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heartz4shauna · 4 months

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everything good happens after midnight ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

warnings: divorced art, mentions of a failed marriage, lily lowkey being cupid, alcohol use, small timeskips, set in 2019, minor swearing, small age gap (r is 24, art is 31), forced proximity?, tension, making out, slight height difference (not specified), written kinda weird i dunno how to explain it, unironic use of the word ‘girlboss’, not proofread

word count: 4.3k

a/n: be a freak in the club !!! ty chappell roan for the inspo xxx also please don’t flame me for this guys. i’ve never written a full fic for a man b4, had to google some words, had to pull out my pinterest board titled ‘writing stuff’ for this one, my longest fic ever!!! let’s clap xx

disclaimer: i am a minor, if what i write makes you uncomfortable knowing that i’m a minor dni!!! don’t complain to me because i can do what i want okay thank you bye x

The time on your phone read 8:27P.M. You sat backstage, fixing up your makeup and warming up your voice for the show you were about to start. All you could hear from the crowd behind the curtain was screams and chatter.

Your manager came up to you at your vanity, he cleared his throat before he spoke, “On in two minutes.” You looked back at him and gave him a nod as you stood up, flattening your short leather skirt and most beautifully designed corset.

Your manager came back to you, microphone in hand and gave it to you, “You got it, you’ll be great.” He gave you a wink and you nodded, walking onto the stage.

As you stepped out onto the stage you put on your persona, that bubbly, energetic singer that all of your fans knew and loved. You waved to the huge crowd of people and spoke into the microphone loudly, “How are we doing tonight?!”

All around you, you heard cheers and screams which made you smile. You waited a minute for the cheers to die down before you spoke again, “y’know, that’s real good to hear. It’s my first show here, did you know that?” you asked the crowd. You heard replies of “no!” and “really?!” You nodded, a cheeky grin on your face, “I know, I know. But, that’s a good thing. I’ve got a real special show prepared for y’all tonight,” you announced to the crowd, pacing around the stage slowly.

Cheers instantly filled your ears, fans excited to see what you had to show them. One fan in particular, a tall man with blonde hair caught your eye. He was smiling down at someone shorter, maybe his daughter, and pointed at the stage, telling her what was happening. You nodded to yourself, “alright! Well, I can tell you all we’re gonna start with a banger. Not that I’m biased or anything..” you mumbled into the microphone which caused the venue to erupt in laughter. As your band was already on stage, the instrumental to a popular song of yours began playing and you smiled, “I hope y’all know this one. I’d be embarrassed if you didn’t,” you winked just before you counted yourself into the song.

2 HOURS LATER

“You guys were such an amazing crowd, I’m so glad this was my first show here! Y’all really didn’t hold back on that last song,” you chuckled as you spoke to the crowd. You reached for your bottle of water and sipped from it, rubbing your neck, “hey! I may or may not be doing merch signing at the back exit..” you whispered into the microphone, wiggling your eyebrows, “be there!” Now, that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, you wanted to do a signing after your show but was it planned? No.. But, in your defence you wanted to see if that blonde guy would come to the back, exchange numbers maybe… Huh? Who are you kidding, he probably has a wife! Who’s also probably waiting for them at home, it is pretty late. You checked your watch; 10:38P.M. Probably way past their daughters bed time, too. Gosh.

You waved goodbye to the crowd, blowing kisses. As soon as you got backstage you tried to find your manager. Where was he? Right. Where he always is, the bar backstage. Better not talk to him while he was drunk, so you told your assistant manger instead. Sweet girl, unfortunate she’s a lower rank than that asshole of a man. “Hey, love. Um, I know we have to get going back to the hotel soon, but I told the crowd I was signing stuff at the back exit. Can you cover for me if Sam asks?”

Your assistant manager nodded, writing what you said down on her clipboard, “got it. Why can’t you talk to him yourself, though? Just wondering, it’s not an attack on you,” she asked with a chuckle. You sighed, looking down at your feet, “He’s in the bar. He’s probably drunk. I don’t wanna have to deal with him right now.” Your assistant manager nodded, clapping you on the back, “not a problem. I’ll go talk to him,” and with that, she left you. All you had to do now was say hi to a few people, sign some things and be on your way.

You made your way to the back exit of the venue, weaving in and out through wires and auxiliaries. Pushing the fire exit open, you were met with tens of smiling faces, pens at the ready. Oh, alright. Tonight’s gonna be a long night. Squeals could probably be heard from states away as you made eye contact with a few fans. “Oh, my God! Can you sign this for me please?!” Pens and paper were pushed into your face, barely getting any room to breathe. A security guard would be nice right about now, you thought.

You took a deep breath before you spoke, almost shouting, “sorry, if you would like me to sign something or take a photo, please be patient. There’s a lot of y’all, and one of me. Imma take my time with all of y’all, make it special. Is that alright?”

You were met with nods and replies of “yes!”, “sorry!” and “alright!” You sighed in relief, “Okay, good. If you want, you can form a line.” Fans struggled against each other, pushing and shoving to be first in line. Surprisingly, a small teenage girl made it first in line, despite the shoving. You smiled brightly at her, making casual conversation, “hi, what’s your name?” She replied in a whisper, “it’s Julianne.” You nodded, humming, “that’s a beautiful name. Do you want to take a photo or do you want me to sign something for you?” Julianne nodded, her hands quickly going to her pockets for her phone. “Can we take a picture?” she asked kindly and you replied, “of course we can, sweetie,” with a chuckle.

She opened up the camera app and readied herself for the photo, posing casually. You followed her lead, a peace sign on your fingers as you winked at the camera. As soon as the picture was taken she quickly turned back to you, hugging you. “Oh!” you almost yelped, obviously not expecting the sudden embrace, but hugged her back anyway. “It was great to meet you,” you whispered to her before she waved goodbye and left.

45 MINUTES LATER

After making your way through almost every fan, you were left standing with two people. A little girl and her father, the tall blonde man who had caught your eye. You smiled at the pair, “last two, huh?” you chuckled. “Anything to sign?” The man nodded, “she’s a little shy,” he gestured to his daughter, “she’s always talking about you at home,” he added with a chuckle. “Anyway, could you sign this?” he asked, grabbing what looked like a CD case out of a backpack slung over his daughters shoulder. He handed you the case, “don’t ask.”

You looked down at the case in your hands and your eyes brightened, “Spiderverse? I like that movie too,” you said to the little girl. You pulled out the Sharpie from your hair, conveniently hidden away, and pressed it to the case. Fuck. It’s wasted. Your face dropped in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry,” you chuckled lightheartedly, “my pen’s wasted. Have either of y’all got one?”

The man sighed heavily, “I’ve got one in the car. I’ll go get it, I’ll be right back, sweetie,” he told his daughter before he jogged away to his car. You looked down at the girl, “what’s your name?” you asked curiously, she looked up at you, her big brown eyes shining, “Lily.” You nodded, “that’s a beautiful name, Lily. What about your dad, do you know his name?” Lily nodded, “mhm. His name is Art.” You chuckled, not expecting such a name. “Wow, cool name, huh?”

Art returned, pen in his hand. “Here you go,” he smiled, handing the pen to you. You took it, popped off the cap and quickly signed the case. Lily took the case from your hands, a great big smile on her face, “thank you!” Art smiled down at her, and then at you, “thank you so much,” he said, taking the pen from you. “Hey, just out of curiosity, what hotel are you staying at tonight?” Art asked you, taking his daughter’s hand in his, “we could give you a ride. If we’re lucky enough, we might be staying in the same place.” You thought to yourself, do I let this hot man I don’t know bring me back to my hotel, leaving my team completely unaware as to where I am or do I decline and leave with my team? Tricky question.. You shrugged, “I’m staying at the Black Bird Plaza, do you know it?” Arts face lit up and he chuckled, “yeah, I do. We’re staying there as well.”

Your eyes widened slightly, “oh, wow. Y’all are lucky, huh?” Art nodded, a smirk on his face, “do you wanna get a drink at the bar?” Never one to say no to a drink, you nodded. “Great! Guess I’ll be your chauffeur for tonight,” he added.

“C’mon,” he said finally as he began walking to his car and you followed. “Are y’all from around here? I assume not.” Art shook his head, “no, we’re not from here. A few states over. Lily saw you weren’t coming to our city, so we traveled.” You chuckled, respecting the dedication, “big fan.” “You have no idea,” he replied.

Art unlocked his car and opened the door for you, “thank you,” you smiled, sitting in the passenger seat. Buckling yourself in, he helped Lily into the back, “do you need help putting on your seatbelt or are you good?” Lily declined, buckling her own seatbelt like the girlboss that she is. Art nodded, and got into the drivers seat.

10 MINUTES LATER

Art parked his car in the hotel parking lot and helped both you and Lily out of the car. You checked your watch, 11:25 P.M. You turned to Art as you all entered the lobby, “wouldn’t the bar be closed by now?” you asked. He shook his head, pressing the button for the elevator, “don’t worry about it. I’m liked around here.” You laughed at his certainty, “alright then.” The three of you entered the elevator as the doors opened, “Lily, we’re gonna sit at the bar for.. maybe an hour, okay? I’ll turn on the T.V. for you, just don’t leave the room and don’t open the door for anyone, got it?”

Lily nodded, “mhm. Can I have a snack from the mini fridge?” Art looked at you and you both chuckled, “of course you can, sweetie,” he told Lily. He pulled his room key out of his pocket when the elevator doors opened. Two young ladies were standing, waiting for the elevator and saw you. Their faces instantly lit up, “Oh. My. God!” one of the girls chuckled out, “can we get a picture?” You nodded, selling out of the elevator, “of course!” Art and Lily followed, he nudged you, “gonna go to the room. We’re in room 276.” You nodded, and just as he was going to leave one of the girls spoke tremulously, “wait! You, too. You’re my dad’s favourite tennis player, he’d be so stoked to know I met him.”

Your eyebrows creased together as you looked back at him, “tennis player?” He shrugged, an awkward smile on his face, “yeeeah?” He walked back over to you and the girls, leaving Lily to fend for herself and smiled for the pictures. The girls giddily spoke to each other after the pictures, “this has to go onto my Instagram. My actual popstar idol and a super hot tennis player? I’ll literally go viral.” You and Art shared a glance and knowingly smiled at each other.

The girls entered the elevator, still excitedly chatting. You noticed that Lily wasn’t next to Art anymore, “oh, no. Where did Lily go?” Art brushed you off, “she’s probably already waiting for us outside the room. She’s used to having a famous dad,” he gloated sarcastically. “Uh-huh,” you nodded with a scoff.

You followed him back to his room where Lily was standing safe and sound, she leaned her head against the door tiredly. Art rapped on the door, “wake up, Lily.” She lifted her head up from the door, “I’m awake, dad.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Lily ran in and sat in front of the mini fridge, rummaging through the snacks. Art allowed you inside before he followed. You glanced around the room, pretty big room for two people, you thought. Lily picked out her snack and walked over to Art, “I’m gonna have this one.” He looked down at her and nodded, “go ahead.” She gave him a hug and he kissed her gently on the cheek, “you going to bed?” he asked her and she nodded. “Good. It’s way past your bedtime,” he responded lightly. “We’re going to the bar, we’ll be back up soon, okay? Love you.” They waved goodbye and you both left the room.

Art began walking down the hall and you asked him, “you can trust her to set her sleep there alone?” He nodded, pressing the elevator button, “she’s a big girl. She’ll be safe, don’t worry.”

The doors opened slowly and you stepped inside. Art looked at you curiously as he followed you, “you are over 21, aren’t you?” You chuckled, “you didn’t do your research. I’m 24, so yeah. I’m legal.” Art scoffed, “alright, sue me. I just wanted to make sure, okay?” The doors closed and suddenly you felt claustrophobic. No, the elevator wasn’t small, there was enough room to breathe. So, why couldn’t you? Was it the fact that you were in a concealed space with a super hot dilf- I mean, super cool tennis player? Shit, probably. You looked at your watch to try and calm your nerves, you seemed to do that a lot. The time was 11:48 P.M.

You scratched your neck before speaking, “I didn’t bring my purse. You are planning on paying for these drinks right?” He frowned mockingly, “oh. Well, I guess you can just go back to your room.” You let out a sigh of relief, “yeah, okay. Just checking.” “It’s only gentlemanly,” he started, “how should I ask a pretty woman out to drinks and not pay? That’s just rude.”

You scoffed, ignoring just how flustered that statement made you, “oh, nice. Smooth, even.” The doors creaked open and he stepped out, shrugging, “I thought that was good,” his words echoed through the empty lobby. The sound of your heels on the marble floor mocked his words as they echoed after him.

The elevator was only a few steps away from the bar and yet it felt miles away. Once you crossed the threshold you sighed with relief, a heavy weight taken off your shoulders suddenly. Art guided you to a small table next to a window, the lights dim and seats soft. You gave him a smile, “what do you drink?” he asked. Oh. What do you drink? Did you know you’ve been sober for over a year? Now you know! “Just get me a whiskey coke,” you blurted out. He raised an eyebrow at you, “you sure that’s what you want?” You shook your head, a frown on your face, “I dunno, get me something sweet, I guess.”

He gave you a nod, “you got it.” He walked over to the bar and leaned on his elbows as he spoke to the barman. What you heard could only be described as ‘acquaintances who have a semi mutual friend who is never around so conversation is hard to get flowing and is usually awkward. so, communication is normally short nods, mumbles and thanks’. He came back over to the table, two drinks in hand; a beer and a… Shirley Temple? Your eyebrows creased as you looked up at him, “seriously?” He waved you off, “Dirty Shirley,” he claimed, setting the drinks onto the table. “Oh.” You grabbed your drink and sipped it cautiously, he took a seat opposite you.

You tasted the drink warily, and nodded to yourself. “It’s good,” you mumbled. He snickered, “it’s just a Shirley with vodka, it’s nothing special.” You shrugged, swallowing a sip, “so? It’s good. What’d you get?” You turned his beer bottle to face you, ‘Carlsberg’ is what the label read. “Any good?” you asked him. “It’s fine, used to drink it in college.” Ah. You nodded, “nostalgic, huh?” He shrugged, “I guess.”

Suddenly, a few questions popped into your head. “Should’ve asked this earlier, how old are you?” He sighed, setting down his beer, cleared his throat, “32.” You nodded, kind of expecting him to be older, “alright, not bad,” you half-shrugged. “Do you.. have a wife?” He froze up a little. Oh. “Uh, no.” Frown on your lips you asked, “really? You’re a good looking man and you’re an athlete, it’s kinda hard to believe,” you laughed softly. “Hm. Relationships don’t work out sometimes,” he replied, taking a swig of his beer. “Tell me about it,” you reciprocated, rolling your eyes.

He cleared his throat, trying to move from the subject, “anyway. You been singing long?” You sipped your drink before answering, “I guess, yeah. I was in choir in middle school, so. I’ve always had ‘the talent’, y’know? But, I’ve been a singer since.. what is it now? 2014? So, five years going strong, give or take a few months.” He grinned from ear to ear, clearly very impressed, “wow. Long time, huh? You don’t get bored?” You sipped your drink and squinted at him, shaking your head, “don’t you get bored of tennis?” He made an iffy face, as if he didn’t really know the answer to your question.

“Hmmmmm…” you hummed as you looked at him sideways, “we’re very different, I see.” Pretty much after gulping the rest of your drink down you asked him one more question, “how old is Lily?” “She’s 8,” Art answered with a stiff nod. “She’s a good kid. You’re a good dad, too.” Art made a somewhat uncomfortable noise but thanked you anyhow.

“Sorry, that was kinda sudden,” you chuckled. “That’s alright, I appreciate it. I’ll grab you another drink,” he responded, standing up from his seat. Another less than acquaintanced conversation between Art and the barman. Jeez. You could feel the anxiousness of the conversation from your seat.

He came back over, another Dirty Shirley in hand and gave it to you. “Thanks,” you began sipping your drink again. “Barman’s closing up in 5, you’ll have to drink that fast,” Art told you lingering at the table, rather than sitting down. He picked up his beer and started drinking it a little faster than what would be considered a ‘normal’ beer drinking pace. You gave a nod and started uncomfortably gulping down your drink. You placed the glass on the table once you finished, fishing for the maraschino cherry at the bottom.

You got up from the table, pushing your chair in before you left the bar. Walking back to the elevator you tried to make conversation with Art, “thanks for the drinks. Haven’t had one of those before, they’re good.” “Not a problem,” he replied, pressing the elevator button.

The doors opened instantly and you both stepped in, ladies first. The doors closed slowly as you stood face to face with him. The slight smell of alcohol filling the elevator was gross. Slightly intoxicating. The elevator stopped suddenly with a jolt. Art sighed, “we’re stuck.” You groaned, “seriously? Does this happen often?” He nodded, eyes widened slightly, “oh, yeah. Fantastic hotel, super old elevators. It’s sad.” “Is there an emergency bell for things like this?” You asked, examining the buttons which read: ‘0, 1, 2, 3, 4’. Four floors and no emergency button? Jesus Christ.

He shook his head, “nope. We just have to wait it out. Usually takes ten minutes for assistance.” You looked at your watch again, 12:07 P.M. What’s a better way to pass the time than make a move? Probably a lot. But that just didn’t register in the moment. You never really mastered the whole flirting thing, usually you weren’t the one to shoot your shot. Clearly, you liked this guy. Maybe he liked you, too? What’s an invite out to drinks with a stranger? Basically a date.

“You look nice,” you finally got out, looking at his shoes. His brows furrowed and he chuckled, “are you trying to make conversation or are you trying to flirt?” Fuck, he caught you out. Play it cool. “Uh, no. Obviously not, we’re just stuck here, in this elevator, and I noticed you look nice, is that okay?” You said quickly. Art chuckled, running a hand through his hair like the dream boat that he is- who said that? “Look, we both know why I invited you for a drink. I think you’re pretty fine, and I know you think the same about me,” he stated, giving you a look.

You squinted at him, “it’s rude that you think so highly of yourself..” your complaint was cut short as Art pressed his lips against your quickly which made your eyes widen to the heavens. He pushed himself away from you just as quickly as he pulled himself to you. “Sorry,” he mumbled with a chuckle, “I should’ve asked you.” You shook your head quickly before forcing your lips back onto his in a desperate attempt to feel what you felt when he first kissed you. Did that catch him off guard? No, not really. He knew you’d kiss him back anyway, he’s Art Donaldson, he does fine for himself and he knows it.

You pressed a kiss to his neck which caused a choked moan to escape his lips. Now, that caught you off guard. He plays tennis, he should have a lot of practice trying to keep grunts in when he plays, right? Maybe you’re just that good. Props to you. Well, now you knew; his neck is the Jackpot. So, you abused the fuck out of his neck. Not literally. But continuously kissing his neck, biting it even and hearing him whine did wonderful things for your ego.

His hands made their way to your waist and pulled you impossibly closer to him and you groaned as you took a breather, “your lips feel nice on mine,” you told him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t be such a tease,” he warned breathlessly, to which you replied, “or what? You gonna whine again?” He rolled her eyes, his tongue prodding at his cheek in faux annoyance. You were about to kiss him again when the doors creaked open and outside stood a trio of firefighters who stared blankly at you both, “alright in here?” one of them asked to which Art replied with a nod. “We’re going up..” you mumbled, unsure of yourself. The firefighter who had spoken before nodded and said “should be safe. Have a good night.”

Art quickly pressed the button and the doors slammed shut. Giggles escaped you as the elevator began to move again to which Art nudged you. “What? That was pretty funny, don’t lie,” you responded to his antics. The elevator doors opened and alas, you finally made it to your floor. You held your hand out for him to take in which he obliges, following you out of the elevator like a dog on a leash.

He took the room key out of his pocket and unlocked the door slowly to not wake up Lily. You pushed the door to the master bedroom open and took off your heels, softly setting them down near a bedside table. Art walked in after you and sat on the bed, anxiously waiting for your next move. You left the room and entered the bathroom. You let the water run in the sink for about a minute before splashing your face with the cold water. Making an attempt to dry your face you ended up leaving a huge makeup stain on a towel. Oops.

While you were in the bathroom, you decided to take off your show outfit, leaving you in your bra and panties. Too little? Oh well. You left the bathroom, your clothes in a pile on the corner. Re-entering the bedroom, Art was still getting changed himself. You quickly left to give him some privacy and grabbed your phone from the bathroom sink, where you left it while getting changed. Knocking on the bedroom door softly, Art called back to you, “come in.”

He sat under the covers, his bare shoulders exposed which were covered in scars. Smiling at him, you climbed in next to him, placing your phone onto a bedside table. It lit up as it was placed, the clock read 12:36 P.M. He moved next to you, wrapping his arms around you as you shut your eyes.

9 HOURS LATER

You were awoke by the sound of your phone buzzing against the table, hundreds of notifications flooding your phone. Quickly, your eyes adjusted to the screen, images of you and Art with two fans in a hotel went viral, just like the lady said. Your manager spammed your phone, ‘are you serious? do you know what this could do for your image??? please tell me you didn’t sleep with him.’ You turned over and there Art was, completely sound asleep.

tags: @midwestprincesss @yourcoolguitargf

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spiceofvy · 9 months

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Hihi! I have a request. Can I have a skz headcannon when their dick doesn’t fit. Ty!

SKZ - When their dick doesn't fit

cws: gender neutral reader, nsfw, bottom reader, dirty talk, mentions of reader potentially getting hurt, foreplay, fingering, aftercare, corruption kink (Chan), mentioned overstimulation (Minho), praise (Changbin, Hyunjin), slight degradation (Seungmin)

Chan: So cocky. Like really fucking cocky. His corruption kink going brrr. "Oh it doesn't fit? Poor baby never had something big like this inside huh?" Of course he would never try to force anything, knowing that it could hurt you. But man does it give you a confidence boost. Maybe jerks off on your body to "spare you". Cocky boy.

Minho: "Doesn't fit? Well guess I need to loosen your muscles then." And then overstimulates you until you are loose enough for him. Carefully prepping you with his fingers stretching you slowly. Definitely has a bit of a power trip while doing so. So so much aftercare afterwards. Talks you through everything he does and checks in with you the whole time.

Changbin: Also cocky, not as much as Chan but still a good bit, tries to show it less though. Prepares you softly for him, whispering some sweet praise into your ear. Asks you twice if you really feel ready. Very slow, very sweet. "Look how good you take me. Feeling so good on my dick, squeezing me just like that." Very confident in his game.

Hyunjin: Honestly? This is like his number one fear for him. He is so scared of hurting you, that he always goes extra slow. Prepping you twice. Praises you so much during it, "you are doing so well for me my love. So perfect, so beautiful for me." But he is also cool with the two of you getting each other off in different ways when there really should be problems with penetration.

Han: "Wait, are you serious?" Was 100% sure that that is just some porn cliche. Could come on the spot when you tell him. After he understands the issue he gets super super worried about you being hurt, so he definitely is extra careful. But in between his worries, he would totally ask you to record an audio of you saying how big his dick is.

Felix: Oh no! He is so worried about hurting you. After the first "failed" attempt he would prefer to have sex without penetration. it would just make him more comfortable and would ease his mind a lot. Should you try again he would ask you to be on top so you can control the speed and angle that he is entering you in. "It's okay love, go slow. We have all the time you need."

Seungmin: Another cocky motherfucker. Teases you about it every time you have sex. "Are you sure you're trying hard enough? Does my spoiled darling really believe that it's that easy to take my dick?" Lots of aftercare afterward. Praising you and massaging your body all over. Making sure that he didn't push too much or made you uncomfortable.

Jeongin: With big dick comes big responsibility. And he has no idea what to do with it. But is very willing to learn. So he googles, gets scared about hurting you, and masters the art of fingering. And becomes like really fucking good, no need for his dick. But after some time he still wants to try, so he is preparing you with his amazing fingers, and then goes really slow on you. "Are you okay? Do you want me to go slower?"

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attleboy · 7 months

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I hold you SO SO closed in my handsss,,, I love seeing you in my notifications it's always such an honor and makes my day so much

-@sm-baby

omg hiiii mushroom!! :D i'm gonna be honest, i've been staring at this trying to figure out how to respond for a while but i am far too flattered to think of a good response! consider me rendered speechless...

anyway, i just hope you know the feeling is mutual and i am also very happy when i see you around!!! i'm going to use this as an excuse to toss some carnival au art your way which you'd enjoy, i hope?? ^-^

yes this one's based off madagascar 3 which... please don't judge me too hard for that... that movie's iconic (to me at least 😭)

there's more to these but idk i wasn't feeling it so crops are all i'm giving out

this one i'll probably still finish but i like how caine looks so here's a sneak peek

that was all pomni and caine wasn't it uhhh. whoops... here's a couple jax i also like that guy

and this isn't the carnival au, but it IS showtime and i know you love them... technically a wip but it's gonna take sooo many rendered pages to finish that idk if i'll ever actually get it done so just take this bit

okay that's it, ty again for stopping by!!!

#realized i haven't posted art in a week... sorry guys... i had a really bad migraine i think it reset my brain a bit... broke routine #and if i break a routine i forget it exists and i didn't post art for a bit so i kinda forgot that was a thing i should be doing #the amazing digital circus #tadc #pomni #caine #jax #showtime #carnival au #ask response #my art #tw blood

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wifeyoozi · 4 months

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Ot13 Seventeen : bondage (because the center pic above was on my interest home page and I immediately think of this)

seungcheol : he likes to first buy you dior and Prada and Chanel and then use the ribbons that comes along to tie your hands up when he fucks you that night.

Jeonghan: prolly ties each limb to each corner of the bed guy. Occasionally does that and teases you with toys and edges you all night long, knowing you can't do anything accept submit to him. DW he'll let you come eventually on his dick tho.

Joshua : I said before and I'll say again, he's a shibari guy. Will tie you up and leave you hanging and make you come multiple times in air using his mouth hands and various toys. Will have you crying before he let's you down and have his dick (he ain't the evil twin for nothing)

Jun : the one who likes to be tied up instead. Wants his hands behind his back tied up tightly as you bounce on his dick like he is your boytoy (he is)

Hoshi : ties your wrists and ankles together in a way you're be bending in half and opening for him with no other choice. It can be a completely romantic night or a total hard dom night, depending on his level of tiger that night. you tied up is his yeogi ocean view

Wonwoo: likes to tie around your torso like a harness and then around your neck (comfortably for you) so you'd choke for him just the right amount. Loves the way your boobs pop out of the harness.

Woozi : I have a fantasy that he'll tie you up in his studio one day because of how needy you were being while he was working and then he'll leave a vibrator pressed right against your clit and he has the remote to it so he can randomly change the settings from high to low to max anytime he wants and you're just writhing there, wetting his floor with your squirt and he might even record the sounds you make. it goes on foe eons until he is finally free from his computer and he comes and fucks you with his cock before untying you and taking you home for more (he warned you to not come to his studio so needy again or he'll torture you like that again but that's also the exact reason you keep coming back to his studio with a leaking faucet in your panties)

Minghao : he ties you up with pretty ribbons, makes you his art. He's doing it for the aesthetics but it turns him on so much. Literally wants to drink in the sight of you tied up like that in red ropes. Might take a few photos to see when he's far from you on tours and stuff.

Mingyu : ties your hands to the headboard as he fucks you in doggy. Probably bought those hot pink furry handcuffs just for this purpose. would also find other different creative surfaces throughout the house to tie you up and fuck you on.

Seokmin : he's tying you so gently when you suggested bondage because he's so scared of accidentally hurting you but he'll make them tighter on your encouragement and if you say the right words to him he'll fuck you harder than he has ever before, putting all those beautiful muscles in right use.

Seungkwan : likes to tie up your hands behind your back, esp when he being a harder dom. might even add a gag but not for long because he also loves kissing you. would get worried if the ropes leave red marks and prolly kiss them better as compensation.

vernon : likes to tie your legs together so they are just tight enough for thigh fucking. he isn't big on punishment sex, but on the nights he is going for that (since you were being too bratty all day long, literally asking for it), he'll tie you up so you can't touch yourself and would literally fuck himself everywhere but your puss.

dino : also lowkey into getting tied up instead but he underestimated how eager and needy he could be. his patience cannot deal with your slow speed but now he cant even do anything because he's all tied up and just watches you tease him and eventually bounce on his cock and give him what he desperately needs

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disneyprincemuke · 9 months

Text

the best of (instagram) * driverkiddies

(series masterlist) | (📂 smau specials)

driverkiddies

liked by rockysroads, logansargeant and 4,429 others

driverkiddies everyone please say hello to my child, he’s a stray i picked up from the streets of australia that i named kidnapper

view all 487 comments…

logansargeant crazy how i didn’t join you at the club for one night and i woke up with a pet cat

rockysroads please address him by his name ty

user1 pet cat…? this is ur pet?

user2 BLACK CAT LOVER

user3 black cats are good luck… y/n wdc 2023?

oscarpiastri hehe meow.

driverkiddies no ❤️

logansargeant ???

landonorris did you get hacked mate wtf

maxverstappen1 tell ur cat to respect me

driverkiddies also no ❤️

rockysroads u heard the cat

logansargeant i cant even get it to like me

user4 RESPECT TO KIDNAPPER PLEASE

driverkiddies exactly these bitches have NO respect for my baby user4

alex_albon this is the only likeable member in ur household

rockysroads i might have to agree with you on this one

logansargeant saying that when i exist is crazy dawg

alex_albon huh logansargeant

williamsracing aww welcome to the family, kidnapper!!! 💙

rockysroads admin ur my baby’s godparents

logansargeant i literally pay for this cat’s litter wdym kidy/n

rockysroads do yall hear sumn

andrettiracing black cats are good luck!!!

sebastianvettel true

driverkiddies

liked by rockysroads, logansargeant and 7,429 others

driverkiddies “i think he’s starting to like me” - logan sargeant, 2023

view all 2,439 others…

logansargeant he is

rockysroads ur real funny

oscarpiastri did the cat tell you that, logan?

lilyzneimer that cat likes me more than he likes logan

rockysroads real

rockyskiddies rocky is my favourite

rockysroads so true rockyskiddies

logansargeant are u out of ur mind talking to urself in the instagram comments? rockysroads

rockysroads shut ur mouth logansargeant

sebastianvettel when am i seeing kidnapper again

driverkiddies i know ur a dog lover ❤️

rockysroads haha

sebastianvettel ur weird for answering me with two different accounts

rockysroads wdym thats kidnapper typing on the phone

sebastianvettel ?

logansargeant she bought him a pretend phone

rockysroads it’s a real phone

lilymhe aww, they’re getting along well!!! 💙

logansargeant not true, kidnapper took my spot on the couch

alex_albon understandable

driverkiddies u might be my favourite alex

driverkiddies

liked by logansargeant, sebastianvettel and 11,429 others

driverkiddies stubby puppy

view all 4,329 comments…

rockysroads i’m never letting u use this account ever again what kinda dumb ass caption is that

logansargeant u cant appreciate real art and it shows

sebastianvettel sigh

driverkiddies shut up 💙

oscarpiastri valid reaction

daltonsargeant boring caption

rockysroads that’s what i’m saying

blythesworld shouldve kept this ig account to urself sis

daltonsargeant what she said blythesworld

maxverstappen1 do u want another pet

sebastianvettel she does not.

rockysroads hi, u called for me?? what pet? hi?

logansargeant enough please

charles_leclerc what a cute puppy!!!

lilyzneimer is for me???

oscarpiastri girl shut up we’re not getting a dog

lilyzneimer lol haterrrr

nicolepiastri apologise oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri sorry lilyzneimer

oscarpiastri FOR FUCKING NOTHINGYGGGG lilyzneimer

dalt0ns my dog

driverkiddies you babysat stubby ONE TIME does NOT mean he is your pet please get a grip on life

daltonsargeant i’ll get u ur own dog

dalt0ns i knew i always liked u more than logan

logansargeant wow i cant catch a break

driverkiddies

liked by logansargeant, lilyzneimer and 10,492 others

driverkiddies logan had one job and it was to find stubby a Halloween costume and he couldn't even do that

view all 3,148 comments...

logansargeant wow

rockysroads u always make stubby feel like the non-favourite child

rockysroads it's sick

sebastianvettel why is logan ostracising stubby

rockysroads he hates stubby lowkey

logansargeant no i dont wtf i love him very much

lilyzneimer why does kidnapper get a whole outfit and stubby only gets a pumpkin :/

logansargeant I WAS VERY BUSY OKAY

rockysroads because logan plays favourites :/

logansargeant STOP SAYING THAT I WAS JUST BUSY

oscarpiastri justice4stubby

#fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader

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lovetaroandtaemin · 17 days

Text

Stray Kids: Dom or Sub and Their Top Kinks

THIS LIST IS NSFW! MINORS DNI!

Warnings: Dom/sub themes (titles used: daddy, sir, master, mommy), praise and degradation, breeding kink, exhibitionism and voyeurism, biting, brat taming, lingerie, bondage, spit kink, choking, pet play, begging, edging. If I missed a warning let me know!

List is under the cut.

Bang Chan

Soft dom

There is no way he uses any title other than “daddy”

Saying that he has a praise kink is as obvious as saying fish need water. This man THRIVES on being told he’s doing a good job

I feel like he would have a slight breeding kink

DEFINITELY an exhibitionist and a voyeur

Lee Know

Mostly soft dom with an occasional sadistic streak

Prefers to either be called “sir” or his name

I feel like he would enjoy biting.

God help you if you decide to act like a brat.

Beg him to spit in your mouth and he WILL cum on the spot

Changbin

Super soft dom

Doesn’t really do titles, likes when you call him “Binnie”

I don’t know if this counts as a kink, but I think he’d really like it if his partner wore lingerie

Also enjoys biting, but I think it would be because he likes marking you

It’s the same reason he has a breeding kink. It only really comes out when he’s really really horny though

Hyunjin

Dom leaning switch

Preferred title as a dom is “master” preferred pet names as a sub are “prince” and “angel”

Exhibitionist

Likes both tying someone up and being tied up. Views it as an art form

I do not know if this counts as a kink, but he loves loves loves it when whoever he’s fucking is vocal

Han

Sub leaning switch

Doesn’t really do titles, but loves being called “angel” and “sweetheart”

Loves both praise and degradation, and knows how to utilize both to make you go crazy

Spit in his mouth and he might cum on the spot

Literally begs to call you “mommy” if he’s deep enough in sub space

Felix

The sweetest sub you’ll ever meet

Likes to be called “prince” and “baby”

Definitely begs to call you “daddy” or “mommy”

Wants to be choked but is embarrassed about it

Definitely has a praise kink

Seungmin

Deceptively sadistic dom

Calling him anything but “master” gets you in trouble

Makes you watch him get off as a punishment

I feel like pet play is a given with him

The ego boost he gets when you beg is insane

I.N.

Chaotic switch

When he’s feeling more dominant, you get in trouble for calling him anything but “sir.” When he’s feeling more submissive, he likes being called “baby,” “sweetheart,” “slut,” and “angel.” “Angel” and “sweetheart" are usually used sarcastically when he misbehaves though

Loves to edge you until you’re a babbling mess

Hates choking you, loves when you choke him

Acts out on purpose because he likes the punishments more.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this list, please like and reblog! If you want to see the other lists I've posted or read my fics, check out my masterlist! If you want to see what I have in the works, my upcoming works list is here. If nothing there catches your attention or you'd like to read something specific, feel free to send a request via asks or dms! Once again, thank you so much for reading. Y'all supporting my posts makes my day.

#kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #kpop headcanons #stray kids headcanons #bang chan smut #lee know smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut #han smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #i.n smut #stray kids smut

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corazondebeskar-reads · 9 months

Text

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

I. in media res

-the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

-intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

-fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn’t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

-avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

-broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

-kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

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thriftedtchotchkes · 9 months

Text

you're a mean one, mr. miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift

warnings: jackson era, grumpy old man!joel, significant other!reader, fluff, mild angst, gift giving, christmas at the miller's, so many polaroids

word count: 3.8k

12 days of pedro masterlist - ty to @hellishjoel for organizing this project <3

The Miller household always gets a little tense around the holidays. When the days shorten and snow begins to fall, Joel throws himself into patrols and plans for winter-proofing Jackson, and it's all he'll talk about for months. It's obvious he does it on purpose.

Christmas is basically an unspoken no-no under his roof, and there might as well be a swear jar for the word if his reaction is any indication. He refuses to acknowledge it and only tolerates the day itself because he knows it makes you and Ellie happy.

You just wish it made him happy, too. You know it used to. Every year, Tommy regales stories about their Christmases in Austin as kids, and later with Sarah. Joel loved Christmas.

They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.

All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time.

Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it?

You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.

You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.

If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.

So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.

"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"

Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face.

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.

"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."

"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.

You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.

"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."

She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.

"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."

"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."

She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here.

"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.

"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."

You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple.

He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.

But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion.

You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.

"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"

Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.

"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."

Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember.

Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.

"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.

"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."

She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.

"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."

Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.

No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.

"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.

It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.

She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.

"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.

"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."

She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.

"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.

"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.

A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly.

Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.

"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.

"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate.

"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.

"Now."

ONE YEAR LATER

Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day.

You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.

In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season.

Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too.

Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project.

By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.

Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.

“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television.

“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”

He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.

“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.

“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.

“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.

“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”

Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation.

“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look.

You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.

“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.

“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction.

Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”

“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.

“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.

“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.

“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”

He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.

“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing.

And in that moment, the flash goes off.

Yeah, this is the one.

The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.

Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.

And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.

As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest.

You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.

"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."

He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.

"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.

"You wanna see it?"

His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.

"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"

That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.

He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors.

Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book.

He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you.

The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.

“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall.

You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.

He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.

“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.

thanks for reading and happy holidays!

dividers by @saradika-graphics

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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