𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘 | Joel Miller x reader
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summary | you've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. after all, what are neighbors for?
author's note | this was a prompt from a meet-weird thing i saw ages ago that was originally supposed to be javi, but jo (@undercoverpena) gave me the beautiful idea of making it joel and it spurred this monster.
content warning | established friendship, caught during sex, does the apocalypse having working appliances? probably not, but for the sake of this fic distend belief i beg. oral (eating out from the back), unprotected piv, subtly cocky!joel miller, he's a good ass neighbor, okay?, unbeta'd.
word count — 5.6k
Joel’s fixed this damn machine seven times, convincing himself every time that it was the last time. Shocker, it wasn’t. This time didn’t even last a month. He’s desperate now.
He would usually haul the load all the way to the communal laundry house closer to the group of joined townhomes that housed most of the younger adults—the spry and bright-faced ones who sprung up at the mention of patrol or work, any prospect of toting a gun around with any sense of leadership. They were eager, he couldn’t say the same for himself.
He was old, weathered—years of routine he had created to get the job done and get the hell home.
And truthfully, as he tapped the wrench against the metal machine, chin tucked into his palm as he scratched at his beard, he almost complied with the idea that he would just have to tough it out. Scrounging for parts was nearly impossible—dumb luck, really. In the past several years they’ve picked this town clean, bone-dry.
He’s elbow deep inside the barrel of the dryer when he hears the knock at his door, bumping his head against the rim of it as he exits and cursing under his breath as he pushes to stand, joints creaking and popping in disapproval.
He can smell you before he sees you, the familiar scent of fresh-baked goods following you everywhere—Joel couldn’t feel guilt for being one of the folks addicted to your cooking.
Grains had been hard to come by since the epidemic hit, everything was tainted on a global level. It took years and years of Jackson growing its own stock of wheat for things like pie or a nice, gooey cinnamon roll to even be plausible anymore. But, they were managing well so far.
“Saved ‘em for you and Ellie,” You tell him, a small plate of still hot brownies covered with parchment paper, dawning that trademark smile that Joel has come to love, tapping his fingers against the door frame as he passes the plate off to a quickly approaching Ellie.
“Girl’s got the nose of a basset hound,” Joel looks on in amused bewilderment as Ellie throws a mouth-stuffed thanks over her shoulder, “sorry ‘bout her.”
You wave her off whole-heartedly, taking in his sweaty appearance and casual attire. You were used to him in jeans and thick flannels, not a graphic tee and pair of sleep pants. He’s almost always dressed like he had to run at a moment's notice, you weren’t even sure he owned anything different until now.
“Everything good?” You question him, a small laugh escaping your throat.
“Damn washer and dryer is out again,” Joel explains, throwing a hand vaguely over his shoulder.
“Both of them this time?” You ask, “Damn.”
“I can fix ‘em, just a matter of finding the right parts,” Joel tells you, “ looks like I’m gonna have to hand wash again.”
Joel was a friend. You helped friends. It seemed like a no-brainer really, opening your mouth without thinking it through, the kindness tumbling out despite yourself.
“Oh, you’re welcome to load yours up at mine,” You offer and Joel looks immediately apprehensive, the southern charm and well-mannered tone gearing to creep up on you.
“Now, I don’t mean to make you feel like you have to—”
“Joel, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t feel comfortable with it,” You remind him, “seriously—anytime, just try and bring your own detergent—and for the love of god, empty your pockets before you put ‘em in.”
Joel chuckles tiredly at that, rolling his eyes as he nods in agreement.
“Got it, of course, sweetheart.”
“I leave an extra key under the rug, so if I’m ever not home just come in,” Given that Joel was Tommy’s brother, you knew he wouldn’t be up to any trouble, “sound good?”
“Yep. Anytime—just make myself at home.” Joel confirms and you nod with an even wider smile, waving a pleasant goodbye as you trailed down the stairs and made your way to the house you inhabited next door.
Right, anytime.
Unfortunately, Joel took that a little too literally.
-
Joel managed to scrounge up the courage a day later, tumbling into his house on tired legs after a lengthy patrol up at the cabin lookout, scooping the basket up in his arms and heading out his front door, taking the short walk to your house.
The lights were off, but that wasn’t unusual. Joel knew you liked to stay late nights in the town’s mess hall, often working on prep for the following morning to make the load a little lighter and sleep in a while longer, so when he fishes under the doormat for the key he thinks nothing of it.
And as the door swings open, it is still fairly quiet. Though, he can hear your own dryer running upstairs. He’s got the layout down too, having shared more than a few nightcaps with you. Friend to friend and nothing more, even if you had always felt a little more strongly toward being affectionate. A hug or a kiss on the cheek from time to time, he never pushed you away. Joel never seemed like the type of man who openly showed affection, even toward a friend. But, he was good, reliable–most of the time.
He reaches the stairs with trepidation as the sounds grow louder and part of him wonders if by some uncanny coincidence your dryer might be growling and rumbling on its own final leg.
The moment his hand reaches that doorknob and turns he realizes he’s made a mistake.
He’s caught you at a…bad time. Head thrown back with your mouth hung wide, whatever noise you’re making was mostly drowned out by the nagging sound of the dryer as it tore through the spin cycle but he hears the tailend of it, a soft moan of pleasure from the man who’s buried inside of you right now, both of you naked from the waist down but your breasts on full display with your shirt tucked under your neck.
“Benny?” Joel asks, slightly amused.
You lift your head at the sound and spot him, your feet nearly slipping out from under you as you scramble to push Benny away, who perks with an even more perplexed, “Joel?”
“Goddamn it, Joel,” You curse behind gritted teeth, furiously readjusting yourself, pulling your sweats back on and over your ass and your shirt down, “What are you doing here?”
Joel looks down at the basket still clinging to his hip before back up at you, wordlessly.
You sigh through your nose with a tight lipped frown, cheeks puffing out as you brushed your fingers through your hair and down—Benny was still scrambling to redress behind you, unable to pull his gaze away from Joel.
“Benny?” Joel mouths at you quietly, eyebrows raised curiously.
You walk toward the now open door slowly as Benny buttons his pants and you shoot Joel daggers with your stern gaze.
Cut it out.
Joel smirks slightly, cheek dimpling with the action as he side-steps Benny, who leans around you and kisses your cheek—it was a kind gesture but given the situation, in horrible taste. You force a polite smile and once Benny is a far enough distance you hit Joel firmly in the arm as he passes by you and into the laundry room.
You walk Benny to the door with a million thoughts racing through your head, offering a distracted goodbye before you’re locking the door and racing back upstairs with determined footsteps and Joel has already loaded his clothes in the washer, turning the knob to set the load size and time.
“Benny?” He echoes his earlier questions, “Really?”
“What? Are you judging me?”
“No—just, that kid’s had quite an obsession with you for some time now. Just…surprised is all.”
Your lips pull together in a disapproving but nonchalant frown, taking his words for the bullshit they are.
“When I said anytime that did not extend to the middle of the night, Joel.”
“You’re usually still at work,” He supplies—and really, he’s not wrong, “M’sorry. I mean that.”
“Well, now I’ve gotta deal with the fact you’ve seen me naked,” You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe and Joel’s eyes track you for a moment, smiling with amusement at the thought.
“What? You want a fair trade?” Joel teases, “‘Cause, darlin’. I don’t mind—but it was an accident. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”
He means it in a broader sense, but you can’t help the eye roll it induces.
“No, no,” You chew at your bottom lip, watching Joel place the empty basket on top of the washer, “I can finish that up if you want to get some sleep. I know you had a long patrol today.”
“Oh, did you?”
He’s teasing you.
“Don’t push it, old man,” Joel shakes his head at that jab and chuckles, “Ellie clued me in when she picked up some sandwiches for her and Dina earlier.
He’s not going to pass on the offer, though. He nods, rubbing a hand over his tired face.
“Jesus—just…Benny?” Joel reiterates again, “Didn’t think the kid had it in ‘em.”
“Out,” You say with an over-pronunciation as you drag his slow and progressive steps further out of your laundry room and into the hall, “or you’re off my dessert list for a month, Miller.”
Joel smiles at you knowingly, “You wouldn’t dare,” He retorts, knowing you too well.
You wouldn’t make him suffer like that. Or Ellie, who wouldn’t hesitate to murder Joel if he robbed her of that pleasure. Not literally…but, she would carry a few choice words for him.
“Seriously, though, thank you,” He nods, leaning down to press a kiss into the crown of your head—an often familiar gesture when you parted after a long night of nonsensical talk and a couple glasses of wine or whiskey, depending on how hard the day had been, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, yeah—”
“And I do apologize for…not knocking and showin’ up at such a weird time.”
You shrug, “You’re forgiven. Just…don’t give Benny a hard time. He’s a good guy.”
“You’ve got my word, darlin’.”
Joel was determined to be on his best behavior, clearly.
-
It takes Joel a couple weeks to find the parts he needs and luckily there are no more run-ins on your midnight sex-scapades, still feeling the embarrassment from the first one. Joel doesn’t even seem to remember it after a couple days, thankfully. He was bypassing it for your own benefit, truthfully. And you knew that.
Selfishly, you're glad to have your appliances back to yourself.
They’re good, solid, reliable—until they aren’t.
Your washer shits itself mid-load and you can hear it from downstairs. A loud screeching noise before an even louder pop that has you groaning loudly because you know. You can feel it.
You can’t even bring yourself to go check, peering through the window of your kitchen and catching a fresh pot of coffee in the house across from yours, a man coming into view and his stark white shirt contrasting the black coffee cup in his hands. He catches you out of the corner of his eye and looks at you with a quizzical amusement, smile tugging at his face.
Joel was always up before the sun rose, so with the sun just creeping into the sky you’re sure that’s his third or fourth cup of coffee. He reaches over his sink and fiddles with the latch on his window before heaving it up, watching as you struggled to do that same but eventually managed.
“You run outta coffee again?” He asks, sipping at the bitter, black coffee in his mug.
“No,” You reply quickly, slightly exasperated as you chew at your bottom lip, debating how to pop the question and feeling nervous under Joel’s intense gaze, curiously wondering if he’s still picturing you naked. He’s never explicitly mentioned it since, but you have caught him in the act.
Wandering eyes, gazes catching when your back is turned for half a second as you bend down or move in a way that exposes too much skin.
“My washer broke,” You cut to the chase and Joel chuckles at how comical it is, in hindsight.
Was this karma? It was definitely karma.
You’ve never asked Joel for anything—despite your often bouts of kindness toward him you never expected anything in return, not even a favor.
“Doors open,” Joel nods toward his front door out of view, an invitation like you offered him.
You didn’t even hesitate, pushing the window close and bounding up the stairs.
-
You’re already loading your things into his washer before he appears around the corner, peeking his head in, coffee cup still in hand as he takes a few more steps and leans against the wall beside the washing machine and your eyes glance at him briefly before you continue moving the clothes, watching him watch you from behind the rim of his mug.
“I can start them and come back,” You tell him, “so I won’t be lingering around here all day.”
“No Benny?”
You stand up as you close the washer, deadpan stare pointed in his direction.
“You can be such a nosy neighbor, you know that?”
Joel shrugs, a smug smile covered behind his sip of coffee.
“It was just a few times. Besides he’s…too much for me.”
You turn the dial to start the load and it rumbles to life with a simple press of a button.
“You wanna talk about it?”
It wasn’t completely unnatural for you two—you knew quite a bit about Joel now: his life before, his work, his daughter…all things that come with trust and time. He’s waited patiently for you and you’ve given him peeks into your life, but nothing like this.
“It’s a long story, Joel.”
“Got time,” He smiles slightly, “I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee—sit down.”
You look around briefly, not a chair in sight. So, you raise yourself up just enough that you can slide your ass over the top of the washer, bare feet dangling off the floor and you wait, the subtle and quiet shake from the beginning of the load process keeping the awkward silence at bay.
Joel turns the corner a few minutes later with your cup, made up just to your liking and you nod with a gentle smile, taking the cup from his hand and allowing yourself a few generous sips.
“So—that night, you caught us,” You can laugh at the instances now, so you do in a soft, clipped manner, “it wasn’t the first—it had been a month by that point and he just caught me by surprise, showed up that night and things just got a little out of hand.”
Joel’s eyebrows raise in interest but he urges you to continue, leaning against the wall in front of you now, resting his mug on the shelf just above his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t do serious…I can’t, now with how things are. And I know a lot of people think the opposite, seize the moment and all that shit,” You sigh, a deep and heavy sound that expands and releases from your chest, “he was already talking about moving in, the idea of us having kids—so that night I just tried to distract him.”
“With sex? Seems a little…counter-productive, don’t you think?”
“Don’t judge me, Joel,” You warn him but it’s edged with a playfulness that Joel recognizes. You didn’t have a mean, deceptive bone in your body and Joel knew that from the first conversation he had with you.
“I needed him to shut up,” You groan at the thought of the conversation as it replays in your mind, “I’m trying to wash my clothes, he’s talking to me about babies. I do not want kids, Joel. Ever. At least none that are biologically mine. Who would want to bring a kid into this world?”
Well…Tommy. The thought comes to you after the words have already left your mouth and your heart sinks into your stomach, looking at Joel apologetically.
“Sweetheart, don’t even try to apologize. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”
“It makes me sound horrible, I know but—”
“I’ve done my time—it’s none of my business how others choose to live. Besides, I’m pushing sixty, I don’t have to worry about all that…sorry, I’m not trying to be crude here.”
You nod knowingly with a smirk tugging at your lips, taking another sip of coffee before handing the mug off for him to place it next to his own, ready to slide off of the washer before Joel interjects with another question that catches you off guard.
“He treat you right, at least?”
You tilt your head with that same knowing smirk, pushing Joel away at his hip with your foot as he leans up from his position against the wall—Joel’s never flirted, always promptly skirted around the issue and went about it more gentlemanly. He’s not abrasive and straightforward like most of the men in Jackson, but damn did he know how to make you feel special.
Undivided attention, constant subtle compliments, giving up some much-needed sleep for a simple late night drink with you—part of you was too terrified to make your own move and make it clear just how badly you wanted just a small taste of him.
You’ve heard whispering, minimal talk from a few of the women in town. Joel didn’t often make his rounds but when he did, he left an impression. And you had every right to be jealous, because with him standing in front of you now—you knew it would be easy to say no and he would fix you right up, finally crossing that line that he’s been carefully dancing around for a few years.
“He’s a bit…timid,” You shrug, “and he doesn’t really…”
The air lingers and the side of Joel’s mouth pulls up—you don’t have to say it.
“Joel, don’t do that,” You shove at his shoulder as he approaches you, his hands pressing into the contraption you’re on, curled around the metal, “—he’s just…eager, but not in a good way.”
There’s a glint in Joel’s eye that leads you to believe he’s not thinking about Benny’s less than experienced sex life, feeling the sudden jitteriness from the coffee as your chest rises with a deep, shaky breath and Joel eyes the time over your shoulder.
Forty-five minutes and some change, plus the time to dry because Joel already knows you aren’t going to trouble yourself with walking the damp laundry through this cold, muggy weather.
“So, no then?” Joel asks.
He could have treated you better, sure. But, he wasn’t the worst.
But, the way Joel is staring at you knows makes everything and everyone dull in comparison.
You shake your head in agreement, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as your hands fall to your lap, his hands ncreasingly closer to the tights covering your legs, suddenly feeling his thumb graze your hip. You both glance down at the action and your breathing halts, watching as his right hand slowly engulfs your thigh, fingers digging into the soft material and dimpling your skin underneath, his thumb only a few centimeters from dipping into the inside of your thigh.
They part on their own, welcoming Joel in wordlessly and his left hand echoes the other. His face is level with your own, staring down at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes and you’ve seen that look before—the adoration when he thought you weren’t watching, secretly you had become good at catching those glances, but Joel wasn’t trying to hide it now.
And it quickly dawns on you in the moment—he was jealous. Of Benny. Or really, any man that had come before him. But, he was using him as the scapegoat.
Honestly, you couldn’t even care.
“You want someone to treat you right?” He speaks softly and if you weren’t so close you wouldn’t have heard him, “I got you, sweetheart. I swear.”
He’s not looking at you anymore, eyes dragging down the bridge of your nose to your lips again. But, you are looking at him, flooded with that tricky feeling that creeps up on you when you want things you know you shouldn’t.
“Joel, I told you—I don’t do serious,” And you hold your breath for the response, wondering if that would send this moment crumbling to dust, but Joel doesn’t miss a step.
“Good for you,” Joel dotes, “neither do I.”
Then he’s on you, the press of his lips in a heated kiss sends you tumbling back, caught by the warm slide of his palm over your back to pull you in, throwing your arms over his shoulders as he pulls back briefly, just enough for you to open your mouth to speak, but his tongue finds its way inside and the words fade away.
Just friendly, my ass—you think.
If you had known he kissed like this—you would’ve jumped at the opportunity months ago; a night spent drinking too many glasses of wine and laughing over some movie far before your time, but not his.
He was so entranced, giving you all the details, but you couldn’t help giggling over it, too touchy to be considered friendly.
You’d both cut it short quickly when Ellie popped in halfway through the movie, and beyond that, it never grew.
Until now.
“Sweet,” Joel notes with a subtle smile, his hand dwarfing the size of your neck as his fingers wrapped around the column of your throat, holding you firmly in place as he maneuvered you toward and away from the kiss as he pleased, swallowing every tiny moan that escaped your lips when his other hand squeezed at your thigh just a little too hard.
“All that sugar,” In your coffee, the taste lingering on your lips and he licks around them teasingly, pulling away briefly to look at you, your eyebrows raising in question as the gears turn in his head, “—you still with me?”
“I’m just wonderin’ if you’re okay with this,” Joel speaks candidly, his eyes trained on his thumb as it rubs against the middle of your throat, traveling up under your chin and tipping your head up slightly, watching as you swallowed, “before I take this further, jus’ need to know.”
You nod jerkily, not even a second of hesitation.
“You would have known the moment you kissed me, Joel.”
In turn, Joel nods slowly before he speaks, stealing the air from your chest.
“Alright then, pull these down for me,” He tugs gently at the material clinging to your thighs before both of his hands find the spot behind your knees and tug until your feet hit the floor, “and push that pretty little ass out for me.”
The absurdity of this language on his tongue makes you giggle but abide in an instant, struggling slightly as the material bunches at your ankles and Joel helps you the rest of the way, tossing your pants aside before he’s kneeling despite how his body protests, too eager to give you a taste of the pleasure you deserve and he’s grabbing the cheeks of your ass and squeezing them between his hands before he’s leaning up to bite playful at the soft flesh.
He groans quietly against your skin, the press of his aquiline nose against your ass as his fingers fold around the string of your underwear and pull, dropping them down to your ankles and off and then his tongue is flat against the seam of your cunt, gasping as you fall forward and your own fingers clawing against nothing.
“Joel!” You squeak out as his fingers dig hard into your ass, forcing you up on your tiptoes as devours, licking into your cunt as it quivers around his tongue.
Your hand pressed against the wall in front of you to keep your chest from hitting the washer, feeling your pussy tighten around the finger that enters alongside his expert tongue, a soft groan erupting out of him from behind you. That smug motherfucker was attempting a teasing huh under his breath as he busied himself with the task of eating you out from the back and you couldn’t even think straight.
‘C’mon, baby,” He coos between his alternating licks and slurps of the heady slick that dripped from your cunt, “come all over my mouth, let me taste that sugar.”
It’s absurd, the way he’s speaking to you now. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thumb finds your clit amongst the chaos of his tongue and fingers, face heating up at how noisy your cunt sounded over the dull shake of the washer and Joel’s satisfied moans, occasionally massaging at the back of your thigh when your legs shake with the creeping feeling of your impending orgasm.
“Oh,” You squeal, reaching behind you to dig your fingers into his hair, panting out in desperation, “—fuck, don’t stop! Joel, right—right there,” and then glance you take back at him, his eyes peeking open from his position below, on his knees and dutiful to you and you alone, well…
It sends you tumbling over the edge as his thumb rubs over your clit quickly, soothing you through the aftermath as he laps up the mess you’ve made all over yourself, dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh because if you knew anything about Joel, he didn’t waste a meal.
And you were just about the finest he’s tasted.
You clear your throat as you rest your feet flat on the floor, feeling the faint quake in your legs as Joel rises slowly, forcing you to swallow down a giggle as he winces and he can see it on your face.
“Worth it,” He excuses himself, “don’t look at me like that.”
“No old man jokes?” You sound sad and Joel can’t believe it.
He shakes his head.
But, the smile that breaks out on your face quickly diminishes any comeback he has.
You begin to push him away with a hand gripped in his shirt, carefully avoiding the obvious bulge in his sweats as you reach for your tights, ready to redress and drop to your own knees as a favor but his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.
“I meant it,” Joel tells you, tilting his head to catch your gaze.
You smile wide and tilt your head to mirror him, “I think you proved your point—Benny is a pathetic man who doesn’t know how to make me come, blah blah…”
“My job ain’t done if you’re still thinkin’ about him, darlin’.”
His eyebrows raise in challenge.
Okay, you’re game.
Wordlessly you allow the hands at your hip that guide you toward the front of the joined appliances, his fingers sliding under your top until you get the hint to pull it off, your breasts bouncing free from the shirt—the few bras you had were already in the wash, big deal.
Joel chuckles and stops for a moment, admiring the sight of your breasts for the second time that month, albeit more openly this time. He reaches forward and rubs his thumb along your nipple, watching the nub harden under his touch and you bite at your bottom lip, eye fluttering closed at how sensitive they were to touch, something other men never took the time to notice.
“You like that?” Joel asks with a creeping grin.
You nod, watching as he squeezed your tits in his hands, showing your nipples ample attention as he circled them with his thumb before leaning down slightly and swiping his tongue over the hardened nubs, sucking your breast into his mouth and his eyes peer up, gauging your reaction which quickly developed from a soft giggle to a loud moan.
“Clothes,” You breath out, “off—if you still have a point to prove.”
A point that you wanted proven. Hard.
Joel pulls away and yanks his shirt over his head, allowing you an unobscured view of the mix of muscled shoulders and his softened stomach, running your hand over the patch of hair at the center of his chest and down, right along his hips until his own fingers hook around the fabric and pull his sweats and boxers down in one motion, his cock catching against the edge of his waistband before it bobs back up toward his stomach.
You find yourself smiling despite yourself, forgetting for a moment that Joel was standing there and watching you, feeling your mouth water at the sight of him hard and leaking at how just getting a small taste of you had turned him on that much, precum leaking slowly from the tip and he wraps his hand around himself, other hand tapping at your chin to drag your attention back up to his face, reminding you he was still there.
“Got somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”
You shake your head furiously, “No, no—no, nothing. Just, uh—”
“I’ll start slow,” He tells you and with the size of him, thick and girthy in ways you’ve only imagined or pictured in your head, it’s daunting, “are you still alright with all of this?”
Your face softens and you nod, appreciating the repeated check-ins, the need for confirmation, but it pulls at your heart as you wonder why he feels the need to ask so much. As if he was fearful you would change your mind on a dime—Joel was fine with that, but he was more worried about the change in dynamic. Thankfully, you were determined for that not to be the case.
“I’m pretty tough,” You shrug, a playful smile gracing your face.
Joel nods absently as his fingers drag along your waist before catching behind your knee and pulling it up over his hip, both of your eyes dragging down to his cock as he tugged at himself a few times, his brow furrowed as he spread your lips apart with the head, dipping his hips down slightly to catch against your hole before he pushes in slow, one solid stroke that steals the sound from your throat and transfers to his own. Joel groans out softly as he pushes into you, his hands gravitating toward your face and wrapping around the sides of your neck, tilting your head back to mouth at your skin, his tongue dragging along your collarbone before sucking and nipping gently at your skin.
“Don’t I know it,” Joel responds after a while, “find something to hold onto.”
Your soft giggle of excitement shoots down to your core and your fingers wrap around the edges of the washer and Joel pulls back swiftly before he’s snapping his hips back into you before repeating the process several times, the jolt of the machine hitting the concrete wall behind you drowned out by your loud moans, quickly swallowed up by Joel’s lips as he pulls your mouth to his, breathing into it with every sharp snap of his hips.
“Harder,” You beg, biting at his bottom lip as he groans, using his fingers intertwined into the hair at the nape of your neck now to pull your head back and he pulls his hips back quick, bottoming himself out inside of you so forcefully you feel like your legs might give out, his cock rubbing against your already too sensitive g-spot and continuously finding a way to bring you closer and closer to the edge, “fuck—yes, yes. Joel, oh my god—”
“Yeah,” Joel goads you, his eyes drawn closed as he tries to keep his own orgasm at bay, “give it to me, baby—wanna watch you make a mess on my cock, alright?”
Easy, you laugh airily and feel the instinctive squeeze of your walls around Joel’s cock as he pulls your face to his, foreheads pressed against each other as he angles his hips back and slams into you one last time before you come undone, head falling back in a similar position to how he caught you a few weeks ago, this time for him.
Your grab for his shoulders suddenly, blunt fingernails digging into his skin and he takes a few harsh breaths through his nose before he’s pulling out, hand grasping his cock as he jerked himself a few seconds before he comes in thick, short spurts against your stomach, squeezing at the head of his cock as he drags it through the mess he’s made.
His expression is nothing short of mesmerizing, mouth hung open just enough that his tongue can drag over his bottom lip before his teeth are taking its place, eyes drawn to your skin.
Wordlessly, he pulls away on his own pair of shaky legs as he reaches for his wrinkled, worn shirt and brings it to your stomach, cleaning up the mess with a faint smile on his face.
“You know, I think it might take me a bit to fix my washer,” You tease, “so—I might be over here bothering you for a while.”
Joel peers up at you, his head still tucked down as he wiped at your stomach.
“Fine with me.”
Then he’s peering over your shoulder, watching as the washer time inched toward zero, dinging behind you. You turn around, letting your leg fall from his hip finally, ass brush against him in the process and Joel can’t help the way his eyes refuse to leave the sight of it.
Only feeling slightly guilty when you catch him this time, not giving him the pass you usually do.
“We’ve still got about an hour left if I dry them here,” You tell him, “anything else you wanna prove?”
Joel’s tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging up toward the upper level of his house before flicking back toward you, a smile plastered on your face.
“I can think of a few things.”
divider creds: @/cafekitsune
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What about one where the small folk of winterfell and the people of the castle make friendly, suggestive gossip from giggly women and knowing men about cregan and targ!reader. Their lord and lady are close with one another and it is often talked about and seen that they frequent the bed chamber (if yk what I mean 👀)
the folk of Winterfell feel at ease knowing their lord and lady seem to be in love, similar to the honeymoon period and young love.
You don’t have to use this quote i came up with, but it inspired me to ask for this idea “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty”
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Winterfell's Warmth
- Summary: Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride.
- Paring: targ!reader/Cregan Stark
- Note: This entire scene is from the perspective of the smallfolk.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess
- A/N: This is the last request that I'll be posting today.
Winterfell bustles with the hum of daily life, as it always does—iron clanging in the forges, boots scuffing over the ancient stones, and the soft murmurs of the smallfolk as they go about their duties. But today, there's a special kind of lightness in the air, a sense of warmth despite the looming chill that clings to the North. The hearths burn brighter, and even the winds seem to whisper with a mischievous grin.
The reason for this subtle shift? You, Y/N, the new Lady of Winterfell, and your lord husband, Cregan Stark. Since your arrival, the inhabitants of the castle have grown accustomed to your frequent disappearances with their lord—disappearances that always lead back to your shared bedchamber. The smallfolk know, of course, as do the courtiers. They know very well what goes on behind those thick stone walls, and the knowledge brings them no small amount of amusement.
In the courtyard, a group of washerwomen gossip while scrubbing linens in the cold, frothy water of a trough. Their fingers are red from the chill, but their spirits remain high.
“Have you heard?” one of them, a round-faced woman named Ellyn, leans in, lowering her voice despite the fact that no one important is nearby. “Our lady was seen entering the lord’s chambers again this morning, not long after the first bell rang.”
A younger girl, barely past sixteen, giggles and covers her mouth. “She didn’t leave until just before the midday meal yesterday, either!”
Another woman, older and seasoned from years of service, cocks an eyebrow but smiles knowingly. “Winterfell hasn’t been this alive since…well, since Lord Cregan’s own parents. I’d wager the bedchambers have seen more use in the past fortnight than in the last decade combined.”
The women burst into laughter, their voices carrying through the open courtyard. Ellyn smirks, leaning in even closer. “I’m sure our new lady will provide both Winterfell and our Lord with many Stark children. They are certainly not opposed to practicing their duty.”
The young girl flushes a little but can’t help but join in the giggling. "It's true, isn't it? They’ve only been married a moon’s turn, and yet I’ve never seen a man so... devoted to his wife."
“Well,” the older woman says with a playful shrug, “the Starks may be wolves, but it seems our Lord’s heart is well and truly claimed by a dragon.”
Across the courtyard, a pair of stable boys are equally enthralled with the ongoing rumors. One of them, tall and lanky, leans against the stall door, shaking his head.
"I swear by the old gods, I’ve never seen Lord Stark smile so much," the boy says, eyes wide with the incredulity of it all. "He used to be all serious, always about duty, honor, the needs of Winterfell. But now? Every time I see him, he’s got that daft look on his face, like he’s already back in the Lady’s arms."
The other stable boy, shorter and stockier, chuckles. "Aye, I noticed that too. You'd think a man so cold in demeanor wouldn’t be so… warm in his private affairs." He glances around, as if Lord Cregan himself might be lurking behind a pillar. "But gods, can you blame him? Our lady is like a flame. She’s got the blood of dragons in her veins, and it’s like he can’t resist her."
The tall boy laughs loudly. "Well, Winterfell is colder than the South, and a bit of fire in his bed can’t hurt, can it?"
Their laughter echoes through the stables, joining the chorus of quiet gossip that fills the castle.
In the kitchens, the cooks are no less entertained. An older man, grizzled and stern-faced, chops onions with a practiced hand. "It's a good thing they’re so taken with each other," he grumbles to a nearby scullery maid. "Winterfell needs strong heirs, and soon. Better they start early."
The maid, a cheerful woman with flushed cheeks from the heat of the ovens, snickers. "Aye, I doubt that'll be a problem. They’re always together, locked away for hours. If they keep at it, we’ll have a new little Stark running about before winter comes."
"I’ve heard they’re inseparable," another cook chimes in, stirring a pot of stew. "Lord Cregan hardly lets her out of his sight. It’s almost sweet, really."
"Sweet?" the old man scoffs, though there’s no real bite in his voice. "It’s practical, is what it is. They’re doing their duty, ensuring the Stark line continues. But," he adds with a chuckle, "it doesn’t hurt that they seem to enjoy it so much."
The scullery maid laughs. "Oh, they more than enjoy it! I was passing by their chamber the other night, and, well…" She lets the sentence hang, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let’s just say, they were not quiet."
The group erupts into laughter, and even the old man can’t suppress a grin.
And so it goes throughout Winterfell. From the servants who clean your chambers to the guards posted outside the great hall, everyone in the castle is aware of the affection that flows so freely between you and Cregan. Even in the great hall during the evening feasts, there are stolen glances and soft touches between you, enough for the smallfolk to notice.
At one such feast, a group of bannermen seated at a lower table murmur amongst themselves, casting knowing looks up at the high table where you sit beside your husband. Lord Cregan’s hand rests casually on your thigh beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles through the fabric of your gown. You lean toward him, whispering something that makes him laugh softly—a sound rare enough in these halls that it turns heads.
One of the bannermen, a grizzled old warrior with silver streaking his beard, nudges the man beside him. "See how he looks at her? Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters."
The younger man nods. "Aye, I’ve noticed. Seems our Lord is well and truly smitten."
"Better that than cold and distant, I say," the older man replies. "Winterfell’s seen enough hardship. It’s good for the people to know their Lord is happy. And with the lady he’s taken to bed, I’d say we’ll be seeing Stark children sooner rather than later."
The younger man grins. "Aye, and they’re certainly not opposed to practicing their duty."
As laughter ripples through the hall, you catch Cregan’s gaze, and in that moment, the world seems to fade away. His eyes, as grey as the Northern skies, are filled with a warmth reserved only for you. And though you are surrounded by the murmurs and laughter of your people, all you feel is the pull of his love, binding you to him as surely as the ancient stones of Winterfell bind the North.
The smallfolk can whisper all they like. Let them. Winterfell is at ease, and your love for Cregan is as fierce and unyielding as the North itself.
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