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thirtysevenodddogs · 7 hours

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TEENAGE DREAM

Chapter 1 - Of Broken Hearts And Teenage Guts

Pairings: Main-Joel Miller x Ofc/Reader/You (reader has a name)

Secondary- Joel x Tess / Mentioned- Ellie x Riley, Tommy x Maria

Fic Warnings: 30/y Age Difference, Joel is 48, Reader is 18, Underage for Ch1 (Legal in the State of Texas), Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Anal Play, Use of Sex Toys, Outdoor Sex, Squirting, Sex Tapes, Infidelity, Rough Sex, Spitting, Face Slapping, DV, Unwanted Pregnancy, Spanking, Daddy Kink, Anal Sex, Rimming (Both M/F and F/M), Light-Skinned Ofc, Athletic/Curvy Ofc

Word Count: 3.3K

AU-No Cordyceps Outbreak/Sarah is alive

BFD!Joel Miller

Joel Miller is having an affair with his daughters’ best friend.

Cover image by @beskarandblasters

Banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics

It started in the way things like this start you suppose, almost by accident.

It started with a soft touch, firm hands, and a deep need for protection, care, and want.

It started on a rainy night when you got to their house looking to spend a weekend eating junk food and having two shoulders to cry on, a weekend of girl nights and rom-coms and trash-talking the boy who just dumped you.

It started when you forgot Sarah and Ellie were away with their mom, and Mr. Miller opened his door to you standing on his porch soaking wet and crying.

It started with Joel Miller letting you in and closing the door behind you.

You're staring at a white scuff mark on an otherwise perfectly pristine soft blue wall, your breathing harsh still, you can feel your chest expanding against the mattress with each panting exhale, and there's sweat running down your back that's starting to turn sticky thanks to the night breeze coming in from the half-open window.

"Fuuuuck!" You hear him groan and feel him start to move, you dare not even turn and look at him so you just stare at that scuff mark on the wall right next to his dresser, and try not to think about what you just did.

"This never happened", he says, and you feel the bed give way with the shift of his body as he gets up, you listen as he walks and the bedroom door opens and closes, and you still can't move.

You can still feel him all over you, his hands running over every inch of your body, his beard scratching at the skin of your belly, his lips against your neck after he flipped you over, that dull ache from where he entered you, and the telltale sign of what he left behind dripping down into a puddle that's becoming uncomfortable under your hips.

You close your eyes and can't decide if you should laugh or cry, it all happened so fast, and you still haven't processed that you are here, that he did do that to you, that you wanted it so badly, that you begged him for it.

It all happened so fast.

Joel frowns, looking down at his watch, still the same one Sarah had fixed for him so many years ago, it reads 10:51 pm, too late for anyone to come knocking at his door.

He puts down the tumbler of whiskey he had been indulging in after a hard day of work, "Fucking Tommy" he groans, ready with some choice words for his little brother who is probably already drunk and had forgotten again that he'd moved to his own apartment a month ago.

"I'm coming! Stop knocking you fucking idio... Oh!" He stops then, taking a moment to look at the girl standing on his porch, face red and blotchy and clothes heavy with rain water, shivering and looking like she'd just run there. "Jenna? It's 11 pm, sweetie, what are you doing here?" he asks, a little confused as to why his daughters' best friend is knocking on his door so late at night.

She sniffles and looks around, seeming confused herself "Mr. Miller... I..is.." She sobs a little, using the cuff of her hoodie to wipe at her face "Are Ellie and Sarah home?" she sniffles again, looking up at Joel with big sad eyes.

"Oh honey, no, they're at their mom's this weekend", Joel tells her, still lost on what to do. He can't see any cars he doesn't recognize parked down the street and the way she's breathing all labored, and shivering, it does seem like she genuinely actually RAN there.

Joel sighs and opens the door fully "Why don't you come in, we can call your parents" He steps back a little so she can walk inside, closing the door behind her after checking the street one more time.

You can hear the sound of running water down the hall. Mr. Miller, "Call me Joel", washing away what he clearly feels was a mistake off of his skin. You finally roll over, gathering the crumpled-up, thin green sheet to cover up your body as you sit up against his headboard.

You wince, the dull ache deep inside you turning into sharp pain for a second before dissipating back into that strange feeling of emptiness. And you feel a little dirty, a little weird too, almost like your skin fits too tight on your own body, like it's not yours.

Everything smells like him and you and sex and a little bit like dirt and wet grass. You lean over the edge of the bed looking around for your clothes and you groan when you remember they're not there. You close your eyes and curse at yourself, at your stupidity, your neediness, and how easy it all was.

How could you have done this to them? "This never happened, ok" You whisper his words back and nod as if saying it means that it's real and erased and you're clean again and Ellie and Sarah never, ever need to know.

You gather yourself up still wrapped in his green sheet and tail it out of the bedroom and down the hall, past the bathroom where you can still hear the water running, and down the stairs. Where you know your clothes are, somewhere in between the laundry room and... everywhere else.

"Come on, let's get you out of those wet clothes", Joel says, looking at the poor girl still shivering and trying to calm down her crying. He gestures towards the laundry room with his head "I've got some clean towels down here, you can take your hoodie off and I'll make you some tea while you call home ok?"

"I can't go home" She whines, following after him, still sniffling a little.

Joel stops and turns back to look at her, a worried frown etched on his face “What do you mean?” he asks, concerned.

Jenna bites her lip looking up at him, face flushed. And he has passing thought, that she’s so fucking pretty. He shakes it off as she speaks. "I lied to my parents” She pouts “They wanted me to go camping and I told them Ellie and Sarah had invited me to spend the weekend, I..." She blushes, looking down at the floor and pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie, wrapping her arms around herself "I was supposed to be with my boyfriend" She whimpers, her voice cracking again looking up at Joel with those big brown eyes, red-rimmed and filling up with tears threatening to spill again. "He broke up with me" She breaks down again, sobbing.

And Joel? He just reacts. He gathers her up in his arms and makes soft soothing sounds "Shhh, It’s ok" he says, holding her close to his body just as he would his own daughters. His cheek is pressed against the top of her head and he can feel her shallow breathing against his chest. His shirt getting just as soaked as her clothes are. "I'm so sorry Mr. Miller" she mumbles, warm breath against his neck. "It's ok sweet girl, it's gonna be ok" he keeps saying over and over again.

You start picking up your clothes, blushing, all the way from your panties halfway down the stairs, your bra and his boxers just a few steps away, to the living room where the rest of your clothes lie in a pile, along with his just on the edge of the couch that he had pushed you into.

You remember fisting the back of his shirt and the way his scent was almost overwhelming. His hands, big and firm and safe, and the way you dragged your nose over his throat pushing up on your tip toes and whispering against his cheek once again "I'm sorry Mr.Miller". It was mostly a blur after that.

You know it was you. Your lips against the corner of his mouth then full-on against his. You know it was you because he was the one who stopped, you know it was you who started it, yes. But it was him who didn't let you go.

You know it was you because you wanted it so badly, and he didn't let you just take it. He took too.

Joel is startled, pulling his face back, eyes wide.

"Hey..." he starts to say, only to be interrupted again by your lips crashing back against his, and your voice so soft and still shaky whispering "Please" another small kiss and your face so close and your body rising up against his "Please" another whisper and something just snaps in him, he kisses you back so hard he ends up pressing you against the wall.

Your lips are so soft and plump and YOUNG, you taste like candy and coconut lip balm and you’re so fucking eager. Your hands are running up the back of his head, his own almost reacting of their own accord going down to hold your waist and squeeze your hips, and palm your ass, so fucking perky and tight. He doesn’t know what to do, where to touch, what to grab. He wants all of it, all of YOU, at once.

"Fuck" he groans, breaking the kiss only to tilt his head down and latch on to your neck.

"Please Mr. Miller" You moan, your hands going to the front of his shirt almost ripping it open to push your fingers against his collarbone and behind his neck, pulling him down into a deep kiss again, sucking his lip into your mouth and biting down. Your teeth drag over his flesh.

He’s harder than he’s ever been.

"Jesus" Joel pants, he knows it's going to happen, he wants it to happen.

In less than two seconds he has your hoodie open and is pushing it down your arms onto the floor, a small puddle forming around the heavy fabric. The t-shirt you’re wearing underneath is equally soaked through and he can see the hint of a lacy pink bra and large, soft breasts. "Fuck!" he groans again taking your mouth in another deep kiss and pulling you along towards the couch. He pushes your hot little body up against the back of it, your legs kicking out as you try to kick off your shoes.

"Mr. Miller" You moan against his ear, and it feels like a fucking prayer. Blunt nails scratch at the exposed skin peeking out from his shirt at the top of his back and drag their way down to the hem, pulling at it again. "Please" you groan almost desperate. His own hands going under your t-shirt and pushing up, his thumbs dragging against your not-quite-flat stomach and sides as his palms glide up your soft, so fucking soft, back.

"Lift your arms up, baby girl" Joel whispers against your lips, pulling back a little to just look at you as he rips the shirt off completely, dropping it to the floor at his feet. "Shiiit" he whispers breathlessly, looking down at that pink lacy bra and those gorgeous fleshy breasts, cupping each one and moaning out loud at how well they fill up his hands, he squeezes and rubs the tiny peaks of your hardened nipples with his thumbs, pushing his forehead against yours "You're so fucking beautiful" he groans.

You moan in response, your eyes rolling back a little and your arms going back around his neck "Feels so good Mr.Miller" you groan, finally getting your shoes off and wrapping your legs around him, kissing any and every part of his skin that you can reach, still tugging and pulling at his shirt.

"Joel", he says, finally reaching down and almost ripping off a button in his haste to tear his shirt off "Call me Joel". His hands fall to grip your ass as he lifts you off the couch and walks just a few steps away, his mouth devouring yours again pushing you up against the wall.

"Joel" You pant in between kisses, your hands cupping the sides of his face pushing him to look at you. Your eyes blown wide, almost dazed.

"Fuck me, Joel" It’s the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever heard, such a pretty voice.

Such a sinful mouth.

Your jeans are still damp when you pick them up from where they lay crumpled up in the middle of the living room floor. You can still feel the burn of the small scratches on your back from where he held you against the wall not even an hour ago.

You hear the water shutting off and look down at yourself in your lacy pink underwear. And you can see your t-shirt just behind the couch and your hoodie peeking around the hallway. You could just get dressed and go, call some other friend, and tell them you need a place to crash for the night, you could just walk away.

But… you don't. You can't.

You don't want to feel this way. Like what you did was such a bad thing. You don't want to leave with the memory of a bedroom wall instead of his face, instead of his eyes. Because you didn't do anything wrong, you decide, not really. You gather up both his and your clothes, his dumb green sheet, and all the courage you can muster. You march back up the stairs.

You refuse to walk out of this house feeling ashamed.

The carpet is rough against his knees, and the steps aren't nearly wide enough to be comfortable but he doesn't care, your back is arched and your legs are spread wide over his shoulders. And you taste like he's a fucking teenager again, sweet and bitter and perfect.

The soft cotton of your panties is still clutched in one of his hands while the other keeps you open. His tongue lapping at that little nub right above your core and his nose is flush with a perfectly trimmed little line of pubic hair.

"Fuck, Joel" You’re mewling now, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair, your legs twitching and your belly tight "Oh my god!" You almost shout as he breaches you with a thick finger. He pushes in, firm and relentless all the way up to the last knuckle, his lips around that little nub now as you clamp down around him, so warm and tight.

"That's it, baby, so fucking sweet" He pulls out and pushes back in again, letting your underwear drop onto the step below your body, and bringing his other hand up to spread your beautiful pussy open, looking down at that tight little bright pink hole. So lovely, wet and shiny, and sooooo fucking young.

" Wanna eat you so bad baby, wanna stay here forever" he groans lowering his head and taking you back into his mouth, sucking harder now, finger pushing in and out getting you ready to take another one.

"Yes, fuck yeah, Jo... Joel" You moan spreading your legs as far as they'll go wedged in between the walls of his tiny stairwell. He's pushing two fingers in now, and you open up so well that he almost feels jealous to know that someone has already been there before. That your body’s already been taught this kind of touch.

The grip on his hair gets tighter still, almost painful and your heat grips his fingers like he hasn't felt a woman do in way too long. Your hips are twitching and he feels as you start to drip all over his hand, all over his beard.

"Come on baby, come for me"

"We had sex!" You say as you storm back into the room.

He's naked, a towel wrapped around his waist, his head down in resignation as he sits on the edge of his bed almost like he was waiting for you. "We had sex Joel" you repeat, standing there probably looking silly dressed in nothing your underwear with an armful of dirty clothes wrapped on a dirty sheet.

"It happened", You tell him. You say to him, and to the room that bore witness, the room where he took you and where he is now trying to take it back.

You feel a knot in your throat but you've already cried enough tonight for a stupid boy. You're not about to cry for a stupid man.

"Can you please look at me?" You beg almost, letting the sheet and your clothes drop down to the floor, stepping over them and up to him, between his legs. You cradle his face in your hands, but he’s still not looking at you.

"I didn't do anything wrong" Your voice breaks and his head snaps up, a look of so much regret on his face.

"I did!" He says looking up at you, his hands clutching the mattress like he's forcing himself not to move them, not to touch you. "I'm the one who did something wrong" he almost sounds like he's in pain and you're still holding his face and all you want to do is make him see that it's ok, that you wanted him to do it. That you still want him to.

"You didn't!" you drop to your knees almost eager, and you pull his face down towards yours and kiss him. Just a peck, close-mouthed and earnest "You didn't do anything I didn't want you to do..." you bite your lip and you try and say it with courage, that little word that he kept calling you that made you feel so good "Baby"

He snorts and you almost balk at how stupid it sounds coming out of your mouth but, instead, you laugh and he laughs and it's not awkward or dirty or sad anymore. It just is, and now you both have to deal with it.

You smile at him once you've both stopped laughing and kiss him again. He kisses you back just as softly and you decide to let you both off the hook. You're not naive, and you know he's not something you actually get to have.

"Thank you, Mr.Miller”.

You say it softly, and he almost looks surprised. You let go of him then and stand up taking a couple of steps back. "Is it ok if I crash here? I promise I'll figure something out in the morning", you tell him.

He nods "Yeah", he says “ Yeah, of course”, and stands up. He walks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of grey sweatpants and a clean t-shirt from a drawer "You can sleep in Sarah's room". He hands you the clean clothes, and just like that, it’s over. You nod at him and walk out.

And you know he understands.

You don't have to feel dirty and he doesn't have to feel guilty, it happened. No one else needs to know, but it happened.

The bed groans under your combined weight, the headboard slamming ever so slightly against the wall with each push of his hips against yours, you're on your knees, your hands against the wall and your ass bouncing with every thrust.

Your heat around his cock feels like heaven, a teenage wet dream come alive. His name on your lips sounds like nothing he's ever heard before, and when he spills inside of you it’s like he's born again. Nothing matters then.

He knows what he's doing isn't right, you're 17, and the only reason he knows you is because his daughters are your best friends. You go to high school together for Christ's sake!

He has a fucking girlfriend that's going to wonder where the scratches on his back came from. She'll ask about the bruises on his knees and the purple marks around his neck. He doesn't care.

There's sweat dripping down the curve of your back and you're clenching around him, soaked in your pleasure along with him, and he knows it's wrong.

But God does it feel so fucking right.

It's the peak before the crash, and he knows the crash is coming fast. So he holds you tight, gives you everything he’s got.

#Mia's fic #Teenage Dream #The Las Of Us #The Last of Us Fanfiction #Joel Miller #Joel Miller Fic #Joel Miller Smut #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel Miller x You #Joel Miller x Ofc #Best Friend's Dad #18+

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thirtysevenodddogs · 1 day

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Holy shit. The Israeli whistleblower story CNN just broke is insane. I cannot believe what I’m reading

#free palestine

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thirtysevenodddogs · 1 day

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So good! Looooove.

Always on the Tip of My Tongue | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

Part 6 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you see joel flirting with another girl, you start to lose your head. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, phone sex, smoking, alcohol consumption, light ~sexual touching~ with an OMC (some of which could be considered dubcon but is ultimately consented to), some angst besties :), jealousy, pettiness, Feelings, all that fun stuff!!! word count: ~7.6K | ao3 a/n: life has been kicking my fucking ass, and so has this chapter. for like 5 months. but I’m so glad to finally have it out. title is from Hate to Be Lame by Lizzy McAlpine. listen if you want to cry over these two. enjoy friends :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

Blonde. Skinny. Around 5’3”. Flouncy little dress that’s too skimpy for the 40-degree weather outside. A six-pack on the counter and a pointed chin nestled in her palm propped by her elbow.

The last time you’d seen this charade, it had been you.

You flex your hand on the door handle, peering through the glass. Joel’s forearms are resting on his thighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head at her.

Something claws at your stomach, propelling you forward. The door chimes. Joel doesn’t look.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. No ID, no booze. Just how it goes.”

Darlin’.

You slip between aisles, keeping a watchful eye on the counter – on Joel’s expression – as you pretend to scan the chips.

“I promise I’m twenty-one! Don’t I look twenty-one?” You can hear the pout bending her lips, the shrill lilt to her voice, the vocal fry that grates across her words. She bends steeper over the counter, the hem of her dress kissing the bottom curve of her ass.

Joel’s thumb swipes at his lower lip as you see his eyes light up in what seems to be a subconscious response to what is surely a devastating view in front of him. “Don’t matter what you look like, sweetheart. No ID, no booze.”

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” The enticing drag to her voice sets off a flurry of something in your stomach again.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. It has to be something else.

Your hand closes around a bag of chips absentmindedly as Joel dips further forward onto his forearms.

“You think you got what it takes to convince me, darlin’?” Joel smirks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Cause I—”

The bag slips from your hand and plops to the floor with a squeaky, crumpling sound against the linoleum, and Joel’s head jerks up.

When his eyes meet yours they go wide, a fly nearly caught in a web. He straightens up, stiffens like a board, and makes a show of clearing his throat as he glances back at the girl at the counter. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave and come back with ID. I can’t help you. That’s final.”

You see his fingers fidgeting against his jeans as he sets his jaw and avoids your gaze.

“Fucking seriously? Fuck you, old man,” the girl bites back, shoving the Coors Light across the counter so hard Joel has to shoot his arms out to catch it before it smashes to the floor. She’s out the door seconds later, leaving you standing in the aisle and Joel staring down at the case clutched to his pudgy stomach.

For a long moment the only sound is the buzzing of the lights on the ceiling. Then your footfalls clatter against the linoleum as you make your way to the counter. You slap your retrieved bag of chips in front of Joel and begin rifling for your wallet.

“Darlin’…” Joel starts, falling flat in the air between you. The absence of the telltale beep from Joel’s barcode scanner has you looking up.

Darlin’.

“Just the chips,” you state, brandishing your debit card between your fingers.

You spot something in his eyes. Hesitance. Anxiousness. You don’t dwell on it.

“Please,” you punctuate, signaling your disinterest in whatever the fuck is happening between the two of you right now.

“Darlin’, I didn’t know you—”

“Joel?” You interrupt firmly, and he almost flinches. “It’s fine. Just the chips, please.”

He eyes you warily as he takes up the bag, scanning it, and watching you slide your card into the reader. You stare down at the tiny screen taking an abnormally, cruelly, long time to process.

The lights buzz.

“Pretty young thing,” you mutter before you can stuff the words back into your mouth.

“Don’t be mad, sweetheart.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise, it wasn’t nothin’.”

“Wasn’t my business if it was.”

“You seem a little mad.”

You exhale heavily out your nose, fixated on the tiny spinning wheel on the screen that you’re begging to finally chime and tell you to remove your card.

“I’m peckish.”

“Hell does that mean? You wanna peck at me?” Joel asks, his stool creaking under him as he leans back.

You look up at him from through your lashes for a moment. “Means I’m hungry.”

“Oh.”

You arch your eyebrows once in acknowledgment, and the blessed machine finally beeps at you. You snatch your card back and shove it in your wallet.

“Thanks,” you throw at him as you gather your spoils and head toward the door.

“Sugar—”

“Later,” you call casually in dismissal over your shoulder and let the door snick shut behind you.

You slam your car door shut and collapse against the back of your seat, chips tossed to the passenger side.

It doesn’t matter. He can flirt with whoever he wants. He can proposition whoever he wants. The two of you are nothing. This is nothing.

You wrap your arms around the steering wheel and bang your forehead against it with a thud, groaning.

The hell is this shit? Whatever you’re feeling. This churning sensation that’s tightening your insides. Because it cannot be what logic is telling you it is. Because that would be fucking stupid. You are fuck buddies. Nothing more than that.

You fumble around inside the median compartment for a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, roll down the window to a burst of frigid air, and light up. The first puff only minimally tamps your nerves, so you keep inhaling. You pull out your phone, idly scrolling, cascading smoke out the open window from the side of your mouth as you tap ash onto the asphalt.

The sound of scraping footsteps on the pavement next to your car has your attention swiveling to the left, where Joel is traipsing closer and closer.

That feeling starts up again.

With no pretense, he plucks the smoldering cigarette dangling from your fingers and leans his arm against the frame of your car, taking a lengthy drag.

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, a hint of annoyance infiltrating your words.

“I’ll let you finish,” he mumbles around the filter, only removing it to billow smoke from his lips. “Always let you finish, don’t I?”

“Whatever,” you mutter, reaching out to retrieve your stolen cigarette and attempt to resume your stress relief. Unfortunately, the “stress” in question is tapping his fingers against the hood of your car.

The silence stretches on as the white fizzles down to dull copper and Joel’s eyes monitor the front of the store. The taptaptap-ing of Joel’s fingertips grinds at your nerves.

“Didn’t mean to upset you, sugarplum.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Seem upset.”

“I already fucking told you, dickwad. I’m not fucking upset,” you snap, chucking your spent smoke on the ground at Joel’s feet. “You can fuck who you want. No skin off my nose.”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh and snuffs the ashen cherry out under his shoe. “Just didn’t mean to…rub shit in your face like that. ‘S’all.”

“There’s nothing to…rub,” you insist, dropping your head back against the seat. “You’re fucking other girls. I’m fucking other guys. This is a non-issue.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Joel presses his back flat against the car, folding his arms across his chest with a wide stance. “Ok. Good.”

You stare out the windshield, the salty streaks of ice melt marring the surface of the parking lot.

“I’m… I’m bein’ safe. Just so you know. With anyone else.”

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, but when they do, you do a mental double-take. “Wait, like… protection? Like condoms?”

His head nods steadily, eyes staring off in the distance.

“You hate condoms.”

Joel nods again, turning his head to the side to peer at the back of the lot. And your ears are playing tricks, the wind is blowing too loud, the cars on the surrounding streets too noisy. Because you swear to god you hear him say something that sounds eerily similar to, “But I like you.”

But you’re sure he didn’t, because when he turns back he just says, “Just tryna be more careful. Don’t need any little critters crawlin’ around the family jewels, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, that’s smart. I, uh, I am too. Having them wear protection. Just so we’re clear.”

Joel nods resolutely once more. “Okay then.” He springs himself off the car and starts slowly walking backward toward the entrance. “You wanna…pop back in for a bit?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever turned him down before. He’s always got that naughty glint in his eye, that charming smile, that bulge in his pants. But this time…you do. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe more to yourself than to him. “Another time.”

Joel nods deeply and twists about-face on the heel of his boot, his hands tucked in his pockets.

The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you roll up your window.

It starts to fester. The absolute last thing you want it to do. A constant frustration clouds the back of your mind, slowly creeping forward.

It takes significantly more effort to focus on work, to go out with friends, to run errands. You see the inside of more than a couple men’s bedrooms, hoping the right fuck will clear the fog.

There is one guy. A friend of a friend of Mandy’s who tagged along to a bar one weekend and finessed his way inside you by the night’s end. Nate. He’s a douchebag, but he’s hot and his dick isn’t entirely forgettable.

It’s not his. It could never compare to his. But it’s something. So you’ve allowed Nate to become something of a repeat offender. An expendable piece of arm candy for when you’re with your friends. He fucks rough and dirty, he calls you a good girl.

He fills gaps. The gaps that have been left by him molding your body to his cock. The gaps that persist from you decidedly avoiding falling into bed with that disgustingly foul, devastatingly well-endowed man again for the umpteenth time.

Seeing him flirting with someone else that night set off an alarm in your head. Something that now persistently buzzes under your skin. You feel it sting when you think about him directly. Like your body is punishing you.

It’s been about a month since you’ve seen him. The cold winter has given way to a slightly warmer spring. He texts you sporadically.

February 19

Joel: really didnt mean 2 upset u sugerplum

Joel: really srry

February 26

Joel: is it one of them wierd jumpy years???

Joel: LEAP YEAR

Joel: how do they exspect us to know wen those r???

Joel: checked the calender in the office. is feb 28 the leap day?

Joel: miss u

March 14

Joel: whether is real nice 2day. bet ur wearin one of ur skanky sundresses huh?

Joel: woudnt say no 2 a sneek peek 😉

Joel: no presshure tho

March 17

Joel: cant stop dreamin bout that tite fuckin slit

Joel: wanna b inside it again soon

Joel: ill make it sooooooo good 4 u

Those last ones come in quick succession late on a Friday night while you’re hanging at Mandy’s place with a smattering of friends, your leg draped over Nate’s as his hand slides up your inner thigh — as high as he’s willing to go in the present company. He’s not quite as bold as…some people. But you like that he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.

Nate’s preoccupied even as he strokes your sensitive skin, locked in a spirited debate with another guy about some inane bullshit.

Despite the typos, Joel’s words have your core pulsing. Flashes of his massive cock splitting open your pussy flutter across the backs of your eyelids as you attempt to soothe yourself and the stupid, horny bitch between your legs. Your eyes snap open in response to the unwelcome images and you take a steadying breath, adjusting your seat and covertly palming your clit as you tug down on the hem of your denim shorts. That gets Nate’s attention, and he squeezes your thigh, giving you an appraising look.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “You think Mandy would disown you if we fucked in her bed?”

“Yeah, she would,” you mutter back. “Let’s get out of here?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckles, giving your leg a final squeeze before stretching his arms above his head with a fabricated yawn. “Getting a bit tired. We’re gonna dip,” he tosses to the group, knocking his knuckle against your knee to indicate the we.

“Ok, I’ll see you later, babe,” Mandy throws to you from the couch opposite, giving you air kisses. You reciprocate the gesture and let Nate lead you out, his hand solid at the small of your back.

As soon as you arrive at the car, your back is pressed against the chill of the passenger side door and Nate’s mouth is on you. His hand wedges between your legs, rubbing up against your pussy through your shorts. You whimper quietly, but cup his jaw, pushing his mouth back from yours.

“Not here, dumbass. You’re gonna jizz in your pants again.”

“I only did that once,” he grumbles, huffing as he shoves off from the car and rounds to the driver’s side. You’re on the road soon after, his hand tickling at your inner thigh again over the center divider.

It’s not the hand you want. It’s the hand you should want. The one you want to want right now. You hate that it’s not. All because you bent over for that stupid fucking cashier one time, and now you’re here. A perfectly handsome man’s hand is making its way up toward your aching clit, hindered only by distressed denim, and you don’t give a shit about it. Because it’s not the hand you want. It’s not the cock you want. Not the filthy mouth you want.

Didn’t mean to make you upset, Sugarplum.

Fuck him. For so many things. The life-altering, reality-shattering dick. The soft, torturous glances when he thinks you’re not looking. The sly, knowing glint in his eyes when he thinks he catches something in yours. The stupid turns of phrase.

The shameless flirt in him, aimed not only toward you, but toward any pretty girl he sees.

Fuck. Him.

Ok, so maybe you’re a tiny bit upset. You’re dealing with it. And you’ll continue to deal with it. In whatever way you see fit.

“Can we make a pit stop? I’m dying for a soda,” you say, rolling your head against the leather of the seat to face him.

“You wanna stop for a soda?” He replies, a whine apparent in his voice. “I’m trying to get you naked as fuck as soon as possible. Don’t cockblock me.”

You roll your eyes. “But the more hydrated I am, the more hydrated she is,” you inform, tapping two fingers against your crotch. “Don’t you want her juicy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Quick stop.”

“Perfect. Take a right up here.”

–

You spy a sliver of his truck around the side of the building, so you know he’s here. You hop out of Nate’s car, and you have a few seconds to peer inside before Nate’s hand is at your back again.

Joel is right where you’ve always left him.

You can see the jiggle of his knee peeking over the countertop from his boot bouncing on the crossbar of his stool. His phone is discarded by the cash register, but he’s got a clipboard and pen in his hands this time. You see the flick of his wrist as he checks something off on it.

For a fleeting moment, you second-guess yourself.

But then Nate is at your back, hauling the door open for the two of you.

Joel perks up as the bell chimes, but you’re too attuned to the features of his face to overlook the slight drop in expression when he sees you. Sees Nate with you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. But he did it to you, right? Let him see how it feels.

“Evenin’, folks,” Joel gives a courteous nod, eyes snagging on you and taking hold.

“‘Sup,” Nate replies in passing, guiding the two of you back toward the soda fountain.

You want to turn and look back at him as he clears your view. You want to see the expression on his face now that you’re not observing him. Because you can feel him observing you. Like his eyes are piercing through the cotton of your shirt, through your skin, right to your heart that feels like it’s beating far too fast for a casual drink stop.

But you don’t. You grab your cup and start filling it with ice. You dispense your soda. And when it’s almost full, you feel the slide of Nate’s hand down your ass. He gives you a light squeeze, and it makes your face start to heat. Normally you wouldn’t give a shit. You’re not opposed to PDA. But he is watching. You know he is.

You’re securing a lid onto your cup when Nate’s hand slips lower, down the center of your ass, until you feel his fingers start to stroke over your pussy again from the back.

Before you can say anything you hear a sharp interjection from behind you.

“Hey.”

You both turn back as Nate snatches his hand from between your legs. Joel’s attention is trained on the two of you, a look of bored annoyance on his face.

Not exactly what you had expected.

Joel leans forward onto the counter and reprimands in a jaded tone, “This ain’t Friskies Night at The Calico Kitten. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Huh?” Nate responds, a bit dumbfounded, turning fully around to face him. You follow suit hesitantly biting your lip as the guilt of this entire situation starts to set in. You wanted him to feel guilty. To feel sorry for making you feel bad. You’re not so sure you want that anymore.

“You heard me. ‘S a public fuckin’ place. And private fuckin’ property. Keep your hands off her.”

Nate takes a step forward. “You’re really telling me how I’m allowed to touch my girl?”

“Nate…” you warn softly, putting a hand on his arm.

“Why the hell are you even looking at my girl to see how I’m touching her, huh?” Nate continues, slipping his hand around your waist possessively.

Joel’s eyes flit over yours, and you’re not even sure how to react. You feel foolishly caught in the middle of a situation that you crafted. You don’t offer anything but a subtle shake of your head to Joel.

I’m not his girl. I’ve never been his girl. Please don’t make me say it.

“Part of my job’s to make sure beautiful women like her are safe,” Joel asserts, pointing a finger at you. “You feel safe, darlin’?”

Darlin’.

You swallow slightly and nod, your voice caught in your throat for some odd reason.

“You want him touchin’ you like that?”

“She’s totally fucking chill with it, dude,” Nate butts in, but Joel throws up a hand in a stopping motion.

“Don’t remember askin’ you a goddamn thing, son.”

You clear your throat and, with shaky conviction, announce, “Yes. I’m fine with him touching me like that.”

“Hear that, old man? Told you she’s chill with it,” Nate brags, giving you a swat on the ass that makes you jump. You restore your resolve quickly, sizing Joel up with your eyes and your renewed confidence. He doesn’t reveal anything to you that he hasn’t already let slip, and it almost disappoints you. His own gaze seems to be scrutinizing you in return, like he’s daring you to make a move.

“Come on,” Nate mumbles, grabbing your drink from the counter behind you and starting toward the cash register.

You see Joel shrug and chuck his pen onto the counter like a dart, skidding across the surface. As the two of you approach, he unmistakably says, “Far too pretty for a little boy like that, sweetheart.”

“Please,” Nate scoffs, plopping your drink in front of Joel absentmindedly as he tilts his head toward you with a smirk. “Says the dinosaur over here, running his mouth and playing the white knight like he’s got a shot in hell of scoring a sexy piece of ass like you.”

Joel snorts at that, eyes fixed on the barcode he’s scanning on the side of your cup. “Son, you are stumblin’ into a dick-measurin’ contest that you are embarrassingly unequipped for.” Joel glances directly at you with a smug look cemented on his face. “Ain’t he?”

Nate takes in your vague expression, then narrows his eyes slightly at Joel. “Why are you asking her like she’d know?”

Joel gives a little upside-down grin and a shrug, focusing his attention on his monitor. “I’ve found that girls have a pretty good sense for that kinda thing. Don’t they sugar…” he starts, meeting your eyes from beneath his eyelashes, “tits,” he concludes smoothly.

You see the glow in his eyes. The knowledge of what he wants to call you, but knows better than to divulge in front of an outsider.

Your heart throbs in your chest.

Even now, when you’re very blatantly trying to make him feel insecure, that unique Joel self-assurity shines through. Not only that, but the respect for you and the privacy of your little trysts stands unwavering between the pair of you. He could blow up your spot. He could tell Nate how unabashedly you scream on his cock, how your eyes roll back in your head every time he sinks inside you. How he’s trained you to call him “daddy” and trained your cunt to slide down onto his generous length with humiliating ease and reasonable grace.

But he doesn’t.

And that alone would win him any dick-swinging contest, if his staggeringly large cock hasn’t already.

“Fuck it, it’s on the house,” Joel says, waving his hand at the soda and jabbing his finger onto the touch screen on his monitor. He plucks a straw out for you from the cup stocked with them by the register.

“Wait, what? Why?” Nate challenges, skeptical.

Nate secures his hand around your waist again, but Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give it any attention at all. Just scoots your drink closer to you and says with a wink, “Don’t say I never did nothin’ nice for ya.”

You wrap your hand around the base of the cup, and when your fingers don’t meet each other around the circumference of it, your mind is flooded with images. When you glance up at Joel, it’s apparent that he’s already plagued with the same vulgar recollections.

Joel clicks his tongue against his top row of teeth and winks at you again in sendoff. He doesn’t say it, but the message is clear.

We both know what’s going on here, sugarplum.

–

Nate doesn’t get any. He doesn’t even make it out of the car at your place before you shut it down. And he is comically distressed about it. He calls you a bitch and a tease before peeling out of your apartment complex with screeching tires.

It sits heavy in your stomach how mortifying it would be for Joel to have seen that kind of behavior. But honestly, Joel probably pegged that attitude in him within seconds. He’s smart that way. Intuitive. God, it enrages you.

You saw the shift in him when he realized you were parading around with a sorry excuse for a man. Suddenly the threat he’d initially perceived was neutralized and it became more of a game to him than anything else. He was toying with Nate. While you stood there, battling with yourself over what you were doing.

Your phone vibrates when you step inside your apartment.

Joel: dont gotta b doin shit like that to get my attenchin sweetcheeks. u alreddy got it.

Something about the cocksureness in his demeanor earlier and the matter-of-factness in his text has frustration flaring up inside your chest.

You: Sure didn’t have it the other night. Some random blonde bimbo walks into the store and your cock is practically out.

You fling your phone onto the couch and head to the kitchen, pulling out a hard seltzer and cracking it open to down a generous gulp. Your nails clack against the counter as you see your phone screen alight over the back of the couch.

You don't particularly want to see what he has to say to your text. You had just wanted to say it. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. But you wanted to. You needed to. That’s the downside of texting shit like that, you suppose. The other party is probably going to respond.

Bitch, this is what diaries are for. Get a fucking diary.

Too late now.

You drag your feet over to the couch and drop heavily onto it, staring at the text notifications from Joel on your lock screen. Five of them. You take another healthy swig of your drink and take the plunge, unlocking your phone and swiping to your text thread with Joel. But you are not prepared for the deluge he smacks you with.

Joel: u excpect me to b a monk when ur not gracin me with ur presents princess?

Joel: shure askin an awfull lot of a guy who dicks u down like hes paid 4 it

Joel: ya its been a while but i kno 4 a fact taht lil creamie gusher btwn ur legs remembrs how ur daddys cock feels squirtin his lode deep inside it

Joel: u bein petty aint as cute as u tihnk it is little girl. ur fuckin with a grown man. not some pussy boy like that chode u was flawntin around me with

Joel: if ur planin on keepin this up u better at leest try a little harder

Fuck.

You’ve never heard him talk like this. Like he's pissed off. He’d seemed so calm and collected at the store. Like he couldn’t give two shits about who you were hanging around or who was touching you. Your eyes start to burn with tears as you read the texts over.

You responded to his sexts by dragging your fuck buddy into his place of work. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react to that? Of course he’s pissed off at you. Why didn’t you take two seconds to think through your shit before reacting?

Bitch. Get. A fucking. Diary.

The fist around your gut clenches when more text bubbles pop up.

Joel: fuck. im sorry sugerplum. idk y i just threw all that at u. that wasnt polite.

Joel: just a dumb ol basterd shovin my whole goddamn foot in my mouth

Apparently you both need diaries.

Your heart hurts reading his texts. You’re enraged at yourself for driving him to this, running him through the whole gamut of emotions that a person experiences when they see someone they have feelings for giving attention to someone else.

Someone you have feelings for.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The fist around your gut is now joined by its twin around your heart.

You have feelings for Joel.

Deep down, you’ve known this for a while. It’s been brewing, whirring around your brain. You’ve shut it down every time it’s cropped up, wrapped your hands around its throat and squeezed until you’d sufficiently silenced it for the time being. Beat it into submission, starved it of oxygen, stuffed it into a box and set it ablaze.

Then you’d see him again and it would burst out of its charred prison, bigger, bolder, better than before. An exhausting cycle that you were only vaguely aware was occurring.

But that’s it. You have feelings for Joel.

So, you respond to him in the best way you know how, the way that you think would make him smile to himself the most.

You: Doesn’t even come close to what I can shove in my mouth

You bite the side of your thumb, a grin pulling at your lips as a weight seems to lift from your chest, as the fists begin to loosen. Your stomach flutters when the next message flies in.

Joel: cheeky girl

Joel: wheres ur boyfriend

Your smile broadens and you take another sip of your drink.

You: Got lost in the cavern you’ve made of my pussy. Might never see him again.

Joel: atta girl

You slap a hand over the cheek-bursting grin expanding across your face and toss your phone into your lap. But after a moment, when it dawns on you that you have no one to hide it from — not even yourself — you let your hand fall from your face and into your lap, your head leaning back against the couch as you beam up at the ceiling.

Another buzz.

Joel: hows about u make it up 2 me by showin daddy his cavern 😏

You giggle to yourself, hand already working on the button of your shorts.

You: Been a minute since the last excavation, might have caved in a little

Joel: daddy can fix that in a jiff. hes always got his tools with him

Joel: gonna jackhammer that little bitch rite open again while u scream on it. mine ur cave with my shaft til daddy finds gold

You whimper as you shove your shorts and panties off your legs, your mind rifling through all the sensory memories you have of Joel’s cock plowing through you in that relentless rhythm he’s perfected with you.

You spread yourself wide for your camera, your heels mounted on the couch cushion to maximize exposure, and even you are taken off guard from the wetness seeping from your opening just from his trademark filth. It’s like your pussy is hardwired to drench itself the second he speaks in that particular brand of dirty talk only he can pull off.

Your hands are shaking with eagerness and arousal as you send off a photo, your fingers descending onto your clit hastily as you await his response.

You feel so keyed up you accidentally drop your phone when it starts to buzz aggressively in your hand, Joel’s name and photo popping up on your screen with an unexpected call.

You recover and accept the call, fumbling to hit the speaker button to hear his voice.

“Shit, never locked that goddamn door so fuckin’ fast. Jesus Christ, baby. All spread and smilin’ at me like that.”

“Just from thinking about you, daddy,” you sigh, lying fully onto the couch and hooking your leg over the back of it to make room for your brazen depravity.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’ girl,” Joel groans, and he already sounds wrecked over the phone as you hear the muffled scrapes and scuffles of him releasing his length from his jeans. “Gash is dripping like a leaky faucet. Who’s it for, baby? Tell daddy who’s it for.”

“You,” you whine desperately, bucking into your hand at the grit and authority in his tone.

You hear a light tutting over the line. “You know better’n that. Tell me.”

You give a breathy whimper as you abandon all dignity for him once again. “It’s for Daddy Joel.”

A reedy groan travels through the speaker, followed by the easily identifiable sound of him spitting shamelessly into his palm. “Fuck yeah it is. That’s a good little slut.”

You can feel wetness dripping between your asscheeks as you rub at your clit to the reedy groans Joel gifts you with as the sound of slapping skin exposes his hand jerking his cock.

“Are you stroking yourself for me, daddy?”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I am, baby. Right on our dirty little couch in the back. Can’t wait to bust you open on this bad boy again.”

You give a breathy laugh and say, “Is ‘bad boy’ referring to the couch or your cock?”

Joel lets out a low chuckle in return. “How’s about both? Wanna sit on this couch while you sit on me. Feel you bounce on it like the naughty fuckin’ bitch you are.”

You moan in response, your brain supplying you with memories of how it feels to drop down on his thick length until he bottoms out inside you. A wave of pleasure pulses through your body at the flashbacks, and you’re hit with how much you miss this man and his dick. How you crave the way he infiltrates your mind and your body in the most sinfully grotesque ways. You wish you had more visuals on your phone of what it looks like when he gapes open your cunt on his cock. That’s the first thing you want to do, you think, when you get your hands on him again. Make him film your defiling, showcase the stretch of your hole around his thickness as he retrains your body to take him after so long without him.

Your toy collection cannot do him justice. Maybe you bought a dildo that rivals his size, but it could never replicate the warmth of him inside you. The absolute control he has over you in those intimate moments when he lays claim to you. You can suction a silicone cock to a mirror and fuck your demons away as often as you’d like, but you can’t cup your own jaw with a heated, rough-hewn hand. You can’t fill your own ears with vile odes to the ways your bodies meld together, enrobed in that gritty southern drawl. Your imagination is only so colorful, and even if you had a thousand years, you could never amass the range of shades you would require to successfully capture his essence.

No, you could never paint him, even in your mind. You’re content to instead be a canvas for him. And as nit-picky as you are over your own appearance, whenever he gets done with you, a part of you feels like you could put an O’Keefe to shame. And he would undoubtedly agree.

But for the moment, you offer what little you can as your thoughts scramble by your own hand. “Yes, daddy. Wanna feel you fucking everywhere.”

“You stuffin’ that cunt full for me, sugarplum?”

You whine and tease two fingers down to your opening. “Not yet. Nothing compares to you.”

“Little boyfriend don’t stretch you out, huh?” Joel taunts, laughter in his voice as he baits you.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. And no,” you admit, not terribly concerned with how easily you crumble over this man. You could argue back, stoke the jealousy, make Joel wonder exactly how he measures up next to Nate. But you’re done playing that card. Really the whole hand is blown at this point. He sees through you so effortlessly, you may as well have never had a poker face at all.

“Mmm, yeah, daddy knows how good he gives it. I told ya before. They all come crawling back to daddy Joel. You crawlin’, baby? You on them hands and knees for me?”

Your tail firmly between your legs like the bitch you were tonight, you whimper and say, “Yes, daddy. I’m crawling.”

“Lemme see.”

A whine escapes you, but you open your camera and maneuver yourself onto your hands and knees on the cushions, balancing your phone against the armrest to capture your compliance. The timer ticks down quickly and your wanton gaze stares back at you in a still image, your tits falling with gravity between your arms, your nipples peaked, your lips glistening from biting them subconsciously through your lascivious acts on this sofa tonight.

The picture whooshes off to Joel, and a gravely moan announces its reception. “Fuck me, little devil. Need you to drop those girls in daddy’s mouth so I can suck ‘em ‘til they’re raw.”

“Should punish them for getting us into this mess in the first place, shouldn’t we?” You purr, situating yourself on your back again to continue why you started.

“Damn well should,” Joel agrees, a grunt sliding into his words as he pulls at himself. “‘F’it weren’t for those knockers, you’d be down a twelver, some smokes, and a shit ton of good daddy pipe.”

“Especially the pipe,” you sigh, your fingers working ravenously at your clit. “God I love that big fucking cock, daddy. I’m gonna come thinking about it.”

“And I’m gonna blow my load all over my fist thinkin’ about your tight little gold mine. Shit,” Joel grunts out, the smacking sounds on the other end getting louder and faster.

“Oh, fuck, daddy,” you cry out as you feel that telltale warmth start to trickle through your limbs and the pulse of your pussy under your fingers.

“Yeah, fuck, come for daddy,” Joel growls out, followed by a series of curses and deep moans through the speaker as you assume he’s experiencing similar results.

As your adrenaline fades, you sink into the couch, and the weight of all your actions today start to sink with you.

“Shit, babygirl,” Joel exhales heavily as his own high dwindles. “Missed those sexy noises of yours.”

“Me too,” you admit, swallowing as you catch your breath. “Missed yours too.”

You hear a light laugh over the phone. Then silence starts to settle between the two of you. Time drips and each second feels like a drop into the pool sitting in your stomach, rippling and sloshing as you fight against being the one to spear through the quiet.

“Broken record here, but I’m sorry if I upset you flirtin’ with that girl, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were there. If I’d’ve known, I’d never…”

Something in your stomach goes tight again, and a burning starts behind your eyes. You hate that he keeps bringing this up. It had felt embarrassing enough in the moment. Mortifying enough to shut him out, to try and sort out the bullshit in your head about him. You’d made the mistake of trying to shove it back in his face, and it only made you feel worse. Every ounce of you just wants to move the fuck on from that night, from this evening, from this weird fucking limbo the two of you are stuck inside.

The words might have a little more bite to them than you mean for them to, but before you can pull them back you say, “Stop saying you made me upset. You have no idea how I feel.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, and it feels like your heart is palpitating to the passing seconds. When he speaks, his voice is bordering on defeated. “Startin’ to think you might be right about that. G’night, beautiful girl.”

A lump forms in your throat almost instantly.

“Joel,” you try to reassure, to prevent tonight’s exchange from ending on a sour note, but you watch the call end on your screen as you say it. That tightness in your stomach squeezes, the wetness brimming your eyes reluctantly spilling over.

You roll onto your side, drawing your legs up closer to your chest as you let your emotions overcome you for the first time in a long while. You beg the universe for him to call back so you can tell him what you discovered about yourself tonight. You can’t bring yourself to do it. You need him to do it.

He probably thinks I hate him.

I could never hate him.

You give yourself over to the sorrow and allow yourself to feel.

—

The skin around your eyes feels crusty and tight with dried tears when you blink awake. The apartment is still mostly dark, and you’re still half-naked on your couch.

As your memory from tonight pieces back together in the fog from your sleep, you pat around for your phone. 5:02 AM. No missed calls or texts.

You sigh, tossing the phone onto your coffee table and curling in on yourself again. The sleep has you thinking clearer.

You need to tell him. You can’t keep it inside when it feels like it’s boring through your chest. Especially when he’s sitting in that dingy store, likely thinking you can’t stand him. The hurt in his voice when he hung up a few hours ago is haunting. You never want to hear him sound like that again.

You wrangle your shorts back on, spruce up quickly in the mirror, and grab your keys.

You’re at the gas station in minutes, pulling up to the front. You allow yourself a single deep breath, not enough to second guess, and head to the front door.

The bell chimes tinnily, but the store is quiet. And Joel isn’t sitting on his stool. You don’t let it sway you.

You pass the first aisle. Nothing.

You pass the second aisle. Nothing.

Then you approach the third aisle, and you swear your heart skips. Joel is at work on the floor, kneeling on a foam pad and restocking the shelves.

“Be right with ya,” Joel says dismissively, reaching into the box behind him.

“What if I was upset,” you blurt out before he even has time to look at you.

Joel freezes for a moment as the sound of your voice flows from his ears to his brain. He twists back around as his gaze gravitates to yours, eyes widening in surprise as he pulls his hands from the box. His eyes roam over your body, toes to tits, then finally to your face. “Well, hello there, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you rush through the word, fold your arms across your chest just for somewhere to put them. “What if I was upset.”

Joel studies you for a long moment, his eyes squinting slightly in scrutiny. He falls back onto his ass, wincing gently as the pressure is taken off his knees, and drapes his arms over the clearly aching joints.

“What if you were upset, you’re asking?” He repeats, his tone prodding for further explanation.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

His eyes float to the side, drudging up what exactly you mean by that, before nodding to himself once he thinks he understands. “Upset at me tryin’ to slip it in another girl?”

A flash of disgust splashed across your face before you can school it, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Well,” Joel starts, his eyes shifting to the ground between his legs before meeting yours again, “What if I didn’t like you flittin’ around here with some dipshit punk? What if that really fuckin’ pissed me off, actually?”

“It pissed you off?”

Joel raises one eyebrow and sets his jaw firmly in response.

A creeping satisfaction radiates in your bones at this revelation. It had worked. He played it off, but it worked. So your behavior hadn’t been all for nothing. The crudeness of which you’d allowed Nate to touch you in the dim light of the store, the sting of the slap to your ass, the tingle you’d felt when Nate brushed his undeserving fingers over your pussy under Joel’s surveyance — it all burrowed under Joel’s skin.

“I wanted it to.”

“I know,” Joel says lowly, almost like he’s ashamed he’d fallen for it.

The heels of his boots squeak on the linoleum as he fixes his attention on the half-stocked shelves.

Moments drag by, and it becomes apparent that Joel is leaving the ball in your court on where this conversation leads.

You sigh, kicking your foot nervously and barely grazing the floor. “What if I don’t want to see you fucking around with another girl like that again?”

Joel’s eyes are drawn back to you again. You can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he says, “What if I don’t give a fuck about any other girl, even if they tried?”

A spark of light ignites in your chest as you battle with the smile pushing at your own lips.

None of this is even a solid answer. Not even a solid question. The open-ended what-ifs rallying back and forth, all at once saying nothing and everything you want to verbalize. But it feels right. It feels good.

Joel leans forward, a broad hand cupping around your calf, and your heart swoops. “Sugarplum,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours as his mouth brushes above your knee. Your eyes drift closed, luxuriating in the plush press of his lips on your skin, the gravity of the act somehow infinitely more magnanimous than it would have been at any time before now.

You’re both startled out of your skin as the bell chimes again and a breeze wending its way through the open door, a man in a suit heading straight back toward the coffee dispenser.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath, pressing another kiss to your thigh before shoving himself off the floor and dusting off his jeans. You take a steadying breath and stem the heat in your cheeks with your palms.

Joel’s hands find your hips, stroking just under your shirt with his thumbs as a soft smile plays on his face. “Let’s talk later.”

You nod at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, suddenly feeling very bashful. “My place after I get off work? I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joel affirms, his greedy eyes crinkle with his smile, and you’re not positive whether he’s undressing you or admiring you with them, but you ultimately figure it’s both. Always both. Joel’s lips find your forehead and it’s a losing battle to train your face into anything but exhilaration.

“Guess it does,” you reply softly, unable to stop yourself from raising your fingers, touching his lips that very well might be yours now, just as much as your own are.

Joel hums against the pads of your fingertips, pressing a delicate kiss to them and whispering, “My little sugarplum.”

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thirtysevenodddogs · 2 days

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PEDRO PASCAL arriving at the set of 'Materialists' May 10, 2024 | New York City

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thirtysevenodddogs · 2 days

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here's a random word generator--whatever word it gives you is now the thing you are the deity of

#deity of harm #:/

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thirtysevenodddogs · 2 days

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PEDRO PASCAL with his cute tote bag on the set of 'Materialists' in Tribeca

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thirtysevenodddogs · 3 days

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nobody look at me

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thirtysevenodddogs · 3 days

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Vetted family fundraiser masterpost 1

Version date: May 7th 2024.

This is a masterpost for the evacuation fundraisers I've vetted so far. The numbers next to the names have no significance beyond ease of navigation for me for when I check their progress in the future. You should look at the disclaimers instead and focus on those. Occasionally I will update these with new info, including new fundraisers, and the amount of cash that's been raised. Check in regularly on the original post when you see it being reblogged. In all likelihood once its reached you it's already outdated. This post is part of this masterpost series compiling fundraisers for Ghazzah and Sudan. I focus on Ghazzah as I am Palestinian and am more equipped to do verifications as I'm more familiar with my own country and its politics and dialect, but if I know a fundraiser for a Sudanese family is legit I will include it here.

Walaa Abusamra (1). 10 family members. 28.4k out of 80k €.

Ezzideen Shehab (2). 6 family members. 9.7k out of 32.5k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Madleen Abu Jayyab (3). 4 family members. 18.7k out of 70k USD.

Jehad Shehada (4). 1 individual. 3.5k out of 15k CAD. LOW ON FUNDS.

Aser Alassar (5). 5 family members. 405k out of 550k SEK. Or 37k out of 51k USD.

My friend Mona Abu Hamda (6). 9 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Mohammed Shamia (7). 7 family members. 10.7k out of 35k USD.

Abdullah Al-Saghir (8). 9 family members. 68.2k out of 100k €.

Randa Abubakr (9). 6 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Fadi Alshrafi (10). 9 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Osama Abdelrahman. (11). 9 family members. 44.7k out of 45k €. (1 CHRONICALLY ILL CHILD, NEEDS TREATMENT) NEARLY COMPLETE. ONLY 281€ LEFT.

Alhaw family and the Albittar family (12). Between 18 and 12 family members. 8.8k out of 90k €. (EXTREMELY LOW, NEEDS FUNDS)

Verified Fundraiser by Palestine Asdiqa to help a malnourished baby with cerebral palsy. (13) 7.7k out of 31k USD. (URGENT + CHRONICALLY ILL CHILD, NEEDS TREATMENT)

Rana Abu Ahmed (14). 6 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Mohammed Abu Matar (15). 6 family members. 13.4k out of 34k CAD.

Moataz Abu Sakran (16). 3 family members. 12.4k out of 20k $ ORIGINAL CAMPAIGN COMPLETE, NEEDS TRANSFER FEES COVERED. 629$ out of 5k needed.

Ayah Abu Sidu (17). 10 family members. 15.8k out of 50.4k USD.

Said Fadel (18). 7 family members. 19.7k out of 50k USD.

Tasneem Nabil Musa (19). 7 family members (ALL INJURED, NEED MEDICAL CARE.) 10.5k out of 50k USD

Belal Azmi Msallam (20). 14 family members. 7.1k out of 160k AUD. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Mortaja Family (21). 11 family members. 28k out of 70k €.

Abu Ramadan family (22). 14 family members. 10k out of 148k €.

Mai Rajab (23). COMPLETED ✅

Amal Abu Shammala (24). 4 family members. 33.7k out of 42k €.

Maryam & family (25). 30.3k out of 50k USD.

Haneem Abdelhalim (26). 8 family members. 31.8k out of 40k USD raised.

Ahmed Masoud (27). 12 family members. 10k out of 60k €.

Mohammed Fareed (28). 30.2k out of 60k CAD.

Lena Nofal (29). 42.5k out of 44k € (NEARLY COMPLETE, original family registered to evacuate, extended family are being helped now)

Rasheda Alfaiomy (30). 6+ family members. 27.5k out of 65k USD.

Ula El Hindi (31). 1+ individuals. 8.6k out of 15k €.

Muhammad Safi (32). 5+ family members. 4.5k out of 30k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Yazan Khalaf (33). 18 family members. 16.9k out of 40k USD.

Afaf Masoud (34). 5+ family members (2 evacuated). 83.8k out of 110k €.

Motasem Khayal (35). 5 family members. 1k out of 43k € (26.5k needed for escape.) EXTREMELY LOW, NEEDS FUNDS.

Youseff Abu Saeed (36). 3 family members (1 is already out for treatment). 155k out of 200k USD.

Abdulaziz & Abdullah, escape & surgery (37). 2+ family members (1 has already been treated, 1 NEEDS TREATMENT). 96.3k out of 150k BP.

Nadine Abdullatif (38). 8 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Sami Salhab (39). 6 family members. COMPLETED ✅

Jehad Al Ghandour (40). 5 family members (1 already evacuated). 31k out of 100k USD

Mahmoud Algharabli (41) COMPLETED ✅ (check last section for more info)

Dr. Marah & family (42). 2+ family members. 7.2k out of 40k USD. LOW ON FUNDS.

Khaled Alshabrawi (43). 5 family members. 1.5k out of 35k € (25k needed for escape, but will begin with 10k for stable housing). LOW ON FUNDS.

Muhammad Osama Alzaq (44). 5 family members. 3.1k out of 60k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Mohammed Wishah (45). 7 family members + 1 pet. 7.9k out of 71.5k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Muhe Ayman (46). 5+ family members. 6k out of 60k €. (CAUTION: If you scroll down in the GFM there are photos of mutilated and dead babies.) LOW ON FUNDS.

Abdallah Animal Rescue (47). 1 individual + lots of pets. 34.5k out of 40k USD. (NEARLY COMPLETE)

Haya Orouq (48). 5 family members (1 injured, NEEDS TREATMENT). 35.9k out of 50k.

Retaj Abu Abdo (49). 8 family members. 9.1k out of 60k USD.

Mohammed Zyad (50). 9 family members (1 MISCARRIAGE). 5.6k out of 40k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Souad Al-Kurdi (51). 5 family members (1 DIABETIC W/O INSULIN, CRITICAL, 1 INJURY). 3.7k out of 50k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Mahdy Zourob (52). 1 individual. 622 out of 20k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Ahmed Alboji (53). 5 family members. 78.4k out of 100k USD. (TIME SENSITIVE)

Sama Lulu (54). 7 family members. 5.4k out of 80k USD. LOW ON FUNDS. (CAUTION: PHOTO OF INJURED CHILD IN GFM)

Fadel Moghrabi (55). 4 family members. 33.3k out of 40k USD. (NEARLY COMPLETE)

Qosai Hani (56). 2(+?) family members. 28.2k out of 40k USD.

Khaled Khraizim (57). 14 family members. 32.6k out of 100k €.

Ahmed Raida (58). 3 family members (1 INJURED, NEEDS TREATMENT). COMPLETED ✅

Rozan family (59). 6 family members. 3.6k out of 38k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Samah Oudh (60). 5 family members. 30k out of 35k USD. (NEARLY COMPLETE)

Qasim Al-Kafarneh (alternatively: gfm) (61). 33 family members. 1st one, 5.7k out of 80k AUD. 2nd one 86k out of 94k USD. (NEARLY COMPLETE)

Mahmoud Qassas (62). 42 family members. 6.9k out of 200k CAD. (ONE CHRONICALLY ILL, NEEDS TREATMENT)

Hussam Ramadan (63). 14 family members. 14.8k out of 148k USD. LOW ON FUNDS.

Sana'a & Sujood (64). 8 family members. 8.8k out of 50k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Yousef Mounir (65). 5 family members. 65 out of 50k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Muhammad Mounir (66). 4 family members. 1.1k out of 45k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Hamdi Hijazi (67). 5 family members (1 NEWBORN, 1 MATERNITY RECOVERY) 889 out of 25k USD. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Maram Ahmed (68). 5 family members. 338 out of 30k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Dr. Alaa Raed (69). 8 family members. 6k out of 40k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Fadi & Shahed Sharif (70). 11 family members (1 INFANT). 265 out of 62.5k USD. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Suheir Hojok (71). 10 family members (1 INJURED, PRONE TO STROKE, NEEDS IMMEDIATE EVACUATION). 16.3k out of 70k AUD. LOW ON FUNDS.

Haitham Gibreel (72). 7 family members (1 CHRONICALLY ILL). 340 out of 50k BP. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Hatem H. Rawagh (73). 5+ family members. 8k out of 40k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Ze (74). 3 family members. 4k out of 34k USD.

Hani Al-Hajjar (75). 10 family members. 1.7k out of 50k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Abdelrahman Abu Shaaban (76). 16+ family members. 3.3k out of 70k BP. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Help Little Yusuf (77). 8 family members (1 CHRONICALLY ILL, NEEDS TREATMENT). 0 out of 85k €. NO FUNDS AT ALL!!

Alia's family (78). 10 out of 30k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Jehad Ahmad (79). 8 family members. 290 out of 40k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Muhammad Al-Kurdi (80). 4+ family members. NO FUNDS AT ALL!!

Yousef Abo Zaid (81). 8+ family members. 501 out of 50k BP.EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Ruba & Mohammad (82). 2+ family members. LOW ON FUNDS.

Ahmed Zidan (83). 3+ family members. 6.7k out of 30k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Wisam Mahdi (84). 25 family members. 9.3k out of 10k BP. NEARLY COMPLETE: 630 BP LEFT. (TIME SENSITIVE: ILLNESS)

Nael Helles (85). 8 family members. 1.5k out of 50k USD. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Alia's family (86). 7 family members. 1.3k out of 30k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Hala's family (87). 3 family members. 2k out of 50k. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Mohammed Al Shaer (88). 5 family members. 692 out of 50k BP. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Sahar El Tibi (89). 3 family members. 548 out of 30k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Amal & Ruba (90). 3+ family members (1 CRITICAL CONDITION , NEEDS TREATMENT). 1.7k out of 50k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Mahmoud Al Tibi (91). 15 family members (4 NEED TREATMENT). 1.8k out of 60k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Abdullah Haniyah (92). 8 family members (1 PREGNANT). 355 out of 47k USD. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Heba Zaqout (93). 2 family members. 1k out of 15k needed. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Mohammed Nasri (94). 5 family members. 7k out of 50k BP. LOW ON FUNDS.

Alaa & Belaal (95). 2+ family members. 47 out of 15k $. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Ahmad Turk (96). 7 family members + 1 pet. 1.5k out of 70k €. EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS.

Mahmoud's family (97). 7 family members. 4.6k out of 35k €. LOW ON FUNDS.

Tamar Nijim (98). 7 family members (2 INJURED, 1 STROKE, NEED TREATMENT). 11.9k out of 70k €.

Alaa Al Khateeb (99). 1 family member (INJURED, NEEDS TREATMENT). 837 out of 6k BP.

Abu El Zomar (100). 5 family members (1 INJURED). 2.4k out of 50k €.

Aboud & Elias (101). 2 family members (ORPHANS, LAST SURVIVING MEMBERS OF FAMILY). 840 out of 25k €.

Haifa Hasan (102). 5 family members. 765 out of 25k €.

Walid El Shawwa (103). 6 family members. 1.8k out of 50k €. (1 SICK, NEEDS TREATMENT)

Alaa Al Halaabi (104). 17 family members. 1.9k out of 50k €.

Jana Abu Hamda (105). 6 family members. 602 out of 65k USD.

Ottawa4Palestine’s vetted fundraiser spreadsheet (76 different families with listed fundraisers)

52K notes · View notes