Hi I Have Another Ask For Joel X Reader ! If It’s Not To Much, Kinda Got Inspired By The Song ‘Nothing

۶ৎ dbf!joel miller’s sweetheart 🍓🍥

moodboard made by me 🍓

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

𝓪𝓻𝓽'𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮

meet her

late

good boy

pretty little provider

shower punishment

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!

“bad girls get punished”

synopsis: you tried to escape the camp, but joel decided that you needed a punishment, a very explicit lesson. word count: 2,3k warnings: +18 minors dni, mean!joel, dubcon, smut (explicit), joel slaps reader, violence, blood, forceful!joel, reader doesn't listen and it makes joel mad, detailed violent clicker scene, sex on the ground, joel continues to call reader 'mine.' please let me know if i have missed anything!

you hear a bone snap before you see anything. a sick, wet crunch from somewhere deep in the trees like someone twisted a chicken wing the wrong way, meat tearing off the bone. you freeze halfway through your step, boot caught in a knot of roots, your breath catching behind your teeth.

joel’s hand is already clamped tight over your mouth before you can scream. he shoves you down into the dirt, pinning your back with his forearm, hard enough to make your lungs stutter. “don’t make a fuckin’ sound,” he hisses low into your ear, voice like sandpaper, eyes fixed ahead. you nod or atleast try to. his fingers are calloused, digging into your cheek like he could silence your heartbeat too if he wanted.

through the gaps in the bushes, you see her. she’s young, maybe your age. younger, even. someone who thought she could sneak out, just like you did. she was barefoot, bleeding, limping—looks like she tried to run. the clicker moves slower than you thought they would. deliberate and grossly confident, its fungus-masked face jerks toward the sound of her sobbing, its legs twitching, head cocked.

you should look away. but you couldn’t because joel won’t let you. his other hand moves from your ribs to your jaw and grips it tight. keeping your face turned and your eyes on the scene unraveling just beyond the trees. 

“watch,” he says, just above a growl. “you wanna sneak outta camp? you wanna act grown?” you try to close your eyes. he presses harder, his fingers bruising. “no…keep ‘em open.”

you see the girl trip, blood gushing from her calf where something tore. you see her try to crawl. you see the clicker leap; it lands on her back, she’s screams outloud before it cuts out. her body jerks. she kicks once, then again, then nothing.

the clicker’s face buries into her neck, and the sound is worse than anything you’ve heard since the outbreak. it’s wet, sucking noises, like it’s chewing through a tendon, like it’s drinking her.

you feel your stomach heave, bile burning your throat. you cry out into joel’s palm, and he shushes you like he’s soothing you. “you need to see this,” he says, voice hoarse. “you need to fuckin’ learn.”

you’re shaking, not because of the cold or the horror only feet away. but because his breath is hot against your ear, and his body is pressed very tight against yours; which is making your cunt is wet. you’re disgusted with yourself, but he feels it. his thigh is slotted between yours. his hips are pressing down just enough while your clit is pulsing against the denim of his jeans, cruel friction. he doesn’t pull away or shift position.

you try to twist out from under him. trying to scream, or beg, or run. but his hand stays clamped around your mouth, and you go nowhere.

“she thought she knew better, too,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and guilt. “probably thought no one would notice if she slipped past the patrol.” the clicker’s still chewing. joel leans down closer, his nose brushing your temple. “they fuck ‘em, sometimes,” he whispers. “when there’s still enough brain left.”

you sob at that, your whole body trembling in his arms like a leaf underfoot. “you wanna see what that looks like? you wanna be next?” you shake your head violently, tears soaking into his palm.

he finally lets go of your mouth. his hand slides down to your throat, thumb resting over your pulse. “you scared?” he asks.

you nod making him hum low and satisfied. you hear the clicker lumbering off, dragging what’s left of her. you’re still under him, still trapped in the dirt, pants soaked through—cold, sweat, or arousal, you can’t tell anymore.

joel finally shifts his weight. his hand doesn’t move. “good,” he says. “then you’re finally fuckin’ listening?” you don’t answer. so he slaps you; a clean, backhand across your cheek that leaves your ears ringing and your teeth aching. not hard enough to knock you out—but hard enough to stun you. 

“answer me when i speak to you.” “yes” you choke out. your voice is cracked raw. “yes, joel.” 

he growls then grabs your chin and forces your eyes on his again. his pupils are blown wide. his brow is knitted with rage. lips curled, and his jaw clenched so tight you hear it pop.

“you wanna be safe?” he asks. you nod. he leans in, nose to nose now, the stench of sweat and old whiskey coming off his skin. “then you fuckin’ listen to me.”

his hand slides down. over your throat, down your chest, between your breasts. he doesn’t ask permission. you were so wet that he probably felt the heat before he touched you. his fingers glide over your belly, then down—pressing between your thighs.

he swear. “gotdamn.” your face burns with shame and need. he grips your hair and yanks your head back. “you get wet watchin’ that?” he hisses.

“no,” you whisper, but it’s a lie, and you both know it. he slaps you again. this time you moan. his mouth drops open just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

his fingers slip under the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches. he finds your pussy wet and puffy. “this what you want?” he sneers. “you wanna see blood, girl? you wanna feel the difference between them and me?” you whimper. “answer.” 

“i want you,” you say, barely audible. his hand stills, then, not even a second passes before he rips your pants down in one sharp pull, cloth tearing and buttons snapping. your thighs squeezing together instinctively. “too late for modesty now,” he mutters, and forces them apart.

he doesn’t undress or ask, he just unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other still shoved between your legs, two fingers pumping into you now.

he kneels over you, thick cock already hard and angry, precum at the tip. it was large, veiny, and curved with an angry tip. bigger than anything you’ve had before. you try to speak, but all that comes out is a ragged moan.

he grabs your jaw again and turns your face to the side. pointing at the result of the clicker scene. “look over there,” he growls. “look at what they did.” you see the blood trail. a smear through the dirt. you start to cry again.

joel lines himself up, presses the head of his cock against your cunt and watches your expression twist. he doesn’t push in yet. just he holds it there. “you think this is cruelty?” he asks, tone gone strangely quiet. “you think i’m the monster?”

you don’t answer, forcing him to he slap your cunt. you jolt, crying out. it hurts, but it feels good. he pushes in, the stretch is delicious. but, your pussy wasn’t ready—your body wasn’t ready for that thick cock. you scream into your arm, biting down to muffle it.

he bottoms out anyway while your world goes white. joel leans down, lips at your ear again. “this,” he growls, “is what real protection looks like.”

he doesn't move for a second. just stays buried inside you, deep, like your cunt belongs to him now. his hand spreads wide across your belly, thumb brushing the curve where his cock is pushing you out from the inside. you wonder if he wants to feel how deep he is.

your legs twitch under him, trying to close, to pull away, but he pins them open with his knees. “no, no,” he murmurs, almost soft and sweet. “lesson ain’t done yet.”

he starts to move. pulling halfway out just to fuck back in deeper.

“feel that?” he says, breathless. “feel how deep?”  he’s all the way in, balls flush against your ass, cock splitting you open with every thrust. your slick is everywhere now—slick and dirt, mixing into something that shouldn't feel good but does. shame coils up your spine like smoke, like barbed wire.

he fucks you harder. you choke out a pleasure-filled sob. “hush now,” he grunts, teeth bared. “you wanna cry, you cry for her.” his hand moves back to your jaw, forcing your head to the side again. 

“you remember her face,” joel snarls. “you remember what happens when you think you can survive without me.” his cock slams into you as you gasp, tears leaking down your cheeks and into the dirt.

he doesn't stop. “they’ll take you like a piece of meat,” he growls, each word punctuated with a thrust. “they’ll rip you open and fuck the holes that ain’t even there yet.”

your pussy tightens at the thought. joel feels it, hears the slick slap of skin against skin grow louder. he laughs. low and mean. “you like that, baby?” he breathes. “dirty little thing, scared and wet.”

“you run off again, baby,” he says, soft like a promise, “and next time i let ‘em have you. i sit back and watch while they tear you up.” you whimper. “but not before i get mine first.”

you moan, choked and hoarse as his pace speeds up. the thrusts get faster, his balls slap against your ass, his cock driving so deep you can’t breathe.

your pussy makes that filthy sound now, every thrust louder than the last. he kisses your cheek and licks the tear off your face and growls, “that’s it…take it.”

his hand snakes under you, between your thighs again, finds your clit. you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted. “please—” you gasp as he rubs harder. two fingers circling, pressing, working your clit in tight circles while his cock fucks you raw. “please joel, let me cum.”

“you come on my cock, baby, right now.” he snarls. your body goes tight, clenching around him, your cunt squeezing like a vice.

joel groans and grabs your throat. you cum so hard your vision whites out. your hips jerk and your pussy pulses so hard around him it drags a filthy curse from his lips.

“so—fuckin’, you’re tight—” he slams in one last time, then holds. his cock twitches, and you feel his warmth. his cum spilling inside you; he was leaking out already as his hips rock slow, pushing it back in. “that’s it,” he breathes, panting. “mine now.”

he stays inside you, breathing hard, holding your neck. licking sweat off your skin; your whole body’s gone numb except for the ache between your legs and the thick stretch still buried in your pussy. joel finally pulls out and you feel your hole gape open, dripping cum.

he crouches next to you. grabs your chin again. turns your face to his. “you learn your lesson?” he asks, quiet but firm. you nod. he taps your face this time less harsh, more like a reminder. “say it.” 

“yes, joel,” you whisper. “i learned.” he grins. 

he stands, buckles his belt, eyes still on your used body. “good,” he says. “get up.” you try to move, but your legs won’t cooperate. he sighs and kneels, scoops you up like you weigh nothing. you cling to his chest. he walks past the blood trail and doesn’t even glance at it. “next time,” he says, voice low, lips against your hair, “you wander off again, the next lesson will be worse.” your cunt clenches.

he carries you like you're precious, even though you feel filthy. your pants torn halfway down your thighs, cunt leaking a mixture of his cum and your own shame onto his arm. he doesn’t flinch. his grip is so sure and possessive, one arm tucked under your knees, the other pressed firm against the sweat line of your back. your body curls into his chest without thinking. 

he doesn’t speak the whole walk back. you feel the pulse of him, steady and slow under his shirt, every step vibrating up your spine. your thighs stillache. your pussy’s still twitching, open, sensitive to the wind. every step jars you, jostles your used hole, and his cum dribbles out, warm down your ass, coating your thighs. you can feel the smear of it every time your legs shift in his arms.

and still—your body doesn’t want to leave him. that part’s worse than the rest. the part where your cunt is already sore and fucked full and yet you want more—more of him. the weight of him on top of you again, the sound of his belt hitting the dirt, the press of his hand on your throat when he growls mine through clenched teeth.

he doesn’t put you down when he reaches the edge of camp. he walks straight into his shack, boots heavy against the floorboards, one after the other, until the door creaks closed behind you. only then does he let you down. he places you on the clean mattress—draped in a wool blanket. it smells just like him. your thighs stick to the fabric when he lets go, and you wince when your pussy brushes against it.

you lie still, blinking up at the ceiling. joel stands at the foot of the bed, watching you with careful eyes. he shrugs off his jacket, then pulls his shirt over his head. you’ve never seen him bare like this before—not fully. you saw pieces of him in glimpses, in flashes between thrusts—his stomach flexing, his chest damp with sweat—but now there’s no distraction. just raw, lined muscle and thick, grizzled skin.

he leans on you and sinks onto his elbows some what like a plank. his nose brushes your cheek. his voice is soft now, terrifyingly tender. “you think i wanted to scare you?” you blink up at him. vision blurry.

he kisses your eyelid. “i wanted to teach you. i wanted you alive.” you breathe, chest heaving under him. “you’re mine now, kid.” you nod. he kisses you, not rough or harshly, and that’s the worst part because you kiss him back.

"shower punishment" reupload from littlesoulshine

that puppy, ugh...you're going to have to chain him up, because does he really think the water will hide him?

does he thinks the steam curling off the mosaic tiles and the hiss of the showerhead will muffle the soft whimpers in his thick throat, the slap of skin on skin as he fists his big cock like a filthy little secret. his forehead’s pressed to the wall, panting. he’s quiet, he’s trying—he’s so fucking desperate. he hasn’t come in a week, and your rules are eating him alive.

but your rules are rules, and for some reason, he breaks them.

you open the bathroom door like you own it, and you hear it the second you walk in. the low moan, all the slick, rhythmic sounds of a man touching what doesn’t belong to him. you’re on him before he even notices. the glass door yanked open, and he jolts, mouth dropping open, eyes wild.

his hand freezes on his cock. “did i say you could do that?”

he stutters, no words, just the look of a dog who knows the leash is coming out.

you reach in and grab him by the wrist, yanking him out of the water like trash. the cold air slaps him in the face. he almost slips on the mat, barely catching himself, hard dick so big it's bouncing on its own and leaking as the rest of him trembles.

“i asked you a question.”

“n-no, baby” he whispers, head down, water droplets sliding off his body. you shove him against the wall, hard enough to make him gasp. you look down at his cock, swollen and twitching. it's disgusting and shameful. he’s lucky you haven’t slapped it yet (even though it will make him cum).

“what do we do to sweet boys who don’t follow rules?” you murmur, leaning in close, lips brushing his ear.

“we…we punish them.” his voice is so small it barely counts as sound.

you cup his balls, firm and unforgiving. his knees bucking as you squeeze—not the sweet 'making him cum squeeze' but a mean squeeze. just enough to make his eyes snap wide, breath hitch. “that’s right. and do you think i’m going to let you cum tonight?”

he whimpers. “please—please, i was just—I needed—”

smack. your palm slaps the tip of his cock. he screams into his own shoulder, teeth bared, and body curling in. it jerks so hard you think he might cum untouched just from that. but he doesn’t. not yet, because he knows you won't let him. “you needed permission. and you didn’t have it.”

he’s nodding, frantic, lips bitten raw.

you drag him to the bedroom by the ear like a child. he doesn’t resist, he just follows, wet footprints on hardwood, and the sound of his shame echoing behind him. you push him down to his knees at the foot of the bed. still dripping and humiliated.

“hands behind your back, baby.” he obeys. “and open your mouth.” he obeys that faster.

you settle into the mattress like a queen preparing for a foot rub. and that’s exactly what he becomes. not a husband or a man. just a warm mouth and a lesson waiting to be learned. you slip one heel off. press your bare foot against his lips.

“you want to touch your cock again?” he nods, eyes wet. you smile, cruel and soft. “then you’re going to earn it. with your tongue. and if you cum without permission?”

your toes slide along his cheek, his breath catches. “i’ll edge you for a month.” he whimpers at your response. you press your foot harder, making him moan. his tongue is out before you even ask.

on his knees, he's soaking wet, hair dripping into his lashes, cheeks red, and mouth open around your foot like it’s his last meal. his cock’s flushed dark and bobbing helplessly, twitching with every breath, leaking like it knows it’s in trouble.

his tongue moves in slow, strokes. “mhm,” you murmur, watching him through lazy lashes, heel tucked under your thigh. “look at you. just a stupid little mutt who can’t go a day without needing to hump something.”

he whines around your toes. mouth wet, eyes glimmering.

you lean forward, spit in your hand, and start stroking him—so slow he sobs. long, cruel pulls from base to tip. not even for him. just to watch him fall apart.

“ma’am—fuck, mommie, i-i’m gonna—i can’t—”

smack. your palm hits his thigh. he jerks, hips lurching, mouth still kissing your foot like it’s sacred.

“you can’t until i say,” you snap, voice low and sharp. “you even think about coming again without permission, i’ll shove your cock in the freezer.”

his head drops, forehead hitting your knee. “i’m sorry—please—please i’ll be good—i swear—”

you push him back, flat on his back like the pathetic mess he is. you climb over him slowly, knees on either side of his face, your bare cunt glistening inches from his mouth.

his breath hitches and his eyes go wide.

“you want to make it up to me? make it to your wife?” he nods so fast it looks painful. “then you’ll keep that mouth busy. and if you even look like you’re getting close?” you glance at his cock, throbbing in the air. “i’ll ruin you so bad you’ll cry every time you get hard.”

you sit, full weight, right on his face.

his moan is muffled under your cunt. tongue eager, sloppy now, desperation leaking out of every pore. you grind down slowly, letting him breathe through your slick, using his nose like a toy. you don’t hold back. because why would you? he doesn’t deserve soft. he deserves to be used. your thighs clamp around his head. you reach down and slap his cock. not too hard though, just enough to remind him it’s yours.

he bucks. his moan is so loud your clit pulses. he begins to cry, tongue trembling, hands still behind his back like you told him. he’s trying so hard to focus on your pleasure, to not think about his own, but he can’t, it’s too good.

you ride his face harder, letting yourself enjoy it, hips rolling, grinding down until your thighs are soaked and his lips are red and raw. you lean forward, panting. “you close, baby?”

he nods frantically, muffled under your cunt.

“don’t you dare.” he whimpers into you as his cock twitches, pulsing, begging to let go. you grab it—tight—and hold it at the base. he thrashes. you don’t let him come yet.

you keep riding his face while you ruin him. stroking him too light, too slow, until he’s trembling, sweating sliding down the sides his temples, lubing the inner parts of your thighs.

you clench around his tongue and cum—grinding down, back arching, moaning loud enough to drown out his begging.

he’s moaning under you, sobbing, cock bobbing helplessly in the air. you let him edge there, cock twitching, balls tight, muscles locked. you reach down again, fingers wrapping around his shaft.

he gasps. “you want to cum, my love?” he nods, eyes wide, wet, desperate. you start stroking him quickly.

“then cum,” you whisper. “but don’t you dare enjoy it.”

he explodes. spilling over your hand, sobbing like it hurts. his whole body spasms—hips bucking, mouth still lapping at you like a good boy while tears spill down his cheeks.

you ride his tongue until he’s done whimpering. you climb off him slowly, standing over his ruined body, watching the way his cum drips down his belly. you wipe your hand on his chest.“next time?” you say, voice like ice. “ask.” he nods, broken, blissed-out. you peck his red lips, and step into the shower. he crawls after you without a word.

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

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

who do i write for? pedro pascal.  the last of us.  jensen ackles.  art donaldson. patrick zwieg. challengers. dodge mason. panic.  mike faist. harry castillo. the materialists jon bernthal. shane walsh. mikey berzatto. frank castle. hayden christensen. anakin skywalker. clay beresford.

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request: Hi lovely person ! Could I request an angst to fluff piece with Joel miller? So I was thinking.. we always see Dbf! Joel smut, but I would really like something angsty with that trope. Maybe something along the lines of the reader and Joel being together in secret because you know being scared of judgment because of the age gap and stuff and not the father finding out. But then there's this woman, more to Joel's age coming into the picture, making reader insecure thinking she's not enough and too young and naive but in the end all turns out good? I'm a sucker for angst loll" word count: 1,2k warnings: cursing!

you were supposed to be past this by now. the self-doubt. the little pinpricks of anxiety you never used to feel before joel. the kind that bloom right in your chest; it hadn’t always been this bad. at the start, it had been electric—hiding, sneaking, the way his hands used to shake the first time he touched you like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. what you were letting him do.

but that was when it was new. now it’s just uncertain.

you came home early. you tell yourself you’re doing it to surprise him, but deep down, it’s selfish. you missed him, wanted to see him and hear that voice all rough and possessive. you were gonna kiss his neck and make him groan like he always does when you wrap your arms around his middle from behind.

but, once you get there, the front door’s already open. maybe he forgot to close it all the way? no way not joel.

within that small moment of you questioning why the door was open, you hear his sweet laugh and a woman’s voice.

you freeze in the entryway, sneakers still on, keys tight in your hand. you see them before they see you.

he was in the kitchen, leaning on the island like he lives here. it’s an image you always love—him comfortable in your house. like it’s his too. but next to him is her. she’s got one elbow on the counter, her whole body tilted toward him, her legs crossed while she’s laughing at something he just said, flipping her shiny brown hair off her shoulder with practiced ease.

your throat goes dry seeing him grin widely at her..he was yours for fucks sake.

your feet move before your brain decides where to go. you make a little too much noise, keys clattering on the hallway table, and the door clicks harder behind you than it should. you know you should smile. a joke, maybe? just say something.

joel turns around fast at the sound.

“hey, baby,” he says, but it’s careful, like he’s trying to read your mood before you’ve even said a word. he straightens up, steps away from the island.

the woman turns to you too. she’s prettier up close, older too. just right..like if he wasn’t with you, she’d be the natural fit. not your frayed little heart that’s too young to have any right wanting something this serious.

“hi,” you say, and it’s clipped and fake.

you try not to look at him. because you know if you do, it’ll all show. how suddenly, irrationally fucking insane your brain’s gotten.

joel must see it anyway, because his eyes narrow, not angry. just—watching, somewhat worried. the older woman pushes off the counter, smoothly. “i should head out,” she says, glancing at joel. “thanks for the help. you’re a lifesaver.”

joel nods, kind of tight-lipped now. “no problem. let me know if it doesn’t start again.” she smiles at you on the way past. you can’t bring yourself to return it. your face feels frozen in place.

joel waits until the door clicks behind her before he speaks.

“you good?” you’re still standing by the entryway, arms crossed like you were cold.

“who was that?” you ask, and it comes out cooler than you meant.

he runs a hand through his hair, sighs, steps toward you, rushing out the words. “her name’s elena. neighbor’s cousin. she’s in town for a bit; had some car trouble.”

you blink at his simple explanation. “oh.”

he studies you. “okay darlin', what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

you almost laugh—but it’s bitter and sharp in your throat.

you walk past him toward the living room, not sure what you’re doing. you feel stupid, childish, pathetic. and still—you can’t stop. it’s gnawing at you. inside your chest, inside your bones.

you don’t sit down, just turn to face him.

“nothing. just…she’s pretty and normal. and probably not some big secret.”

he flinches. “what the hell does that mean?”

you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “you know what it means. i’m the one you sneak around with. the one you don’t talk about. and then i walk in and you’re laughing with her like..like you’re not ashamed to be seen with her.”

his jaw works, tightens, then softens again.

“ashamed?” he echoes, incredulous. “is that what you think this is?”

you don’t answer. you just keep going because now that you’ve started it, it’s like you can’t stop. every thought you’ve shoved down in the last few months starts rising like bile in your throat.

“sometimes i just wonder how long this’ll last, you know? how long before you realize i’m too much or not enough. that this is all some dumb phase and you’re just waiting for a reason to bail. like maybe you wake up one day and look at me and wonder what the fuck you’re doing wasting time with some girl barely out of college who still calls her dad to ask how to fix her tires.”

joel walks to you, leans over you in an endearing manner. “hey..hey..look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are wet and you feel like an idiot. but he cups your face in both hands, rough thumbs brushing your cheeks, and you have no choice.

he leans down, rests his forehead against yours.

“i love you,” he says. “i’m not goin’ anywhere. and don’t you ever—ever—talk about yourself like that again.”

your lip trembles as his grip tightens.

“you think i don’t wish i could take you everywhere? shout it from the rooftops that you’re mine? i do, baby. every fuckin’ day. i just…” he sighs, jaw clenching again. “i worry, alright? i know how people see me. old enough to know better. and you? you’re this bright, gotdamn beautiful thing, and i don’t wanna drag you down into all my mess.”

you shake your head, fast, angry now. “you don’t get to decide that for me, joel.”

he smiles fondly, even with the tension thick between you.

“i know. you keep remindin’ me. but this? this ain’t a fling. you’re not some secret i’m ashamed of. you’re the best thing in my life, i swear.”

you swallow. “then why does it feel like you’re always waiting for it to fall apart?”

he pulls you in—both arms around you, holding you so tight it aches. his lips press to your hair.

“’cause i don’t deserve you. but i’m selfish enough to keep you anyway.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, burying your face in his chest.

his voice rumbles in your ear. “you’re not too young. you’re not too much. you’re not anything but exactly what i want. every second. every day.”

you’re quiet a long time. his hand strokes your back comforting you.

“you smiled at her,” you whisper. “like it was easy to do.”

he leans back, just enough to look at you. “and you smile at bartenders when they spell your name right on your smoothies. doesn’t mean you wanna fuck ‘em.”

you snort against your will.

he grins. “see? there she is.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and hold on tight.

“i hate how much i love you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“nah,” he mutters, kissing your temple. “you love how much you love me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go. and never will.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @wintfleur , @lowrisemiller

           ₊˚✧ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 ✧˚₊

mdni ── mar 21 she/her

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"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