#joel miller drabble

[erased-heart]

As very personal opinion: Joel is a tits man

Specifically old Joel and not only in a sexual way.

I can totally picture him coming home after a patrol or working in the construction, exausted, wanting only to go to bed to lie on your chest, becase he considers that your boobs are the most confortable and the softest pillow ever. Extra points if you scratch his head.

Also i can totally picture Joel squeezing your tits and sucking your nipples while you ride him, using his big hands to play with them when he fucks you from behind and getting crazy when you put his big cock between them.

[rafeovermorals]

overstimulating joel until he cums. again.

content: oral (m receiving), joel is 61 and has a hard time keeping up with his much younger girlfriends sex drive, use of daddy, slight dubcon

a/n: this is how im choosing to cope with this scene, okay? i can’t help that he looks hot as fuck.

joel was too worn out to move.

chest heaving, mouth quivering, all he could do was lay there and watch you take from him.

you were such a greedy lil’ thing, one round was never enough. so eager and needy. always wanting more, like you wouldn’t last a day without his cock.

he kept up with you as best as he could for a man his age, making sure to stay in shape so he that maintained his stamina, but it only got him so far.

it was a guilty reminder— he was old. you were young. nothin’ he could change about that. he already ran through the small supply of viagra he was able to get ahold of weeks ago, which left him at your mercy.

even after a long day of patrol he came home and fucked you every night, just like you wanted. what was left of his energy he thrusted deep into your cunt with his seed to prove it, giving you a kiss on the cheek before pulling out and turning onto his back to go to sleep.

it had been a while since you went down on him. he didn’t have much control on when or how often he got hard, so when he was he used those moments inside of you.

except joel didn’t realize how much you missed him in your mouth, so badly that you needed it.

as he rolled off of you to his side of the bed, you noticed how his cock was flushed— coated with your juices and his cum. he was softening but stayed big, thick in girth with graying hairs at the base.

he didn’t have the chance to recover before you had his cock in your hand, sitting on your knees and holding him straight as you licked the shaft.

“baby… what’re y’doin?” he asked timidly, still attempting to control his breaths from cumming just a minute or two prior. you simply responded with a hum, looking up at him through your lashes as you swirled your tongue— tasting yourself on him.

you placed a kiss on his tip, his cock reacting with a throb that pulsed in your grasp. “alright, that’s enough.” he spoke low, a quavering warning for you to stop— but his tone lacked in confidence.

“let me have this, daddy.” as if he had a choice.

you took him into your mouth, lips curling around his cock as you watched his face twist from the sensation.

fucking hell, you were going to be the death of him.

he clenched his jaw, teeth grinding while he tried to hold himself back— hold you back. he pushed at your head, attempting to shove you with what little control he had left, but you didn’t budge. you only went further, inching his cock deeper down your throat. he was forced into submission.

joel was so sensitive that he whined from the mix of pain and pleasure, the line blurring the more you swallowed him. “i don’t have anythin’ left in me, honey... gave y’all of it already.” he told you slow, his voice trembling.

you moaned in defiance, mouth stuffed full of his length. you brought a free hand to his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze which made him nearly whimper. you pull away, spit dribbling from the corners of your lip. “can feel that you still got some in here, just gotta get it out, daddy. it’ll feel so much better.”

he clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together as you continued to suck him— bobbing at a teasing speed while you massaged the rest of his length at the same time. he twitched his hips, his body defying his words.

it felt so good that it was hurting him. your throat was beginning to burn due to lack of recent experience, but you were determined for it.

“just couldn’t wait, huh? so cock drunk that y’had to use your old man like this, knowin’ im vulnerable?” you nodded, that familiar ache in your core returning.

he was thinking of all the ways to punish you once you were done— ready to spank you until you cried, maybe edge you if he was feeling mean. he would find a way to make you pay.

joel was determined to give you one more load since you went through all of this to get it. he couldn’t disappoint his girl.

he was so numb that he couldn’t even feel himself getting ready to cum, his eyes glossy and in a state of haze at the sight of you drooling on his thighs.

the warm, soft flesh of your cheeks hollowing in on him brought him to his release, spilling hot, creamy ropes on the pad of your tongue. whenever you thought he was done it didn’t stop— drops still leaking out after you finished.

“better lick me dry honey. since you wanted it so damn bad.”

[silens-oro]

God Help the Beast in Me

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Joel Miller x f!reader (established relationship) Masterlist The Last of Us Playlist General Synopsis: You were going to do what needed to be done, with or without the support of Jackson. Word Count: 1.8k Content Warning: Major spoilers if you haven't played the game/watched the show. This is based off of S2E3. Mentions of violence, major character death, grief & anger. A/N: idk where this came from, but I was used as a human conduit to write it.

please comment & reblog :)

“The ‘No’s’ have it.” Silence filled the room until your voice broke it.

“This is absolute horseshit!” You shouted as you pushed your way forward from the back of the room, anger and frustration clear as day on your face. Every eye turned in your direction as you stepped closer to the council table, a limp still visible in your gait. 

Three months. Three months of absolute agony and misery to come up with this as the final deliberation because everyone had to have a chance to speak on something they knew nothing about. 

“None of you were there.” You pointed out. Maria said your name with a sigh, pity gracing her features as she looked at you. 

“You refused to put your name down to speak your piece. Everyone had their chance to say something before a vote was cast.” 

“Nothing I had to say would have mattered. These people knew how they were going to vote the second they walked into this room regardless of what I had to say, Maria. You were fortunate enough to see the aftermath, but you didn’t witness what those fucking animals did to him. To me. To Dina. And if that was Tommy on the other end of it, you’d be singing a very different tune right now.” Maria tried to be diplomatic with everything, to keep fairness in the community, but this…this went beyond that. “They made me watch while they beat Joel to death with a fucking nine iron. I was shot and beaten within an inch of my life and they held my head up, forcing my eyes open to watch. They enjoyed what they did. Joel helped them, and in turn they fucking murdered him.” 

Tommy said your name, holding his hand out from his place on the council table to calm you down, but you weren’t backing down from any of this. “No, Tommy. This is bullshit.” You looked across the long table, most of the members refusing to even look back at you. They knew they were wrong for this. “Joel would’ve done it, without question, for any one of you sorry sons of bitches and you all know it.” You shook your head, biting your lip in irritation. “I don’t need this fucking piss poor excuse of a council’s blessing to do what needs to be done. You’re going to have to live with this decision, not me.” 

The gathering burst into chaos when you stormed out of the hall. The noise drowned Tommy’s shouts as he called your name, but you were already out the door. Ellie and Dina were hot on your heels as you booked it through the streets of Jackson and back to the home you once shared with Joel, wincing the whole way. 

“We’re coming with you!” Ellie shouted as she tried to keep up with your quick stride. You immediately dismissed her, your anger and grief clouding any rational response you could’ve given her. 

“No you’re not, Ellie.” You spat back over your shoulder. 

“Goddamn it, yes we are!” She shouted as she grabbed your bicep to stop you. She cemented herself in front of you, the fire in your eyes reflecting into hers. “You’re not the only person who lost Joel! I want to do this because he deserves to have someone fight for him, just like you. He wouldn’t want you to do this alone and you know I’m a good shot. Dina’s been practicing and she’s capable. We’re doing this together. All three of us.” You placed both of your hands on Ellie’s shoulders and leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. 

“I’m not coming back, Ellie.” You said with finality. “That,” You nodded to the town hall, “that cemented it. Whether I make it out of Seattle alive or not, I’m not coming back to Jackson. Not after this.” Tommy found you when he made it out of the crowd and he took off running in your direction. 

“Stop!” He called your name again, “Damn it, I said stop!” You felt sick to your stomach when you looked at him. Joel wasn’t here to feel the sting of betrayal so you carried it like a torch in his place. 

“You don’t want to do this here, Tommy. I fucking promise you that.” You called back to him as you continued on to the house, leaving Ellie devastated in the middle of the road. Dina came up to her, wrapping her arm around Ellie’s shoulders to comfort her as they both watched the scene before them. 

Your ribs burned with every movement and your leg throbbed something wicked, but that didn’t stop you from pushing yourself harder than you should’ve to get away from Tommy.

“The council-”

“-Fuck your council!” You shouted, rounding back to face Tommy with rage seeping through every pore of your body. Anyone who was outside, Ellie and Dina included, watched on with wide eyes as they witnessed you unload on Tommy. 

You were always seen as someone who was level headed, firm but fair, and losing Joel while having the absolute dog shit beat out of you completely broke you down to who you were before you made it to Jackson with Joel and Ellie all of those years ago, back to the ruthless vandal you were before your path crossed theirs altogether. Back to a way of life you never wanted to return to, not willingly, yet you found yourself heading in that direction because to do what needed to be done meant you needed to be ruthless, nasty, dangerous. You had to shed the little bit of humanity that Joel and Ellie had helped restore. 

“Fuck your counsil and every coward on it, Tommy. I mean that. You can take your votes and shove them all the way up your ass until those ballots pop out of your fucking mouth, how ‘bout that? Joel was your brother. He loved you. He came here for you! And you just sat there and let those fucking assholes tell you what you should do for your blood.” You didn’t hold back anything because this would probably be the last time you’d be able to speak your mind to him. “If the roles were reversed, he would’ve gone through hell and back to make sure those motherfuckers didn’t have a single breath left between them. What are you going to do, Tommy? Huh? What the fuck are you going to do?” You egged him on and you could see his dark brows pinching more and more with each accusation thrown at him. 

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything. You don’t need to remind me that Joel was my brother because I fucking know that, alright? I knew him inside and out, and I know what I lost. But I can’t be going out, half-cocked to kill a handful of people who may or may not be in Seattle. I have a wife and a son to think about. Joel would understand that because I knew my brother better than I know myself, so don’t you fucking preach to me about this. Somewhere under all of that hurt and anger you’re buried in, I know you understand that, but you need to take this out on someone and I’m the best option you’ve got.” Both of your chests were heaving, hurt and misery twinned in your eyes. “We need to think clearly about this. Killing those folks won’t bring Joel back. Dying away from home won’t bring him back either. The only thing you’re going to do is leave behind people who care about you.” 

“Well, while you sit and contemplate all that, Tommy, I’m going to do what needs to be done.” You turned to continue on, but stopped short. “Oh, but you might want to check with the council to see if you’re even able to do that.” You spat to dig the knife even deeper. Tommy called your name, desperation clinging to his voice as you marched through the white picket fence that was lined with dried flowers, letters, trinkets and mementos all dedicated to Joel, and up the porch steps without trying to show the mental and physical pain you were still feeling. 

“Don’t throw your life away for this. He wanted you safe. He wanted Ellie safe.” You hand held onto the doorknob, listening. “Seattle is almost 900 miles away. You’re still recovering, in case you forgot. You had at least four broken ribs and you were shot in the leg, on top of the other shit they beat out of ya. You won’t make it, not like this.” Your head turned slightly to speak over your shoulder. 

“My life as it was ended the second your brother took his last breath, Tommy. Now I’m on borrowed time, and I plan to use that time to the fullest extent. I’ll make it there because it’s all I’ve got left to keep me going.” With that you pushed the door open and slammed it shut with finality. 

Tommy had been right about one thing -riding on healing ribs and a still tender leg was brutal. It was better than walking, but not by much. 

Ten miles outside of town, you stopped at the graveyard that was erected after Jackson had been overrun. This would be your final goodbye, the one you never got to give Joel. You held your ribs as you lowered yourself off of Cotton’s back and stood for a moment to let your muscles adjust before walking over to the grave you had been to a handful of times since you initially left the hospital. 

Your winced in pain as you kneeled down on your good leg and brought your hand down to feel the dirt that covered Joel’s grave. It packed under your nails uncomfortably, but you held it in your palm -your final connection to him. 

“I know this won’t bring you back. Hell, you’d be pissed if you knew what I was about to do, but I can’t just sit here, Joel. I can’t. Not after everything we’ve been through together. Not after what they did. Even if I’m doing this alone, I know I’m doing the right thing.” Tears lined your eyes, your throat tightening with that familiar sting right before the tears fell. “I never should’ve made it out of that lodge. Most nights I wished I didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to, not if you weren’t coming out of it with me. That’s one thing I’ll never forgive you for…leaving me behind.” Sniffling, you groaned as you stood, dropping the dirt back into place before wiping your hand on your pants. “I’ll find my way back to you, Joel. I always do.” 

Walking back to Cotton, your name floated on the wind. Ellie and Dina were waiting on the back of Ellie’s horse, Cotton’s reins in her hand. 

“We’re doing this.” Ellie said with no room for argument. “Let’s go.” The hardness in her eyes softened something in you, and you nodded.

please comment & reblog :)

[toxicanonymity]

i went to a town hall with our congressman today and it was infuriating and exhausting. this piece of shit who represents my district is a weak-willed, racist, bigot, and tax evader. i'm disgusted this man even got elected.

deep sigh.

anyway, thank you very much for spreading the word about the SAVE act. it really sparked rage in me. i will be channeling it in to more activism.

now about those blorbos. like everyone else, i have been thinking nonstop about beautiful oldman!joel and his sad demise. the only thing that's given me any respite is imagining him in spectral form coming to visit and fuck reader in her sleep. lol. maybe he haunts the brothel and gives the joels some sage advice?

if you are so inspired, incubus joel sounds fucking hot to me.

Stay, 18+

Spectral!Jackson Joel Miller x f!reader

Hi, nonnie! I'm sorry you've got a republican, but thank you for going to the town hall! And let's vote them the hell out of office first chance we get.

As someone who's had spectral intercourse, I respect your coping strategy and am happy to provide this Joel. It does get emotional though. I'd also love to write him into @thebrothel !🖤

please lmk if you like it 🫶

1k words, 18+ smut

Read on AO3

[wintersoldierwhore]

covet — joel miller

Chapter Six — “Do I need to carry ya?”

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You enjoyed movie nights. Most nights with dad, some with Sarah, some with all of you. But you hadn’t had a movie night in seven years. The only times you’d see your dad was when he’d come up to San Fran for a weekend, and lots of FaceTime calls.

“Alright,” your dad clapped his hands together, “who’s choosin’?”

You fell silent. “Our guest?”

“I’m not fussy.” He added, holding his hands up. He wasn’t in the best of moods, understandably.

“I’ll find one.” Your dad insisted, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and scrolling through a streaming service.

Joel was sat in the middle of you and your dad, holding the popcorn bowl in his lap. You hesitantly reached for some popcorn, hand lingering in the bowl as you looked up at him. It was dangerous, you both knew it. But your dad was invested in finding a film.

You’d had an array of snacks laid out on the coffee table, the curtains were shut, it was cozy and dark like a movie theatre.

“Goodfellas, again dad?” You groaned, hearing the two men beside you laugh loudly, clinking their beer bottles together.

The quiet hum of voices, the darkness of the room, it was all coaxing you to sleep. You tried to stay awake, adjusting your position on the couch, grabbing some more snacks, but your eyes were adamant on closing. You hadn’t even realised upon waking up again that your head had fallen onto Joel’s shoulder. He, of course, did not react. Considering your father was sat next to him.

So when you’d fallen back asleep, he stayed still for the rest of the movie, only moving his arm gently to place his hand on the small of your back. It was daring but it felt comfortable.

Once the credits started to roll, your dad peered over to see you knocked out beside Joel.

“Tough crowd.” The pair quietly laughed. “I’ll wake ‘er up, so you can take the couch.”

“I got it,” Joel quickly intervened, “ya’ need your beauty sleep. We got a big job offer comin’ up this weekend, need you on your A game.”

Your dad let out another laugh. “If you weren’t my best pal, I’d have slapped ya.”

Your dad retired upstairs, leaving Joel to get you into bed.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “ya wanna head up t’bed?”

“No.” You refused. “I’m comfy here.”

“What happened to your comfy bed?”

You huffed. “Too tired to move.”

Joel chuckled. “Do I need to carry ya?”

You nodded, closing your eyes once more.

His arms hooked under your knees and your back, scooping you up as if you were made of glass. He made a pretty comfy pillow. He slowly carried you up the stairs, careful not to alert your dad, and entered your room. You managed to do a pretty good job of your room, he admired the plants and the little framed pictures of your mom, you and your old dogs, and your colleague graduation.

He laid you onto your bed, pulling the comforter out from under you and dropping it onto your sleeping body.

“Joel,” you croaked, “feel the bed.”

“Huh?”

“Feel it. It’s comfy.”

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

He sat down on the edge, his hands grazing the comforter. “Yeah, pretty cozy.”

“No, you need the full experience.” You tugged on his hand, pulling his body down beside you. And hearing that sigh, you could feel his relief through your own skin.

“See?”

You rolled over, so your faces were merely inches apart. It was quiet, dark, the moment wrote itself.

His hand slid over the exposed skin of your hip. Your lips met, a few times. Nothing hot and heavy, just sweet.

“Goddamn.” He breathed out, folding his arms.

He would not fall asleep. He would wait for this moment to pass, then he’d exit and get some rest downstairs.

He would not fall asleep.

“Kiddo. Ya seen Joel?” You heard, and your eyes sprung open. You had in fact seen him, beside you. He had one arm tucked round you, the other under your neck. Full on spooning. Your unconscious bodies needing connection.

“Uh,” you stammered, pulling yourself out of bed, “maybe he left?”

“‘S weird, his truck’s still here.”

“Should I call him?” You were lying through your teeth, you had no idea how to get yourself out of this.

You patted Joel vigorously, the man did not stir. Whatever he went through last night knocked him out cold.

“I’m sure he’s clearin’ his head or somethin’.” Your dad replied, and you could hear his voice getting quieter as he descended the staircase.

“Joel Miller!” You whisper-screamed. His eyelids fluttered awake, registering where he was. The pink comforter was different from his white one at home.

He shot out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking at you. “What the fuck happened?”

”My bed was a little too comfy, that’s what. How the fuck do we get out of this one?”

Joel thought, he looked out of your window. Overlooking the back garden, it wasn’t a big drop, right?

“Call your dad up here. I’ll drop down.”

”Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a grown man.”

”Sleeping in my best friend's daughter's room!”

“Sneak into the office, it’s right by the stairs. I’ll get dad to run for coffee.” You decided, unfolding your arms. There was a cold morning breeze, which Joel had noticed from one look at your breasts.

“Perv,” you swatted his arm, “go.”

You made sure the coast was clear and you trotted downstairs, spotting your dad in the kitchen with his phone to his ear.

“I’m tryin’ Joel and he ain’t answerin’.” Your dad frowned, putting his phone back in his pocket.

”I’m sure he’s cooling off from the night before, give him time.” You reasoned. “Would you mind going for a coffee run this morning? That big pile on your desk requires a few milligrams of caffeine.”

Your dad patted your back. “Good idea, kiddo. Usual?”

You nodded, waving him out the door.

You were quick to jog up the stairs, opening the office door and dragging him downstairs.

“Take a lap round the block,” you instructed, “when my dad gets back, jus’ say you were clearin’ ya head, tryin’ to think of what to say t’Sarah.”

“You’re a clever girl, aren’t ya?” His voice melted your insides, even worse once his hand found its way back to your hip, where it rested last night before you kissed. You couldn’t say it wasn’t a thrill to hide Joel from your dad. It was exciting.

“If I weren’t so on edge, I’d be turned on. Now go.”

Your dad had come back, coffee in hand. Joel had arrived moments earlier, explaining to your dad about his struggle with what to tell Sarah.

He believed it. And even advised him.

Your heart broke a little hearing that conversation.

“We gotta head off, kiddo. Last few hours of this job then I got to meet a potential client in Dallas. Long drive this weekend.”

You had plans.

Lots of plans.

[mushgloomz]

joel miller with glasses

joel miller, who gives you a crooked half-smirk whenever you speak to him, looking over the rim of his glasses and muttering “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

joel miller, who absolutely pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a single index finger when they slip down - real old man style

joel miller, who chuckles to himself as you try his glasses on for the first time, squinting at you to get a better look before declaring “lookin’ real nice, sweetheart”

joel miller, who is constantly misplacing his glasses when he needs them most - you can tell when it happens even if you aren’t in the same room; the sound of him patting his jeans and the subsequent goddamnit giving you all the information you need as the sound echoes from his workshop

joel miller, who goes to remove his glasses when he kisses you for the first time before you ask him to keep them on

joel miller, who gets the faintest flush to his cheeks when he realises said kiss has caused his glasses to fog up around the bottom of the lenses. the same flush that deepens as you tenderly pluck them from his face and clean the glass with the hem of your tshirt

joel miller, who near goes into cardiac arrest when his glasses give him a crystal clear rendition of you settling between his legs under his work bench as your hands trail up his denim-clad thighs

joel miller, who is eternally grateful to the patrol group that found the abandoned opticians lab as he drinks in the sight of your soft lips wrapped around his cock - so grateful, that he keeps one hand on the back of your head to guide you, and the other on the hinge of his frames for fear of losing them (and the glorious sight before him)

joel miller, who insists on you riding him that very evening. who, for the first time, is a lot less ashamed of the maroon plastic framing his eyes as he keeps his glasses on during the act - “Christ, you’re a fuckin’ vision, baby” is all he can muster between groans, barely blinking behind the glass as he palms at the soft swell of your tits

joel miller, who’s glasses creak a little as he buries his face in the crook of your neck when he cums deep inside you; shuddered breaths making the lenses steam up yet again

joel miller, who wakes up in the morning, swats at his bedside table and soon realises that instead of being on the nightstand, his glasses are in your grasps, being meticulously cleaned with a scrap of material - the same man who falls a little more in love with you when you admit that you’ve been doing it every morning for him before he wakes up

that’s all

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader drabble

Fluffy Jackson!Joel, age gap mentioned but not specified, angsty Joel thinking he doesn't deserve you I'm gonna vom I'm so emotional about Joel Miller this morning. Yeah it’s a little corny idc. Lightly inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's Slim Pickins

You never cared much for the boys in Jackson.

It wasn’t that they were all bad—not really. Some were decent enough, kind in that overeager way that made it clear they wanted to be seen as something more than just survivors. The younger ones, the ones your age, all had something to prove. Like they thought the end of the world meant they had to carve out their place in it with their fists, their bravado, their talk of patrols and takedown counts.

You weren’t interested.

You wanted someone steady. Someone who didn’t feel the need to boast, who didn’t make survival a contest, who wasn’t fumbling to figure out who they were even after all these years.

And that’s why your eyes always found Joel Miller.

He never tried to be charming. Never played the fool. Never talked just to hear himself speak. Matter of fact, you hardly heard him speak at all unless Ellie or Tommy were around. In any other conversation you managed to overhear, he was polite but always a man of few words. 

He was older, rough around the edges, sharp where others were soft. He was the kind of man who knew how to build things, how to keep them standing. You admired that. Admired the way his hands were always busy, fixing things, sharpening knives, reinforcing weak spots in the town’s defenses. Admired the way he looked after Ellie without making a show of it, the way he always sat with his back to a wall, eyes scanning like he could predict trouble before it came knocking.

The only problem was getting him to see what had been so obvious to you from the start.

Joel had been stubborn.

The first time you flirted with him—really flirted—he’d just blinked at you, like he thought he misheard. The second time, he’d scoffed, muttered something about "findin’ someone your own damn age." The third time… Well, that one had been his mistake.

Because you’d caught him looking.

It was just a flicker, just a second. But it was real. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered, the way his jaw tensed like he was biting down a thought he didn’t want to have. That was when you knew.

It was only a matter of time.

And now—now he was here.

Warm and solid beneath you, his arm heavy around your waist, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your bare skin. The room smelled like both of you, like sweat and shared warmth and something slow-burning, something that had taken its time getting here. You were tangled up in each other, bare bodies draped together in the low morning light, catching your breath as the quiet hum of Jackson began to wake up just beyond the window.

“Tell me somethin’,” he muttered.

“Anything,” you murmured, your lips pressing gently into the warmth of his neck.

He sighed, the sound more exasperated than anything, his head turning on the pillow to look at you. His big eyes were so full of tenderness, but something flickered in them—a hesitation, a question he’d been holding onto longer than he wanted to admit.

“Why me?”

You stared at him for a long moment before a smirk twitched on your lips, and you ran your fingers through his graying curls, watching the way his eyes fluttered at the feeling.

“Haven’t you heard?” you teased, voice laced with playfulness, “It’s the end of the world, Mr. Miller. It’s slim pickin’s around here.”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, rolling his eyes like he wasn’t gonna let you get away with that answer.

But before he could grumble something about being an old man, you slid your hand down, fingers trailing over his chest, slow and sure, until you could feel the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath your palm.

"Good thing," you murmured, voice softer now, "you’re exactly the man I want."

Joel exhaled, long and slow.

And maybe, maybe that should have been enough to satisfy him.

But it wasn’t.

Because you knew he had lived too many years and lost too many things to believe in easy answers. He had spent too much time walking through hell to believe he had come out on the other side deserving of this.

His fingers curled against your hip, like he was testing it. The weight of you against him, the warmth of you in his bed. Maybe still half-convinced that this was something he’d wake up from.

You sighed, nudging your nose against his jaw. “Joel.”

He hummed, but it was barely a sound, like he didn’t quite trust himself to speak.

So you tried again. Softer this time. “Do you really think I would ever want anyone else?”

He didn’t answer.

You traced your fingers along his chest, slow and thoughtful, your mind drifting somewhere neither of you had ever dared to go before.

“I wonder sometimes,” you admitted, “what it would’ve been like. If we’d met before.”

Joel hesitated, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, eyes scanning your face. 

You let the thought settle between you, warm and quiet.

“Think about it,” you mused, your voice dipping into something thoughtful, something wistful. “Would we have even met? In a normal world?”

You could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. A life that could have been. A life that was gone before either of you had a chance to claim it.

“I was just a kid in Texas when everything happened,” you murmured. “Would’ve grown up, maybe gone to college, gotten some easy job that didn’t mean anything. You would’ve still been…” you swallowed, “you.”

A father. Maybe a husband at some point. A man with a life already built.

“Maybe I would’ve walked past you somewhere,” you continued. “At a store. A gas station. Maybe you would’ve held a door open for me, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”

Joel’s fingers tightened against you like he was grounding himself in this moment. His voice was steady when he spoke. No hesitation, no doubt.

“I would’ve noticed you.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, breath caught in your throat as your hand slid higher, up to the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “Would you?”

Joel exhaled softly, leaning into your touch without thinking, his eyes tracing over your face like he was memorizing every piece of you.

“‘Course I would’ve,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter when or where. Could’ve been another life, another world—" his thumb stroked absently along your waist, voice dipping into something quiet, something certain—"I still would’ve found you.”

The words settled into you, warm and heavy, threading through your ribs, curling tight around your heart.

Then, suddenly, he was smiling—just a little—as his hand came up to your face, cupping your jaw, his thumb sweeping along your cheek.

“Maybe in a normal world, I’d be the one pesterin’ you instead of the other way around.”

You laughed, tilting your chin up as you leaned closer. “I only ‘pestered’ ‘cause you’re too damn stubborn.”

Joel huffed softly, shaking his head like you were trouble, like you’d gotten under his skin in a way he’d never be able to shake.

But he pulled you closer, his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your face up just enough. His gaze flickered over you—your eyes, your lips—like he was taking his time, like he wanted to make sure you were committed to his memory.

And then he kissed you, slow and deep, breathing you in. Like a promise. Like an answer to a question neither of you had to ask.

His hand moved to the back of your head, lacing into your hair, the other tracing a slow path down your spine, pulling you against him until there was no space left between you. You sighed into him, melting, your fingers tangling into his hair as he deepened the kiss, as he drank you in like you were something precious, something he never wanted to lose.

When you finally parted, just barely, your forehead resting against his, his breath was warm against your lips.

“See?” you murmured, softer this time, “Slim pickin’s or not, I still would’ve found my way to you, Joel Miller.”

He exhaled, low and content, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before murmuring against them—

“I know.”

And this time, he did believe you.

[st4rfckerz]

joel just wants you to go to sleep.

Joel hadn’t planned on taking you with him when he fled the last city. Hell, he barely had a plan for himself, let alone anyone else. He’d meant to slip out quietly, same as always—no ties, no mess. But when it came down to it, and you were standing along the side of the road, looking half-lost and way too stubborn for your own good, he couldn’t just leave you there. As much as he told himself it wasn’t his problem, that you’d slow him down or get yourself killed, something about walking away didn’t sit right. So now here you were—stuck with him, and he was just as thrilled about it as you’d expect.

Night fell fast, and with it came the kind of quiet that made Joel uneasy. He found a run-down motel off the main road—vacant, dusty, and barely holding itself together, but it was shelter. The room only had one bed, a king-sized relic with sunken springs and stale sheets, but it was better than the floor. Joel didn’t say much, just dropped his pack by the door and lay down without complaint. You followed suit, careful to leave a respectful amount of space between you, not too close but not miles apart either. It wasn’t cozy; it was practical. Just two people trying to get through the night.

Everything was fine—silent, still, until the heat started pooling low in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through your limbs. It hit fast and hard, unsettling and unfamiliar, and suddenly the bed felt too warm, the air too thick. You shifted once, trying to get comfortable. Then again. And again. No matter how you moved, the restlessness only grew, a tight, buzzing energy under your skin that wouldn’t settle. You tried to be quiet about it, tried not to draw attention, but your body had other plans

Joel let out a low, tired sigh, the kind that said he’d been trying to ignore it for as long as he could. Then he turned toward you, voice rough and laced with irritation. “What’re you doin’?” he muttered.

You froze for a second, caught in the middle of another restless shift. “I don’t know,” you kept your voice low. “Can’t get comfortable I guess.” You stared up at the ceiling, hoping that was enough of an answer, hoping he wouldn’t press further—even though you could feel his eyes still on you in the dark.

“You guess?” he echoed, the words thick with skepticism. You didn’t say anything in response, the restlessness still bubbling inside you, but the words just didn’t feel right.

Joel let out another frustrated sigh, rubbing his face with one hand. “Just…go to sleep,” he muttered, clearly done with the whole thing. “You’re not gonna get any rest if you keep at it.” He turned away from you, pulling the blanket up higher, as if to shut down the conversation for good.

Time dragged on, the silence of the room only broken by the occasional creak of the motel’s old walls. But that annoying buzzing feeling didn’t leave. It was still there, pulsing beneath your skin, spreading relentlessly. You tried to ignore it, to force yourself to sleep, but the more you fought it, the worse it got.

You couldn’t take it anymore, so you decided to take care of it. Unbeknownst to Joel, you began to slowly, cautiously slip a hand down the front of your pants, your heart starting to race as your fingers brushed against the growing heat between your legs. You bit your lip to stifle a soft gasp, not wanting to disturb Joel again.

It was all Joel’s fault. He had no idea, of course, but everything about him made it impossible to stay calm. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, or the deep, gravelly tone of his voice when he spoke; it did things to you that you couldn’t shake.

Your breathing grew heavier and more labored as you began to work on your clit, your fingers working with increasing urgency between your legs. Then, out of nowhere, the lamp snapped on, flooding the room with harsh, orange light. Joel’s voice came out concerned, almost frantic.

“Hey, hey what’s the pro-”

But as he turned toward you, his gaze fell, and for a moment, his words caught in his throat. He froze, seeing your hand, hidden beneath your pants. A silence stretched between you two, thick and tense, as the realization hit him. Your heart skipped a beat, panic rising in your chest as you quickly yanked your hand out from under your underwear, eyes wide.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, face flushing hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean- it’s not-” The words tumbled out in a flurry, but they didn’t make much sense. All you could focus on was the sudden weight of the moment, the heat in your cheeks, and how you just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Joel blinked, clearly caught off guard, but then he let out a quiet breath and raised his hands slightly, palms out. “I-it’s okay,” he said, his voice low, steady, trying to calm you down. “You don’t gotta apologize.” He didn’t move closer, didn’t look away either, just kept his tone even. “Wasn’t tryin’ to scare you or nothin’. I just thought…somethin’ was wrong.”

You just stared at him, like a deer caught in headlights. You didn’t say anything, just looked at him like you were waiting for him to scold you, or worse, get up and leave.

Joel let out a long, tired sigh, dragging a hand down his face. He glanced over at you again, something unreadable in his expression. “Alright,” he muttered, voice low. “How ‘bout this—you let me help, and then maybe you’ll finally get some sleep, okay?”

You hesitated for a moment, heart pounding, eyes still locked on his. Then, slowly, you gave a small nod, unsure but willing, trusting him more than you trusted whatever was happening inside you.

Joel watched you for a second longer, then gave a short nod of his own. “Lie back.” His tone was steady—firm, but not unkind as he shifted slightly, waiting for you to move. Joel's calloused fingers grasped the waistband of your pants, his touch sending a shiver up your spine as he slowly, methodically peeled the fabric down your legs. He took his time, his eyes never leaving your face, watching as your breathing grew more ragged with each inch of skin he revealed. As the pants slid past your knees and pooled around your ankles, Joel paused, his gaze fell upon the prominent wet spot darkening the fabric of your underwear. Joel's eyes widened slightly. “Jesus Christ,” his voice a low, almost reverent whisper.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling tight as he drank in the sight before him. The lamp light cast a warm glow across your exposed skin, highlighting the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath you took. A low, almost inaudible groan rumbled in Joel's chest as he reached out with a tentative hand, his thumb brushing against the damp fabric covering your throbbing cunt. He could feel the heat radiating through the thin material, could sense the way your body shuddered slightly at his touch. Slowly, deliberately, Joel watched with hooded eyes as he worked the damp spot, his thumb gradually soaking through the fabric.

“S’that where you need me?” Joel asked, his voice just barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to echo in the charged silence of the room.

Joel's eyes darkened as your breathy “Yes” floated through his ears. With that, he tugged your panties to the side. The cool air of the room kissed your slick, heated skin, making you gasp. Joel's eyes locked onto your exposed cunt, taking in the glistening, swollen lips and the way your entrance subtly fluttered eagerly. He couldn't resist the urge to run a single finger through the slick, gathering the wetness that clung to your folds.

Unable to hold back any longer, Joel pressed a single thick finger into your pussy. He groaned at the way your walls clenched around the intrusion, drawing him in deeper. Slowly, he began to pump his finger in and out, eventually adding another.

“Joel…” you whined as Joel's fingers worked themselves inside you, your hips instinctively bucking up to try and find something more.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Joel rumbled, his deep voice sending vibrations through your body. His big hand rested heavily on your hip, this thumb gently stroking your skin. Joel's fingers pumped faster, plunging deeper into your soaked, clenching cunt.

Suddenly, Joel's fingers curled just right, brushing against a spot that made you arch off the bed with a sharp cry. Your inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, fluttering wildly.

“S’that the spot? Yeah?” Joel presses you with a slick grin plastered across his face. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, each exhale punctuated by a breathy moan that grew louder and more desperate with each passing second. “Yeah I know it is.”

With a final, keening cry of Joel's name, you came undone, your body convulsing as you cum all over his fingers.

As you floated down from the heights of your intense orgasm, Joel's hand gently brushed the sweat-dampened curls from your face. “There you go,” Joel murmured, his deep voice a low, soothing rumble. He brushed a stray tear from the corner of your eye with the pad of his thumb, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

“Now get some sleep.”

Your body felt lighter, your mind quiet for the first time that night. You didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. You just let your eyes slip closed as the calm finally took hold.

[erased-heart]

joel's drabble

Tw: oral sex, age gap, old joel (50's-60's), public.

The music was a soft hum, a complement to the wet sounds that your mouth is doing.

You savour every inch of his hardened cock, traying to keeping it deep down your throat as much as possible. With watery eyes yoo look up finding Joel watching you.

"Look at you, such a pretty little whore" Joel chuckled as he arranged the hair that fell across your forehead, "Should be dancing with your friends not sucking this ol'man's cock"

His dirty words made your pussy clench. He had a point, a decent girl wouldn't be in a dark alley kneeled in the boots of a man old enough to be her fater, but you can help it.

Where is the good girl you used to be? Joel took her broke her, there's no cure for you, except what only he can give to you.

Hii, i'm new in this but i have a lot of ideas in my phone notes haha, let me know if you like it or if there is a mistake in the writing (not native here).

Besitos ♡

[rafeovermorals]

thinking about having family dinner with dbf!joel.

it started out innocent, or so it seemed.

he held casual conversation as the two of you sat in the dining room while your father finished cooking in the kitchen.

the usual small talk, “how was school today?” “good.” “learn anything new?” “not really.” nothing out of the ordinary.. until halfway through dinner he felt your foot tap against his leg.

he brushed it off, thinking it was an accident at first. but then you did it again, more deliberate. intentional.

he was wearing his uniform wrangler jeans and a pair of carhartt boots, still layered in saw dust from a long days work. you had on a pair of thigh high socks and a skirt, one that was probably too short to be wearing around guests, but joel wasn’t just anyone— he was like family.

his eyes narrowed at you across the table, speaking to you with his eyes as he chewed on a piece of meat. really, kid?

you looked back at him, a smile tugging across your lips. you scooped a spoon full of mashed potatoes, bringing it to your mouth and letting out a soft hum as the taste buds filled your mouth.

your tongue swirled around the utensil, your gaze not leaving him. joel’s jaw ticked in frustration, watching you. you knew exactly what you were doing, and your dad was fucking oblivious, rambling on about something neither of you cared about.

but you weren’t done there. your foot inched up his leg, running past his calf and knee until you settled it between his spread thighs.

his eyes flickered down, seeing your sock covered foot propped on the chair as it rested against the inside of his thigh.

“it’s really good tonight, daddy.”

joel nearly choked. you were talking to your father, but the teasing tone in your voice let him know your words had another meaning— one that was meant solely for him.

he wasn’t a man to get flustered easily, or really at all, but you were fucking killing him.

you were rubbing into his crotch, continuing to eat like this was just a normal thing to do. he was frustrated now, tongue pressed in his cheek while he held himself back. he could feel the warmth radiating from you even through the thick denim of his pants, which were now straining his cock as it twitched beneath your sole.

you smirked, feeling his length grow and harden under you by the minute. you snuck a glance back at him, meeting his stern expression that spoke to you once more. stop it, now.

you didn’t listen, of course not. damn troublemaker.

the friction of the fabric on his erection was overwhelming. he gripped his beer, knuckles white as he took a swig in attempts to suppress his desire. it didn’t work, not even close.

he had become sensitive with his old age, easily turned on and difficult to restrain his arousals. it was like he was a teenager all over again, minutes away from cumming in his boxers at your touch alone.

he pushed back in his chair, enough for your foot to fall down to the floor since your legs weren’t long enough to stretch. you gave him a pout, which he didn’t bother to entertain.

“lil’ minx.” he grumbled under his breath, turning away from you.

you didn’t like that one bit.

on cue, you dropped the fork you were holding out of your hand, it hitting your plate with a clank to catch joel’s attention before it bounced to the ground.

“mr. miller, can you get that for me please?” you asked, voice sweet and masked of any guilt as you batted your lashes.

he glared at you, letting out a grunt at your faux act. you were playing with fire, too brave for her own good. what girl in her right mind would fuck around with a man— who was her fathers best friend— right next to him?

he bent down and ducked his head under the table to pick it up, only for the sight in front of him to make him freeze.

there you were, legs parted with a perfect view of a thong so thin it was hardly covering your cunt. you were spilling out in front of him— glistening, needy, so pink and pretty.

you were shuffling around in your chair, the material further riding up and pressing into your clit.

as you lifted your bottom off of the seat, he hooked his fingers around your panties and pulled them with a tug, pocketing them into his jeans faster than you could blink.

he returned up from his knees, handing you the tool with a smug.

“so, how about dessert?”

happy birthday pedro <3

[joeloverture]

beneath the window | j.m. drabble

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you suck off joel by his workbench. warnings: 18+ mdni. smut/pwp. deepthroating. sucking cock. praise. ball worship. joel miller is affectionate. he's also ever so slightly subby while maintaining slight dominance. oh and implied age gap. throatpie. word count: 1579 a/n: i wrote this in an hour i'm so so so so sorry. the new photos ruined me it's probably bad. i'm horny. down horrendous. want to please him. etcetera. enjoy in lieu of being sad. he lives on in our hearts blah blah blah. @ovaryacted this is for u.

Anyone passing the window of Joel Miller’s workshop would be none the wiser to what you got up to beneath the window sill.

It’s a lazy, idle Sunday morning. Dust motes float through honey-colored shafts of light coming in through the muddled glass. There’s not a sound except for the scuff and scrape of sandpaper on Joel’s latest woodworking venture.

The door is closer to his bad ear, and your footsteps are muffled by a pair of fluffy socks you’d nicked off of Ellie. He doesn’t hear you, shows no sign of noticing you until you’re right next to him. His breath cinches as you press a soft kiss into the plane of his neck. One hand rubs at the knobs of his broad shoulders, the other trailing down his abdomen to preemptively flick the button on his jeans wide open.

“Whatcha doin’, honey?” he croons as soon as you’ve sunk to your knees. You let out a soft little noise as you kiss down his clothed abdomen. It tightens under your ministrations. The scraping at Joel’s desk stops as he reaches a hand down to cup your cheek. A calloused thumb brushes at your parted lips, luring a breath out of you.

“Nothing, Joel,” you say, an innocent glaze slicked over your wanting eyes.

“Mmm, don’t look like nothin’ to me.” His thumb tugs at the petal of your lower lip. You nudge the corner of your forehead into his pudge, feeling him. Breathing him in, that smell of pine burning in a hearth. His eyes shoot shut when your nose taps at the tip of his cock through his jeans. “Been missing me, sweetheart? ‘S that what this is? I ain’t been lovin’ on ya enough.”

“You love on me plenty, baby. Gotta let me love on you.” You bully the zipper down with a simper crooking at your lips.

His cock is already half-hard. He’s told you it’s pavlovian, whatever the hell that means. Something about how whenever you’re around, he can’t stop himself from needing you. From the heat between your thighs that feels like a startled sunburn, from the slick already leaking into the gusset of your panties, you suppose you’re pavlovian too. 

You spit hastily into your hand, giving him a quick pump before you circle your hot mouth around his head, flushed and wanting. Joel groans, hips giving a shallow jerk against his stool. You give him a chastising glare — he’s already had to put the seat back together three times after… incidents.

“Alright, alright,” he relents. His hands leave you altogether, returning to the clutter upon his desk. You hear a knife scritching at wood, the wet suckle of your mouth against his tip. His breaths are choppy as you suckle on him, tongue working at the vein below his cock. Your fist, as small as it is compared to his wide girth, tries its best to wrap around the base, now fully hard and solid. He lets out a jagged pant as you dip your head deeper, urging his cock further back in your throat. More saliva meshes between your mouth and his cock, and he gives a bit of a jerk between your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

A shaky breath tumbles out of him. “Shit,” he exhales as you hear a noise a little too similar to the prick of his carving knife against his thumb. He might be crafting, but you see the blister of his gaze on you, two hot coals searing through your skin. Looking through you, seeing your basest desires. 

“There ya go,” he rasps as you bob your head at him, swirling your tongue around where he stretches your lips wide open. You tug back, tongue slipping out to lave at the precum oozing from his slit. “So pretty,” Joel says, eyes only on you. 

You smile as you dip below the curve of his cock. You raise a slippery palm to his balls, already within arms reach on account of how low they hang. With a little squeeze, his hips cant up again, and you arch a brow at him. Joel groans, hand fumbling down to the back of your head. It’s too gentle to urge, but just stern enough to cradle you as your lips lock around one of his fuzzy balls. Your tongue swipes and spirals along the thin skin as your hand goes to join, toying with the other. You all but fondle him, working him over, under, and around; all of the ways you’ve gotten to know him in your relationship. You suck at his sack.

You shouldn’t be all too surprised to hear his strained whimper, but he does. His cock twitches from the lack of attention. You pout at him. “You’re so needy, Miller.”

“For you, darlin’? Hell, I’m lucky I ain’t already creamed in that tight little throat ‘a yours. Keep goin’.” You whine at the praise, a low keen in your throat as your thighs stitch together again. You give him an all but wanton look, diving back into his sack.

You suck and tweak and slurp at his balls, alternating between the two. He seems to forgo all attempts of woodworking as he has one hand wrapped with an ironclad grip around the ledge of his desk, and another, much gentler hand, wound against the back of your head.

You give an especially hard suck to the ball in your mouth, a rush trickling through you as you feel it tense up between your locked lips. “Fuck me, honey, ‘s so good. You’re so good.” His head dips forward, eyeing you as you tongue at him. You hold eye contact with him, absorbing that heaving in his chest, the jump of his Adam’s apple, the crook in his brows that you’ve kissed so many times before. His eyes are blown wide above you, breath torn in his lungs. 

You swish saliva in your mouth as you draw back and loosen a string of it along the bulk of his cock, all the way to his slit. He flinches, entire body drawn tight and loose at the same time. His nails dig into the back of your skull, nudging you forward. “Oh, goddamn. C’mon, honey, suck it. Know you wanna suck it f’ me.”

You only languidly pump him, smearing the saliva you’d just spread all over him. You flick your tongue over the tip, followed in close succession by your thumb. You tuck your head lower, determined to take him as close to the base as you can get it. You make room for him in your throat, nudging him deeper and deeper with each shattering breath he takes. His cock almost springs into the back of your throat, tapping at your gag reflex, cozying up beyond it. You gag, sputtering. Spit hangs out of your lips, drags along his length. His groan is debauched.

His voice is hoarse and roughened with desire as he says, “Pretty fuckin’ thing, gagging on my cock. So damn good at that.” You would smile around him if not for how much he stretches your mouth out.

You settle for bobbing your head faster, letting him barge against the back of your throat again, again, again. You choke and heave lightly against his cock, which serves to only quicken his breathing. From where you are on your knees, you can see the clamping of his abdomen. You pull back only to sink back down, taking him from his swollen, leaking head all the way to his base. You nestle your forehead against his stomach, a tiny little whine stumbling out of you. Your fist tightens around the part of him that can’t fit into your mouth.

Joel’s hips jerk. Ragged groans spill from his throat. His hips buck at every single swivel of your tongue against him, even more so at every grasp your throat takes around him. He whimpers. Your eyes burn and you aren’t sure why until a crystalline tear leaks over your waterline. Precum tickles down into your throat and you swallow it instinctively.

Joel makes a noise as if he’s been punched. His cock jerks in your throat, balls tighten under his base. His cock catches at the back of your throat. He gasps out, “Blowin’ me like it’s your fuckin’ job, goddammit, oh honey that’s, shit, baby, I���m coming, I’m comin’—”

His tip bumps the back of your throat. His moan is subdued and so, so breathy. Your navel sinks with heat as he breaks in your mouth, hands clambering against the desk, against your head, wherever he can find purchase as his cock spews cum down your throat. You whine, swallowing him down through his peak. His hips buck and jerk, thighs tightening and loosening. His body loosens, slumping against the desk. His gasps and the glucking of your throat is all you hear. 

“G-good girl. Thas’ a good girl for me,” he exhales. He pulls back, fully spent and heaving from pleasure.

“Mhm, you’re welcome,” you quip, smirking. 

His thumb reaches up to swipe a tear from your eye. He pats his thigh as he gets up, tucking himself into his jeans. He hisses from oversensitivity. “C’mon girl. I might be done, but I can smell that sloppy little slit from up here.”

He clears his desk in one swipe, and based on that dark glint in his eyes, you’ll be lucky if he lets you stop at two.

[toxicanonymity]

Dear Toxi,

At your suggestion, I used Resistbot to contact my congress people and representative and asked them to vote “no” on the SAVE act. If you can, I would love for you to write something about Raider Joel and Sweet Pea. They are my favorites. Thanks for all your great writing and your activism!

Thank you for your activism and ask. glad to provide raider. 🫡🖤 SAVE act | 5calls | resistbot | ask event: blorbos for democracy

Feast

raider!Joel x f!reader | 1.9k words

WARNINGS: 18+ PWP, 🐱 eating extravaganza, a little forceful, dubcon overstim, PIV, cockwarming, dark fluff, a bit of angst, light somno, Raider Joel needs a permanent hug. NOTES: Morning after Bodies / The Kiss but can read alone. Ty @iamasaddie for the gorgeous pic, ty @milla-frenchy for listening yrs before i write it sometimes, ty @dark-scape and everyone who supports me 🖤 🖤 Joel miller masterlist

You begin to wake up with Joel's hair tickling your breast as he works his way down your body, dragging his lips over your skin. After spreading your legs and resting them over his shoulders, he presses his open mouth to your hip, then inner thigh. 

His inner thigh kisses get closer and thirstier, sucking at your skin, capillaries bursting with pleasure as they rise to the surface to be seen by only him. Marked for no one but Joel. He noses your cunt and dips his tongue for a taste, then his tongue presses hard into your warmth. You moan quietly, feeling everything, but you're still so tired. It was a peaceful night, restful, but hard to shake the heavy slumber. 

You want to be in his arms, but his big hands holding your hips while he plunges face first into your cunt… It's so good, his arms can wait. The day can wait. The morning light filtering through the clouded window can wait as long as need be while Joel Miller takes his time. 

He laps at your pussy, then sucks at your clit. He flicks his tongue and feels you squirm. He reaches up and palms a breast as he eats your pussy like he hasn't had a meal in days and this might just sate him for the week. 

You throb, and pressure builds in your front, in your blood. His lips and tongue possess your pleasure center. His beard scratches your inner thighs, and you spread your legs further, beginning to squirm slightly under his touch. He looks up for a moment, but his eyes are behind a haze of pleasure, and yours are still closed. 

“Ugh,” you moan and your hips lift into his mouth. 

“Mm,” He grunts into your pussy and continues to play with your clit. He flicks his tongue, sucks hard, and listens to you unravel, closing his eyes, losing himself in the primality of consuming you for his pleasure and yours.

“J-joel,” you breathe, not loud enough for him to hear.  Need to feel his lips on yours again. His lips on… your other lips. The ones on your pretty face, the ones that whimper his name, this time asking, “Joel?” with no reply, only a crescendo of pressure swelling in your core. 

You drift back to the night before, the moment your mouths connected…. you float there with the swelling pressure as your buoy, until the riptide pulls you under, into the ghost of his mouth taking yours, and the pleasure breaks in a crashing wave. Tumbling over your senses, it rolls you onto the shore of his bed, soaked and trembling, gasping for breath with his head between your legs as he swallows your peak. 

The taste of your pleasure, your climax only makes him more voracious. While you're bathing in the high, he licks at your entrance, sucks and swallows. Plunges his tongue into you, searches for more. He tilts his head, fucking you with his tongue from different angles.  He’s a starving canine licking marrow out of bone. 

He brings his thumb to your cunt and holds it there on the spot that makes you whimper with the slightest pressure.  He fucks you with his tongue, then flattens his fingers and rubs at your clit, rolling it it in short quick strokes, building another fire in your belly with his tongue in your core. His thick fingers work you like a tap, drawing more of your arousal to coat his tongue. 

“C'mere,” you whimper, and he doesn't let up. His tongue thrusts into you. He laps over your entrance, up your slippery seam, before plunging his tongue in again, with his hand still aflutter. You squirm and he sucks, and then you're coming against his face, and he moans against your throbbing clit, then nudges it with the strength of his tongue and seals it with an open kiss.  His mouth breaks away to gush, “good girl.” 

Your legs tremble over his shoulders like a gelatin dish carried by heavy steps to the kitchen table where a hungry mouth waits. He holds one thigh, thumb and fingers pressing into the soft flesh over your muscle, and gives it an aggressive kiss, lips smacking as he pulls away and sets his eyes on the feast between your legs again. 

“Can you come here?” You ask, and he glances up at you with his mouth planted between your legs again. 

“It's, it’s too much. I can't,” You whimper. It feels like you could pee, like you could lose complete control. Does he hear you?  

“Joel, Joel,” you repeated. 

He sucks below your clit, flicks his tongue up against it before sucking again. He closes his eyes hard, and his hand comes to your breast.

“come here,” you echo and it comes out strained, stretched by pleasure, pulled apart by him.  You try to sit up, try to use your lower body to nudge him toward you, toward the pillow, but he forces you down, holds you firmly in place. You begin to lift his hand off your breast to break the spell, to get his attention, and his hand seizes your wrist.

Your resistance only makes his mouth more aggressive in its quest to swallow you again. 

You give in.  

He feels you relax, glances up, then interlaces his fingers with yours and it feels all better. The tension leaves your back and legs, your neck relaxes, your head sinks into the pillow. All the tension melts, flowing down to your center where it builds in your depths for a third time. 

His lips break away with a rumbling breath. 

“One more, baby,” he pants, “one more.” 

His tongue runs through your folds, up one side and down the other, circling your juicy hole, then giving it a suck before returning to your clit. 

His hand tightens its grip on yours, so large and commanding. Tight and firm, his palm flexes, his fingers press into the slopes between your knuckles.

His hips rut against the bed as he fucks you with his face. The movement of his ass, the telltale. rhythm of his hips and his tongue together, it tickles something in your solar plexus, opening you with a desperate need to be filled.

His head between your legs dips and pushes his mouth harder in rhythm with his hips against the bed. Tongue, hips, tongue, hips, suck, hips, suck, harder. With a pit opening in your center, you beg, “I need you inside.”  

You find yourself jealous of the mattress, wishing you were the fitted sheet that he was rutting against. Nevermind how many hours you were treated to the same push of his hips. How many nights. Nevermind that his face is buried in your cunt. You want him inside you. 

 A tear rolls down your temple.

You whimper his name, and he takes a breath to promise, “One more and you can rest, baby.  One more.” 

You can do it. You can do it for him. With tension coiling in your depths, with one hand in his, and the other in his hair, you watch his eyelids hover half open, then close with the soft rake of your nails across his scalp. 

Your hips lift with his hungry touch and he moans into your cunt. 

A growl escapes his chest; warm, damp air against your lower mound. The coil winds so tight you fear the snap as you begin to crest. But when the tension breaks and springs you open, the rush of release makes you glad he hadn't stopped. It floods every inch of you with a sizzling buzz.

It makes your body dizzy, and it makes you sleepy. He laps up all your arousal, all your release, everything he can, his hips still moving in rhythm. He slowly fucks the goddamn mattress with you quivering against his tongue. 

And then, finally, he’s done. He licks his swollen lips swallowing more of your taste. His neck and face are pink, the lower half is shiny. His breath is heavy, and so is yours as you recover. 

“I'm comin’, sweet pea,” he assures you. He lets go of your hand to prowl up your body.

He hovers you, and you glance down at his stiff, leaking cock, angry with so much blood and need it can hardly contain. It bounces heavily against your belly, right where you want it inside. 

He reaches down, aligns your bodies, and your breath hitches as he slides into you with a powerful thrust, plunging nearly all his length through your soft walls. He packs you full, just like you wanted. You're tired, so tired, and your face becomes peaceful as you're made whole. 

“You can rest now, baby,” he pants. With his length sheathed in your soft warmth, he slides a hand under your shoulder, pulls you against him, and eases you back into how you were sleeping - on your sides, facing each other. With a grunt, he hikes your leg up so he can bottom out fully with a sigh. 

An aftershock squeezes his shaft, making him shudder. He strokes your face, possessively cups the back of your head, with his thumb on your temple, then he brings his face to yours and kisses you once again.  With your mouths joined, he breathes through his nose, kissing you deep, letting his tongue slide into your warm, soft mouth, feeding you your own taste, collecting more of you for himself. Another spasm echoes from your walls, and his hips jerk. His lips break from yours with a groan, and his cock throbs, erupting warm and heavy.

Deep, so deep.

His pelvis tilts trying to inch ever further into you like he could fill your whole body up if he tried, and maybe he could. But he remains almost completely still as his balls empty into you through the twitch of his cock. 

He interrupts his shaky breaths to kiss you for a few seconds, lips clinging to yours. Then he pulls back to look you in the eyes and asks, “You okay sweet pea?”  

“Yeah,” you whisper with a nod. He holds you, and the rhythm of his breathing feels like a lullaby. 

“Let's stay in bed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you whisper in agreement. 

You're wrapped in his arms, full of his cock, almost back asleep when his arms twitch and tighten around you.

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. “Yeah. ‘Course I am, sweet pea.” He kisses your forehead.  But unease grows beneath the peace he feels, slow as cordyceps and just as real.

The truth is, each time your bodies are joined, he’s less sure how to separate them. He's not sure how to get out of that bed without you physically attached to him. Like a limb or a second skin, the thought of shedding you, even for a moment, makes his oxygen drop, unsettles his gut, has his pulse thrumming in his neck. 

“Just... always need more of ya, baby,” he mutters with a shift of his hips, then another deep breath. 

“You have all of me,” you whisper. 

"Yeah," he whispers and nestles your head under his chin where you can feel his thick swallow. 

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Thank you for reading 🖤 I have terrible anxiety with this series sometimes, there's so much I've scribbled and not shared. Your comments help a lot.

Please also consider sharing this fic - it's a great way to help resistance efforts by spreading the ask and links and enticing people who might otherwise scroll past this kind of information.

[tightjeansjavi]

Mine

A/N: um…hi! I write piss kink now? 👹 I don’t know what came over me today but I was sitting at my desk and just thinking about that mean old man, when all of a sudden, I thought hmm…what would it be like if Joel pissed on me? Then I proceeded to think about the prospect of him peeing on me while I was in a WORK meeting and well, you guess where this is going ;) oh! Fun fact, I wrote most of this in the shower! (How fitting) don’t read if this sorta content disturbs you, and if there’s any puritans out there that wanna call me a sick fuck and tell me I’m going to hell, baby, I’m already there! Feminism went completely out the window on this one!

~word count: 2.7k~

Summary: Joel Miller fucks you the same way he does every night…until he decides to switch things up for the first time.

Pairing | dark!joel x f!reader

Warnings: dark!joel, rough/mean Joel, overstimulation, heavy on the degrading kink, breeding kink, biting, dom/sub dynamic, oral f receiving, spit kink, pussy slapping, slight dubcon, piss kink, implied free use, Joel calls the reader his bitch and cocksleeve, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, no specific age for the reader, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Hot wisps of breath fan the shell of your ear. There’s a sheen of sweat coating your skin when his tongue darts out to taste a droplet of your perspiration on his tongue. His strong hips and thighs cage you posessively as he drives his cock further into your already ruined and messy cunt. His thrusts are relentless, and with each heavy punch of his cock into your cervix, you’re gasping for air; begging, pleading for him to let you breathe, but he always refuses.

He takes you like this the same way every night. Never soft and sweet, always rough and demanding. He’s like a rabid dog that broke away from its chain and headed straight for you. Ripping, clawing, and gnawing on your soft flesh. He takes and takes when, and however he chooses.

His large hands, calloused and scarred, act as a brand upon your skin. He molds you to his liking, pressing your face further into the seedy mattress till you can taste the dust ridden fibers on your tongue. His hands are capable of inflicting so much pain, and you can only imagine how many people he has killed with them.

He grunts against your ear, teeth biting down on the soft lobe till you’re yelping for him to stop and he removes his heavy hand from your soft cheek momentarily, only to grasp your hair between his fingers and roughly yank your head up from the mattress. Hot tears blur your vision. You’re in a confused daze, his words sounding muffled as you gulp down lungfuls of air.

“Ain’t much use to me if my favorite cocksleeve stops breathin’, sweetheart.” He gruffly teases, an edge of playfulness in his tone. “Keep on breathin’ in that sweet, sweet air. It’s the only shred of kindness you’re gonna get from me tonight.”

He forces your back to meet his chest, arching your spine to meet the heavy thrusts of his cock splitting you open. He drops your hair, your scalp feeling raw and tender from how hard he was yanking on it. His strong arms encase around your middle, fat fingers tormenting your nipples. He squeezes and pinches them before he shoves you right back down into the mattress.

“Turn your head to the side so that you can fuckin’ breathe.” Is all he says while he reaches for the old headboard for leverage. The shitty mattress shakes and squeaks beneath the weight of his heavy thrusts when he picks up his grueling rhythm, again.

You listen to his advice, if you would even call it that, and turn your cheek to the side so that your airway isn’t restricted. Your trembling hands reach for the tattered sheets, and your fists clench the fabric for any sense of support.

“Atta girl.” He rasps, blunt fingernails dig fiercely into the soft flesh of your hips, taking and marking you with red crescents indented in your skin.

“J-Joel.” You try to find your words, but they are muffled and fragmented. Your mind is too focused and centered on the pleasure rippling through your body to even try and protest.

“Shuddup and take it like you always do, baby. Know you can. Don’t gotta act stubborn about it.” He hisses between his clenched teeth, bending his chest forwards against your arched back. He sinks his teeth into the spot where your shoulder blades meet.

In some twisted and erotic way, he is mating you. His primal nature to breed you, and claim you as his; only his, takes over as he bites down on your flesh hard enough to draw blood to the surface of your delicate skin. And you have no choice but to let him, because despite how used and abused Joel Miller makes you feel, you keep coming back for more because no one fucks you like he does.

And when you don’t respond to his crudeness and condescending tone, he feels pleased by your submissiveness and need to please him.

“Was startin’ to think that my perfect little fuck toy wasn’t gonna show up for her fucking tonight. Thought maybe she had finally woken up and realized her worth, but then I find ya outside my door like a stray puppy jus’ waitin’ to be fucked.” He grunts deeply, slowing the movement of his hips before drawing them back slowly. “Cus’ no matter how many times you try to deny it, you love bein’ my cock sleeve. My fuck toy. You fuckin’ live for that shit baby, and you know what? I think it’s about time that I reward you.” He lets out a throaty breath before driving his hips forward, knocking the air from your lungs in tandem with his hips sharply jutting into the soft swell your ass.

His sweat slick skin slaps against yours, the obscene sounds of sex, and your ruined pussy squelching around the thick intrusion of his cock, send your eyes rolling back into your skull when you struggle to lift your cheek from the mattress to look over at him.

“W—what kind of reward?” You choke out, lips falling open in an o shape when his fat cock head nudges against that inner soft and spongy spot deep within the walls of your inviting warmth.

He chuffs a laugh, lifting his head up from where his teeth were just embedded into your skin. “Ah, there she is. Eager as ever, huh? Be fuckin’ patient, baby. Before I change my mind and decide you don’t deserve a reward at all.” He snaps, slamming his hips forward once more before he draws them back again. He slips out of your sopping pussy completely, leaving you on the edge of your approaching orgasm.

His cock is glistening in the low light, a creamy ring of your combined arousal coats the thick, veiny girth of his cock. He scoots back just enough so that he can watch the way your pussy pulses and drools a trail of enticing slick down between your trembling thighs.

He uses his thumbs to pry your inner lips apart before he spits a glob of saliva between your gaped, pulsing hole, and down to your untouched clit, swollen and puffy with need.

“Such a messy little pussy. You should see the way she’s winkin’ at me right now. So needy and desperate for my cock to fill her up with my seed, ain’t that right?” He sounds drunk, words slurred together, darkened eyes glazed over in lust. He licks his lips, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal like a hound dog locked on a trail. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet, too.” He groans before surging forward, burying his face between your parted thighs.

He’s never eaten you out before. Always claiming that you were undeserving of his skilled mouth and tongue. But tonight he’s finally given into tasting you, and once he’s had a lick, he can’t stop. He keeps you pried apart at his leisure, dragging his broad nose right through your trail of slick from the source. His lips suckle on your clit before dragging downwards to tease your folds, sucking on them, too. He’s eating you as if your pussy, and her sweet, sweet, nectar is his life source.

Your body jolts forward when his wiry beard scrapes at the apex of your thighs. He growls against you before reaching around for your hips and anchoring you in place once more so he can continue feasting.

He obscenely slurps and groans against your cunt before drawing his face back for a lungful of air. His chin and beard are glistening, coated in your arousal when he licks you from his lips. You think that maybe he’s finally having a change of heart when he flips you onto your back with ease, your breasts bounce from the movement when your back hits the mattress with a soft thud.

He never strays from fucking you from behind, on your knees with your face smashed into his mattress. That’s how he always takes you. His way only. And yet, here you are staring up at him with your big doe eyes bright and innocent. Your lips parted when he grabs the back of your knees and presses them towards your chest.

“Make yourself useful and hold those for me, will ya?” He barks out an order.

You scramble to grab the underside of your knees, sweaty fingers nearly slipping before you are able to have a solid grip around them.

“Good girl.” He nods before wedging himself between the small opening of your thighs. He catches that almost hopeful glint in your eyes and shoots it down immediately with an intimidating glare.

He brings one hand to the back of your scalp, roughly yanking your head upwards so you’re making direct eye contact with him. His dominant hand is loosely wrapped around the shaft of his cock, and he slaps the fat mushroom head against your puffy clit to gain your attention. “You focus right here.” He snips, brows furrowed together in a harsh line across his forehead. “Don’t you go and gettin’ this twisted, ya hear me? I know how you women work. Y’all think that jus’ cause a man does somethin’ different for once, that he’s softenin’ up to ya. He ain’t. You’re still my bitch, my little cocksleeve, and you’d best be wise to remember that, baby.”

“Y-Yes, Joel. I’m still your—”

He cuts you off with a low snarl when he begins to feed you his cock from this angle inch by inch, glancing down between your bodies so he can see your pussy pulling him in further. “That you are, my girl. Still feelin’ jus’ as eager for your little reward?” He questions with a cock of his brow, smirk tugging across his devious face.

“Please.” You beg him softly, not understanding what it was you were begging him for in the first place.

“Such an eager little cocksleeve to be pumped full of my seed, baby. Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckles, pressing his hips forward till he’s completely bottomed out inside of you, and the coarse thatch of hair above his pubic bone presses into your clit.

Wait…what?

You look at him dumbfounded, shaking your head and hoping that you just misunderstood what he was saying. “What?”

“What?” He mocks your surprised tone condescendingly.

“Joel.” You try to reason with him, “we—we can’t! I—I don’t want to carry your fucking kid!”

“Aw.” He pouts, drawing his hips back before slamming them forward again. “You don’t wanna be filled to the fuckin’ brim with my seed? You don’t think your pussy wants that, baby? I think she does.” He teases.

“No, Joel. Please. Anything but that. You can come on my tits, my face, just please—not inside!” Your mind is already reeling at the possibility of having to carry Joel Miller’s fucking offspring in a world such as this one. You felt like one of those breeding mares shipped off to some stud farm to be passed around between stallions till one of their foals would inevitably stick—

He laughs cruelly at your fear and the way it dots your vision. He can imagine exactly what’s going through your mind at that very moment. “You should see your fuckin’ face right now.” He snickers. “Relax, sweetheart. I got a vasectomy years before the outbreak.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel! Why didn’t you just start off with that?!” You yell in his face, wishing you could punch that stupid grin right from the perfect pout of his kissable lips. You feel the tension visibly leave your shoulders when he satiates your fears of pregnancy, even if he does it in such a cruel manner.

“Cus’ I like toyin’ with ya. It’s entertainment for me, baby. You’re so easy to play with. I can do it with my eyes closed.” He muses before rolling his hips forward.

“You’re such a dick for that.” You attempt to chastise him, but your attempt is fruitless.

“Now, don’t go thinkin’ you’re entirely off the hook now, sweetheart. I do believe you said earlier that I could do anythin’ else I wanted to ya, right? Your words, baby. Not mine.”

Damn, his mind is sharper than a fucking arrow.

“Yeah…I did say that you could cum on my tits, or my face—”

“Mmm…nope. That ain’t gonna cut it for me unfortunately. I think I wanna do somethin’ else.” He trailed off, meeting your slightly nervous gaze with a small tilt of his head. How could his words and body language always be so fucking…mean?

“Okay, well, what else do you want to do?”

He shrugs his shoulders in disinterest before he grabs your hands that are still secured around the backs of your knees and removes them quickly so that your thighs fall open. He wants you spread at his mercy when he begins to ram into you, over, and over again. “You’re just gonna have to wait and find out.” He grunts deeply, bending down at an angle so he can nip at the juncture of your neck.

Your head lolls to the side so he has easier access and the pleasure starts to coarse through your body till he moves his mouth down the clavicle of your chest. First he starts off with chaste kisses to the swells of your breasts, and then he toys with the pert nipple between his lips. You let out a soft mewl that quickly turns into a high pitched yelp when his teeth sink into the sensitive pebbled flesh, hard.

“OW!” You cry out at the assault of his mouth. He does it again before switching to your other nipple, delivering the same mistreatment before he soothes the broken skin with his tongue.

You jokingly call him an animal thinking that he would disagree and scold you for it, but instead…he leans into that side of himself. He fucking loves it.

“Yeah, baby. I am a fuckin’ animal. You got that damn right.”

He fucks you like one too, till your creaming around his cock, leaking out around his thick girth that continuously punches into your pussy. He slips out suddenly with a wet squelch, leaving you feeling a little dazed and positively fucked out.

“Still want your reward, baby?”

You nod dumbly, cock drunk and eyes glazed with stars still twinkling behind them.

“Alright, my little cocksleeve. Close those pretty eyes for me, and no peekin!’”

Your eyes snap shut on command, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

The old mattress squeaks when his weight rises from it. You think about risking a peek to see what exactly it is that he’s doing, but you decide against it.

He stands above you on the mattress at his full height, looming over your spread legs while your ruined pussy is still drooling along the soiled sheets. He looks down at you with his cock wedged between his fist.

You can hear the wet sound of his fist jerking himself off before you feel the hot ropes of his seed coating your face, lips, neck, chest and lower. He shoots a load across your tummy, and right down to your pretty spread pussy.

Well, I suppose that’s a nice…reward? You think to yourself.

“Ain’t done yet, sweetheart.” He scolds you lightly from above when he sees your thighs beginning to close up like a nighttime flower closing its petals till the sweet kiss of sunrise.

He really has more than that? Damn, I underestimated this sick son of a bitch.

He relaxes his shoulders, letting out a decompressing sigh before he slowly releases his bladder with a sick smirk plastered on his face.

First, you detect the familiar stench of urine, and then the steaming liquid lands on your face, trickling down your lips. You let out a sound of protest and lift your hands above your head to shield yourself from his piss. It trails down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and between your thighs, mixing into the trail of slick between them.

He’s marking you like a fucking dog marks his bitch, and you’ve never felt more degraded and humiliated in your entire life till you find youself under Joel Miller’s golden fucking shower. The stench of urine and cum stings your eyes and the sensitive hairs in your nose.

He bends down, cock now softened between his thighs and places one hand along the side of your face, brushing away a stray dribble of cum and piss from your lips with his calloused thumb.

“Now, no other man is ever gonna want to fuck my bitch when she’s reekin’ of my piss and cum.”

~~~

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[lovethestarrs]

JOEL MILLER size kink (kinda?)

CW: fem!reader, pwp, size kink (duh), tummy bulge, praise, pussy pronouns, dom and sub dynamics, pet names (baby), a little bit of corruption, mating press? I didn’t want to google it so…

JOEL MILLER leaning over you, his broadness cloaking over you. His cock sooo deep and hitting the right places making you spiral. “Look at her, baby, she’s takin’ me so well,” he coos, your legs over his shoulders. His hands were interlocked with yours laying against the bed. He’s angled perfectly it was like you could feel him nestled into your stomach.

He slammed into you, almost knocking the damn wind out of you, “Joel!” You mewled. “I know, I know. But you can take it, can’t you?” Your eyes are tight knit as you bite your lip, nodding. He continued pressing into you, stirring your guts around and almost immediately shooting his load in you. “You’re so deep, Joel.. Too deep. Can’t take it!” You’re just spilling words out at this point, too cock drunk to say anything properly, your words getting knocked out by his thrusts. “Shh, baby. You can take it, she can take it.”

One of his hands unlink from yours, moving down to circle your clit. A jolt surges through you, a moan erupting from your throat. “Oh, God, Joel, please.” You don’t know what your pleading for at this point, just asking him to stay with you, in you, nestled into that sweet little spot. Joel feels you squeeze around him, letting out a whiney groan which makes your brain go fuzzy for a moment, like some electrical shock.

Joel keeps going deeper and deeper, stirring your guts around. Joel looks down to see his cock making an outline in you. “Oh, baby,” he wraps a large hand around the back of your neck, pulling your head forward, your eyes open to the sight in front of you. He was so deep you can see him fucking you. His cock making an impression in your lower tummy. “Oh, Joel.” You whined as his finger continued to work their magic on your now sensitive button.

“Yeah, baby? Like seeing my cock stretch you out, hmm?” Everything sounded so filthy. The sounds and words coming out of his mouth, he liked ruining you, ruining you for anyone else. “J-Joel ‘m gonna cum.” You mumble. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock. When you cum I’m gonna fill this pussy up so full you’re gonna be dripping.” Only a few more thrusts and you became undone, writhing as you moaned his name. The sight unfolding in front of Joel made him cum almost immediately. “Oh, fuck.” He groaned before his eyes closed, relishing in your pussy, the warmth and the tightness welcomed him in like the smell of apple pie. He came and he did follow up with his words, he shot hot ropes of cum into you, filling your cunt full of his seed.

“Oh, baby. You took me so well.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before collapsing over you, his weight pressing into you provided a sense of comfort and protection. He was so big he covered you almost fully. And surely, his cum spilled out of your spent hole, dribbling onto the sheets. But, that was a problem for later…

[pedrospatch]

strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He’s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

“A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓