#gif: stand atlantic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeollie-plz · 3 months

Text

Take You Back To Church

Priest! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Synopsis: You came to get forgiveness for your sins, the priest has some ideas on how you can do that.

Genre: smut

Warnings: religious talk, religion, religious themes, sacrilegious, cheating, infidelity, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral m! and f! receiving, spanking, pet names, degradation, choking, sex in a church, public sex, almost getting caught, hair pulling, if I believed in hell that's where I'd be going

Gif credits to owners!

♫ Church by Chase Atlantic ♫

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession." The partition between you and the other side of the confessional booth slides open, revealing the silhouette of the priest on the other side.

"Go on, my child." Knelt down in prayer, you glance up barely catching a glimpse of him, as his gruff voice sounds out.

You clear your throat, "I've been having thoughts about a married man, father." A shuffle is heard on the other side, almost like the priest is sitting up straighter.

"It's more than thoughts, actually. I've been having relations with a married man, father, and I can't seem to stop."

Another noise comes from the other side before the door is opening and he is throwing your side of the booth open. Looking down at you on your knees is Father Joel Miller, the married man you had just been talking about.

A few weeks ago you had come to the confessional to confess your sins and had met Joel. Who instead of forgiving your sins, gave you even more to confess.

You glance up at him through your eyelashes, lust blowing out your pupils. You almost make a motion to stand, before his hand is placed onto your shoulder and keeping you where you are.

"Stay on your knees, baby." He says before he's closing the door behind the two of you and unlatching his belt buckle. He's pushing his pants down quickly like you could disappear right out from under him.

Your mouth is open and waiting for him when he pushes his dick past your lips. All the way back, causing you to gag at the intrusion. He fucks into your mouth, gripping your hair roughly to aid in dragging your mouth onto him.

He keeps thrusting into your mouth, head tossed back at the feeling of using you. You stay on the floor, at his mercy. Knees bruising a bit from the rough wood flooring, but you don't seem to notice as your own pleasure drips down your thighs.

You know better than to touch yourself, but its getting harder and harder as his thrusts get rougher. You gag onto him again, causing him to groan. The sound and the way his knuckles are going white from gripping your hair so tightly, has you moving your hips trying to feel anything. He notices and strokes your face with the hand not in your hair, making a noise of annoyance at you.

"Don't even think about touching yourself." Is all he says before he thrusts into your mouth one last time, before pulling out. You look up at him confused, knowing he hasn't finished yet.

He grabs your chin and pulls you to your feet, attaching his lips to your already swollen ones. Kissing you for only a moment before he is bending you over the prayer bench and pushing your dress up past your hips. Ripping your panties off of you before attaching his mouth to your dripping pussy.

Licking a stripe up your tender folds, he grips your ass cheeks and spreads them, giving him complete access to your pussy. He licks you roughly, again like there is no time to waste. He brings a finger to your neglected clit, working it in time with his tongue.

You are already on the peak of your orgasm. Your hips push back into his mouth, trying to help yourself over the edge. This has him pulling away and flipping you over to face him. His eyes bore into you and only the dominance in his eyes has you cowering, knowing not to push your luck any further.

His lips return to your folds, tongue now focused on your clit, while he pushes two fingers in past your dripping center. His tongue fucks your bud in quick circles, while his two fingers curve inside of you stroking your g spot. You are brought back to your edge almost too quickly.

Just as your pussy is clenching onto his fingers and your orgasm is washing over you, the heavy doors of the church are opening and a few sets of footsteps are funneling inside. The fear of getting caught has him working you through your orgasm even rougher, fingers fucking into you harshly. His teeth bite down lightly onto your clit before pulling off of you.

Lips now finding yours as he is trying to silence your heavy breathing. He pulls his fingers slowly out of you as to not make you too oversensitive. Pulling away from you, he pulls his pants back up.

Glancing down he sees your panties in a bundle on the floor. Picking up the torn fabric, he gives them a quick sniff before shoving them in his pocket. Looking down at your flushed form, he strokes your hair soothingly, before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"We aren't done yet baby. Come to my office at 6, want that pretty mouth back on me." He says before he's leaving you a mess in the booth.

6 o'clock on the dot, you find yourself sauntering down the halls of the back offices of the church. You went home, calmed yourself down, and cleaned yourself up a bit before returning to the silence of the old building. Deciding against putting new panties on.

Almost as soon as your knuckles find contact onto the door of Joel's office, the door is whipped open and he is pulling you inside. His lips find yours quickly and hands are ghosting up your legs, goosebumps raising in there stead.

When his fingers find contact with your bare cunt, he is smiling into the kiss. He mutters a, "good girl" into your lips, before his hands reach under your thighs and lift you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

He keeps his lips on your feverishly, tongue slipping into your mouth. Walking the two of your over to his desk and placing you onto it. Bare ass exposed to the cool wood. His lips detach from yours and he's glancing down at his watch.

"You were almost late." He says, mouth inches from yours, torturing you.

"By only a minute...please." The last part comes out as more of a whimper than you intended, but it conveys your need.

"Tell me what you need, my child." His eyes darken as they read yours. Its almost laughable how much he got off on the whole power dynamic of this all.

"Just need you, father. Show me how to be forgiven for my sins." He chuckles and returns his mouth to yours. Kissing you deeply for a moment before breaking it and getting down to his knees.

For the second time today he is lifting your dress up past your hips and attaching his mouth to your pussy. And for the second time today your pussy is completely drenched for him without him even having to do much. He could look at you and you'd be soaked.

Unlike earlier, though, he is licking at your folds a bit slower. Taking his time, knowing that now there was really no way for the two of you to interrupted. He works your bud in slow circles, the motions causing your hips to jerk into his mouth, somehow still sensitive from earlier.

This time he doesn't stop you and lets your body just feel the pleasure. A bit of is dominance has faded with the passing time of the day but you know that soon he will be fucking you like his life depends on it.

He licks you for a bit, letting your body get ready for him. The action of giving you pleasure, also getting him harder by the second. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been hurting from his blue balls earlier.

When he decides you have had enough, he returns to his feet and kisses you once before pulling you by your hips off of his desk. He walks you over to his desk chair and sits down before patting his lap. You follow the instructions and straddle him, you lean forward trying to catch his lips with your own. But he holds up a finger against your lips, pushing it in past the warmth. You swirl your tongue around it a few times.

Pulling out his finger he brings it between your thighs and pushes it past your walls. Fucking you quickly with his index finger, knowing that only one finger was not enough for you. But now he was teasing you.

He works the finger in and out of you, the feeling of his rough digit causing you to writhe on top of him. A moan escapes your lips, the first one you've let out all day.

"There she is." Joel says before he's pulling his finger out of you and gripping under your ass. He lifts you off of him and flips you over. Pushing you down flat onto his desk.

One hand stays on the back of your head, keeping you from glancing at him as he unbuckles his belt. The fabric of his underwear and pants pool at his feet. He grunts as he works his dick twice before swiping the tip onto your folds, gathering the wetness.

The action causes you to let out a whimper and this is all he needs to hear before he is pushing his dick fully inside of you. The stretch barely noticeable with all the prep that you have had to endure today.

He groans at your warmth and tosses his head back, reveling in it for just a second. When he recovers he is fucking into you quickly. The blue balls from earlier are catching up with him. All focus on you is now thrown out the window, all he needs is his release.

His hands fiddles around at your neck. His hot fingertips trying to find purchase of anything, finally finding your cross necklace. Fingers grip the thin chain as he pulls it back, the cool metal choking you.

Hips thrust into yours, all that is heard is skin on skin, and your little moans. The hand that isn't gripping your necklace is digging into your hips, probably leaving bruises there.

He grunts, "It's been too long since you've came to see me."

With how much he is holding you down, there isn't much movement that you can make. But you do move your neck slightly trying to look at him. Instead you make eye contact with the pictures on his desk. One is a picture of him and his daughter, identical smiles shining on their faces. The other is his wife on their wedding day, her white dress almost blinding.

You gulp and close your eyes, "Don't wanna get caught, do we." A pang of guilt hits your heart, but this moment is quite literally fucked out of your mind when he lifts your hips and thrusts into you at a new angle.

His arm is wrapped under your waist holding you up, the other is still gripping your necklace. Its almost as if he noticed what you had been looking at because he is now spearing you with his cock, like he's on a mission. A mission to make you forget. A mission to make you cum with him.

And it works because you are clenching onto his cock, warning of you oncoming orgasm. You know he is close too, with the way his hips stutter ever so slightly.

"Cum for me." Is all he has to say before you are thrown over your edge. Vision blurring as he fucks you through your peak.

You've barely come down from your high when he is pulling out of you. You whimper at the loss, still not being able to turn and look at him with the grip he has on your necklace.

His own hand works his dick, chasing that orgasm he denied himself of earlier. The hand on your necklace pulls back harder as he reaches his own orgasm. Ropes of cum paint your thighs and ass as the chain of your necklace finally snaps, cross clattering to the desk under you.

When he finishes he is leaning his body over yours, trapping you to the wood. He licks your earlobe before biting onto it lightly. He gets off of you, letting you finally turn and look at him.

You pick up your broken necklace from the desk and hold it up to him. Your head cocks in question. He lets out a chuckle, before taking it from your hands.

He places a kiss on your forehead, "I'll fix it."

312 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 8 months

Text

Atlantic City

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 6.2K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | hey y'all, we have reached the penultimate chapter. we're in for a little angst, but i promise i make it better with a whole lot of goodness. as always, i'd love to hear what you think, drop me a line, i'd love to chat. also, if i could offer a song specifically for the young joel sequences, it would be Downbound Train by Springsteen (who else?) alright, that's all.

..............................

gif by @santigarcia

..............................

“She had a little oatmeal and a little applesauce, I think more of it got on her bib than it did in her mouth, though.” Tiny hands gripping at his shirt, he winces at the first sign of her impending meltdown, that small whimper of hers that always seems to come out in the mornings like this.

“Alright, Joey, that’s okay, I’ve got her.” Except she doesn’t, not yet, because Sarah is still clinging to him, tears starting to heat and dampen the side of his neck where her face is pressed as Deedee tries to coax her out of his arms. He’d like to cry too.

“I have class until seven, but I gotta run to the store too to get more formula. Shouldn’t be later than eight, ma.” It’s near herculean to finally untangle Sarah from him, a particularly loud cry striking through his ears as Deedee finally manages to scoop her into her arms. He’s learned that he can’t loiter, can’t look at her too much like this, because then that slick curl of guilt will take root and furl up his throat. So it’s a quick goodbye, a kiss to the crown of Sarah’s head and a lowly murmured love you, babygirl before he thanks his mother, who acts offended that he even tried to thank her in the first place.

He can still hear Sarah crying when he gets back in his truck. Deep breath, just one to smooth out the shake in his hands. And then his day can begin. The same day he has been doing for the last five months. They’re building new apartments off the highway toward Austin. Good work, honest work, at least that’s what people say when he tells them what he’s doing these days. He’s not sure where they get the good or honest from. Mostly, it’s sweaty and sore and simple. But it is good money, and lord knows that’s exactly what he needs right now.

She, no name, he’s been practicing no name for her, making the fact of her disappear from his life so it won’t be a problem when Sarah gets older, so just she. She left when Sarah was three months old. Not a word, not a note. Fine by him, because while they were certainly a mistake, Sarah isn’t, at all, not to him. So he’s working, making money, and in the evenings, chasing after a degree that promises something better for the both of them.

Traffic is stupid this early in the morning, crawling lights along the highway in the dusk still burning itself off with the hazy sunrise. He sighs, slumping back. He can sigh and slump now, no one watching, small relief as he rolls toward the job site. Another sigh when he sees that cars are even more jammed up because of an accident on the shoulder of the highway. He’s not one for the radio these days, much more interested in saving up slices of silences in between all the crying and sighing, though he still starts to flicker through radio channels, nothing better to do anyways.

“With us this morning, an up and coming author whose first novel has garnered a great deal of attention this year.” His hand stills, spine straightening out when the radio show host says her name. Her real name. And then it’s her, thanking the host for having her with an easy laugh.

The last time he heard her voice, he was standing in the front office of Thatcher’s with a phone to his ear and a hand held over his mouth to silence the quick sobs shaking his body as she spoke, as she apologized, as she said goodbye. The same and different. So very different. His ears rush with it, mind in a thick fog as the host says something about best selling, and new project, and some award that he hasn’t heard of before. And Cherry takes it all in stride.

She did it. She really did it. He can’t help the broken laugh that flutters up his throat, a quick burst of it that feels good only because it’s been so long since he’s had something like that, felt something like that. But it’s a quick radio segment, and she’s already thanking the host again, and they’re already taking a break for some commercial. Gone again. Sigh, slump.

Good for her, he thinks. Proud of her, he thinks. Did the right thing for her, he thinks.

And finally, traffic starts to crawl again, just another day.

…

“Yeah, uh-huh, I’ll have it ready to be sent by Friday. Look, I told you already that I’m not going to rush this one, okay? The first draft needs a little more time, just to Friday.” Often, when she takes phone calls in her office, she imagines what it would feel like to pick up her computer and smash it through her window. It’s a helpful thought exercise, keeps her from cursing out her agent at times like this.

“Alright, and– no, I saw the concepts you sent me and absolutely not. I don’t know how you can already be sending me cover art when you haven’t even read the fucking thing yet. I don’t care what kind of rush you’re in, I’m not going to accommodate it because, quite frankly, it’s fucking ridiculous.” Well, at the very least, she tries not to curse out her agent.

“Friday, no earlier and no later. And please, do not call me before then, because if I’m talking to you, then I’m not working, and if I’m not working, this fucking thing is going to take even longer. Okay? Great, thanks so much, bye.” Click, sigh. She has also imagined chucking her cell phone through the window, but that is a much less satisfying vision, so she settles for shoving it away in the bottom drawer of her desk.

“Mom?” She’s quick to stretch out of her slump at the sound of Ellie’s voice, swiveling around in her chair as she smooths out her scowl .

“What’s up, babe?”

“Is it cool if I go to the mall with Dina?” Dina, the center outfielder, right.

“Oh, yeah, do you want me to drop you off? I can–”

“No, that’s okay. Dina’s mom is gonna pick me up and take us.” Guilt starts to flicker between her ribs. This happens whenever she’s entrenched in writing. She blinks, and can’t seem to figure out where the time has gone or when the last time was that she and Ellie spent real time together. And though Ellie rails against it with a dejected groan, she can’t help but get up and pull her into a quick hug. Missed you, sorry. Love you, sorry. Ellie squirms a little, but still squeezes her back.

“Well, be safe, okay? And call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, okay, I will.” Normally, this would be when Ellie bounds away before Cherry can get an I love you in edgewise, but instead, she stays standing in front of her, a small pinch between her brows.

“Are you, um, like– okay?” Cherry sighs. This again. This new thing again. Something that Ellie has started to do at the most unexpected times. Something that started after that day at the ballfields when their car got stuck in the mud and she and Joel shared some choice words.

“Els, what’s this about you asking me if I’m okay, huh?” She tries to say it light, with a small laugh, but really, her stomach is starting to sicken, because this is supposed to be her job, mom job, and clearly, she’s failing at it.

“I don’t know, I just– how come Tommy is the one working on the porch now?”

“Uh, well, I mean– Tommy and Joel are business partners, so they, you know, share jobs with each other.” It comes out stilted and stuttered, and she has to stop herself from wincing at the lameness of the excuse. For her part, Ellie doesn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer, brow still scrunched and mouth screwed up like she tasted something funny.

“But why isn’t Joel working on it, like, at all?” That all holds a lot more meaning than it should, and Cherry can’t help the sigh that slackens through her chest.

“I know what you’re getting at, and you have to understand that, well– we– Joel and I– there’s a lot of history there, Els. And it’s– well, it’s very complicated.”

“Do you think you guys are gonna work it out though?” It surprises her, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that there’s a hopeful tilt to Ellie’s question and raised brows.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you worrying about that, okay? Whether we do or not, I’m gonna be just fine, so long as I have you.” Mom brain, she can’t help herself, stealing another hug that Ellie rails against with a mom that sounds like she’s being accosted it’s so despondent.

Saved by the bell, or the car horn more like it, Ellie wrangling herself out of their hug with a quick bye, love you as she bounds through the house toward the front door. Sigh, slump, Cherry shuffles back over to her desk, steading her palm on the edge of it as she brings her other hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

The thing is, she is pretty sure that they’re not going to work this out. And that’s what she wanted, isn’t it? She’s not sure anymore. She’s not sure about a lot of things. For starters, why she really decided it was a good idea to move back here. Yes, New York was becoming no good. But then, forty-odd other states she could have chosen from. And no, too late to back out now, because Ellie has already made friends, somehow already managed to settle before school has even started. And there’s the house, and now this fucking porch.

“Hey, Cher?” Speaking of which, snapping herself back out of her slump.

“Hi, Tom, how’s it going out there?” The first time she saw him again, she was shocked by just how much Tommy Miller grew up and filled out. Joel mentioned something about him serving in the military, and it shows, she thinks. A little more serious, a little presence in the set of his shoulders. A far cry from the brash, bold, bumbling boy she remembers. The passage of time, and all that.

“Just got done with the finish, actually, if you wanna come take a look?”

“Oh really? Like, it’s finished finished?” It is, and it’s frustratingly perfect. Wood polished and still glossy, plenty of space for a table and chairs. She should be happy, or at the very least satisfied, so she isn’t sure why all she feels is a petty curl of anger rising like bile up the back of her throat.

“Wow, yeah, it looks– looks really good, Tommy, thank you. Is it alright if I pay you now? I just need to get my checkbook.” She’s already walking back toward her office, but Tommy doesn’t follow, rubbing at the back of his neck with a weak laugh.

“The thing about that, Cher, is that I’m under very strict, very aggressive orders to not take any money from you.” That anger flares at his words, a scoff in her throat as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh, is that right? And just which hardass are these orders coming from, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I think you’re, uh, pretty familiar with said hardass.”

“Uh-huh, right, I suppose I am.” She’s not going to let Joel win this one, turning on her heel to continue her warpath toward her checkbook, Tommy having no choice but to tentatively follow after.

“Cherry, seriously, I can’t. He’s gonna rip that check up the instant he gets his damn hands on it.” She doesn’t listen, dashing off her signature on the six thousand dollar check, though when she tries to hand it to Tommy, he tucks his hands deep into his jeans pockets, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Tommy, I don’t know what kind of stupid game your brother is playing, but I refuse to participate. You did a job for me, and did it perfectly, and now I’m going to pay you. I don’t– I can’t have this hanging over my head, alright? Just take it, please.” She hates the warble that please comes out on, a thick flush of tears starting to thicken in her throat.

“It wouldn’t be hanging over your head, Cher. You know he ain’t like that.”

“Oh, do I? Because, honestly, I’m not sure what I know about him anymore.” Silence falls, a flash of something passing over Tommy’s face that she can’t place. He clears his throat before he speaks again, and when he does, it’s shockingly quiet.

“I still remember the day you left and didn’t come back, you know. And no offense, but it’s not because we were particularly close or anything.”

“Gee, thanks, Tom. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything though.” She regrets the sharpness of her words instantly, Tommy letting out a long sigh as he shuffles his feet in the doorway to her office.

“I remember because Joel came home that night. And back then, you’d be hard pressed to get him home unless it was Sunday and ma was ready to drag him by his ears over for dinner. But it was a Tuesday, and he came home that night, and he cried.” There’s no stopping the tears now, not when Tommy’s voice breaks, covering it up with a clipped laugh and a swipe of his knuckles under his nose.

“I don’t think I had ever seen him cry that hard. Jesus, he couldn’t breathe, and it– it just wouldn’t stop. At the time I was kinda pissed, to be honest, because he wouldn’t shut up, just wailing like a little kid.” All she can do to sit down in her desk chair, taking a shaky breath as Tommy toes his boot into the floor, trying to hide the crumple of his brow on his downturned face.

“And he kept saying the same thing over and over again, like he was trying to convince someone, maybe himself, I don’t know. He kept saying I did the right thing.” Her whole body shudders, sniffling back snot as her vision swims. She doesn’t know what all Joel has told Tommy, whether he knows just exactly what happened that summer. But the way that he’s looking at her now, frown slipping heavy down his face, earnest, honest, she thinks that he knows enough, has seen and heard enough to be giving her nothing but the truth.

“Not that I’d admit this to him, but I love my brother, really, I do. But, Cher, he can be a fucking idiot about stuff like this. And I know that he doesn’t deserve another chance for the shit he’s pulled, but I just– you gotta understand how much love he has for you.” What could she possibly say to that? For a moment, it’s quiet, both of them taking stuttered inhales and exhales, trying to breathe in the fact of what was just said.

“Tom, where is Joel working today?”

…

“You have to read this book. I’m about halfway finished with it and it’s so good.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve heard of that author before.”

“That’s because it’s her first book, I think. But seriously, she’s totally a genius.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to check it out then.”

He keeps his smile hidden behind his palm, elbow propped on his desk as he listens in to the conversation between the two students in the row ahead of him. It’s her book, he caught a glimpse of her name on the spine of it. It both buoys and batters him, a strange feeling settling in his stomach as his evening class begins.

Something his boss recommended to him. A degree at the community college that will supposedly open up all these doors for him. At least that’s what he tells himself when he slogs over to the campus after work every night. Another year to go and then, and then. Something good, he hopes. For him and for Sarah.

The same thing every day. Get up at five, if there’s sleep to be gotten up from in the first place. Get Sarah sorted and driven over to his parents’ house and then get to work by seven. Work and work and work, a good seven or eight hours before he has to book it to class. Then class, something he never enjoyed, and especially doesn’t care for now, working hard at it only for the sake of getting out of it sooner.

Last week, Deedee had tried setting him up on a date with the daughter of one of the women she plays Euchre with every Wednesday. She even offered to take Sarah for the night, a smile so steeped in hope that it had made him feel a little sick. He had sighed and made a half-hearted joke, something about a date getting him here in the first place. A distraction getting him here in the first place.

Night is creeping in by the time he gets out of class, streets going dark save for the syrupy glow of house windows, of families sitting down for dinner. And he’s never late, always at his parents’ house when he says he will be, so just this once, just a little late. He goes to the store a little further away because he knows there’s a bookstore a block down from it, lucky that it’s still open this late.

And everything gets saved that doesn’t have to be spent, so just this once, something for him. They have her book on display in the front of the store. Exactly what he was hoping for, her picture on the back of the dust jacket. The same and different, all grown up.

He buys himself a copy, but he doesn’t open it, not yet, keeping it in his lap the entire drive back.

…

Maybe a little crazy, driving her minivan through an active jobsite, men stopping in their work to tilt their hard-hatted heads at her when she parks in the midst of gravel and sawdust right in front of the half-built house. But she’s too hell-bent on the task at hand to care much, marching right up to the nearest man and asking him where Joel Miller is.

“Sorry, ma’am, who are you again?”

“Who am I? Who am I? I’m someone important, buddy, that’s who I am. Now if you don’t tell me where he is, I’ll just start wandering all over this place and probably land you with an OSHA violation. So if I were you, I’d make this easier for both of us and just take me to him, thanks.” She can hear a murmur of snickers and yips from the other men working around them, and it seems like enough to get this guy moving with a muttered okay then.

She acquiesces to putting a hard hat on, something about an actual OSHA violation, before following the man into the bare bones of the house. Some walls are put up, and some are still only frames, saws whirring and nails guns firing all around her, a perfect swirl of work and the smell of cedar that she tries to skirt around as the man leads her further into the fray.

When she sees him, she thinks to herself that it’s not fair, the way he looks with a tool belt slung low around his hips, his t-shirt clinging to the shifting planes of muscle in his back as he leans over a workbench to look at a scroll of blueprints. No, not fair at all, her throat going dry with just how not fair at all it is.

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.” Boss, right, he’s the boss. Fan-fucking-tastic. Joel’s head whips around, immediate confusion scrunching up his face when he sees her.

“Cherry? What– what’re you doing here?”

“What?” It’s nearly impossible to hear him over the incessant sound of work going on around them, though Joel is quick to usher her away from the thick of things and into a half-finished room that she guesses could either turn into a bathroom or a closet judging by its size. It’s a bit ridiculous that Joel closes the door to the room given that one of the walls still hasn’t been put up.

“Why– how did you find me here?” She’s just a little annoyed at how inconvenienced he’s acting, his hand on his hip and his knee jutted out as he raises his brows at her. It’s enough to get her angry all over again.

“Tommy finished the porch today and refused to take my check, so I asked him where I could find you and tuck this fucking money into your hands myself.” She punctuates her words by taking the folded-up check out of her pocket and shoving it into his chest, but Joel doesn’t accept it, the slip of paper falling to the ground when she pulls her hand away. What he does next is far more infuriating though, not breaking eye contact with her as he bends down and swipes up the check between two fingers before promptly ripping the thing up far more times than it needs to be.

“Don’t try to write me another one, Cher, I’ll just do the same thing.” A bitter laugh slips up her throat, and before she knows what she’s doing, the heel of her palm is shoving into his chest. Except he’s bigger now, broader, so what once would have made him stumble now only makes him sway a little. All the more reason to do it again.

“You– fucking– ass– Joel Miller!” He’s still unmoving under her ministrations, each of her words coming with an admittedly weaker shove until finally, Joel says her name, a quiet plea. And she wasn’t supposed to cry, that’s what she told herself on the drive over here. Under no circumstances was she going to cry. Yeah, right, big blubbering streaks running down her face already. Her hands fall limp at her sides as she shakes with it, whatever it is. Easier to call it anger, but she knows that’s not what it is.

“Cherry, please don’t cry.” She wants him to reach for her, wants to feel his palms smoothing that shudder, and for a moment, it looks like he will, but his hands just hang suspended between them, like he has thought better of it. She wishes he hadn’t thought better of it.

“I can’t– I can’t do this. You make this so hard, Joel, do you know that?” His face falls, feet shuffling closer until the toes of his boots are brushing against her sneakers.

“What can’t you do?”

“This– this– I want to be with you so badly, but I just can’t.” She hates what a relief it is when he finally reaches for her, his palm resting along her jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb collecting stray salt.

“Why can’t you? I– I’ve been wanting you for a long time, Cher. We could do it, I know we could.”

“I’ve heard that before, Joel. And it didn’t end well.” She can’t look at him as she says it, her stomach sinking with the words. Because it’s true, after all. He sighs, a long, dejected sound that makes her tear up all over again.

“Will you look at me, please?” She doesn’t want to, and isn’t sure if she can right now, but he shows her how, his knuckles crooking under her chin, a soft please that she folds to, finally meeting his eyes with hers.

“I can’t change what I did in the past, Cherry. And it kills me that I hurt you, but I was trying to do right by you. I don’t know anymore if I did, and I don’t know anymore if it even matters. But what I do know is I never stopped loving you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll be yours until the day I die, and probably then some, to be honest.” A laugh at that, thick with snot, feeling good in the midst of all these tears. She curls her fingers around his wrist where his hand is still cupped along her cheek, a tug to come closer so she can rest her forehead against his, though there’s a small shuffle first, both of them pushing their hard-hats off, paying no mind to the clatter of them when her nose brushes along the line of his.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.” She says it quiet, almost reluctant, but Joel just smiles.

“Not a promise, just the truth. Reckon I’ve been yours my whole life. And I’ve been hoping you’ll be mine too.” Something blooms inside her, relief in opening up, in allowing even amidst that still-there grip of fear. Because he’s here, and so is she, and there’s plenty of time to prove that fear wrong, to get it right, now, here, in the present.

She doesn’t answer with words, just closes the space still between them, the easiest yes in the way her lips press against his.

…

He knows he needs to go in. Needs to gather up Sarah and get back to their shoebox apartment so the whole routine can start over tomorrow morning. But quick, he can be quick, sitting in his truck with only the faint slant of clarity from the streetlight to brighten the pages. He steals the first chapter just like that, quiet, mouth moving with every word. And it’s a peculiar feeling, like pride, though he knows he has know business letting that swell in his chest with the way things ended between them. It’s good, of course it’s good. Not that he’s some well-seasoned reader, but he knows good when he sees it, and she was always so good, he thinks.

He’s only twenty minutes late when he finally knocks on his parents’ front door, and though Deedee makes nothing of it, he still feels that guilt sickening and skittering up his spine, trying to tamp it down with kisses pressed into Sarah’s curls.

By the time he gets them home, Sarah is indignant, fussy coos humming in her chest, ready for a bottle that he still has to make. Muscle memory, auto-pilot, he heats it up with her in one arm and the book held in his other hand, plowing through half of chapter two before he finally has to set it down to feed his girl. His girl, his perfect girl. He has enjoyed doing this from the very start, one of the things he always felt he could get right, at the very least. Simple and sweet, all the motions of bedtime, a small mercy that she goes down easy tonight because he’s still thinking about the book he left splayed open on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t sit down, just simply leans over the counter to keep reading under the light above the stove.

Sarah begins to cry about an hour and a half later, and by then he has already finished half of the book, careful to mark his place before checking on his girl. His hands still shake sometimes with the reality of holding her, something so small and careful that he has to roll his shoulders back a few times after every diaper change, every close cradle, like his whole body braces for her, trying to be big and enough for her. And he should get some sleep now, he knows that. But he reasons to himself that he’ll be waking up in an hour or two anyways for her, so, might as well.

Just like that, for the rest of the night, back and forth between Sarah and his close huddle over the kitchen counter. By the time morning is starting to blush that pale blue through the curtains, he has read the whole thing.

And no, not his place, and no, he has no right, but he is proud of her. Proud that she got out, proud that she did it. And relief too, that maybe he did the right thing after all, even though it hurt so very much.

…

Maybe a little crazy, the both of them. She’s pretty sure she heard a few wolf whistles when she led Joel out of the house and back to her car, but she doesn’t care, and she doesn’t think he does either judging by the way he keeps rubbing his palms down the front of his jeans in the passenger seat, both of them sweeping their eyes over the half-finished lots of this new neighborhood, searching for the same thing.

“Wait, right there.”

“Right where, Joel? There aren’t any–” She doesn’t finish that thought, a gasp high in her throat cutting it off when Joel reaches across for the wheel and veers her car right off the street and into an empty lot. The only reason she doesn’t press the brake is because she’s too stunned to move, letting the car roll into a thick copse of trees. She’s only snapped out of her stupor when Joel huffs out a right here, stop, stop, Cher, bringing the car to a stuttering halt. It’s all she can do to laugh as she looks around at the perfectly secluded spot.

“You always did have a talent for finding places like this.” He grins crooked at her, still leaning over the console with his hand on the wheel.

“Yeah, well, you– just c’mere.” Not pretty, not at all. A little greedy and a little desperate, her elbow beeping the horn as she scrambles over the console, Joel groaning when her knee lands a little too close to his crotch before she finally settles in his lap. He holds her by the hinge of her jaw, opening her mouth with his and taking everything she has to give. And in turn, she seeks out more however she can get it, one hand in his hair tugging when his teeth nick her bottom lip, her other hand bunched into a fist in his t-shirt. And it should be good, except it’s all so scrunched up in the passenger seat, and her legs are bent at such an angle that when she tries to grind her hips down onto his, she ends up with a mortifying cramp in her hamstring.

“Oh fuck.”

“I know, Cher, me too.”

“No, I mean, my– my leg is– I need to get up, it’s–” Joel finally seems to get the hint when she lets out a hiss of pain, quick to open the passenger side door so she can hobble down off his lap, tenderly trying to stretch out her leg in a graceless hop. Luckily, it seems to sort itself out, though Joel still gets out of the car, making her heart do something strange when he holds onto her hip with one hand as he rubs out the muscle in her leg with his other palm, squinting up at her and murmuring a question, that better?

“Y-yeah, thank you. We could– the backseats go all the way down.” He’s a sight, eyes big and blown out, lips parted in a swollen little pant as he looks at her.

“Right, let’s– let’s do that then.” She makes quick work of cranking open the sliding door of the minivan and folding the backseats down, plenty of room to assure that there won’t be anymore cramping crises. When she turns around to usher him into the back, Joel is quick to stamp a hard kiss to her mouth, a breathless laugh punching out of her lungs when he pulls away.

“Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Cher.”

“Well, if you liked that, just wait until I put the seats back in place.” His smile splits, all boyish in the way his eyes crinkle up. And it’s all graceless fumbling from there, both of them crawling into the back, leaving the door cracked to let in the late summer breeze, though she can already feel sweat sticking her shirt to her back. Not that it matters though, not when they’re both making quick work of each other’s clothes.

Her want wills, and he answers in kind, letting her press him back, bare for her, heart beating for her as she settles between his legs, already taking him into her mouth, salt and sense, all him making her hum low in her chest.

“Jesus, look at you– so fucking pretty like this, Cher.” He’s one to talk, she thinks, chest flushed to blaze all the way up to his cheeks, his eyes heavy and hooded looking down at her as she laps at his leaking tip before taking as much of him as she can into the heat of her mouth. Though he doesn’t let her work him over for long, a petulant hand curling around the nape of her neck and a breathy baby, baby, c’mere coaxing her up, both of them sighing when the swollen ache of her cunt grazes along his length.

“Like this– I want it like this, Joel.” Her lips drag the word up the arc of his throat, sealing them with her lips slanting over his.

“It’s all yours, Cherry. I’m all yours.” They move together like they never stopped in the first place, all quiet communication in the press of their foreheads, eyes turned down to watch as she sinks down onto his throbbing cock, a high sound stopping itself in the back of her throat as her hips settle against his. For a moment, just this, the tight peaks of her nipples grazing his chest with each broken breath, palms smoothing along skin only to grab greedy handfuls where they can. And then the quiet murmur, good? Yes, so good. Moving with so good simpering up and down her spine, a moan breaking in her chest with the first pass of her hips against his.

He lets her find the rhythm first, his mouth hot and open against the side of her breast, all coaxing, all consuming with the way his hands grip at her ass. Everything turns hazy and humid in their close press in the back of her car, skin slick and sticking, chests fluttering with hard pants.

Not so young anymore, either of them, getting a little ahead of their own pleasure because she can already feel it snaring and snapping in her pelvis, that liquid languor that turns taut so fast. And of course Joel can tell, bringing his hand to curl around her hip so he can drag messy circles against her clit, mouth open and pleading against hers.

“That’s it, Cherry, take it for me. Fuck, I wanna feel it, just like that.” Her breath catches in her throat, that searing snap that slackens everything else, his name on her next exhale as everything melts down around her. Just him, and the close grind of his hips up into hers that’s snarling on the edge of too much, cracked whimpers with each thrust that she bites back, wanting his pleasure just as much as she wants her own.

“Baby, baby, so good like this. Want it so bad, want you so bad.” Her lips slide against the shell of his ear, crooking into a grin when he groans at her words, his grip on her tensing and tightening as he comes, warmth spreading and sating.

All tangled up, their bodies slacken and slump, splayed out in the back of her car as they both catch their breath. Joel’s head tilts up when she huffs out a laugh, breath fanning over his chest where her chin is resting.

“I don’t think that was the smartest way we could’ve started this new relationship thing.”

“I think we’re pretty far past new relationship, Cher.” She hums at that, no real argument, settling instead for a kiss pressed into the bare patch in his scruff.

“You know, Ellie asked about you.” Joel’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Seriously? Thought that kid hated me.”

“Mm, I think you won her over with the diarrhea joke.”

“Well it certainly worked on you.”

“Unfortunately.” He huffs at her dig, laying a mean squeeze to the crease where her ass meets her thigh.

“Unfortunately, none of that, Cherry baby.” Ease, all ease in their shared smile, settling back down around each other with a sigh. They’ll have to untangle soon, leave soon, back to reality soon. But for now, this time with him, all the time to say what she wants to say to him.

“I never stopped, you know. I think that’s why I came back, at least partly. I was hoping that you hadn’t stopped either.” Her cheek rises and falls with his breath, Joel trailing his finger along her jaw to coax her eyes back up to his.

“I didn’t, Cher. Even when I didn’t wanna admit it to myself, I was waiting for you, hoping for you too.”

................................

taglist: @spookyxsam @libbylou223 @angel-in-beskar @starstruckunknown-princess @casa-boiardi @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @amanitacowboy @pr0ximamidnight @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @suzmagine @everything-isfucked @lanabobana @kittenlittle24 @sarap-77 @officerrrfriendly @val-srz @bitchwitch1981 @redwoodsanddaffodils @themothersmercy @romanarose @lost-inhawkins @youcancallmeelle @hollywoodcaligirl @harryleatherfit @fifia-writes @brighttears @lokanda @hardlystrictlystarwars @sarahxxo3 @harriedandharassed @anoverwhelmingdin

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller au #joel miller fic

229 notes · View notes

holy-puckslibrary · 2 months

Text

sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

87 notes · View notes

hoodharlow · 1 year

Text

Oasis

AN: I was writing Jack and Miriam fucking in the studio, but then I was like "what if I make it kinda enemies to lovers. Gif from @harlowgifs <3

Requested? My coochie

Warnings: smut, jealous!Jack if you squint

Word Count: 3.2k words

“How can you hate him? He’s literally the sweetest guy ever.” Violeta’s best friend/ stylist/ assistant, Cleo,went on and on.

“You say that because you haven’t been stuck with him for over twelve hours at the studio.” Violeta rolled her eyes, pushing herself up from the ground.

She was picking outfits for the press tour of the Gloria Trevi biopic she was cast in, and she was playing the iconic artist. The press tour started in a few weeks, but Violeta wanted everything ready so she could focus on finishing up her sophomore album. She was nervous, her first album basically skyrocketed her career. Just last year she won both categories she was nominated for at the Grammys, best new artist and best latin pop album. It was validating because, according to her fans, she was snubbed the Latin Grammys. There was a lot of anticipation and pressure for her. Which was why her team and Jack’s teams thought they would make a good collaboration.

Their fans began shipping them when they were seen together at this year’s Met Gala red carpet, waiting for their turn to walk up the stairs. Her fans loved how Jack managed to make her laugh because Violeta was known for her resting bitch face and it was rare for her fans to get candids of her smiling.

They agreed and their mutual friend Nickie Jon was helping them produce it. What Jack and Violeta didn’t expect was they would end up disagreeing on everything. It was Violeta’s song for her upcoming sophomore album, but Jack took it over and kept changing things. It caused arguments between them that Nickie texted them both to either find a new producer or they hash out their shit because he was tired of getting stuck in the middle of them. Now Jack was showing up to her condo so they could hash it out because they both wanted Nickie to work with them.

“If I was stuck twelve hours in a room with Jack Harlow, I wouldn’t leave until every surface is painted white.” Cleo said.

“You’re gross.” Violeta grimaced.

She went to her walk-in closet and picked a black mini dress from Mirror Palais with flower trims along the straps and the neckline. She paired the look with Doc Marten mary janes and some white ankle socks for a preppy look. She came back out and began doing her makeup. She was doing a subtle look with some concealer, light contour and a simple eyeliner look.

“If you can’t stand him, why are you getting all dolled up?” Cleo asked.

“I’m not getting dolled up, I don’t want to look dead. I got home like four hours ago and slept for two hours.” she explained.

The night before she went to some label party and then hit up the after party with some of their friends, Nikie, and some other people. Nickie drove her home when it ended. Violeta knew Nickie for a few years. He was one of the first producers she worked with when she got signed to Atlantic Records. They had an older brother and younger sister dynamic, and it annoyed (and grossed out) when people thought they were an item.

“I’m going to leave you so you can finish getting ready for your lil date.” Cleo smiled sweetly.

“It’s not a date; he hates me, remember.” Violeta reminded her.

“Vee, I’m just saying. There has to be more to it than him suddenly hating you. Maybe he’s just jealous.”

“Oh what?” she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

Cleo shrugged and took all the leftover clothes, shoes, and accessories they didn’t use for the outfit planning.

Violeta finished getting ready half an hour after her best friend left and began cleaning up. She went downstairs and found Rocky, her three year old boxer-pitbull rescue, laid out in the balcony overlooking the gate. It reminded her of the times she would visit her dad’s pueblo and see the dogs on the roof guarding their houses. She whistled him and he got up from the spot, following her outside so he could do his business. Violeta was picking up his business when she saw Jack’s car pull up to the gate through the slits.

Rocky sensed him and began growling at Jack. He was about to press the intercom when Rocky barked at him.

“Let me get a leash.” Violeta called from the other side of the garage.

She patted Rocky’s side, motioning him to follow her. He obliged and went inside. Violeta wrestled on his harness and clicked on his leash. They made their way back down to the gate. She opened the door and stepped out with Rocky.

“Sit.” she told the three year old puppy. He sat next to her and eyed Jack, who was carrying a drink tray and a bag of food. She waved him over.

“He doesn’t bite, right?” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Only if I say so.” she said nonchalantly. She giggled when she saw Jack get almost translucent. “I’m kidding. He’s trained and very friendly. You just showed up when he was doing his business.”

“Oh.” he said in a quiet voice, taking a few steps forward.

“Rocky, this is my friend Jack. He knows Tio Nickie and he’s going to help me make a song.” she explained to the puppy. She reached for Jack’s hand and brought it to him.

Rocky sniffed his hand and got excited. He yipped and nuzzled his face into his hand. Jack gave him a few scratches and just like that they were besties.

The three of them went inside the gate. Jack watched as Violeta locked her gate and put in a code. He followed her up the stairs getting a great view of her ass under her short dress.

“Welcome to my crib, or whatever people would say on MTV.” she gestured unenthusiastically.

Rocky had gone back to his spot out on the balcony, leaving them standing in the entryway.

“I, uh, got you a drink. Nickie said you like the matcha latte with strawberries, so I brought you one.” Jack said, pulling up her drink from the drink tray.

“Oh, thanks.” she said. “So, uh, let’s go work on the song.”

She led him to the basement, which was just another room next to the garage since the rest of the rooms were on top of the garage. She converted it into a home studio. It had everything any artist could possibly need.

Jack looked around reading all her plaques, posters and her awards. He knew of Violeta, and heard a few of her English songs, but he didn't know she was as popular as she is.

“You play?” He asked, nodding his head at the piano.

“Obviously, why else would it be here?” she snapped at him.

Jack frowned. “What the fuck is your problem? I asked a fucking question and you get all defensive.”

“So I’m not supposed to defend myself when some dude questions my work ethic?” Violeta frowned.

“I'm not questioning shit!” He said defensively. He passed his hand over his curls in frustration. “You’re such a piece of work. I don’t even know why I agreed to this shit.”

“Oh fuck you–”

“In your dreams.” Jack snapped.

“Why would I dream about having disappointing sex?” She retorted.

Jack walked up to her, backing her into the wall and leaned down in her ear. “The only disappointing thing about having sex with me is that I would ruin dick for you. After me no one would ever compare and you’re going to spend the rest of your life hoping someone can try to satisfy you.” His hand slowly inched up the outside of her thigh, making Violeta swallow audibly. “Bet your pussy is dripping for me.”

“It's drier than the desert in Sonora.” She said.

It wasn’t. If Jack moved his hand in between her thighs, he’d find a waterfall. “Mhm,” he nodded, taking a step back. He sat on a chair and opened his backpack and pulled out his notes. “So last night I was thinking about cleaning up the bass you had and– what?”

He stopped talking when he saw Violeta look at him angrier than ever.

“You can’t tease someone like that and then go about your day.” She scowled.

Jack set his notebook down on the soundboard and smirked. “So you admit it, I made you wet.”

“What– No! That’s not what I meant. I…” Violeta rambled on.

“Then what did you mean?” He asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs ever so slightly. He had not right to be doing that to her. Not when she's supposed to no be attracted to him. Truthfully she’d been wanting to fuck him since the Met Gala and she’d been sexually frustrated because she hoped to see him at the after party, but he never showed. Nickie later told her that Jack was a homebody and only went to the Met because he had just released his album and needed the promo.

“You still haven’t answered my question: what did you mean?” He said, casually.

“Nothing, let’s get back to work.” Violeta waved him off.

Jack didn’t say anything else. He watched her as she stood in front of the soundboard, typing away on her computer. She pulled up their song and fixed the buttons so they were in at the song's settings.

“Okay, so I was thinking we add more bass to it.” Violeta said, playing a snippet.

Jack shook his head. “It has the right amount, you just have to make it tighter.” He got up and pressed his chest on her back as he fixed up the beat. When he finished he played it back. It sounded perfect. “Like I said–”

Violeta cut him off, pulling him to a kiss. The kiss was messy. The urgency between them increased as lust quickly took over as their kiss intensified. He held her in place with his hips. She pulled him closer by his shirt, wanting more of him. She moaned in his mouth when she felt his fingertips brush her panties.

Jack nipped and sucked down her neck to find her sweet spot. He barely caught her strangled moan when he nipped the spot between her jaw and neck. He repeated his actions, earning a louder moan from her. He pulled away and pushed her down on the soundboard. Jack peeled off her thong, tossing it behind him. He got down on his knees and pulled Violeta closer to her. He placed her legs on his shoulders.

“Every desert has an oasis and I think I found mine.” He told her.

Without breaking eye contact he spit on her entrance and dug in. He devoured her like he'd been in the desert for an eternity and she was the only who could satisfy his hunger and thirst. Violeta gripped his curls, keeping his head in place as she lifted her hips.

After a while Jack sat up and pushed her legs to her chest, so she was more exposed to him. With one hand, he pulled down the top part of her dress, exposing her breasts. He roughly squeezed them as he continued to eat her out. His nose pressed on her clit, making her a moaning mess. Minutes passed when he finally slid his middle and ring finger in her. With his fingers still fucking her at an agonizing slow pace, he sat Violeta up and brought her mouth to his. Jack's beard was dampened by her arousal, a few drops fell onto her neck, rolling down to her chest.

“I'm close…shit—Jack!” She whimpered and reached down to his wrist.

She tightly gripped the edge of the counter as she came. Once her high faded, Jack let go and let her lean into him. He slipped his fingers out of her and licked them clean, moaning at how delicious she tasted.

“Face the sound board.” Jack said and Violeta complied.

She got down and turned around facing the glass wall infront of them. There was a faint reflection and Violeta watched him take off his shirt and pushed down his pants. She looked over her shoulder and saw him stroking his length.

Violeta's jaw nearly dropped at the size of his cock. She heard the crinkling of a condom wrapped then she felt his breath on her shoulders when he approached, standing behind her. His hand gently pushed her down onto the table and her cheek pressed against the cool wood.

“Ready?” He asked her.

“Yes.” she nodded eagerly, making him chuckle.

Jack slid into her and Violeta let out a pornographic moan. He smirked, grabbing at her hands to pin them behind her back for balance as slowly fucked her. Within minutes, she wanted to tap out, he was more than she could handle, but at the same she couldn’t get enough of him. Jack let go of her hands and his hands gripped her waist as he slowly rocked into her. As the minutes passed, his thrusts got rougher, and Violeta couldn’t hold back. She begged Jack to keep fucking her at that slow and rough pace she never knew existed.

She pushed back rougher to meet his thrusts. He gripped her hips with one hand while the other went back down to her clit. Jack worked his fingers roughly as he pushed his hips into Violeta. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her sweet spot. Her quiet praises filled the room, egging him on. She quietly whimpered his name, lazily meeting his thrusts before her orgasm took over.

“Who’s the only guy who can fuck you like this?” Jack asked. He leaned over, pressing his chest against her back.

“You.” She said breathlessly.

“What’s my name?” He asked in a possessive tone.

“Jack.” Violeta whimpered.

“No one else gets to fuck you like this.” He egged her on.

“No one else.” she agreed.

“Not Nickie.” Jack grunted. “Just me.”

“Only you Jack.”

Those three words were enough to send Jack over the edge. He moaned out her name. His thrusts got sloppy and finally he pulled out, resting his hands on either side of Violeta's body on the table as he leaned forward, hunching over and catching his breath. After few minutes he pulled off the condom, tossing it in a trash bin, and put on his clothes once more.

He opened his notebook and continued, “So I as I was saying…”

*** Three Months Later ***

At midnight, or nine pm Pacific time, Violeta’s sophomore album, Oasis, comes out. She only released two singles off the album: a random ballad and her song with Jack. Their song became an instant hit, debuting at number one and it remained at number one for six weeks. They were currently nominated for a few VMAs for their song and collab. For all her successes, her team is hosting an album release party/listening party in LA for her and the other artists she worked with on her album.

Violeta was dressed to the nines in an ice blue halter mini dress with feathers all over. She wore silver strappy heels that wrapped around all the way her thighs. She was the only one that color. She jokingly told her manager that she wanted everyone else in black or white when they were planning her party. Her manager made it happen for her, and everyone who wasn't in black or white, was turned away.

She spotted Jack at table with his friends and Nickie. After they hooked up, they never spoke about it. He acted like nothing happened and when they were in public he made it clear they were only friends. She wouldn't have cared; she's a professional and knew how to act, but what gotnher was that he was right. He ruined sex for her no one lived up to him.

“Are you going to stop eye fucking him anr finally to fuck you again?” Cleo asked Violeta.

“I wasn’t eye fucking him.” Violeta said, fluffing out the feathers in her dress.

“It's okay to admit you have a think for him.” Her best friend reassured her.

“But I don't.” she denied.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Before she could say anything Violeta’s manager grabbed her wrist and pulled to away.

“Okay, ten seconds.” Violeta’s manager yelled in a mic to get everyone’s attention.

She gathered everyone around to the dance floor. She counted off until and it was finally 9pm. Her manager went on to make a speech about how proud of Violeta she was and how grateful she was of watching grow into the artist she is. She signaled the DJ to play the album.

Violeta’s eyes Jack’s eyes from across the dance floor. She lifted her champagne flute at him as his voice echoed the room.

“‘Who’s the only guy who can fuck you like this?”’

‘“You.”

‘“What’s my name?”’

It cut to the actual song before she actually said his name. She smirked and danced along with Cleo and her other friends. By song three she was tired and went to her VIP section to get a water. Tired of her heels, she sat on one of the couches.

“Way to start your album with a climax.” Jack said, sitting next to her. He playfully nudged his shoulder agisnt hers. “Congrats by the way. Drama let me listen to it a few days ago and it’s fucking good. Did I understand 65% of what you were singing? No, but I fucked with it.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it and thank you for being a part of it. ”

“What AI program did you use to get my voice?” he asked curiously.

Violeta felt her whole body get hot. She g giggled nervously. “Apparently we recorded ourselves that one time and this producer suggested embed it the song.”

Jack hummed in response. The pair sat in silence watching everyone else dance and vibe to Violeta’s album. Itnwas only the two of them in the VIP area.

“Why did you mention Nickie when you were fucking me?” She found herself asking Jack.

“I was jealous because every time we’re at the studio I try to talk to you, you ignore me and only talk to Nickie.” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“I didn’t ignore you.” she crossed her arms.

“Yes, you did. I try to contribute something, but you were too focused on Nickie to notice. If you two are a thing, my bad for bending you over that night.” he shrugged.

“Ew! Nickie is the brother I never had.” she pretended to gag. “He’s the last person I’d fuck.”

“Now I’m embarrassed for thinking that.”

“Was it also why you were a dick to me in the beginning?” Violeta asked him.

“As immature and pathetic as it sounds, yes. Not to toot my own horn, but in our friend group I’m the guy who gets the girls' attention first then the guys. I guess I got jealous that he knew you and you were comfortable around him.” he met her gaze. “I’m sorry for being rude to you and constantly picking fights with you. I’m well aware that shit was stupid.”

“Apology accepted.” she smiled softly.

“I can apologize in a few different ways.” Jack smirked.

Violeta gasped, feigning innocence. “Buy me dinner first. I’m a classy woman.”

“You used a recording of us fucking in your song, but if you want me to ask you out that’s you had to say.”

Taglist: @cherryxcreme @heavyhitterheaux @carma-fanficaddict @youngharleezyxo @youngharleezy @babyharleezy @that-90s-girllll @alinaharlow @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @a-moment-captured @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract

#jack harlow #jack harlow smut #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow angst #jack harlow oneshot #jack harlow fanfiction #jack harlow x oc

359 notes · View notes