Girly We Need Mike Faist Fluff Or Smut Even… The Lack Of Mike Fics And Blurbs On Tumblr Is Insane

𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓬𝓪𝓵𝔂𝓹𝓼𝓮'𝓼 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽

request: Hi I have another ask for Joel x reader ! if it’s not to much, kinda got inspired by the song ‘Nothing you can take from me’ - Rachel Zegler -The Hunger Games: The Ballad of the song birds & snakes. Reader being the singer of Jackson trying to bring comfort and a bigger sense of normalcy to the town. Joel sees reader performance and just thinks they’re the damnedest sweetest thing that he’s gotta have ;) Please make my visions come true HDJA ty in advance also soz for the double request <3 word count: 1,2k warnings: cursing!

it’s the third night this week you’ve been handed a mic and was told to “sing somethin’ pretty, sweetheart,” and tonight, you don’t mind it one bit. the bar’s got that soft golden glow around it—the kind that comes after a couple hard days working patrol, long sleeves rolled up, and good drinks already halfway downed before you’ve even picked your song. people here know you, know your voice, and most of the time, it’s just background noise.

but tonight you feel something new in the air. the little thrill when someone glances up from their glass. the warmth that rolls through your chest when a few heads sway, soft and slow, like they can’t help it.

and then—you see him.

he’s leaning against the wall near the bar, boots planted, arms crossed, like he’s still deciding whether or not this was a mistake. worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and pretty, solid, quiet eyes that linger too long but don’t look away when you meet them. he’s older. not in a bad way. just—a couple.. no, a lot years older than you, but that only makes you more attracted.

you don’t recognize him, which means he’s not a regular. and there aren’t many of those left.

you finish your song, and noticed that he’s still watching you. you pass off the mic, thank the bartender, and head toward the counter, a little grin already tugging at your mouth before your shoes even hit the floor. you slide up next to him like you do every night. your elbow brushes his, and he doesn’t pull away.

“haven’t seen you around here before,” you say, reaching for the glass the bartender’s already poured for you. “jackson’s not that big, y’know.”

he huffs something close to a laugh, and it’s so sexy. “guess that’s true.” he looks at you, direct now. “tommy finally wore me down.”

you raise your eyebrows, take a sip.“you’re tommy’s brother?”

he nods. “joel.”

“huh.” you lean your back against the bar, facing him now. “figured you’d be taller.”

he chuckles, this time for real, and it sounds like gravel and something rougher underneath. “you always this mouthy with strangers?”

“only the ones who stare at me for a full song and don’t clap.”

he looks down, like he’s been caught, and lifts one shoulder in a half-apology. “didn’t mean nothin’ by it. you were…real good.”

you tilt your head at him, grin a little. “that sounded like it hurt to say.”

“nah.” he shrugs. “just not used to talkin’ to people who aren’t tommy or my dog or my er—daughter ellie.”

you decide not to question the daughter part and tap your glass against his, a quiet little toast. “well...here’s to expanding your circle.”

he clinks it without hesitation, eyes not leaving yours.

for a while, it’s just back and forth questions. he asks how long you’ve been singing here, you tell him since the walls went up. he asks what kind of songs you like best, you say the sad ones, because it brings out a persons true emotion. just getting to know each other.

“you don’t talk much,” you say after a beat. “but somehow you say the right things.”

“didn’t realize there was a test.”

“you passin’ or failin’?”

“jury’s still out.” you grin into your glass.

the night stretches. neither of you leave the bar, even though the room gets quieter and the last few bartenders are wiping down tables. your legs were pressed to his now, knees brushing every time you shift. it’s so comfortable and electric. you don’t want the night to end, and you can tell he doesn’t either.

so when you stand, a little slow, finishing the last sip of your drink, you glance at him from under your lashes. “you walkin’ me home, joel?”

he sets his glass down, stands too. “was hopin’ you’d ask.”

the night’s crisp when you step out, the wind brushing your skin in cool little kisses. your shoulders touch as you walk. his hand hovers near yours but never quite closes the gap. you make it to your door too fast.

you turn toward him, lean against the frame. he’s standing close now, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes steady on yours. quiet, always. like he’s thinking a dozen things and only says the ones that matter.

“i liked talkin’ to you,” you say. soft. real.

“me too.”

you smile. can’t help it. “are you really gonna make me ask for it?”

he blinks, then takes a small step forward. he lifts one hand, brushes a knuckle along your cheek, gently like you might get startled. his eyes flick from your lips back to your eyes, looking at you like you're the sweetest thing this earth has ever been graced with. “can i kiss you?”

you breathe out, already leaning in. “if you don’t, i’m gonna have to sing about it tomorrow.”

he chuckles against your mouth, and then he’s kissing you, it's warm and sweet, the kind that makes you forget there’s a world outside this porch.

you don’t say anything when you pull away; you just smile, open the door, and let him follow you in.

meet art's new wife જ⁀➴ reupload from littlesoulshine

𖠁   housewife!reader who wears sheer satin robes, kitten heels, and a constant look of disapproval. art trails behind you like an obedient puppy, always trying to earn your praise. you never raise your voice—you don’t need to....all it takes is a disappointed sigh and he’s on his knees, begging for another chance to make you happy.

𖠁   housewife!reader who gives art the cold shoulder when he forgets something small, like taking the trash out or fluffing your pillows right. he sulks around the house, trailing you, murmuring “i’m sorry, baby” like a prayer. you finally give in and let him crawl between your legs with a smug little, “are you ready to be useful again?” and his eyes get all glassy.

𖠁   housewife!reader who makes art sit in on your weekly girl lunches just so he can carry your purse and refill your wine. the other wives giggle behind their glasses, whispering about how “whipped” he is—but he doesn’t care. you let him rest his head on your thigh under the table and stroke his hair while talking over him. you’re his whole world. he just likes being near.

𖠁   housewife!reader who dresses like a dream and argues like a demon. pink nails tapping on the counter, voice like poisoned honey. art doesn’t even flinch—he thrives in the submission. you call him an idiot, and he smiles. you roll your eyes at his affection, and he kisses your cheek anyway. he likes being your punching bag, especially when he knows you’ll reward him after.

𖠁   housewife!reader who makes art wait at the door like a sad little puppy when he comes home late. you don’t even yell. you just raise an eyebrow, fold your arms, and he immediately starts rambling—“i swear, baby, traffic was—please don’t be mad—i missed you—i love you—” and you just hum, already walking away. he follows like the lovesick fool he is.

𖠁   housewife!reader who loves him, but refuses to let him forget who’s in charge. and he doesn’t want to. he likes being reminded. he likes the leash. likes how you tug it gently with your tone, your look, your hands in his hair. tashi made him feel small in the wrong ways. you make him feel small in the right ones. safe. loved. and completely yours.

𖠁   housewife!reader who lets lily paint her nails and put curlers in her hair while art makes you both lunch. she babbles about school, and when she says, “i wanna be a wife just like you,” you glance at art—who’s smiling like he’s won the lottery—and say, “then pick someone who knows how to serve a woman, honey.”

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

notes: thank you to my baby @rafesplaymate for inspiring me to write this!

joel miller cum in my mouth

"good boy!" reupload from littlesoulshine

for being a good boy, you decided to give arty a little treat. you set the table—linen, crystal, and a single candle lit, flickering low; around it roast chicken, green beans, and a perfect glass of red wine, his favorite. you wear something sheer with no bra or panties on. art walks in, wearing his gym clothes, and freezes like a deer in headlights.

“shorts off,” you say, without looking up. he obeys instantly, dropping like he’s allergic to disobedience. you tilt your head just slightly, pointing to the chair at the head of the table. “sit.”

he moves fast, you straddle him before he’s fully settled, one slow grind of your hips as you guide his cock inside you—bare, of course. no prep or foreplay. he gasps, hands flying to your thighs like he might hold on—

“no,” you say, catching his wrists. “hands in your lap. or i stop.”

he obeys, trembling already. you can feel every twitch of him deep inside you, stuffed full, throbbing against your walls. 

you pick up a bite of steaming hot chicken, blow on it, and bring it to his mouth. “open, baby.”

he does—lips parting, tongue just barely peeking out. you feed him. as you stare at him, he chews slow and swallows hard (moaning as you softly tighten around him.)

you moan low in your throat—not from pleasure, but from power he’s giving you. he’s shaking under you, hips pressed against the chair, your cunt keeping his cock soaked and tight. he wants to thrust, wants to fuck up into you. but he knows he can’t (only on his birthday, new years, or any time you tell him to).

he gets a bite of green beans next. his lips brush your fingertips and he moans.

“you love this, don’t you?” you murmur, picking up your own fork. “sitting still like a good boy, stuffed full of my cunt, while i feed you like the dumb little pet you are.”

“yes, ma’am,” he breathes. “i love it. love being inside you—so warm—so tight—fuck, i can’t—”

“you can.” your voice cuts sharp. “and you will.”

he bites his lip. his cock twitches inside you. you feel it—so fucking desperate, pulsing with every heartbeat. you take a sip of wine. press the glass to his lips next. he drinks, soft whimpers caught in his throat, neck flushed and glossy with sweat.

the sight makes you clench and he choke from the pleasure. “mommy—please—please just let me move, just once, just a little, i’ll beg—i’ll do anything—”

you cut a piece of meat. feed it to him. “no.”

his eyes flutter, while he continues to pant with his cheeks red and balls tightening.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear, giving him little kisses. he makes a incoherent sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan. his hands tremble in his lap, making him cry all soft and wet, with pretty glassy eyes.

you press your hips down just a little. his hips jerk up and you instantly slap his thigh. “sit still, baby.”

he nods as you feed him again, but he’s so far gone by the time you’ve finished your meal, his cock was soaked, balls super heavy and lips shining with spit, wine, and your praise.

you set down your fork and look down at him. “you want to come?”

“God—yes—please—i’ve been so good—”

you rise off his pretty cock before slamming down again, and lifting up again that being his breaking point. he screams, high-pitched and all. his cum spurts painting his belly, chest, even his chin. he jerks, sobs, full-body trembles, hands still clasped in his lap. you bend down, scooping a little with your fingers, feeding it to him while trying it for yourself, moaning at how good he tastes. “mhm, this is good.”

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

۶ৎ dbf!joel miller’s sweetheart 🍓🍥

moodboard made by me 🍓

۶ৎ special tags: @littlemillersbaby @lowrisemiller @cherrygirlfriend @travismrrtinez @heyyitscate

hiiii!! saw ur baker fic & loved it

was wondering if you could write teacher!fem!reader?

like she’s one of the teachers in Jackson and ofc ellie’s in her class and ellie LOVES HER talks about her nonstop and bothers joel

one day at pick up he finally sees her and he definitely understands what all the hype’s about now.

It can lead to smut or not whatever you want I love ur writing <333

a/n: hi, my anonie! i hope you enjoy it!!

posted here!

THIS IS SO BABYGIRL OF HIM WHAT THE FUCK😭

"late!" reupload from littlesoulshine

oh, you told him. just once. just one rule. don’t be late.

you weren’t asking much. he could fuck up a dish, forget the grocery list, make lily’s sandwich wrong—fine. but he is not allowed to be late. not for you. you told him in that sweet posionous voice of yours, over the sink while rinsing strawberries. "if you’re ever late for me, art, i’ll act like you don’t exist."

and today, he was late.

five minutes. maybe less. but five minutes past the time you told him to be home for lunch, five minutes of you sitting on the couch in silence, untouched wine glass in your hand, one stiletto crossed over the other while your pasta went cold. he walked in breathless, hair tousled, and tie askew.

“baby, i’m so—” you stood up without looking at him. you walked past like he was air. you didn’t slam the glass down. you didn’t yell. you just didn’t speak to him.

⋱

he followed you from room to room like a kicked dog. you folded laundry with perfect creases while he lingered by the door, hands in his pockets, waiting for you talk to his sad self. you adjusted the pillows on the couch he wasn’t allowed to sit on. you smiled at lily like your heart was full and art wasn’t dying two feet away.

he tried again. during dinner. “that’s a nice dress, my love” he murmured. like you might throw him a scrap of affection. you didn’t even blink.

⋱

he doesn’t make it to bedtime. you’re brushing your hair in the mirror when you hear him behind you—shuffling feet and shallow breath. you don’t look at him directly. your wrist flicks the brush through untamed strands, lazy and indifferent. your perfume clings to the air, soft and sharp at once.

and then—thump. he drops to his knees. “please, baby.”

his voice is low, cracked. you still don’t look. you glide your brush slower, watching yourself instead.

“baby, please. i’m—i fucked up. i know. i know i did.” his voice shakes. “ but i can't take this, i hate it. i hate when you won’t even look at me.”

your silence is the loudest thing in the room.

you hear him crawl. the shuffle of pj pants over hardwood. his hands touch the hem of your robe like it might burn him.

“please punish me, yell, hit me, use me. anything, i’ll take anything. just look at me.”

you pause, letting the brush hang mid-stroke. the corner of your mouth lifts. not quite a smile….more of an encouraging him to go on.

“i said i was sorry, princess” he breathes, forehead pressed to your thigh. “please. don’t shut me out. i’ll do anything. i’ll lick the floor clean if that’s what you want. just—don’t ignore me.”

you finally look down. slowly, your eyes meet his and he flinches, like it hurts. God, he’s beautiful when he begs.

“anything?” you say, voice like silk drawn tight.

he nods too fast. “yes. yes, anything.”

you drag your fingers through his hair, curling them in until you’ve got a grip. he whimpers. “strip.”

he obeys, very clumsy and frantic. shirt buttons pop open, and his pj pants drop quickly. his cock’s already hard, leaking at the tip, humiliated and desperate.

“on your back.” he scrambles. you press your heel to his chest, pinning him to the floor. he gasps as your robe slides open just enough to show your bare thigh. he stares like a starving man.

“my time isn’t free, art.” your voice drips disdain. “you want my attention?” he nods, choked. “earn it.”

you step onto him, one heel digging in, just above his heart. his hips twitch. he’s moaning like a bitch in heat. “start by apologizing with your mouth.” you lift your foot and turn away, robe swaying.

you don’t look back as you settle into the armchair. and behind you, you hear him crawl again. lips pressed to your ankles. kisses soft, reverent, and ashamed.

he’s not allowed inside you tonight. but you let him cry between your thighs, whispering "i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m yours," until he’s soaked in his own sweat, face shining with your slick, begging to be used. and tomorrow? you’ll decide if he gets to cum. maybe, but only if he’s not late again.

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

and so does my pussy