; * .

𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷 💿 ･ﾟ; * ✧ ･ﾟ.

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 (hoard) x virgin!reader (fem)

✦ Michael teaches you how to ride a bike, among other things. ✦ 1.4k ⟡ AO3

18+ 𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 !! ⟡ 𝗔𝗴𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝗽; Michael (29) + Reader (22). Heavy touching, teasing, pet names. Minor injuries. Brief oral, v. 𝗩𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀, piv. 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗲. Foster sibling incest; they’re out of the system. ੈ♡‧₊˚ ,

✦. Author’s Note: Reader was 19, when they met. They grew up in the same foster house, but they didn’t live together; they met later. Michael has moved back in with his foster mum, Reader is visiting. Don’t like, don’t read. 🤍

“22 years old, and you’ve never ridden a bike? Fuck off.”

And he’s laughing at you. He’s laughing at you — ushering you out in the garage after nightly tea, in search of the cycle in question.

When he finds it, he maneuvers you, kicking and screaming, onto the pivoting wheels of death. The bike is too big for you, clearly Michael’s size, though it seems no bother to your manic confrère.

“Up you go, pet,” Michael’s broad arms encircle your waist, guiding your plush legs up the thin metal seat. You straddle the faux-leather curves, cool to the touch beneath your billowing skirt, lurching with heat when he draws nearer.

Cat and cream, he’s spotted you staring, the amusement written plain on his face. His eyes crinkle in delight, that shit-eating grin ever-present.

“Come on, bird. Hands on the wheel,” he jests. His thick digits curl over your knuckles, willing you to hold on loosely. “These are the breaks…” Under the heat of his palm, he flexes your fingers on the trigger. “And this is the gas,” Michael squeezes your thigh, making you yelp, that sly smile easing the tension in the room.

“And what if I fall?” You ask stupidly, picking a hangnail.

“I’ll be right here,” he reassures you for the umpteenth time, cupping the scruff of your neck like a stern rugby coach. When you look back at him, he’s inches from your face, the summer sun melting his brown eyes a golden cream.

You kick your legs, brushing up against his cock, and turn your face to the light.

“Fuck it, let’s go.” You murmur, swallowing hard.

Michael lets you turn loose, stout hands fanning out in the air as you find your footing. When he cranks open the tiny garage, muscled arms refracting in daylight, you peel onto the street with little preamble.

You’re soaring, skidding on air — until suddenly, you aren’t. In a flash of skin and blood, you find yourself face-first on the cracked cement, your wrist bending in a way that it shouldn’t.

“Fuck,” he shouts, tearing the resident handkerchief from his left pocket to blot your skull. “Supposed to watch out for the curb, petal,” he laughs, though not unkind.

You want to hit him, for talking you into this, but the warmth of his hands at the back of your neck feels something like a dream. Callused fingers map the base of your skull, stroking up and down as he appraises your wound. It’s… Nice. Affectionate.

Without a shot at redemption, Michael leads you back inside, icing your sprained wrist with a bag of snap peas. It doesn’t take long for your whole hand to go numb, the frumpy pillow bidding little relief to your throbbing skull.

“You should really see a doctor,” Michael speaks for the first time, as if this much were obvious. Rummaging the kitchen cabinet for a jar of loose pills, he turns to face you with disdain.

“And you should really see a shrink,” you retort. “But I don’t think either of us will get that lucky.”

He leans down, his eyes wrought like knives, and slips the pills into your mouth with his forefinger and thumb. Rough digits trace your quarreling tongue, feeling the pharmaceuticals begin to dissolve under his grasp. Prodding your injured joint with the pad of his thumb, brown eyes flicker to meet yours, glazen with something dangerous.

When you cry out in pain at a particularly sharp touch, Michael crooks a weathered brow.

“That what you sound like during sex?” He scoffs, defaulting to his roguish ways.

You set your jaw in plain defiance. “Suck it and see.”

His eyes darken; you should not have tested him. He kneels down between your parted thighs, sprawled out on the settee, and tears the sticky panties from your crotch.

“Such a whore,” he chuckles, mollified by his findings, nuzzling his nose up into your cunt. “And such a sweet cunny…”

“Quit teasing,” you whine, using your good hand to press him closer to your clit.

Amused at your petulance, he works your button with his tongue, stirring your precious petals on his lips. He’s too good at this — too experienced, given his inability to live alone. By luck or misfortune, he’s moved back into the old foster house — the biggest cockblock of them all — helping your “mother,” for all intents and purposes, with the auto repairs.

It’s strange to be here with him now, all crumbling walls and cracking windows, knowing your love for him is anything but holy. Mercurial memories, unspooling like twine.

You can’t bring yourself to regret the decision to come home. Michael knows you. He’s known everything about you, from that very first glace. You are kindred spirits, parallel lives in the succession of love and grief. Two halves of a fucked-up whole.

Still, you’ve never done anything like this. Michael was your first kiss; your first heartache; the first man that you ever slept with naked. You wouldn’t want anyone else to show you pleasure, but those days have long since passed, or so you thought.

Who is he now, with his face in your cunt?

“You’re so beautiful,” he moans, hands snaking up to grope your tits. You’re a dream, and he doesn’t want to wake up. You wonder idly what more he could do, with those massive fucking fingers.

“Michael, please. Please, just fuck me.”

But you didn’t have to beg — he’s wanted this, from the day that you met. 26 and 19, he has always needed you in the very worst way.

He wrestles his jeans onto the ground, shucking his little briefs to align with your aching hole. Michael paints his cock with your juices, your pebbled tits flush to his hairy chest, his soft stomach brushing your navel. You wrap your legs around his waist; you want him, you want him, you want him; cracking open the shell of yourself, if only for his pleasure.

It’s raw, needy; a kettle that has boiled over far too long. You feel him deep in your stomach when he punches his cock, wet and raw, into your sweet little cunny. You rub your fingers over the freckled constellations of his back, tugging a hand through his gel curls. Your eyes start to sting; he’s much bigger than you would have thought; a man so large, with a dignity to match.

“Come here, baby. Wanna hold you.” He ushers you on top of him, watching your tits jiggle as you ride his fat dick, slamming your hips down on his thighs. Michael fucks you like a dog, ramming his cock in your wet hole with the frenetic intent to breed. His fingers dig deeper in your waist, a strenuous grip on your perfect peach.

“Good girl, bird. Just like that,” Michael whispers, petting your clit to make you sing. He throws his head back, eyes falling shut. “Needed you so bad.”

You arch your back, clapping your ass on his thighs, watching him keen into the fractional change. You’re losing steam, a pathetic failure at his lessons to ride, though your greed is infectious.

“I’m your dog,” you whine, blinded by lust. You belong to him, in every sense of the word. The feeling settles inside you like a blazing heat — You belong.

Impatient, he bodies you down on the settee, humping your cunt with his fuzzy balls slapping your legs. When he peaks, his husky frame bullies you further in the sofa, forcing his cum as deep as it can go. You can’t breathe, when he kisses you, dipping his tongue toward the back of your throat like a dying man’s wish. All you can see or smell is Him. Him.

“Michael,” you cry, and it’s the only name you’ve ever known. He cups a hand over your mouth, and you lick his callused palm until you scream.

“That’s it, biscuit. Be a good little whore,” he coos, folding you firmer in his arms, as if to save you from the world. You can’t see straight, you’re so breathless, spasming like a seizure around his spurting cock.

“Good girl,” he repeats, breathing hot in your ear. He tugs your panties into place, patting your wet pussy. “Good girl.”

You fall asleep to him cupping your neck, holding you closer than a corpse. It’s been so long since you’ve felt at home, you’d forgotten what he smells like. Spearmint, tobacco, sweat and sex. When he leads you up the stairs, toward the refuge of his room, you follow him into the sea of sheets, craving shelter in his arms.

“I’m yours,” you murmur, gentle as a child, when the ache settles deep in your cunt.

Michael kisses you deeper, knowing now.

“Always yours.”

✦ Author’s Note: To get real for a second: I’m a victim of abuse, and I related a lot to Maria’s character. This story is a way for me to rewrite my ending, on my own terms. 🤍 I hope you don’t mind.

Thanks as always @lorecraft for letting me vent in your DM’s. Thank you @stveharringtn for inspiring the ending. Go read her Michael fic here 🤍 Please REBLOG + COMMENT, if you enjoyed :)

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 💫

✦ Taglist: @rowanswriting @mothellie @kingstevesgf @ali-r3n @paradisepoisons @feral-pumpkin-energy @stveharringtn @bl00d-puppy @combaine @gett-fukedd @s6raphic @asimpforthe80s @cinnamoncunt @joesquinns @joejoequinnquinn @eddiesxangel @voyeurmunson @willowsgrl @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @mediocredreams @madelynraemunson @hellfiremunsonn @scrumptiouslyangrystarfish @urdadsnewgiirlfriend @kassy-munson @readergf @wistfultozier @pervertedangel @seatnights @keeksandgigz @curlyjoequinn @lovlygrls @tlclick73 @strangerstilinski @artrmss

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE USED OR REPUBLISHED, IN ANY FORM !!

if dbf!joel has 1 million fans im one of them. if dbf!joel has 100 fans im one of them. if dbf!joel has 1 fan im that fan, if dbf!joel has 0 fans then im dead. dbf!joel changed the trajectory of the way i live and breathe.

ugh look at him! he's such a loser! who even likes this loser! *she says with hearts in her eyes*

Angel

joel miller x f!reader drabble

warnings: this drabble has dark themes!! this is purely smut and it contains and knife kink and daddy kink. please heed these warnings! if you do not wish to consume this content, please do NOT read under the cut. smut contains unprotected piv, dirty talk, empty threat of using the knife!!!!! dark joel (? just in case) this relationship between joel and reader is consensual and joel was asked by reader to do this with reader. 18+, minors do not interact.

wc: 641

Joel was astonished when you’d first told him.

He was unsure. Hesitant. And oddly enough, the thought of you enjoying doing that with him turned him on, blinding him with a carnal desire that he knew was still deep inside of him.

He’d sworn up and down to himself that you’d softened him up, made him a better man after he’d met you one night at the Tipsy Bison. One smile from you—a smile that could end fucking wars—and it was over for him. You had him wrapped around your finger from that moment on.

So, when he’d asked you if there was anything in bed you wanted to give a try, something you two had never done before—he was completely taken aback at the proposal you offered: him holding a knife up to your throat as he fucked you relentlessly from behind.

And that’s how you two ended up here, with his switchblade pressed to your throat as your knees dug painfully into the mattress, him pistoning into you from behind.

Joel got a million dollar view of your ass and your arched back, his other hand engulfing your wrists as he pressed them against your tailbone. It was no use for you to struggle, even if your pleas were getting louder.

You and Joel had a safe word, and he’d yet to hear you say it, so he kept going.

“Daddy, please—”

“Wan’ me to fuckin’ press this blade into your throat baby? Hush up now n’ take what daddy gives ya.”

Your cunt gushes at his words, his empty threat sending you into a spiral of arousal. You couldn’t even think straight at this point, and Joel knew it. He also knew him being a little mean to you turned you on even more.

“Look at ya, getting fucked dumb on my cock. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Fuck, baby—god damnit. Gonna cum if you don’ stop squeezin’ me like that.”

You were numbly incoherent at this point, nothing but a strangled whine bubbling from your throat as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. The blade was dangerously close to digging into your skin, but a sick, twisted fucking part of you loved the thrill of it.

Joel’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and you knew he was close. He took the blade away from your throat and gripped your hips, flipping you around so his broad body covered yours.

He was pulsing inside of you and the wild desire in your eyes nearly sent him over the edge. A calloused hand dragged up your body and groped your breast, tweaking your nipple between his forefinger and thumb before he trailed his hand up to your jaw to open it. He pressed the blade of his knife onto your tongue as he fucked into you at such a rapid pace, you fucking swore the bed would break.

“Such a good girl. My angel. So fuckin’ pretty n’ good for daddy, baby. Come with me.”

And he didn’t have to say it twice. His wish was your command, and you cried out as you pulsed around him, gushing all over the base of his cock. He grunted as he collapsed and dropped his head onto your shoulder, pulling out just in time before he came all over your stomach.

You swiped a finger over his hot spend, plopping your finger into your mouth as you looked into his eyes and sucked. You moaned at the salty taste, eyes closing in pure ecstasy.

“Christ, baby. Y’don’t know what you do t’me.” He flops down onto his side and tosses his switchblade onto his nightstand, pulling you into him.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you traced patterns onto his warm chest, the feeling of his erratic heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“I have a pretty good idea.”

𝐊𝐍𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏

summary: joel fingers you for the first time in his truck.

warnings: 18+ mdni. joel miller x afab!reader. no physical descriptors of reader. fingering (pussy and ass). heavy ass play. Joel being a fucking menace. no beta. w.c: 823

author's note: had this thot for the last few days and had to write it out before i went insane but now i'm taking you all with meeee

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Joel's two knuckles deep in your cunt while an old country tune quietly floats from the radio into his dimly lit truck that's parked on the side of a dusty road. He languidly fucks his thick digits between your sopping folds, each thrust making your breath hitch more than the last. 

He's taking it slow, figuring out what spots make your cunt spasm and quiver for the very first time. It's a mess of limbs in the front seat; your skirt is rucked up your hips, legs bent at the knee, and he's holding you against his side, cradling your head in the crook of his arm.

"Righ' 'ere?" he grits, swallowing hard as you clamp around his fingers. 

You grab at his worn button-up, tightly fisting the material with a needy whine as a wave of pleasure burns deep, and he doubles his efforts with a twist of his wrist. "That's it. Come on, pretty girl, there you go."

Joel curls his fingers, seeking the fleshy spot behind your clit that makes you see stars and forces you to the edge listening with perverted delight to your frantic cries.

He leaves his fingers in your obscenely wet pussy just a bit longer, enjoying the feeling of your cunt convulsing from the aftershocks. He teases his soaked fingers along your slit when he withdraws them, toying with your folds and puffy, hairy outer lips before moving south.

A gasp catches in your throat as he cautiously circles your rosebud.

"Ever been touched 'ere?" Bright moonlight casts off his dark coffee-colored eyes as he searches your face for discomfort.

All you can muster is a broken "No," and he hums a deep rumble. It sounds like the beginning of a summer storm, and the ominous tone sets a blazing fire in your belly.

"s'ok if I keep goin'?" he asks, timidly looking down at you through his lashes. He shifts his hips, grinding his cock against your outer thigh. You mewl upon feeling his hard, throbbing length through his jeans.

You dumbly nod, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. 

Your mouth drops open, panting, as he slowly presses one thick digit into your ass. He curses at your tightness but keeps moving until his knuckles graze the soft globes of your cheeks. "S'fuckin' tight lil' ass you got there, sweetheart." He croons, nudging his nose along your jaw and tipping your head back before branding you with a searing kiss.

You moan wantonly as he licks into your mouth and starts slowly fucking you. "Tell me how it feels." He husks, breaking the kiss.

His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and nipping his way down to your clavicle as your mind searches for anything remotely resembling words.

A mess of mumbled moans and broken curses stumble from your lips into the small truck cabin. Your hips move on their own, wanting his finger deeper and faster, but he never breaks his steady stride. He chuckles against your skin. "This sweet rose wants more, huh? First time bein' touched, and she's already gettin' greedy."

He leans back, pinning his eyes on where he's stretching you open, and groans at the filthy sight of his syrupy, thick fingers stretching your small, shiny hole. He meets your wild doe eyes with a wolfish grin before pursing his lips and spitting.

The shock of his warm spittle landing on the rim of your sensitive hole makes your insides violently churn, and a yearning, brazen moan spills from your lips.

"Gotta make sure it's nice n' wet," he says while lining up a second finger, still piercing your gaze. "Don't wanna hurt 'er."  

He watches your face twist from the pressure as he slowly glides two sizeable fingers into your snug hole. "S'ok, you can take it," he calmly encourages, kissing the pinched skin between your brows. 

He raises his thumb up and over your pusling, weepy core, and plants the heavy pad on your clit. He suffocates the tiny button, earning himself a full-on quiver and high-pitched wail from your defenseless, blissed-out body. 

"Thatta girl. Feels good, don't it?" he grunts, thrusting his fingers deeper.

A solid buzz blossoms in your veins under his wicked touch. The dual action he's doling out with his insanely massive hand makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. So overcome with the depraved rapture, you can't help but give in to the delirium.  

"Can feel you loosenin' up. S'good girl," he coos, smiling down at you even though your eyes are crossed dumb from the sheer euphoria racing through your veins. 

"Pretty soon, she'll be stretched around my cock." he informs, hissing when he feels you tighten at his words. Your mouth falls open with a silent wail, and your spine bends like a bow ready to strike as he purrs sinfully in your ear. "Tha's righ'. Gonna make this sweet rose take every fuckin' inch."  

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

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