiving end of one. Even if his heart truly was in the right place, JJ couldn’t muster up the courage to show it.

“You don’t have to antagonize me. Because everything you’re blaming me for, it isn’t my fault. Just like this isn’t your fault either.” You gestured to the eviction notice at his door.

“Yeah.” He mumbled. “You’re right.”

“Say what you want about me, but I just wanna know that you’re okay. And if it’s an apology you’re looking for, you’re not gonna get it. I’ll never apologize for that.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to say. All he could do was try to understand.

Realizing he had no further comments, you turned your back to leave.

“Will I see you at the Chateau tomorrow?” You asked over your shoulder, hope remaining in your voice despite the uneasiness that remained between you two.

“Don’t count on it.”

“Alright, well… bye.”

JJ waves, before muttering a monotone ‘thanks for the smoothie’ as he watches you go.

-

Since returning to the island, it was an unspoken thing that you all were to meet up at the Chateau at some point. And with all the new developments in your lives lately, these meetings were much needed.

Pope handed you a beer as he came into John B’s living room, opening one of his own as he sat down beside you.

John B and Sarah seemed to be laying low, but it was clear they were back together or had come to some sort of resolution.

Kiara was going on about how much shit her parents had been giving her lately. They’d been hovering— watching over their daughter’s every move from the moment she set foot on the island again.

Pope told the group about how Cleo had won over Heywar in record time, much faster than John B or JJ. Pope’s parents simply wanted the best for him, and knew that the danger and mischief his friends came with couldn’t be productive.

“We’ve been best friends for what…? 13 years?” John B recalls. “And your dad can hardly stand the sight of me but Cleo won him over in a few minutes? How?”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not at all.” John B holds his hands up in surrender to Cleo, Pope smirking beside her as he witnesses the interaction. “Just confused.”

“I have many superpowers, John.”

“Apparently! Winning over Heyward is like, unheard of in this group. At least for JJ and me.” John B explains, sipping his beer.

“Speaking of, where’s he at?”

At the shift in conversation, you can feel several pairs of eyes fall upon you. All you can do is act as normal as possible, tipping off any of your friends always ends badly in the case of keeping a secret. Until the cat’s out of the bag, your friends will make it their personal mission to reveal whatever it is you’re hiding.

You raised your eyebrows, pretending to only catch onto their stares moments later. “Why’re you looking at me?”

“No reason. It’s not like you guys are secretly together or anything.” Pope mutters under his breath, catching a glare from you at his false claim.

“We’re not. I wouldn’t know where he is.”

John B hisses, pretending to shiver. “Is it a little chilly in here? Or is that just Y/n’s cold shoulder?”

You roll your eyes, further proving his point until Sarah chimes in, pondering if she should speak up about what she knows.

“I actually stopped by JJ’s the other day. He.. wasn’t home.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t he go fishing? Probably not back yet.” John B remembers.

“I don’t think he’ll be going home anytime soon.”

At this your eyes meet Sarah’s hazel ones, full of hesitation. You shoot her a look of ‘whatever you’re about to say, don’t’, and you hope she is wise enough to pick up on it.

“Why is that?” Kiara questions, confused.

“He got evicted.” Sarah blurts, regret spreading through her expression as she sees you react; you don’t react. And that slightly terrifies her.

“Really?” Pope asks in disbelief, though not too surprised. More so disappointed that his best friend had to endure this, silently at that.

“Yeah. When was the last time anyone’s heard from him?”

The group silently recollects for a few moments, Kie pulls out her phone to review her latest texts with the man in question.

Instead, you’re wondering how the hell Sarah even knew about this to begin with. How long could she know about this and just stay silent? Forget not telling the group, how long could she keep this from you? How could she not help her friend who was clearly in need of support?

“How long have you known?”

Sarah appears confused, wondering where your line of questioning is coming from.

“I- uh. After John B and I fought I went there, remember Y/n? I was hoping I could stay but he wasn’t home. That’s when I saw the eviction notice.”

“And you waited, I don’t know, a week to bring that up?”

“Y/n, it’s not like I intentionally kept this from you, okay? We know how protective you are over JJ.”

Her words strike a cord within you, already on edge regarding JJ Maybank because of your argument with him the day prior. It was still a sore subject, even more so made by having no one to confide in about it.

“It’s not about that, Sarah. You didn’t even have to tell anyone at all but you didn’t think to maybe find out if he’s okay? At the very least?”

“I was a bit homeless at the time, Y/n, sorry about that.”

“Oh, right. You were too busy hooking up with Topper to care about the well-being of our best friend? Good to know the bare minimum is impossible for you.”

Sarah scoffs, John B shakes his head in exasperation. Kiara stays silent mostly, being no stranger to your and Sarah’s sister-like fights. She couldn’t even disagree with you, though with her parents keeping her on lockdown it was hard to do anything about it. She wasn’t in a place to have an opinion.

Pope and Cleo shared looks, communicating wordlessly as they had grown to do. Being away at Heyward’s kept them out of the loop quite a bit.

“JJ will figure it out, Y/n. Relax.” John B reassured. Though he was defending his girlfriend, now that they were in a ‘good place’ again, you felt anything but reassured at his carelessness around the subject. You’d think of all of you, John B would understand the most.

“Relax? Why should I relax if JJ is in trouble? If anything, you’re too relaxed!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you don’t have to take it out on Sarah, this isn’t even her fault! Not all of us want to fight your battles.”

“If you had any sense left you’d realize this isn’t about me. This is about our friend, who I thought we all cared about. At least enough to share this kind of news. We’re talking about his well-being here, I mean he’s losing the house he grew up in and nobody seems to care about that?”

“If he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.”

“Like he’s ever going to do that! You know better than anyway that he won’t!”

“It’s not my problem.”

“Mhm. It’s a shame JJ’s busy solving all of yours.”

“Y/n, please. Can we just have a chill night?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his ‘best friend since the third grade?’ Because you don’t fucking act like it.” You huffed, standing up to get rid of your beer can. At this point you were rambling to yourself, more than okay with the group hearing what you really thought about them and their carelessness for the situation.

“Indeed. Which is why I don’t need to force him to tell me shit, okay?”

“Why are you such an asshole, John B?”

“Y/n, I just found my dad. So, excuse me if JJ’s living situation isn’t at the forefront of my mind.”

“I never said it had to be, but you’re acting like you don’t even care!”

“I do care! We all do!” John B shouts. “And maybe if you’d let up on him he’d actually come to you about this stuff!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying, maybe JJ would give you the love you so desperately crave if you weren’t fucking suffocating him.”

“John B!” Kiara warns.

Sarah held her face in her hands, knowing John B had crossed the line. Maybe he had one too many beers in his system. Either way, hell was about to break loose. And when it came to JJ, hell hath no fury like you did.

Your head felt like it was about to explode. How could your friends seem to be so comfortable with this? The same friends that claimed to leave no pogue behind, to never turn their back on one of their own.

If that was true, then what was this? From the looks of it, nobody even pretended to give a damn.

“You’re fucking terrible, John B. This isn’t even about me at all! You just can’t stop deflecting from what a shitty friend you are. I mean, JJ would die for literally every last one of you guys. And he almost did! On multiple occasions! But instead you’re gonna neglect the one person who's seen you through all your bullshit and as soon as it’s over you’re gonna pretend like nothing happened? Like the Earth is back on its axis? The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you, John B. That’s just not- that’s not something you do to someone you love.”

There wasn’t a need to announce your departure, as it was so quiet inside that you could hear your own breathing.

As hard as it was to fight with John B like that, you couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted off your chest. Your spirit was lighter. It was therapeutic, really. So therapeutic you felt peaceful enough to go home and take the longest nap ever recorded, maybe in John B’s own hammock just to prove a point.

Entranced in your own thoughts, you didn’t even register JJ resting in the hammock himself, hands intertwined behind his head. Not asleep, but wondering what your next words will be. The walls of the Chateau were thin enough, echoes of your voices amplified by the open windows.

He wasn’t sure if you simply didn’t notice his presence or if you were flat out ignoring him, walking past like he was invisible. Testing the waters, he called out from behind you.

“I never really thanked you for the smoothie.”

You froze in your tracks, face heating up and muscles tensing at the thought of the argument he probably just heard and decided not to barge in on.

“It’s alright. Wasn’t looking for praise.”

JJ met you halfway, taking note of your tired eyes and your feet dragging against the grass.

“So, what? You’re picking fights for me now?”

“You heard?”

“I think Ward Cameron heard. All the way from Guadalupe.”

“Stop it.” You warned, cracking a smile for a split second. JJ was good at that. Making you smile no matter the circumstances. “I stand up against injustice. That’s all.”

“Then are you still mad at me?”

“About what?”

“Yesterday. The whole… note on door situation.”

“Could never be mad at you, JJ. Especially not about that.”

He softly smiles, one that you return. It’s been a long time since you’d shared a small moment like this. Too long.

He gestures for you to come closer and slide into his arms as he’d held them out for you, just like you belong there.

“I am sorry, though.” JJ mumbles the words softly, almost into the crook of your neck as if he was speaking to you and you only. “I know you’re just trying to stick around for me.”

“Yeah. Just trying to be wherever you are.”

“You don’t have to fight for me, y’know.” I’m already here. Though you may not have caught on instantly, nothing he’s ever said has made as much sense.

“Sorry, J. Sometimes I just feel like we don’t deserve you. Like I don’t deserve you.” You admitted sheepishly.

JJ scoffs, and you’re not sure why. He’s often sarcastic, but it’s hard to tell what he’s really thinking in these situations.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/n?”

Your eyes meet his, hesitation behind them.

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve me? Is that a joke?”

You looked at him as if it were obvious, like the line had already been drawn in the sand. This fact had already been decided; there was no going back, not now, and not ever.

“I know I’m not the smartest person, okay, but you’re making no sense.”

“Come again?” You asked, equally as confused as he was. It was incredulous for anyone to believe JJ of all people wasn’t worth it— as if he wasn’t worth someone who would go to the ends of the Earth for him, someone who would defend him six ways to Sunday. There was no one in your life more deserving of such a thing.

“Listen, Y/n...”

“No! You listen. Nobody should treat you like that. Especially our friends! As if their problems are bigger than yours or something. It’s just fucked up for any one of them to act like they don’t care because I know deep down, they do. They care just like I do but they just suck at showing it. Mostly John B. He sucks the most. And I’m not exempt either, I mean I should’ve checked on you sooner-”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” JJ interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

“I know that. I just want to love you. Because I really do. I really love you, JJ. Like bad. So bad that it’s probably sad at this point but I really don’t care anymore! Not about what John B has to say, not about anything, because I’ll never regret it. I’ll never wish that I didn’t love you.”

That stupid weight again, feeling as if it’s taking off like a rocketship and leaving your conscience for good. It makes you want to scream the words from the rooftops. Over and over and over again.

Confessing feels good, but kissing JJ feels damn euphoric. His lips are on yours before you can even register what’s happening, too busy being self-aware to realize the way his eyes turned glossy, or the way he’s gently got one hand on your waist and one hand caressing your cheek.

“He’s got it all wrong. I love you, too.” JJ confesses after pulling away from you, briefly taking his eyes off yours to glance at the Chateau. His head shakes as he says it, that starry glint in his eyes so undeniably present. “So bad.”

He earns a giggle out of you as he mocked your words to him just a few moments ago. But now, things were changing. He couldn’t stand before you and pretend he didn’t feel the way he did. Not anymore, not ever again.

Not after you’d shown your love for him so confidently to everybody, time and time again. JJ Maybank wasn’t sure about many things in life, but you weren’t one of them. This was surely the best decision he’d made in years.

“Come over.” You whine between kisses, breaking him out of his trance. If you let him, he’d kiss you forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

JJ raises his eyebrows, smirking.

“For dinner. We’re having sloppy joes.”

JJ, unresisting temptation, leans in again and moans against your lips dramatically. “What about dessert?”

You give his hair a tug and kiss the smirk off his face, whispering to him a secret.

“And maybe dessert.”

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @pogueslandia @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @it-was-never-meant-to-be-boys @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl + jj maybank taglist: @destourtereaux

[hellishjoel]

let the light in

8.8k / pairing: dbf/neighbor joel miller x f!reader

hellishjoel masterlist | notifications blog | cinnamon girl masterlist

summary: Joel takes you on your first proper date, but there’s trouble in Houston. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, dbf/neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20’s while Joel is in his 40’s), cursing, use of pet names (kitten, angel, baby girl, etc.), daddy kink, unprotected p in v, a lil praise kink, a slight Table for Two crossover if you squint, daddy issues, Joel smoking cigarettes

A/N: the one time I was actually ON TIME to finish a Cinnamon Girl chapter, and I get slapped with covid - but here it is a week late! thank you to @saradika-graphics for the banners <3

Light leaks through the tattered curtains, slipping through the seams and highlighting Joel’s cheekbone. 

It almost scares you. Like you’re not in the safety of the motel room but rather in his bed or in your own at the summer cabin. Like your parents or Sarah could walk in at any moment and see you curled into Joel’s side, both naked from the waist down. It’s like a nightmare, your heart rate startling you awake. 

Your shoulders bunch as you recollect air to your lungs and settle, hazy vision settling on the motel room. Joel is sound asleep, a large lumberjack with large breaths in and large breaths out. You can’t help but watch him. He looks peaceful. Sound asleep, untouched by the problems of the outside works. 

Being this close to him feels odd. It still feels like you’re not supposed to be here, this damn close. In fact, you’re supposed to be at least fifteen feet from him, hiding. But you don’t have to hide, not here. There are no skeptical eyes, no nosey neighbors or parents. You can hold his hand, smile at him with real meaning, and sleep beside him. Enjoy pleasure with him. 

A sigh leaves your lips, and you gently rest your forehead against his toned shoulder. He’s warm. A furnace, really. Your eyes flutter closed, lulling you into slumber once more. The next time you wake, your arms are locked around his waist in a tight bear hug. Your head had found a place of safety against his side and tucked into his armpit. You were curled up in a ball, a strong hand skimming up and down your back peacefully. 

That pesky feeling surges you awake again, like you’re not supposed to be here. You shoot up with a bit more gust, your speeding heart rate sending you up again as your eyelashes flutter in panic. 

“Shhh,” a gentle, low voice hums. 

It’s not enough to calm you yet, your stomach lurches as you’re tiredly sitting up and pushing away from the safety you were once encapsulated in. 

“Joel,” you whisper with concern, feeling your shoulders lock up, sitting exhaustedly up on your elbows. You take in your surroundings, the old mini fridge and the aging television speckled with dust. Your backpack and Joel’s duffel bag on the spare bed. The pounding in your chest halts, falling weakly into his awaiting arms once more. 

“I’m sorry, I thought,” your speech falters, not able to string together a hazy thought. 

“I know,” Joel whispers, allowing you to rest beside him once more. You frown as you lay your cheek against his pec, finding comfort in twirling your finger around his longer chest hair. 

A comforting silence relaxes the two of you, the daylight casting more warmth into the room, and now it was highlighting a fuzzy rectangle along his abdomen. You trace the shape, humming softly as you turn your head and rest your chin on his chest, smiling softly at the sight of his messy hair. 

“You look like you slept well.” You tease, pushing your fingers through his faded dark hair, trying to relax the messy, knotted locks. His hand reaches for yours, interlocking your fingers gently. 

“You look like you just woke up from a nightmare.” 

Your smile falters, only now taking in that he saw you in a panic waking up beside him. 

“It wasn’t about you. This,” You clarify, soft eyes meeting his chocolate ones. “I’m not used to being with you. Just you.” 

Joel rests your clasped hands over his chest. You can feel his delicate heartbeat. 

“I know. S’okay.” 

You usually hate when he talks so little, a deadbolted door or a bank safe with his thoughts. But hearing his limited reassurance was actually soothing. No over-explanation is needed. 

“But it’s nice?” You ask curiously, bringing his calloused hand gently to your lips, leaving soft kisses in your wake along brandished knuckles. 

Joel’s lips quirk up in a fatigued smile.”S’more than nice. I haven’t slept that good in ages.” 

You roll your eyes playfully and sit up on your knees at his side, still holding his hand as you gently squeeze. “It’s the sex that got you to sleep so soundly, wasn’t it?” You ask with a smirk, gently biting down on the plush of your lower lip. 

Now with you sat up fully, Joel’s tired eyes linger on your taut nipples making peaks under your pajama shirt. He tuts tiredly and sits up on his elbows, releasing your hand to lock around the outside of your thigh, guiding it over his lap and allowing you to straddle him.

“Wasn’t the sex. Was you.” 

A shiver travels up your back, pursing your lips to dial down your growing smile, pressing your hips further down into his, and letting your ass lightly grind down into his morning wood. 

“You sure about that, cowboy?” You hum, taking his hand and guiding it up to your neck, weakly winding his fingers around the expanse of your throat. You hum, letting him feel the vibration. He likes it, you can tell by the way his fingers twitch just a smidge tighter and the way he swells against your core.  You drag him by his wrist lower, between the valley of your breasts, feeling the slopes even over your baggy short-sleeve tee.  

“Guide me.” You whisper, settling his hand to tighten around your hip as you continue to roll them at an agonizingly slow pace. “Guide me, Joel. However you want.” 

Joel’s eyes noticeably darken despite the light beginning to pierce the room. Something twitches behind his jaw, and the all-too-familiar feeling in your stomach ignites at his gaze. 

A wet spot sprouts between your legs, and you silently pat yourself on the back for not putting on the one last sacred pair of panties you had packed. You whimper weakly and let your eyes drift closed, settling both of your hands on the tops of his thighs. You’re now blindly aware that both of you abandoned wearing any sort of undergarments to bed. Thank god, you think. 

Joel grunts quietly as his hands tighten on your hips. You two are damn near perfectly centered because his cock is swelling perfectly between your wet folds. He’s impossible to ignore. 

You’re nipping at your bottom lip, throwing your head back in quiet bliss, arching your back, feeling your hair fan out as your nails dig into Joel’s meaty thighs. 

Joel’s persistent, patient, insisting on watching you crumble. You’re weak for him, heat creeping up your spine and growing tacky against your temples. 

“Guide me, Daddy.” Your hips twitch faster at the name, it slipped without you even thinking. But you didn’t regret it. Frankly, you liked it. But was it weird to him? 

You gulp and sit up properly, your hips slowing to a halt. “Joel, I-” 

“I didn’t say t’stop.” His chest rumbles, eyes piercing yours. 

Goosebumps blew across your skin like a cold breeze had settled in, lips parting in surprise. His voice was guttural, deep, sending a spark to your core. 

“I’m sorry,” you move to start again, but his large palms grip your ass, pausing your movements and making you whimper. You needed the friction, you needed him. 

“You’re sorry, what?” He probes, feeling a heat spread across your chest and down into your stomach. 

“I’m sorry… Daddy.” You whisper with a coy smile, moving your hands to his chest and forcing him to fall back into the bed, off his forearms. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Joel’s smirk is sick and twisted, a masterpiece. It thrills you like a rollercoaster drifting down, sending a lightning strike to your core and making you sticky with arousal, coating his dick in the process. A shaky breath leaves your parted lips, using the leverage of your one hand on his chest while the other fishes for his dick between his thighs. You wrap your hand around him and shuffle it up and down his length, feeling him fatten in your hand and leak drops of precum. 

Joel grumbles at the feeling, watching as his chest rose and fell at a quicker rate with the attention. He’s so sexy being handled by you. You can feel his thighs twitching below your own, little grunts of pleasure leaving his rosy lips. 

“You wanna ride me, princess?” He asks, coffee-colored orbs glowing with need. 

You pause for a moment, eyes landing on his with hesitation. You push down your nerves and swallow, lining his tip up to your entrance and feeling his tip slowly sink in. You flinch over his lap again, a little inexperienced with being on top. It just doesn’t quite feel right, and you don’t want to hurt him. 

A huff leaves your impatient lips, trying again to line him up, but he still doesn’t catch. You roll your eyes at yourself, cursing under your breath. How the fuck do you get it in from up here? You want to ride a dick, not solve a Rubix cube. Now, your arm was shaking from holding you up for so long, making you a bit unsteady. Frustration festered in your blood, jaw clenched as Joel watched you patiently. 

Joel’s trying not to snicker. It’s not you exactly that’s making him laugh, but your continued lack of wanting any sort of help. “Can I?” 

“No.” You say a little too fast, eyes meeting his surprised ones after a moment. “Sorry, but no, I’ve got it. Just- just give me a minute.” 

Joel cocked his eyebrow and watched with satisfaction as you tried over and over again to sit on his dick. He clasped his hands behind his head, biceps bulging at either side of his head. 

Your head was so fuzzy with need that your fidgeting hands kept losing the perfect angle for him to slip inside. You grunted in annoyance, having to take a break as you planted both hands on his chest again. Sweat clustered at the backside of your neck, shyly catching a glance at him. Cocky son of a bitch. Just watching you with a smile. 

“I offered t’help, darlin’.” He said with a light shrug, making you whimper quietly. 

“But I wanted to do it on my own.” 

Joel’s hands unwind from behind his head, guiding them to your back and gently adding pressure to allow you to rest over his front. 

“I know ya did, baby girl. Let Daddy help you.” 

You whimper but nod with a soft pout, feeling his calloused and rough palms coast lower to the flesh of your ass. You moan quietly and drift your eyes closed, nose nustling against his chest hair for comfort. 

“Your problem is always that y’not relaxed enough. Y’hold too much pressure on yourself to be perfect all the damn time.” You hide your frown, feeling unveiled to him once again. Vulnerable. Joel had a knack for always knowing what was going on in your head, even when you didn’t. “Breathe in, kitten.” 

Your eyelashes flutter, but you did as he asked, taking in a deep breath. His hand fists the base of his cock, guiding himself up and down your wet center. Just as you weren’t anticipating him, his tip nudged into your entrance, making you gasp. 

“Shh, shh,” he whispers again, his other hand lightly fisting your hair and swiping it off your shoulder and out of his way. You whine as you slowly sink over him. 

Reminded of his words, you took a few more deep breaths and allowed him to enter you fully. All the air left your weak lungs, broken mewls for more left your parted lips, and fanned hot breaths across his chest. 

Your head drops in defeat, forehead to his warm neck. “I’ve only done this like... once. It probably doesn’t even count, the guy came before I even got to ride him.” You bite back a smile as you peek your head up, feeling his abdomen contort under you, an effect of your walls tightening around him. 

Joel slowly nodded, jaw tight, eyes still as dark as night. “S’cause you were fuckin’ around with boys. Daddy’s here now. I’ll guide ya.” He assures, wrapping his large hands around your wrists and setting you up once again to lean on his chest. 

You sit up with newfound confidence, and he guides your body just like he prefers. 

“Which feels better,” he starts to ask as you sit up properly. You can feel every damn inch of Joel, but you’re attempting to focus on him, and not his dick piercing the air from your chest. You feel his hands on your calves, gently tapping. 

“You wanna roll your hips, bounce forward a little, keeping your hands here? Or,” he pauses again and guides your feet to settle in at his sides instead of your calves, putting your hands on his upper thighs again. Shit. This one you felt a little less confident in, less able to control your body. And the last thing you wanted was to fall off. 

Joel watches as you shake your head with a shy little smile. He observes you bring your hands back to his chest, planting them on his pecs. Your small little hands were adorable on the large planes of his upper half. 

Like this? You silently ask with your eyes. 

He nods, watching you move back down onto your calves. 

“You ready?” He asks, putting his own hands on your hips. 

Reassurance floods through his palms, and you give him another tight nod. He was swelled inside of you, whimpering weakly as you slowly leaned forward, following the nervous lump in your throat. You slowly push back, and he fills you again. You moan for him, telling him with little to no words how perfect he feels inside of you. 

You keep your pace, back and forth, using the leverage from your hands on his chest as he watches you in blissed-out amazement. He starts to grunt quietly with each of your bounces. You find a pace that suits you. Joel’s hands teach you how to roll your hips, not just bounce, and it lulls you into a haze. It feels like heaven. 

“Christ,” he mutters, groaning as your walls squeeze him. “Fuck me so good, pretty girl. Faster, now.” 

Your head lifts up weakly at his demands, whimpering loudly as your fingernails etch moon-shaped dents into his flesh. But you do as he says because you like when he calls you his pretty girl. His obedient girl. 

With a flush of heat flooding through your core, you sit up and continue bouncing, feeling your ass clap against the tops of his thighs. You take his hands off your hips and interlock them, whimpering loudly as you continue to ride his cock. He’s pulsing inside of you, being gushed with your arousal. You loved holding his hands, it was comforting, calmed your rattling nerves. 

“God fucking- Christ, Daddy, please,” you whimper out, jaw slack as you feel every vein in his cock, even his slight curve that had you mewling for more as he buried himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, so good for Daddy, look so fuckin’ hot on top.” He smirks, making your head swirl.  You can’t help but expel desperate moans at his praise, feeling your head spin as your euphoria threatens the seams of your vision. Everything was a haze. You only knew to keep moving, keep satisfying each other. 

“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” you say with each bounce, your body keeping this faster pace as you clench desperately around him. He was so deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust and making your stomach twist. 

Joel was in awe. Couldn’t believe he had such a beautiful girl hopping in his lap first thing in the morning. This newfound confidence suits you, he thinks. His hands lose yours, but only for a moment, fed up with seeing your breasts jump under your shirt. He needs to see you bare, perfectly nude, for his liking.  

You aid off the material and quickly fling it aside, pausing for a breath to grind down against him, coating his balls in your wetness. The large expanse of Joel’s palms coasts up your stomach and to your breasts, squeezing and kneading at the pretty mounds. He pinches your nipples between his thumbs and forefinger, watching them get their color hot with attention. You whine at the harshness, but god, do you love it. It made you all the more sensitive, feeling your clit tingle with need. You were breathless now, panting his name in a dizzy heat. 

“Feels so good, Daddy,” you gulp, pausing your movements for a moment. 

“Getting tired, princess?” Joel asks, watching his girl grow winded at her first time riding. It was sweet, really. Just seeing her try was enough for him. 

You slowly smirk and shake your head slowly, continuing to grind your core against his. Your clit catches friction from his pubic hairs, whining like a needy brat. 

“I’m gonna make you cum like this, Daddy. Just wait.” You take a deep breath and start again, taking his hands in yours as you start bouncing once more.

Joel plants his feet into the bed, finding the new position a little easier to let you glide up and down his dick, even meeting your thrusts when you let him. He grunts, feeling a sheen of sweat glisten across his brow. His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as he feels his orgasm approach. 

He instinctively reaches his hand forward, large thumb finding your swollen clit. It’s enough to make your hips twitch at the contact, hinting at the desperation of your own finish. He begins to circle you, making your jaw drop. It was a lot, all of it, perfectly too much. You were self-indulging yourself with Joel’s fat cock. 

“That’s it, princess, finish on my dick like a good girl, Daddy wants to see you come.” Joel’s own stomach couldn’t help but feel the high coursing through his veins, grunting as your pretty ass clapped loudly against his thighs, the sound echoing inside the room and back into his ears. 

You couldn’t hold on anymore; your head grew fuzzy, and your eyes began to see stars. This orgasm felt so different from any others, the build-up was enough to make your heart pump hard in your ears. 

Crying out weakly, you shift your hips faster, weakly grinding as you come undone over his cock. Your head hung low, shuddering your back and shoulders as you felt Joel pump rope after rope of white hot cum inside of you. He paints your walls in his name, marking you as his, finishing with grunts of your pretty little name on his lips. 

Collapsing on his chest, you let him stuff you. 

“Fuck, baby girl,” Joel said breathily, eyes closed, chest rising quickly as he regained his strength. You couldn’t care less about the mess between your thighs. You loved this feeling. Joel kept his warm cum stuffed inside of you, feeling it weakly leak whenever you shifted. You sponged kisses across his damp chest, smirking hellishly when you saw the effect you had on him. 

He scoffs at your goading face, weakly running his thumb across the rich color of your lower lip. 

“Told ya you could do it.” You giggle softly and press a delicate kiss to his chin, then his lips. “Thanks for the help.” You finally muster up, feeling him press another kiss to your lips. 

“Course, angel.” 

Sex in the morning was like a sugar rush. It filled you with energy. Joel couldn’t really relate. 

Getting him out of bed was damn near impossible. You were jumping off the walls, asking what today’s plans were, if he was hungry like you were, and if you could get up to shower together. Meanwhile, he just laid there and sort of… groaned. He barely let you get up, content with letting his softened cock stay inside you for eternity. 

You did manage to pester him enough to take a shower, noting that he smelled of cum and sex, to which he replied,  “Well… yeah.”

You munched on a Pop-Tart as Joel finished getting dressed, a dark pair of jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a breast pocket, where he tucked his glasses and a pencil. You held back a snicker, thinking about how cute he was. 

“Are those glasses for spotting birds?”

He took the Pop-Tart out of your mouth so fast, making you whine in annoyance. “Enough with the damn bird jokes.” He said before taking a bite and handing the dry pastry back to you. 

“Ahh-howe.” You mutter, the dry crumbs making your words a bit muffled. 

Joel gathers a few papers from his bag, they look like etched-out designs. You crane your head to watch him, listening to him mutter to himself what he needs to get today. He explains in the truck that he found a supplier in the East part of Houston, wanting to choose someone local rather than online. He was looking for cathedral-stained glass, something transparent compared to opalescent or wispy. He had specific colors and textures in mind, it was all here on his scattered papers. Your fingers follow the smooth lines of graphite, smiling lightly at the design Joel had put so much time into and got approved by the church. 

“So.. you already have all the tools for this?” 

Joel hums and takes a left-hand turn down a small street. “They’ll have a glass cutter there for me, but I’ve got the rest back home at the tool shed. Grinder, soldering iron, solder, flux, the pattern template.”

“Well, what about gloves? Don’t want you to get cut.”

He scoffs playfully, biting down a smile. “Got those too, baby. Don’t have to worry about me.” 

You suck in the side of your cheek and look out the window, hiding your shy face. Of course you worried about him. The last thing you needed was to see Joel with a nicked-up hand running out of his woodshed. 

Joel parks in a small driveway by a sign labeled Lighthouse Glass. You shove your hands in your pockets and follow him through the front door. A bell gently chimes above you, alerting the workers to your entrance. 

The store is just filled. Stained glass lamps, panels, different art designs, and glass cases filled with the pricier pieces. The selection is wide and also included tools a glazier might need. Joel taught you that word in the truck, he was a stained glass glazier in training. 

The far wall was all shelving of various sizes, with smaller cubbies for small to medium-sized stained glass pieces and larger slots for the big, rectangular-sized ones. They were color-coded, too, starting with different shades of blue until they filtered across the rainbow to bright red slices. Small squares showed different samples for inspiration, you found a beautiful aquamarine one that looked beautiful in the summer light. The room was a rainbow hue because of all the art hanging up in the window. Everything sparkled. 

An older woman comes out from a back hallway with worn-in wrinkles at her eyes and a passionate smile. She wore long sleeves and jeans under a smock. Her hair was tied back, and a patterned headband wrapped around her strawberry-blonde hairline. 

“Joel?” She asks, to which Joel shoves out his hand from his jeans. 

“Nice to meet ya.” He cranes his head to you, jutting his chin out as a silent way of telling you to move up. “This is my assistant for the day.” 

“Oh,” she cooes with a kind smile, shaking your hand as well. “Nice to meet you both! We’ve been expecting you. Well, this is the showroom,” she extends out her hands to explain, walking through the aisles as you and Joel followed suit. 

This reminded you of antique shopping with your mother when you were younger. She scorned you not to touch anything. If you break it, you buy it. So you kept your hands to yourself, watching Joel’s boots as you kept your head low. 

It was a very creative atmosphere, to say the least. There were a few customers further inside the store, by the cutting and customization counter. Everyone was here for something a little different, but who else was working on a giant church mural like Joel was? 

He unrolled his planning maps to the woman, the name Jo etched on her nametag. She said you had the prettiest eyes she had ever seen and even pulled out a small stained glass square that matched the hue perfectly just from the top of her head. You smiled at the little piece she had given you that you held in your lap, fingers gently feeling up and down the opalescent stained glass. It had a few different shades, it looked like a Monet painting. 

Joel glanced over to the piece you held affectionately in your lap, smiling softly at the sight. You had a thing for trinkets, the small things. You lift your head, and Joel swiftly drifts his gaze, clearing his throat as he watches Jo examine his maps. Under the surface of the table, you gently curl your finger around Joel’s pointer. Your thumb gently swipes back and forth across his knuckle, butterflies cascading through your chest as he squeezes your finger affectionately. 

“Joel, you’re sure you’re an amateur at this? This is impressive work.” Her compliment made Joel grow a little rosy in the apples of his cheeks. “Everything you have drawn up is achievable. We can start picking out the colors and have them shipped either straight to your home or to the work site. Whatever you prefer.” 

As good as Joel is at drawing up the plans, he is terrible at colors. You and Jo worked as a team for another hour, finding the right colors that complemented the artwork as a whole. Joel somehow kept choosing very clashing pieces, but you just patted him on his arm and said this was a certain science, one that you had a rather good eye for. 

Jo was checking Joel out at the register, paying using one of the city’s cards since they were the ones funding the project. You had a hard time leaving the section filled with brown stained glass pieces. They were the bunch with the most supplies, everyone picking out the vibrant purples or the classy reds, but never the browns. They were nearly untouched, many covered with dust, each panel hidden behind another. You find a certain beauty in them, your fingers dancing along their edge. Chesnut, hazel, a beautiful amber, coffee to caramel, deep mahogany, sweet cocoa, auburn, and a tawny taupe. 

You were torn between burnt mahogany and mahogany brown. The first was a little too purple. Mahogany brown matched Joel’s eyes to a tee. You picked up one of the smaller sample squares and rolled it around in your hand, twisting your lips at the pretty piece. After Joel had preordered all of his cuts and colors, you set your two small squares on the counter. One for your eyes, and one for Joel’s. 

“These too, please.” 

Joel tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing on your small hands fidgeting protectively over the two small stained glass sample squares. Jo packaged them up carefully for you and handed them over the counter in a small paper bag. 

“Thank you two for your business! Joel, if you need anything, the card for the shop is stapled to your receipt. Feel free to email us pictures of the final piece! We haven’t had anyone do such a large mural. Have a great day.” 

“Thank you, ma’am. Appreciate all your instruction.” He tips his head in typical Southern fashion and walks you out the door. 

Joel eyes the brown paper bag once you’re both returned to his truck. You immediately open it up and let the mahogany square glisten in the late afternoon light. You lay your forehead against the warm window, humming as you gently squeeze it in your palm. 

“Whatcha plannin’ on doin’ with that, buttercup?” He asks, securing his seatbelt. 

You angle your back to the truck door, holding up the square and squinting one eye closed, comparing the glass to the color of Joel’s beautiful eyes. 

“I don’t know yet. But it’s a perfect match.” You whisper as you move closer to him, over the center console as you hold the square beside his temple. His eyes glistened magnificently, but shied away from all the attention you were giving him. He gently shrugs you off and shakes his head. 

“Jus’ don’t cut yourself.” He pauses as he reverses out of the small driveway. “Besides, like the other square better.” He juts up his chin, motioning towards the paper bag. You dig out the other square, the one that resembles your eyes, placing them side by side in your palm. The light bounces off the glass, a harmonious balance between them. Joel’s warmth and comfort, yours strong and vibrant. They complimented one another. You cherished their likeness despite not being the exact same. Carved with love and care. A hobby of Joel’s, now sprinkled with pieces of you. 

You placed them gently back into the bag and secured them in the back of his truck, tucking them in carefully around a spare blanket. 

Joel worked up a hunger and drove you to a diner named Tommy’s Drive-In. It was quite barren, but again, you thrived being perfectly alone with Joel. You didn’t need much, you just liked being in his presence. And you assumed he, yours.  

The waitresses were wearing old fifty-style uniforms, the kind that looked like a dress with little white sneakers. The old maroon leather booths were warmed up by the sun shining through the windows, and you gently slurped up the soda you were given through your straw. 

“What’ll we do now that our big mission of this entire trip is done? Still have the afternoon. And Sunday morning.” You ask as your finger swipes slowly down the menu, reading the different options from salads to sliders. 

Joel is mysteriously quiet. You narrow your eyes on him and gently kick his shin under the table. His head whips up as he grunts, protectively gripping the area you had probably bruised on his knee.  

“Jesus- what the hell,” he gripes, jaw tight as he bore holes into your pretty little face. 

“What are you hiding?” You probe, to which he freezes. After a moment of silence, he sighs and sits up straight, eyes back to the menu. 

“Not hidin’ nothin’.” 

Your eyes narrow on him and his strangely shielded behavior. 

“I’m gonna find up what you’re up to.” 

“Mushroom Swiss burger looks good.” He derails, making you huff. 

Once you both were served your meals, Joel’s mushroom swiss with onion rings and your cheeseburger with fries, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle after you put in an order for a vanilla milkshake.

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms as you lean back in the booth. 

He shakes his head, soft smile silently admiring you.

“Y’do this little… happy dance once ya eat. When you’re hungry, ya sigh a lot and get real quiet. Tap your foot a lot when you’re real hungry. But then when you’re full, ya just..” Joel tries to mimic you, slowly swaying his body back and forth and shimmying his shoulders. You scoff and toss a spare fry at his chest. 

“I do not look like that!”

Joel only chuckles and eats the fry, shaking his head again with that gentle smile. One that he seems to only share with you. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. S’cute.” 

The compliment makes you pick up heat in your neck and face, looking down at your milkshake once it’s served to you. It’s served with a swirl of whipped cream and two cherries. You hum in excitement, absentmindedly doing a little shimmy as you pick up a cherry. It glistens a pretty reddish maroon in the light, splashed with a little whipped cream. You extend it out to Joel, and he looks at you dubiously. Finally, he leans forward, bares his teeth a little, and plucks the cherry from its stem. It stains his lips and tongue, his mahogany eyes on yours. 

His large fingers reach over for the remaining cherry, stealing it from your milkshake and offering it to you. No eyes to hide from, no reason not to be affectionate. If only you could live in this state of bliss forever. 

You part your lips and wrap your mouth around the cherry, only needing a little tug to release the fruit from its stem. Joel gives you an approving nod, feeling it gush sweetness between your teeth. You stick out your cherry-colored tongue, and Joel does the same, eliciting a giggle from you. 

“Share it with me?” You ask as you stick a second straw into the milkshake. 

Joel tries to playfully scoff, shaking his head with a compromising smile. “Haven’t done this with anyone in years. Not since high school, buttercup.” 

You coo and lean over the table to the milkshake in the center, watching Joel do the same. Your stomach flutters with butterflies, your foot gently nudging the ankle of his jeans as you slip your sneaker up and down his calf. 

His face hardens, pulling away from the sugary milkshake with a tense smirk. 

“Knock it off.” He grumbles. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whisper as you inch your sneaker up higher, taking his jeans with it. 

“Don’t start nothin’. We’re headin’ out.”

You huff and take a few more sips of your shake. Joel settles the bill, opening his wallet and leaving a couple of bills at the booth before he walks you out to the truck. His calloused hand settles on your thigh, and your head rests gently on his arm. 

“Joel?” 

His chest vibrates. “Mm?”

“I’m really happy.” You don’t have enough nerve to look at him, hiding by digging your temple into the crook of his strong arm. He squeezes your thigh reassuringly, palm splayed out on your jeans and fingers lightly digging into the material. You wonder if he’s smiling like you are. 

“I’m happy to hear that, cherry.” He whispers soothingly, the gentle hum of the radio highlighting the baritone in his voice. “M’happy, too.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, noting how you are moving deeper into downtown and further from the motel. Head picking up, looking from left to right, confusion knits your brows. 

“Where are we goin’?” You ask, noting the skyscrapers looming larger and larger as you near the heart of the city. 

“You didn’t think I was gonna make you hang out in a motel room all weekend with nothin’ t’do, did ya?” He asks with a growing smile. Was this what he was thinking about back at the diner? You can’t conceal your grin anymore, it’s from ear to ear as he navigates the streets like he’s been here a million times. 

“Welcome to Downtown Aquarium. This magnificent six-acre entertainment and dining complex is a five-hundred-thousand-gallon aquatic wonderland home to over three hundred different species of aquatic life from all around the globe.” 

“Oh my god,” you whisper in excitement, listening to the aquarium guide who is walking the same path as you and Joel. You can’t help but excitedly take his hand and squeeze it. He holds it and doesn’t let go, even when yours slacks naturally. 

You look up to him and know you’re thinking the same thing. There’s no one we know here. We can be whatever we want, whatever we are. 

Joel ducks his head down and captures your lips in a swift kiss, squeezing your hand once more as they pass the entrance upon paying for your tickets. You pass a sign listing the different exhibits that are open right now, including Texas Bayou, Rainforest, and you were especially excited to visit the Stingray Reef, where you could touch live stingrays up close. 

The air was cool, even slightly salty upon walking inside. The soft hum and sputtering of the pumps and filters taking care of the different tanks played in the background of children laughing and giggling. The tanks were clear, supported by vibrant backdrops.  Your eyes skated from one attraction to the other, seeing fish of varying sizes as they glided smoothly like agents of the water. 

The further you walked into the aquarium, the farther you were away from the rambunctious children where you had more of the open glass to yourself. Joel’s own eyes were filled with a certain whimsicalness that can only be found in the eyes of a child, wonder and amazement all encapsulated in awestruck stares. No matter how old you get, there are the little things that fascinate just about anyone. For some people, it was fireworks or artwork that sparked that feeling in your chest. For you and Joel, perhaps it’s being this close to a giant fucking shark.

“Holy shit,” Joel muttered, your own eyes widening as a large, slow-moving shark swam in front of you and Joel. Their grayish-brown exterior caught your eye. They looked a little scary, snaggle-toothed with multiple layers of teeth. But they weren’t scary, they were actually kind of cute. 

“Aww,” you cooed as you stepped closer, gently bringing your hand up to the cool glass as another friend swam by. Joel wanders to the plaque for information, reading silently for a few moments before he decides to read some fun facts aloud for you to hear. 

“Found in temperate and subtropical waters around the world… known for their... unique reproductive strategy? What the f-...” a group of kids run by, halting Joel from swearing. Their light-up shoes make the hallway glow. 

You stifle a laugh and move closer, narrowing your eyes in the dark light. “Unique reproductive strategy called intra... intrauterine cannibalism? What the hell?”

“-Where the embryo consumes its smaller siblings in the womb, ensuring the strongest offspring survives.” Joel cocks his eyebrow like he’s impressed by the unbirthed shark's ferocity. “Damn.” 

“You two sort of look alike.” You sneer, which makes him whip his head in your direction. “Maybe you guys should grab beers after this. You’d have a lot to talk about.” 

Joel purses his lips and crosses his arms, shaking his head shamefully at you. “Looks like someone’s not pettin’ the stingrays no more.” 

“You would never.” You gasp playfully as wrap your arm around his waist while he settles his around the tops of your shoulders. You walk out of the shark tank hallway and back into the open aquarium. 

“I will if you compare me to that shark who eats its own siblings in the womb again.” 

The line to pet and feed the stingrays was long. It was easily the most popular attraction at the aquarium. The line was bustling with children tugging on their mother’s hands, impatient with the time it was taking to meet them. 

“Ocean pancakes.” You whisper, feeling your stomach swirl with nerves but also excitement.

Joel furrows his eyebrows, mouth flat. “What?” 

“Ocean pancakes. The stingrays. They’re the ocean’s pancakes. Flat boys. Cute grey flat boys.”  You’re close enough to the tank now that you can see the stingrays glide gracefully through the water. Your heart swells with eagerness, absentmindedly holding Joel’s hand tighter. 

He blinks a few times dramatically before looking around. “Are you having a stroke? What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

“We’re next!” You say as you tug him forward. He has this look of hesitancy on his face and takes a step away from the line. 

“Joel?” You ask, and he shakes his head and shrugs, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his denim jeans. 

“No.” 

You scoff. “No, what?”

He shrugs again and juts out his jaw to the side in contemplation. You take his silence as an answer enough. 

“Are you scared?” 

A slight angry expression crosses his pretty features. You cock your eyebrow and cross your arms. You move to step out of line, but he quickly extends his hand out to your shoulder, stopping you. 

“Where you goin’? You’ve haven’t stopped talkin’ about the stingrays since we got here.” 

“I don’t want to do it without you. Want you to experience this with me. Joel, please.”

Joel holds his breath for a moment before he lets out a long sigh. He flares his nostrils but eventually joins you back in line. You couldn’t believe he was scared. You didn’t know him to be fearful of anything. 

“This is just how Irwin went.”

“What?” 

“Nothin’. I’ll give ‘em a little pet, but I ain’t feedin’em.” 

You’re the first of you and Joel to step forward to the attendant, who greeted you with a tired smile. Poor guy, he was probably here all day having to take care of the energetic children. You had to wash your hands before visiting the stingrays. They gave you these little fish to feed the stingrays. The attendant explained that the stingrays’ mouths were on the underside of their bodies. He dunks his hand into the tank and shows you how to feed them in a way that keeps your fingers away from their mouths. One hungry stingray comes right up and scoops it out of his hand, making you grin widely. Your heart raced with excitement, nodding your head as you demonstrated the proper feeding technique. 

With your hand shoved in the water, you and Joel waited patiently. They were a little shy at first, but soon, one started to swim in your direction. It was a beautiful little thing, grey and flapping its sides to skim closer to the surface. It nibbled on the fish before taking it with them, chomping on it in the water as it went. 

Joel smiled widely, his body hunched over the tank as he watched them. 

“Go ahead and pet this guy,” the attendant said as one affectionately came up to just below the surface. You flattened your hand and let your fingers skim its backside. It was cool and cold, smooth even. 

“Come on, Joel, you next.” You said as you brought your hand out and wiped it on a towel. Joel stared at the water for a few moments before he cleared his throat and put a hesitant hand inside. Your head nestles affectionately against his arm, watching the stingrays avoid Joel at first. 

“What did  you say about relaxing again?” You teasingly whispered, feeling his shoulders bunch as he sighed. Before all hope was lost, the same one who looked for pets from you came swimming towards Joel. It went slow, allowing Joel’s fingers to gently cascade down the glorious fish’s back. You watched his smile glow. The feeling was indescribable, doing something like that for the first time. 

“Thanks, folks, enjoy the rest of the aquarium.” 

After washing your hands of the fish smell, you and Joel toured the rest of the aquarium until the evening. You stopped at the small gift shop, and Joel bought you a stingray stuffed animal. You held it to your chest and smiled, adoring its soft fluffiness and the fat plush. 

“You don’t have to get me this. Stuff is so expensive here for no reason.” You whisper, running your thumb along its cheek. 

“Ocean pancake.” He mutters before paying for the overpriced stuffie with a little smile. 

Joel couldn’t stop gushing about the aquarium the entire drive back to the motel, specifically about getting to touch the stingrays. You watched with a certain twinkle in your eye from the passenger seat, the sun setting around your head, illuminating you like an angel. 

“My heart, it was racin’ back there. I mean, how often do ya get to go ahead and pet ‘em, y’know? It was so outside of my-my comfort zone, I never would have done that in a million years if it wasn’t for you.” He pauses and catches your eyes. He stares longingly for as much as he can before he has to turn his attention back to the road. 

There was that funny feeling. That maybe you guys were more. Like a couple. You flinch and look away, bombarded by your own thoughts. You’re only here for the summer. The years between you two were problematic at best. Imagine what your parents would say, what Sarah would think. You don’t have damn near anything in common. But you liked him. God, did you like him.  

You clear your throat as you open your phone for the first time all day. The last thing you had open was your message from Nathan. 

Heard you’re in Danbury for the summer with your folks. Wanna catch up?

Glancing over to Joel, your fingers hesitate over the phone’s keyboard before typing in a response. 

Yeah! I’m out of town this weekend, but maybe when I get back?

You suck in on the side of your cheek, finding yourself turning away from Joel to read over your messages. It’s been so long since you last saw Nathan in person. Your childhood was filled with him and your summers together in Danbury. 

From going to the county fair together and riding all the rides until you were sick from the fair food or watching the fireworks from the lake’s edge. The town barbeque that your mother spent weeks perfecting her dish to contribute. The fourth of July was only a week and a half away, the summer was breezing through so quickly. And this time, Nathan would be here for it, too.

Your phone buzzes once again. 

 I’ll see you then 

A burst of courage ran through your veins. You wanted to ask Joel what this was, if it was anything. Your time together had been so short, barely a month, but you’d known him forever. And these last few years, you had only grown closer. You part your lips to speak, but Joel beats you to it. 

“After this summer. What’s next?” 

Admittedly, you were now at a loss for words. Your uncertainty fazed him. What was he expecting you to say? What did he want? 

You sigh and drop your chin, stroking the stuffie in your lap for comfort. 

“I don’t know yet, Joel. Now that I’ve graduated, I can say I don’t really want to move back home.” You scoff playfully, an anxious feeling sitting in your chest. 

“Home with your parents or home as in Texas?” He probes, no warmth to his face, eyes centered on the road as you left the skyscrapers and high-rise complexes in the rearview mirror. A small pit festered in your abdomen. 

“I don’t know.” You say again, softer this time. 

Joel doesn’t seem content with your answer. He scoffs quietly under his breath and cocks his eyebrow. His thumbs fiddle against the wheel. He knows you want to travel, knows you want to leave. So why is he asking all of this? 

“Only so much of the summer left t’figure it out. I suggest you start thinkin’.”

Your lip snags in a snarl, face pinching as you stare at him. 

“You sound like my parents, Joel.” 

“Yeah,” he shoots back, quick as a whip. “‘Cause we care about ya. Wanna know where you’re headin’ with your life. Need some direction.” 

The muscle behind his jaw twitches, but he stares straight ahead while you stare at him. A pile of bricks rests on your chest, the seemingly safe temple you had built with Joel all came crumbling down around you. 

“You’re not supposed to put this type of pressure on me, I’m allowed time to figure it out.”

“You had four years of time at university. Now is when you should start having a plan.” His hand bangs against the steering wheel in frustration as he pulls into the motel’s lot. 

Emotions are high and they’re getting the best of you. You throw up your wall of defenses, just like you had used once upon a time with your mother on multiple occasions. 

“I’m not like everyone else, Joel, I need more time. And maybe I need to see a few things and experience more before I figure out what that is!” You snap, crossing your arms and staring out the window, your chest tight. “Such a fuckin’ hypocrite you are. You told me to trust myself, and I’m trying.” 

He scoffs quietly and shakes his head. “Not hard enough.” 

Hot tears brim the edges of your eyes. A perfect day spoiled by this hurtful conversation. Your sneakers scuff the pavement, slamming his truck door as you rush inside with the key. Shaky breaths leave you as you grab Joel’s duffel bag off the spare bed and toss it to the one you both slept in last night and spent the morning in. You change into your pajamas in the bathroom, face hot and filled with rage and sadness. You can’t seem to stop the tears that spill. 

Where did that conversation come from? Why did he have to ruin what felt so perfect? Just when you thought you were starting to feel something, Joel’s boot smothered the flames. 

He didn’t come inside, not right away. Gave you both some time to feel the weight of everything. You had your back to the door, your teary face buried into the pillow when he did finally return to the room. His boots thud against the carpet, nearing closer to where you lay. The bed dips where your knees are, his warm presence making you whimper. He smells like cigarettes and pool chlorine. He must have been sitting outside this whole time, filled with his thoughts like you were filled with your own. 

Joel’s hesitant hand rests on your hip, gently stroking his thumb across the material of an all too familiar Longhorns tee. You softly tug the covers up to your chin and sniffle, clenching your eyes closed tighter. 

His head drops, and he sighs weakly. “Never wanted t’make ya cry, sweet girl. M’sorry.” 

You shake your head weakly, eyes still closed, afraid to look him in the eyes. Afraid to feel for him. The moment you open yours, you know you’ll melt into his mahogany warmth and forget anything he ever did to make you so upset. 

He lets out a shaky breath, his hand moving up to gently cradle your head. Your lips part, bleary eyes finally opening to see his puppy dog face. His jaw shifts; he wants to speak but can’t find the right words. Your eyes plead for him. Say something, Joel. You’re losing me. 

A lump grows in your throat, and hot tears start to sting again. You thought you couldn’t cry anymore, that you had run dry. But seeing him again and all the tangled emotions you felt for him reignites the fuel. 

He can’t look at you crying. He focuses on your hand, your delicate fingers fisting the bedsheets that you cradled to your chin. The shield between you and Joel. He doesn’t want you to feel like you need a shield, he’s your shield. Sworn to protect you, care for you in times of need. Never let you down. 

“Please, angel.” He whispers, one of your tears meeting his warm palm as his hand moves to cup your jawline. 

With a shaky breath, you slowly sit up, messy strands tucked behind your ear as you reveal you’ve been holding onto the stingray stuffie under the covers. 

After a pause, seeing you sit up straight and face him. He forces himself to find his words. 

“I feel more for you than I know I should.” Joel stumbles, licks his lips, and continues warily. “And I know I'm not good at showin' it, but you make me wanna try. And I know ya might wanna leave. I don’t wanna stop ya. But I’m a selfish man when it comes to you. I like bein' with you.”

Your lower lip wobbles and your heart feels torn open to see Joel bare his soul to you, when to so many he's a tall stubborn oak. You let out a shaky breath as he continues.

“This thing between us, what I feel for you, it’s new. And I’m just a fool tryin’ to make sense of it all. I don’t know if you feel the same way,”

Your body slowly crawls into his lap, and you weakly cup his cheeks, stubble scratching at your soft palms. Losing yourself in his eyes, in his broken face, admiring all the little details up close. He’s torn, torn between loving you and letting you live.

You plant a chaste kiss on his parted lips and taste him slowly as the two of you melt together again. You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tight, legs curled up in his lap as he holds you back just as tight. Your fingers weave helplessly into his longer curls. He’s so familiar, warm, gentle with you. He cares about you. He finally said it. 

After a moment, you find your voice. 

“If you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did.” It’s more whimpery than you had hoped, but it makes Joel hold you closer, yet with such delicacy. Like he doesn’t want you to shatter from his own devices.

Your face buries into his neck, smelling distant cologne and cigarettes. His large hand cradles the back of your head, keeping you with him, letting your racing heartbeats settle together. 

“I’ll never hurt you, angel.” It’s laced with promise. You hope it’s true. 

hellishjoel masterlist | notifications blog

[thecameronchronicles]

No Nut November

TW: Masturbation references. Smut. Semi-public sex. Language.

SUMMARY: Partaking in ‘No Nut November’ would prove difficult when you become a bit too needy for him to stay true to his ambition. 

WORD COUNT: 1500

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

Reader x one of the obx guys and him and his friends (so either the other kooks or other pogues) are challenging each other who can go the longest for no nut November and it’s been a few days and you’re being needy so you do everything to tease him until he finally gives in and fucks you

*I WANTED TO CHANGE THIS A BIT TO MAKE IT A BIT MORE INTERESTING…

No Nut November

The odds were stacked against him from the second he agreed to this display of self control; one thing he already wasn’t known for possessing. But by the two week mark, having lasted longer than anyone thought he would, JJ was busting at the proverbial and literal seam of his pants as you only made this worse. Purposely wearing only his shirts and tracing him such ways that if you’d only move slightly north, he’d certainly stain his shorts after denying himself that release for so long. But if there was one thing JJ Maybank was above all else, it was stubborn. Especially when money was on the line. And this was the deal he made with the other pogues. Two hundred dollars for who could last. But you had an ambition all your own. 

“JJ?” You asked as he relaxed in the hammock, trying to think of anything but how his cock throbbed at even just the sound of your voice. He was desperate, but too stubborn to let anyone else have that two hundred dollars. 

“I’m bored…”

“I think Sarah and Kie are-”

“I want to play with you…” You watched his jaw clench and his chest rise in a deep breath. 

“Sweetheart-”

“Please J…I miss you…” He sat on the edge of the hammock, tapping his knee as you knew the invitation well as it was all you had for the last two weeks. But no matter how skilled he was with his fingers or his tongue, you wanted HIM. Because there was nothing like the sensation of his fullness-the closeness. And for that, you were willing to risk appearing desperate or even feral. 

“I want YOU, JJ…”

“Baby, I can’t-” For this, you dropped to your knees, running your hands up his thighs and to his belt as he contracted against you. 

“Is THIS worth more than two hundred dollars? Shit, J, I’ll pay you myself, just fuck me!” 

“Ahem!” John B cleared his voice at your back as you turned to find Pope and Kiara smirking at your desperation. 

“You’re so screwed, J…” Kie commented as he was able to distance himself from you long enough to ignore the temptation you forced on him. 

A few hours later, you were all set around the inner heart of The Chateau. Some conversation of a recent movie spoken between Kiara and John B with passionate standpoints on either end as you could only focus on the fringe of the blanket at the ends of your fingers, unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you were too embarrassed. All because of a stupid deal that made you completely unhinged. And in the attempts he made to warrant a response from you, you would only ignore him, until he tried to pull your legs over him, to which, you’d just pull yourself into his room, slamming the door closed without a care of how this could embarrass him or yourself. 

He waited only a short while before following behind you, finding you in one of his shirts yet again, only now, without a care to use it as a means of seduction. But the second that you would find him wrapping his arms around you, no matter how tempting his embrace had been, you pulled away from him. Or at least tried to before feeling him pull his grip to between your thighs. As you tried to fight him, but found the expert circles and perfect pressure to draw you into more of an agreeable state than what you would have preferred. 

“JJ-”

He silenced you by a hand around your mouth, “You’re gonna want to keep this there…I’m not stopping until you know how sorry I am…And I know how much of a screamer my girl is,especially when I make her squirt…” You groaned into his palm as he was quick to take you to that precipice of that orgasm, only to edge you. 

“JJ, Please…”

“I know what you need…And I know exactly how to give it to you…but you need to give it to me when I’m ready…”

“Please, J…Nobody has to know…Just the tip…Just let me see it-fuck…please…” 

“You really love it that much?” He smirked against your ear as his hand had lowered so you could talk. 

“I need it, J…Please…” You began to rock your ass against him, rubbing and circling him, before his hands stationed at your waist. 

“Then we’re gonna make it worth two hudnred dollars.” He turned you suddenly on your stomach, the excitement of this moment having only been compared to that of your first time together. His hands were quick to undress himself before he would then position your hips up to him. 

“You want it and you’re gonna take it, right sweetheart?”

“Yes, J-I swear to God…”

“Nuh uh…Me. Swear. To. Me.” He ordered as he bent you into such an arch that he could look into your eyes as you nodded. 

“I swear to you, JJ…Whatever you want to do to me, I’m yours…” He smirked.

“Then perk that perfect little ass up for me and bounce it against me exactly how I like it…you know how…And I want you to flick yourself…do it slowly because I want this to last…” You nodded. “And you don’t get to come until I say.”

“Yes, JJ…”

“Goooood girl…” He purred, his cock suddenly inside of you as you whimpered. 

“Yes…” You grunted. “YES-” You spoke again behind tear eyes and clenched teeth. 

“You gonna make it worth it for me?”

“Yes…”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you moving?” You began to move forward, allowing his cock to find the familiarity of your inner walls clenching around him. With a hand to the bend of your neck, he held you in guidance to slow your desperate thrusts before you were left solely to his motions and the white knuckled grip into your shoulder. 

“J Please…it’s-”

“Don’t you dare complain. I’ve waited two weeks without doing as much as stroking and you’ve been walking around making it worse…wearing my shirts with no panties-yeah I noticed…” He paused to set a smack to your ass, “Bending over and moaning…on your knees and looking up at me like you know drives me crazy…So YOU don’t get to complain.” But as he spoke these words, he would take pity on you as he had been relentless, minutes fading into an hour and beyond as he’d break long enough to prolong his own release. All the while, edging you and spouting those dirty words that kept you ready for him without aggression reaching to the forefront. 

“JJ…”

“Turn over.” He finally allowed you a reprieve before you obeyed, his hands quick to pull his shirt from your torso as he was quick to attack each breast. Your fingers ran through his hair but were quickly set over your head. 

“You’ve done enough…I know you’ve had to wait too…So you’re gonna come,” He was silenced by his own motions, wincing at the reinsertion of his cock to your welcoming sex, “With me…It’s only fair-”

“Please, JJ…”

“Fuck…I missed those whines…Ke-k-keep whining for me…shit…” He grunted, head folded into your shoulder as you dug your nails into his arms, his muscles contracting to each movement, before his paces grwe to that familiar speed of a near climax. 

“You can stop and still win, J-” You reminded him. 

“Not a fucking chance in hell. You wanted it…you’re gonna get it. All. OF. IT!” He clenched, battering into you, finger rushing across your clit as you would squirt,allowing him the perfect slick to pound his final desperate movements into you before then falling at your side, breathless, pullingyo in to him. 

“To be honest…I can’t believe I lasted THIS long…” He confessed as you nodded. 

“I’m sorry, JJ…For being desperate-”

“I’m not.” You looked up at him, his hand softly tracing your jaw. 

“Because it means that you have 200 reasons to make it up to me.”

“200-orgasms?!” He nodded. 

“Before the end of November-” Your eyes widened. 

“That’s like five a day, J!”

“And this was one…” He winked. “Now do whatever you have to, get some water-shower,although that’s redundant…because when I come back…I’m using that perfect…dirty…little mouth…” You were left in awe as he moved back into the crux of The Chateau, applause awaiting him. 

“Guess you missed out, JJ…” Pope teased. 

“You can gladly have it. Because after that last dollar is spent, I’ll still get to have sex…” He teased as you blushed when hearing him speak in regards to you. But you couldn’t help the fact he was right…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

[ozarkthedog]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

summary: you try to be a good gf and make Joel breakfast but he has other plans.

warnings: -> 18+ only | MDNI <- no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader. smut. Joel is a menace. rough sex. dirty talk. tommy makes an appearance. my stupid sense of humor. no beta.

word count: 1.0k

author’s note: i had to get this thot out of my brain. enjoy! ty for the support @thornsnvultures & @ghotifishreads 💙

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☾

“You look good wearin’ my shirt.” Joel mumbles, stalking up behind you.

You peek over your shoulder at him and smile. He looks tired but happy as you turn back to the stove. You snuck out of bed not too long ago, intent on making him breakfast as a way to say thank you for last night.

He invades your space as you coat the skillet with butter. His bare chest smothers your back as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and slides his arms around your waist with a sigh. “Sleep alright?”

It was the first time staying the night at his place and you oddly felt at home. “Yeah, like a rock. Especially after that marathon sex session.” 

Joel chuckles into your neck recalling all the sinful positions and moans he pulled from you. “Thank god for Sarah spending the night at her friend’s.”

The two of you sway softly as you crack four eggs into the hot skillet. His hands slowly wander your body while you work. Those rough, worn hands slide over your belly, graze your thinly covered breasts, and mold around your hips. 

“Love feeling your curves under my shirt.” Joel confesses kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. He slowly grinds his semi hard cock against your ass, the material of his boxers making it easy to glide over your skin. 

You gasp and clutch the countertop for support when a confident hand slides down the front of your panties. You shiver under his touch as he casually rubs your tiny nub. “Joel, I’ve got to cook breakfast.” You whine through the sweet pressure.

“Don’t worry about me.” He eases his throbbing, solid length from his boxers before giving it a tug. “I’ll entertain myself.” He says coyly, before tearing your panties from your hips. You yelp from the roughness and almost drop the spatula.  

He curses under his breath as he thumbs your already dripping folds. “My sweet girl. Your pussy gives you away.” He ruts against the soft curve of your ass staining your skin with shiny trails of precum. “You like me usin’ you like this.” 

The statement makes your belly flip. Your brain goes numb. The room feels unbearably hot and the searing skillet you’re standing over doesn’t help. All you can do is whine and arch your back in response. 

“S’ok, baby. I got you.” His fingers drag along your slick seam with teasing caresses. “Gonna take everythin’ I give ya. Ain’t tha’ right?” 

You dumbly nod, too strung out to speak besides moaning like a wanton whore as his fingers dip in and out of your tight hole. He works his fingers into you, scissoring and rubbing along your soaked channel, forcing illicit mewls from your throat.

“Best flip those eggs.”

The dark timbre of his voice jolts you from the euphoric haze. You scramble with the spatula and haphazardly flip the eggs just as he notches the bulbous head of his cock against your sopping entrance. Your cunt weeps, dripping sticky arousal down his length as he tips his hips and slowly sheaths his thick cock inside your warmth.

You both moan in unison from the intense pressure as he forms your velvet walls around him. He lets you breathe for a brief moment. Kisses pepper your temple and ease the stress from your brow while you adjust to his massive size. Your core flutters and blossoms as the pain ceases and the searing pleasure begins to rise.

Joel roughly grabs a fistful of his shirt and jerks you back until you’re plastered against him. His left arm splays across your clavicle and secures a large hand over your shoulder, locking you like a vice to his burly frame. 

His breath fans your cheek, teeth nipping lightly at your skin. “Keep an eye on my breakfast, girl. I don’t want no burnt eggs.”

He bucks his hips and drives into your core so hard you’d have slammed into the counter if he wasn’t holding you. Your mouth hangs open in shock, spilling sinful moans from your lips with every powerful thrust. His cock barely leaves your warmth for a second as he savagely saws in and out of your heat. 

Frantic thrust leaves you gasping and writhing. Your nails dig into his forearms as he holds you steady leaving no room for escape. “Take it all, girl. Be good. Know you can.” He grunts and cruelly grinds his pelvis into your ass. 

Your walls flutter and convulse making his chest rumble. His hips drive faster, relentlessly fucking you, desperate to feel you come around his cock. “Your drippin’ down my balls.” He grits against your cheek. “Maybe I’ll use this sweet cunt anytime I feel the urge instead of my hand.”

Skillful fingers slink to the apex of your thighs and draw tight circles around your slippery clit forcing your orgasm to crest. “Thatta’ girl. Make a fuckin’ mess.” Your cunt quivers as you come with a raspy shout and douse his cock with your cream. His sack tightens making him bury his soaked length as deep as he can go with a ragged grunt. He pumps you so full of his seed you think you can taste it at the back of your throat.

Suddenly, the garage door sounds. “Oh, shit. It’s Tommy.” Joel warns before withdrawing from your core with a hiss and carefully stuffing his cock back into the confines of his boxers.

“Fuck, where’re my panties!?” You squeak, while turning the burner off and tugging at Joel’s shirt, praying your ass won’t be on full display.

“Play it cool.” Joel rasps as he locks an arm around your shoulder and drags you over to the island hoping it’ll hide the evidence of what just transpired. Joel’s cum drips down your thighs making you squeeze your legs together with a cringe.

This isn’t going to go well. 

Tommy opens the side door and brightens the room with his million-watt smile. “Hey, sorry about the pop in but I was in the area and I’m fuckin’ starvin’.” 

He tosses his keys on the table and makes a beeline for the stove. “M’m something smells good. Eggs and…” He noses the air pensively while helping himself to Joel’s overdone eggs, flipping them onto a plate. 

You burrow your head into Joel’s chest when the younger man freezes after spying your torn panties on the floor and finally registers the smell. 

He stares bemusedly at the older man while pointing to his plate. “Are you serious? Right in front of my eggs?”

💌 my inbox is always open

[totallytatum]

August Baby

summary ; a humid july day, joel admires his pregnant partner and lends out a helping hand.

pairing ; joel x reader

word count ; 1.5k

warnings ; smut, pregnancy, established relationship, adult language

a / n ; this is written special for the idea of @sn1peraj, i agree, most fanfics are written with joel finding out years later about his long lost child, but this is for the active father in joel, the less frightened. i have realized this is just mainly smut, but if we like daddy joel we can very much do more of him. please send in what you'd like to see. much love and appreciation to you tots.

streams of light crept through the grotty curtains causing you to stir lightly stirring under the layers of blankets. you struggled trying to remain asleep, not ready to get up and deal with the crispy air of late august. tucked in behind you was joel, his chin tucked into your your shoulder and hand draped over your swollen stomach. his mellow breathing indicating to you he was still asleep.

your fingers traced of his hand, smiling softly. moments like this you felt normal, like you and joel weren't just surviving in the end of the world, you were a family, a normal family. you wish they could last forever, just paused in time.

not wanting to disturb joel, you slid out from under his loose grip, laying his hand down on the mattress. sitting up on the edge of the bed, you ran fingers through your hair before pulling it up into a loose bun. pushing yourself off the mattress your grabbed a fleece blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders before making your way into the kitchen entrance.

snoring softly on the couch laid ellie, basically now the daughter you never had. she chose you guys and you chose her. she reminded joel of sarah and the relationship the two had you would never allow to split.

filling the kettle with water, you set it on the stove, getting prepared for coffee. rummaging through the cabinets, you looked for what could be prepared for breakfast, soon deciding a can of peaches, peanut butter toast and eggs would be suitable. humming in satisfaction everything was laid out on the counter. turning back to the stove you shut off the burner, pouring instant coffee into the kettle, stirring until dissolved.

arms wrapped around your stomach, rubbing the bottom of your stomach softly, " good morning mama, how are you feeling? " you giggled slightly, taking a deep breath before turning around. your arms wrapped around joel's neck, leaning your forehead against his chin. " good, " you lied. in all honesty this pregnancy has been rough, start to now. your body ached all the time, you were constantly uncomfortable, you felt starved because you didn't have the luxury of just eating whenever.

joel's hands settled in the dip of your back, rubbing circles with his calloused thumbs. you hummed in pleasure, having some of the tension released off your back. your hips swayed back and forth, leaning into him, moving your hands from his neck you slid them under his shirt and up his back, dragging your nails up and down. a soft moment mewled from joel's lips, " don't start something you won't finish, remember what got us here sweetheart. " trialing your hands down him back you stopped at the waist band of his pants, dripping your fingers under the seam and plucking them towards you. " it's hard to miss when i look like a planet under this shirt, " murmured into his neck as you planted delicate kisses on his neck. his hands traveled your body, gripping onto the glob of your ass, giving a small squeeze causing you to moan in his neck. " better be quiet before you wake the girl up, i don't think this is somethin' she atta see. " pulling away, your finger danced across his jaw, " then maybe we should take this back to the bedroom? "

patting your cheeks you moved past him, joel close on your trail. closing the door behind him. you instantly dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging his pants and boxers down and gripping his member, running your thumb over the tip, feeling it twitch in your hand. a groan erupted him his chest as you spit on his cock and moving your hand from the base back to the tip. " baby girl... fuck... i needed this.. i needed you." he strokes your hair as you take his tip into your month, licking the precum, humming softly. his head falls back with his eyes closed. you needed this just as much as he did. you two barely spent time alone together and the last time you were intimate was weeks ago, maybe even a month. joel had just been busy on runs. you were just as starved as he was, caring for you this is what you could do to repay him.

your mind was nothing but stars at this point, eyes closed and your jaw tightening, and tears brimming your eyes as you took him all the way in your mouth. your nose against his below his naval, you gripped his thighs, digging your nails in as he held your head there for a moment, " oh shit "

you pushed his hips back, pulling away for a breath before he groaned, rough hands pulling your head back down to the base, gagging you as he thrusts his hips into your throat. your nails dug into his thighs, digging harshly as his thrusts became stronger. " that's it baby... you like taking my cock between those pretty lips. "

you hummed, tears falling down your cheeks, pulling back, " please joel...please..fuck me. " you begged, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable at this point. you needed to feel him, you needed him between your legs as if your life depended on it. " clothes off and on the bed, bend over for daddy, i want to see all of you. i want to see what is mine. " you obeyed, moving to the bed, taking your shirt off, followed by everything else. you placed your knees on the bed, resting your head on the on the pillow, looking back at joel.

stoking his cock, he got on the bed behind you, placing a small kiss on your soaking cunt, dragging his tongue between your folds. you mewled. joel placed a hand on your lower back, pressing his tip against your throbbing heat. you wiggled back at him, grinding your ass against him. " please.." he pushed inside you with ease and you whined, the pressure between your thighs being somewhat released. joel moved slowly, filling you up until he bottomed out, a grunt drew from his lips as he pulled his hips back and thrusted again. " holy fuck sweetheart.. always so tight for me.. like you've never been fucked" he moaned out, you rocked your hips back to him, meeting each one of his thrusts as they became stronger, quicker. your toes curled as you shoved your head into the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds that escaped you.

the fire that burned in the pit of your stomach was building up quick, you knew he could feel it. your back met his chest as he pulled you up, wrapping his hand around your stomach, " you look so good, all swollen and shit. i don't tell you how hard it makes my dick seeing you carryin' my kid. so fuckin' hot. " his hands no longer on your stomach had moved down to your puffy cunt, his rough finger moving between your folds and landing on your clit. rubbing circles and he pounded you from behind. " o-oh fuck j-joel. right t-there. i'm gonna..i'm gonna c-cum. " you cried out as he pushed your face back into the pillow, hands gripping your hips as a lifeline, slamming his hips into yours. your thighs trembled as you creamed on his cock, your knuckles white from gripping the bed tightly. your entire body shook as he continue until his load was blew into you, coating you walls with his seed. " h-holy f-fuck y/n " he groaned out, pulling out and collapsing beside you.

you were numb, as your laid on your side, ignoring the milky substance that leaked for you. you breathing was heavy and the air smelled of sex and sweat. you stared at joel, not believing how you've gotten so lucky with him, the man that said no words to others, rough exterior and was an introvert, closed off to everyone else. his guard down when it came to you, you were safety, home, no matter where you were.

joel moved a piece of hair out of your face, a small smile, not much but evident enough, he leaned over, pulling you into a deep kiss. " i love you mama, i love all of you and your planet looking self. " your heart swelled. joel rarely showed his feelings, always keeping his guard up but only to let it fall when it was just the two of you. " and i love you, i love us, and i love our baby. " you beamed with happiness. the soft touch of his hand tracked back onto your plump belly, leaning down to kiss it softly. his world felt whole, he had you, ellie, and you were carrying his future. it's been decades since he held a newborn but he was more than ready to be a father again. sarah would've been excited. she would've loved you, he knew how much she would've appreciated having a mother around, and possibly a new sister if ellie was still in the picture then. how differently would his life have played out?

shaking himself out of his own thoughts, he sat up, groaning in a stretch, "i think after that, i need a shower and some of my woman's cookin' "

tag ; @pofties

[sixosix]

Eee happy early birthday🎉🎊❤ As a fellow Xiao xiao lover I must request him. For his prompt, Xiao, sappy fluff and journal. 💕💕💕 -Sarah

a/n wc 1.1k! hi thank u so much! :D and ty for requesting xiao… the moml(main of my life)

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

During your travels with him, Xiao frequently observed you gathering every flower in sight. It didn’t strike him as odd; other mortals liked doing strange, mundane activities he could never understand the point of. Whenever he sees you crouching and plucking a Silk Flower, he moves forward and knows you’ll catch up to him eventually. It was none of his business—he didn’t want you to stop if he pointed it out.

But today, it was raining hard. Branches swayed, leaves were ripped off their stems, and the wind whipped around dangerously. One misstep could lead to slipping and a nasty bruise.

He rushed you inside the nearest cave. You pair were stuck there for however-long, at least until the rain would stop. Thunderstorms didn’t bother him, but they would make you cold, and he was pained at the thought of you shivering uncomfortably. You and Xiao sat by the far corner of the cave, furthest from the entrance and the drops of freezing water. Could he try taking you with him if he materialized into Wangshu Inn? He didn’t want to risk it—it was too far, and he hadn’t tried taking anyone with him at such a distance before.

He felt his protective instincts flared when you shuddered against his side. Xiao’s chin brushed against the top of your head. “Y/N,” he said.

“I’m okay, Xiao. I promise!” You sneezed, then frowned at the gray sky. A leaf retaliated and flew into the cave, slapping you on the nose. Your face scrunched up as you peeled it off. “Ahh, I should’ve listened to you when you said it would rain!”

Xiao sighed. “It was my mistake to agree.”

“We’re both going to take responsibility, then.”

Xiao couldn’t ever say no anyway.

You pouted. Your lip was a little colored from the way you were biting it to hold in the shivering. “The day is almost ending, yet we’re stuck here! This is so unlucky…!”

“Did you want to collect your flowers?” he asked. The cave had some sprouting on its surface—Violetgrass rich in its lilac color—but it was too unsafe to try at the moment.

“My flowers?”

“You collect them when we travel.”

Your eyes brightened as you caught up. “Oh! Ah, yes, I do collect them sometimes!”

Xiao shifted, prepared to move. 

Your hand latched onto his wrist, lightning quick. He would’ve reacted badly if it had been anyone else—but it’s you. “Don’t leave me, though!” you exclaim, wide-eyed. “Just stay here, okay?”

“Ah…” Xiao, stunned and unsure of what to do with his hands, settled back to your side. “Okay.”

The rain stopped, but Xiao’s quick-as-a-woodpecker heartbeat didn’t.

“Are you experimenting with herbs?” Xiao asked.

You were startled from where you’d been walking ahead. You and Xiao fell asleep in the cave—mostly you, because Xiao was wide awake, gold eyes visible in the pitch-black darkness—and woke up to birds chirping and the beautiful sunset of Liyue spread over the grass smoothly. From when you’d woken up until Xiao gathered enough courage to ask, you haven’t spoken, most likely feeling the remnants of awkwardness from last night’s strangely intimate moment.

You blinked. “Ah…?”

“The flowers.”

“Oh!” You waved your hands rapidly. “No, nothing as good as that. I’m filling up a journal.”

“A journal,” Xiao repeated, unable to determine the relationship between a journal and the flowers.

“Mhm.” You bounded to the nearest tree and laid your bag on the protruding roots. “Come here, let me show you.”

It was bound by a loose string, bursting at the seams. Xiao carefully flipped through the thick pages, curiously taking in the dried flowers pressed against them. Some had no flowers but a strangely colored leaf or a detached feather.

But each entry had something in common—

Xiao took me to Qingyun Peak—it was breathtakingly beautiful. Everything was colored orange during the sunset. We soared up with the current and flew all the way to Juyeun Karst! You had taped Mint on the corner.

Xiao and I went to Mt. Lingmeng, and wow! It had these stone carvings spread throughout; I came across one and touched it when it shot me straight up the air! I felt so light; it was incredible. Xiao’s face when I disappeared from his view was funny, haha. He caught me when I landed. Two flowers, one on each side of the page, all dried up but still there.

—His name was in each one.

Xiao got severely injured when we ran into Fatui. I feel terrible. But he takes such good care of me. Nothing was attached to that page but dried blood on the parchment. Xiao remembered that day—you closed off and hid somewhere, guilty. You must have been writing.

“Your presence is never a burden. Never for me.” Xiao really says a lot of things. Does he even know what comes out of his mouth sometimes? There were just wet stains on the space after.

Xiao still couldn’t quite understand, but with the way you looked so hopeful gazing up at him… he thought he could at least understand that this journal was important to you. 

You didn’t have an entry from yesterday, which made sense: you barely got to do anything at all. Xiao decided he would make it up to you.

“Stay here and eat,” Xiao said and didn’t wait for an answer.

He returned a few minutes later, eyes narrowed and hands cupped by his chest.

Emboldened by his idea, Xiao eagerly awaited you to notice what was nestled in his palms—an offering. How strange—an Adeptus presenting a gift to a mortal, yet nothing else has ever felt as right.

You blinked curiously, mouth agape. And then laughed.

Xiao wilted. “Did I misunderstand?”

You scooped up the crystalfly and beamed at him, rivaling the beauty of the moonlight behind you. Xiao had to squint. “No, Xiao!” you said, delighted. “No, no. This is just—this is so sweet!”

Xiao clicked his tongue. “Is it really unlike me?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you laughed, moving closer until your noses brushed. Xiao sucked in a breath, looking anywhere else but the pure delight on your face, feeling a little too warm. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s a little funny, though. I was expecting flowers, too, but I guess you wouldn’t be conventional about this, either.”

“You like it,” Xiao said, though it was fumbling for assurance.

“Of course I do, Xiao! It’s from you, after all.”

He nodded, pleased. Xiao felt like he could slice Teyvat in half. 

His mind wandered to ways of enriching your collection. A chip of a hilichurl’s mask? Or a delicate slice of wood for every newfound tree? Perhaps blades of grass Xiao would gather as you rolled around on it? With every journey, your journal grew thick, yet Xiao remained the focal point of your entries—nothing else seemed as fitting.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Voicemail

A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.

Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.

As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.

Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.

After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it. 

It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.

It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.

And he keeps it all these years.

He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack. 

If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.

And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s. 

With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.

Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.

The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun. 

Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.

Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.

Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.

Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’

‘Just a second!’ you call back.

Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best. 

It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening. 

Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.

‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’

You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’

‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’

‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’

‘Try me.’

Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.

When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’

He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’

You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’

You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him. 

Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’

He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’

Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’

Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.

‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.

Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’

‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.

The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.

Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.

Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either. 

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.

It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.

One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.

Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.

Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.

The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.

There’s no putting it off forever.

In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.

He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.

In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.

Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.

He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins. 

Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.

The battery sign appears on the screen.

Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.

It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.

1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.

It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -

He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.

He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -

Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -

And everything goes white.

When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.

He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.

You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.

It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no. 

Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.

But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.

‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’

As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.

More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️

[guess-my-next-obsession]

can u write a drabble of joel fingering reader under the covers trynna keep her noises quiet👀👀 tyyy

The Distraction

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: E (18+ ONLY, semi-public, sort-of fingering, edging, unprotected feral piv)

wc: <1k

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Joel—“ your voice was a whisper, hushed but urgent as you reached to grab his hand as it crept up your thigh beneath the blanket over both your laps.

You were at his parents house for dinner which turned into a movie night, Mary and Sarah on the loveseat, Paul in his lazy boy, Tommy and you on either side of Joel on the main couch.

The volume was up loud enough for no one to hear your whispers, and while they did seemed consumed with Jurassic Park, you weren’t sure you wanted to risk Joel’s parents, brother, and daughter finding the two of you fooling around.

Joel clearly didn’t share the same worries.

His hand crept higher, inching towards the hem of your sundress that had been teasing him all spring. Your hand remained over his, though you weren’t stopping him anymore, the warmth of his fingertips through the cotton covering your center impairing your judgement.

You turned your head to look at him, finding him convincingly lost in the movie, though you knew he was distracted. You bit your lip and faced forward, determined to prove you were just as good of an actor as your partner.

Joel’s fingers worked up and down your seam, pressing against you until you were nearly bucking to meet his fingers. In your peripheral, you caught him smirking, seemingly pleased by your neediness.

He teased you like that the entire movie, alternating between firm circles over your clit and long stroked up and down your seam, never letting you cum but giving you just enough attention to keep you on the edge the entire time.

By the time you arrived at Joel’s place and waited for Sarah to go to bed for the night, you were nearly aching from the build up. You yanked Joel down onto the sofa as he tried to lean down and give you a teasing kiss, your legs bracketing his hips as you straddled his lap, your lips on his neck.

“I need you so bad,” you whined in a whisper, your hands undoing his belt buckle and pulling him out. You stroked him in your palm until his brows were furrowed, his lips parted and plump as he watched you work him.

“Baby—“ He was cut off by you moving your panties to the side and sinking down onto him, his hands squeezing your hips as he watched his length disappear into you. “God damn.”

“Need you so bad,” you repeated, drunk on him. He wrapped both arms around your waist and hugged your body against his as he started thrusting you into you. One hand rested between your shoulder blades while the other rested over your tailbone, guiding you to meet his thrusts. You gripped onto his shirt, burying your face against his neck so that your moans would be muffled. Joel’s lips remained against the shell of your ear, whispering sinful praises that had your body humming for him.

“Did so good for me,” he purred, sending chills down your spine. “Lettin’ me work you up…here you go, baby. Take what you want.”

“Fuck,” you whined, your hips rocking furiously against his as you sought your own pleasure.

The head of Joel’s cock brushed and nudged against that spot inside you that had your thighs shaking, but the cherry on top was the way your clit grinded against the curls at the base of his shaft, the friction lighting you on fire. Your fists were balled in the cotton of his shirt as you got yourself off, Joel’s groans getting dangerously loud as he neared his own relief.

“Go on, baby,” he urged, his voice now just as desperate as yours. “Use me. Make yourself cum on my cock. Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

“Joel,” you gasped, crumbling against him as your high hit you like a punch, turning you into putty in his arms. Joel held you close, rocking his cock into you slower until he spilled inside of you with a soft whine of your name. “Fuck,” you sighed as you regained your consciousness. “That was good.”

“So you’re not mad at me for bein’ a little shit?” he mumbled against your cheek as he kissed it. You smiled and shook your head against his chest.

“Not if it ends like that.”

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[mrsbsmooth]

Smut writing 101: What I wish someone had told me when I first started.

So a conversation with @queen-of-boops and @longbobmckenzie sparked this post. Sarah already wrote a list of tips for writing a villa fic which was really helpful and people expanded on it a lot, so we thought it might be helpful to share a few tips for writing smut from some of the writers that do it a lot.

This is a long-ass post, because I've learned a lot over the years. So right at the end, there's a mini how-to guide for how to turn your smut from IKEA instruction manual into an explosion of sexual tension.

In addition, I would love for others to add on to this. This fandom is horrifically talented especially in writing brain-melting smut, and this is just what I could come up with in a few hours. But I'd love to hear from other people and have them add on extra bits!

A few resources before we begin:

The Smut Writer's Dictionary

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic [HIGHLY recommend sections ii (Reaction words), iv (sexy alternatives to 'said'), xii (generally acceptable slang terms) and xvi (Some do's and don'ts of smut writing).]

OneLook Thesaurus is much better than other thesauruses at suggesting words for smut (I've found).

Now, on to the advice!

Tip #1 - It's normal to find it difficult and cringe to write. Own it.

Smut can be intimidating. It can feel really cringe and awkward and you might feel like people are judging you for it, and you know what? Sometimes they are. Smut isn't for everyone, and not everyone wants to read it, and that's why ratings and tags exist on Archive of Our Own. But you shouldn't be ashamed of writing it. Smut is fun and awesome and people who do like reading smut often love reading it, and will absolutely eat up whatever you give them. So go nuts. Write what you want to see, write what you want to read. That's advice for everything, but it's especially relevant for writing smut. Because if you feel awkward, it can sometimes show through. Lean into it. Let it happen. If you make yourself blush, you’re doing a fucking awesome job.

Tip #2 - Writer’s block.

I've written hundreds of thousands of words of pure, unadulterated filth, and I still struggle to push into it sometimes. The leadup comes so naturally, the tension builds, they're kissing, they're starting to touch each other, and then-- writer's block. I stare at the page and tap my fingers and go... huh. Same with writing really effectual kisses, or writing orgasms. There's all this pressure to make it the best written orgasm that's ever existed in the English language and it really doesn't need to be. Just put something down. 

If your doc looks like this:She clawed at the wall, knowing she was coming apart at the seams, the pressure building inside her. He didn’t let up. [orgasm bla bla bla]. She took a deep breath. She drew herself off him. She turned around. And she fell to her knees. [blowjob and he's loving it].

Then your doc looks just like mine.

Tip #3 - Pick the right words for everyone’s bits. 

See the resource above for suggestions! People have very different preferences when it comes to what to call a cock or whether or not to use the word ‘cunt’. Adjectives, adverbs– there are so many different opinions. Like personally, I have to physically restrain myself from throwing a fic across the room if it uses the word hole but that is my personal preference, and I am massively in the minority there. But my advice is threefold:

Read widely to find out what you like,

Write what you like,

Know your characters. 

Language will vary by fandom, by character, and by setting, and it’s an opportunity to really solidify their characterisation by carrying this into smut. An arrogant fuckwit who’s bedding his mortal enemy in a fit of hate-sex might use ‘into her slick cunt’, whereas a sweet, wholesome guy who’s desperately in love might say ‘pushed inside her’. But the more you read, and the more you write, the more you’ll find certain words or phrases you’re more comfortable with. 

The more smut you read, the better understanding you’ll have of what you like. The better understanding you have of what you like, the easier it will be to write. 

Tip #4 - POV can help you

Picking the right POV can make your life easier. For example, I once wrote a M/M/M threesome. That fic ended up being my very first ever 'first person POV' fic. Why? Because it turned one set of ‘his hand’ into ‘my hand’. Made it easier to understand the logistics of ‘his hand on his waist’, etc. Maybe it's lazy, maybe it's genius. I thought it was a bit of both. 

Consider whose POV is going to be the most impactful. If you’re not sure, try writing a paragraph from each. You’ll figure it out quite quickly. 

Tip #5 - Dialogue

You don’t have to include dialogue in your smut, but it can really help with pacing things and showing when the ‘end’ is approaching. Anyone who’s ever read any of my smut ever knows I’m a huge fan of cutting people off mid sentence in smut dialogue. 

They start out with “Oh yeah? You think you can make me X?” And the other person goes “Sweetheart, I’m going to make you X so hard you don’t Y for a Z.” 

But then by the end it’s “You feel–” and everyone’s gasping “Oh, fuck–” and sobbing out “I’m so– I’m gonna–” 

To me, this helps to build pacing and tension and show without telling that the end is approaching. But honestly, that’s just me– I enjoy reading people being very vocal in smut, so that’s how I write them. If that’s not your thing, then don’t do it. Simple as that. 

Tip #6 - Don’t skimp on the finale

Orgasms are hard to write. We all know that. There’s all this pressure to write the best most explosive monumental earth-shattering orgasm that’s ever existed in fiction, and honestly, it probably won’t be. But you still need to give it the time it deserves. 

As an avid consumer of smut, there is nothing more frustrating than five pages of buildup, incredible smut, tension rising, rising, rising– and then the orgasm happens in two lines and they’re immediately having a conversation afterwards. This is, no pun intended, the climax of your scene. Give it a paragraph. Hell, give it two paragraphs. Give it four. The climax is something you can write in excruciating detail and it will almost always be better for it. You can decide whether they come at the same time, or whether one comes immediately after the other (personal fav so we get to read two orgasms. Yay! Two cakes!) You can hyper-focus on every single sense. Here are some examples for writing orgasms:

Feel/Touch

The feeling travelling through the character’s body/ zones: up their spine, through their thighs, ‘deep inside them’

Their partner continuing to thrust/move

Their partner’s grip on their body, or maybe a kiss

Fingernails digging into shoulder or raking down a back

Legs squeezing

Smell

Personally I think this works better for the leadup and afterwards, but if you want this in here you absolutely can. Pheremones, cologne, aftershave, perfume, sweat, hair gel– whatever makes them smell like them. 

Sight

Their partner’s face and get detailed! Lips parting, brow scrunched, eyes closed, face in beautiful agony, wax poetic as fuck about their partner's face! What is hotter than making someone come and watching their face while you do it!??!!?

Darkness (blindfolded 👀)

‘White light behind their eyes’ is a cliche for a reason (fucking love this one)

Seeing stars/heaven see above lol

Taste

Harder to put into an orgasm but salty skin, lipgloss/lipstick? Whatever you want really

Sound

Big one. Their partner’s breath or moan as they watch/feel character’s peak

Their own breath/moans (or lack thereof can be just as effective, a ‘sudden silence’ as their breath catches in their throat can work WONDERS)

Bodies slapping together (doesn’t always work but when it does it does)

External sounds, especially rhythmic ones. A train clacking or a club baseline could simulate a heartbeat/shockwaves that you could lean into.

Pick multiple senses and focus on them. This will fill up a good bit of your climax writing. 

But you should also let them come down from it! DON’T SKIMP AFTERCARE (or after-hate??)

Tip #7 - Aftercare!

I missed this so often when I was new to writing smut and I didn’t realise how effective it could be! I always just faded to black immediately afterwards because I didn’t want to deal with the ‘cleanup’. And you don’t have to go into detail, but at the very least, give them a few minutes– a paragraph or so after the sex. The immediate aftermath of the act itself when you can really focus on the relationship. 

If they’re mortal enemies who’ve just fucked and are now horrified? Have them panting into each others’ skin. Their breaths suddenly become sharper and more reserved. They pull back from each other. Someone glares or someone says something snarky or awful. Someone showing aftercare or affection here (or being particularly cruel) reveals a lot about their character.

If they’re deeply in love and it’s comfortable for them to do so, maybe let them just lay there for a second, enjoying the feeling of each others’ bodies and letting breaths fall warmly and smiles tug at cheeks. Soft kisses, laying in silence, affection, etc. 

If they’re best mates who just fucked by accident, have the silence be awkward and have no one breathe at all. It’s tense and awkward and one has to ask the other to go get a towel or something and the other is like ‘oh, yeah, um, right’. 

Don’t skip this! It can be so impactful!

Overall Tip - Beware the ‘IKEA Instruction manual’!

The #1 most common mistake, in my opinion, in writing smut is ‘Insert Tab A into Slot B’. It’s things like, 

He moved his leg A, she touched B. He lifted her arm to C, holding her D’s, before slipping down to cup E. She ran her hands up F, touching his G, feeling his Hs caressing her I as she lifted her J and draped it over his K.

When I read this, I’m not focusing on the smut. I’m doing mental gymnastics trying to keep track of what position they’re in in my head because I’m assuming that it’s important. If you feel yourself doing this, stop. Refocus. Remember whose POV you’re in. This isn’t to say you should never tell the reader what’s happening. Just make sure to break it up a little!

Balance actions with senses. 

Let’s say you start with a basic action. (The example is buildup to smut, not actual smut, but the idea is the same)

“His hand moved from her knee to her thigh.”

-> Instead of writing what they’re doing, write what they can sense.

“His hand moved from her knee to her thigh” becomes “She felt his warm hand slide from her knee to her thigh.”

-> Now, make the phrase active. Instead of ‘she felt’, make it a description.

‘She felt his warm hand slide from her knee to her thigh’ becomes ‘Warmth erupted on her skin as his hand slid from her knee to her thigh’.

-> Give it details, and draw focus to them.

His fingertips skimmed her inner thigh as his hand slipped from her knee and moved higher. The silk of her skirt gave way to the warmth of a coarse, rough palm. Her skin seared beneath it. But every other inch of her shivered with anticipation.

In three steps, you’ve gone from IKEA tab A to slot B to a pretty good section for building tension. 

Examples of writing senses:

What can they feel? - ‘She’d never been so pent up, so wired, so on edge, and every flit of his practiced fingers on her waist had goosebumps shooting up her spine’.

What can they taste? - ‘She could taste the sweat on his skin, the coconut suncream on his shoulders, the salt of the ocean on the hints of stubble at his jawline.’

What can they smell? - ‘Her forehead pressed to his, that smokey, heady cologne engulfing her; curling her closer in time with his arms around her.’

What can they hear? - ‘He watched her every move, breathing quickly, so she looked him directly in the eyes as she undid his belt. Belt. Button. Zip purring as she tugged it down towards her.’

What can they see? - “Then, they opened, and he was treated to the sight of her looking up at him from her knees. Her eyes said fuck me. Her mouth said fuck me. Everything about her. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

I hope this was helpful in some way. I really would love to hear any other tips and tricks that writers would like to add to this. Obviously Mo and Sarah are already tagged, but this is a full and open free-for-all.

Add your thoughts! Add what you've learned! Add what you wish you knew!

I'd love to hear it <3