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darlingghoulette · 4 months ago

Text

walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya'

Summary: You come across a fun surprise on a supply run and decisions are made to “spice things up” in the bedroom for you and Joel. You fuck about it. That’s the fic. Rated E.

Content tags: crack treated seriously for porny reasons, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, afab!reader, reader has a vagina, no other physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, brief discussion of body insecurity, pussy play, pussy pronouns, finger sucking, oral, unprotected p in v, Joel talks you through it because of course he does, excessive use of contractions because Joel is Southern and so am I, ambiguous reader age–she was alive before Outbreak Day so you can do the math however you’d like. I’d still say she’s younger than Joel because the demons in my soul command me to write Older Man Smut.

Author’s note: this started as a conversation about having a majestic bush in the apocalypse and spiraled into an excuse to write smut. While this is hot, I 100% believe that Joel would want his girl all natural as the good lord intended, but hey, pussy is pussy. Just wanna say: your body is your own, fuck patriarchal standards for body hair. This is just for a lil fun.

Read on AO3

It starts as a joke.

You’re clearing an old beauty store on patrol, some old chain business that used to peddle expensive makeup and a million different types of skin care that all essentially do the same thing. It’s not the normal kind of place to look for supplies, but if there was anything you’d learned living through the apocalypse, it was to be resourceful.

You and Maria had already found a decent haul. Shampoo, acetone, disposable applicators that could be used at the clinic. And no infected growing into the walls to be seen. So far, at least.

All in all, the mood was pretty high. Maria doesn’t patrol much, especially after having the baby, and a calm, successful trip outside of the walls was a welcome one. She’s not technically your sister-in-law, seeing as you and Joel aren’t married, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to a best friend and sister since the end of the world.

You’re trading lighthearted conversation as you browse the aisles, nearly ready to call it a day when you see it.

A medium sized box, dented and dusty. One of those wax melting kits, a little pot with tiny beads of brightly colored wax pellets. You’re already kneeling down to see if all the pieces are still intact when Maria ducks around the corner.

“All set?” she asks, shooting you an amused look while you dig excitedly into the box.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen one of these?”

The packaging has certainly seen better days, and the wax beads aren’t nearly as vibrant as they probably once were, but surely wax doesn’t go bad, right? For her part, Maria is regarding the contents warily.

“Can’t say I’ve had the time to get a wax in the past, hm, twenty years or so. So, probably about that long.”

It’s almost strange to think about how little things like body hair used to be a huge deal Before. You can remember the first time in middle school you felt embarrassed about how all your friends shaved their legs and you weren’t allowed to. Before you even realized it was just a commonly accepted societal norm and not worth the huge drag out with your mom who had bigger things on her plate than her kid’s race to puberty.

Stupid shit like that stopped being important…well, ever, if you think about it, society’s expectations were bullshit and patriarchal by design–but especially after the world ended.

“We should try it.” you joke, even though something about the idea is actually tempting.

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Come on,” You’re already imagining wrangling it into your saddlebags. “It could be fun! The guys are out helping with the dam maintenance until tomorrow, we could have a girls night! Movies, wine, torture for the sake of beauty. The full ritual, you know?”

“I’m with you for the rest of it, but I’ve made peace with my legs how they are.” You hadn’t necessarily had your legs in mind.

Maria, genius that she is, correctly interprets the wicked grin curling your lips up slowly without you even having to say anything.

She snorts, amused, but in a way that’s absolutely laughing at you instead of with you. She’s good at that. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” you defend, but she’s already shaking her head.

“I’m not taking you to the clinic after you rip off something important giving yourself a Brazilian with a 20 year old kit.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at her. “Now who’s being dramatic? It’s not a rusty razor blade. It’s wax, Maria. I’ve just…you know. Never done that, even Before. And I’m sure it would be even safer with more hands helping…”

“Ask someone else then.”

“Like who? You’re the only person I’d trust. And really the only person I have besides the 15 year old whose dad I’m currently seeing, and we just got her to the point of somewhat tolerating our relationship, I’d really rather not jeopardize that.”

The image of what a disaster that would be makes you both laugh, but there’s enough truth in the statement that you feel a twist of embarrassment at even the thought. Absolutely not.

“Besides,” you say, faux-innocence dripping from your tone. “Might be a fun surprise for Tommy. Spice things up after the baby?”

The look Maria directs at you is flat and unimpressed, but you can tell she’s not actually annoyed. In fact, there’s a glimmer of something sharp in her eye that tells you she might actually be entertaining the idea. “We don’t need things spiced up, we’re doing just fine, thank you.”

Your nose wrinkles a little at that, you may have brought it up first, but that’s your not-brother-in-law she’s talking about fucking–

“But,” she continues on before your face interrupts her anymore. For a few beats, anticipation hangs heavy between you in the dilapidated store.

“But?”

The pursed seal of her lips eases into a grin, mischievous and matching your own.

“But it might be fun to see the stuck dumb look on his face if I sprung this on him.”

You let out a sharp bark of laughter, imagining your own Miller with a similar reaction. Yeah, this thing is definitely coming home with you. Just in case, you know?

*****

For the millionth time in the last hour, you shift awkwardly on the couch.

It’s the next day after your patrol shift with Maria. The ensuing girls night you’d had turned into more of a get tipsy on the Bison’s good whiskey and goof the hell off night. It was good to see your friend so relaxed, you thought, she stayed so busy and stressed keeping the town safe and secure. A rare cutting loose was called for..

It just so happened that the liquor in your system also made the mysterious box you smuggled from the supply run a whole lot more appealing.

It was a whole ordeal, including cursing, awkward stops and starts, and more drinks than was probably smart for people your age. Thankfully, Maria was more familiar with the whole process and did most of the legwork. Not the most comfortable or glamorous passtime, and you got to know each other in ways that you certainly hadn’t expected, but the results at the end…

You cross your legs again, the sensation of your clothes on bare skin is novel when you change positions. It was stupid, and way more painful than you’d expected. Something fueled by drunk decisions and committing to the bit for laughs, but you can’t deny…it feels kind of nice? Different. But nice.

Still, in the light of day, a new anxiety is popping out after your rash choice to go all beauty-school dropout.

The sun has sunk deep into the mountains, throwing those picturesque oranges and pinks across the Wyoming sky.

Joel’s due home from his overnight trip to the dam any time now.

Leftovers you’d snagged from the dining hall are keeping warm for him in the oven. There were no dishes to wash since you’d chosen to spare him the fate of choking down something you’d thrown together. (And he would have, the kind hearted fool. You’re not the best cook, but he insists on eating whatever you make while you attempt to learn.)

The book you’re reading hasn’t progressed a single page, you keep picking it up and putting it down without retaining anything, your mind too caught up in its spiral.

What if he hates it?

Of course, it’s a stupid thought. You know he’s not the kind of person who would judge you for something small like this. Sure, it’s not how he’s seen you since you both got together. But some guys go crazy for this, right? It used to be the preferred style for some people, back in the day. Even if it’s not his, it’s just fucking hair. It’ll grow back. He’s told you over and over that he’d love you no matter how you looked, and more than that his actions speak for himself. He’s literally seen you crouched over a toilet and ralphing your guts out. He’s seen you at every worst you’ve had in the last five years and is still there. In comparison, this is such a laughable insecurity.

What if he thinks exactly that, though? It’s not a dealbreaker, but what if he laughs at you, what if he thinks it’s stupid and childish and you’re trying too hard, what if he hates it, or what if–

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your–admittedly silly–crashout.

“Baby?” he calls out from where you can hear him shucking off his work boots, starting the familiar routine of sloughing off the outside world for the comforts of home.

“Living room!”

Before you can quite go back to riling yourself up, he’s behind you, curling down over the back of the couch to kiss you hello on the slope of your neck. Your head leans backwards, craning up at him above you.

His presence is like a balm, you can feel the smile growing on your lips while you take in the soft look he’s gifting you in return.

He’s ruffled, hair a mess from the blowing wind outside; the scent of horse and woodsmoke and sweat rolling off of him. It never fails that fresh-off-work Joel just drives you absolutely up a wall. There’s something so masculine and protective and natural about him when he comes home like this that makes you want to just jump his bones as soon as he walks in the door some days.

Today’s no different.

“Have a good weekend, darlin’?” He’s leaned down further now, grunting just a little at the probable murder its doing on his back, to kiss you on the forehead. It makes you huff a soft breath of a laugh out of your nose.

“Better now, but yeah, it was pretty good. Dinner’s in the oven.” you hum, watching him straighten back up and start shedding his coat. “If you wanna take a shower first, I’ll get you a plate.”

He kisses you again in thanks, a soft peck to your temple, a large palm coming to cradle your jaw briefly to press you into the contact. It’s intimate despite being so tame, a gesture that makes something deep in your bones melt better than any on-TV passionate romcom kiss ever could. This is real and warm, and makes you feel incredibly silly recalling your anxiety from just a couple minutes ago.

*****

It’s only after you’re both set up at the kitchen table that the anxiety and anticipation begins to creep back in, Joel fresh from his shower in sweatpants, you with your feet propped in his lap with a cup of tea while he eats his late dinner.

He’s telling you about the maintenance at the dam, how the group of workers had a disagreement on how to set up the factory to better prepare for the Spring storms that’ll move through soon. And you’re listening, really, you are. Nodding along when it’s needed, adding commentary when the conversation lulls. It’s just…

You can’t help shifting in your seat occasionally, or shooting him quick glances, wondering about his reaction. It’s getting you all twisted up again, and you’re trying to decide when will be the best time to bring it up. You’re nearly bursting with it, ready to pop and just get it over with already and–

“Alright,” Joel sets down his fork. “What’d she do?”

You blink, brought short by the sudden change in conversation. “Huh?”

“What’d she do?”

“I’m not following.”

Joel looks at you, a deadpan expression on his face, one brow raised and–Oh, no, that’s his dad detective face.

“You’re over there squirmin’ like a sinner in church and you can barely meet my eye. If it was something you did, you’d have broken by now because you can’t keep a secret for shit. Which brings me to thinkin’ Ellie pulled some kinda fool stunt and you’re trying like hell to cover for her.” he says, the corner of his mouth pulling up into an amused and exasperated expression. “I went by the garage first thing when I got back into town and didn’t notice anything, but she’s gettin’ better at being a normal sneaky teenager. So, what’d I miss?”

You can’t help it, that breaks you. You laugh, spine uncurling from its ramrod position. He always finds a way to break you out of your spiral. Even if he’s a little off the money, there’s something about the fact that he’s so attentive to your moods that releases the balloon of tension that’d been growing in your chest for most of the day.

During your giggle fit, Joel just smiles at you, pleased to have unfurled the little wrinkle you get between your brows when you’re really stewing on something. The meal mostly done and forgotten, his hands move to massage your socked feet in his lap, tugging playfully.

“Nothing happened, but it’s cute how you think you could get me to snitch on her,” You snicker, kicking one foot out to gently bump into his stomach. “She knows where I sleep and I’m more scared of her than I am of you.”

He laughs, mumbling a that’s probably smart under his breath before trying to weasel more answers out of you.

“Alright, if it ain’t that, then what is it?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you sniff.

“Baby.”

His tone is low and coaxing, only meant to prompt the issue out of you, but it has the effect of kindling embers in your stomach. He sits there with his broad shoulders and tousled curls fresh from the shower, hands doing magic on the muscles of your feet, oblivious for all the world that he’s just about the most attractive image of a man you’ve ever seen in your life.

You sink a little further into your chair, using the foot that’s not currently in his grasp to rub along his thigh. Something in his eyes immediately darkens.

“It’s a surprise.”

Taking the opportunity where it’s given, his hand slips further up your calf, fingers just barely brushing the tender skin at the crook of your knee, fully exposed for him in the pajama shorts you’re sporting.

“Don’t gotta surprise me, don’t need nothin’. Got everything I want right here.”

You grin. “What if I’m part of the surprise?”

He was already looking at you before, but the way his eyes rake over you now? It’s heavy, taking you in like the only water in a desert. As much as his gaze feels like a physical thing, you’d much prefer his hands. It’s that want that has you lining up the final shot.

“I mean, unless you’re too tired from your trip. That would be fine, honest, it can wait until–”

You’re cut off with a delighted shriek when he stands and snatches you up from your chair, leftovers forgotten on the table as a problem for tomorrow.

Head still spinning from the rapid change in scenery, it takes you a second to recognize that he’s headed straight upstairs. He’s on a singular mission, as made clear by the clever hand on your ass that’s not just to keep you supported in his arms.

Joel may be older than you, but goddamn, you always forget how fucking strong he is.

The buttons of his flannel are irritatingly done up and your fingers are trying to get the stubborn bastard things open when he makes it to your bedroom and drops you to the mattress with a squeak. You barely have time to get your bearings back from the impact before he’s pressing down on top of you.

“Missed you so much last night,” he offers, already pressing hot kisses to your neck, your collarbone, pulling at the stretched neckline of a shirt that’s his anyway.

You nod rapidly in agreement, nerves fizzling with electricity before he even touches you. It’s always been like this. The easy, syrupy intimacy of everyday life that can snap on a dime, dropping you both into urgency and need like you’ve never felt before. And, indeed, you need him to fuck you already before you go out of your mind.

In a dance that’s as instinctual as breathing, your legs wrap around him. Your hips undulate up into his so you can feel where he’s hard and just as desperate.

Joel pulls back to hover above you. One hand palmed around the back of your neck, tilting you to look up at him. Guiding you where he wants you. “What do you need, baby?”

You lick your bottom lip, brain catching up to his words. His eyes dart down to your mouth.

“I-I want–” you start, breathlessly, but he cuts you off with a click of his tongue.

“Don’t think I asked what you wanted, sweet girl,” he hums, thumb resting on your chin and pulling it down. Gentle pressure, you could absolutely break away if you wanted to, but you follow his lead, sucking the appendage into your mouth. “Asked what you needed.”

You try to get the word “you” out around your mouthful, and you must do a good enough job that it earns you a kiss to the forehead, a move that might feel out of place to anyone else, but it’s so protective and possessive and him it makes you want to fucking writhe to release the pressure between your legs.

The slick sound of his thumb when he pulls it from you draws a sharp whine from your chest and he shushes you, hands dragging down and down and down your sides, coming to rest on your hips. Something about that wriggles in the back of your head, like there was something you were supposed to be doing here, but you’re way too caught up to remember.

“It’s alright. I gotcha, baby,” Joel says, heated and soft in his low drawl, and then he’s sliding your shorts down your hips. Hands sure and practiced, expert at playing you like a goddamn fiddle. Lips laying scalding, sucking kisses from the crook of your knee to the inside of your thigh as he eases your legs open and–

Stops.

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realize that he’s not just pausing for anticipation. He’s full on halted down there, one of your legs still hiked up in his palm, staring down at you like…Well.

You think the term Maria used was struck dumb.

You bite your lip to keep the laughter contained. It’s not very successful, because his eyes snap back up to your face after a snort sneaks out against your will.

There are lots of sexier ways you could play this, probably, but you settle on grinning up at him.

“Surprise?”

The sound he lets out is more of a sharp exhalation of breath than anything, like it was kicked out of him. You think you hear a goddamn tacked on the end there, but it’s quiet.

“What prompted this?” he asks when his words find him again, eyes dropped back down to take in the sight.

“Felt like a change,” you mumble, losing some of your previous steam. You can give him the whole story later, but despite being used to him seeing you all kinds of ways, something about direct eye contact with your pussy makes you wriggle uncomfortably.

“You, uh. You like it?” You’re starting to feel that anxiety creep back in, especially since he hasn’t confirmed or denied, or said much of fucking anything to give you a clue yet.

Something in your tone must give that away, because you can almost see him mentally shake himself–systems coming back online, you think to yourself. The next time his eyes catch yours, it makes your stomach go molten.

“Like it?” he echoes. His fingers have started exploring, petting down your soft skin. Even just the gentlest touch is like a livewire, makes your entire body clench, and he huffs out a soft laugh. “More’n like it, you are…Christ.”

He’s lowered your knee over his shoulder now, using both hands to make you lightheaded without actually touching where you want him.

“She’s so pretty, baby,” he coos at you, making you moan even louder when he caresses the tender skin on either side of your cunt. “You make her all pretty just for me?”

You nod, words a knot in your throat.

“She’s always pretty, though.” You can feel the hot breath closer now, mouth hovering just above where your nerves are on fire. The sensation has your hand snapping down and threading into his hair with a keening whine. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, an’ all mine.”

And then he’s eating at you like a man starved.

He’s always been enthusiastic when it comes to your pleasure, but like this everything feels heightened, sensitive beyond measure. His nose bumps your clit and your vision whites out..

His tongue is not just bullying inside you every few strokes, it’s licking at the soft, smooth skin wherever he can touch. He sets his teeth to gently drag across one of your folds and it sends you nearly howling with it, the pressure in your core ratcheting up so high that you feel yourself hurtling to the edge impossibly fast. Joel knows it, too. He knows your body better than anything else on earth.

“That’s it,” When he pulls back, it’s only with scant inches between you still, dipping back in to lay kiss after kiss on your heated flesh between words, like he can’t stand to pull himself away. Two of his fingers take the place of his tongue, crooking up inside you exactly where he knows drives you crazy and thrusting. Fucking you through it with every trick he knows drives you right to the peak.

“Good girl, take what you need, alright? Give it to me, baby, I got ya’,”

You can’t do anything but comply. Chest heaving, crying out with your orgasm as he eases you down as effectively as he built you up, kissing around your clit because he knows the stimulation can be too much directly after.

You don’t even wait to get your breath back before you’re using the grasp you still have on his hair to yank him up to your mouth.

He tastes like you.

It’s your favorite thing to taste on him.

Down below, past where his fingers are still petting at you, he’s grinding into the bed, trying to relieve the pressure where he’s straining against the seams of his sweatpants. The sight of it knocks enough sense back into you to start tugging at his clothes with urgency once more. It must amuse him greatly judging by the look he gives you.

“Need something?” he asks, but smart man that he is, he’s already joining in to help you shove his clothes away, your hands too shaky from the mind-shattering orgasm still. “Got another one in you?”

“You gonna keep asking stupid questions?” you pant, and it makes him bark out a delighted laugh, genuine and deep, and it has you grinning in response, always secretly pleased when you make him laugh.

It’s a practiced dance between you both; getting him undressed to match you, taking playful nips at the newly uncovered skin within reach, getting distracted by long periods of kissing until you’re so keyed up again that all you can do is pant against his mouth while he teases you.

He’s slowly rubbing the head of his cock against your soft folds, a slick slide that echoes wetly in the room and it’s so fucking obscene you could vibrate out of your own skin.

Up and down.

Coating himself in you and…just feeling. Playing with you. Enjoying his surprise. You let out a whine, impatient and beyond your limits.

“S’it feel good?” he’s toying with you, stroking along your skin everywhere except where you need him. He nudges against your clit and the shocky, overwhelming zip of it rocks a gasp from your chest that he must like the sound of because he does it again, hungry for it.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you think she’s got another one for me?”

You’ve dissolved down to only nerve endings, too wound up to do much in response but grind up against him.

“Feels so good, so soft and sweet f’me,” he groans, the head pressing in just that little bit, barely there, only needing just that little bit more pressure to pop past the resistance and into your body. “Why don’t you feel, baby? Reach down here and guide me in, feel how nice we feel together,”

He grabs your hand, pulling it down between your bodies, grunting when you grip around him. It’s so slick and hot, a combination of the two of you that makes your stomach clench in anticipation. You try to guide him right in, desperate to feel him inside of you, but he resists.

“Slow, baby, slow, there we go,” It’s agonizingly drawn out, but he sinks into you finally, the position you’re in–one of his hands under the small of your back to tilt you up to him, your knees locked around him–combined with the glacial pace makes it feel so intense and fucking deep that you’re sucking in great lungfulls of air to keep from floating away. “Theeere we go, atta girl. Always take it so well,” he murmurs, breathless himself, shoulders tense.

He’s petting along your side with his free hand, gentling you like a goddamn horse, and fuck does it make your eyes roll back. With anyone else it would probably feel condescending. With Joel it just makes you want to slam your hips down into him even more, get him to move already.

He finally does draw back, right before slamming forward again and stealing all of the hard-won breath from your chest.

Time is lost after that. A haze of slapping skin and moans.

He adjusts his grip on you, both hands coming to rest on your hips to physically pull you into the force of his thrusts, propping you up and up until–

“Fuck!”

He hits that spot inside of you that makes your entire body jolt with electricity, and he grins, boyish and cocky.

“There she is,” he’s relentless, angled perfectly to make you lose your mind, thumb coming up to rub perfect, tight circles over your clit in time with his strokes. “I’ve got you, baby, gonna let go for me?”

Already keyed up and sensitive from your peak earlier, the overstimulation is tortuous and so, so good, already hurtling you towards another that you know he can feel impending by the way you’re tightening around him.

You’re trying to hold on, drawing out the pleasure curling at the base of your spine, but he drops down, hips never stopping, thumb still a maddening pressure on your clit, and he bites at your chest.

His breath is scorching hot and wet on your skin as he groans “such a good fuckin’ girl, fuckin’ come on my cock baby, s’all yours,” and he bites down on a peaked, puffy nipple.

Your second orgasm of the night rocks through you, the force of it startling, your fingernails making deep grooves in Joel’s back as you ride through it.

He’s cursing and holding you to him, hips stuttering with your cunt gripping him so tightly. Your end tumbles him into his own, emptying into you and fucking his come deeper on instinct.

The room is silent except for your combined breaths as you both come down.

There’s a pleasant buzzing in your limbs, a humming in the back of your mind as it comes back to the awareness that you still have a rather large man resting on top of you and that your lungs would quite like it if they could inflate all the way.

You tap Joel’s shoulder and he adjusts, sweat-sticky skin peeling from you to move to the side. It’s not as gross to you as it maybe could be. You think that’s what love might be.

He’s no sooner on his back beside you before you’ve rolled to lay against him, one leg tucked up over his, your chest flattened to his. Like space between you might actually kill you right now in the wake of your high. To his credit, he must feel the same, his palms skimming over your back, your ass, down to your knee and up again in a soothing circuit.

Soon you’ll need to get up and run a bath. Currently, you cannot think of anything you’d like to do less than move from this spot.

Joel kisses your hair, then your forehead, across your cheeks, anywhere he can reach, and you hum, absolutely in love with how touchy he gets after a good orgasm. The man may look big and bad outside these walls, but you have his number when it comes to post-coital cuddles.

It’s because you know him so well that you sense something brewing, his thoughts a little too loud for your liking. “Everything okay?”

He just hums, working a spot under your jaw with his teeth.

“Joel.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking too hard.”

“M’not.”

“You are, I can smell the smoke.”

He huffs, head dropping back to the pillow. “Cute.”

“I know,” you pretend to preen, but drop the humor quickly in favor of propping up on an elbow to look at him. He doesn’t seem distressed, but he’s definitely chewing on something. “What is it?”

His forehead is furrowed a bit, mouth curved to one side in thought. “You just…”

Your brow raises, prompting.

“You didn’t do all that,” he gestures at your lower half propped against him. “Just for me, did you?”

You snort. “Didn’t hear you complaining about it a minute ago.”

He rolls his eyes. “I ain’t complaining, I’m just saying.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tease again, maybe even get a little defensive as the nerves from before try to sink back in, but you refrain. You can see in his expression that he’s serious, trying to say something here that’s important, so you let him gather his thoughts. He sighs, appearing frustrated at himself that the words aren’t coming out right.

“You can do whatever you want with your body, not like you need permission from me. I just wanted t’say that you don’t need to do anything to change yourself for me. I know some people did that controlling shit Before, pushed their preferences on their partner, but I thought it was stupid then, too. I love the way you are no matter what, because it’s you, alright?”

You blink at him, not expecting the heartfelt turn in conversation.

There’s a hint of a flush under his tanned skin that has nothing to do with the previous vigorous activity. Talking about emotions usually does that to him, but he always makes a point of letting you know how he feels about you.

You wax your pussy on a drunken whim because you think it’ll be hot, and this large, wonderful idiot of a man is worried you did it out of some obligation to beauty standards and wants you to know he loves you regardless.

As silly as the situation is, you’re utterly, ridiculously charmed.

You smile down at him, still propped on his chest. The perfect vantage point to see how his eyes get drawn to your kiss-swollen mouth.

“And what if I said that I was just trying something out? Comparing differences, you know, to see what I like. Scientific, almost.”

His eyes darken.

“In that case,” With a startled shriek, he has you flipped, back pinned to the bed once more. “Thinkin’ we should keep on testin’.”

He’s creeping back down your body, focus resting on his come that has been dripping out of you, fingers scooping through the slick and pushing it right back inside where it belongs. It wrenches a shocked moan from you.

“Joel, I can barely move already.” you whine.

“Good thing I’m doing all the work, then.”

His eyes are locked on the apex of your legs, greedily taking you in.

“I ain’t done with you yet, pretty thing,” and you don’t think he’s talking to your face at all.

#joel miller x reader #Jackson!joel #x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Rated E #joel miller smut #my writing #smut #that man is the KING of pussy pronouns and i will stand on that fact until my dying day #pedro pascal universe #I guess I should use that tag too even though Game Joel is also valid and has my entire heart #pedro pascal fic

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