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joelsgreys · 5 months

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someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

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horrorcomeshome · 1 year

Text

Look I know I said learning as we go but it’s super important to me that you all know Errol and Celia are essentially Pierre and Helene from Great Comet as far as their relationship goes

…jury’s out on if Celia and Christopher are Helene and Anatole but I wouldn’t discount it

#test muses: the renaissance heralds #ooc #infidelity tw #implied incest tw #((ITS NOT CANON YET THO))

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aurorawritestoescape · 2 months

Text

PERFECT STRANGERS

Pairing: no outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day at a restaurant with your boyfriend and have eyes only for one man. The other man.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, semi-public, f!oral, implied age gap, unprotected piv (wrap it up), double infidelity, pet names ‘little girl’, ‘baby’, a bit of degradation, smoking, alcohol consumption, swearing

Word count: 2,8k

A/n: Happy Valentine’s Day, lovely people! here’s some filth for you💖 hope you’ll enjoy!

Huge thank you to @milla-frenchy for the title 😘

MASTERLIST || PART 2

You noticed him as soon as he entered the restaurant. He was not alone. No one usually goes alone to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day. A waiter led him and a woman he accompanied to their table, and they joined the other couples celebrating their eternal love.

You were not alone, either. Your boyfriend of one year was sitting in front of you. He was complaining about his work like he often did, and being a supportive girlfriend, you offered him a listening ear and all the comforting words. While talking to him, you noticed that if you shifted your gaze a little to the left, you could see the man facing you at his table.

He was handsome, and at first your eyes found him again and again out of simple curiosity and because of your love for looking at beautiful things and people.

You were subtle, stealing glances at the stranger on a rare occasion. Your eyes would take in his hands, lips, and curly locks. You noticed a gold band on his finger, the fullness of his lips, the way he shifted his jaw from time to time while listening to the woman. You were pretty sure it was his wife.

The moment that made it more complicated, and impactful was when your eyes locked. The room wasn’t that big, your tables weren’t that far away, and you two were facing each other, so it was absolutely normal for your gazes to meet at some point. So they met once. Then again. And again. And a few more times. Many more times.

Talking and eating, you sometimes felt his eyes on you, intent yet warm. His gaze would slide over the woman and land on your face, your chest, your partner.

When your eyes locked, your breath would hitch, and you would look at each other for too long. At one point, you got lost in his eyes, drawn to him by a magnetic pull, and when you dropped your head and looked at the pasta on your plate, you felt like something had been said between you two. A greeting. A secret. A wish.

At one point in the evening, the woman left him for the bathroom, and your stomach churned with excitement as you anticipated seeing more of him. You could finally get a full image of his torso, so you were shamelessly ogling his broad chest and

strong shoulders under the confines of his shirt. Then you looked up at his face and saw his gaze on you. He gave you a lopsided smile and took a sip of his wine without breaking eye contact.

“Are you ok?” Your boyfriend asked, having noticed your changed expression—lips parted, eyes blown and widened.

“Ah...yeah,” you replied, quickly averting your eyes from the stranger.

But you weren’t ok. You were tingling, and your stomach was burning with something bright and overwhelming. Something you’d never felt with the man sitting at your table.

You took a deep breath, and the night went on. Stolen glances were still exchanged between the handsome stranger and you, but you tried to stop yourself from looking at him.

It got too much for you when the woman laughed loudly at something the man said, and his devastatingly beautiful smile made your heart beat faster. A surge of jealousy burned your insides, so you cursed under your breath and took your purse, looking for a pack of cigarettes. You had quit a long time ago, but when you felt overwhelmed or anxious, it was a great way to flee from a place, a conversation, or a person. Which you wanted to do at that moment. So you got up and walked to the entrance, trying not to look at him. You failed miserably, as your eyes immediately darted to his face, and you saw him watching you. He ran his hand through his hair, and his expression was pensive and serious.

***

You stepped outside and took a deep breath of night air. You felt your nerves calm down and walked to the corner of the restaurant. It was quiet, as the street was almost deserted that late at night. It was windy, and the skin on your naked legs erupted in goosebumps, so you walked behind the corner of the building and into the alley next to it to hide from the chilling blows.

You cursed when you realised you forgot your lighter in the purse and were contemplating going back, but decided to spend a few minutes there before returning.

You leaned against the wall while the image of the stranger still occupied your mind.

You were standing with an unlit cigarette between your fingers when you heard a voice.

“Hey.”

You snapped your head in that direction and saw him standing at the corner, smoking. The stranger didn’t walk into the alley, didn’t walk closer, apparently not to scare you in that dark, empty street. A myriad of emotions began swarming in your stomach, but fear was not one of them.

“Need a lighter?” He asked, glancing your way from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, thank you,” you replied, clearing your throat. His voice was deep and gruff and so hot that your heart fluttered, and you felt tingling between your legs again.

He slowly walked to you and stopped at arm’s length, not barging into your personal space. When he took a lighter out of the pocket of his blazer, you stepped up to him, raising your cigarette and placing the tip between your lips. You could have lit it yourself, but you wanted him to get closer. He leaned towards you and covered the flame from the wind with his big hand. Your eyes locked again, like many times before that night, but in that moment, it hit you like a freight train. His beautiful, dark eyes with little reflections of the flame pierced your soul and made you stop breathing for a moment. Your gaze lowered to his plush lips, which were slightly pouted, and when you looked up again, you saw him looking at your lips circled around the cigarette.

You took a first drag and stepped back just a little, wanting to stay close to him. He didn’t step away, and you two smoked together in silence until he talked,

“Is it your husband there?”

“No, boyfriend. And you're with your wife.” It wasn’t a question, you were sure of your words by then.

He hummed with a little nod and added with a glint in his eye,

“Does your boyfriend know you love staring at other men?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly collected yourself.

“Does your wife know you hang out with other women in dark alleys?” You quipped, looking up at him with defiance.

He laughed and gave you his gorgeous smile.

“Not any women. Only with the most beautiful one.” Your stomach made a flip when those words left his lips. The way he looked at you was different now. There was dominance, a desire, a need.

“You can’t just keep looking at me that way, little girl,”

He said, throwing away the bud and taking a step towards you. Your cigarette fell out of your hand as you stepped back, feeling the rush of a prey cornered after a chase. But there had been no chase. You were not a prey.

So you stood your ground, and he stepped up to you, so broad and strong, and you bit your lip, feeling the heat of his body warming you up.

“You were staring at me all night as well,” you asserted, looking up at him with your eyebrows raised.

Your heart was booming in your ears. The man smiled, before his hand grasped your hip, and he gently pushed you back.

He wasn't rough, you felt a slight pressure on your side, nudging you towards the wall behind. You complied breathing fast and not breaking eye contact.

In a moment, you felt a cold brick wall against your back, and the man stopped inches from you. The electricity between you two was almost tangible, and the darkness of the night was hiding you from the eye of a rare passerby. Only one streetlight at the corner of the restaurant let you see his handsome features.

“You’re right. I was watching you,” he murmured, bracing his hand on the wall next to your head as his other hand found your waist. “Couldn’t stop staring… pretty little thing.”

It seemed that you forgot how to breathe. Time stopped, and your mind was empty. The only thing that remained in the world was him, the man caging you against the wall in that dark alley.

He was looking down at you, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips and back up. He was waiting for you to take a leap.

And you took it easily.

You stepped up to him, your bodies flush against each other, and pressed your lips to his.

It seemed like that was all he’d been waiting for. His arms enveloped your torso before he pinned you to the wall.

The kiss was overwhelming and hot. There was nothing sweet about it. He growled into your mouth while his hands began roaming your body. It was like he knew how little time you two had and wanted to touch you everywhere, feel you everywhere.

“Please,” you mewled into his mouth, and he parted from you.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what you need..”

“I want you.”

“Fuck, you’re a dirty girl,” he said with a shaky voice, feverishly unbuckling his belt. “Gonna let some stranger fuck you in an alley?”

“Yes,” you moaned, pulling your skirt up with shaky hands.

“Little slut. Let me see you,” he mumbled crouching in front of you and helping you pull your skirt up to your waist. He quickly tugged down your lacy panties, took them off, and looked at your pussy.

He cursed under his breath and opened your folds with his thumbs.

“Did watching me all night make you so wet, naughty girl?”

He wasn’t wrong. Cold air hit your soaked pussy and you shivered. Your clit was pulsating and when he put his mouth on it and began licking and sucking you felt like you were about to come.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he mumbled against your flesh as you placed your feet apart so his tongue had better access. You were clutching his curls while his fingers were digging into your hips and kneading your ass cheeks. He seemed insatiable, making the flat of his tongue rub your clit, then caressing it with his soft lips.

“I’m…gonna come,” you moaned as he was sucking on your sensitive bud filling the alley with the lewdest slurping noises.

After a few moments, you came, shaking against the wall, your hand gripping his shoulder. He was lapping at your juices until you felt overstimulated, and slightly pushed him away.

He stood up, his scruff glistening with your slick.

“Come here, baby,” he growled, unzipping his jeans. He pulled out his cock, which was hard and throbbing. His warm hands grabbed your thighs, and he lifted you up.

You gasped, wrapped your legs around his waist, and put your arms around his neck. You felt his cock nudge your hole, and he started sinking his tip into you. His member was big, but your pussy was ready to take him after your orgasm so he bottomed out easily and started bouncing you on his cock.

The head was hitting your cervix rhythmically, and you wanted to scream, but the need to be quiet allowed only soft whimpers to leave your lips.

Suddenly, you heard buzzing.

His phone.

To your astonishment, he took it out of his pocket, holding you up with one arm, and, after a deep breath, answered the call.

“Honey, I’m helping this guy out. His car broke down,” he said while his cock was buried deep in your pussy, “No, don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

While he was talking to his wife, you slid down the wall a bit, and he pushed you up, making his tip hit your cervix hard. You put your palm over your mouth just before a cry escaped your lips. He winked at you with gratitude and added, “Enjoy your dessert, honey.”

He hung up and mumbled, “I’m definitely enjoying mine.”

His lips immediately crushed into yours, and his hands grasped your ass cheeks as he continued to lift you up and down, using you like a fuck doll.

After a particularly hard thrust, you couldn’t help but moan loudly, and he placed his warm hand over your mouth and continued fucking up into your dripping hole.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he whispered into your ear between panting, “so wet and warm, fuck.. “ His scruffy beard was chafing your cheek, but you didn’t care. You were enjoying yourself too much, being fucked by a complete stranger while your boyfriend was waiting for you. On fucking Valentine’s Day. Despite or because of it, your second climax was building fast in your core.

“Can you come on my cock, little girl?” as if reading your thoughts, he asked you.

“Yeah..,” you murmured, “make me come, please."

“Fuck, I like you, so polite.” His hand left your ass and slithered between your bodies. His thumb quickly found your throbbing clit and he started rubbing it. His cock massaging your soft spot, his expert finger stimulating your clit quickly pushed you over the precipice.

You cried out, and he hastily placed his palm over your mouth, quieting you.

“Shhh, baby, you don’t wanna get caught full of stranger’s cock, do ya?” he chuckled, but you heard in his voice that he was close too.

“Fuck, not gonna last with you chokin’ my dick like that.”

The man hastily pulled out and put you down on your feet. He stepped to the side, pointing the tip of his cock at the wall, and started jerking his shaft while his other hand cupped your pussy. He was spreading your slick over your wet folds and watching them glisten.

Soon he moaned and started shooting the spurts of his cum on the wall. With hazy eyes and parted lips, you were taking in the image of him milking his cock.

When the last drop slid down his tip, he took out a handkerchief and wiped it off.

“Hell, baby, you’re something,” he said with a warm smile, panting heavily.

You two started fixing your clothes, glancing at each other from time to time. After you pulled down your skirt, he picked up your panties off the ground.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with an apologetic smile, and you shrugged, stuffing them into your pocket.

“We should go back,” you said with a touch of sadness in your voice. You wished you could spend the rest of the night with him, but reality was not made out of your dreams.

“You go first, and I’ll follow. Don’t want you to have problems with your guy.”

You nodded, shifting on your feet, and added,

“Hope your wife believed the car story.”

He chuckled and came up to you before taking your face in his hands. Your breath hitched again, and you marvelled at his beautiful features for the hundredth time that night.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he murmured, and planted a soft kiss on your lips.

It was short and sweet, and when he parted from you, your eyes locked again, and you whispered back,

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

***

The both of you continued the dinner with your partners. He left before you, and on his way out, he turned his head and gave you a playful wink. You smiled into your wine glass as butterflies were swarming in your stomach. Suddenly you thought that you would probably never see him again, and tears welled up in your eyes.

***

In a cab on your way home, you remembered that your panties were still stuffed in your pocket and wanted to push them deeper when you felt something else there. You took it out and saw a card. You grinned widely, biting your lip with excitement.

There was a name on the card - Joel Miller, and a phone number underneath it.

*****

Thank you for reading!💖

Kisses and hugs for your comments and reblogs!😘🫂

PART 2

Tag list: @missannwinchester @morallyinept @bbyanarchist @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling

If you’d like to join the tag list, let me know!❤️

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #valentine's day #tw infidelity

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shotmrmiller · 2 months

Text

dbf!price takes you during his wife's birthday party :)

tw: implied age gap, infidelity, explicit smut.

1.6k words of nonsense because dbf!price lives rent free in my head at the moment.

His wife is busy catering to the guests, and you're lucky that your dad Simon only dropped you off and didn’t stay for the birthday party.

You’re standing in the corner of the living room when you hear a whistle.

It's a high-pitched sibilance, unmistakable.

You disappear into the crowd of people, keeping your gaze on the ground to not be stopped by anyone when you're jerkily pulled into a dark room, and instantly hear the lock click.

You don't have to ask who he is.

John eagerly cradles your face with his large hands and slots his lips over yours— his facial hair already irritating your skin but it's all forgotten when he slides his warm tongue into your mouth.

His kiss is hungry, it’s consuming, and only pulls away to let you catch your breath, since he has a nasty habit of stealing it.

He trails a path of prickly open-mouthed kisses down from your lips to your neck, suckling on our thrumming pulse, and nipping at the thin skin over your clavicle.

"John..." you mewl.

He shushes you. "Don't wanna get caught, love. Keep quiet and I'll reward you by stuffing you full of my cum."

When he goes under the waistband of your knickers, and his fingers graze over your trimmed, soaked curls, and in between your folds, you cup a hand over your mouth.

There is no staying quiet when John touches you better than you ever could yourself.

He slides two fingers up and down your slit, slightly pushing into your entrance before dragging it up to rub your slippery pearl under the pad of his slick thumb.

The precise, tight circles he draws on your clit are quickly hurtling you toward your precipice.

John then shamelessly traces the shell of your ear with his tongue, then bites down on the tip of it, and your dripping cunt clenches around nothing.

He must've heard your muffled gasp because he lets out a gravelly chuckle. "Liked tha', did you?" A muted yes is his reply.

"I can feel you gettin' wetter f’me, love. You close?" he asks.

The rough wall scrapes the back of your head when you nod.

"No. You will speak when spoken to."

His tone is unyielding, a stern command that leaves no room for argument.

Your palm is slick with drool as you move it from your face.

A whine falls from your lips before you answer.

"Yes, yes I'm so close— so close, please."

John presses a chaste kiss to your flushed skin.

"That's not what you're to call me if you want to come."

Fuck. John can be so cruel.

You swallow thickly. "Please, Daddy, let me come. let me come I promise I'll be so good for you."

He covers your mouth with his free hand and circles your swollen, achy clit with vigor until lights flash behind your eyes. After a tense second, your body gives, finally curling forward as you climax, wave after agonizing wave of ecstasy slamming into you.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle like ants crawling under your skin from the intensity of your orgasm.

"Good thing I covered your mouth, sweetheart, otherwise the people outside would've already been breaking down the door."

Oh.

You can't be bothered to care, still coming down from your high when you feel yourself being turned around, face against the wall.

John's warm breath tickles your ear as he whispers, "You promised to be good f’me, right? Then I'll hold you to tha’."

There's a clink of a belt buckle and then he's holding his belt right by your mouth.

"Open."

You open.

"Bite down."

You do.

"Good girl." John bunches your skirt up at your hips, tears your knickers off, and kicks the inside of your shoes with his boot, widening your stance. "Brace yourself."

You feel the tip of him for a split second before he pushes in.

Oh, he pushes in, and in, and in. It doesn't stop— it feels like his length is never-ending until it finally does.

His thick, heavy cock is wrenching your walls apart, forcibly splitting open to make room for the invader. The line between pleasure and pain is deliciously blurred, and the corners of your eyes sting with tears.

"Fuck, I'll never get over how tight you are around me like a silken fist squeezing me for all I'm worth. god, I would stay in this sweet pussy for the rest of my life if I could."

You whimper and bite down harder on his belt lest the secrets in your heart spill from your lips.

Please stay in me forever, stay with me forever.

Thoughts fade— along with the pain— when he starts to thrust, his strokes languid.

With every rock of his hips, he bottoms out— the little pudge of his belly pressing against the cleft of your arse.

His flared head touches the deepest part of you, kissing the plug of your womb with a lewd squelch that has your pedicured toes curling in your shoes.

"I can feel you clamping down on my cock, love. I feel that good, do I?" he purrs. "Bet you love me filling you to the brim."

God, yes you do.

"I bet no one's ever fucked you like I do."

Not even remotely close.

"Tell me you love me inside of you, tell me you love me taking what's mine." You can't stop the dry sob that escapes your lips.

I love you, John.

The tightened coil in your stomach unspools then, and your body feels like it's being swept away by a current of bliss to drown in an ocean of euphoria.

The world tilts on its axis, up is down, and down is up, and you've temporarily lost your sense of self, but John grounds you with a strong bite to the crook of your neck.

"You alrigh', love?" he sounds concerned.

No, you're not alright.

You spit his belt out and flex your aching jaw before answering yes.

"Good. I'm gonna move you to the floor now." Who are you to say no to John Price?

You quickly find yourself with your thighs pressed to your ribs, and in a show of flexibility, you raise your hands to wrap around your ankles and pull— knees by your shoulders.

John pins you with his weight, his large hands covering the expanse of the underside of your thighs, and leans forward until your breath rushes from your lungs.

He teases your swollen entrance with his heavy cock and glides up until he catches your sensitive clit with it, then gently pushes in, sinking to the hilt in one liquid stroke.

From this angle, he feels too much. It is too much and John must pick up on your discomfort because he reaches up to swat your hands away, making you release the hold around your ankles, and instead placing your legs over his round shoulders, heels of your shoes resting on his broad back.

His arms loop underneath your back, hands hooking on your shoulders as he lowers his mouth onto yours- a kiss that for once doesn't take, but gives.

Tears that had beaded up on the corners of your eyes from the ache spill, but luckily the room is too dark for John to notice.

"Ready?" he murmurs against your swollen lips.

"Always,” you breathe.

And he starts to move.

His pace is measured, but the force behind them is jarring.

Every slam of his hips sends you sliding back a little, and you can feel the beginning of a rug burn happening.

He's so deep inside of you it hurts, a delicious pinch in your lower belly that has you gnawing on your tongue to suppress your blissful keens.

"I'm almost done, love, I'm-" he rumbles out a low growl, "fuck, you feel so good." John's panting harshly, his warm breath fanning across your sweaty face.

"Tell me what I wanna hear, and I'll give you what you want."

You place your hands on his wide waist and dig your nails into his soft flesh.

"Come in me, daddy..."

It's like a trigger, his rhythm turns sloppy, and with a hissed 'fuck' he comes.

His cock twitches inside of you as he fills you with his spend— thick and hot.

The air is damp and heavy, heady with the smell of sin— or more specifically, adultery.

That thought has you chuckling bitterly under your breath.

"Somethin' funny, love?"

Your taste in men. Hysterical.

"Your beard is tickling me, is all. Say, what room are we in? God forbid we debauched the dog's room or something."

John doesn't answer and gently slips out of you instead.

Amidst the darkness, you can just make out his silhouette as he hastily redresses— bending over to pick up his forgotten belt.

You sit upright, taking a moment to readjust your skirt down from where it bunched up on your hips. "John?"

"This was supposed to be a nursery," he professes.

Jesus fucking christ.

If there is a hell, you hope it's hot and terrible.

"I'll step out first, and in about 5 minutes you follow, alright? I'll make sure it's clear."

John cracks open the door, and the voices of way too many people chatting nonsense spill into the room.

"I fuckin' hate these people," he mumbles under his breath then turns to you. "Remember. 5. And don't worry 'bout the dental floss you called knickers, I've got them in my pocket," and quickly slips out the door, closing it shut behind him.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price x f reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price #captain price #cod smut #john price smut #captain john price x reader

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sanriosratz · 2 years

Note

THE FIC IS DONE 🚨🚨

- evil sad things anon 🫶

CW: arguing, infidelity, implied sex

everything was falling apart. had he really just lost the person he loved to some random guy in some shitty bar?

the tequila tasted sour without any mixer but he didn’t give a shit!

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth shot it started to seem more and more like a good idea to go see him.

He stood up, stumbling slightly and searched for his phone on the dresser.

he scrolled for what felt like decades to find the taxi company.

the drive over was boring and cost ¥400. ¥400 for a dude who only played classical music and refused to change it to get him to somewhere where he was going to make so many bad decisions and be completely unprepared for anything when he got there.

when they pulled up at the flat building, the rain was pouring down.

he knew the number off by heart. 503. he knocked on the door, trying to ignore the tears that fell when he did

The door creaked, “Kazuya? why are you-“

“Shut up and let me in!” he said inbetween sobs

the place looked exactly like it had before. the picture they had bought together. the flowers he had given him last week.

“Kaz, what’s wrong? what happened?”

“What happened,” his hands shook with anger? sadness? fear? “,what happened? you fucking know what happened!”

Jiahao got closer, so close that he could smell kazuya’s breath, “have you been drinking?”

“Wow, sooo smart, jiahao, yes i’ve been drinking. do you have a problem with it??” he didn’t know when he started shouting and the tears became falling more frequently

“calm down, kaz, you’re overreacting.”

Kazuya trembled. overreacting? Overreacting???

“don’t you dare say that i’m over reacting just because you’re under reacting! you should be fucking ashamed of yourself but you’re not! you don’t regret any that night, do you???”

Jiahao looked like he had just seen a ghost

“Of course I regret it! but it was a fucking mistake, Kaz!”

“Forgetting to bring a pen to class is a mistake. fucking some rando when you know you have a boyfriend isn’t a mistake, it’s called being a shitty person!”

Jiahao had an expression that Kazuya hadn’t seen before, it was….guilt? regret?

“I know i fucked up really bad.”

Kazuya grabbed his wallet and went for the door, “i’m leaving.” There was a death grip on his wrist suddenly.

“please, kaz, if i could undo what i did, i would!”

“was he better than me?” Kazuya’s eyes were red from sobbing

“what? what do you mean?”

“you know what I mean! was. he. better. than me?”

Kazuya felt like if he trembled any more he’d start an earthquake

“No, love, no, no-one could be better than you.”

Kazuya latched onto him like Jiahao was the only thing holding him up. “why are you so pretty? it makes it hard to be angry at you.”

Jiahao kissed Kazuya on the forehead, “let me fix this, please, I need you back.”

“Fine.”

CRYING SOBBING

MY BOY!!! ITS MY BOY!!! AAAA THIS IS SO GOOD!!! I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM ITS AMAZING!!!! DUDE THE EMOTION??? IMMACULATE AAAAAAAAAAAA-

#creepypasta #kazuya #other detention kidtm #jiahao #maths student (derogatory)#others headcanons #letting anons speak #evil sad things anon #tw infidelity #tw infidelity mention #tw arguing #tw implied sex #tw alcohol use #tw drunk #ask to tw #kazhao

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madelynraemunson · 8 months

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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series (completed)

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016** , 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——————————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #hellfire club #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fics

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earthry · 8 months

Text

Mafia Boss Copia x Reader (Headcanons)

i cant find where i saw it but someone commented on one of my posts several days ago with 'evil copia' or smth and it's been stuck in my head. but also its me so he's evil but also a sweetheart so. here's evil copia and then i make him not-evil.

tw: implied/assumed infidelity, kidnapping (not by copia), violence/murder, copia makes a few oopsies and then does his best to make up for it, gn!reader

He would never raise his voice at you let alone a hand— could never in his life imagine doing such a thing to you. Others however? He almost relishes the way their bodies go slack when he’s had a hand around their throats for just the right amount of time.

He’s not a full on sadist, but he does enjoy causing pain to those he seems deserving. He has a strong (albeit a little twisted) sense of right and wrong and isn’t afraid to put down his believes.

The first time he meets you, he thinks that you’re such an angel that it has to be an act, there has to be something, a catch, anything. Humans are inherently folly, there’s no way someone as sweet and gentle as you exists.

You’re immediately charmed by him and he’s intrigued by you so he gives you a chance. He takes you out on a nice date and steals your heart without remorse, not knowing that you were giving it to him freely.

Things seem happy in paradise, he’s the perfect boyfriend, the most thoughtful partner.

Except he tests you, and each time you surprise him with patience and understanding. So he keeps on testing and testing, begins to go out with others and flirt around. He’s waiting for the jealousy, the rage, the pettiness— your true colors. He’s so sure he has it in the bag when one day he comes back with lipstick smudges on his neck and the look on your face is of pure horror.

Instead of the satisfaction and smugness of finally causing a reaction however, he only feels sudden waves of guilt, especially when your look of horror melts into a heartbroken despair instead of jealousy.

You don’t yell or scream or shout. You don’t accuse him of anything, you don’t ask him about the lipstick. Instead, you sink to your knees with a soft sob, hiding your face in your hands and trying to stifle your cries.

He doesn’t know what to do— not this scenario. This was not what he had expected and each sniffle you try to muffle before standing up and apologizing for making a scene makes him hate himself even more.

—

It hurts. Watching him with others, listening to him talk so sweetly and playfully while you’re only a few feet away. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the way he is, that’s his personality and you can hardly fault him for that, right?

You’re afraid of confrontation, of facing the truth when he’s everything you never thought you could have. When it’s just the two of you, he’s so silly and sweet. He treats you like royalty and holds you so gently. You’re so loved.

It must be you that’s the issue then, right?

The night he comes home with lipstick stains and hickies decorating his neck it’s lIke your world is ending.

He looks smug as all hell and you wonder to yourself— why?

Is it because he wasn’t satisfied with you? Was it your inexperience that he’s either bored or disgusted with? Was it because you weren’t good enough? Weren’t lovable enough?

Or was it that you were blind the entire time, that you ignored all the signs because you were just so desperate to be loved, so desperate to finally have this one good thing?

You’re too busy facing your biggest fears to see the look of regret and guilt on Copia’s face, too busy trying not to drown to see him reel in his own emotions, to watch his expressions flash from smug to uncertainty to guilt and regret, and finally to a resolve. A decision.

He pulls you into his arms and you want to fight him but you also can’t help but cling. Your sobs get louder and his arms tighten around you, beginning to rock you back and forth soothingly.

You eventually collapse against him, and still you don’t ask the unimaginable.

His words feel sugary as he comforts you— you’re not sure what to believe anymore— murmuring reassurances and promises that there’s only you, just you. No one else. He was a fool, he tells you, he was a stupid, stupid fool and it was just a dumb joke and he loves you wholeheartedly, adores you dearly. He’s not going anywhere.

But still. It doesn’t change the fact that those are another’s lipstick staining his neck, his collar. Another’s lips that bit and sucked those hickies into his skin. That marked him as theirs and not yours.

He manages to calm you down, until you’re only soft little sniffles and the occasional hiccup. That night he makes you something light for dinner; a comfort food with your favorite tea. He puts on one of your favorite shows and kisses your forehead before leaving to wash up. To shower and get rid of all the evidence of another’s claim on him.

He stands alone in the bathroom and stares at his reflection in his mirror. He wonders who he is now, if he’d fallen under your spell. But then he thinks about everything that is you— your laugh, your smile, your quirks. Your kindness, your patience, the sound of your voice.

He’s haunted by the look on your face when you realized he’d been marked by another and was unapologetic about it. He certainly is apologetic now. Regretful. Guilty.

He knows he’s a horrible man, a cruel one. He knows he’s done awful things. Learned from his father, his brothers. He decides that this is something he’ll never do again.

Never. Not to you.

When he’s fresh and clean, he dresses himself in comfortable sweats and seeks you out— you’re in the living room with your food that you’ve barely had much of. You’re not paying attention to the TV. You’re curled up on the couch.

Copia clenches jaw. He really is a bastard.

Gingerly, he coaxes you up and pulls you onto his lap so he can feed you. You’re reluctant but he manages to feed you at least half of dinner. Each bite you take is met with praise and words of love.

They don’t sink in, they don’t mean anything to you. Not anymore. You try to hang onto them, though. Try to relish the temporary affection you’re receiving while he’s still here. You’d be naive and foolish for thinking he’d stay, for thinking he’d love you unconditionally.

When you’re fed, he helps you change into comfortable pajamas; not protesting or commenting like he usually does when you pick out one of his oversized shirts for comfort. It’s the one that says ��VVLGAR’ and you hope maybe when he finally leaves, maybe he’ll at the very least let you keep this one. A consolation prize.

He tucks you into bed and holds you close. Whispers his good night and love for you. You know it’s a lie but it’s nice to hear, to pretend it’s not.

Things change after that. He’s gentle with you, as if you’re spun from glass.

He never looks at another again, never touches or flirts again. Not in front of you, not behind your back either.

He could never do that to you again. He treasures you, loves you. He never wants to hurt you again.

Good things never last however, and you know it’s only a matter of time until he goes out to seek another’s warmth and company again. You spend months steeling yourself, letting yourself get used to the idea. It’s not healthy or good for you, but you’re so desperate to hold onto him that you think to yourself— if letting him sleep around and see others will keep him around longer, then why not?

Sure, the mere thought of it feels like a stab to the heart. Sure, you know that it won’t last forever and anyone you asked would tell you that it’s a bad idea.

But fuck— when he smiles at you and takes your hand in his, raising them to kiss your palm, to nuzzle with his cheek as he tells you how much he missed you while he was out, when he sits you in his lap and plays with your hair and teases you with light laughter and smothers you with kisses while you dissolve into giggles— you don’t want to give that up.

And you don’t have to, but you don’t realize that. Not yet.

Copia can see it in your eyes, when you’re having a good time and then suddenly you’re quiet and there’s a sadness in the way you cuddle close and tell him that you love him dearly. He always makes sure to squeeze you a little extra tight for comfort, telling you that he’s not going anywhere, never again.

It takes a while for you to finally realize that he’s telling the truth— it takes you getting kidnapped as leverage against him to convince you that maybe, just maybe, he’s not going anywhere. Not now, not soon, not ever.

It’s a bloodbath, the amount of carnage he sheds to find you. He takes down several of his competitors in the process— burning them completely to the ground without survivors. It terrifies the remaining rival groups into hiding for years after.

He finds you eventually, and oh the way he holds you, the way he almost collapses with relief to see you alive and breathing. You’re a little worse for wear but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. He cuts the ropes binding you to the chair and sweeps you off your feet, refusing to let you walk even a single step. He carries you back to his house and calls for Aether, not trusting anyone else to be close to you.

Aether does an excellent job of healing your injuries before he dips, knowing that Copia is a little beyond bordering feral at this point. The entire time he’s been holding you in his lap, clutching you to him as if you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

He promises you that he’ll make sure that this never happens again, that you’ll be safe. He apologies to you, for putting you in danger just by being with him. He’s gentle with you for months and months to come— even more gentler than he usually is.

And throughout all of this, you know that you’re so completely and ardently loved and the next time he tells you, promises you, that he’s not going anywhere, that he loves you so so much— you believe him.

#the band ghost #copia #ghost band #ghost bc #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #headcanons

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duckyvan · 20 days

Text

craving angst sm

tw: war, implied infidelity, insecurities, just me projecting my feelings to this fic lmao so it’s sort of a vent

—

just imagining an ongoing war in teyvat and your fav characs calling out your name and desperatly tries to find you.

except.

it’s not actually you he’s searching for. it’s a different girl…

and it’s not your name he’s yelling out for, it’s hers.

you already come to terms that your relationship is close to the ash pits as you caught him kissing another girl in such passion you both never had before.

but how come you didn’t expect him to see you this insignificant and forgettable even if it means you’ll die.

for a second, you think it doesn’t matter anymore as you stood there, head hang low and hear him continuing to search for her.

#genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader angst #kaeya angst #childe angst #wanderer angst #diluc angst #angst #tw. cheating #wriothesly angst

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pinkykats-place · 10 months

Text

(Todoroki Enji) Endeavor x Reader

Tumblr Fic Recommendations

Disclaimers!

Stories linked below are NOT mine.

The readers included are male, female and gn. Gif not mine.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please like, comment and/or reblog their work!

Scar

Pairing: Todoroki Enji x Male Reader

Summary: gently stroking enji's scar after it heals and mumbling about how beautiful he looks,

Sugar Daddy!Enji x Sugar Baby!Male Reader

HEAT

Enji Todoroki x afab!Reader

Summary: Reader on period and daddy enji helps

Soft

Enji Todoroki x Chubby F!Reader

SMUT

TW: breeding kink, chubby reader, Enji carries reader, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy

Fire & Desire

Retired!Enji x Succubus!Reader

Summary : former pro hero Endeavor needs some ass and accidentally summons the woman of his dreams who oddly resembles his new neighbor

Military au

General!Enji x Wife!Reader

Sex Pollen

Endeavor x gn!Reader

doting wife

Enji “endeavor” Todoroki x reader

Summary: “Enji,” You said as you walked through the manor. It was summer and Enji wanted to put you something more traditional during these summer months. So you went through the halls of the manor in nothing bout a yukata decorated with flower and flames to signify who you belonged to. As if your round and active middle didn't give it away.

Kinktober Day 04: Daddy (Daddy’s Little Girl)

Stepdad Enji x Stepdaughter Reader

Big Baby

Todoroki Enji x Male Reader

Come to Bed

Synopsis: You’d been working so hard lately you barely even noticed, working so late into the night you were hardly getting any sleep… of course Endeavor had to do something about it.

Do you still love me?

ather enji todoroki x son m!reader

♡ cw: incest, dubcon, angst, virginity loss, praise, daddy kink, size kink, infantilization, implied age play, mentions of abuse

Moth to a Flame

Enji Todoroki x fem!Reader

Summary: boss/employee relationship

#reader insert recommendation #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki x reader #fanfic recommendation #tumblr fic recs #male reader inserets #female reader inserts #enji x fem reader #endeavor x male reader #enji todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #boss/employee relationship #fic recs #reader insert smut #enji x reader #male reader inserts

167 notes · View notes

joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

a safe haven l four

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: After a few weeks, Joel finally realizes that he can’t stay away from you and he gives into his desires; Ellie and Dina start getting closer; you give Joel a special gift that once belonged to your father.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL AND VERBAL ABUSE. reader gets slapped. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. infidelity, implied infertility (reader), mutual pining and yearning, Ellie and Dina interaction.

Word Count: 7k

July, 2024

About twenty three and a half days.

That’s the longest that Joel Miller can stand to bear without seeing you again, and even then, he’d found that amount of time to be too goddamn fucking long for his liking—each and every single minute of those twenty three and a half days felt like an eternity to him. Joel had lost count of the number of times he had almost caved, almost scratched that overwhelming itch he had to seek you out, to satisfy his craving as if he were a recovering addict going through withdrawals and all he needed was a good fix to feel better again. Hell, the more he thought it over in his mind, the more he’d started to realize that wasn’t all that far off. You actually were something of a drug to him, and even though he’d only had a mere taste of what being with you could be like, he was already hooked on the feeling. One hit of you was all it had taken and now he’s a fiend and he wants more of you—he needs more of you or he’ll surely lose his mind.

Exhaling a labored breath, Joel reaches up as he wipes at his damp brow with the back of his hand. The sun is sweltering, beating down on him hard.

July had arrived, and with it came along the most unbearable and unforgiving heat. Winter had been cruel, but summer had decided she wouldn’t be all that much kinder. While Joel appreciated not having to trudge knee deep through the snow, he wasn’t too sure if he would prefer that over the way his denim shirt stuck to him uncomfortably, clinging to his skin like cellophane. He’d been used to it in his first life, having been born and raised in Texas—twenty one years later, he had discovered that he was no longer accustomed to these kind of blistering temperatures.

After returning from his early morning patrol shift, Joel had stopped by Main Street, popping into the market to pick up some vegetables to make dinner—he’d also gotten some fruit for Ellie. As it turned out, she had quite the sweet tooth. She had gone through about a week’s worth of apples and berries in just a couple of days, but luckily he had enough food rations left over for the week to pick up some more for her. Once he’d finished and left the market, he found himself walking over towards the horse stables instead of heading back to the house like he should have. He really should have gone home, but after twenty three and a half days of fighting his temptation as best he could, Joel realized it was useless.

Most, if not all, of his thoughts began and ended with you.

Sure, Ellie would mention you here and there over their shared meals together, and even though she had assured him that you seemed to be doing just fine, it wasn’t enough for Joel. It wasn’t even close to being enough. He had to see you for himself. He needed to talk to you, even if it meant running the risk of Tommy finding out. He wouldn’t be too happy about it, but if anything, Joel could use the excuse that he’d just stopped in to check up on Ellie. She had become something of your little helper, taking on the role of a stable hand after Maria had assigned one of the other hands to work in the mess hall. You’d needed the extra help and Ellie had been willing. She had to contribute and she liked being around you, so it worked out in everyone’s favor.

In reality, Joel trusted you with Ellie and he didn’t need to check up on her knowing she was in safe, capable hands—but the opportunity to use the kid as leverage presented itself and he’d be a fool not to take it.

He walks into the stables and starts making his way down along the open stalls, peeking into each one until he finds you—alone—in the second to last stall with his brother’s horse, Ranger. You’re leaning forward slightly, a look of complete concentration on your face as you firmly press the diaphragm of the stethoscope you’re using to the animal’s side and listen. After a minute, you hum and gently tug the earpieces, draping the instrument around your neck as you stand upright and pull out the wooden clipboard you’re holding underneath your arm.

Joel’s breath audibly catches in the back of his throat, an intense, fiery blaze burning deep in his belly as he drinks the sight of you in. The heat isn’t being any kinder to you than it is to him—you’re sweating profusely and your pale pink camisole is drenched and clings to your body, accentuating each and every curve. Every inch of exposed skin is beaded with drops of perspiration that you’d all but given up on trying to wipe away. You let it drip freely, allow it to run down the sides of your face, neck—it trickles down your chest and between your soft, supple breasts.

He swallows dryly, trying painfully to ignore the way his cock twitches against the zipper of his jeans as devilish thoughts begin creeping into his mind. Shoving them away, Joel enters the stall and says your name.

You look up at him, eyebrows raising.

Though you seem oddly surprised to see him, you still offer him a kind smile. “Well, hey there stranger. Long time no see.” You pause briefly, shifting your attention back down to your clipboard. Taking a pencil from the back pocket of your faded blue jeans, you start to scribble down your findings on the piece of paper attached to it. “You know, I was starting to think that maybe you were avoiding me or something, Miller.” Although you’d said it in a joking manner, he detects the hint of seriousness in your tone.

Joel shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a sheepish expression on his face. “M’real sorry ‘bout that, darlin’. I just had a lot goin’ on over the last couple weeks. Got real busy,” he fibs, feeling like nothing short of a complete jackass for lying to you. “I, uh—I had to do a whole lotta fixin’ up around the house, for starters. Between that, workin’ patrol, and takin’ care of Ellie, I had both my hands full for a minute there.”

“Well, if you’re here to check up on her, she’s outside in the paddock with Dina right now. They’re hand walking Luna for me,” you say, jabbing your pencil over towards the open stall window. Squinting, he sees the two teenagers out in the paddock, walking along on either side of a white horse, both girls observing the animal’s movements carefully with every step that she takes. You smile once again, though you keep your eyes fixed on your clipboard as you continue jotting down your notes. “Funny enough, if I weren’t so thrilled those two ended up being such good friends, I would actually feel kind of offended that Ellie’s spending a lot more of her time with Dina than she is with me. I guess I have officially been replaced.” You feign a look of hurt, causing him to chuckle. “She’s doing fine, but you’re more than welcome to go out there and check on her. I’m guessing that’s the reason you’re here.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Actually, I came down here ‘cause I wanted to see you,” Joel blurts without thinking. Heat suddenly prickles at his ears.

You stop writing and your head snaps up in slight shock as you repeat in disbelief, “You wanted to see me?”

He nods in admission. “Yeah. I did. Besides, the stables are on the way to the house from the market. Figured it would be the perfect time to stop in and say hello,” he explains, unable to hide the slight nervous edge to his tone as he steps closer towards you. Joel’s closeness prompts a curious little sniff from Ranger, whom he would borrow for patrol from time to time when Tommy was on a different rotation. His brother wasn’t all too fond of anyone taking his beloved horse, but he’d made an exception for Joel. He pats the stallion on his thick, muscular neck. “Hope that’s alright with you.”

Nibbling on your lower lip, a strange feeling blossoms inside your stomach, a fluttering feeling—as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies had just taken flight inside of you. “Of course that’s alright,” you finally reply. Peering at the canvas tote bag slung over his forearm, you ask, “Did you get anything good at the market today?”

He shrugs. “Just some carrots and potatoes for dinner. Oh, and some fruit for the kid. Apples, berries—even got some peaches for her to try.”

Your mouth falls open slightly and there’s an excited glimmer in your eyes. “They have peaches?”

Wyoming hadn’t really been known for its peaches due to the extreme frigid temperatures during the winter months that would often lead to what you’d learned from Martha was called a spring freeze. It didn’t affect all of the plants and trees in Jackson, but there were a few species that simply could not survive the damage caused by the cold, bitter frost—peach trees happened to be one of them. You had seen a couple of the trees that were planted around the community, but only once had you ever seen them come into fruition. The first and last time you had seen peaches available at the market had been three summers ago.

Joel nods. “Yeah. Martha mentioned a couple of the trees survived the freeze durin’ the bloom period. Pointed me towards the bin and said they were picked fresh earlier this afternoon.” Digging his hand into the bag, he pulls one out to show you. He then offers it to you, holding it out in the palm of his hand. “Here, darlin’.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline. “No, I couldn’t. I know they’re meant for Ellie—”

“Relax, peach.” A small grin tugs at Joel’s lips as he continues holding it out to you. “I got plenty for her. Go on, take it.”

You flash him an appreciative smile. Setting down the clipboard on the two step mounting block behind you, you turn back to him and accept it, your fingers brushing his open palm as you take it from him. You eagerly bite into the fruit, groaning loudly as the sweetness of it coats your tongue and sends your taste buds flying into the clouds. The peach is perfect, right in between being too firm and too ripe. “This is amazing,” you say incredulously through a mouthful, prompting Joel to laugh. “It’s so good.”

You take a second bite and gasp when it pops in your mouth, its sticky juice trickling out of the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin. Before you even have the chance to lift a finger, Joel reaches out and he gingerly wipes the juice away with his thumb.

Freezing momentarily, your eyes widen as he continues to sweep his finger across your bottom lip.

“Had a little somethin’ there,” Joel murmurs.

Nervously, you finish chewing your mouthful of peach and swallow harshly, as if the fruit had turned into glass. You thought he would withdraw his hand by now, but instead, he moves it and cradles the side of your face in his palm. You can’t help but wince—his touch is gentle, but you haven’t been touched there like this in a long, long time. In fact, any time that a hand met your cheek lately, it was in a rough and painful strike.

“Joel,” you shakily breathe out his name. Your eyes momentarily flutter closed and you tilt your head to the side, sinking right into his large hand.

Push him away, you silently urge yourself. Don’t be stupid. Push him away.

But you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You stand there and continue melting into his touch.

He echoes your thoughts. “Tell me to back off,” Joel whispers, grazing the soft, delicate skin of your cheekbone with his thumb.

Your eyes fly open, lips parting slightly when you meet his gaze. When you speak, you hardly recognize the timid little voice that comes out of you. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, darlin’. Tell me to back off.”

He’s standing closer, much too close. So close that you can count every single gray that’s speckled in his beard—so close that you finally notice the small scar on his right temple.

Your chest heaves as you struggle to take an even breath.

He waits, but you say nothing.

Joel leans down, bringing his face closer towards yours. Still cradling your cheek in his hand, he lightly starts skimming the other side of your face with the tip of his nose. He trails it down your jawline, drawing closer and closer to the corner of your mouth—that’s where he pauses. It’s only for a second, but to you, that one second feels like an eternity. He pulls back slightly, giving you one last chance to push him away, to tell him that you’re not okay with this—to tell him to stop. When he’s met with nothing but a small, needy whimper, he moves in to close the remaining gap of space between your bodies. Heart pounding, he takes the final leap and captures your mouth with his in a tentative kiss.

He tastes the sweetness of the peach on your lips mixed together with the saltiness of sweat and you taste something else too—something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s heavenly. He yearns for more, nearly aches for a chance to explore every inch of that pretty little mouth of yours. He wants something deeper, something more, but when he remembers that you’re in a public space in broad fucking daylight, he has no other choice but to pull himself away from you.

“Joel,” you whisper his name, wanting nothing more than for him to kiss you again. You almost find the guts to ask him when the sound of Ellie and Dina calling out your name startles you both, causing you to jump apart and tear away from each other.

The girls enter the stall just a second later.

They’re both sweating, their faces flushed from the heat.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” Ellie asks him, confused. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him around the stables.

Joel shrugs, nervously touching a hand to the back of his burning neck.

“Just came in to check on you, kiddo. S’all.”

Ellie glances between the two of you, arching an eyebrow. There’s a strange glint in her brown eyes that tells Joel she knows something had just happened and he’s certain the only reason she isn’t confronting you both about it is because Dina’s standing right beside her, seemingly oblivious to the air of tension in the stall.

“Did you girls need something?” you offer in the steadiest voice you can possibly muster.

“We just came to tell you that Luna is back in her stall. She did really well on her walk. Her back leg doesn’t seem to be bothering her anymore,” Dina informs you. “We also finished with all the grooming for today. All the horses on the list you gave us are all squeaky clean, at least for now.” She smiles. “Is it okay if we call it a day? Ellie wants to come over to my house and hang out for a while.”

“You know Talia likes for you to give her some kind of a heads up when you bring company over,” you remind Dina of her older sister’s house rule.

“Yeah, I know auntie. I asked her permission this morning and she said it was okay.”

You glance at Joel. “As long as it's alright with you.”

“‘Course it is.” He nods and points an index finger at Ellie. “Make sure you’re home in time for dinner, kiddo. That’s my only rule. Understood?”

Before Ellie can respond, Dina beams and takes her arm. “Great! Come on, let’s go!” she exclaims as she all but drags Ellie out of the stall.

Joel waits until he’s sure the girls are gone and turns to you, clearing his throat. “I should—I should probably get on home now.” Pausing, he asks, “I’ll see you around?”

All you can do is give him a tiny nod of your head.

“Okay,” he says, sounding relieved

He turns on the heel of his boot and leaves the stall.

Joel was playing with fucking fire.

And so were you.

“So tell me, does this town have some kinda weird ass rule that says every teenaged girl’s bedroom has to be fucking pink?” Ellie questions as she takes a glimpse around Dina’s bedroom. Her small nose wrinkles in disgust. The walls are painted a light pink color and it looks similar to her own room—but at the very least the previous owner of her space had thrown some green accents in here and there that made it a little less horrendous.

“What? Is pink not your most favorite color?” Dina teases her with a giggle, shutting her door behind her. She kicks off her boots, setting them next to her closet door.

“Totally,” Ellie deadpans, rolling her eyes at her. She gestures to herself with her hand. “Isn’t it just so obvious?”

Throwing her head back, Dina laughs again.

Ellie’s stomach somersaults. Dina might have been nauseatingly girly, but hell, if she wasn’t one of the prettiest girls Ellie had ever met—smooth golden skin, wide brown eyes, and long black hair that falls all the way down to the small of her back. Ellie had noticed the way several boys around the town would stare at Dina and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had her eye on any of them. Of all the fucking things that Ellie didn’t have the fucking balls for, it was asking her friend if she had a boyfriend or not.

Not that it matters if she does or doesn’t.

Right?

“Make yourself comfortable,” Dina offers, waving a hand around. She grins. “Feel free to snoop.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She turns towards her writing desk, noticing a yellow flower beside a pile of notebooks. “Well, well, well,” she says, picking it up. She gingerly pinches the stem between her fingers. “A flower, huh? Who’s it from?” Ellie inquires, her back still to her.

Sheepishly, Dina replies, “Oh. That. Um—my friend gave it to me the other day. His name is Jesse.”

Ellie feels a twinge of jealousy stir in her belly. “And who’s that? Your boyfriend or something?”

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend.” She briefly pauses before adding, “Or a girlfriend.”

Freezing on the spot, Ellie holds the flower in a deathgrip. “Oh,” is all she can get herself to say. Throat bobbing, Ellie sets the flower back down on the desk and then turns to look at Dina. The girl flashes her a small, shy smile, causing her stomach to flip again. Awkwardly, Ellie tears her gaze away from her and her eyes flit to the bookshelf in the far corner of her bedroom. “Can I check out your stash?”

“Go for it,” Dina encourages her.

Ellie nods in thanks and pads over to the bookshelf, their shoulders lightly brushing up against each other as she does so. She starts looking at all of her books and one title immediately stands out and catches her attention. “No fucking way!” she exclaims loudly as she plucks it from the shelf. “No Pun Intended: Volume Tree. I can’t believe there’s a third one! Are you fucking serious?”

“Ah, so you’re familiar with Will Livingston and his hilariously terrible puns?”

Ellie grins as she walks over and takes a seat at the foot of Dina’s bed. She flips to the first page and runs her index finger down the list of jokes until she finds one she likes best. “What did the grape say when it got crushed?”

“Nothing,” Dina replies with a casual shrug, taking a seat beside her. “It just let out a little wine.”

She cackles and turns to the next page. “I don’t trust stairs.” She pauses for a dramatic effect and then continues with the punchline. “Because they are always up to something.”

The girls lose themselves in a fit of giggles.

As Ellie continues thumbing through the pages of the joke book, her smile fades slightly—memories of everything that had happened to her in the last year, everything she had been through, the people that she’d lost, it all comes flooding back to her in a huge wave that would have drowned her had Dina and her sweet, gentle voice not come to the rescue.

“El? You alright?”

Ellie turns to her. “El?”

“Yeah.” Dina’s face flushes red. “Is it okay if I call you that?”

Riley used to call her that.

When she’d still been alive.

Realizing that she was still waiting for a reply, Ellie carefully nods her head. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“By the way,” Dina starts to say, scooting to sit a little closer to her. “About what happened back in the mess hall all those months ago when you first got here—I feel bad about it and I just wanted to apologize for staring at you the way I did. I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m sorry too. You know, for snapping at you. I got an earful from my old man about it afterwards. He gave me a lecture on manners.” Ellie chuckles and shrugs, her shoulder brushing Dina’s again. She had to resist the sudden urge to lean into her, just like the way she would always lean into Riley. “It’s just that I was so fucking sick of everyone looking at me like I came from another planet. Maria told me it was because I wasn’t like the other kids. She said I was different.” She pauses, nervously chewing her lower lip before asking, “Is that why you were staring at me? Because I’m different?”

“Yeah,” Dina admits. She notices the expression on Ellie’s face and quickly adds, “But that’s not a bad thing, El. Sometimes different is good, you know?

“Nice save, but that still doesn’t make me feel any better,” she mutters sourly.

Dina nudges her in her ribs with her elbow. “Well, would it at least make you feel better to know that I was also staring because I thought that you were cute?”

Ellie’s eyes widen as they meet Dina’s. “You did?”

“I did,” she confirms. She then corrects herself, saying, “I do.”

Dina smiles and leans in, softly brushing a kiss against her lips. It’s gentle and it’s quick but still enough to make Ellie’s heart race inside of her chest.

“Sorry,” she murmurs shyly as soon as she pulls away. She clasps her hands together nervously in her lap as she fixes her gaze on the floor.

Ellie reaches out, placing her hand on both of hers, causing the girl to look back up at her. “Don’t be. I’m sure as fuck not sorry about it at all.”

Relieved, Dina smiles again.

Ellie squeezes her hands and goes in for a second kiss. “I should probably get home before my old man gets too worried and sends out a fucking search and rescue team for me,” she mutters against her lips, causing her to giggle. She pulls back and stands up, handing the book back to Dina who shakes her head.

“Take it. It’s all yours.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “There’s just one catch to it. I expect you to tell me a joke every single day.”

Nodding, Ellie grins and says, “Fuck yeah, I can do that.”

Several hours later into the evening, you can still feel Joel’s lips on yours—his touch lingers on your skin. It had been burned right into you and it didn’t really matter how hard you tried not to think about it because you had crossed a line that there was no coming back from. His touch, his kiss. You would never find the ability to forget how Joel had made you feel. Not that you’d wanted to forget it.

You didn’t have any regrets about what happened back in the stables. There wasn’t a single ounce of guilt or shame in your bones over it. That terrified you. You had so easily and so willingly let a man who wasn’t your husband kiss you, and you found yourself wanting and needing so much more.

You stand in the shower, allowing the ice cold water to beat down against your back and shoulders. You’d normally prefer a scalding hot shower to help ease the soreness that came after a long day of tending to the horses, but after today, what you had found yourself needing was a frigid shower to cool off.

And it had nothing to do with the staggering summer temperatures.

You shut off the water and grab a towel from a steel towel rack mounted on the wall right next to the shower. Wrapping it around yourself, you carefully step out of the shower and then reach for a second towel from the rack. You dry yourself off before padding into the bedroom where you’d laid out your clothes at the foot of the bed. You tug on a cotton gray tank top, dark denim blue jeans that you’d cut off into shorts yourself, and a pair of old, faded black low top sneakers that were extremely worn out, but much too comfortable to throw away. After haphazardly towel drying your hair, you pull it back into a ponytail.

In a futile attempt to take your mind off Joel Miller and the feeling of his lips on yours, you decided to preoccupy yourself with menial tasks around the house until it was time to start cooking dinner. The fact that you always kept the place clean—damn near spotless—made finding chores to distract you from your thoughts a much bigger challenge than you’d anticipated. God forbid that Luke ever found an unwashed dish in the sink or a speck of dust on the counter—his perfect little wife just had to keep the perfect little home. He wouldn’t allow it to be any other way.

After gathering the load of laundry that you’d had drying out on the clothesline in the backyard, you dumped it all into the large, woven hamper basket and carried it inside and upstairs to the bedroom. Within ten minutes, it had all been folded and put away. Looking for the next thing you could do to keep yourself busy, you noticed a big cardboard box sitting over in a corner of the bedroom. It’s packed with the rest of your winter clothes—it had been several weeks since you’d asked Luke to take it down to the basement and he still hadn’t done it for you.

Rolling your eyes, you pick it up, a labored grunt escaping you when you find the box to be much heavier than you’d remembered it being before. It nearly slips out of your grasp a couple of times, but somehow you manage to make it downstairs without dropping it—or falling. You carefully make your way down into the basement, the old wooden staircase creaking underneath your sneakers with each and every step. Once you’d made it down to the bottom, you haul the box over to the corner of the basement where you set it down with about half a dozen others, most of which were filled with your late father’s belongings.

Luke had been nagging you to get rid of everything to clear up space in the basement, but the thought of getting rid of your father’s things made you sick to your stomach. They were all you had left of him, after all.

As you glance around the dimly lit basement, an object nestled against the pile of cardboard boxes catches your attention. It’s a black leather guitar case. Letting out a curious hum, you drop to one knee and lay it flat on the ground, opening it only to find your father’s brown, classical Gibson he’d been gifted the year before he’d died by members of the town. He’d always been fond of music, and before the outbreak happened, he would play his guitar for you and your younger brother almost every single night, right after supper. When word spread that his illness was terminal, the kind folks of Jackson surprised him with the instrument, hoping it would bring him at least a little bit of joy in the time he had left. And it truly had. Even as a woman nearing your thirties, you’d found yourself sitting cross legged on the floor of your dad’s living room staring up at him in wonder as he would play his old favorite songs for you on the acoustic guitar—in those moments, you had felt like a child again.

You’d felt happy. Safe.

You brush the guitar strings lightly with your fingertips.

Suddenly, you remember the night of the party and how Joel had told you he enjoyed singing and playing the guitar in his life before the outbreak.

You chew your bottom lip, thinking it over in your mind. The decision comes quickly, and you close the case and pick it up, ascending the basement stairs with it in hand. It’s half past five—you still had some spare time before you needed to get started on dinner. You figure you won’t be too long. Besides, Luke had mentioned to you earlier that morning before heading out that he’d be staying late at the clinic anyway—one of the women in the community had just given birth to a premature baby boy that he’d need to keep a close eye on for the next few days.

Leaving the house, you start down the road towards Joel and Ellie’s place, remembering it was the brown and green unit just a couple doors over from your own place. You make your way up the porch steps and knock lightly on the front door. You try holding the guitar case behind you, but it’s fairly obvious what you have in your hands.

As you wait, you shift nervously from foot to foot. A few more seconds pass by and Joel answers the door. His salt and pepper curls are damp, and the scent of clean soap wafts in the air around him, slowly making its way over to you. He’d traded in his dirty denim shirt from earlier for a navy blue t-shirt that fits snug over his broad chest and wide shoulders.

He says your name in surprise. “What are you doin’ here?” His dark eyes flicker to the guitar case behind your back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Oh, just a little surprise for you and Ellie.” You toss him a cheeky, mischiveous smile. “Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”

“‘Course not.” Joel steps aside. He shuts the door behind you and beckons for you with his hand to follow him down the hallway and into the living room. For essentially being a single father, he knows how to keep a nice, clean home. Knowing Ellie, she sure as hell isn’t the one who tidied up after eight hours of mucking out horse stalls.

“Where’s Ellie?” you ask him.

“Upstairs. She just got in the shower a minute ago, but she shouldn’t be too long,” he tells you. Placing his hands on his hips, he peers curiously at you. “I’d ask what the surprise is, but just by lookin’ at the shape of that case, I think I might already have a hunch.”

“Jeez Joel, you could have at least acted surprised, you know,” you remark with a giggle. You set the case down on the antique coffee table in the middle of his living room and open it, revealing the guitar to him. “Surprise!”

Walking over to the case, Joel delicately picks up the instrument by the neck and pulls it out, giving it a once over. He lets out a long, low whistle as his other hand runs down the smooth, cherrywood body. “This is fuckin’ gorgeous,” he states. A playful look flashes in his eyes as he asks you, “Now, who did you go and steal this from, darlin’?”

“It belonged to my dad,” you reply softly with a smile. “I thought you might like to have it.”

Joel’s jaw drops in shock as he hisses, “What?”

“Hey, I wasn’t lying when I said we’d have to find you a guitar,” you laugh. “I’m a woman of my word, Miller.”

“Darlin’ I can’t accept this, there’s no fuckin’ way—” He tries handing the instrument back to you, but you take a step back and hold your hands behind your back, shaking your head. He tries again. “Listen, I appreciate the thought, but I can’t take this. It was your dad’s and I really don’t think he’d want some stranger to have it.”

“Please take it,” you request, sweetly. “It would mean a lot to me if you would. He really loved this thing and I just know he would be devastated if he knew that it’s been sitting in my basement collecting dust for the last two years.”

Joel’s momentarily rendered speechless.

“Please,” you repeat, adding an innocent bat of your eyelashes to finish winning him over. “Do it as a favor to me, Joel.”

He sighs in defeat. “Jesus, darlin’. Why’s it so fuckin’ hard to say no to you?”

You shrug, trying to mask the look of sheer triumph on your face.

He takes a closer look at the guitar. “Gibson. Y’know, I always wanted one of these back in the day, but I just could never bring myself to drop that kinda cash. I wanted real bad and now here I am with one in my hand.” His gaze meets yours and he smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Joel. But don’t you forget that we made a deal,” you remind him as a teasing grin spreads across your lips. “You owe me and Ellie a song.”

“Speakin’ of Ellie, she’s gonna lose her mind when she sees this thing,” Joel realizes, giving it a single test strum. “I’ve really been wantin’ to teach her to play for some time now. Guess now I can.” He shoots you a look of sincere gratitude. “Thanks, peach.”

Peach.

As you recall what had happened in Ranger’s stall earlier that day, you let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “That my new nickname or what?”

“Only when I feel like it,” Joel replies jokingly as he carefully places the guitar back in its case. “Which might be all the time.” Closing the case, he turns to you. He hesitates for a second, but then takes a careful step closer towards you. He cups your face in his hand, just like before, his eyes flitting to your parted lips.

Lifting your hand, your fingers curl around his wrist.

You’d do just about anything for him to kiss you again—but the both of you had almost been caught by Ellie once already and you weren’t trying to make it two for two. It takes all the strength you have inside you to drop your hand away from him and step back.

You lightly clear your throat. “Um, I should probably get home and get dinner started before it gets too late. Will you say hello to Ellie for me?”

Nodding, Joel assures you, “‘Course I will.”

He walks you to the front door. He places a hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the patch of smooth skin peeking from between the waist of your shorts and the lace hem of your tank top. Once he opens the door, Joel withdraws his hand from you to be safe. He doesn’t want anyone who might have been passing by the house to see any kind of physical contact between you and him and get any ideas. “Have a good night, peach.”

You smile at him. “Have a good night, Joel.”

You return home within seconds and head straight to the kitchen. When you walk in and unexpectedly find Luke standing there leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, you stop in your tracks and let out startled little gasp. “Luke,” you say his name, hoping he can’t detect the nervousness in your voice. “You’re home early.”

He stares you down from where he’s standing.

“Where were you?”

You can tell by the expression on his face that now isn’t the time to even think about lying to him—not unless you wanted things to go a whole lot worse for you. “I, um—I was over at Joel and Ellie’s place,” you admit to him. “I was only there for a couple of minutes, though. That’s why I left the door unlocked.”

“What were you doing over there?”

Luke sounds calm, but you know him better than that.

The clouds are coming in—the storm is brewing.

You swallow, your throat dry. “Just talking.”

“To Ellie?” Pushing away from the counter, he slowly saunters over to you with a dangerous look in his eyes. “Or to Joel?”

“Luke, please. Let’s just talk about this calmly—”

“When I ask you a question, you fucking answer it,” Luke hisses as he grabs your arm, his fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh right above your elbow.

“Luke, stop. You’re hurting me,” you manage to tell him through gritted teeth. As you squirm, his grip only tightens. “Seriously, you’re hurting me. Please, let me go.”

The panic is beginning to creep in, your body ready to go into flight mode, but you will yourself to remain grounded, to stay as calm as possible—dealing with him and his temper is frightening, but becoming emotional and showing him that you’re afraid of him always makes things so much worse in the long run.

“What the hell is going on between you two?”

“What? Nothing! I hardly know him,” you try to tell him. You let out a small, painful yelp as he continues to dig his fingers deeper into your arm. “Luke, I need you to let me go. You’re really hurting me—”

Finally, you lose your nerve and look away from him, trying to avert his furious gaze.

Letting go of your arm, Luke reaches out and takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“Do you honestly think I’m fucking stupid? Or are you just that fucking stupid?” He spits out in a venomous tone that sends an unpleasant chill down the length of your spine. He squeezes your face, hard. “Do you really think that I didn’t notice how the two of you had come from behind the barn that night during the party? How you were out there alone together, with no one else around?” He lets out a loud, bitter laugh. “Do you really think that I didn’t notice how that man fucking looked at you even when you were at my side?”

Luke releases your face, shoving it away harshly.

Taking a moment to catch some wind, you look up at him and sputter out the most coherent explanation you can come up with “We don’t even know each other, Luke! I don’t know Joel—the only reason we talk to each other is because Ellie’s his daughter and she’s gotten really close to me since she started working down at the stables. He only talks to me when it has something to do with Ellie. His kid. That’s it.” You’re now lying straight through your teeth and all you can do is pray he won’t pick up on it. “Today was the first time I’ve talked to or even seen Joel in weeks. The night of the party, he’d told me that he wanted to teach Ellie how to play the guitar so I went over to give him dad’s old Gibson. You’ve been telling me to start getting rid of his stuff, so I started with his guitar. That’s all.”

It’s difficult to be certain whether or not he believes you.

“Ellie,” he repeats her name with a scoff. “What, you couldn’t bear any of your own so you just go around adopting feral little strays now? Is that it?”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “Screw you, Luke.”

He smirks. “Hit a nerve, sweetheart?”

You know better than to shoot back at him.

Still, you foolishly do it anyway.

“First of all, don’t talk about Ellie like that. In fact, I don’t ever want to hear you say her name again so keep it out of your mouth,” you warn him, your voice low, seething. “And second, don’t you pin our lack of a family all on me just to make yourself feel like a real fucking man.”

You see it coming before it even happens and brace yourself for the impact.

The sound of his hand connecting with the side of your face bounces loudly off the kitchen walls.

“Listen and listen good because I won’t repeat myself,” Luke snarls. He backs you against the kitchen table and grabs a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck, yanking your head back roughly as his face inches closer to yours. “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again. You are my wife—you honor and you obey me, especially in our own home. The next time you run your fucking mouth like that, you’re going to be picking pieces of your jaw up off the floor. Do you understand me?”

Chest heaving, you nod meekly.

He pulls your head back further—harder. “Say it.”

“I understand,” you squeak, momentarily feeling like he might actually snap your neck.

“Good.” Luke releases you and stalks out of the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I expect dinner to be on the table in an hour.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller story #fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n

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