#and joel a fiend | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedgito · 4 months ago

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𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | Joel's a pain in the ass neighbor, but fortunately he's fond of you. Alternatively, Joel's a creep and you're definitely into it.

author's note | my entry for my womb mate @chaotic-mystery's challenge WIRED 4 YOU. I got Joel Miller, Uh Oh by Tate McRae and a fucked up thought process & a special thank you to my love @gracieheartspedro for looking this over.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, dubcon, no outbreak au, age gap, joel calls you kiddo, creepy borderline pervert!joel, protective!joel, reader is in college and living with a handful of roommates, mentions of partying and hook-ups, we're very sex positive here, voyeurism level: extreme, joel being an absolute fiend, masturbation, public sex, fingering, (1) one slap to the face, subtle breeding kink, creampies, unprotected piv, corruption kink

word count — 8.3k

It’s downright insidious, freaky—the chances of your upstairs bedroom placed directly opposite of his.

Joel Miller, your neighbor.

The old, crotchety man who’s called the cops on the house five times within the first month of moving in.

You and your small group of friends, three other girls, decided to rent the place out for the second half of your college semester. Better commute, spacier than the cheap accommodation dorm rooms.

And this was the first weekend you’ve actually been able to settle, the inevitable party streak seeming to wane as classes ramped up and work seemed endless.

Joel works weird hours, too—so you’ve noticed.

Like, there isn’t a sturdy schedule to his job, coming and going as he pleases.

But now, you’re face to face with the gap between your houses holding the tension, spotting the man responsible for you having to charm the town sheriff every weekend. You’ve got it down, obviously. You’re touchy and sweet and laying it on thick before he’s forgetting what the call was even for.

It never worked, but he still did it.

You’re halfway through pulling your shirt over your head, cloth tight against your chest with your arms through their designated hole when he turns his head, thinking it was a trick of the light—no, it was just him.

You flip him off boldly and refuse to wait for a reaction, swiping the curtain closed before you’re tugging the shirt over your head the rest of the way.

It seemed your luck that you would end up sharing a window with him—praying that the sight of him would be few and far between.

—

As your luck would have it, you saw him again.

And again, until your animosity had melted to a simple acknowledgement, still full of disdain—he’s always freshly showered when you see him, spotting the wet mop of hair even from a distance.

You try to ignore how his eyes start to linger.

He knows you can’t be that naive, but you don’t offer any signs, curtains often parted as you changed in the comfort and privacy of your own room.

Joel knows it's wrong, but he’s growing curious.

You weren’t like the other girls; not accompanying them on their rowdy nights out or stumbling up to the front door after a late homecoming and not passing out on his front lawn either.

Though, you are kind enough to wake your friend up the following morning with a disgruntled expression and a slowly cooling cup of coffee in your grip. Patience wearing thin as you attempt to lead them back in the house.

You liked to party and you liked to have fun, but you had a limit—a hard one that you didn’t break, refusing to let distractions steer you in the wrong direction.

But, the reality was that Joel couldn’t stand any of you.

Maybe it was the gap in age, growing up in different times, spending your twenties in a much different manner than he would have.

Regardless, he could eat shit.

You’re so hopeful of avoiding him for the handful of months you had left on your lease that you swear you’re dreaming when you hear his voice carry up the house from your front door, raised and rather crass for such an early morning after a long night of dealing with rowdy twenty-something year olds with less sense than you.

The birds weren’t even fucking chirping yet.

“Why the hell are we arguing this early in the morning?” You crease, rubbing at tired eyes as you blindly step down the stairs, turning the corner to see your roommate nearly nose to nose, always combative and never one to stop and think.

You loved her, but fuck.

“One of you little shits fucked up my truck,” He griped, thumb jutting angrily over his back, “I need the information for my insurance and this one’s decided violence is easier than cooperatin’—better yet, I’ll just call the damn cops.”

“Woah—wait,” You interject, yawning as you gently pull your friend away from Joel before giving her a look of pathetic plea, hoping she’d scamper off.

Fortunately, she does.

“God—what is it with you and cops, dude?”

Dude? Joel hadn’t heard that one yet.

“Who’s car is it?” He presses, arms crossing over his chest in an authoritative manner that shouldnt intimidate you, but it does, “It’s the one at the end of the drive with the dent on the bumper,”

You peer over his shoulder with a sudden disbelief, eventually reaching out to shove him aside because there is no way…

“Those bitches,” You hiss, “they took my car?”

He knows you’re not asking for an answer, your thoughts becoming audible at the sheer disbelief.

They seemed to take the mantra of sharing everything to a literal sense, forgoing even asking if you were alright with it after you had turned in earlier than the rest of them.

You knew what would come, pitiful excuses masked with fake apologies—it never failed.

We didn’t want to wake you.

It was an accident, swear.

I’ll cover the cost, don’t worry.

“Trouble in paradise?” Joel tries to tease at your expense of misery, running your fingers through sleep-tousled hair before you mirror his position, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl, doing the mental math over the cost.

“Fuck you,” You bite, “I’ll bring the shit you need over later, but for now, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Hey, that ain’t how this works, I need it n—“

“I’m good for it,” You cut him off, not allowing him a word in edgewise before you’re gone, door slamming in his face.

It’s only minutes after you’re gone and Joel is reluctantly turning back toward his house that he realizes you had bested him, forcing him to walk away empty-handed.

And frankly, Joel didn’t like that.

–

He liked it even less when you showed up five hours later looking like hell, the beginnings of spring prickling the air with the sun beating down in the cul-de-sac but the cool breeze satiating the heat. He looked you over, silent judgment in his gaze that made you want to slap him.

He’d probably press charges.

“Slept good, huh?” he drawled.

“Haha. Very funny. Here.” You shoved the folded piece of paper, all information required for his stupid insurance claim, glaring begrudgingly,. “This wasn’t my fault.”

“Was your friend's fault, though—maybe you should keep a better eye on ‘em,” Joel reprimands, “A house full of ya and you aren’t keeping tabs on who’s comin’ and goin’ in your car?”

“I was asleep—and you—mmm, you know what, no—” You laugh to yourself, holding your hand up defensively before you shake your head, “I gave you the info, file your little claim and fuck off. Also, calling the cops isn’t working. So, maybe…I don’t know? Give it a rest?”

There’s a pause where Joel sizes you up, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, as if he’s savoring the way he can needle you.

“We’re one call away from me offering to fuck officer friendly and accuse you of harassment,” you snap at him, hating how smug he looks, “Is it the noise or are you just so old and miserable you can’t allow anyone else to enjoy anything? No one else is calling the cops.”

To be fair, you kept things at a respectable volume inside–however, the capacity in the house occasionally overflowed and you could only contain so much, the responsibility and leadership always defaulting to you.

“Yes, because I’m a miserable old man,” Joel says flatly, “That’s why.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the sturdy frame of his front door, not at all moved by your outburst, letting the silence stretch until you’re squirming beneath his gaze.

“Jesus, you’re such a prick,” you mutter.

You roll your eyes and start stomping towards your house, and even with your back turned, you can feel the weight of his stare burning into you. You flip him off for good measure, aware of Mrs. Madison across the street curious as she waters her petunias, a look of distaste at your sudden outburst.

That’s when you see the new detail: the side mirror on his truck is held together with duct tape.

You almost feel bad—you didn’t see that much damage after the mess of last night; whoever was responsible did a number backing into it. But, as quickly as the guilt consumes you, it dissipates.

Joel could stay in his disdain as long as he wished even as the sway of your hips burned themselves into his memory, tongue filling his cheek before he slipped back into his house.

Both of your reprieves come as school busies your days and work occupies his own, in and out of the house without much of a word or glance, the rowdiness now few and far between, but not the visits—occasionally it was the same boy, a few times before another one inserts himself into the mix, and a few girls.

At first he assumes you may have downgraded your house parties to smaller get-togethers in hopes that Joel wouldn’t call the cops anymore—which truthfully, he does stop. Only as his workload has increased, his mind occupied and less time spent at home—he finally catches sight of you after two weeks of near silence, it’s through the window of his bedroom into yours.

Joel’s breath catches when he realizes you’re not alone. There's a guy, unrecognizable, only his arms visible as you’re nearly naked and strewn out on your sheets, your bra clad against your breasts but your legs bare and parted, hands curled around your thighs and a head working furiously under the guide of your hand.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, a pure elation.

He rubs his eyes, certain the late hours must be playing tricks on him.

You’re in his goddamn head, he thinks.

But, what really grabs his attention is your slightly opened window, the sound from your room filtering into his own, through the screen, the shadow of the curtains and his dark room keeping him hidden but he can hear you. See you.

An itch tangles deep in his chest, something raw and consuming trying to claw its way out.

The moans and giggles tangle in his mind like vines, wrapping tighter with every glance. The days pass in this strange voyeuristic rhythm; more nights than not, Joel finds himself watching, captive to your parade of lovers, growing jealous of the returning faces.

He tries to tell himself there isn’t anything wrong with what he’s doing—it was you leaving the window open, you keeping the lights on for him, curtains parted for him, but the build-up eventually makes him cave and the stress from work leads him to palming his cock on a night when you’re climbing on top of your chosen suitor, breasts on full display and bouncing with a delicious rhythm, and Joel’s hardly hidden now, resting back in his desk chair with his jeans pushed down just enough to tuck his briefs underneath his balls, drawn tight as he fisted his cock.

His hand is rough and calloused, opposite to the way he imagines yours might be if you’d ever stoop to touching him this way. The thought is absurd. Dirty.

He needs your soft hands on him.

It only makes him buck harder into his palm, sweat pouring down his chest and every muscle strung tight with need. Your moans slip through the open window, finding him in the dark of night like a searchlight.

He pretends you know he’s there—wants him to hear, wants him to see—imagines your eyes on his cock as he grinds his palm over the head, his thumb slipping over the slit and suddenly he’s spilling over his hand with a pathetic grunt, breathing out shakily.

It really has become his routine.

When he gets home late at night, it’s the first thing he checks for: the light in your window.

Sometimes it’s on and you’re alone, studying on your bed with a face of focus, brow drawn in tight as you tapped away on your laptop, but the release you crave is never far away. If Joel watches long enough, eventually you succumb to your own insatiable need, pulling out the small, handheld toy from your dresser and locking your door, afraid your friends might interrupt the precious time but not giving half a shit about your open window or the man watching carefully from across the way.

Then it’s just you and the feeble little toy, and Joel can’t look away.

He can’t do anything other than wish he could give you what it does—what it never seems to: the satisfaction his big, experienced hands would. He watches you edge yourself repeatedly, almost to the point of pain, whining and gasping as you work yourself up, on the brink of the release that only a real cock could give. His.

You drive him mad this way.

He fucks his palm until he sees stars some nights, every part of him feeling feral and raw with need, but it’s never quite enough.

You have to know—with him easing up on calls and complaints, rarely heard or seen, giving you the peace you craved as you settled back into your schedule with school and focused on the necessary parts of your life.

It’s his secret, he’d die with it. With as much sin as he’s committed in his lifetime, there wasn’t guilt so much as shame, but you were just so goddamn tempting.

The next conversation you have with him is tense, a culmination of events rising to a nasty head of anger and frustration, all the while unfoundedly attracted to the way he asserts himself.

It’s pathetic, really.

But, you couldn’t help it—it was kinda hot.

Joel likes to smoke on his porch at night occasionally, with summer in full swing and his yard giving him the perfect view of the nightly neighborhood entertainment, he seems to examine the scene critically, that permanent scowl on his face.

Truthfully, you’re thankful the partying has died down and often found the house emptier than normal as your roommate had started to find fun outside of the comfort of home, often leaving you alone—that is, relatively speaking.

Joel’s come to memorize a few names, the one that stands out most is Dean.

He’s a confident little shit, all suave and little empathy, he’s seen him treat you roughly in a few ways but more importantly, he’s an asshole. He’s the same kid he’s caught kissing another one of your roommates behind your back—a classic dick move, but breaking your heart?

Well, Joel wasn’t going to stand for that.

He had to protect his girl—even if you had no idea what that meant to him and his nightly meet-ups with his bedroom window. Joel waits until Dean is alone and your front door is slammed shut after a tense exchange of words and the inevitable fuck you—that you’ve mastered throwing at Joel plenty of times—slips out.

Joel emerges from the shadow of the porch with an air of defiance, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes full of skepticism and Dean is on the defense almost instantly. He’s seen Joel before, always perturbed by his presence.

Dean spins around as he approaches his own car parked at the end of your driveway, face already sour. “You got a problem, old man?”

“I don’t wanna catch you back over here,” Joel explains, approaching with a slow reverence, the hand not occupying the cigarette stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, “that clear?”

“You think you’re some big protector, huh? She doesn’t need you to fight her battles. She’s fine.” Dean retorts, a forced bravado floats from his chest to his mouth, dismissive of how poorly he had treated you about five minutes prior—how easily the words selfish bitch had flowed from his mouth.

“You leave and don’t come back—I see you around here again and I’ll snap your ass like a twig, got it?” Joel threatens, tapping out the ash over the cement, his face unnaturally relaxed.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “she isn’t worth this shit, anyways.”

With Dean, you weren’t all that upset.

He ghosted you completely, but he was already on his way out.

Then, there’s a small illness that spreads on campus, leading to a week off strictly online classes that comes as a welcomed break, spending extra time outside as you lounge in gaudy furniture your landlord had left behind, a thick chair that reclines and swivels, curled up in the seat as you work your way through an assignment as Joel’s truck roars up the street and into his driveway, toolbox clutched in his hand as he fished for his keys at his front door.

It wasn’t that Joel had been kind to you as of late, but rather less…frustrated?

He smiled on occasion, filtered through misdelivered mail and stuffed it into your mailbox instead of approaching your front door with annoyance, hell—he even apparently offered to clean up the front lawn last weekend while he mowed his own, knowing that none of your girls even owned a lawn mower.

There had to be a catch.

When he catches you looking, he raises a hand in a half-wave, and you feel an unexpected flutter.

What the fuck was that?

It happens a couple more times, no words, just a simple exchange.

Your roommate, Julia, catches it one morning.

“How’s your boyfriend?” she teases as she passes by, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

She’d yet to have a run-in with Joel, unbothered by his presence and rather clueless.

“Please,” you snort, “he’s like fifty.” But there’s no denying the strange gravitational pull you feel, like the man has some secret to him that you want to discover—curious to what has changed.

Days slide by, punctuated by Joel’s presence.

You’d spent the last few days waiting for it—the favor he’d ask for in return or some comment about how you’d better not let the weeds get out of control again, letting the overgrown grass put a bad mark on the neighbors' normally well-kept lawns. But there’s nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Friday afternoon, Joel was back on his porch, quietly watching your house while pretending to tinker with something wrapped in a blue tarp in the back of his truck. You pretended not to notice at first, keeping your head bent over your laptop like it was giving you the meaning of life instead of a LATE warning on your English assignment.

What did this guy want?

Later that evening, you watch him sand down a piece of wood against a table on his porch, lost in his work. You and your roommates had already enjoyed dinner for the night and cleaned up, the rest of them retired to their rooms but here you were, approaching Joel.

The sun bakes the street, turning everything into a mirage of heat waves and distant hums of cicadas. An impulse catches you; before it fully registers, you’re already at his driveway with a couple cold beers clutched in hand, one already open and half-empty.

“Hey,” you called. Joel squinted up at you like he wasn’t sure who he was looking at for a second before his eyes landed on the beer, even more confused, “—it’s a peace offering.”

“Alright,” he responds slowly, unsure as he reaches for the bottle and twists the cap off with a natural strength, “what’s the catch?”

You shrug and Joel hides his instinct to let his eyes fall upon your breasts as he takes a sip and tilts his head back, wanting to reprimand you for wearing such a revealing top despite the sweltering heat, almost like you were begging him to look, sweat clinging to your chest.

“No—no catch, just…never got to thank you for the lawn,” You tell him, spotting the newly replaced mirror on his truck, “Oh, finally got it fixed?”

Joel turns back over his shoulder and nods, eyes squinting as he spotted the still very visible dent to your car, “Can’t say the same for you—some friends you got,”

“We’re college students—we’re broke,” You reply with ease, “It’s just a dent, anyways. It still drives and—”

“I can try and fix it,” Joel offers, “Next weekend, if you’re around,”

“Aren’t I always?” you tease, testing the waters, a flirtatious smile forcing its way onto your face but you catch it at the last second, reprimanding yourself over it.

What were you even doing?

“Seems that way,” Joel decides, taking another long swig of the beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—he’d know.

Well, it was decided.

And it seemed after a month of tense interaction, things were finally settling. Joel was less tense, you were less combative. It was great.

Curiosity wins, though. It always does.

Joel doesn’t mean to interfere. Really, he doesn’t.

But when he’s heading out to his truck Saturday morning, grabbing the tools to approach your front door and start working on your car, a familiar guy slips out your front door, tall and lanky—hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, looking a little too smug for Joel’s liking—he can’t resist.

It’s the same spiel that Dean got, though slightly more effective, filling the younger boy with fear.

It’s only when he glances back toward the house and at the living room window—he sees your narrowed eyes watching him through the glass—that he realizes you saw the whole thing, filling you with a rage you’ve never felt before.

And even moreso, there’s no smile this time—just a quiet challenge in his gaze that makes your pulse skip. Joel knew exactly what he was doing.

“Asshole,” you mutter, slipping on your shoes before bursting out the front door. Joel’s at the curb, hands stuffed in his pockets, like he’s waiting for you to come storming over, the remnants of your friendship dissipating as the car speeds away.

“What was that?” you demand, crossing your arms tight.

He shrugs, a maddening little smirk pulling at his lips. “Who was that?”

You nearly choke on your response. He doesn’t deserve an explanation.

Instead, you jab a finger in his direction, eyes narrowing as you move into his space, his head turning to squint off into the distance before you let the urge take over and unfurl your hand to smack his across the jaw, the sickening crack catching Joel off-guard.

“How long have you been doing that? Fucking with my friends?”

Joel looks amused. “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Friends—alright, sure, he thinks.

Joel catches sight of your wrist as it winds back again, his fingers wrapping around it with ease and tight, a silent warning, you ask through clenched teeth “Do you do this with everyone? Is it some kind of hobby? Being a shitty neighbor? Or are you obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed? Oh, kiddo,” Joel laughs, a low rumble that you feel in your bones. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

Your stomach flips, and not in the way that you want it to. “Says the guy who can’t keep his nose out of my business. I don’t need your help.”

“You should stay outta trouble,” Joel suggests

"He’s not trouble," you shoot back. "And I don’t need you to play watchdog for me."

“Are you sure about that?” Joel flicks an eyebrow, the challenge in his voice making your skin prickle.

“Is that a threat?” you ask tensely, attempting to wretch your hand away and failing.

"Wasn’t a threat," Joel says, voice dropping lower. "Just know you like to push buttons. Seem real fond of keepin’ your curtains wide open at night." His head tilts slightly, "Almost like you want someone watchin'."

The connection clicks in your mind after a moment, turning to catch the open panels of your bedroom window in the space between your houses before your eyes lock on him, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“You’ve been watching me?”

Joel chuckles, his grip easing enough to let you pull free. “Not like you’re makin’ it hard.”

“You’re sick,” you spit at him, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs help,” Joel counters, taking a step back. “Or, maybe it’s attention.”

The words sting, and it takes everything not to lunge for him again. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just being honest.” He shrugs, and it infuriates you how little he seems to care.

Your mouth works around a reply that won’t come out right; all that escapes is an angry huff.

Joel can see it simmering underneath, the realization that he might be right.

“Lemme show you somethin’,” Joel suggests, nodding toward his house.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you say, but there’s hesitation in it, a crack that Joel doesn’t miss.

“And you’re curious,” He’s already heading toward his door, leaving you to decide if you’ll follow.

You know you shouldn’t.

You know this is the worst idea.

But you can already feel the pull—of him—and it’s stronger than anything else.

You trail after him, every step a little betrayal of your better judgment.

Quietly, you follow him into his dark living room and up the stairs, met with a half-open bedroom door that he spears wide with his fingers, footsteps following quietly behind as he leads you to the inevitable window in his room that peers right into your own.

“There’s something wrong with you.” It comes out weaker than you intend, unable to meet his eyes as your fingers wrap over the edge of the windowsill, his presence lingering behind.

Joel just steps aside, gesturing toward the view. “Then I guess there’s somethin’ wrong with both of us.”

You stare through the window into yours and your breath catches. An unmistakable pang hits you when you see it—how clear the sight is in your own room, how well he must have seen everything. Heard everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually closed it, annoyed with the constant stuffiness.

“Seems like you want me watchin’,” Joel says, there’s a taunting edge to his voice, but it’s laced with something else you can’t decipher

“Or maybe you’re just lonely,” you suggest, turning to him.

“Maybe,” Joel responds cooly.

“So just like that? You spy on me?” you accuse, but there’s less bite in it than before.

Joel’s grin is slow, infuriatingly confident. “Just lookin’,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind much—’round here when we want privacy, we’re intentional about, we don’t leave our windows open while we’re naked and moaning for half the neighborhood to hear,”

The embarrassment hits you quick, palms sweating at the mention as you look away and back out the window, feeling Joel move closer.

“I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think.” he cuts in, but he’s not angry.

There’s a hint of laughter in it, and it makes you tense, but not in a fight or flight type of way, rather, anticipating his next move, expecting it.

“So, what?” you challenge, “What happens now?”

“Depends on you,” Joel says, his voice low now. Dangerous, almost. “You gonna close it?”

“What if I don’t?”

There it was.

Joel’s eyes darken with interest.

“Then, I guess you’ll know I’m watchin’ you,” he admits, the words sending a shiver down your spine, his hand soothing the shock as it spreads over the small of your back and down, curving over your jeans as he squeezed your ass between the heel of his palm and fingers, “that alright with you?”

Your heart hammers in your chest as you turn to hold his gaze, feeling the heat of him so close.

It’s a game—a risky one—and he’s playing it well. You’re hooked, unable to challenge him.

Now that he’s presented you with his reasoning, his motives, you’re entranced.

He’s always had a rugged way about him, devastatingly attractive despite his age—not that had any affect anyways, but you found yourself intimidated because of it, admiring from a distance before he showed how much of an asshole he could be.

Still, you weren’t blind.

If he was lonely, it was by choice. Not by lack of interest.

You’re aware of his wandering hands as they slide around your hips to unbutton your shorts, the zipper following quietly before the warmth of his hand is pressing against your mound as his fingers slide into the front of your underwear, simmering with the same heat as his middle finger slides through your obvious slick, a laugh catching in his throat as he crowds you against the open window, his chin hooking over your shoulder as your lips part in a gasp.

“Guess I got my answer,” he teases, voice thick with satisfaction.

You feel exposed and alive, heat pooling low and your fingers clutch at his arm, needing an anchor as your knees threaten to give way.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you breathe, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Yeah?” His middle finger slides up, circles slow and deliberate, “feels good, don’t it?”

His words are like a spark; you tilt your hips into him, a silent plea for more.

Joel obliges with a low chuckle, teasing you with expert precision.

“How are they?” Joel asks curiously, unsurprisingly calm as he quietly shifts your shorts down until they fall, pooling at your ankles while he unoccupied hand squeezes at the inside of your thigh, “Do they touch you this good?”

“Good enough, they can make me come,” You admit, eyes falling shut at his practiced movements, the hand squeezing at your thigh sliding up to press inside of you, two thick fingers spreading you open while his other works over your swollen clit, rubbing in furious rhythm with his fingers

“Are you good enough, Joel?” You ask tauntingly, a small waver in your voice, “Or is that why you live alone?”

“I am, kiddo,” Joel reassures, “And I do because s’better for me that way.”

“Or you can’t make a girl come, can’t keep them around so you watch me through your window,” you explain to him, momentarily pausing as his finger rubs over your clit harshly, no circles or practiced motion, just pressure—delicious fucking pressure, “Do the neighbors know you like to be a creep?”

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he bites, his hand moves with a kind of confident hunger, your breath hitches as you feel it building, raw and electric.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you manage, voice shaking.

“Am I?” Joel’s lips skim the side of your neck, a hot whisper against your skin as his finger presses rough and insistent. “Seems like you wanted me to see just how needy you were. Somethin’ about those boys ain’t satisfying or you wouldn’t fuckin’ be here lettin’ me touch you like this,”

He’s good—fuck, he’s good.

You can’t find the words to deny it, not when he’s curling inside you in perfect tandem with the dizzying friction on your clit. The heat is coiling tight in your belly, pulling you closer to the edge.

“Admit it,” he pushes, “let me hear what those pretty little cries sound like up close as you come around my fingers,”

You’re panting now, thighs trembling under his relentless pace.

“I—fuck—” The admission is lost in a choked moan, grabbing blindly for his wrist as your orgasm crashes into you, eyes squeezed shut as you gasp, hips moving insistently into the motion of his hands as he guides you through intensity of it, almost like he’s rocking you in place, soothing you.

“Good enough?” Joel murmurs, the cockiness in his voice matches the satisfaction flooding through you.

His fingers slide out slowly, leaving you empty but tingling with sharp aftershocks.

He shifts beside you, smirking like the self-assured asshole he is.

“Admit it,” Joel encourages, “only time I’ve ever seen you come like that is when you’re playin’ with that cheap little toy, alone in your room.”

“Just stop meddling, alright?” you plead with him, quietly adjusting your shorts back over your hips with a small modicum of shame, but the look on Joel’s face reads as insatiable.

“I’ll keep scarin’ ‘em off,” Joel admits, “‘til you realise you don’t deserve to be treated the way they’re treatin’ you—yellin’ and sneaking around behind your back. I see everything, kiddo.”

“Well, stop,” you reply without much bite, “just—go back to being insufferable—”

Joel smirks at the small revelation on your behalf, “I thought you were aimin’ for a peace offering the other day, I’m keepin’ the peace. For you and for me,”

The back and forth was pointless, you begin to realize.

Joel was a natural protector, whether you needed it or not.

–

He does keep his word, though.

It takes a week for you to face him again, but eventually you’re wandering back to his front door and accepting defeat, hushed on the fact your bedroom window has stayed closed since the day in his bedroom and not a single person for Joel to run off.

He answers the door shirtless, thin shorts hung low on his waist and the scowl you return to his own is too natural, trying desperately to stuff down your ego. He must have been sleeping, hair mused and his eyes blinking rapidly as he rubbed at his thick facial hair, scratching at his cheek.

“Whaddya need, kiddo?”

You roll your eyes and turn your head impishly over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles lightly, though tired.

You don’t even have to ask.

“Let me eat dinner and I’ll be over,” he tells you, “no plans tonight?”

“We’re all studying for some big tests coming up so no, I just—I don’t wanna look at it anymore.”

“Gotcha,” he replies easily, “go on—I’ll come knockin’ later.”

He throws the orders around with such ease, ones that you follow without argument.

Joel shows up later that night, hand rapping at the door at the same time you pull it open.

You follow him outside, listen to him explain, and then you’re turning on your heels and half a second from escaping the torture of having to be around him any longer before he speaks up and the inevitable comes out.

“Oh, you’re helpin’,” Joel explains, “get your ass back here—teach you a thing or two this way.”

“Uh huh,” you reply tersely and while it is excruciating to sit through, Joel gets the dent out and fixes your dimming taillight free of charge, that is, for the moment. He’s well-versed with cars and his hands work quickly, and frankly, the way he moves is distracting.

Annoyingly.

You can’t help staring at the expanse of his back and the taut muscle underneath, only able to imagine it and clearing your throat awkwardly as he has to repeat himself a couple times before you realize he’s talking to you again.

“Pop your trunk,” he repeats, following the order quietly before he’s stuffing a few tools in the back that has you eyeing him skeptically, “just a few things, in case you end up with a flat or something, you won’t be completely helpless,”

“O-kay,” you reply with hesitance, watching his fingers curl around the trunk as he shoves it closed, “is that all?”

“A thank you’d be nice,” Joel admits, lowering his tone as he murmurs, “fuckin’ kids these days,”

Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you approach him again, hand mirroring his as it curls around your trunk and you invade his space, nearly chest to chest as you retort, “Oh, boo-hoo,” there’s a faux frown forming, “do I need to remind you of your behavior? I think this is payment for being a total dick to me for the past couple months.”

You catch the glimpse of his hand flexing as you stand your ground, mouth opening in another sharp sting of words before his hand is squeezing at your cheeks, the curve between his thumb and pointer finger curling around your chin as he forces it up.

“I’ll scream,” you threaten, fingers twisting into his shirt as you attempt to shove him back but he’s completely unmoving, “let—me—go,”

“Do it,” he challenges, “or—I deal with that little problem you got goin’ on,”

He knows it—how unsatisfied you felt, even without having to voice it.

Your silence is the answer, slumping slightly in defeat as you wait him out.

“Let me see your hand,” he asks, surprisingly softer, his palm extending in wait.

As you offer your hand, his fingers curl around it, guiding it to the front of his cotton shorts and you can feel the heat of his cock underneath, hard against the fabric and tucked up to avoid showing the obvious arousal he was dealing with—you weren’t sure how long he’s been sporting it, but the rigidness of it has your breath catch, intimidatingly large even by the feel as your eyes flicker down slightly,

“It’s a shame,” Joel says, “how disrespectful you’re being—seems like you need to learn manners, kiddo.”

“Stop. Calling me that—” you struggle to say, the words half-daring and half-pleading. He slides his thumb down, brushing your bottom lip as his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“What?” he teases, watching you squirm as he keeps your hand pinned to his shorts, “you don’t like that?”

“I’m not a kid,” you insist, trying for defiance but it comes out breathless.

He grins, and you’re startled by how it transforms his face—softening all those hard edges you’ve come to know. For a moment, there’s a flicker of sweetness before he leans in close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, whispering low.

“Then quit actin’ like one.”

His mouth is over yours before you can find more words, catching on the gasp that slips out as instinct takes over. His kiss is rough but not forceful; it’s got a bruising sort of gentleness that makes your knees weak and you wobble slightly, his hand removing from your face as they wrap under your elbows, keeping you upright.

You’re not surprised by how quickly you melt into him. Your hand never leaves the front of his shorts despite his own hands now elsewhere, one creeping around your waist, pulling you tighter and tighter until there’s nowhere left to go.

His body is a wall, hot and solid, against yours.

Your fingers twitch where they’re trapped against him, squeezing at his shaft as your finger grazes the clothed head, weeping under the fabric, and he makes a noise in his throat that surprises you—a low, gravelly sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

You feel that dark edge of satisfaction from him, knowing how affected you are.

How predictable.

“Ain’t got much to say now,” he murmurs against your mouth,

His grip changes, dragging your hand up under his shirt until it’s pressed against the bare skin of his stomach. You can feel him breathing, deep and steady.

It’s not fair how calm he is while you're barely hanging on.

Suddenly, his tongue traces your lower lip and a whimper escapes you, muffled against his mouth. Joel groans, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, “Lift your dress up,” he directs, quietly guiding your chest flush with the trunk as he shuffles with the fabric of his shorts under the darkened sky, thankful the streetlights in the cul-de-sac needed a fresh set, barely buzzing.

“You’re makin’ a mess,” Joel mutters, voice low and rough. It sends you reeling, your face hot as he slides the fabric aside, parting you with his fingers, testing your resistance as you welcome the gentle press as the digits slip inside, your hand squeezing desperately at his cock, a silent plea, “we’re gonna rectify that, alright?”

You nod dumbly, filled with an undeniable lust for him, even if you couldn’t admit it out loud.

“Ain’t got protection, do ya?” He asks, suspects, “Damn shame you’re lettin’ them fuck you like that, sweetheart,”

“It’s none—none of your business, just because I don’t doesn’t mean—”

“You lettin’ them fuck you raw?” he asks curiously, noting the way your thighs spread to accommodate another finger, you shake your head weakly.

“S’good,” he decides, “but you’re gonna let me aren’t you?”

Your nod is too quick, proudly pathetic.

“That’s right—no need worryin’ about me, right? “Cause, I’ll take care of ya,”

“I just—don’t—dunno if it will fit, Joel,” you admit and Joel chuckles, a subtle noise of agreement before he soothes your worries.

“It’s fine,” he assures, eyes locked on yours as you turn to look at him, voice both commanding and reassuring, trading his fingers for the head of his cock as he pushes you forward and forces your ass on display, pushing the thickness of himself through your folds, coating it with your slick, “You can—fuck—you can handle it.”

There’s something reckless in the way he moves—only Joel could get this from you. Only him.

He eases into you slowly, each inch coaxed through the tight resistance until he’s seated, until you’re stuffed full and squirming. His breath hitches, a low groan vibrating through his chest as he holds there for a moment, letting you adjust to the heavy stretch.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, a hint of pride in the words as he draws back slightly, hand bunched in your dress to enjoy the view as he rocks forward again, “Takin’ it so damn well—it’s like you were made for me.”

He builds a rhythm with each of his ragged exhales, using the weight of his body to keep you pinned beneath him, to bury himself deeper than you’ve ever felt.

“You like this,” he decides, “no fuckin’ denyin’ it—your friends could look at those windows, open that door, and they’d catch you like this, cryin’ over gettin’ fucked just like you deserve—”

“Joel, please,” you’re not sure what you’re even begging about, but you are, gasping with each rapid thrust he makes, his fingers working in tandem over your clit like he’s done this a million times over, knowing your body better than you do,

“Could be watchin’ right now, but I know you,” he taunts, “You like being watched, don’tcha?”

You nod again, absentminded as he moves against you. There’s nothing gentle about the way he fucks you toward oblivion; it’s intense and raw, overwhelming in a way you’ve never experienced before. He’s got you teetering the line, your orgasm begging for release.

“There it is,” he says in a low rasp, feeling you clench tightly around him, “she’s beggin’ for it, you need me to fill ‘er up, sweetheart? She need to be stuffed full ‘f me?”

“Y—huh, yesyes, please,” you ramble, your eyes falling shut as your climax washes over, his finger insistent on your clit as he pumps his hips lazily, his warm seed spreading inside of you.

“I’ll take that as thank you,” Joel decides with a lazy tone, pulling out of you without warning and adjusting your panties and dress back over your body, “though—still would be nice to hear it.”

“Thank you,” you reply breathlessly, unable to meet his eye, “thank you—for…yeah, thank you.”

“You know where to find me,” Joel tells you with an amused smirk.

And unfortunately, that was often.

–

It's a bad habit—coming to Joel when you need things.

But, he just fixes the problem so easily.

Sprinklers broken, Joel’s got a tool to replace it.

Squeaky hinges? Joel’s got just the fix to quiet the insistent noise.

A hole in your bathroom wall after a fight that wasn’t your fault at all, but ultimately ended up being your responsibility to fix—well, that was a bigger ask.

And your roommates' jaws can’t even begin to remain shut as he walks through the front door on a free weekend, all of them lounging on the couch with admiration in their eyes.

There was a similar sentiment of disdain for Joel, but they could all agree he was attractive.

You tried your best to ignore the strew of late assignments that have become more and more apparent as Joel invaded your life—moments when you would try to slip away and Joel would beg for a little bit more, coerce you into staying over for the night when your mind was battling with the idea.

He was good like that, convincing you of making the bad choices you normally wouldn’t.

“Ignore them,” you tell him over your shoulder as he offers a kind wave, guiding him toward the bathroom and showing him the sizable hole in the drywall.

He whistles low, rubbing the back of his neck, "Hell of a punch."

You shrug, "You can fix it, right?"

Of course, your roommates weren’t oblivious to your growing absence over the following weeks into now, eager to ask questions but knowing you weren’t the type of person to share. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out and ultimately, they couldn’t even blame you.

It was your education and social life that had taken the hit, but for Joel, you couldn’t complain.

Given the opportunity, they would have jumped his bones just as quick, though, you’re not sure if Joel had eyes for anyone but you, always watchful even from a distance.

He still met you at his window on occasion, but you’re more purposeful with your performance.

As is he, watching as he fists his cock to your fingers spreading down the seam of your cunt, pressing the brightly colored toy inside of you wish it was him filling you out.

You always moan a little louder than necessary, letting him know just what he does to you even from afar. He’s perfect in his window—broad shoulders and strong arms flexing as he strokes himself, pumping in time with the rhythm you set. His free hand grips the frame, knuckles white like he needs the support.

The anticipation builds slowly and sweetly. You drag it out for him, teasing your clit with languid circles, hips lifting off the bed. He swears again, and you can almost taste the frustration rolling off him.

“More,” you mouth, knowing it’ll drive him wild.

He doesn’t disappoint you.

His pace quickens, and you can see every detail—the veins in his forearm tensing, thumb swiping over the head of his cock. Your cunt clenches around the toy at the sight of his impatience.

It always ends the same way, though. Not nearly as satisfying as the real thing.

When you girlfriends catch you sneaking in late on occasion, it’s matched with a smirk that you brush off with a fond insult, an endearment you’ve all come to use out of love.

“Bitch, I swear,” you warn, “not a fucking word. I’m serious.”

“No judgement,” She shrugs, “The dick must be good if you’re leaving the house for it.”

You snort, “Fuck you.”

He’s nearly got the whole patched when you peek your head through the closed bathroom door, house empty for the evening and a curious look on your face as he peers over his shoulder, shirt stripped from his body as he wipes the sweat from his face.

You’ve got that look, one he’s come to read well.

“Can’t even wait until I’m finished?” Joel asks.

“You’re almost done,” you shrug, “finish up after.”

“Bet they’d die if they knew you were sneakin’ around for old man dick,” he taunts, settling you back on the counter as you push your spandex shorts down, spreading your legs out as he moves between them and kneels, already mouthing at the inside of your thigh, “Payin’ for my labor with this,” his fingers spread through your folds, exposing yourself to the cool air as he licks at you teasingly, “delectable little thing.”

“Bet you’d die if I stopped,” you shoot back, breathless but defiant, “fuckin’ heart attack, aneurysm, take your pick—fuck!”

His teeth nip at your clit in warning, eyes flickering up to you as they crinkled around the edges in amusement, “Quiet, unless I speak to you,”

You nod shakily, giving over to his dominance fully like you have plenty of times now.

He’s relentless, holding you right there as you twist and writhe against his mouth, hands gripping his hair to try and guide him, but he pins your hips with a low growl that almost undoes you on the spot.

“Tight little pussy,” Joel pants, thumb circling your clit while he watches intently for the next crack in your composure. It doesn’t take long before you’re clutching at his shoulders, incoherent curses spilling from mouth.

“Of course,,” Joel drawls, “can’t keep that damn mouth shut for nothin’.”

You pull him towards you, needy, as he rises to his feet, fingers hooked into his waistband as you fumble with the button of his jeans, eagerly pulling his cock from the confines, his mouth opening with another witty retort that never comes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, “just—”

He presses inside of you in one harsh thrust, your gasp cutting off the rest of your response and echoing through the house. He grins down at you, smug and rough and exactly what you wanted, your hand slamming against the mirror as you wince, his hand immediately coming up to soothe the ache.

“Shit, babygirl,” He groans, for a few reasons, “you okay?”

“Better, if you’d shut up and fuck me,” you retort, “take a lesson out of your own damn book,”

“Got it,” he agrees tauntingly, before his pace changes on a dime, relentlessly pounding into you, “not a fuckin’ word.”

And it continues like that, his gaze intense on your face and quiet aside from his occasional strained grunt, his eyes staring you down like he’s trying to challenge you, determined to win a battle you weren’t trying to fight—either way, he always seemed to win.

Because, as much as you tried to fight the urge to stay away from him.

You always ended up like this.

And bad, impulsive choices like Joel have become your new normal.

#wired4youchallenge #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou fic #my writing #fic: open windows

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coquettepascal · 11 months ago

Text

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

-> part. ii here!

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying.

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes.

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones.

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does.

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you.

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to.

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job.

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together.

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point.

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there.

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats.

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute?

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel.

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable.

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing.

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird.

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone.

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars.

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice.

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath.

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes.

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer.

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him.

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years.

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing.

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly.

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this.

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks.

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock.

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him.

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?”

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either.

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers.

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering.

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay.

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you.

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough.

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.”

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out.

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #hbo!joel #neighbor!joel #tlou fanfiction #dilf!joel #reader insert #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

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kedsandtubesocks · 5 months ago

Text

Prisonic Fairytale

Pyramid Head!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: You’re looking for someone… what you find here in the fog instead has you staring into the abyss - and you discover it stares back (& wears the face of someone terrifyingly handsome)

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. dark themes. Silent Hill AU blended with TLOU canon (major spoilers for TLOU2), monsterfucking, distorted reality, limbo world & dreamlike states, sex pollen, dubcon, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, feelings & themes of dread/terror/hopelessness, angst, monstrous!Joel, moments of violence, death mentions, blood imagery, protective!Joel, possessive!Joel, Joel lifts reader multiple times with scary monster strength, scary guard dog Joel vibes, ambiguous happy ending (?)

word count: 5.7k

a/n: please be aware of the warnings - this fic I know won’t be everyone’s cup of tea & I kindly ask if it isn’t please just scroll away… if you haven’t played Silent Hill or don’t even know what it is know this was written for anyone to jump in & read! Big thank you @pedgito for beta reading ily forever, and to you, if you’re reading this know i truly appreciate it & thank you too ♡ divider credit to the ever talented @saradika-graphics

This town, this possible pocket of a morbid nightmare, holds a plethora of ghastly creatures that stalk your very soul. Contorted bodies on the floor, lying fiends crawling as if straight from a hellish pit, all chase after you. Twitching infected, now distorted demons, also plague the streets.

But the monster enclosed in the large metal pyramid shaped device, who drags a sword the size of a small tree, terrifies you most of all.

You’ve seen the pyramid headed creature lurking through the thicket of the town, unwavering in his journey, almost even patrolling at times.

The body appears like that of a man. Broad shoulders sturdy, aged with thick veiny arms effortlessly pulling along the terrifying blade.

You think of the woman you met in the cemetery and what she said: “There’s something… wrong with that town.”

You fully understand now.

In a world surviving after its destruction, you never thought you’d see another form of hell. Yet an even more sinister darkness festers within every inch of this town waiting to strike. There is no peace.

Because when you open your eyes after dozing off on the crusty couch in the home you've been taking refuge in…

You discover the pyramid headed beast now looms above you.

His form towers imposing and striking, a monster conjured from a child’s nightmare now casting his shadow over you.

You didn’t even hear this hulking behemoth walk into the house.

The time spent here continues making your mind melt.

The only refuge you’ve found came in this abandoned home along the outskirts of town.

Which is now not so safe anymore.

Communication with Maria, your late mother’s oldest friend, has gone dead silent. You feel foolish not leaving with her, but now…

The searching, the endless days, the long walks, all have brought you here. Though you can’t even fully describe where here is.

You’ve seen doomed abandoned cities, but nothing like this. The buildings stand vacant, paint chipping away like decayed remnants of a world gone. Crusted crimson coats every inch of this place as if no one but angels tread here. Or possibly ghosts, or demons.

Thick fog blankets the town like the personified angel of death, blurring your sense of direction and casting you into an abyss of dread.

The town becomes an endless maze stretching on and on. You haven’t found another person for what feels like weeks. Only whispers and chills of dread like eyes watch from the shadows. The creatures and infected prey on you, maws open wide.

Now you stare up at their god, the most terrifying beast in this macabre world.

Stunned, petrified, barely even able to breathe, you stare at the pyramid monster so frightened you can't cry in terror, numb to the horrors.

But that’s when you see it. Black ink spilling against the creature’s side.

He’s injured.

Even injured you don’t doubt he can swing his sword and attack you within seconds.

Demonic screeches suddenly howl into the air breaking this tense moment. Your eyes, panicked, dart to the kitchen. The open back door gives you a clear shot to the backyard.

Monsters, macabre and bloody, claw towards your distorted sanctuary through the decayed wooden fence of the porch.

Adrenaline, instinctive primal fear, possesses you and you bolt off the couch.

You move, grabbing your weapon, a discarded pipe and start swinging. You ward off as many of the creatures as you can.

That’s when you realize the pyramid head beast hasn’t chased after you. So you continue swatting away the monsters long enough until you can barricade the opening shut with discarded lawn chairs.

Heading back inside, there, the pyramid monster waits.

In this barbaric wasteland, it unnerves you seeing this creature simply standing in the middle of the dimly lit living room. You’re grateful this home had matches and candles that brought some illumination.

It’s just you and the metal monster now.

Dark liquid, rusted ink like blood, spills down his arms and across his body.

The monstrosity does bleed.

It feels like a standoff, you staring at this tremendous wounded beast.

Through the rusted metal you hear it - heaved breathes, heavy wheezing.

This creature is wounded and hurting.

Too many thoughts buzz rapid and angry in your brain. You’re worried this monster man at any minute will chase and attack you. He already blocks your exit out the front door, possibly dooming you.

But some sort of scabbing human pity wells in you. If you were this injured and alone, you pray someone would spare you, help and save you with a grace filled hand of salvation.

So viewing this beast like a cornered animal, you slowly walk back into the kitchen. You grab a pack of kitchen towels, old and covered in cobwebs, but still the most you could manage as wrappings.

Back in the living room, you cautiously place the items on the couch near the pyramid head man.

He doesn’t move.

Keeping your focus on him and tiptoeing within the edges of terror, you head back to the kitchen. If he does decide to attack you can at least try running out the back door. It might be swifter than trying to dodge his great sword.

Patiently, you sit waiting, too stunned to sleep.

It’s simply you and the pyramid headed monster. He never once enters your space.

You don’t even know how much time has passed or if any time has passed at all.

Daybreak soon leaks into the kitchen. The sunlight hitting your face wakes you, electrifying your heart.

You fell asleep.

Rapidly you rush into the living room.

He’s gone. The creature is gone.

That’s when you notice the wide open porch door, the source of the light that woke you. Hesitantly you peer outside.

The bulking monster towers on the porch, faintly statuesque. His back is back to you. His rusting metal sword stands at the ready.

The pyramid headed creature turns to face you.

You feel cornered, a small prey within the eyes of a demonic god waiting to feel its wrath. The rusted pyramid head simply stands still.

The wound isn’t bleeding anymore, but his dark ink like blood stains his clothing.

The creature picks up the great dreaded sword. Instantly your body coils like a rabid ready to spring and run for the door…

Until the pyramid head moves and walks away.

The sight stuns you. You even wait expecting him to return.

He doesn’t.

The rush of emotions barrels into your body, causing you to hold onto the banister of the porch.

Three things bounce rabidly in your mind.

First, the pyramid head creature didn’t kill you, didn’t even once attack you even while you slept.

Second, it might possibly be the lack of human contact or the absence of cohesive reality in this town, but if you didn’t know better…it looked like the beast stood on the porch keeping watch.

And third -

The pyramid head man wore a broken watch.

Strangely enough, that thought sticks with you most of all.

—

Fear shakes your hands while you shake open door after door trying to find sanctuary. Night approaches. You’ve learned night unleashes the worst of this town, a catalytic shift. Now an unforgiving storm with thick wailing winds threatens to blow you away. You knew you wandered too far again to head back to your makeshift home.

You have to find shelter.

The mist thickens, a sinister soup. The scratching of claws, the clicking of infected, seem to come from all around. You’re on the verge of tears trying another door.

Eventually you find sanctuary in the bar.

With the storm raging outside this will be your rest stop for the night. You begin scavenging around.

Various notes, journal scraps, even receipts, scatter across the town like fallen leaves among the debris. You’ve been gathering them curious to what they entail.

The crunched up book entries become vital fast when you discover many hold information about the creatures residing in this molding disaster.

Here you find one with a simple pyramid drawing on it etched out in dried blood.

Below the drawing is a note. The scribble handwriting paints the pyramid head monster as a hunter, unstoppable in his rampage and the hand of destruction itself.

“Born from the most human yet selfish desires that ravages a soul. It brings him to the edge of losing his humanity. Or maybe it is because he cares too much that this darkness consumed him…whatever it is, that is what created this creature. This once man, who stole the candidate is”

Blood stains the rest of the journal scrap, like the town refuses to let you know the name of this creature.

You pray you don’t run into the pyramid head again.

Tired and not wanting to sleep on the disgusting floor, you pull up a seat at the bar top folding your arms to rest upon them.

The wind howls. Muffled creaks of the creatures still wandering around are unsettling. But your eyes finally close all the same.

You swear you now hear the soft tunes of an old country song, and someone whispering your name.

Delicate fingers, warm and callous, brush against your forehead. Wearily you open your eyes.

The bar has been transformed. Instead of the boarded up abandoned shell of a building, it’s incredibly cozy. Lights are strung up. Gentle music floats all around.

“Y’wanna drink, sweetheart?”

The voice is smooth, accented and twanged beautifully. It feels like it’s been so long since you even spoke to another person much less heard one.

Scrambling up, you discover the voice comes from a man behind the bar.

There stands the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. And yet what sadness clouds around him. An aged rugged grace paints him like some country romance love interest. Brown eyes as dark as earthen caverns beg you to get lost in.

The bar is beautiful, and he’s beautiful.

“You’ve been fightin hard.” He says, pouring out a drink for you.

You’re stunned, can’t process what’s even happening.

“Where are we?” You ask stunned.

“A museum,” he dully replies, but you can tell he’s joking.

The sip of the drink tastes heavenly, warms you up and settles you down.

“Ya seem tired.” He adds, and you exhale feeling the weight of this world seep into your bones.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks gently.

So you spill your heart to him. How Maria, the closest person you’ve had left to family, vanished into the wind. How you don’t know what’s even going on anymore.

“And now I’m here.” You sigh.

“Maybe you’re here for a reason.” The bartender suggests. “This town…it knows more than we realize.”

You don’t know how to reply. So all you can do is take a quiet sip.

A quiet thump comes, and you glance up. The man behind the bar with darts in his hand now tries throwing them at the target across the wall.

The second dart he throws barely lands on the bullseye.

“Wow, you kinda suck.” You snort.

He scoffs looking at you. “Think you’d be any better?”

So that’s how you end up behind the bar now, trying to throw darts in competition with this beautiful older man. He smirks at how pissed you get seeing one of your darts just miss the target.

A vague familiarity swirls around this man, as if something at the back of your mind claws to get out.

You dream of him and this bar often, like your mind slips into this space to escape the horrors clamoring for your flesh.

Your favorite handsome bartender refuses to give you his name, no matter how many times you’ve tried weaseling it out of him.

“My name’s not important.” He tells you, and it only draws a cold ache in your chest.

Then, the nightmares of this town squash your peaceful dreams.

The decayed buildings wither away more and more into desolation the further you travel into the town.

Butterflied fungal growths sprout over certain buildings, crawling over the cracks and branching over the surface of anything they touch. You were worried they too carried the infection.

“Don’t touch fungus shit.” A note written on an old receipt had warned you about the vines and flora of this town.

But it’s getting hard heeding that warning. The monsters rage more bloodthirsty, ruthless and violent in their attacks.

The apartments you’re running through are hard to navigate. Walls crumble and the dark corridors make it difficult to see which way is which. You’re reminded of a twisted diabolical version of wonderland.

Turning a corner, one of the creatures emerges from the darkness screeching and swinging at you. Scrambling away you collide hard against the wall and a puff of dust clogs your senses.

You try not inhaling and swing your metal pipe until it makes contact, stopping the attack.

But what had you run into?

Your heart drops seeing one of the vines cracked open and the faint dust like spores dancing in the air.

Panic rages in your chest.

You flee, fast as you can, running through familiar spaces until you’re out of the apartment hallway. You need to get back to the safe house you’ve been hiding in.

But the wind outside whips feral, screaming with a blustering force that you can barely step outside.

Then your hands start shaking and suddenly heat floods over your body.

The spores, you realize, unleashed a sudden sickness because it feels like you got hit with a sudden fever. Dread spreads in you. You know these aren’t the typical symptoms of the cordyceps infection, but you can’t risk it.

So you wait inside the apartment complex’s entrance office.

No sensation of twitching.

Instead, your mouth dries out and a slickness pools between your legs.

Shit.

What kind of reaction did these vines cause?

Your body drifts between a sensation of being weighed down by an anchor to almost floating through the air until you stumble down onto the floor.

The clothes you wear now scratch your skin, and your mind slowly fogs up more. So you slip out of your pants.

You’re aware that you’re on the floor of the abandoned receptionist office and hope this will provide you enough cover as your fingers dip into your soaking core.

The orgasmic release clumsily comes, but it’s like unleashing a dam.

Your body twitches wishing for more. Unsatisfied, hungry, everything feels empty.

Please, your mind whispers out, please someone… help.

Slipping your fingers inside, the loud wet squelch of your arousal makes your cheeks burn. It’s almost sacrilegious hearing this debauched erotic sound among such a decayed morbid wasteland.

You’re lost in the sensation, trying to fight through this heat. Your eyes even haze over as the pleasure bubbles more.

Aloud clang collides against the door, snapping your attention forward. Towering above you again is the pyramid head man.

You don’t even scream. It gets logged in your throat instead transforming into a twisted moan.

In this small space, the metal covered demon looms larger than ever. The pyramid prisoned monster stays focused solely on you.

Slowly, he lumbers closer. You can’t even find the strength to move, scramble with some dignity and leave. If anything your legs move like jello shifting as you take in the sight of his strong thick arms, his broad shoulders.

You wonder what he looks like under the helm.

A low rumble vibrates through the room. Wearily your eyes drift down and spot the obvious bulge straining against his pants.

“Please.” The word croaks out of you before you can stop it. You don’t know if this will even help, or if this is even real.

Quickly he crouches down and large firm hands grasp your legs, dragging you across the floor. The movement makes your body twitch, and your eyes shut bracing for pain.

Instead you're gingerly placed on the edge of a table in the receptionist room.

Hesitantly your eyes open. All you see is rusted archaic metal. A sound rips into the air, the tearing of clothes, your underwear specifically. Your core feels colder, yet the cool breeze melts into unbearable flames as the air hits your bare skin.

Gentle fingers twitch moving across your thighs and you moan, almost want to sob. How long has it been since someone’s last touched you? And so reverently?

The low rumbling sound rattles all around you, mixing with your own moans. Everything heightens when his fingers slip inside you.

Thick, his fingers are so damn thick making your hips fidget to feel more of him.

This creature, this monster that’s ripped apart bodies and bathed itself in blood, now fully devotes itself to your pleasure. You feel drunk on that knowledge.

But your release runs away further from you now, hiding just out of reach making you whine frustrated and almost feral.

More, more, you need more.

“Inside.” You manage to croak to the beast. “Need more…inside.”

It’s as if this nightmare world has slipped under your skin, becoming a part of your bloodstream allowing you to transmute the terror into terrible pleasure.

The twitch of the monster’s large cock drags across your bare thighs. The sensation jolts you awake, aware and hyper focused. His grimey blood crusted hands rapidly grab onto your soft hips. You don’t even care if they were inside you, touching you.

Especially when your mind melts as the creature slips inside.

He’s thick, knocking your breathless. It’s delicious feeling so full that you swear you almost feel him in your ribs. It makes the skin melt off your bones.

The monster relentlessly pounds into you, shaking the table unabashedly loud mixing with your delirious moans.

Your legs twist around his strong waist, locking him into you tighter. The pyramid headed beast rumbles louder in this closer position. More distorted groans mix with yours as his hands run up your body, tracing every inch of you.

You should be frightened. This creature sent from hell has you at its mercy. But instead the sensations flooding your body make you’re hungrier for him.

“More, more.” You whine loud and unrelenting.

And he gives.

Your climax is beautifully fierce. Your screams blend into the white void swallowing you whole. Your legs thrash. Your eyes roll back as your fingers dig into the creature’s cold arms. This, you believe, might be the last taste of heaven you’ll ever find in this hell pit.

Exhaustion crashed in immediately. You feel like a ragdoll on the table while this monster continues thrusting into you sloppy and messy, broken growls distorting your mind.

Teetering between bliss and dreams, your hands move up, slowly trade up to the rusting metal.

Tenderly, you wonder what would be like if you could free this creature -

Your hands tracing across the rusting metal containing this pyramid headed monster does something to him. He roars, distorted and hellish, and suddenly spills into you.

You don’t even care he came inside. You thought you had been stated before, now it’s like floating into a new realm of pleasure. You moan now in tandem with him.

Full, you’ve never felt this full. A thick hand affectionate and soft rest against your lower belly. You think it almost aches of a revenant tenderness.

But you’re barely awake now, barely process what’s going on. All you sense are arms cradling you while you fade in and out.

Then you wake up wondering if it was all a dream.

Because instead of the corroded apartment complex you were in, you’re resting back in bed of the home you’ve been staying at.

Did that monster carry you back all the way here?

You don’t know. For a moment you don’t even know if that fuck in the apartments was real, until you stand up and the ache that rips across your body says otherwise.

So you stay resting in this hollow soul of a home. After gaining some rest you start snooping around.

There’s so many photos of a bright young girl with warm sparkling intelligent eyes. Her playing soccer, her roofing showing off her school achievements. She's with two other men.

One is a handsome younger man, a relative from how easy you can see the similarities in their warm smiles.

The other man in any photo… his face is missing.

Either scratched out or simply ripped from the photo.

You heartaches thinking of this family preserved here in the grief of it all, frozen after the world ended and now in this pocket of macabre.

You fall back asleep in the large main bedroom you first woke up in. The faintest hints of pine and sandalwood strangely still cling in the sheets.

It pulls you into the softest dream.

This time you dream of this home you're in now full alive, warm and inviting.

A man stands at the kitchen, his sturdy beautifully broad back to you, dressed in that familiar green plaid. He catches your presence, hears your footsteps and turns.

In the soft morning light, he’s painted ethereal. A rugged whisper of a man out of reach yet so close. Then as a gentle grin tugs his lips, you feel like you already do know him.

You and him settle into a soft morning, simply preparing breakfast. Then thick strong arms slide around you from behind, and the smell of pine and sandalwood washes over you.

Your bartender hums a deep sigh while burying his face against your shoulder.

“Wanna taste ya. Can I taste y’honey?” He mutters letting his words roll out a soft seductive purr.

Something firm already pokes against you and when he grinds into you, everything in you molds into him.

Kissing this man, finally tasting his lips clashing into you, is akin to unleashing a great beast, a creature laying dormant that now consumes unrelenting.

His teeth nip and dig at your skin, trying to devour you whole. But it’s with a fierce devotion that almost brings tears to your eyes when he kisses you again.

Then he says your name…

His voice is like a beautiful country twang wrapped in the delicacy of a moth’s wing. The tenderness of his fingers running across your face, holding you in his grasp - it’s drenched in the deepest affection you’ve ever experienced.

He tastes of something sweet, a promise of home.

And then he fucks you wild from behind pressed up against the counter.

His mouth is again all over your neck, biting licking any inch of you he can.

“God damn baby,” he moans with a slurp as he sucks on your skin. “Wanted this, wanted to taste ya for so long. Was losin’ my mind before.”

Before?

Even among the delicious haze that catches you off guard slightly.

But then all worry drifts away when his fingers slide down to your clit.

“You’re m’fucking baby, yeah? All fucking mine?” He growls and the rumble sounds familiar, like a creature you’ve heard prowling in the dark.

“Yes.” You sob, nodding best as you can.

The way he pounds into you, carves a new universe into you. You feel like you’re completely tied to him. Something inside you whispers maybe you always have been.

His hand curls around your throat, possessive but tender.

It’s wonderful for a dream.

But dreams here don’t last long. You realize that now.

After you finish, and after he spills into you, he pulls himself away from leaving you empty and stunned.

There’s a composed wilderness clouding his eyes. He moves to clean you up and it’s quiet, thick with choking tension.

“This town…” his voice cuts clipped as he shakes his head. He sounds worried, strained and panicked. After you and him compose yourselves, he quickly moves to a drawer to pull out a simple pistol.

Determined and unwavering, he loads it then places it in your hand.

You even tear up.

“Next time I see ya I don’t know what’ll happen. Don’t know if I’ll be able to get to ya in time.” He mutters.

Next time?

“Stay safe…” this man whispers, then leans forward to place a sweet kiss against your forehead.

A chittering growl, the static hiss of one of the monsters, echoes outside the window. Fear clutches at your heart overshadowing the warmth.

You scramble to glance outside trying to spot the demon in the mist.

Thankfully the creature doesn’t spot you, only shuffles further down the street, clicking and twisting its body.

Sighing you turn back to the man -

And no one is there.

Now the warm kitchen stands with the corroded wood, matted cobwebs and an empty space. The kitchen stares back desolate and mocking.

Yet a real gun still sits in your hand.

Was this even a dream? Were you awake this entire time?

A hand comes over your mouth to silence the sob and stop the bleeding panic of realizing this distorted reality is possibly infecting you whole.

—

The next dream you have, another man greets you. This man also seems familiar. You’ve seen in the photos, warm eyes and a handsome youthful charming smile.

Brother to your lover, you can’t explain how but those two you just know are brothers.

He’s working the bar now.

“Where’s…” you feel foolish not being able to say the name of the man you long for.

“Out.” The current bartender say with a familiar twang. “He’s… on patrol.”

Those words hang ominous.

“Y’know…a town like this used to be our paradise.” He explains.

You can see remnants of that wherever you go, whispers of peace corrupted and overrun by the darkness.

“But this town… it knows.” He adds.

You’re reminded of a journal scrap you came across in the main part of town.

“The town will read your heart, manifest the darkness into willpower… but it will come with a tax.”

You even read that outloud to this man. His face darkens.

“Yeah, shit that’s exactly it.” He coughs.

Then his eyes search yours.

“You’re… you know you can move on.” There’s an ache wavering in his voice that rips your heart open.

You shake your head.

You almost feel guilty. You came here looking for Maria and now chase after a ghost. But, it feels as if you’re looking for a multitude of them now. Like this one ghost will unlock them all.

“Tell me about him, about your brother.” You ask.

The handsome younger man barks a laugh.

“Stubborn as a god damn mule. Prideful at times. But… maybe the best damn man I’ve ever known.” The fondness gleams ever true in his words, brotherly love unending.

“Y’know, his birthday…it was on-”

“Outbreak day.” You finish before you even process the words.

You inhale sharp.

His birthday…

Yes. You remember. That’s right, he told you his birthday was the day the world ended.

“Love and grief are funny fuckin’ things. Might even be brothers at times.” The younger brother comments, and your throat feels dry.

You need to leave. Your skin crawls unbearable now.

Forcing yourself awake, you cough among the stale air of the hospital. The dust stings your lungs.

Tucking this dream into the corner of your heart, you wake up back to your journey.

So many bodies litter the hospital. So many bullets and abandoned guns are scatter among the floors. The place is crawling with more monsters running amuck here.

Rushing down a hallway, you stumble down the stairs. Exhaustion outweighs your adrenaline. Eventually you end up back down at the lower level parking garage of the hospital.

At least you can try to heading back home.

Then something scrapes against the concrete.

“You.” A distorted voice growls demonic. Behind you is another monster, this one sounds like a woman and you can see distinct features, echoes of this woman, among the monstrous.

“This is what he did to us.” The creature screeches at you with angered venom.

“It’s all his fault, he brought the end of the world with him, was born to bring destruction. He takes…All he does is take! We had salvation in our hands and he took it from us! He took Ellie!”

Ellie…

The name flashes to your mind bringing a warm familiar laugh of a young girl telling you a bad dad joke, the image of her so close yet still out of reach has you blinking back tears.

Then the monster’s screech rattles the walls, singing of ancient pain that makes your legs weak.

She fights with so much power. There’s only so much hiding and your pistol can do.

Trying to flee from her attacks, you stumble and fall onto the floor.

It’s over. This has to be the end.

“He can’t save you now.” The creature cackles gleeful.

A sob escapes you.

“Joel.”

You whisper the name, feeling it scramble and scratch at your throat. Why it suddenly came to you now, you don’t know. But it feels as if it’s been hiding this entire time, simply waiting for you to call upon it.

Suddenly distorted violent scratching comes, and your body freezes. Something loud collides hard and fast against the metal.

The swing of the terrible executioner’s sword comes first. Then, the rust of metal follows.

The pyramid head creature emerges from the darkness.

He is every bit the destroyer you once feared. Yet now he stands solely between you and the other monster, protecting you.

She screeches loud seeing her new opponent.

The two battle, ferocious beast unchained, and you stare petrified.

That’s when you catch the glimpse of the pyramid head’s arm again.

The watch. The broken watch.

The same watch you’re realizing your bartender wore, the one you know so fondly.

And now that you fully stare at the great sword, you’re reminded of a pocket knife a man you loved once used.

“Joel.” You say again.

The pyramid head turns to you, like a guard dog being called back and waiting for your command.

It’s him underneath it. It really is him…

Everything clicks into place.

The realization unfolds soft, steady and quiet.

This town, the grief but ultimately the love he held turned him into this.

The town knighted him as both executioner and protector.

Within the eternal welded metal, he’s punished to stay locked up from ever tasting true blissful peace. The grief of losing his daughter, of trying to save another, feeling like he’s never been able to protect or bring any goodness into this world only for him to lose it - all layered and sealed itself around him.

Now he’s here…

Here to protect you like he has been this entire time.

Joel with every might swings his sword, powerful and true. He lands hit after hit to the creature roaring unholy, powerful and fierce.

This baptism in his wrath, the comfort in knowing the bloodshed comes because he’s protecting you brings a laugh from your chest.

It’s a laugh freeing and loud. It bounces off the walls, mixes with the gurgles of blood and the ripping of flesh.

Your Joel won’t lose.

The demonic screeches of the woman come to a crescendo and then she falls deadly silent. Before you realize it, a soft hand is against your face. The shadow of the pyramid rusted metal falls over you like the shade of angel wings.

“Joel.” You whisper his name reverent.

Gingerly, like you’re something precious, you’re gathered into his arms. Soft pur rumbles are the last thing you hear before the darkness pulls you under.

You wake up in a med clinic. You can’t tell if this is a dream or not.

“Finally made it… took ya a while.” The voice, gentle and comforting, makes you bolt up from bed.

Maria sits beside you with soft eyes and a kind smile.

“You’re here.” You sob relieved.

“Knew you’d find us.” She nods.

A knock arrives cutting Maria off. Inside steps the familiar younger brother who beams comfortingly.

“Tommy.” You effortlessly greet him, like the name has been with you all along.

“Knew you’d figure it out.” He grins, familiar and sweet.

“Come on.” Maria says with a knowing look. “We should let her rest some more.”

“But wait…” you say and they both pause, turning to you. “What…”

What had happened? What’s really going on? You can even gather your thoughts, put them into words.

Then all that worry dies out when another drawl of a voice pierces the room.

“Alright, leave her alone.”

Joel.

Maria sighs, playfully exhausted. While Tommy turns to you with a wink. They both slide out of the door while Joel instead rushes in. Tommy makes playfully kissing noises. Joel shots him a look before he then quickly moves to the side of your bed.

Your hand finds his immediately.

“You’re here.” You croak and he nods.

“Ain’t leaving you, honey.” It sounds like a promise, ever true. You don’t ever want to leave him now, or here…

“Let’s go home.” You nod.

Without another word Joel gathers you into his arms, kisses the top of your head and steps out of the door.

The fog greets you soft and wispy. A chill runs up your spine from the cold air, but Joel curls you tighter in his arms. All of the monsters and creatures in the streets now scurry away in fear.

This man… the memories flutter in hazy now.

There was a time where you left looking for Maria and ran into a man with that special headstrong girl. A love grew for the two of them and you ending up in the safety of a town… a heaven on earth. You made a home with that man. Watched that girl grow up.

But then that man you loved died, and so did your world.

Then you woke up here at the edge of this town in the graveyard… Did the grief send you here?

You don’t even know anymore. Especially because all of that seems like another world now.

You’re here now. That’s what matters.

“Joel, you deserve love,” you whisper into his chest. “You did what your heart told you…that’s why I’m here. I’ll remind you everyday that you’re a good man. I’m your baby, remember?”

Your hand reaches up to softly stroke the metal pyramid encasing. He rumbles soft, familiar, the most comforting sound.

You think of how lucky you are to find love in the devil’s arms and discover peace within his hell.

In the arms of your man, your monster, you happily enter the fog embracing it all around.

#I know this one is a strange (& extra spooky dark) but I’m proud of how this turned out #and I seriously can’t thank you enough if you read this!!!#pyramid head!joel #Joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller fanfic #dark content tw #Joel 🤎

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visionsofcarnality · 11 months ago

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can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

#dirty old man joel #slutty old man i love him sm #i wasn’t expecting my joel content to get this much traction but i’m so grateful for all you guys who are also stuck in the daddy issues #my father problems are coming in so hard this week #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #joel miller #joel the last of us

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pedge-page · 6 months ago

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Tommy heard Joel refer his preggo wife as Humpty Dumpty ONCE and is now lecturing Joel about how you're supposed to treat your wife. The little shit. Who isn't even married.

"Im just saying," Tommy starts yet AGAIN. "You call your beautiful, amazing, gorgeous--"

"Easy on the descriptions of MY wife--"

"Pregnant lady, a Humpty dumpty? Like? Do you hear how fucking shitty that is?"

Of course he didn't bother to ask WHY Joels calls you in your pregnant state " Humpty Dumpty". Hes not referring at all to your belly nor size.

Nope. It's because dumpty, coming from the Greek words n shit, for dumpt truck of an ASS that you've grown and he can smack all he want.

And Humpty, from the Latin language or something, because --

"Hi handsome," you coo, crawling up to Joel's lying body on the couch, awkwardly positioning your knees on either side and settling your crotch atop his thighs.

You sigh contently, rolling your hips back and forth to relieve the bruning ache on your poor pussy that you can no longer touch with your hands anymore.

.... Humpty--because you keep humping every god damn thing in this house! Especially him . Every day. If it isn't Joels leg or arm or hand or stomach or face, it's the matress edge. Or pillow, or arm rest, or couch, or car light, or literally anything you can get your legs around. You were a humping fiend. No object was safe.

He grips your thighs so you can focus on your pleasure, using him like a goddamn pillow. With your size, it's just little Bounces and rolls, nothing major, but enough that you get your stimulus to your horny little self satisfied.

When you finally cum, so sexy and breathless atop him, staining his jeans with your arousal, you slide down on his side and face him, kissing his neck.

Hes about to return to his nap when your incessant fingers start drumming on his pants zipper. "Hellooooo wakey wakey! " You hum to his dick, patting it like youre knocking on the door. "Can he come and play, Joely?" You whisper with a pout against his cheek.

You manager to also sneakily force his hand around your hip, flat over your plump booty for an instinctual squeeze. At the same time, your hips are moving forward and humping his leg again, awaiting his reply.

Humpty. Dumpty.

There you go.

#joel dealing with preggo wife #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us smut #last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #last of us fic

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nastyablossomsworldxclover4 · 2 months ago

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I have suprise to @technicallydelightfulpenguin @radicalchad36 @ghostiiiiiiiiiiii @cherrimsquad @lune-redd @lovegiroke and for all.

Special art for all it is Vendetta and Charlotte sleeping on the couch... after Vendetta is fighting with Charlotte, but Charlotte wants being with her. And new animation is... *drum roll*

It's Ena version of Vendetta and Charlotte.

Enjoy!

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st4rymoon · 2 years ago

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🕷️𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🕷️

This will be my first time writing for kinktober, hope you all enjoy <3

⭐︎ List created by me <3 I’ll be adding onto the list if I think of others! By the way new character will be in the works!

1. Best-friend - Poe Dameron x reader (published)

2. Gamer bf/on call - Miguel O’Hara x reader

3. Halloween party - Jake Lockley x reader

4. Edging - Marc Spector x reader

5. Cock warming - Loki x reader

6. Choking - Blue Jones x reader

7. Predator x pray game - Miguel O’Hara x reader

8. Dads best friend - Joel Miller x reader

9. Corruption kink - Raymond Leon x reader

10. Breeding kink - Steven Grant x reader

11. Fingering/Sub - Jake Lockley x reader

12. Size kink - Bucky Barns x reader

13. Creampie - Steven Grant x reader

14. Temp play (ice cubes) - Miguel O’Hara x reader

15. Bondage - Santiago Garcia x reader

16. Praise kink - Joel Miller x Reader

17. Impact play - Poe Dameron x reader

18. Overstimulation - Jonathan Levy x reader

19. Dumbification - Miguel O’Hara x reader

20. Mile high club - Poe Dameron x reader

21. Tutor - Miguel O’Hara x reader

22. Phone sex! - Steven Grant x reader

23. Pussy! Fiend - Bucky Barns x reader

24. Sex! Toys - Poe Dameron x reader

25. Academic rivals - Miguel O’Hara x reader

26. Touched starved - Poe Dameron x reader

27. Cam girl - Steven grant x Reader

28. Car sex! - Jonathan Levy x reader

29. Riding! - Steven grant x reader

30. Brat tamer - Loki x reader

31. Rough sex - Joel Miller x reader

#kinktober #coming soon #miguel ohara #Bucky barns #Loki #Steven grant #poe Dameron #joel miller #Santiago Garcia #blue jones #Marc Spector #jake lockley

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edenspoem · 1 year ago

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blockbuster!ellie who enacts the cliche stand-under-your-bedroom-window-holding-a-stereo, but she's playing your favorite song from your favorite movie.. bearing the equivalence of a sweaty marathon fiend who's just spanned the longest run of their life because the car joel lent her is busted for the time being. blockbuster!ellie braving that retro stereo high after nearly fumbling to slide the cartridge in, the clunky shadow of it staving moonlight from the sweat that clings her bangs to her forehead. crush!reader who wakes up to a delightful disturbance—that delightfulness deriving from the familiar beat thrumming outside your bedroom walls that your groggy brain can't quite grasp the song name of yet. crush!reader who rolls the frame of that window blocking you and her up to discover the source, wry smile twisting your face.

"ellie?" you call out. equal parts a whisper, equal parts a yell; as if your voice could disturb the dark sky and the moon.

"g-got a ladder?" her voice is quick to disturb everything, loud and questioning. "'been standing out here for a bit, i didn't— didn't know you were such a heavy sleeper." she quipped, assured it might crack a purer grin onto your face. it could definitely ease the nerves tangling inside her right now.

"uhh," you glance around your backyard, finding no recollection of where a whole ladder might be. besides, it's near the hush of night; who would cause such a ruckus so late, unsure of this girl's plans? not you. "know how to climb trees?"

turns out, she had actual cases of your favorite movies planted in her duffel bag that's slung in a low loop down to her hip, and some your favorite snacks, and a present. and a 'dinner reservation' in the nearest movie theatre tomorrow, with a trip the arcade afterwards, and a kiss. maybe.

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zz0mbi3 · 6 months ago

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ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ

summary: joel miller headcanons

warnings: slight allusions to spicy stuff, nothing too graphic. ellie's a menace

~now, i'm going to get this out of the way because i know what you fiends came here for

~yes, there's an age gap. nothing too crazy, of course

~definitely grumpy and sunshine vibes, even if you're a grumpy mess too. nothing tops him (especially not in be-)

~he definitely was reluctant at the start when getting to know you. we all know how "amazing" he is as helping others...

tommy: they got a kid, joel-

joel: so do we, keep driving - the incident in question

~nevertheless, and despite what he tries to say, you've grown on him. and maybe the fact that ellie says that you're the coolest person she's met since joel? yeah, he kinda can't get rid of you now

~somehow he has amazing self control with himself

~like there were definitely many times the man was crashing out and was about to do something drastic with you when he had to reign it in and actually think about it

~insanely jealous individual. luckily for him, not too many people to meet nowadays, but whenever you do engage in conversation with someone else, he's right there. ellie has caught him staring at you having a conversation with someone else, eye twitching

~whenever y'all have to squeeze through a small space because i'm sure there are many of those when trying to get away from the clickers, somehow his hands end up on you. not in a sexual way or anything, you just look down at some point and he is GRIPPING your waist to make sure you actually get out of that situation safely

~afterwards, the man has to sit down and just think for a minute. imagine it, just him sitting, hands raised to his chin as he ponders it all

~Mr. Darcy hand flex, think about it now

~if you happen to start walking a little further than he feels comfortable with you going, you're gonna feel one of his fingers curling through the belt loop of your jeans and tugging you back

"nuh, uh, stay here."

~you also have some self control in you, making sure not to be too affectionate right out the gate. you know he has a lot of unresolved trauma to go through (who doesn't in the literal apocalypse) and you don't want to push him to do something he isn't comfortable with or ready for

~there are many times y'all argue, his temper is on a short yet neverending fuse that seems to go out and reflame often. oftentimes he waits for ellie to leave before discussing things with you, and if it gets heated, oh boy

~sometimes, he doesn't think straight and in the middle of arguing you feel his calloused hand wrap around your wrist. not too hard, he doesn't want to hurt you, even if you piss him off sometimes, but enough to know "oh...he's serious".

~although, 99.9% of the time you have to stare at the floor for about 25 seconds to think about it. "oh, so what were we even fighting about?" that kinda stuff

~although he doesn't always show it directly, you can always tell that he cares. like, he's not typically one to look at you in the face and go "i need you to stay safe or else i'm gonna lose it", but somehow you just know.

~there will be days you wake up with an extra sleeping mat stuffed under your head or another warm coat and jacket draped over you that you definitely did not fall asleep with. other times you've gotten back from outside to find a warm drink sitting out for you. (does it taste good? yeah, yk what hell yeah).

~there's definitely been times where your boots have come untied so often while you're walking that before you can even process what's happening, he's retying them, mumbling under his breath about how "it's not that hard to double knot", but you can tell he isn't really mad when he pats your calf afterwards and stands back up

~he always refills your water and food when your rations get low. like you look away from your bottle for one second and he's refilling it with his own water (y'all fought about this for a while)

~surprise you have a teenage daughter now!

~ellie's a menace with you guys, oh my goodness. but at first, she didn't really like you very much. it was nothing against you, but she didn't like that someone else was joining her and joel's life, so it took some warming up to for her to understand that you being there was helping her and joel, and she actually missed your company when you would be away.

~she will follow you guys everywhere with the smuggest look on her face like she did something. always trying to do something stupid so you both end up having to help her and work together. she's also definitely stolen stuff from you guys so you guys have to share

~whenever you have nightmares, it's like he can sense it. and let's be honest, you definitely do have them because those clickers would have me passed out on the ground, dead, deceased. you guys don't get to sleep comfortably often (if at all) so when you're just laying on the ground in a sleeping bag, it's much easier to hear you tossing and turning. he'll wake up almost immediately and watch for a second to make sure it's not just you shifting around before he approaches you. there's a bit of hesitation, but when he sees how you're genuinely struggling, you're gonna end up sleeping against his chest, oh yes you will. he'll definitely wake you up to talk to you about it, and if you aren't willing to share, he's fine with just sitting there and comforting you.

~"i know, i know", when he's comforting you (or talking you through-)

~now when you guys ACTUALLY got together, it was kinda out of nowhere

~it was getting pretty overwhelming for you to keep it hidden (and ellie had been in both of y'alls ears, basically pushing you two closer and closer). so one day, you find yourself sitting with him and you just start rambling

"look, i know i'm young and everything...and i know you don't see me the way that i see you...and it's silly to think that you would or anything, but-"

you're cut off by the look he's giving you, just of pure and utter confusion. he stares for what feels like forever, until he says in a low voice;

"who told you that?" OHHHH MYYYYY

and before you could even get a chance to really respond to the question, BOOM, you're getting kissed

~yeah, when ellie found out she was over the moon, because she thinks she's a genius or something and a wizard and made it all happen (definitely helped)

~now, remember when i said he was jealous? yeah, that gets almost 100x worse when you guys confirm an actual relationship. if looks could kill, everyone would be dead, i swear

~(just letting y'all know, joel does bite. a lot. do with that information what you will)

~he gets pretty pissed off when people say he's too old for you (he's literally not, the age gap ain't that bad guys) and has shouted at someone about it before! (will do it again)

~even before you all were together, i feel like he would help you pack up your supply bags. he wants to make sure you have everything you need, but it's pretty inevitable that you will take something of his almost every time

~when you're not able to sleep, whether it's because of anxiety or you're just not tired, he'll sit with you on his lap and strum the guitar for a bit to get you sleepier

~never let this man shave his face because imagine-

~y'all will be getting the best sleep you can possibly get when you're together. (he wore you out). he's a walking heater and definitely bear hugs you, very clingy

~he's definitely a gentleman most of the time, because you could be walking into an abandoned building and he's holding the door open for you and ellie (she shoved in front of you and laughed)

~he's always checking your temperature, hand pressed against your forehead. he's terrified that you'll get sick one day, that you'll break out into a fever and he won't be able to save you from turning into one of those...things

"you sure you ain't feelin' too hot, baby? i need to know now"

~oh, if you ever got yourself hurt...you're getting a mix of scolding and genuine worry as he fixes you up. it's one of the few times you've almost seen him cry believe it or not

~but yes, he does bite, again, i will say this again

#joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller headcanons #zz0mbi3 bite #apocalypse #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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dev1lm4n · 2 years ago

Text

sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating.

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you.

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better.

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings.

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?”

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way.

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended.

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring.

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her.

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely.

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

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