bshciresident

[bshciresident]

[bshciresident]

[bshciresident]

Squeeze

[bshciresident]

21!

This year definitely wasn't the best but I'm so grateful for everyone who loved me and gave me the bestest of support when I needed them the most <3

[bshciresident]

Mine To Keep

Summary: After a heated encounter at the Tipsy Bison, Joel’s possessive streak is set off when a cocky newcomer makes a crude comment about you. Tension boils over into desperate, filthy lovemaking back home, where Joel reminds you exactly who you belong to.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!wife reader

Word count: 5k

Content warnings: smut, established relationship, married joel, possessiveness, heavy dirty talk, mama pet name used, other pet names, breeding kink, fingering, oral, squirting, p in v sex, creampie, aftercare, some fluff, banter/teasing from Tommy

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. Do I want kids? No. Would I give Joel a litter? Yes. New kink unlocked. Also, this is not an original idea; sue me. I'm just feral over Pedro.

The Tipsy Bison buzzed with low laughter, the clatter of glass against wood, and the scratch of boots on the scuffed floorboards. Warm, smoky air clung to your skin when you stepped inside, the scent of old whiskey and woodsmoke curling in your nose. Conversations hummed around you, mixing familiar voices and the occasional burst of raucous laughter from the corner tables.

You didn’t bother stopping at the bar or pretending you were here for anything but him.

Your eyes found Joel instantly, as if your body knew where to look before your mind caught up. He was bent over the pool table, cue in hand, the curve of his broad shoulders and thick forearms framed by the golden glow of the overhead light. His tanned skin gleamed, stretched tight over muscle, the sleeves of his Henley shoved up to his elbows. Every practiced movement he made, every shift of his hips, sent a pulse of heat through you.

Goddamn, he was handsome.

You dragged your lower lip between your teeth, pulse fluttering low in your belly. It didn’t matter that it was late or that the whole town might whisper about you chasing after your husband like a lovesick fool. Let them talk. All you wanted was him — home, in your bed, with his arms around you so you could finally sleep.

Tommy stood nearby, beer in hand, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. A few other men lingered around them, voices blending into the warm hum of the room.

“Think your wife’s lookin’ for you, big brother,” Tommy called out, his teasing voice cutting through the chatter as his gaze landed on you.

Joel straightened, glancing over his shoulder. The moment his eyes met yours, something in his expression softened, the faint crease in his brow easing. He set the pool cue aside, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that made your breath catch.

“Whatcha doin’ here, sweetheart?” Joel rumbled, his voice low and rough.

You didn’t answer immediately — just crossed the room like some invisible thread was pulling you. The noise and light of the bar dulled at the edges of your senses the moment you reached him, your arms sliding around his waist like it was the only place you belonged.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” you murmured, voice soft enough that only he could catch it.

His familiar scent filled your head, grounding you in a way nothing else could. Joel let out a quiet sigh, one hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy circle against your spine. His gaze flicked toward the clock above the bar, and you felt the tension in his chest when he realized the hour.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice thick with regret. “Didn’t realize it was so late, baby.”

You shrugged, fingers toying absently with the edge of his belt, the rough denim warm under your touch. The simple act made Joel’s throat work in a swallow, his free hand tightening on the pool cue.

From behind him, one of the younger guys — Wes, you thought his name was — chuckled into his drink. “Jesus, Miller,” he drawled, grinning around the rim of his glass. “A man that whipped, I swear. Must be some kinda magic between her legs, huh?”

The words landed like a spark in dry grass. Joel stiffened, his jaw ticking as he slowly turned to glare at the kid, his arm pulling you a fraction tighter against his side. The easy, good-natured grin he’d worn moments ago was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel said, voice calm in that dangerous, unhurried way.

The table went quiet for a beat too long. Tommy let out a short laugh to cut the tension, clapping Wes on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Ah, c’mon now. Don’t poke the bear, son. He’ll tear your damn head off.”

Wes raised his hands in mock surrender, but Joel’s eyes were already back on you, softer now, like nothing else in the room mattered.

“Let’s go home, handsome,” you murmured.

Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his hand slid from your back to your hip, holding you close. His gaze stayed on yours, something unspoken passing between you. He gave a stiff nod, about to walk away when Wes opened his damn mouth again.

“Shame you’re leavin’ already,” Wes called, leaning back against the pool table with a cocky grin. His eyes dragged over you, slow and bold. “Didn’t realize Miller’s wife had such a pretty mouth on her. Bet she’s a fuckin’ firecracker in bed too, huh, Joel?”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass.

The room stilled. A few guys exchanged glances, Tommy’s grin fading into a scowl as he straightened up from his stool.

“The hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, stepping toward Wes before your brain could catch up to your mouth. Heat rose in your chest, anger snapping through you like a whip.

But you barely made it two steps before Joel’s hand clamped around your waist. He hauled you back against his chest like you weighed nothing at all, his body slotting between you and Wes with lethal precision.

“Behind me, baby,” Joel growled, his voice low and dangerous, laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt the tension rippling through him — the tight coil of muscle, the storm brewing behind his eyes. His fingers flexed against your hip as his other hand balled into a fist, making Wes flinch.

“That’s my fuckin’ wife you’re talkin’ about,” Joel said, each word slow, deliberate, and deadly. His voice dropped to a dark, dangerous rasp. “And you’re one more word away from pickin’ your teeth up off this floor.”

Wes’s smirk faltered, his throat bobbing as the color drained from his face. The rest of the bar went quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the faint clinking of glass in the far corner.

“Alright, alright,” Tommy cut in quickly, stepping between them, a hand on Joel’s chest. “Easy, brother. He’s an idiot, ain’t worth it.”

You reached for Joel’s hand, which gripped your hip, lacing your fingers with his. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the pulse pounding in your ears. “Let’s just go.”

Joel didn’t move. His glare was still pinned to Wes, who had the good sense to look away. Then Joel huffed a sharp breath, squeezing your hand before turning toward the door, keeping you close at his side.

Tommy clapped Joel on the shoulder as you passed. “Get her home, big brother. I’ll handle this shit.”

Joel didn’t answer, focusing entirely on you as he opened the door and guided you into the cool night air.

The walk home was thick with silence. It hummed with tension, electric and heavy, stretching between you. Joel’s grip on your hand was firm, his palm rough and warm against yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

You could feel it in him — the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his jaw stayed tight, his strides just a little longer than usual, like he was still chasing the fight he’d left behind in that bar. Every few steps, you rubbed your thumb along his wrist to soothe the fire simmering beneath his skin.

The lights of your house came into view, a soft glow in the darkness. Joel’s voice finally broke the quiet, low and rough.

“Is Ellie home?” he asked, eyes fixed on the front door.

You shook your head, your pulse picking up even before the words left your mouth. “No, she’s at Dina’s—”

You didn’t get the rest out.

Joel’s hand tightened around yours as he spun you toward him, backing you up against the porch rail before you could blink. His mouth was on yours in an instant — hot, desperate, claiming. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was teeth and tongue and the low, possessive growl in the back of his throat, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pressing you into the hard line of his body.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt as heat flared through you, molten and sudden. His other hand cupped your jaw, angling your face the way he wanted, deepening the kiss like a man starved.

“Goddamn it,” Joel rasped against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart pounded, your skin flushed from the sudden rush of him, from the possessiveness still radiating off his body like heat from a fire.

“Get what?” you managed, voice breathless.

He kissed you again, slower but no less intensely, his hand sliding down to squeeze your hip. “What you do to me,” he murmured, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, cheek, and jaw. “Watchin’ some punk look at you like that… talk about you like that… Jesus, baby.”

You shivered, arching into him, your fingers tugging at his belt like they had in the bar, but now with clear intent.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

Joel’s eyes darkened, and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. “I plan to, sweetheart.”

Joel reached past you, shoved the door open, and pulled you inside like a man past the point of reason. The door slammed shut behind you, the soft click of the lock barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

Before you could take a single step, his mouth was on your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. He sucked at the delicate skin just below your jaw, a low groan rumbling from his chest when your fingers dug into his shoulders.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moaned, your head tipping back to give him more access.

His hands found your hips, dragging you against him, the hard line of his arousal grinding into your belly. Every touch was rough and needy, as if he was still chasing the high of what happened at the bar, and the only thing that could settle him was you.

Somehow, you made it to the couch, stumbling, pulling at clothes between frantic kisses. Shirts tugged halfway off, jeans yanked down just enough — it wasn’t graceful. Heat and desperation, limbs tangling and mouths colliding like you’d fall apart if you didn’t touch.

By the time Joel dropped to his knees in front of you, your top was still on, bunched up over your ribs, your legs spread wide on either side of him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked up at you from between them.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ night,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Then his mouth was on you.

A sharp cry left your lips as his tongue dragged through your folds before his lips closed around your clit. He sucked, hard, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through your core. Your back arched off the couch, fingers tangling in his hair, anchoring yourself to him as heat bloomed low in your belly.

Joel groaned against you, the vibration of it making your hips buck. His hands pinned you down, thumbs digging into your thighs as his tongue worked you over — long, wet strokes mixed with sharp flicks of his tongue, his scruff rough against your sensitive skin.

“Joel—oh, God—baby,” you gasped, your voice breaking on a whimper as he sucked your clit between his lips again, his tongue relentless.

He grunted in approval, one hand leaving your thigh to slide a thick finger inside you, curling just right. You cried out, the pressure building fast, your body strung taut, teetering on the edge.

Joel pulled back just long enough to murmur, voice thick and wrecked, “Told you I’d show you, darlin’. Gonna make you come all over my tongue.”

Then he was back on you, tongue and fingers working in perfect, devastating rhythm — and you knew you wouldn’t last long.

Your body was on fire.

Every flick of Joel’s tongue, every curl of his fingers pushed you higher, the pleasure building sharp in your belly. You could barely breathe, panting, gasping his name like a prayer, your fingers fisting so hard in his hair your knuckles ached.

“F-fuck—Joel, I’m—” you stammered, voice trembling, hips bucking despite his iron grip.

He groaned against you, the sound deep and hungry, his mouth sealing around your clit and sucking hard. His fingers curled inside you just right, and the coil inside you snapped.

Pleasure shattered through you, sharp and white-hot. Your cry broke from your throat, back arching off the couch, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you.

And then it happened — a rush of wetness, sudden and overwhelming. You felt yourself gush against his mouth, a choked moan tumbling out of you as your vision blurred.

“Oh my— fuck, Joel, I—I can’t—”

But Joel didn’t stop.

He growled low in his throat, his tongue lapping at your release like a man possessed, hands tightening on your thighs to hold you open as you writhed. The way you’d fallen apart, the way you soaked him — it only drove him wilder.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips slick, beard damp with you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with pure, feral hunger. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Such a good girl.”

His mouth was back on you before you could catch your breath, tongue working you through every aftershock, every tremble, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a whimpering, shaking mess against the couch cushions.

“J-Joel—s’too much,” you gasped, half-laughing, half-crying as your body shuddered under him.

He only grunted, one last possessive suck against your clit before he finally let you go, his mouth glistening, his chest heaving. He looked up at you like he hadn’t even begun to get his fill.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ mess,” he said, voice rough, thumb lazily stroking your inner thigh. “And I ain’t even fucked you yet.”

A slow, wicked grin tugged at your lips. You bit down on your lower one, teasing yourself with the scrape of your teeth as you looked at him through heavy lashes. “Ain’t my fault you looked so hot defending my honor,” you shot back, voice breathy but teasing, the words making his mouth twitch like he was trying not to smile.

Joel huffed a dark little laugh, shaking his head as he pressed another hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You’re my wife,” he muttered, like it was the world's simplest, most obvious thing. His lips dragged higher, soft kisses turning hungrier as he worked his way up your body. “’ Course I would. No one talks about you like that. No one looks at you like that. You hear me?”

Each kiss scorched a new mark into your skin, his scruff rasping against sensitive flesh, until he reached your stomach. He nipped there, the sharp sting of teeth making you jolt, your breath hitching in your throat.

“And I’m gonna make damn sure everyone in Jackson knows you’re mine,” Joel promised, voice thick and possessive.

You smirked, your hand weaving into his hair again, tugging just enough to make him grunt against your skin. “Gonna make me a mama, Joel?” you murmured, eyes locked on his.

The words seemed to snap something in him.

His pupils blew wide, his nostrils flaring as his hand slid up to palm your still-quivering belly, rough fingers splaying possessively. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and the hunger in his eyes made your pulse spike.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he growled, dragging his lips up your body, stopping just below your breast, his breath hot against your skin. “Gonna fill you up, get you nice and round. Put a baby in you so there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind you’re mine.”

You whimpered, your hips canting toward him, need flaring bright and sharp in your gut.

Joel smirked against your skin, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Bet you’d look so fuckin’ pretty all swollen with my baby. Takin’ me so good every night, beggin’ for it.”

“Then do it,” you whispered, shivering under his touch, a throaty little plea.

He lifted his head, his mouth crashing into yours, tasting of whiskey and you, his hands already pushing your top higher, moving to claim every inch of you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as he positioned himself between your thighs. “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”

Joel didn’t waste another second.

His eyes dragged over your body, hungry and wild, and when he settled between your thighs, his cock heavy and flushed in his hand, you swore you could feel your pulse in every inch of your skin.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, look at you,” he rasped, fisting himself as he lined up with your slick entrance, the fat head of his cock nudging at your folds. “Already so wet for me. Messy little thing.”

You whimpered, hips tilting up to meet him, your fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

“Beg for it, mama,” Joel gritted, his voice rough. He leaned down, teeth catching your earlobe. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Joel,” you gasped, head falling back as your body ached for him. “Please. Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Fill me up—give me your baby.”

A deep, wrecked sound tore from his throat — half a growl, half a groan — and then he was pushing into you in one hard, slow thrust, sinking deep until his hips met yours. The stretch burned, your walls clenching around him.

“Goddamn,” Joel grunted, head dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Feels like heaven.”

You could barely breathe, could only cling to him as he set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with desperate, brutal intent. The couch creaked beneath you, every slap of skin against skin loud in the otherwise silent house.

His mouth was everywhere — your neck, collarbone, and jaw underside. He muttered filth into your skin between ragged breaths, every word fanning the fire already consuming you.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he growled, his hand sliding to your belly, pressing down just enough to feel the bulge of him moving inside you. “Put a baby right here. Get you so fuckin’ full you’ll be beggin’ me for more.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you sobbed, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, your nails raking down his back.

He grunted, his thrusts somehow rougher, deeper. “That’s it, mama. Take it. You were made for this — for me. Always knew you’d look so goddamn pretty carrying my kid.”

The word mama on his lips sent a shockwave through you, your whole body reacting with pleasure. Heat coiled low in your belly, a deep, needy ache blooming, the edge of your orgasm creeping back up so fast it made your head spin.

You barely recognized your voice — breathless, wrecked, laced with a teasing, desperate kind of heat. “Wanna give you a baby,” you whispered, your nails raking down his sweat-slick back, hips arching up to meet every savage thrust.

Joel let out a sound that was half growl, half moan, like the words cracked something inside him wide open. His hips stuttered for a heartbeat before slamming into you even harder.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and ragged, his mouth dragging along your jaw. “Say it again, darlin’.”

You gasped when he hit that perfect spot, the pleasure stealing your breath.

“Wanna give you a baby, Joel,” you choked out, fingers gripping his hair, pulling him down until his forehead pressed to yours. 

The snarl he made against your lips was pure filth, his pace turning brutal, desperate.

“Yeah, you do,” Joel rasped, his voice rough with tenderness and possessive heat. “Gonna knock you up, fill this pretty pussy ‘til it takes. Get you nice and round, let everyone see what I fuckin’ did to you.”

Your body broke again, pleasure slamming into you like a wave, your moan spilling into his mouth as you came, clenching around him so tight it dragged a loud, broken curse from his throat.

Joel’s hips jerked, his cock twitching deep inside you as he followed, coming with a low, possessive growl. “Mine. All fuckin’ mine, mama.”

And the way he kept moving, soft, shallow thrusts as his come spilled inside you, made your head swim, the aftershocks rippling through both of you.

“Gonna fill you up again in a minute,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “Ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you’re carryin’ my baby.”

You shivered, a giddy, breathless laugh escaping you as you kissed him, your heart pounding against his.

Joel groaned against your lips, the sound deep and wrecked, his tongue slipping into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hips gave a sharp, involuntary thrust, and you felt it, that familiar, liquid heat spilling deep inside you as his cock twitched inside your still-clenching walls.

A dark, possessive noise tore from his throat, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you knew there’d be bruises come morning. The weight of him, the heat, the lingering pulse of his release made your whole body tighten in response, another soft, needy whimper escaping your lips.

You bit his bottom lip, just enough to make him grunt, a wicked little smirk curling your mouth as you tugged before letting go.

“Can feel you,” you whispered, your voice breathless and teasing, your thumb brushing his jaw. “Fillin’ me up again, handsome.”

Joel’s gaze darkened, his breath hitching as his hand slid possessively over your belly, pressing his palm flat against it like he could already feel something growing inside you. 

“Can’t fuckin’ help it,” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp, kissing you again, slower but no less desperate. “This pussy’s too good, sweetheart. So goddamn tight, squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to keep every drop.”

Your body shivered at his words, arousal flaring sharp and hot all over again.

Joel groaned when he felt the way your walls fluttered around him, a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah… you like that, huh?” he murmured, teeth scraping along your jaw. “Bet I could make you come again just like this, keep you stuffed full ‘til you can’t even think straight.”

The way he said it — low, tender, filthy — made your pulse stutter, your hips instinctively rocking against him despite the oversensitivity.

His hand slid between you, two fingers teasing your swollen, soaked clit with slow, lazy circles.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice thick with hunger and rough affection. “One more for me. Let’s see how much more this pretty pussy can take.”

You moaned his name as Joel rocked his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Each one dragged along oversensitive nerves, the thick slide of him inside you sending heat curling low in your belly, sharp and insistent. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, your body trembling, every lazy grind pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, that’s it, mama,” Joel rasped against your ear, his voice rough and tender. “Feel that? Still so full for me.”

The tension in your belly coiled tight, your walls fluttering around him, and then it hit — your orgasm cresting sharp and hot, pleasure tearing through you in thick, rolling waves. You cried out his name again, your body clenching down around his cock, slick flooding around him as you came hard.

Joel groaned low, his hips giving a final, deep push before he stilled, buried to the hilt, savoring every pulse of you around him. His head dropped to your shoulder, sweat-slick skin sticking to yours, his breath hot and uneven against your neck.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

He pulled out slowly, and you both let out soft, wrecked sounds at the wet, filthy slide of it. A warm, sticky mix of your arousal and his seed spilled out of you, slicking your thighs.

Joel watched it, pupils blown, a dark, possessive hunger flickering across his face. Without a word, he slid his fingers through the mess, gathering it up, and then eased two of them back inside you, pushing it deep.

“Not wastin’ a fuckin’ drop,” he murmured, voice a gravelly promise, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers worked it back in. “This’s all mine, darlin’. You hear me? Every last bit of it.”

Your breath caught, a whimper escaping you at the stretch and the possessive tenderness in his touch.

“Gonna keep you nice and full,” Joel went on, his voice softer now, fingers dragging slowly inside you, his other hand splaying over your belly again. “Get you nice and round for me.”

Your body shuddered, another wave of heat crashing through you at his words.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “All yours, Joel.”

Joel stretched out on top of you, his head resting against your chest. Both of you were too wrecked and sated to care about the mess clinging to your skin or the sticky heat between your bodies. His fingers lazily traced circles along your hip, his breathing evening out against your skin as the frantic pulse of earlier settled into something warm and steady.

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you knew he liked. He released a low, contented sound — part sigh, part rumble — and pressed a soft, unhurried kiss above your heart.

Eventually, Joel shifted, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, the rough pad of it catching on your skin. “C’mere,” he said, voice still thick and gravelly from the aftermath.

He helped you sit up, wincing a little as he did, and you both chuckled softly at yourselves — sticky, sweaty, and spent.

Joel disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up gently, his touch careful and tender. He murmured soft apologies every time you flinched from oversensitivity.

When he was done, he leaned down, kissed your forehead, and scooped you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world. You nuzzled into his neck, your body limp with exhaustion, your heart still pounding slowly and content beneath your ribs.

“You good, darlin’?” he asked quietly, kissing your temple as he carried you upstairs.

“Mmm,” you hummed, too tired to say much else but letting your lips brush his throat in answer.

You both stripped off what little remained of your clothes in the bathroom. The shower was quick and lazy — more leaning against one another than washing — the warm water washing away the sweat and mess while Joel kept his hand on you, steadying you when your knees went weak from pure exhaustion.

Afterward, you both climbed into bed, skin still damp, limbs tangled beneath the worn quilt. Joel pulled you close, your head tucked under his chin, one big hand spread over your belly in a possessive, tender gesture.

The night was quiet around you. The only sounds were the faint chirp of crickets outside and the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

“Love you,” Joel murmured against your hair, voice already thick with sleep.

You smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. “Love you too.”

Sleep took you both not long after — warm, sated, and wrapped up in each other like you never wanted to let go.

The next morning, Joel padded downstairs barefoot, the house quiet except for the creak of the old floorboards under his weight. The scent of sex and sweat still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the room like a memory.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, still feeling the ache in his muscles, a hazy mix of satisfaction and guilt gnawing at him. Hope I didn’t wear her out too bad , he thought, glancing toward the stairs. You’d been so boneless, half-asleep when he kissed your temple and slipped out of bed, still curled up in the mess of sheets.

Joel filled the coffee pot and started a fresh brew before grabbing a rag to wipe down the couch. The dried streaks of sweat and arousal, and the faint outline of a handprint in the fogged glass of the side table, made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he scrubbed.

He’d just finished, the rag still in hand, when a sharp knock rattled the front door. Joel sighed, tossing the rag over his shoulder as he padded over.

The door swung open to reveal Tommy, leaning against the frame with a shit-eating grin and one brow raised.

“Oh good,” Tommy drawled, giving his brother a once-over. “You’re alive.”

Joel rubbed at his eyes with a groan, still half-asleep and in no mood for whatever this was. “Yeah, barely. Ain’t got patrol. Why the hell you here so damn early?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately — just snorted and jerked his chin toward the house behind him. “Neighbors complainin’,” he said, barely holding back a grin. “Said they heard some woman screamin’ her head off last night. Thought maybe some infected made it past the gate.”

Joel’s stomach dropped, his eyes going wide. “ Shit, ” he muttered, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Tommy’s grin split wide as he let out a bark of laughter. “Relax, big brother. I told ‘em it was just you bein’ an animal. Didn’t even blink.”

Joel scowled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Goddamn it, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Tommy chuckled, backing down the steps, clearly enjoying himself. “Least now the whole town knows you ain’t as old and tired as you look.”

Joel shot him a glare, but there was no real heat. “Keep runnin’ your mouth and see if you don’t end up limpin’ on patrol tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Tommy quipped over his shoulder as he walked away.

Joel watched him go, shaking his head with amusement before shutting the door. He turned, grabbed two mugs off the shelf, and filled them with coffee, still grinning.

Carrying them upstairs, he peeked into the bedroom, finding you still curled under the covers, hair a wild, messy halo around your head.

“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured, setting the mugs down and crawling back beside you, kissing your shoulder. “You know we got the whole town talkin’?”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Joel Miller, if you tell me what I think you’re about to…”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “Might’ve made ya scream a little too loud last night.”

You smacked his chest with a sleepy grin. “Next time, I’m gagging you.”

Joel’s laugh rumbled against your back as he wrapped you in his arms. “Fair’s fair, sweetheart. Fair’s fair.”

[bshciresident]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Jackson!Joel x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Joel's got a superpower. Alternatively, Joel swears he can smell when you're ovulating.

author's note | @gracieheartspedro said something about joel being able to smell when you're ovulating as a joke but i am a very serious person. so serious....i swear lmao

content warning | 18+ MDNI, BREEDING KINK!!!, joel can definitely smell it on you, talks of pregnancy/future together, established relationship, established free-use, possessive!joel, he's creepin' into peepaw status (he's 58 but no defined age for reader so let your imagination run wild), mentions of joel possibly being sterile, unprotected piv, creampies for obvious reasons

word count — 2.5k

Joel could smell it on you.

At least, he liked to make you think he could.

He can, though. He swears.

He’s tapping his bare foot against the hardwood floor as he rocked gently in his recliner, glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through the Space for Dummies book Ellie had gifted him for his birthday a few months ago.

It was dark aside from the table lamp beside him, the glowing, soft orange hue wrapped around him, illuminating the side of his face as he angled the book to catch the light, unaware of your presence until your fingers were plucking the book out of his hand.

Joel offers a small noise of acknowledgement as he looks up in your general direction, welcoming the spread of your legs with his warm, open palm as you rest yourself in his lap.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you tell him gently, voice thick with sleep.

It was the middle of the night and not entirely out of character to find him up and busying himself with anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he couldn’t sleep, for some reason or another.

“M’right here,” he responds with a tender touch, his hand curling against the side of your neck as his thumb runs along the line of your jaw, a smile growing as you push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down, “you up tryin’ to drag me back into bed?”

You laugh softly but decidedly shake your head, curling the fabric of his cotton shirt around your finger until it wrinkles, aware of his wandering hand as it glides up your thigh and under the waistband of your underwear hidden beneath the oversized sleep shirt you had worn to bed that night.

“Didn’t come down here for nothin’,” Joel teases, “whaddya need, baby?”

You two had established your dynamic months ago—you had worn Joel down quite a bit since his initial arrival, turning a hardened man into a softer, kinder version of himself. You often wondered how similar this version of him was to himself before the outbreak, wondering how long it had been since he’d felt safe enough to let his guard down.

It was simple, really.

As long as the house was empty—no Ellie and her friends, you were both fair game to take advantage of, no preamble, no questions.

Luckily, Ellie had slipped out earlier that night. The kid liked to think she was good at sneaking out, always slipping back in before breakfast—Joel and you were both aware, but you didn’t bother to make a deal out of it.

Joel wasn’t her father, as much as he tried to protect her.

You were only a friend, more than just a stranger, but you were in no position to make points or discipline a teenager who was already set in her ways.

Still, Joel often thought about the possibilities of family.

It took him a year before he opened up about Sarah, despite the scattering of pictures throughout his home, another failure in his life that he tried to avoid at all costs.

You couldn’t always tell if he meant it, but there were moments where it was all he seemed to think about, driven by a mix of desperation and lust, it was blinding.

And, he was doing it now.

Joel buries his nose into your chest, snuggling into the space as he sniffs and drags his face up and into your neck, your hand pressing against him as you giggle softly, feeling the tickle of his facial hair against your skin.

“You smell different,” He notes, his voice low, lips parted and pressed against your skin but only barely, pressing a featherlight kiss against your neck.

“Here we go,” you reply fondly, slowly adjusting yourself over his lap more firmly, centered against his slowly hardened cock, watching the fabric tent under your touch as you untie the knot at his waist, “you got some kinda superpower I don’t know about?”

“Nah,” he sighs, his lips curling into a smirk, “I just know my woman,”

Your eyebrow raises in amusement as your mouth forms into a quiet “Oh.”

“Why you came down here, ain’t it?” Joel assumes, “You achin’ baby?”

Bingo.

You nod meekly, sighing in relief as his hands curl against your hips, guiding you slowly over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the show as your eyes flutter shut and your hands grip tight against his forearms, feeling the distinct ridge of veins under your fingertips.

“Greedy as hell,” Joel comments with an air of amusement.

The roughness in his voice sends a pulse of pleasure to your core, awakening that distinct primal need inside of you.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joel reprimands, somewhere through the distraction of his guided movements, your shirt has been removed and tossed to the floor, his lips pressing at the center of your chest and right between your breasts, “can we?”

There was never a distinction of yes or no, because Joel knew what your boundaries were.

If he had sought you in the night, buried himself inside of you to satiate his own urges, you wouldn’t complain—that was how this worked and why you worked so well.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Joel admits, looking up at you from where his mouth was centered at your chest.

“About what?” you ask curiously, brain feeling hazy and unfocused.

“You get a little sweeter,” Joel explains, pulling away to drag his finger along your sternum, “right here.”

You roll your eyes dismissively, threading your fingers through his hair to push him back against the recliner as you roll your hips in time with his own movements, moaning softly.

“And you know how much I love sweets,” he breathes, turning his head to drag his tongue along the underside of your breast before he’s moving his hands up to squeeze them.

It doesn’t take long before his hand drifts, slipping under the fabric of your underwear to circle your already swollen clit, throbbing with need.

Joel examines you carefully, listening to your breath hitch as he follows a steady rhythm until your hips begin to naturally rocking against his movement—he’s got this all down to a science, knowing exactly when to speed up and pump the breaks and you’re quickly tripping over the precipice of a much-needed orgasm, though he knows it wouldn’t satisfy you.

“I need you,” you beg with a pant, head feeling light as you come down.

“Come here then,” Joel commands softly, his tone clear as he pulls you closer, pressing his hardening length against you more prominently, a breathless gasp escapes your lips, “feel that?”

You nod again, tiredly.

“I need you too,” Joel admits, “all day—all the time…”

You both switch into auto-pilot, rising only long enough to drag your underwear down your legs while Joel shoves his sweats down far enough that his cock springs free, leaking pre-cum into the hem of his shirt as you situate yourself back over his lap.

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he tells you, voice thick with desire as he dragged the head of his cock through your folds before guiding you down onto him, inch by tantalizing inch.

Your breath hitches, a gasp escaping your lips when he fills you completely.

You always expected the sensation to wane, but the stretch of him surprised you every time.

“Goddamn, I’m lucky,” he gumbles, throwing his head back as you slowly begin to roll your hips, his eyes dark and half-lifted with lust as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, “all mine,”

The sound of his voice—so deeply possessive—makes your heart race.

You can’t help but rock against him harder, relishing in the friction as your hands settle against the sides of his neck, breathing into his open mouth. It’s intoxicating to feel him throbbing inside you, cunt squeezing him like a vice when he grazes that sweet, too sensitive spot inside of you.

“You—you’ve been thinkin’ about it?” you ask curiously, moaning softly as your eyebrows thread together, face scrunched up as Joel reels you in closer, arm winding around your back, pressing your bare chest against him, the reclining chair rocking with your slow, but forceful rhythm. 

“About?” Joel hums, noticing the you should know look in your eye, mouth curling into a subtle smirk as one of your hands slip underneath his shirt and claw at his stomach, forcing a low groan to slip from his throat.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks with a fond, sated smile, “Raisin’ a baby with me?”

You nod silently, distinctly aware of his roaming hands and the one that squeezes at your ass, his mouth gravitating towards your tits again, this time swirling his tongue around your hardened nipple before he takes it into his mouth, thinking about how heavy they would feel in his mouth if this time were to take, if he could actually get you pregnant—he was even sure anymore.

Fifty-eight and likely shooting blanks, the chance seemed slim.

It was just another thing he couldn’t give you.

But, you had faith.

No, not in a higher power or some god.

But, him. Joel.

“God, you make me crazy,” he breathes, the warmth of his breath washing over your skin as you ride him harder, feeling him push into you deeper. 

Claiming you.

The chair creaked under the weight of your fervent need, the sound only adding to the symphony of gasps and moans slipping from your mouth as your hands press into his chest and his hands, again, find their way to your hips, keeping you rooted in place as he fucks himself into you, eager to fill your cunt.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” Joel begins with a broken grunt, “You’d be prancin’ ‘round this place provin’ to everybody that you’re mine—”

“And—fuck—you’d love it,” you challenge him, “you can’t even stand when guys breathe in my direct—direction, Joel,”

Joel smirks at your calculation, knowing you were correct, “Gotta let ‘em know,”

“Uh huh,” you reply breathily as the sweat on your skin collects under both the heat of the dying fire beside you and the percolating heat of your bodies as Joel leans forward and licks a line up the center of your chest to your throat before biting at your jaw to make you squeal.

He always seemed to have a second wind; a calm before the storm.

It works, his teeth nipping at your skin—incredibly thankful that the adjoining couch was only a short distance and you can both scramble towards it in a hurry, watching as Joel pulls his shirt over his head in one swift and fluid movement, carefully removing his glasses with a gentleness that contracts his heaving chest, placing them on the table before he’s kicking his pants off the rest of the way and shifting between your legs.

There’s adoration that floods your features, giggling softly as his hands twist around your thighs to pull you to him before his hands wrap around his slick-covered shaft and he’s pushing inside of you for the second time that night.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that,” Joel warns through a soft cough as he settles on his knees, moving his hips at a slow pace as you tilt your head, squeezing one of the hands that rest on your thigh, “we’re gonna have a problem,”

“I think we established I am the problem,” you challenge him.

“You really want a future with me?” Joel asks candidly despite the lust so evident in his eyes, his face, the way his tongue swipes against his bottom lips as you moan softly and your grip shifts to his wrist, anchoring him to you, “Because that’s what I’m seein’ with the way you’re lookin’ at me right now,”

“Wow, all that from one look?” you tease, earning a quick snap of his hips for your obvious amusement, “Fuck—oh, I mean…ye—yeah, I do,”

You’ve had this talk countless times, wondering if Joel would ever truly believe it.

That you wanted him. Only him.

Always him.

“Yeah?” he goads, leaning forward to curl his hand around the edge of the cushion near your head as the other digs into the back of the couch, immediately fixing the angle to something much more intense, his hips working faster to drive you over the edge.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, reaching up to drag your hand against his cheek, his gaze drifting toward your joined bodies, your cunt being greedy in the way it takes him in.

 "Look at that…” Joel says in a husky, low tone that makes you shiver, “look at how your body wants this—knows exactly what it needs from me,"

You could barely speak, feeling yourself drift, offering a barely audible mumble in response.

 "I know, baby. I know,” It was like a comfort, his voice always putting you at ease, “Feels right, huh?"

“Don’t,” you gasp as Joel suddenly becomes more frantic with his pace, eyes stuck on your open mouth and arched back, “don’t—don’t stop,”

“I gotcha,” he promised, “Got you wrapped around me like this—squeezin’ me—pullin’ me in. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

“I want it,” you promise with the same intensity, “want all of this, with you.

"You’re gonna get it, baby.” Joel groans, sounding wrecked, “Gonna take every drop I give you ‘cause you’re greedy like that, ain’tcha?”

You nod instantly, two—three—four sharp thrusts before his hands are curling around your hips and holding you to him, no space between your bodies, “M’gonna stuff you so full you won’t even have to worry,”

Joel meets your gaze with fierce intensity, his dark eyes reflecting a blend of hunger and a possessiveness that bleeds true as he comes deep inside of you, feeling his cock pulse as he spills a load he had been holding back for a few days, hoping it would make a difference.

In an instant he slumps back, but not before dragging you toward him, resting against the arm of the couch as you settle into his lap again, his cock softening inside of you but neither of you threatening to move.

“Joel?” you whisper softly, legs still trembling from the intensity of your climax, your fingers tracing lazy patterns down his chest, his hand rubbing gently along the length of your spine.

“Yeah, baby?” He hums, tilting his head to look at you.

“I could go again,” you admit, earning a deep chuckle that shakes his chest and you.

“Never enough, is it?” Joel asks, leaning your head back to look at him before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then another, and another.

“Gotta make sure it takes,” you shrug, “breed me up, baby.”

Joel groans affectionately and throws his head back, suddenly attacked by your own share of kisses as you climb his chest to reach his face.

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows in question before he cracks a playful smack to your ass.

“Go on,” he encourages, “I’ll be up in a few, breed you all damn night if I gotta,”

Until you were satisfied, at least.

Truthfully, Joel just couldn’t get enough of you either.

Too damn sweet.

[bshciresident]

making forts under covers

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~2k

summary: You and Joel wake up to a gloomy fall morning and all you want to do is drink your morning coffee and stay in bed.

warnings/tags: post outbreak, jackson!joel, fluff, unprotected p in v, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, so many pet names, Joel is a menace, tiny hints of dom!Joel but he's very very soft, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, this is very much a fix-it fic, nothing bad happened to him ever

rating: explicit 18+ content, MDNI!

a/n: this is the first joel that i've ever written, back in 2023, so if any of this sounds familiar, that's probably why. i have been thinking about these two lately, and because i'm not thaaat happy with my writing from two years ago, i thought i'd rewrite it. also, given that today was probably the last time that we'll ever see him on screen, it feels very fitting to say goodbye to him with this <3 (i'm not crying, you're crying)

find my full masterlist here & follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates! :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Your eyes blink open slowly. The light that’s filtering into the room is gloomy, accompanied with the sound of rain pattering against the window. The bedroom air is chilly where it hits your bare skin and you burrow deeper under the covers. 

Joel is still asleep, laying on his side turned towards you. His body is warm, calling to you to move closer. 

You marvel at the sight of his handsome face. Relaxed, for once, his brow unfurrowed and his breath going slowly. It’s rare that you see him like this; usually he rises before you do, waking you up with a cup of steaming coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead, a “Good morning” mumbled into your hair. 

You like sleeping over at his place, like the routines that are slowly forming between you two, a feeling of familiarity that makes you feel like you belong. That makes you feel safe. 

You take in his face for a few more moments, a small smile tugging at your lips. Then, you quietly slip out of bed. Goosebumps erupt over your skin and you suppress a shiver before tugging on the flannel that Joel discarded on the chair in the corner last night. His scent clings to the soft fabric, engulfing you with the phantom of him. 

You pad down the stairs to the kitchen and busy yourself with preparing coffee for the both of you, then wander into the living room while it's brewing. Stopping in front of his bookshelf, you run your hand over the figure of an owl carved from wood that you’ve admired several times before. You picture Joel, his large, strong hands, crafting something this delicate, adding all the intricate details, transforming a simple piece of wood to this. The thought makes you smile. 

The smell of coffee, strong in your nose when you fill two cups, brings you a sense of comfort that you revel in. When you carry the cups back to the bedroom, Joel is still asleep. You set one on his nightstand, take a sip from your own coffee and slip back under the sheets to snuggle up to Joel. You nuzzle your face into his bare chest, inhaling his scent and enjoying the warmth that is radiating from his body. Joel grumbles and wraps one arm around you, encompassing you further in his body heat and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he mutters, his voice still heavy with sleep, the words bleeding together. 

“Hi,” you smile, your eyes tracing over the mess of his hair and the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles back at you. You love seeing him like this, all soft and gentle, not shielded by the rough exterior that he builds up around himself. Stretching up in his arms, you reach his mouth with your lips. The kiss is languid, unhurried, moving slowly but deepening as his grip around your waist tightens. His fingers hit a ticklish spot and you giggle into his mouth, pecking his lips once more before pulling back. 

“I brought you coffee for once.”

Joel’s eyebrows rise, the corners of his lips pulling up when his eyes find the cup on the nightstand. He sits up against the headboard, pulling you with him until your back is leaning against his chest. His arm is slung around your shoulder while he picks up the coffee with his free hand and lets you do the same. 

“Thank you, darling,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. 

You both sip on your coffees for a few minutes, enjoying the peacefulness of the quiet morning. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm and shoulder, his eyes falling down to the flannel that's halfway slipped off. 

“Nice shirt,” his low voice floats into your ear and you giggle.

“Thanks, I stole it.” 

He chuckles and tugs you closer as he finishes off his coffee, placing both of your cups on the nightstand. Carefully, he cups your face, tilting your chin up to kiss your mouth. The feeling of his big roughened palm against your cheek, combined with the gentle pressure of his touch and the warmth of it sinking into your skin has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Joel deepens the kiss, his tongue dipping out and licking over your bottom lip. You whimper softly and open your mouth for him, meeting his tongue with your own. His mustache scratches against your upper lip and heat starts pooling inside of you. 

“C’mere, darling,” his voice rumbles straight from his mouth into yours and he pulls you on top of him. 

Straddling his thighs, you melt into him as his arms wrap around you, pressing yourself against him. His scent engulfs you as he's running his hands down your sides, leaving a trail of heat over your body. Joel slides the flannel completely off of you and dips his hands under the tank top that you slept in. His touch on your bare skin makes you writhe in his lap, desperate for more, desperate to be closer. Your lips connect again and you mewl into his mouth, your hips grinding down on him and his hold tightens around your waist, pressing you onto his growing hardness.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmurs as his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin there, causing you to shudder and sink your nails into his bare shoulders. He separates his lips from your skin to push the tank top up and off your body, revealing your breasts and your already pebbled nipples. He groans softly and leans forward to suck on your sensitive peaks, your back arching and pushing yourself closer to him.

“Joel, please—” you whine, “I need—”

He leans back, his hands on your sides again, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts with a featherlight touch.

“Yeah? What do you need, baby?”

You rock your hips against him, feeling his bulge press against your panties and another whimper falls from your lips.

“Need you, Joel, please—”

It's almost embarrassing, how quickly he gets you to this point, how little effort it takes. but you can't bring yourself to care, not when he's this close, with his hands all over your body and his achingly handsome face right in front of you.

He smiles and pulls you into him again, murmuring, “Need you, too,” before he seals his lips back over yours. Joel kisses you until you're breathless and squirming on top of him before he flips you over, his face hovering above yours. His hand travels down to your panties and dips beneath the fabric, finding you already slick and swollen with need. He circles your clit slowly, making you gasp and buck your hips up against his hand.

“You're so pretty like this. Just ready and waiting for me, aren't you?”

His hand trails down further, one finger dipping into your entrance.

“Yes, need you so badly, please Joel—”

Smirking, he adds a second finger and slowly pumps them into you. Your hips meet his rhythm instantly.

“I know, baby. Don't you worry, I'll take care of you. Being so good for me.”

The praise makes you keen, the fact that this usually so stoically quiet man can't stop running his mouth when you're together like this. All while he's reducing you to an incoherent mess that can barely get any words out.

You eagerly slip your hand into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around him, making him hiss and thrust his fingers particularly hard into you. You grab at his briefs, pulling them down his hips, wanting him as close as possible. He chuckles at your impatience but indulges you, his dark eyes betraying his own impatience and desperation for you.

Joel grabs his hard length and slides it through your folds, his precum mixing with your wetness. He nudges your clit teasingly with the head of his cock, causing you to moan and arch your hips up into his touch. Leaning down to kiss you again, his cock stretching your entrance wide, he whispers, “You want it, sweetheart?”, to which you respond with an eager nod. He tuts, cupping your face in his large hand.

“Words, baby. Tell me. Tell me what you want, how much you need it.”

You whine, your cheeks heating at the thought of putting your desire into words.

“I— I need it so much, Joel. Please?”

You bite your lip and he groans softly, murmuring, “So fucking good,” against your mouth as he pushes into you in one hard thrust, filling you up.

You cry out as your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion, to the way he always feels so big inside of you. The exquisite bliss that only Joel can bring you is taking over your body. Your hands grab at his shoulders, your nails digging into the skin and moans of his name falling from your lips as he pounds into you with long, deep movements. His mouth finds your neck again, sucking hard and biting down on your skin, before soothing the sting with his tongue.

His arms wrap around you and he holds you close while he keeps thrusting into you, whispering into your ear.

“Fuck, you're such a dream... So wet. Feels good, yeah? This what you wanted?”

You nod frantically, one of your hands scratching down his back while the other grabs at the curls on his neck as you're barely able to form words.

“S—so good Joel, fuck, 's perfect...”

He hums in smug agreement, his thrusts becoming even deeper and his fingers sliding between your bodies to toy with your clit. The heat inside your body threatens to spill over at his touch and you moan loudly, your earlier inhibitions about voicing your needs wiped from your mind.

“Yes! Just there, please— please don’t stop, oh God...”

He's drawing precise circles on your clit, keeping his gaze on your face as your eyes glaze over, your moans growing even louder.

“That's it. So tight around me, fuck... Show me how pretty you come for me, go on. I know you can.”

Your jaw falls slack and your whole body trembles, your walls clenching rhythmically around him and soaking him in your wetness as your orgasm washes over you. He growls at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock and pounds into you a few more times before he pulls out and spills himself over your stomach.

He stills, his head forward, both of you panting hard and not moving for a few moments. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, smiling at your blissed out expression, before he gets up from the bed and pads to the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth and cleans you up, gently stroking your sides with his fingertips and making you hum happily. Your whole body feels warm, sated, like you’re floating on a cloud. 

When Joel's finished, he collapses back beside you on the bed, a deep grunt in his throat. You turn around, wrapping the both of you up in his blanket and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. 

“Good morning indeed,” you grin and he huffs a laugh, pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“You got anything planned today?” he asks after a moment of peaceful silence and you shake your head.

“Nope, I'm all yours.”

“Good,” he smiles, letting your head rest on his chest and pulling the blanket up to your chin, so that you're entirely shielded from the slight chill in the air. Gloomy light filters into the room and you can still hear the rain splattering against the window. Joel kisses your forehead softly.

“Let's just stay in bed, then.”

thank you for reading ♥️ reblogs and comments are love!

[bshciresident]

His flannel shirts are making me act up so a little cockwarming thought

Imagine he is just sitting there trying to work on something, rough dirty hands, messy curly hair. Eyebrows furrowed, his glasses on top of his nose and his sweet darling sitting on his lap. He is fully concentrating. Until you decide to start grinding on him, he just looked too good, you couldn’t help yourself.

With a gruff and an eye roll he reaches for his pants, unzipping his cock. „s’what happens when your old man doesn’t fuck you in the morning.” making you slowly take his cock.

When you start riding him he stops you, squeezing your hips, making you whine. You just wanted to cum.

“Didn’t tell you that you could ride me, girl.”

And he is so god damn annoyed with you. Annoyed the way you whine around, the way you make his seat all wet. But his cock feels too good in you, to just sit on him. “Keep me warm, till’ i’m done with this or you’re getting nothing.”

With a pout on your lip, you try to warm him. Cunt all wrapped around his shaft, trying your best to bury your head into his chest, trying your best to not move up and down. And while his public hair is touching your clit, you buck your hips subconsciously at one point.

But joel ignores it until he himself can’t take it anymore. Putting whatever he was working on down and sighing.

“Have myself a needy whore hm? 24/7 only thinking of cock.” While he slowly starts to thrust up to you, seeing your eyes roll back.

“That’s why daddy always needs to fuck her every morning, huh? Whining about wanting to make breakfast early today. But daddy just knows better, baby.”

And you know you should’ve listened to him but you are lost in pleasure as he guides your hips on his cock, daddydaddydaddy spilling from your lips repeatedly.

“There she is. S’my good girl.”

[bshciresident]

Top shelf trouble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x wife!reader Summary: A playful argument over top-shelf items leads to teasing, heated passion, and tender aftercare between you and your husband, Frankie—reminding you both just how deeply you're loved. Warnings: fluff, soft banter, short reader, explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, p in v sex, soft Frankie, aftercare

The late afternoon sunlight spills across the kitchen tiles like warm honey, catching on the edges of the countertops and bouncing off the chrome fixtures with a gentle glow. The window is cracked open just enough to let the soft spring breeze slip in, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and the distant buzz of a neighbour’s lawnmower. Inside the kitchen, all is calm—except for the quiet, increasingly exasperated muttering coming from you as you stand in front of the pantry.

You're barefoot, standing on your tiptoes in a worn, oversized sweatshirt that reaches your thighs, the sleeves rolled up haphazardly. One hand braces against the edge of the cabinet, the other reaching high—too high—for a jar perched well out of reach.

"Come on, come on..." you whisper, stretching until your arm trembles slightly. Your fingertips brush the bottom of the jar, nudging it forward just a hair before it wobbles dangerously, forcing you to retreat before it can come crashing down.

A long, dramatic sigh escapes your lips.

This is the third time this week.

You drop back onto your heels with a quiet thud, rubbing your shoulder and squinting up at the top shelf like it has personally offended you. Because honestly? It kind of has. When you married Frankie Morales, you hadn’t realized you were signing up for a lifetime of aerial food storage. The man, God bless him, has a habit of tucking things away in the highest possible places. His excuse? "It makes the kitchen look cleaner."

You mutter something unflattering under your breath, turn toward the hallway, and raise your voice. "Frankie!"

No answer.

You try again, louder this time. "Frankie!"

From somewhere down the hall comes the familiar shuffle of booted feet against hardwood, followed by the creak of a door and a low, "Yeah?"

"Kitchen!"

A pause. Then the rhythmic sound of his steps, getting closer. Frankie appears in the doorway, his curls still damp from a shower, a soft grey NASA t-shirt clinging to his chest, cargo pants riding low on his hips. He looks relaxed, freshly scrubbed, and entirely too pleased with himself. A towel is slung over his shoulder, and his arms are still slightly damp.

He looks at you. Then at the pantry. Then back at you.

"What's going on?"

You point at the top shelf without a word.

He follows your finger. "What?"

"Peanut butter. Cookies. Sesame oil. All on the top shelf. Again."

His brows lift slightly in recognition. "Oh... yeah. I was organizing earlier. Put the oils and spreads up high. Keeps the counter clearer."

You turn to him slowly, arms crossed. "You didn't think—at all—about the fact that I can't reach half the stuff you use daily?"

Frankie raises both hands, palms out. "I was just trying to help!"

"You reorganized our kitchen, Frankie. Without asking. Again."

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn’t mean to—"

"And you put the peanut butter above the pasta boxes. The cookies are behind a jar of lentils. I nearly dislocated a shoulder trying to get it."

He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "Okay, yeah, that might've been overkill."

You arch a brow. "Might've?"

And then he says it. With a little shrug, soft and almost under his breath—but you hear it crystal clear.

"Not my fault you're vertically challenged."

Silence falls between you. Your jaw drops.

"What did you just say?"

Frankie backs up a half step, hands still raised. But the grin is spreading, dimples flashing as he tries—and fails—to hold back a laugh. "I mean... statistically speaking... you're on the shorter side."

"I'm five-four. That's average!"

"Average for... hobbits, maybe."

You grab the nearest kitchen towel and snap it toward his thigh. He dodges with a bark of laughter, already stepping behind the island.

"You're really gonna insult me in my kitchen after messing with my cookie stash?"

"I'm just stating facts!" he says, laughing harder now. "And offering solutions. You could always ask your very tall, very helpful husband to get things down for you."

You narrow your eyes, slowly moving toward him, towel in hand. "Or... you could stop putting everything where only you can reach it."

"But then I wouldn’t get to do this," he says, suddenly moving close again, catching your wrist gently and tugging you into his arms.

Your back meets his chest as his arms wrap around you from behind, the towel dropping to the floor. He leans down, murmuring low in your ear. "I like being useful, baby. I like when you need me."

"You are so full of it."

"Mmm. Full of love for my tiny, fierce wife," he whispers, grinning as he kisses the spot just below your ear.

You groan, but lean into him anyway. "If you ever call me tiny again, I’m hiding your flight manuals."

"Now that's just cruel."

You twist in his arms to face him, your hands resting on his chest. "Just promise me you'll stop rearranging things without asking. And no more top shelf traps."

He nods solemnly. "Deal. But only if you let me install one of those little fold-out step stools."

You roll your eyes. "Fine. But only if it comes with a written apology. In cursive."

Frankie laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, lingering. "Deal."

And that night, when you open the pantry after dinner, you find the peanut butter, the cookies, and the sesame oil on the middle shelf. A tiny sticky note is taped to the jar:

I solemnly swear to respect your reach. Love, Your Tall-ish Husband.

You grin so hard your cheeks ache.

Frankie is lounging at the table, sipping the last of his beer when you walk over and drop into his lap.

"You’re forgiven," you whisper against his mouth.

He smiles. "Good. 'Cause tomorrow, I was planning to reorganize the fridge."

Your groan echoes through the house.

But you don’t move from his lap.

——

Later that night, the kitchen is spotless, dinner dishes drying on the rack, and the lights in the rest of the house are dimmed low. Frankie sinks into the couch with a groan, stretching his arms along the back as you emerge from the bedroom in one of his old flight school shirts and nothing else.

The shirt is worn soft, hanging loose around your thighs, sleeves pushed up, his name patch faded on the chest. You catch the way his eyes drag over you, slow and heated, and you bite back a grin. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to.

You move to stand between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders as he tilts his head up to look at you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, already dark with that familiar hunger, but there’s a softness there too. That quiet, reverent way he looks at you when he’s not just turned on, but totally fucking gone for you.

You tilt your head. “So,” you murmur. “Still think I’m vertically challenged?”

He smiles—lazy, cocky. “I mean… you are kinda tiny.”

Your brow lifts. “Frankie.”

He shrugs, palms sliding up the back of your thighs. “Just sayin’. It's not my fault I have the longer reach.”

You straddle him before he can finish that smug little sentence, settling in his lap with a slow roll of your hips. His hands flex on your thighs, and his breath hitches when the heat between your legs presses against the front of his joggers. You lean in until your lips are just barely brushing his.

“You’re digging your grave, Morales.”

He laughs softly, tilting his head up to catch your mouth in a kiss. It's unhurried—sweet, at first. Just lips pressing and parting, his tongue brushing yours, hands sliding under the hem of the shirt to grip your ass with a quiet groan.

Then you move.

You grind your hips against him, slowly, deliberately, dragging your clothed core over the hard line of his cock beneath the fabric. His fingers dig in, and the kiss breaks when he exhales sharp through his nose, resting his forehead to yours.

“You tryin’ to kill me, baby?”

You smile, warm and wicked. “Just proving a point.”

“Uh-huh.” His hands slide higher under the shirt, palms skimming your back, thumbs brushing your ribs. “And what point is that?”

You lean forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “That I’m dangerous. Especially when you hide things on the top shelf.”

He laughs, deep and low, and you feel it vibrate through his chest as you kiss your way down his neck—slow, biting softly, leaving a trail of warmth in your wake. He leans back into the cushions, letting you take the lead, his hands gentle but possessive on your hips.

The room feels like it contracts around the two of you. Just breath, heat, skin. The kind of intimacy that feels so familiar you ache with it.

You push his T-shirt up, exposing the warm skin of his stomach. He helps you tug it over his head, tossing it aside, and you drink in the sight of him—solid muscle softened by the years, a little older, a little broader, a little more yours.

You trail your fingers down his chest, nails lightly scratching, until he twitches beneath you. You can feel him, thick and hard under the denim, straining for friction.

“Take these off,” you murmur, tugging at the waistband.

He does, not breaking eye contact as he lifts his hips and shoves them down, cock springing free, flushed and already wet at the tip. You hum softly and slide back just enough to wrap your fingers around him—slow, teasing strokes as you watch his eyes flutter, mouth parting with a ragged breath.

“You always get this worked up just from a little teasing?” you whisper, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along his throat.

“Only when it’s you,” he murmurs, voice rough. “And that fuckin’ look in your eye.”

You smirk and rise up, guiding him to your now exposed entrance. You’re already soaked, thighs trembling with need as you hover, the head of his cock brushing your folds. His hands come to your hips, steadying you, but he doesn't push—he waits.

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, gasping as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly it almost hurts. Frankie groans low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut as he grips you tighter.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—Jesus, baby…”

When you bottom out, you stay there for a moment, breathing heavy against his mouth. The stretch, the fullness, the ache—it all melts into heat.

You roll your hips once, then again, and his hands flex to guide your rhythm. Slow at first—grinding, rocking, every move drawing a new sound from his lips. He’s so deep it makes you dizzy, and every shift of your hips sends sparks rippling up your spine.

Your forehead presses to his, sweat slicking your skin. The couch creaks beneath you both, his name whispered into the heat between kisses.

“You’re not allowed to say shit about my height ever again,” you murmur breathlessly, riding him harder now, letting the wet sound of your bodies meeting fill the space between groans.

He grins—barely. He’s unravelling, falling apart under you, but still has the audacity to whisper, “Can’t help it… you’re just so tiny.”

You clench around him suddenly, making him gasp. “Say it again. I dare you.”

Frankie chokes on a moan, eyes rolling back. “Okay—okay, you win.”

“Damn right I do.”

You move faster now, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the living room. He thrusts up to meet you, his pace matching yours, deep and desperate. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit just the way you like, and your moan turns sharp, broken.

You’re close. He knows it—feels it in the way you tremble, in the tight pull of your muscles around him.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

You crash over the edge with a cry, your body going tense before it melts into pleasure—warm and sharp, waves crashing through you. Frankie groans your name like a prayer and fucks up into you one more time before he stills, thick pulses of warmth spilling deep inside you.

You stay like that, panting, chests heaving, his hands stroking up and down your back. You kiss him, softer now, lazily. His fingers find your hair, brushing it back, and he murmurs something that makes your heart twist in your chest.

“I love you,” he whispers. “Even when you’re terrifying.”

You laugh weakly and press your nose into his shoulder. “I love you too, you smug asshole.”

——

Your chest rises and falls in time with his, your body draped over his like you never want to leave. The scent of him—sweat, skin, that soft earthy trace of his cologne clinging faintly to his neck—lingers in the air between you. You feel it in every breath, warm and real and grounding. His hand rests on the small of your back, splayed protectively, thumb stroking lazy circles into your skin like he's still coaxing your heart to settle.

Frankie doesn’t speak right away. Neither of you does. There’s only the hum of the old fridge down the hall, the muffled ticking of the wall clock, and the soft sound of his thumb brushing over your damp skin. You're still trying to catch your breath, lips parted, cheek against the curve of his shoulder, your thigh hooked loosely over his hips.

He kisses your forehead, slow and soft. Then again. And again. “You okay?” he finally whispers, voice thick with emotion and a rasp from the weight of what just passed between you.

You nod into his neck, barely lifting your head. “Yeah. I’m good. Better than good.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath, and you feel his arms tighten around you.

Still, he stays still for a moment longer, letting your breathing return to normal, letting the heat fade from your skin where your bodies were joined. But then he shifts, his palms skimming up your back, anchoring you gently as he murmurs, “C’mon, cariño. Let me clean you up.”

You groan softly in protest, clinging to him a second longer. “Don’t wanna move.”

“I know,” he says, voice laced with a smile you can feel against your cheek. “I’ll be quick. Then we’ll crawl under the covers and I’ll hold you all night. Promise.”

He kisses your cheek and then lifts you with an ease that still manages to leave you breathless, one strong arm under your thighs, the other cradling your back. Your skin’s sticky with sweat and the evidence of what just happened, but you don’t care—you're wrapped in his warmth, his smell, his presence. The hallway is dim as he carries you to the bedroom, your face buried in his neck, catching the occasional soft scrape of his beard as he moves.

When he lowers you onto the edge of the bed, he doesn’t let go completely. His fingers linger at your sides, like he’s checking to make sure you're okay. “Stay here,” he says gently. “Don’t move.”

You nod, watching him disappear into the bathroom, the light clicking on with a low hum. You hear the water run, the faint sound of the cabinet door creaking open, the rustle of cloth. And then he’s back—barefoot, in all his glory, still flushed from before, but his eyes focused only on you.

He kneels in front of you like he’s done it a hundred times, like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. The soft cotton of the washcloth is warm in his hand as he looks up at you, his eyes impossibly tender. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good, okay?”

You nod, blinking at him, heart swelling at how carefully he says it—like you’re made of something precious, something worth handling with reverence.

Frankie begins at your thighs, gentle as he presses the warm cloth to your skin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t flinch. He keeps one hand on your leg while the other moves slowly, methodically. He’s quiet, focused, checking your face every few seconds to make sure you’re comfortable.

You shiver slightly when he brushes over sensitive skin, and his thumb strokes your knee. “I got you,” he murmurs. “Almost done.”

You manage a quiet, “Thank you,” your voice small with emotion, with the kind of intimacy that words never fully capture.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your thigh, then another just above your hip. “You don’t thank me for this,” he says against your skin. “It’s what we do. I take care of you. Always.”

When he’s done, he swaps the cloth for a soft towel and pats you dry with the same attentiveness, the same quiet love. He slips one of his old T-shirts over your head—his favourite one, soft from years of washes—and you smile faintly at the way it smells like him, familiar and safe.

Frankie stands and slips into a clean pair of boxers, then pulls back the covers and helps you under them. You sink into the bed, still warm and flushed, your limbs loose and heavy. And then he slides in beside you, curling around you from behind, his chest to your back, one arm slung over your waist like a blanket.

His lips find your shoulder, then your neck, then your temple. “You feel okay?” he asks quietly, fingertips brushing your belly in soft, slow circles.

“Yeah,” you whisper, reaching back to tangle your fingers with his. “I feel... loved.”

He exhales slowly against your hair. “Good. Because you are. So damn much.”

You turn just enough to catch his lips, and it’s not a kiss full of hunger—it’s one of gratitude, of softness, of everything that lives in the spaces between the words he hasn’t said. When you pull back, he nudges his nose against yours, and your eyes flutter closed as he draws the covers up around you both.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice barely audible now, wrapped in sleep.

“I love you too, Frankie.”

And wrapped in his arms, warm and clean and cherished, you let sleep take you—knowing without a doubt that you’ll wake to him there, still holding you like this.

[bshciresident]

when i see you

[bshciresident]

[bshciresident]

[bshciresident]

clint eats it from the back (clint x f!reader)

wc: 1.9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | 

summary: clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

a/n: @yxtkiwiyxt said ‘clint eats it from the back’ and i thought this might jumpstart the gremlins that have been holding my brain cell hostage so here’s some pwp <3 

tags: pussy eating, backshots, raw creampie (as always), dirty talk (if i wrote it and he isn’t groaning and spewing filth send a medic), spanking (i can’t stop won’t stop), clothed sex (whip it out and stick it in already!), established relationship (they like each other idk i can be a little soft sometimes okay) 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

You’re half-asleep when the front door swings shut.

The blinds in the bedroom tap against the window, making the shadows in the room dance. The soft thud of his boots wakes something in you. Enough to stir but not enough to really move.

Facedown in the middle of the bed, one knee bent and the other leg straight, you're wearing nothing but Clint’s well loved t-shirt. The one that smells like cigarettes and sweat... in a comforting way.

You’d been waiting. Maybe you fell asleep, but you can’t say for sure. You don’t even know what time it is.

He steps into the bedroom, but doesn’t say a word. Traffic and city noise filters in through the window, carried by the sticky summer night breeze.

But all you hear is the sharp breath he takes.

Like he’s been hit in the face with something he didn’t expect—and he’s not usually one for surprises.

You don’t move. Not until the mattress dips beneath his weight.

A big hand slides up your thigh. Slow. Heavy. Possessive.

His rough palm stops at the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

Clint doesn’t ask if he can—he just spreads you, exposing everything before massaging your smooth flesh with a hint of affection.

“You been like this all night?” His voice is low, scraped over pavement. “Laid out like a fucking present for me?”

His thumbs bruise the crease at the top of your thighs, demanding an answer from your hazy mind.

You grumble into the flattened pillow, too tired to be sweet. “You’re late.”

A single sharp smack to your ass jolts you more awake. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he can.

“I got busy,” he snaps, stern and half-growled. “Didn’t say you could fall asleep.”

You’re shifting toward clarity, but not enough to resist when he grabs your hips and lifts them, dragging you onto your knees with your face still buried in the pillow.

He sighs—heavy, like it’s too much. Like you’re too much. “Fuck me. Look at this fucking pussy.”

Both hands spread you wide, fingers dimpling your flesh. He’s not gentle. Clint palms your ass, squeezing and manipulating you until you squirm.

His stubble scrapes along your delicate skin as he noses closer, breathing you in like he’s been starving. You don’t bother hiding your moan. He likes that.

“So wet for me,” he mutters to himself. His warm breath teases your slick seam, making your thighs tremble faintly and drawing a needy whimper from you.

He laughs. A little mean and a lot indulgent.

“That’s right, baby. My filthy girl. Always dripping for me.”

He stays fully dressed—boots on, jeans still zipped—while he readjusts, sinking between your legs.

Then the wet heat of his mouth makes your brows draw together and your mouth part. With his tongue flat and slow, he licks one long stripe from clit to ass, like he’s claiming every inch. You gasp, hands scrabbling against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice thick and muffled between your legs. “Back it up for me.”

You arch instinctively, and his hands flex in response before sliding underneath your legs, wrapping around your hips to hold you against his face.

“Oh, shit,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His mouth is on you, in you, tongue fucking into you—messy and unrelenting. You can’t help it—rocking back, grinding down, chasing the friction. The wet sounds are obscene, and his hungry groans melt into your skin.

Every time you whimper, he doubles down. He wants it loud.

He bites, nips the soft skin where your thigh meets cunt, just to hear your gasp and feel you tense in his grip. Then soothes it with his tongue, like it never happened.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice thick. “Face down in my bed, moaning into my fuckin’ pillow like a whore. You love this, don’t you?”

You whine something desperate, words half-formed and foggy.

And then he’s sucking on your clit, bringing you right to the edge—everything pulled taut—just to ease up and make out with your pussy until you’re liquid again.

He presses a kiss to your clit. “Tell me. Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” your voice already sounds far away. “Only you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, proud and rough. “My perfect fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re gonna come like this,” he growls into you. “All bent over for me. Like you should.”

You bite your lip hard. You’re close. He knows it. One hand slips between your legs and spreads you wider. Lewd. Greedy. 

Then he’s nearly overwhelming you entirely.

Lips wrapped around your swollen clit until your thighs are shaking. Then again, with a wide tongue, he uses his whole face. The friction of his facial hair, the pressure of his jaw, the ridge of his nose—like he was divinely created for your pleasure.

Though in this moment, it seems like your pleasure is all his.

You’re soaked, chasing the release he keeps taunting you with. He’s moaning into you, rutting his hips against the bed like he needs it too. He never stops moving, working you closer expertly—like you’re his to control.

And you are.

Your knees give out as you finally break, but his hold on you is so strong it doesn’t matter. Your thighs quake, and you cry out—wrecked and loud. You don’t give a shit if the neighbors can all hear.

He doesn’t let up until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. Then he hums with a satisfaction that would make your face hot if you weren’t already blazing from the whole act.

When he loosens up, you collapse forward, melted and buzzing. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, laced with reverence.

“Not done yet,” his voice is lusty, with a hint of strain in it. “You hear me?”

You nod weakly, hitching a breath when he gives you one more slap.

Behind you, fully dressed and still hard in his jeans, Clint smiles.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves. The bed frame creaks as his weight shifts. You hear him undo his belt. Hear the zip of his jeans.

You don’t even lift your head—just hum softly into the pillow in anticipation.

Clint chuckles once behind you. Not with amusement—but with hunger.

“Too wrecked to talk already?” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your spine. “Didn’t even need to get my dick out to have you all fucked out.”

You whimper again, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

“Goddamn.” The word falls from his lips like he’s mesmerized. “Laying here… legs open, pussy still dripping on my sheets like you don’t have a single thought left in your pretty head.”

You don’t.

Not a coherent thought, anyway.

He pushes the faded t-shirt higher up, bunching it around your ribs, baring every inch of your glowing skin to his greedy eyes. His hands stroke along your back and down your legs.

“You’re so fucking easy for me,” he growls. “One taste and now you’re already begging for cock to fill you up.”

You shake your head, a little desperate now. “Not begging.”

That earns you another slap, right against your throbbing, swollen cunt. You yelp.

“No?” Clint’s voice shifts—something mean bleeding into the edges of it. “You’re soaked, face down, ass up, pushing back on my face like you’re in heat, and you’re gonna tell me you’re not begging?”

His hand wraps around your hip and yanks you back until you’re flush with his crotch. Until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

He grinds you against him once, slow and firm, causing you to choke on a moan. The friction is one thing—but it’s the way he maneuvers you with confidence that has your eyes rolling back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

He grunts lowly, freeing himself from his jeans and stroking once, twice, and then—

He pushes in with no warning.

You gasp, mouth open, eyelids slamming shut as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, hot, and rough in just the way you like. He drives in deep, holding you with a bruising grip while you adjust.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That never gets old.”

He doesn’t give you more time—slides nearly all the way out of you before slamming back in, hard.

He sets a rhythm and creates a debased symphony. The bed knocks against the wall, your skin slaps loudly in the dark room, and your breathy moans are punctuated by his reflexive grunts.

His jeans drag against the backs of your thighs, the rough fabric a constant reminder that he hasn’t even undressed for this. That finding you half-naked in his bed, in his shirt, might as well have been a demand to fuck you stupid on sight.

Clint leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, one big hand curling around the back of your neck—not choking. Just holding.

Just claiming.

Just fucking you the way he wants. Getting more honest with every snap of his hips as he unravels for you.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he growls in your ear. “Want me to use you like a fuckin’ toy? Fill you up nice and deep?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is moans in the shape of unrecognizable words.

He bites your shoulder, sharp. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say who owns this fucking pussy.”

“You—fuck, Clint—it’s yours,” you gasp.

“Damn right it is.”

His other hand slides down your front, rough fingers finding your clit and circling fast and filthy. You sob—your body already too close, too sensitive. It’s dizzying and sharp.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

“Yes!” you get one word out before your mind liquefies.

It hits hard—sudden and overwhelming—your whole body clenching, pulsing around him as he groans loud and desirous behind you. He fucks you through it, losing the last of his restraint you didn’t know was still in place, escalating with single-minded determination.

“Gonna come,” he growls. “You want that? Want me to fill this pussy up?”

You can’t even speak—you just moan, nodding frantically into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s right. Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes with a drawn-out moan, pulling you down onto his dick as he pulses inside you—like you might collapse without him there to steady you.

His hand is still wrapped around your neck, his body draped over yours, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

Then he exhales.

His tone shifts—less urgent. More awed.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You hum something soft in response, completely boneless under him.

Clint pulls out with a soft groan, and you feel the drip of him between your thighs—warm and shameless and exactly what you wanted.

He leans down to kiss your spine, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavy. For a moment, that’s all you hear.

Then the world starts to seep back in—the low hum of the fan on the dresser, the bass thumping from a house party down the block.

You’re still not sure if you’re fully awake. But if this is a dream, it’s the best one you’ve had in weeks.

Then his hands are moving again, warm and real and right where they belong.

“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

You smile into the pillow, a whisper of a laugh barely leaving your lips. “Hi.”

And god, he loves coming home to you.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

thank you for reading! pls let me know your thots <3

join my new taglist here

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz

@auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame 

@indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld @mushgloomz

@probablyreadinsmut @ohhoneypascal @noisynightmarepoetry

@joelmillerisapunk @lilac-boo @sunshinehaze1 @worhols

@dontlookatme121

[bshciresident]

Princess 🎀

[bshciresident]

Ohhh yes

[bshciresident]