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trulyrogers · 1 year

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𝐎𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 5.6k

chapter summary: With Sarah at a sleepover, you, Joel and Tommy get together late to paint the now empty room, but with a distressing call from Sarah, Joel leaves to pick her up. You're just surprised as him when Sarah asks for you specifically. Later on, you accidentally see something that was meant for Asha's eyes only.

warnings: sarah gets her period for the first time so first-time period talk, nude photo (joel's), female masturbation (reader), feelings of loneliness (reader)

Chapter Four || Chapter Six

It’s been two weeks since Asha became a part of Joel’s life. They were more similar to what he initially had thought. For starters, neither of them talked about their families or upbringings. It was from Tommy that Joel learned that her parents still resided in India and that she came here alone, unsupported for the most part.

Joel, however, didn’t really have much family to talk about even if he wanted to. He only had Tommy and Sarah. He mentioned them a total of two times; one because Sarah got sick at school and he had to go and get her, meaning he had to cancel his lunch with Asha. And the second was when he showed up late one night with a black eye due to Tommy getting under the skin of the wrong crowd. That night he had thought of going to you instead, but then decided against it. The next day he learned that you cleaned up Tommy’s wounds— it shouldn’t have made his heart twinge with jealousy, but it did.

They used each other, Joel and Asha, at least that was what he felt, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They enjoyed each other's company, had fun together, slept together. She made him aware of things that he wasn’t even aware of and vice versa. Asha never had the desire to talk about the future or asked to come over. Her apartment was just fine, and they often met up there instead of anywhere else. She never asked about his personal life.

But that all changed as Joel was driving her from work to her home.

“Tommy talks a lot about this girl,” she muses, smiling lightly. “Your neighbor I think? He came and ask me for room decor tips, it was cute.”

“That’s the one,” Joel answers, shifting in his seat. “I knew he wasn’t clever enough to think of all of that on his own.”

“He did come up with the color himself, so it wasn’t all me.”

“He’s been braggin’ a lot, it’s annoyin’”

She presses a hand on his thigh, squeezing, she drags her fingers up the seam of his jeans. “Come on, Joel. He’s just happy. I think she’s good for him.”

“They’re both good for each other.” he nods, ignoring her hand resting right below his pelvis. “I’m actually heading there after dropping you off, you wanna come? I’m sure she’ll appreciate more female company.”

She laughs and pulls her hand back to her lap, “Just because we both have vaginas doesn’t mean we’ll get along,” Asha hums, pulling her bag up from between her legs. “However, I do think we would get along. Sadly, I have an assignment due and need to finish at least most of it before you come over.”

“Ah that’s right,” he pouts, annoyed at himself. “Sorry I forgot.”

“It’s okay, I forget half the things you do.”

“Is that normal for couples?”

She mulls over his question for a while, lips moving from side to side, a tick that she did whenever she was cooking up something clever. Then she stills, a wide smile spreading across her face.

“I think for us it is.”

Joel couldn't agree more, to be honest. He taps his thumbs against the steering wheel, pulling into her drive-thru. She quickly presses her lips into his cheekbone and he returns in like. Before she leaves, Asha’s hand stills at the handle, briefly turning to him.

“By the way did you do that thing I asked you?”

“Fuck,” he heaves out, letting his head drop. “I did, but I forgot it at home. I’ll bring it later tonight, promise.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath, Joel Miller,” she grins. “Who’s looking after Sarah?”

“She’s staying at her friends' tonight. Girls' night. She forced me to bake brownies.”

“Never pinned you down for a chef.”

“I’m not. We burned the first tray.”

You're feeling unreasonably happy. It’s a welcomed feeling, a soft tingle that starts from your toes, blossoms across your skin, and ends at your lips, forming a sheepish smile. You’re leaning against the doorframe looking at the now-empty room. You and Tommy had spread newspaper all over the floor, both of you wearing your scrappiest of clothes.

Tommy opens a can of paint and starts mixing it with a wooden stick.

“What are you doing that for?”

Tommy turns to you, a grin on his face. "Well sweetheart, we can't just slap this paint on the walls. We need to mix it thoroughly to get the perfect consistency. This ain’t like one of your paintings."

You tilt your head, your eyebrow raising, an amused smile blossoms over your lips. "First of all, we do need consistency too. And what's the perfect consistency to paint a wall? It’s a wall, shouldn’t be that hard."

Tommy dips the wooden stick into the can and lifts it out, letting the excess paint drip back into the can. "It should be smooth and creamy, not too thick and not too thin. You don't want it to be runny, or it will drip all over the place, but if it's too thick, it won't spread evenly."

He starts stirring the paint in a circular motion, his wrist moving in a steady rhythm. The sound of the stick scraping against the bottom of the can fills the room, creating a soothing hum.

"As you mix the paint," he continues, "you should periodically lift the stick out of the can and let the paint drip back in. That way, you can see if it's the right consistency. If it's too thick, you can add a bit of water to thin it out, and if it's too thin, you can add a bit more paint."

You nod, taking mental notes. "Got it. Smooth and creamy.”

Tommy grins. "Exactly, creamy is preferable. It responds better."

Your cheeks heat up at the response. Something about the way he rolls his tongue over the words make goosebumps rise on your skin, a tender shiver coursing through your body. With a soft shudder, you wrap your arms around yourself.

“When do you think Joel is coming over?”

“Don’t know. I think he’s with Asha.”

“Asha,” you repeat, no emotion behind the words but still, you feel the corner of your lips quivering. “Do they get along well?”

Tommy shrugs and slowly gets up, “I guess. Joel isn’t really the type to kiss and tell you know? And Asha…well, I guess it’s safe to say she’s pretty much the same.”

“Basically perfect for each other.”

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t go that far,” Tommy answers, scratching the back of his head. “Being so similar ain’t always a good thing.”

Silence follows and you can vaguely hear a car pulling in next door, must be Joel. Thoughts wildly swirling in your head, you want to take this opportunity to ask about Sarah’s mother, something Joel never talks about, and also something Sarah never mentiones. You lick your lips, nails digging into your forearms.

“Does it bother you?”

The question takes you by surprise, you blink before answering.

“Excuse me?”

“Does it bother you that he’s with someone?”

You try to keep your shock to a minimum. Tommy’s gaze reminds you of the yellow gaze of a hawk, piecing, overly observant. You swallow and let out a laugh with a desperate need to lighten the heavy air circling you both. You shake your head, walking up to Tommy, you give him a gentle pat with the back of your hand.

“Why would that bother me? I’m just making conversation.”

Tommy’s shoulders relax, dropping substantially. You’re surprised you hadn’t noticed how tense he was before.

“Sorry, I was just thinkin’ too much.”

Before you can answer a loud knock startles you both. “Must be Joel.

“You go, I’ll open the rest of the cans.”

Joel looks out of breath when you open the door for him, his chest heaves and he staggers forward, bracing himself by holding both knees.

“Didn’t mean to be late,” he says. “But I brought whiskey.”

“Is that why you went to your place first?”

He closes the door behind him, “You heard that?”

“Saw the lights.”

You notice a magazine in his hands but fail to see the title, it’s rolled up. In the other he has the bottle and you take it from him, heading to the kitchen, he follows.

“I also had to pick up somethin’ I promised Asha. I’m meetin’ up with her after this.”

Your chest tightens and you roll your shoulders to ground yourself before reaching to get three glasses. “Isn’t that going to be late?”

“I ain’t five.” he answers with a low chuckle. “But yeah it’s late but she has work to do and I promised you lot I’d be here.”

“You didn’t have to come. You can go.”

You wince at your own wording. It definitely came out harsh, no question about it. Taking a deep inhale, you feel the coolnes of the kitchen counter under your fingers, holding on to it. Joel’s presence looms near, his hand touching the small of your back. He’s not holding the magazine anymore.

“Are you alright darlin’?” he asks with a hint of worry. He drags his fingers up your spine, a sudden heat coils in your stomach. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m happy to be here, you know that.”

“I do, sorry,” you mutter, fingers grasping two glasses before pulling away. “Tommy’s in the room, making the paint all creamy and stuff.”

“He’s doing what now?”

When you look at him all the happiness from before comes surging back, he has the most horrified, flabbergasted expression you’ve ever seen. The first hints of laughter come out in short bubbles, and as Joel continues to stare, you burst, loud, chest-rattling sounds of joy clawing out of your lungs. His shocked expression shifts into a happy one, a grin playing at the side of his lips.

“I keep tellin’ him to stop sayin’ that,” he clicks his tongue. “I keep tellin’ him ‘saying smooth is enough’ he never listens.”

“It did make me laugh a lot though, so maybe it’s not so bad that he says that.”

“If it made you laugh it definitely ain’t a bad thing,” he answers, taking the bottle and heading toward the room. “I love hearin’ you laugh.”

You force your legs to move despite wanting to stop and stare behind him as he disappears through the hall. First the kiss on the cheek, and now this. Blood pools under your fingernails, confusion makes your head spin—but you still continue to walk. The thoughts that began to form quickly disappear when you enter the room, you see Joel leaning over Tommy.

“Why do you still use the word creamy?” he asks, hands in the air. “Why?”

“It’s a fun word,” Tommy answers, eyes finding yours mid sentence and winks.

Your mind races but you smile anyway. Tommy’s bizarre question from earlier must’ve riled me up, you think, stepping inside. There’s no logical reason why Joel dating Asha would bother you, he doesn’t belong to you, hell, you’re not even that close. You’re just acting up because him and Tommy are the first friends you made when you moved here. Just some friendly overprotectiveness, that’s all, you would act the same if Tommy was dating someone.

You nod as a response to your thoughts, yes, you definitely would act the same.

“Are you possessed or somethin’ what’s going on with you?”

You flinch at the question and turn to Tommy, he has that familiar lopsided smile, eyes amused.

“I’m good, I was just thinking of something.”

You don’t miss the way Joel looks at you, worry crossing his face, but you act as if you didn’t see him. Taking a deep breath, you slap your hands together.

“So, where do we start?”

The room heavily smells of paint. Toxicity is slowly inhaled through your nostrils, burns your throat, and swirls in your lungs. You feel slightly queasy. Joel is sitting across from you with his legs outstretched and hands palms pressed into the newspaper-covered floors to keep himself upright. Tommy has his legs crossed, he leans forward to grab a piece of chocolate. And you. You have his jacket thrown above your shoulders, the night chill settling easier now that the room is empty and the walls wet with paint.

While Tommy leans to grab the piece, his shirt rolls up his waist, you notice a tiny, crooked bullseye tattoo with two circles and a dot. Fascinated by this new discovery, you poke it, and, essentially, him. He flinches, giving you an almost offended look as he turns around.

“The hell are you doin’?” he covers the patch of skin with his hand.

“You have a tattoo.”

It’s a statement. Joel gives you two a crooked grin as he takes a sip from his glass. Tommy raises an eyebrow, a small dimple forming on his right cheek as he smiles.

“So? Just because I have a tat doesn’t mean you can poke me.”

“Sorry, I just didn’t know you had one.” your lips crack a smile. “It’s cute.”

You notice the soft flush coloring his cheeks, but you swiftly ignore it when Joel speaks, his voice low and scratchy from the late hour— and from inhaling the paint, probably.

“Tommy had the bright idea to be a tattooist when we were in high school. He begged for a kit every year for his birthday, and one year I actually managed to get together a bit of cash to buy him one of them shit stick and poke sets.”

“Awww, that’s adorable,” you grin, playfully shoving your shoulder into Tommy’s. The younger Miller shook his head, averting his eyes from his brother. “I’m assuming you got a tattoo too, right Joel?”

“No.”

Tommy scoffs at the sudden denial, he accusatorily points the piece of chocolate at his brother, then shoves it into his mouth, “Come on now, don’t be shy. Show off my masterpiece.”

“Some masterpiece,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “But fine.”

You’re too stunned to actually notice the small patch of inked skin when he lifts his shirt, your mouth dry as sandpaper. He also has a crooked bullseye, a bit darker in shade compared to Tommy’s. The shape is right above his ribs, to the side of his torso. Some part of you wants to touch it as well, to follow the round pattern with the tips of your fingers but you fight the urge.

“Cool,” you say unintelligently and he releases the shirt, covering his skin once more. You turn your head to Tommy. “Why did you stop?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I kind of just did.”

“Could be because you decided to dive head first into a war.” Joel says, with a fresh sounding bitterness.

Tommy’s shoulders raise, his brown eyes a shade darker with the glare pointed directly at his brother. Family is never easy, no matter how close or loving. You know that Tommy is riddled with regret much like your own brother, though at least Tommy had the sense to get out before falling in completely. You place a hand on Tommy’s thigh and squeeze, your heart breaking instantly at the way his eyes soften when he looks at you.

“If you decide to ever get back into it, I’d be happy to draw you up some designs.”

“If that means you’re gonna get back into drawin’ again sure, I’ll get back into tattooing. I just need to find that old set.”

“You’re not using me to experiment again,” Joel grins. “Just sayin’”

Getting back into drawing. Seriously how long has it been? Has it been long enough that it was even obvious to Tommy and Joel? You had done a couple of sketches, not really anything riveting. The end product always resembled either a dark hole or a dark room of some kind. It was like a manifestation of your thoughts, complicated, scratchy, overlapping. A sea of gruesome lines.

For you, painting has always been about expressing yourself in ways you couldn’t imagine. It could be a purple cat staring into a well. A city in ruins standing at the edge of a leaf. Sometimes it could be as simple as a girl in a hallway, threading upon a red carpet. Right now is a perfect time to express yourself. The pain, the void. But you can’t bring yourself to lift a brush or a pen. It’s too much. No image is clear enough for you to put on a canvas. Despite how complicated it looks, you feel that in the end art should be simple to make. Your hand should move in fluid motions, it shouldn’t be a struggle against waves of fear.

“Hey,” Tommy touches your cheek, for some reason, you lean into the touch and the same fingers slide to the back of your head, giving your scalp a pleasant scratch. “Are you good?”

“I was just thinking,” you answer, eyes momentarily finding Joel. He looks stiff as a rock. “I miss painting.”

“Then paint,” Joel says. “What’s stopping you?”

“Myself. I didn’t have this problem before but now I feel stuck. Everything comes to me all at once and all that combined results in an empty canvas.”

“What if we gave you something to draw?” he asks, earning a confused look from both Tommy and yourself. He smooths his thumb over the corner of his lip. “Like, a single thing. Maybe it can ease you in.”

“Did you have a suggestion?”

“A butterfly.”

Your eyes widen at the prospect of it; a creature with beautiful wings, something that could be any shape or size. A tiny thing that was an embodiment of elegance in most cultures. A god in some. You can imagine patterns above fluttering wings; orange, purple, pink. You’re reminded of fairies dancing and leaving behind fairy rings, you see a blue butterfly flying above into a blue sky that is paler in comparison.

“A butterfly,” you repeat, your lips feeling numb. Only then do you notice that Tommy’s fingers hand slid to your neck, cupping it gently. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Sarah loves butterflies,” he remarks as if reminiscing a pleasant memory. “I’m sure she’ll love whatever you make of them.”

And just like that, a sharp melody cuts through the conversation. Joel looks down at his phone, eyebrows raising with slight surprise and worry. His eyes snap to you both.

“Speak of the devil,” he says, getting up. “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

He disappears, leaving you and Tommy alone. Sleep starting to make its way through the cracks of your reserve, you allow yourself to lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His hand gently glides down from your neck to the small of your back, a comforting touch.

“Do you like the color?” he whispers.

You stare up at the ceiling, a soft light lavender gives the room a dream-like state. Your eyes shift back to him, a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“I do,” you hum. “But I think we should paint one of the walls a nice blue.”

“Blue?” he asks. “Why blue?”

“It reminds me of butterflies.”

You stare blankly at the white door in front of you. Both you and Tommy were taken aback when Joel asked you to come over after he brough Sarah back home. She refused to talk about it. And She asked for you specifically, Joel managed to learn what the issue was then. She’d gotten her period for the first time.

Which is why you have a pack of pads, painkillers and the last pieces of chocolate.

To be completely honest, you’re nervous as hell. It’s ridiculous really, considering Sarah is only fourteen years old. But alas, here you are, staring at the door with light filtering through the bottom gap. You’d told Joel to wait downstairs, and Tommy had offered to tidy up the room and throw out the newspapers. Right now, you’re regretting your decision of making Joel wait downstairs.

Sucking in a deep breath, you knock on the door twice. A weak sound barely reaches your ears.

“Come in.”

Sarah’s laying on the bed, curled up into a ball with her back turned to the door. Your throat tightens a bit. You don’t quite remember what your first period was like, but you know it must’ve been rough. It’s not easy to go to the bathroom and suddenly see blood stains all over your underwear. Briefly, you wonder if Joel ever talked to her about it. Did it come as a shock? They teach what periods are in school right?

Tentative, you make your way to the bed and gently sit at the foot of the bed. You notice her wincing a little.

“Are you alright?”

“‘T hurts.”

“I brought you painkillers,” you inform. “also a bit of chocolate.”

“I don’t want chocolate.”

“Tell me what you need then.”

“It was so humiliating,” she snaps, stretching her legs a bit but still refusing to look at you. “Everyone was there, well the girls, and I didn’t even notice it first. Sally did.”

You don’t know what entices you to do it, but you place a hand over her ankle. She clams down for a moment, takes a deep breath. She shudders.

“It was awful,” she chokes up. “They didn’t laugh or anything and it makes me even more upset that my first reaction was to call my dad.”

“That’s normal,” you answer, rubbing soothing circles into her clothed skin. “These things are difficult, your hormones are all over the place—”

“Gross.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that, “Yeah it’s pretty gross. I’m just trying to say that it’s normal to call your dad and I’m sure your friends will understand.”

“You’re too optimistic.”

“Am I?” you tease. “First time I’ve heard of it.”

Sarah sits up and pulls her knees close to her chest. She seems calmer now, more level-headed like her usual self. She holds your gaze, you could almost see a reflection of yourself in them. She’d been crying. Joel’s heart must’ve shattered into a million pieces.

“Is it always going to hurt this bad?”

“Kinda, yeah. I’m not going to try and bullshit you by saying it’s a beautiful thing. It’s not. But,” you offer her the last bit of chocolate, and she takes it with a small smile before plopping it on her tongue. “You’ll learn how to navigate it better. Just know that whatever you’re feeling, no matter the age, is always okay.”

“So I can still call my dad when I’m like…Fifty?”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to pick you up wherever you are.”

She snorts, “If he’s alive.”

“That man has the stubbornness of a mule. He’ll come back as a zombie if he has to.”

“That would actually be kinda cool.”

You smile as she thinks about it, her eyes looking up to the ceiling. Meanwhile, you take a peek at her clock, 2 AM. Time sure does fly.

“You should take a shower,” you say, turning back to Sarah. “And here, I brought you some pads. Do you want me to show you how to use it?”

She shakes her head, “I’m good. Thanks by the way…I…appreciate it.”

“I’m here whenever you need me. I’m only a knock away.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be a phone call away?”

“I don’t think that fits the whole neighbor theme.”

Before you leave, you notice a butterfly hanging from her window. A small smile touches your lips.

It’s blue.

“Is she okay?”

You’re not at all surprised when you see Joel with his head between his hands, elbows painfully digging into the kitchen counter. The circles under his eyes seem a shade darker, the white of his eyes stained with red.

“She’s alright don’t worry. She going to take a shower now, and use the pads I gave her. I also brought her painkillers that she might want to take before bed,” you had unknowingly brought the box down with you. You place it in front of Joel, his gaze drops. His lips move slightly as he silently reads the brand. “There isn’t much in there you should buy another one tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he answers, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll buy you a box too.”

“No need, you’ve already done a lot for me. Helping your daughter navigate the wonders of womanhood is the least I could do.” you answer with a heaping amount of sarcasm in your tone.

“I’d be lost without you, neighbor.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you grin and rest your hands on top of the counter as well. “You could’ve asked Asha to talk to her if I wasn’t around.”

His face falls, a sudden chill settling around you both. He shakes his head, the crease between his brows deep. “She specifically asked for you. Besides the thing with Asha—”

His words come to a sudden halt as if he doesn’t know how to describe the situation. Tommy had said that they were similar in character, you wonder if Asha is better at expressing her thoughts, you can’t imagine two people having the same struggle being together.

Joel suddenly takes your hands into his own, eliciting a soft gasp from the back of your throat.

“She asked for you,” he repeats again. “And I wouldn’t trust anyone else with a matter this sensitive.”

His hands are warm but his fingertips are cold. With an overwhelming need to touch, you smooth your thumb over the mountains of his knuckles, dipping between the valleys and climbing uphill. He seems to have the same need. You can see the turmoil in his eyes as he leans closer, lips an inch away, he holds your gaze. A moment worth painting, you think, the suspense, the aching need, to be forced apart. Unlike you, Joel doesn’t explore the depths of your skin, so you continue to do so for the both of you.

Your breath is lodged in your throat, a lump. You turn over his hand, tracing the lifelines and vanished marks of his skin. His pulse is fast under the pads of your fingers, the vein like a river overflowing across his forearm. You stop at the wrist, only your eyes allowed to continue the journey.

Staring at his skin, visions of what Sarah’s mother must’ve looked like flash before your eyes. You wonder if she saw the same things that you did, you wonder what possessed her to leave all this behind—the scarred skin, the soft voice, the dark brown eyes, the daughter, the home, the life.

Then you’re abundantly made aware of another’s presence when your eyes follow the slope of his right shoulder and see a darkened mark on his neck. Asha has been with him more intimately, you wonder what she sees when she looks at him. Is it the same as you? Does she see the sadness lurking under his skin? The worry of never being able to be enough for those around him? Does she understand what he feels?

Do you?

“I should go,” you exclaim, pulling away your hands like they’ve been burned. “Let me know if she needs anything else.”

You’re halfway to the door when you feel his fingers circling your wrist, not enough to physically hold you but enough to make his presence known. You hear the words spilling from his lips ‘wait’ he says, ‘let me walk you over’ but it’s too late, you’re out the door, throwing yourself into the chill of the night.

It’s too much, it’s too sudden, it’s too bizarre.

Your fingertips are still tingling with the sensation of his skin underneath yours, the soft hairs, the tiny bumps littered over. It reminds you of the smooth feeling of oil over canvas, all you want to do is press your palms and spread your fingers, touching him, you want to feel everything.

Tommy’s waiting on the porch, he gives you a look. “Is Sarah alright?”

“She’s fine,” you say, a bit breathless. “She’s…yeah she’s going to be fine.”

“Good,” he nods. “Anyway I should head back home, I cleared up the newspapers and I’ll come back for the cans tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

His mind seems to be whirring because he doesn’t notice how slowly you’re speaking, he doesn’t notice the frantic beating of your heart. Tommy nods to himself, and leans in, you feel the brush of his lips against your ear.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

His lips are on your cheek, soft and wet. He smells of cigarettes and paint, but something sweet lingers below the surface. Your heart drops, your stomach churns. The feeling disappears as quickly as it came. Before you can say anything, he’s already at the end of the three steps you have.

“Goodnight,” Tommy calls out.

You watch like a deer in headlights as the car moves away, the red light slowly disappearing into the distance. You touch where he had kissed. It wasn’t the first time, but it feels different. It reminds you of when Joel kissed you, a similar feeling. The only difference is that instead of stopping time, you feel like you’re drowning in it.

Then you realize.

Tommy has feelings for you.

You clearly have feelings for Joel.

And you think Joel might have feelings for you too.

Your fingers twitch, butterflies flutter wildly both in your stomach and in your head.

You head inside.

You trudge into the bedroom, the scent of wet paint clinging to your skin like a suffocating blanket. You had brough along with you the magazine Joel had left on the coffee table. Sitting on the bed, you flip through the pages, but the content is dull, littered with construction jargon that is foreign to you.

Just as you're about to give up on the magazine, a photograph falls out from between the pages, landing on your lap. A photograph, you deduce, picking it up from your lap. It feels fresh, glossy, and slightly uncomfortable to the touch. You gaze at the image, and it takes a moment for your brain to register what you're seeing.

Every ounce of blood is drained from your face, all that heat pooling between your legs. your eyes go wide.

It’s Joel.

Half of his face is out of frame and he’s shirtless but you recognize him. Saliva floods your mouth. It’s not a very neatly taken picture, probably time adjusted so he could pose, which explains the slight blur of the background. His jeans hang low on his hips, unbuttoned, and his fingers disappear beneath the waistband, hinting at what lies beneath.

You trace the way his muscles are firm under his skin, the softness of his stomach, the faint trail of hair leading down to his navel.

The faint sight of the bullseye tattoo on his ribs solidifies to you that this is indeed Joel. You’re lightheaded. When he said he stopped by home to pick up something for Asha you hadn’t realized that this would be it, a suggestive, nearly nude, photo. Now you just feel stupid for assuming he could be into you, clearly, he and Asha are both comfortable with each other enough for stuff like this.

You continue to stare, the blood rush loud in your ears. You memorize every curve, every little detail of his body. The small scars littered across his chest, the unsure hint of a smile that’s mostly hidden, the pebbled nipples due to the cool air of the room. You want to see what lies under his pants, you want to see the rest of him and engrave that into memory. You want his body to burn yours, make you into something beautiful—make you into art.

You sneak your hand between your legs, one hand still propping the photo up. You never actually masturbated to a picture before, mostly videos or just your own imagination. There’s something…interesting about it. Your imagination is more vivid somehow as you look at the picture, you can almost feel the warmth of his body blanketing yours, those thick fingers circling your clit and slipping inside.

A soft moan breaks from your lips. You feel blood heating your cheeks, your skin incredibly warm and head dizzy from staring at him. You imagine having him in your mouth, your tongue teasing that sensitive spot right under the head of his cock. You think of the sounds he’d make, how guttural they would be.

You arch your back as you imagine his thick cock pressing into you, he pulls you closer to him. His hips move in a circular motion, pushing deeper and deeper into you as you moan in pleasure. His hands grasp your hips and he pulls you closer.

Your eyes flutter open as you imagine his lips on yours, tasting the sweat that is dripping from your skin. He flicks his tongue, exploring your mouth and sending sparks throughout your body. His hands move up your back, slowly tracing your spine until he reaches your shoulders. You feel his hands slide up around your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your breath hitches as you feel the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rub against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You reach your hands around his back, pulling him even closer as his hips continue to move against yours. Your pleasure builds, and soon you let out a loud moan as you feel yourself cresting over the edge.

You imagine yourself collapsing against him, panting softly as the pleasure slowly ebbs away from your body. You feel the imaginary warmth of his embrace still surrounding you. It’s painful almost. Feeling him when he’s not here. Your heart hurts, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. You take a sharp inhale, shaking your head.

Tears blur your vision as you place the photo back between the pages of the magazine.

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trulyrogers · 2 years

Text

┊i. Make You Miss Me.

Pairing: Modern!Elvis x Fem!Reader

Summary: The concepts of true love, soulmates, happily ever after, and anything else to do with the word "love" were frivolous and overrated to both of them - in fact, this was the only thing they had in common.

Chapter Summary: Y/N works at a publishing company where her main focus is fantasizing about her boss, Elvis Presley.

Story Warnings: Smut (18+ minors shoo!) , angst, etc (warnings will be updated)

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of SA! , harmless flirting, name-calling, insecurities, dick-head relatives, bad grammar sorry :( Word Count : 3.2k

Author's Note: This is my first story so please bear with me here lol! I hope you enjoy it!!

—— —͙ – -

He found you charismatic and breathtaking, you found him promiscuous and irresistible; it was love at first sight. You couldn't help but think about your boss in such a manner, regardless of the fact that it would be quite unprofessional in typical workplace environments. Your first encounter with him was still fresh in your mind. Seeing his ebony hair frame his face and the look he gave you was enchanting. The low tone in which he introduced himself was also noteworthy to you. Upon entry into the office on your first day, you were greeted by his strikingly beautiful opal eyes that burned holes in your heart.

When you got to know him better, you realized he was as troublesome as you expected. Despite not intending to do so, it had become apparent that you had become close to him. Closer than intended. Minutes would pass, then minutes would turn into hours as you conversed. As a result, you would often find yourself sneaking glances at him just to catch a glimpse of his captivating features. The only thing that he does is look at you through the clear window of his office and give you a small teasing smirk in response.

Your coworkers had spotted your amorous gazes toward your boss at that point, as you were realizing how serious your situation was, and how they had been reacting to your flirtatious glances and conversations towards your boss. Rumors began to spread. Therefore, you had decided to stop. The truth was you had unconsciously convinced yourself that he was not what you wanted. You couldn't risk the job. Reading was your passion and a publishing company was the perfect place for you to pursue your career goals.

It was a pleasure for you to be able to leave early despite having worked long hours. It was particularly pleasant not to see your attractive boss either. As you began to leave the office, you put on a winter scarf and collected some of your belongings from your desk, and placed them in your purse. You stopped as you made your way to the elevator, noticing another familiar figure waiting for it as well. Moments later, you began walking toward him and stood beside him. Elvis. Clearing your throat, hoping to ease the awkwardness, you spoke, "So uh, the book launch is coming soon. Are you excited?"

Both of you entered the elevator after the doors opened, and Elvis glanced at you with slight amusement. "I suppose so. How about you, darlin'?" He replied in a southern accent that resonated off the elevator walls.

Nodding, and rocking on your heels, you politely answered, "To be honest, I've been wanting to read it for a while."

"I'll be sure to save you a copy then." He informed you smoothly, his signature grin adorning his face.

When the elevator doors finally opened, you were both walking out of the building. There was a sense of naturalness about it. While walking to your car, your phone vibrated. The message made you grumble in irritation as you viewed it. During the month of December, your family and friends always held their annual Christmas party filled with people you hated, and of course, your anxiety-riddled mother did not hesitate to remind you about it. In addition, your phone was almost dead, and you had no time to stop at home since you were already late for the party.

Resisting the urge to smash your phone on the pavement, you slid into the front seat of your car, turning the key into the ignition. You received only a weak sputter as a response. "Damn it!" You cried out furiously, not realizing that your boss was just across the street, amusingly watching you from the sidewalk. Upon exiting your vehicle, you slammed the door shut and began to pace back and forth. The party was not something you were particularly interested in attending. In fact, you would prefer to remain at home, but your mother would undoubtedly get on your case if you did not come.

In the midst of examining your dying cell phone battery, and with your bag still in your hand, you felt a tap on your shoulder. "Need help?" A honey-laced Southern accent catches your attention immediately.

"I..." Hesitating for a moment, you think about refusing his offer and simply walking home. "Yeah, that would be great actually. Sorry for the trouble." Your words slip from your lips without a second's thought. You try to appear as friendly as possible while resisting the urge to curse yourself out in your head. "It's all good sweetheart, my car's just across the street."

In your mind, you knew that you should not leave with someone from work. He was particularly attractive, especially coming from someone of his caliber, you shouldn't have accepted the ride. In any case, your current situation was desperate. What could possibly go wrong?

The fact that he opened his car door for you made you think he was a truly gentlemanly individual. Old-fashioned almost. Once he had secured his seatbelt and entered the car, he asked, "Where to?"

You chewed the inside of your cheek, "It's a bit of a while away from here. Maybe about 45 minutes. I'll pay for the gas!" you immediately added with an apologetic smile and provided him with the address of your mother's home to enter in the GPS.

"No need to do that, honey." He comments as he prepares to pull out of his parking spot. "Never realized commuting would be so long for you. Bet it's hell for you." he continued, hoping for a friendly exchange of conversation. In spite of the fact that his language surprised you, you decided to ignore it.

"Tell me about it." You sigh, sinking into the seat of the car and trying to get comfortable. "My place is actually farther away, I'm just heading to my mom's house for the night."

Elvis raised an eyebrow but did not pursue the matter further, giving you the opportunity to finish speaking.

"My family has a Christmas party every December. It's kind of our thing." He responds with a throaty chuckle. "You don't seem too excited."

A small laugh escapes your lips as you nod in reply, " My family is...unique." Immediately, you begin to tell him improbable stories about your family throughout the remainder of the ride. He becomes increasingly fascinated by you with every word you utter and every movement you make. There was something special about you, unlike the other employees at the company. As opposed to your dreary co-workers who appear to be half-dead, you are the spring of life.

"And in my defense, I was left unsupervised." You concluded one of your stories by shrugging your shoulders. As Elvis approached your mother's house, he let out a small laugh, only to find that your mother was already outside, waiting for you it seemed. Initially, she did not recognize the car; however, as soon as you stepped out, she greeted you and began chatting with you. "Oh honey, I thought you were never going to come! What took so long? Why weren't you answering my calls?"

The moment she realized that you had left the passenger seat, she immediately stopped her never-ending series of questions and directed all her attention to the front seat of the car. A broad smile adorned her features as she clapped her hands together enthusiastically upon seeing Elvis in the front seat of the vehicle. "Sweetheart, you didn't tell me you came with someone. A very handsome someone at that." She commented as a rosy blush spread across your cheeks. "Mama, he's my boss!" You hissed at her.

Elvis, however, did not appear to be upset by her comments. In fact, he seemed rather entertained by them. "I'm sorry about her." Despite your apology, your blush still remained.

"Thank you very much for driving my daughter home. It is such a long drive back and it is getting late. The least we can do is let you stay the night. There is plenty of room for you. Plus, it's dangerous, the snow is getting heavier!" Her tone was quite alarmed.

It almost caused your jaw to drop open. Your boss, spending the night at your house? With your family? Obviously, it was going to be a disaster, not to mention that it was highly unprofessional.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I am a little tired ma'am, so I'll take you up on your offer." With a polite smile, he shut off the car, flashing you a small flirtatious smile that did not go unnoticed by you.

The fact that you were nervous was painfully apparent. Despite the fact that you weren't particularly worried about getting fired, the working environment was tense in more than one respect between you and Elvis. You were unable to ignore him. You knew that despite your lack of faith in attraction or love, there was something that was drawing you together. Fate perhaps.

With Elvis at your heels, you followed your mother into the house while slinging your work bag over your shoulder. Your family became silent as soon as each of you stepped inside the house, focusing all of your attention on the newcomer. Bringing someone home with you was virtually unheard of. A female friend may occasionally accompany you home, but a man? It was an unprecedented event. "Come on," Your mother beckoned Elvis, "I'll show you where you'll be staying, and sweetheart," She gestured to you, "I left an outfit for you on your bed."

As Elvis and your mother made their way down the hall to the guest room, you walked into your old room. You held back a groan as you examined the sweater on your bed. Despite the fact that your family traditionally wears shabby Christmas sweaters each year, you were unable to follow suit. Putting it mildly, it was embarrassing. However, you slipped it on anyway. One of your uncles caused constant discomfort to you, but fortunately, the sweaters seemed to repel him every time he appeared.

Your family members were chatting loudly in the living room as you walked downstairs, and you saw Elvis among them, laughing at something one of your aunts had said. Your mother pulled you aside before you were able to walk over to him. "Honey.." Her gaze shifted in Elvis' direction. "You know.. Jesse should be coming soon." She added. In spite of the fact that you only knew Gladys from church, your mother had always attempted to set you up with her son, who you briefly knew during your sophomore year of college, Jesse.

You were jolted out of your reverie by a sharp knock at the door. "Speak of the devil!" Your mother laughed and rushed to open the door. There he stood. It had been years since you had seen him. Although he was handsome, he resembled the man in the living room almost exactly. His resemblance to Elvis' was almost eerie. As though they could be twins.

"Hi, I'm [Y/N], you might not remember me but I'm-"

Despite your greeting, he brushed past you without acknowledging your presence. Since you knew him, one thing has remained the same, namely his ability to dampen your mood. In an attempt to avoid escalating your anger, you walked outside, rolling your eyes. You felt the snow gently falling on your hair, and the chill in the air made your nose turn crimson. In the past, Jesse had not treated you in such a manner. Your heart ached when you realized that he had changed in such a negative way. Inhaling deeply, you sighed as you sat down on the bench that rests on your porch, watching the fog escape from your lips.

"You okay, honey?"

One of your family friends was standing behind you as you looked back. "Yeah, m' alright." Your voice is quiet as you shiver slightly from the cold. After taking a seat next to you, he wraps his arm around you in a reassuring manner, or so you thought.

—— —͙ – -

There was a moment when Elvis was poised to strike at the man across from him. Years had passed since he had last seen his brother. In light of the fact that his brother had backstabbed him, Elvis had been estranged from Jesse and his mother for several years. "Do you not have better things to be doing?" He remarks to his brother in a hostile manner as Jesse hovers close to him. "Trust me, I don't want to be here either."

In response, Elvis rolls his eyes and takes a small sip of his beverage. Normally, he would have left by now. It was true that he was a complete stranger, but it was also true that he was tired, and that the snow on the roads would have made driving home quite difficult.

A resounding scream choked with terror pierced his thoughts as he was about to reply. There was a moment of silence in the room before everyone realized you were absent. It was Elvis who was the first to get up and follow the source of the noise, which was, undoubtedly, you.

Nevertheless, you got to the door before him. The door swung open with tears streaming down your face. In addition, your hair was disheveled and you had a torn sweater. It wasn't lost on Elvis that your jeans also lacked a button.

Your quick ascent of the stairs brought you to your room where you shut the door before locking it. A number of your family members had knocked on your door as the hours passed, trying to understand what had occurred. In spite of this, they knew it deep down. You should not have been surprised to learn that it was one of your uncle's friends.

Tears streamed down your cheeks in endless waves, and a knock sounded at your door. Upon hearing the familiar southern accent, you felt a sense of comfort. "Hey darlin,' you mind lettin' me in?" he said with the gentlest tone he could muster. Initially, you were hesitant to open the door, but you felt the need to speak with someone, even if it was your boss. In his treatment of you, it was evident that he was treating you differently from the rest of your colleagues, which caused you to feel delighted.

He felt terrible. What type of family surrounds themselves with assailants? You were nothing but sweet, you didn't deserve this. Nobody did. You sat on your bed and he mimicked you. Your ability to speak was impaired. This experience left you feeling disgusted. Violated.

It wasn't long before you found yourself wrapping your arms around him, and he did the same for you. Despite this, he did not proceed any further, as he did not wish to cause you discomfort.

"Honey-"

"Don't call me that." Your voice trailed off as you felt tears welling up once again. You wouldn't have minded normally, but the fact that he had called you that during the assault had made you weary.

Afterward, he nodded sympathetically before asking again, "Do you need anything?" Despite his slight easing of his grip on you, you remained close. In spite of your inclination to move closer, you were unable to do so since he was your superior, but your desire overcame you.

"I just want to lay here with you, for a little while longer."

You pressed closer to him and your tears began to dry slightly. It was at least comforting to know that someone could be relied upon, despite the fact that the party was downright horrendous. The only thing you wanted was to be away from your family for the time being.

"Sweetness, I just wanna let you know I'm here for you. Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that," he said, his support evident in his voice, and you nodded against him in response. "He's still here. You hit 'em in the eye real good. Jesse's dealin' with him downstairs. If you want me to take you home, I can."

You are lying under his chin with your face pressed against his chest as his hands are encircling you. He is still wearing the suit that he wore to work, and you are able to smell his cologne; it brings you comfort.

"Thanks..I'd like that," You whisper as you begin to sit up, feeling a bit faint. After that, he sits up as well and waits for you to get up so that you can join him. "Thank you for everything. You've been nothing but sweet to me and I've been causin' nothin but trouble for you since I started working." As you speak, your voice is trembling with emotion, nearly bringing you to tears.

He embraces you once again, "Oh sweetness, you did nothin' wrong.." He says rubbing your back and pulls away to dry your tears with his thumb. "Now let's take you back home and cheer you up." Your eyes glisten with hope.

"Can you stay the night?" Your words flow from your lips without a moment's hesitation. In light of what Elvis had witnessed, the boundaries between superior and employee had already been broken.

After following him down the stairs, you were captivated by the sight that lay before you. The voice was that of Jesse, shouting at your Uncle's friend, who was suddenly shrinking in fear. His name was the last thing you wanted to know. As a result, he would gain additional control over you, and you were unwilling to cede that power to him. Having slipped his hand into yours, Elvis gently tugged on it, indicating that you should follow him.

It is impossible to miss the glance that Jesse gives you from across the room. In spite of remorse and regret, it is still a feeling of longing. When he turns his attention to the perpetrator again, it disappears from his face as quickly as it appeared.

It would have been nice if he could pummel the man half to death, Elvis thought, but you were his primary concern. You feel empty without Elvis' hand when he lets go. Taking quick strides, he is about to pass the man and Jesse to reach for your purse, but he stops. Swiftly, he strikes your attacker across the face and he falls to the floor. In spite of the fact that it may have appeared unprofessional, he did not care. Without a word, he took your purse off the table, and stepped over the man who was groaning on the floor as your family exchanged hushed words. Elvis places his arm around you once more as he ushers you out the door and into the car.

As the December air nips at your skin, Elvis' body heat compensates by keeping you warm. The passenger seat is occupied by you, while the front seat is occupied by Elvis, and he nods at you comfortingly.

You've never felt more at ease, and you were sure, absolutely sure, he wasn't going to leave.

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