Love This Movie!!!

Love this movie!!!🔥💃🏼🔥

I definitely want to get dirty like that! haha

Chapter 2: Taste

Javier Peña x f!reader / (4,750)

Summary: You flirt with the man next door, and your legs end up around his shoulders. Bar fights, smut, and Javier Peña; what else does a chapter need?

Notes: Helllo, readers! I am so excited to be able to post Chapter 2 so soon. I'm having so much fun writing my first series! You finally get a taste ( hehe ) of the smut that will increasingly show up throughout the series. I encourage you to message me or comment below on what you did/did not like in this new chapter. I'm still figuring out this whole fac fiction writing process, so I'd appreciate any advice you could give me. And as always, my inbox is open to any requests for what you want to see in the upcoming chapters.

Disclaimer: This series is for adults only! (18+)

Warnings: fight scene and explicit sexual material

Without breaking eye contact with Javier in the window across you, you lift your hand to your chest and hook a finger under the strap of your tank top. You can feel the nerves swirling in your stomach, but before you talk yourself out of it, you slip your strap off your shoulder. Then, you reach across and do the same to the other.

Across the way, Javier’s eyes are pinned on you, unmoving. As you reach down with both hands and begin to lift your tank top over your head, you see his breath catch. Your shirt lifts overhead, exposing your black lace bra and the planes of your abdomen. You drop the shirt on the floor and wait for his reaction.

What you want to see is desire in his eyes, but he still stands there frozen with a hard-to-read expression on his face. Desperate for him to look at you like he did in the bar earlier tonight, you decide to keep going.

You hook your thumbs in your skirt's waistband to slowly shimmy it down your legs and step out. You stand back up with your body mostly exposed now, save for your bra and matching black lacey underwear.

You look back across the street, and to your delight, you see a change in his expression. Javier’s eyes travel down and back up your body with his brows knit together, and he takes a heaving breath that expands his broad chest, then exhales. From this distance, it's hard to be sure, but you think you see a world slip out between his lips as his fists bunch at his side.

The thought of him getting turned on from watching you brings heat to your skin. You feel your face flush and a vague ache between your legs.

Admittedly, you didn’t think very far ahead before you began whatever the hell kind of show you started putting on for the man next door. You could stop. You could end it right now before things go further and close the blinds. Or you could keep going to see if you can make Javier unravel at the sight of you.

Having aroused yourself just as much as you hoped to have done to Javier, you decide to keep going. The unabashed confidence you started with is starting to wane, however. Either because the buzz of the alcohol is beginning to fade or because this is the boldest thing you’ve ever done. You turn your back to the window, but you don’t leave. Instead, you reach around and undo the clasps of your bra and let it fall to the floor.

After a steeling breath, you turn around to face the window again, but your heart sinks when you notice Javier is no longer there. Across the street, his blinds are closed, and his lights are off, leaving you alone again.

Did you get the wrong idea? Was he not interested, and you just made a fool of yourself? Had you made him uncomfortable with what you'd just done? A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you realize things have gone terribly wrong. You reach up to snap the blinds closed and stand there momentarily.

You can't take back what you’ve done but can go to sleep and wake up tomorrow pretending like tonight never happened. You can avoid Javier like the plague and never open those blinds again. You think this to yourself as you turn out the lights and get into bed for the night.

Tossing and turning, you replay the night in your head to figure out where the hell things went wrong.

You should have known a man like that wasn’t interested in a girl 20 years younger. Yet, you could have sworn you sensed something between the two of you at the bar. It must have been your own attraction to him clouding your judgment.

You can’t believe his effect on you in those brief moments together. The sweep of his dark hair and the smell of whiskey on his breath. The velvet gruff of his voice and the piercing gaze of his soft and fierce brown eyes. Still thinking of Javier, eventually, you drift off to sleep.

Waking up the morning after was not pleasant, not at all. You aren’t hungover, but something far, far worse. The electricity of the night before was gone entirely, and you have a pit in your stomach thinking about what you did.

You feel so stupid for thinking that you could pull off something like that. You aren’t sure where the confidence came from facing a man like that. Yeah, you were tipsy, but it's hard for you to break out of your shell even then. Whatever it was, it's gone now. Back to your old self, shy and demure. Unsure of yourself and confused.

You let out a breath and kick those thoughts out of your head. Ready to move past the events of last night, you roll out of bed and pad across the bedroom into your bathroom. You turn on the shower and step into the hot water, letting it wash away your troubles. Even after washing your hair and scrubbing your body, you stand there until the bite of the warm water fades and starts to cool. Eventually, you turn the water off and step out to wrap a towel around yourself.

Feeling refreshed, you return to your bedroom to prepare for the day. Avoiding looking at the window and avoiding thinking about the man in the bedroom past it, you go to your closet to select an outfit for the day. You settle on an oversized grey shirt, then grab a pair of underwear from your dresser to step into.

You spend the day picking up around the apartment with some reality TV show playing in the background. The light from the floor-to-ceiling window across from you brightens the space. Three stories below, you can see the hustle and bustle of the streets of Austin. By evening, your belongings are as clean and organized as they will get, so you settle on the couch to read your book.

Usually, romance stories are your perfect escape, but today, not so much. You can’t get through the scenes without picturing Javier's large, rough hands sliding up your legs or the warm touch of his lips grazing yours. You can't get him out of your head. As the protagonist melts under her lover's touch, you do the same under the phantom hands of Javier.

You snap the book shut and place it on the coffee table before the couch. You need to stop fantasizing about this man you barely know. A man who is clearly not interested and who you embarrassed yourself in front of. You let out a huff of frustration and pick up your phone.

The screen says 6 p.m., so you order dinner, not feeling like going out after the night you had. Your Chinese takeout is left at your apartment door an hour later, and you bring it inside. You settle on the couch to eat and watch one of your favorite movies, Bridget Jonne’s Diary.

Eventually, the movie ends, dinner is finished, and you check the time. It's only 9:30. It’s 9:30 on a Saturday night, and you are in pajamas, stuffing your face, watching romcoms alone. You don’t want this to be how you spend your first weekend in your new city. You were so excited to move to downtown Austin and experience all it offers.

That’s it, you decide. You won't be a prisoner in your own home. You're going out and don’t care if you run into a particularly broody, gold-skinned, dark-haired man. You get off the couch and march into your bathroom, determined to go full glam for your night out like you did in college.

Two hours later, your hair falls in long curls down your back, and you look in the mirror to assess your work. Your eyes look big and bright thanks to the mascara and thin line of eyeliner. Your cheeks are rosy, and your skin flawless, with some freckles peeking through the light layer of foundation you smoothed on. You add a sheer gloss to your lips and determine you are done.

Having changed out of your oversized t-shirt from earlier, you are now wearing your favorite little black dress. It’s a satin, lace trim mini dress with a small slit on the upper thigh. The lace lining of the V-neck bust perfectly frames your chest, making it look full and perky. The satin fabric flows down your body in a way that accentuates your waist but still flows freely enough to be comfortable and falls at your upper thigh.

You stash your lip gloss, phone, and wallet into a small black handbag, slip into some short, strappy black heels, and then head out your door. You exit the apartment building and pause as you step onto the street. Your eyes dart around, searching for a familiar figure, but you sigh in relief when you see that the coast is clear.

An hour later, you find yourself dancing with a group of girls you became best friends with in the bar bathroom. Eventually, after several drinks and dancing until your feet hurt, you hug the girls goodbye and decide to seek out a dive bar for a more chill environment.

You walk down the street until you find an old-looking bar with a neon sign buzzing above the door. There isn’t a line of drunk young patrons waiting to enter like at the popular places you walked by earlier, so you decide this is where you'll end the night.

You walk into the unglamorous bar featuring dim lighting, shabby décor, and neon beer signs with the tang of cigarette smoke in the air. Definitely not your usual place, but you won't stay for long. There is a hum of steady chatter throughout the bar. Most of the patrons are men playing pool or darts. It's definitely a place for locals; everyone is dressed in jeans and T-shirts, so you stick out like a sore thumb.

You sit at the bar in the back and face the wall of assorted liquor bottles. You order a cranberry vodka from the seedy old bartender. He eyes you suspiciously but says nothing about you being out of place here. A couple sips into your drink, a group of younger patrons crowd the bar and take up the stools next to you.

 It’s three guys, older than you but not by much. You noticed them when you walked in; their heads had turned, and you felt their eyes on you as you walked to the bar. The one on the stool to your right is wearing old, faded jeans, dirty boots, and some old band t-shirt. He is tall and stocky with light brown hair that falls to his shoulders underneath a baseball hat. The two on the stools to your left are shorter, nearly your height, have dark hair and seem like brothers.

The tall guy to your right introduces himself and his friends. “Hey, pretty thing, what are you doing at our bar?” he slurs your way.

“Your bar?” you ask and shrink back when he leans in to talk to you.

“My name is Trent, and those are my buddies, Ryan and Alex,” he says, motioning to the two sitting on your left. “We’ve never seen you here before.”

Feeling slightly uncomfortable now at their closeness, you stiffen and respond, “I’ve never been here before, but I'm just finishing my drink and going home.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, why don’t you stay a while?” he says, leaning forward to put a hand on your knee. “We’ll keep you company.”

“No, I’m pretty tired, and my friends are waiting for me. I should probably head out now.” You say and stand to rid yourself of his hand on your leg.

Before you can leave your seat, Ryan's hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back down. “I said you should stay,” he says coldly, staring at you with glaring intent behind his eyes.

At that moment, you feel a breath on your neck from one of the guys to your left. You can smell the reek of alcohol on his breath when he says in your ear, “Or we could go home with you if you'd like.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and lets out a bone-chilling laugh.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you realize your predicament. Frozen in fear, the voice in your head is begging you to devise a way to get rid of these guys and go home. Before you can mutter another excuse and try to stand up again, you hear a voice behind you.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” the familiar voice rasps. You recognize it immediately.

The guy to your left heeds the warning, removing his hand from your shoulder and backing away. Your eyes dart to Trent as he tightens his grip on your wrist and sneers at Javier. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I said get your fucking hands off of her,” Javier repeats a bit louder and angrier as he steps forward.

Trent drops your wrist and stands to his full height, equal to Javiers's. You stand and turn to walk to Javier, but Trent extends his arm to block your path.

Before you can react, Javier grinds his teeth, throws a bunch directly at Trent's jaw, and connects hard. Trent stumbles over, and Javier kicks him to the ground before he can catch his balance.

Ryan stands with a liquor bottle in his hand and swings it toward Javier's head. Javier evades the blow and grabs the assailant's arm, twisting it to release a crack and yelp of pain from the man. Ryan drops the liquor bottle to the floor with a crash, and the amber-colored liquor bleeds across the floor. Holding his arm in pain, Ryan shrinks away from Javier and looks toward Alex.

Alex stands and begins to take a step toward Javier, but their eyes meet, and Javier growls out, “Take another step, and I'll break your fucking arm too.” Alex pauses, debating what to do. They stare each other down, but the look of cold, calm rage on Javier's face freezes Alex to his spot. Instead, he bends down to pick up a chunk of broken glass from the liquor bottle and turns toward you.

“This is all your fault, coming here dressed like a slut just to tease us.” He sneers at you and swipes in your direction with the shard of glass. As you brace yourself for impact, Javier throws his body between yours and the other man’s.

The broken glass cuts into his outstretched arm, leaving a 4-inch-long slice into his forearm. As blood trickles down his arm, you watch Javier throw a punch directly into the other man's stomach. Alex doubles over in pain, and when he does, Javier's knee raises in a blow to his chin, knocking the man back onto the floor.

You stand in terror at the scene that has unfolded before you. The rest of the bar had gone silent, all eyes on Javier and the three other men brawling. Before anyone else decides to step in, Javier puts his uninjured arm around you and leads you towards the exit.

Tears begin to sting your eyes the moment you are both out of the bar and around the corner to safety. You sniff as they roll down your face, and you look at the ground.

Javier stops walking and stands in front of you. “Woah, it's all right, darlin,” he says gently. “No one is going to hurt you; you’re safe now.”

When the tears don’t stop and you fail to respond, he reaches out with a finger and delicately lifts your chin to see your face. You look up through your lashes with more tears welling in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say in a choked-up voice, “I'm so sorry for tonight and last night. This is all my fault.”

His brown eyes soften as he looks down at you and answers, “You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” Your body hums in response to that word coming out of his mouth. “Those men are filth who can’t control themselves. I ought to go back in there and fucking make sure they learn.” He spits toward the old bar in a gruff voice.

“Thank you for getting me out of there. I'm sorry I ruined your night again,” you say shamefully.

His eyes dart back to you. “Ruined my night? Again? “What are you – “he pauses, understanding what you mean. “You didn’t ruin my night last night or tonight.” He says softly.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you say, blushing at the ground. “I guess I got the wrong Idea. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.” he answers quickly, “I wasn’t uncomfortable, and you didn’t get the wrong idea.”

He breathes and runs a hand through his hair, “I did want you last night. Hell, I still want you now. But it’s not a good idea. I’m not a good idea.”

“Why?” you ask, looking at him again. “Why did you close the blinds last night, and why isn’t this a good idea?”

He takes a breath. “Because,” he says and growls, eyes ablaze, “If I had watched one more fucking second of you last night, I would have shown up at your door to rip the rest of your clothes off.”

You stare in stunned silence.

“And this isn’t a good idea,” he continues, “because I’m not good for you. I’ve done things you wouldn’t understand, and it changed me. I used to be good, but not anymore. I can't be what you need, what you deserve. You saw all that I am good for tonight in that bar.” He says sadly.

“I don’t believe that,” you finally say under your breath.

The conversation ends without much else being said. Like the night before, Javier walks you to your apartment building and goes to leave after asking if you are okay one last time. As he turns to walk away, you reach out and grab his hand. Turning over his arm, you stare at the cut, which has stopped bleeding by now.

“What about you, Javier? Are you okay?” you ask.

He turns to you and answers, “Yeah, it's nothing.”

“Will you at least let me clean and bandage it for you? I can even get the blood out of your shirt before it stains,” you say, gesturing to the drops of blood on his tan, short-sleeved button-up.

He stands there, debating whether to take you up on your offer.

“Please,” you say, “It will make me feel better to do something for you after what you did for me tonight.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, stepping toward you. “But if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, come on,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him inside before he can change his mind. “I’ll be quick.”

Once inside your apartment, you sit Javier on the couch. “I'll be right back,” you say as you kick off your heels and go to warm a washcloth to clean his cut. When you return to the couch, there is silence between you as you kneel before him, gently wiping the blood crusted on his arm.

You finish cleaning the cut and wrap a bit of gauze around it. Finished with the first task, you stand saying, “Take off your shirt,” and look down at him sitting on the couch.

A muscle feather in his jaw. “What?” he grounds out in a husky tone.

“The blood won't come out if we don’t treat that stain soon. Give me your shirt, and I’ll throw it in the wash.” You explain.

“Right,” he says. He stands up off the couch, close enough to touch. He unbuttons his shirt, exposing more of his smooth golden skin with each button undone. You can't help but stare at the lines of his broad chest and muscled arms as he shrugs out of the shirt and hands it over to you.

Without saying a word, you walk it over to the washing machine in the back, toss in some stain remover, set the wash to cold, and press start.

When you return to the living room, Javier is still standing, shirtless, in his tight dark wash jeans and boots. You can't help but rake your eyes up and down his body and gulp. He does the same, eyes washing over you in your short black dress, walking towards him.

You approach him, and he says, “I should get going now,” motioning to the door.

“Or you could stay,” you say, standing before him, looking up. “If you want me like you say you do, stay,” you breathe. Cheek’s reddening at the bold statement.

“You don’t know how badly I want you,” he growls. “How badly I've wanted you since I saw the look on your face reading that damn dirty book right in front of me,” motioning toward the book still lying on your coffee table.

“Then take me,” you whisper.

“Fucking and fighting, that's all I do.” He says, hands tightened into fists. “I can't give you anything else.”

“So, fuck me, Javier.”

The leash on his control snaps. His warm brown eyes turn dark, and he grabs you around the waist, pulling you in. Hungry, he meets you halfway for a kiss that only ignites the fire inside you both. You taste the whiskey on his tongue, and his soft lips crash into yours.

Your hands find their way up into his hair, grabbing fistfuls. He falls back onto the couch, bringing you gently with him, settling you over his lap. Your knees on either side of him are dug into the cushions. He pulls away for a moment, and you immediately miss the warmth of his lips on yours.

“Please,” you whimper, begging for more. You drop your hands from his hair and move to drag the straps of your dress off your shoulders, but he catches your wrists.

“Stop,” he says, “It's my turn to undress you,” he drawls out, words dripping with seduction.

He guides your hands behind your back with you still hovering over his lap. Gathering both of your small wrists in his large, rough hands, he instructs, “Don’t move these,” and holds them there.

You nod in understanding, and he takes that as his signal to begin. With his free hand, he hooks his index finger around the spaghetti strap on your shoulder and slowly drags it down. His finger grazes your arm the whole way down, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He does the same to the other side; when he does, the dress falls and pools around your waist.

You inhale a small breath as your nipples harden at the exposure.

“Is this what you wanted to show me last night, pretty girl?” he asks, not taking his eyes away from your chest. You can feel the bugle in his jeans beneath you growing. The outer layer of his jeans is now rubbing into your wet panties.

 “Yes,” you breathe. You can't help but grind into him, aching for contact between your legs.

A deep, grumbling moan of pleasure rises from Javier's chest, and he licks his lips. “You want it bad, don’t you, baby?”

Again, you can only produce that one pitiful word: “Yes.”

He stands, gathering you in his arms and twisting, now placing you on the couch. “Lay back,” he instructs and drops to his knees as he spreads your legs open enough to position himself between them.

Laying back against the couch with your legs spread wide before him, you lift to help him drag your panties down and off. He holds them, inspecting them.

“Is all of this for me?” he asks, referring to the dampness.

Your cheeks heat, and your eyes drop to the floor in embarrassment. Now he knows exactly the effect he has on you. You’ve been wet for him the moment you laid eyes on him.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, dropping your panties to the floor. He runs his calloused, solid hands up your legs from your knees to your waist and tugs you closer to the edge of the couch. “More for me to taste.” He finishes with a devilish grin.

He hooks your ankles over his shoulder and leans into that spot between your legs, already slick with anticipation. His tongue unfolds and lightly drags up the center of your folds towards the bundle of nerves at the top.

You let out a whine of pleasure, hands gripping the fabric of the couch.

That sweet sound drives him over the edge, and he licks into you once again, hungrier and harder. You close your eyes and writhe in pleasure. He hooks his hands under you, cupping your ass to hold you still against his tongue.

You can feel the tension inside of you rising, burning throughout your body. At that moment, One of Javier's fingers replaces his tongue and slips inside of you. Even just one is enough to have you moaning.

He continues to pump that finger in and out while he uses his tongue to circle the apex between your thighs. You feel your breaking point coming, and between breaths, you gasp, “Javi- Javi, I'm about to cum.”

Instead of letting up, Javier crooks his finger inside you and finds that spot that has you reeling over the edge.

“I know, baby,” he says, looking up at you, affection in his eyes “cum for me, baby, come on.”

As the words leave his lips, you fall apart on his finger. Your muscles clench and unclench around him as he massages into you, letting you ride out every drop of pleasure.  

“That's it, angel,” he croons, pulling his finger out of you, “you did so good for me.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you look down at him, kneeling between your legs. All you can do is watch as he slips that finger, covered in your slickness, into his mouth, licking it clean.

He stands, and you hear him walking to your bathroom to grab a towel. He returns and begins to wipe up the mess he made of you.

“What about you? I wanted you to feel good, too.” You say, sitting up and looking in his direction.

“Not yet, sweetheart. I don’t want to break you.” He says in that smooth voice you find yourself craving in every silence. “I enjoyed myself, don’t worry.” Those words reverberate through your body and almost have you aching for him again already.

With the tension expelled from your body and your muscles relaxed from the release you just had, sleep creeps into your mind. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy, and Javier can see it wash over you.

“Go finish cleaning up,” he says, nodding to the bathroom, and you're too sleepy to protest.

You start the shower and step into the warm water for the second time today. This time, though, you’re fast. You wash the makeup from your face and sweat from your limbs as quickly as possible while still being thorough. When you get out and wrap yourself in a towel, you stand still, listening for the sound of Javier inside your apartment. But you don’t hear a thing.

You crack the door and peek outside, confirming your suspicion that Javier is gone. He slipped out while you were in the shower, so he didn’t have to say goodbye. Your heart falls just a bit, even though it is what you should have expected.

Just sex, that was the understanding between you tonight and nothing more. He made that very clear.

Too tired to mull it over in your mind any longer, you turn out all the lights in your apartment and slip into bed. Just before you click off the lamp to the side of your bed to wash the room in darkness, you notice a tall glass of water sitting on the nightstand you don’t remember leaving there. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and you click off the light. Darkness washes over the room, and you fall asleep fast, thinking of Javier.

Omfg, this was so hot!!!!!!! I want more of these two!!!🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

so i saw this man and my rotted brain went i bet he spends a lot of time jerking off and yes i know the context of the picture idk what to tell you, and then y'all encouraged me, and here we are.

cw: f!reader, masturbation (m&f), edging, addictive behavior, voyeurism, extremely inappropriate behavior by joelseph miller, light spoilers for tlou2, idk if this is hot or just weird but it's both to me, sorry if there are words missing i wrote this in a fugue state and that happens sometimes

It starts as a way to pass the time. Even with his wood-carving and guitar-making and patrol shifts, there are still soooooo many hours in the day. Ellie's in her own little place, all independent, and the dating pool is about as dry as you'd think for a place with 300 people.

He doesn't mean to get addicted to it. It just happens. He Pavlovs himself into getting hard every time he's alone in his house. And it's fine, actually, because he hasn't really been able to relax in over twenty years, so why shouldn't he just give himself this one thing? Just to pass the time.

But then it's not just to pass the time.

Eventually he can't keep his hands off his cock when he's alone. He can barely wait to shut the door behind himself and strip, using whatever's handy (lol) as lube, or if he really can't wait, he'll spit in his hand and go at it.

And it's amazing.

He's never let himself feel this good, never done anything just for him, and fuck, he can't stop. He likes making noise, moaning so fucking loud it echos. He figures out different techniques, different ways to hold himself, how to make himself almost come and stop before it actually happens.

He can go for hours if he has the time.

He tries not to let it affect his life, still makes time for other things, but if he can, he'll get off a couple of times a day.

Tommy comes knocking on his door one day, just after he's finished. He can still feel the flush on his neck, heart still pounding in his chest, head still clouded with endorphins. He wipes his sticky hand on a shirt he needs to wash anyway and opens the door, hoping it doesn't smell too much like come in the living room.

If Tommy notices anything he doesn't say it, just goes right into introductions--Joel, she's new, and she needs a place to stay until we get her permanent place ready. Just a few weeks.

You're pretty, really fucking gorgeous, smiling all sweet and polite with some little accent he can't place, but he doesn't want you here in his space. This is his space, this is where he--where he relaxes.

But he can hardly decline. You stick your hand out in greeting, and he clasps his over it, cringing internally as he remembers he'd just had his cock in his hand not five minutes before, just wiped all the results his activities even less than.

If he hadn't just come, he'd probably be hard again, and he feels like the dirtiest old man that ever lived.

You promise you won't be a bother, and he tells you not to worry about it. You're polite and thoughtful and you pitch in with chores and his dick is going to fucking explode if you don't leave this house soon.

He's gotta figure something out. He still gets time in the bathroom or before he goes to sleep, but his orgasms are small and unsatisfying and he's short tempered--even more so than usual, even to you. He doesn't want that, though. Even if he is a dirty old man, even if he does need this, he doesn't want you to be upset with him or have him think he's upset with you.

Eventually he starts locking himself in his studio, tells you he just likes to be alone when he's carving and to please not disturb him. And you don't. Sometimes you even leave, and he can be as loud as he wants, and it works, and he'll be able to get through these next few weeks.

The thing is that you're not an idiot. You know what an erection looks like, you know what desperation looks like, you know exactly what's bothering him. Also, the house is quiet, and your hearing is much better than his. You can hear him even when he's trying to keep it down, the soft slap slap slap, the groan, the stopping and whimpering before he spits in his hand and starts again.

He's making you fucking crazy.

Every time he comes out looking flushed and chipper and asking how your day's going, you have to excuse yourself and get off as quickly as you can.

It goes like that for a while, like this game of jerk off tag, and you really, really want to see him.

He wants to let you.

It doesn't take him long to pick up on the fact that you know what he's doing, when you just happen to be hanging around the immediate vicinity of his studio when he comes out. The way your pupils are blown wide, lips parted and bitten, almost panting, running off to take care of something in your room.

You've been so good to him, letting him have this thing he needs so badly, even though you could've shamed him for it, and he wants to share it with you. He wants to show you. He wants you to see him, and he wants to see you, too.

The door is ajar the next time you sneak down the hall, and you're greeted to the most delicious sight. Naked--naked--shimmering with sweat and effort, one big hand pumping his impressive cock, shiny with precome and spit. The bulbous tip is dribbling steadily like he's been at it for a while, every now and then he thrusts up with his hips, groaning and freezing like he's trying to keep from coming all over himself.

You've never seen a man enjoy himself so much, and you don't move an inch. You just want to watch him bite his lips and moan, that mane of salt and pepper hair slick with perspiration. This is on purpose, he wants you to see. He's so careful, door locked, mostly dressed all those times you got to your knees to peek through the keyhole.

He knows.

He opens his eyes when the floorboard creaks, a smirk spreading across his lips just before he bares his teeth, gripping the base of his cock.

"C'mere," he rasps. "Look at it."

You move a little closer, feeling shy, but you do as he says. You watch him. You wait.

"Look at it," he groans, breath hitching, hips stuttering into his fist. "Watch."

He comes with a long, loud moan. It goes everywhere--his hand, his belly, his chest. You don't move, you just watch his face slacken, whispering something over and over, licking his lips. He's lost in it. You're shaking, pussy soaking as you wait for him to open his eyes.

His panting slows, his soft belly going up and down with each steady breath. You can't stop looking at him. He gives you a long, feral leer and crooks two fingers at you.

"C'mere." He pats one sticky thigh. "Your turn."

ANYWAY BYE

This is hands down, one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen!!!!!!🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

oh fuck OFF DSJHKF

Sooooooo hot!!! Part two??!! Please!!!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

stranded

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.6k

summary: your shitty boyfriend dumps you on the side of the road after a fight. joel miller finds you.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, no outbreak, explicit smut, oral (f receiving) (joel miller is a munch and u cannot convince me otherwise), slight angst, reader has a shitty/abusive (ex) bf (only briefly mentioned), allusions to piv sex, i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: this is my entry for the summer lovin' writing challenge put together by the incredible @pedgito, @amanitacowboy, and @chaotic-mystery (ily all so much), based on the above moodboard with the location hiking (i went for hitchhiking) and the quote "i'm your only hope". i haven't written in what feels like years & am admittedly rusty, but alas! it was so much fun to get back into writing with a little challenge. dividers by @/saradika-graphics. this was minimally edited; all mistakes are my own.

His red pickup truck had been the first car you'd seen in hours. Rain pouring down, drenching your t-shirt and streaking mascara along the apples of your cheeks, it'd been like a beacon through the fog. 

You’d asked to borrow his cell phone to call a friend. Don't have one, he’d drawled. Got a landline at my place, but the whole county’s without power.

And though you knew nothing about the man in the driver's seat -- not his name nor his history with the law -- you'd still gotten in when he'd pushed open the passenger-side door. After all, you had little other choice.

It was either that, or risk freezing to death on the side of the road where your boyfriend had deserted you.  Ex boyfriend, now. That asshole had taken everything from you: your phone, your keys, your dignity -- and left you for dead. So really, how much worse could this admittedly handsome stranger be?

Just a bit, it turns out. 

Okay, so he's giving you a lift. Back to his place to wait out the storm and call a friend on his landline once the power returns. And he's not hurling nonsensical accusations at you with hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. No declarations of, "My buddy swears he saw you dancing with another guy. Why would he lie about that?"

Still, his silence is beyond off-putting. His brows seem permanently contorted downward, his eyes narrowed on the road ahead as he drives, the highway closer and closer to flooding with every mile that passes. He hasn't asked if you're okay despite the fact that you're holding your ankle in your lap, its incessant throbbing a reminder of when your ex pushed you out of his car earlier. No, he hasn't even offered his name.

You wonder if you're driving to your death.

The first words he speak are muttered under his breath, a quick, "it's just down this road," as pavement turns to gravel. He slows the truck, tires crunching and mud splattering until the trees give way to a tiny wood cabin. The driveway is a long stretch of dirt that winds through an unkempt yard, all tall grass and overgrown shrubs.

It's dark, the sky an angry black as you hobble out of the truck. Your ankle stings and your heart pounds when the strange man rounds on you, and you flinch when he outstretches a hand.

"You hurt?"

His voice, though unamused, drips like thick, rich honey. Pools at your feet with the rainwater.

"Yeah," you respond meekly. Your fingers curl against your palm, nails digging into the skin there. "It's uh, my ankle." His eyes follow yours down to your feet. Widen at the sight of black and blue. 

"Shit."

It's quiet for a long moment. You can tell he's trying to piece it all together: how you ended up alone on the side of the road, hurt.  He still doesn't ask though. Not until a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds overhead, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

He sighs, a half-hearted comforting hand on your shoulder. 

"Someone dump you out there?" 

"Yeah," you sigh. "Boyfriend. We got into a fight and he just...lost it."

The man nods. Takes a small step forward as you hop on one foot next to him. 

It must take five whole minutes to get to the front door. Your ankle only feels worse by the time you step onto the porch, throbbing having turned into searing pain somewhere along the way. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as he jostles the key in the doorknob, the metallic taste of your own blood a temporary distraction.

He motions for you to follow him in, which you do, albeit hesitantly. His house is as you'd expect it to be from your brief encounter: little furniture or decoration, dishes in the sink, a general air of…man…throughout the small, dark space.

“Sit down,” he says. “I'll get a first-aid-kit.”

“Wait,” you stop him, because for some reason it seems of utmost importance in this very moment, despite the flash flood outside and your inability to walk, to know–

“What's your name?”

“Joel.”

You situate yourself on the couch as you wait for him to return. Scan the room for any signs of imminent danger. There’s a bookshelf on the far wall, stacked top to bottom with hardcovers and carved wooden trinkets. You wonder if he – Joel – made them himself. 

You wonder if the books keep him company out here; if the stories of Huck Finn and Moby Dick make him feel less alone. 

You wonder why he’s so isolated in the first place. 

You have little time to dwell on it though, as he re-enters the room promptly, dusty first-aid-kit in one hand and a lantern in the other. He places the latter down by his feet before pulling up a footstool. Opens up the kit and pulls out a roll of gauze.

“Might hurt a little,” he warns, beginning to unravel it.

You nod. Brace yourself. 

By the look of his hands – large and gruff – you expect him to be a bit rough. But he’s gentle, surprisingly so, cradling the lower half of your leg and wrapping your ankle with laser focus. His fingers, though calloused, skate across your skin with a near-startling softness. 

You watch his face as he works on you, quickly finding yourself transfixed by the way his brows contort and his eyes narrow, by the absentminded twitch of his mouth. He looks so much less intimidating like this, and you inadvertently begin to relax into his touch.

He seems to notice this, leaning in closer to your body, and while you know it's just to get a better angle, more precision, it still sends a rather confusing shockwave of electricity up your spine. In this proximity, you can practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. Can practically see every fiber of muscle in his biceps as they flex under his flannel shirt.

This close, you're met with the rather inconvenient realization that Joel is beautiful.

You try to tell yourself that it's purely situational, that if you hadn't just been dumped on the side of the road by your asshole boyfriend, you wouldn't be seeking the physical comfort of another man. Still, this does nothing to stop the steady acceleration of your heartbeat, nor the growing arousal between your thighs. 

All of this, despite the pain in your ankle.

You almost don't realize he's done mending you, the shifting of his hand to your opposite calf sending you into a prompt spell of dizziness. Mind flooded with images of him spreading you apart, taking you right here on this worn, leather couch, you're silently reeling. 

His eyes flit up to meet yours, a little darker than you recall them being. His fingers curl against your skin and your breath hitches. 

Does he feel this too?

You shift experimentally. Let your legs fall apart just an inch. To your dismay, he pulls his hand back; clears his throat.

And just like that – the bubble bursts.

“All set,” he announces as he stands, before practically running out of the room.

A little humiliated, you retreat back into yourself. Stare out the window and pretend not to notice when he rejoins you in the living room and wordlessly drags his footstool to the opposite side of the room.

The remainder of the day passes agonizingly slow. Minutes feel like hours, the sky only growing darker, and it’s a wonder how Joel can even see the pages of the book he’s currently got his nose stuck into.

Not that he’d offered you one. 

Instead, you’ve been stuck in place. A prisoner to this couch, the springs of which are digging into your back uncomfortably. Staring out the window like some harrowed female protagonist in a period piece.

Joel doesn’t seem to notice your presence, after a while. He reads, drinks warm beer, and quite literally twiddles his thumbs. Anything to avoid talking to you. 

You’re not sure what you did wrong. Had you said something to offend him without realizing? Had your subtle pass at him been less subtle than you’d thought? Had you crossed a line? You’d really just considered it innocent flirting. Maybe Joel hadn’t.

Regardless, it makes you wonder why he even brought you here. Maybe he’d just wanted to feel like a hero – hadn’t thought about what came after. About you occupying his precious space. 

After a while of sitting in the same place, your muscles begin to ache. Plus, your throat feels dry. You need to stand, need to get something to drink. Except, when you move to get up, Joel immediately stops you. 

“Where you goin’?” 

“Need a drink.”

“I’ll get you one,” he offers. “What do you want?” 

What you really want is to go home. To forget this entire day even happened.

So you settle on–

“Vodka?” 

He hums. “Don’t got that.”

“Tequila?”

“Got some scotch left. Might be one more beer. Was really hopin’ to have it though.”

You scoff. 

“Okay. Water, then?” 

“That I can do.” 

He disappears into the kitchen and returns moments later with a glass. Hands it over without making eye contact. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. He says nothing in response. Just collects his empty beer bottles from off the floor and retreats once again. 

By the time he comes back, the sun is setting – at least, what can be seen of it through the dark clouds that still rage in the sky. 

He seems tense, fixating himself by the window and watching the storm with such acuity you think he may be waiting for the second it ends to kick you out. 

“Have you heard anything about when this is supposed to pass?” you ask.

“Have no electricity,” he grumbles. “So, no.”

You stretch out your back. Stand. This time, Joel doesn't stop you. “Just didn't know if you had a radio or something.”

“I don't.”

Rounding on him, you attempt to get him to look in your direction. Still, he stares straight ahead, like you're not even there. Frustration bubbles in you, quickly reaching a full boil.

"What is your problem?"

He finally looks at you. And then he laughs, though you get the sense that he's not amused in the slightest.

"My problem?”

You nod. Raise your eyebrows at him.

“I'm lettin' you wait out a storm in my house right now,” he says. “Doesn't seem like somethin' you should be asking me."

You scoff. "I just don't know what I did to piss you off."

He turns to face you completely now. 

"Are you kidding? Haven't done nothing but inconvenience me since you got in my truck. Askin’ for a fuckin’ cocktail like this is some kind of resort. Starin’ at me all day like i'm a guest in my own home.”

Is he fucking serious?

“Why’d you even pick me up?"

"Wasn't gonna drive by a stranded girl on the side of the road, was I?"

You're both silent for a long moment. You can't exactly be mad at him for rescuing you. Still, you feel extremely uncomfortable now, knowing that he doesn't want you here. Tears pickle the corners of your eyes threateningly. You choke them back.

"Well fine, if i'm such a fucking burden, i'll leave."

You're expecting him to open the door for you. Throw you out to the wolves. So you're more than taken aback when he shakes his head at you disapprovingly.

"Like hell you will. There's about two feet of water out there. Where you gonna go?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “But i'll figure it out."

"You'll figure it out?"

"That's what I said."

Joel tuts. "Look at the state of you right now. You can barely even walk. There’s no power anywhere. Just face it: you wanna get home safely, before tomorrow, i'm your only hope."

“Fuck you,” you spit, stepping closer to him. Where does he get off, acting like such a righteous savior? You're going to brush past him, leave anyway, but as soon as you go to move, his hand is winding around your arm.

“Don't.”

“Or what?” you hiss. 

“Just – don't.” His voice is less angry; more pleading.

“You don't want me here,” you say. It's not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Yes I do. I mean – I don't want anything to happen to you out there. Please just – let me make this up to you.”

His hand slides up to your shoulder. Squeezes gently. Your eyes wander to where he holds you. When they flit up to his face again, you find he's already gazing at you.

You're not sure who moves first.

You're back on his couch in an instant, your shorts being tugged down and off your legs, along with your panties. And then Joel is shouldering himself between your legs, shimmying down the couch and situating his face right in front of your pussy.

His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as he gets his first taste of you, and he groans. You shudder at the sight of him, the sound of him. Your fingers find their way to the curls at the crown of his head and grasp tightly onto them.

“Is this what you need, baby?” he slurs, and you nod deliriously.

“Yeah,” he smirks. “I know.”

His tongue dips into your apex, greedily lapping up some of your sweet nectar before he finally decides to put you out of your misery, dragging it up to swipe over your swollen clit. 

You instinctually buck against his face, trying to force him closer, and he chuckles. Grabs onto your thighs and pulls you toward his mouth. His tongue begins to relentlessly massage your clit and you cry out, a needy little whine that echoes through the room. 

“Mhm,” he hums against you in understanding, the vibrations of his voice sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your core. And then he pulls away, only momentarily, to spit on your pussy, the sound of it so obscene that your eyes roll back in response. He's back on you immediately, plunging two fingers into your soaked cunt and curling them against your g-spot as his tongue laves at you.

In less than a minute, you're coming hard, gushing all over his chin and his hand. He doesn't relent until you're gasping for him to stop, scratching at his shoulders in desperation. And then he's kissing you, the taste of your arousal on his mouth, and though satiated, you've never felt so starving.

“Need you,” you mumble against his lips, your hands roving restlessly across any part of him you can reach, grasping at fabric and skin.

He nibbles at your neck and you inhale the scent of him. Commit the smell of his sweat and musk to memory. This'll probably be the only time you have him, after all. You push that thought to the back of your mind. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Joel pulls off his shirt and undoes his belt. Shucks his jeans off. He hovers back over you with a newfound ferocity in his eyes. 

“Up,” he orders. Helps you sit. You pull your own shirt off and toss it aside. Unclasp your bra and let it fall from your body as Joel stares wolfishly at your exposed chest.

Your eyes, on the other hand, fly straight to his cock. It tents in his boxer, his bulge a bit intimidating, and you feel yourself beginning to salivate.

He chuckles above you, hand coming to rest placatingly on your waist.

“Think you can take it, baby?”

In truth, you're not entirely sure. But you're sure as hell not about to waste any more time wondering.

“Please just – fuck me.”

He shifts his weight. Props your ankle atop his back and rests with his elbows on either side of you. And then he grinds against you, the heft of his hard cock rubbing against your bare pussy.

“Patience,” he tuts. “We got nothin’ but time.”

Hey!! I can’t ever get mmitb Joel out of my head and I thought it would be fun to make you this ❤️❤️

THATS MY MAN TRULY 😍😍😍😍

Thank you so much for making this baby THISBIS so sweet!!! Still crazy that people wanna spend their time making stuff like this for a weird little fic I made 😭😭