#joel/reader

[punkassfrance]

Focal Point - Joel Miller / Fem!Reader

NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Movie night has never been Joel's favorite Jackson community event- tonight, he's actually enjoying himself. You deserve to enjoy yourself too, right? This work contains smut, grinding, assisted masturbation, worship, hand and finger kink, mentions of spanking, feminine/afab reader, public sex, bratting/brat taming, and an established relationship.

Usually, movie night in Jackson is delightful. Fresh popcorn, good movies, a community to share something with. You try not to miss them. Joel’s not a fan of any event that involves people and leaving the house- but movie nights are one of the few things he can tolerate. Nobody looks at him, it’s dark, nobody talks to him if he gets out of the community center fast enough. Most of all, it satisfies you and Ellie’s desire to make sure he socializes. Joel drags his heels about it, but he’ll do anything for his girls.

For once, he actually seems interested in the movie. It’s a shitty action flick, one he somehow hasn’t seen yet. He usually eats these up, leans forward like the terrible special effects are just riveting. Maybe it is to him. For you, this is the blandest movie night since Maria found a box of silent movies.

You squirm beside him, watching his profile. He seems calm at least, distracted from the stressors of social interaction. Once the lights come up, the stressed lines in his forehead will reappear, but for now, he’s almost smiling. His smile is so comforting, especially considering how rare it is. They’re really only reserved for Ellie, you, or the animals hanging around the settlement. Dogs run up to him, sheep let him approach. He’s not completely heartless. You’ve learned that much at the least.

When he smiles, you know all is well. It means he’s at ease, not too concerned to crack a grin at Ellie’s dumb jokes. Something’s always concerning him. The weight of the world sits on his shoulders, and all you want is soothe the pain. Whatever it takes.

His hand rests on your thigh. It’s a comforting motion for him, you think—something to remind him you’re there, remind him you’re warm and breathing. Late at night, in your bedroom, he’ll worship your thighs like there’s nothing else on earth worth his attention—they’re one of his favorite parts of you. Here, it’s just the easiest way to show affection. He’s not too high up your leg, never enough to stir gossip, just enough to let any onlookers know you’re spoken for. It’s usually the most PDA he’ll allow.

Christ, his curls look good tonight. He hasn’t trimmed his hair since you moved to Jackson, too busy helping Ellie adjust and building a life for the three of you. It’s a full-time job, on top of the responsibilities he’s taken up around Jackson. No time for vanity among all that. He’s settling into the role of family man, even if he won’t admit it.

You sit up to whisper in his ear. “This movie sucks.”

He leans down to you. “That’s the best part.”

Relaxing into his chair, he squeezes your thigh and sighs peacefully.

The movie lost your interest a good forty minutes ago—unfortunately, you still have half an hour to go. It might not be exactly rude to go home now, you’re both in the back of the room, but you don’t want to make Joel leave when he’s finally enjoying a community event. This is a rare occasion for him—one you’re not willing to sacrifice, no matter how bored you are. It’s either this or take Joel on walks around the neighborhood to socialize like a dog, and while you might be able to get him into the collar, it’ll be harder to get him outside.

He takes his hand off your thigh to roll his sleeves up, and your mind wanders.

He’s so impressive—you watch him work all the time, admiring the body that cares for you and your community. Even his forearms draw your eye, ropy and strong. When he clenches his fists at his sides, you fight back the urge to trace the tendons and veins in his arm. It’s just one part of him, of course. Everything about him is worthy of worship, every inch of tanned skin, every bit of muscle and softness you spend your nights rediscovering.

You wrap your hand over his when he replaces it on your thigh, pulling it higher up. He doesn’t seem to notice, just settles back into his chair and rubs his thumb over the denim. The motion isn’t helping the sudden burst of energy, the heat brewing in your lower stomach. It’s more than a cerebral desire, more than knowledge that you’re the luckiest woman in Jackson. Once you get to admiring him, you’re starkly reminded that you are a human animal. A human animal that is deeply, deeply attracted to your man.

As your eyes linger on his rough, calloused hand, you feel the fever mounting.

You pull his hand again. He glances over at you, raising an eyebrow before flicking his eyes back to the screen. The final heist of the movie is beginning on screen, something Joel wouldn’t dare to miss—but his fingers twitch on your thigh. He’s onto you.

Higher and higher, his fingertips drag and catch on the texture of your jeans until his hand is so close to where you need it. It’s so warm on your upper thigh, right where it creases into your hip. Another inch or two…

You hear him exhale in the seat beside you, hand squeezing your thigh as he leans in. “Can I help you?” He glowers out of the corner of his eye, crossing his legs.

“Only if you want to.”

You’re the only two at the back of the room—nobody’s looking at you, all focused on the last tense act of the movie. There’s nothing stopping you from messing around. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“You’re on your own.”

You huff and look up at him. He seems to be pointedly ignoring you now, eyes fixed on the screen. He picks up his beer with his free hand and tips it back. His hand looks so big around the bottle, tensing as he sets it back down on the table beside him.

Glancing down at his hand again, your fingers trail over his bones and scars. As he releases his grip, you tenderly trace the callouses, then the lines where his palm creases.

You tug his hand upward again, nudging him between your legs. He’s so warm pressed into your damp panties, firm and perfect to rock against. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move to help you. No, he’s still enjoying the goddamned movie. As though his horny girlfriend isn’t grinding on his hand, practically begging for his attention. Heartless bastard.

Your legs spread slightly, giving yourself a bit more room to work with. As you rub your clit on the heel of his hand, you whimper softly into his ear, anything to tempt him into action. It’s a little tricky through your jeans, but you manage to get pressure on just the right spot.

He huffs beside you and takes another drink, glancing around the community center. The movie is nearing an end, but nobody seems to notice or care about your distraction. Thank god for it, too—his hand is too addicting to stop now. His hands embody so much of him in your mind. They work so hard on the things he loves, hold you so tight, wipe your tears, caress you when you curl up next to him in bed. Even when he chokes you out, your hands come up to hold his as your vision blurs.

“You’re a fucking brat,” he grumbles in your ear, but he makes no move to take his hand away. Your grip isn’t firm, he certainly could if he wanted to. “Better finish up quick, mi amor. Movie’s almost over.”

Struggling to hold back a moan, you turn your face to press into his shoulder. You’re not going to last nearly as long as you thought you would, too busy rutting and grinding against his hand. Probably for the best—it sounds like the villain is dying on screen. It’s about time to wrap this up.

Driven by your own stubborn defiance, you grind his knuckle right into your sensitive clit and squeak into his shoulder. Every second you feel yourself pulse, each shudder slowly working you through the rapture you’ve brought yourself.

He finally gives in, just barely, rubbing at the inseam of your jeans as you come down from the dizzying high. As solid as his will is, he loves guiding you through your orgasms- he could never resist teasing at the edge of overstimulation.

As you push his hand away, the lights come up, applause thundering through the room as the credits roll. If someone were to look at you now, all they’d see is your flushed cheeks, lips parted to catch your breath. If they watch close, they might catch the little damp spot between your legs—but if anyone tries to get a good look, Joel won’t hesitate to knock their lights out. The protective violence shouldn’t turn you on.

Shouldn’t.

He leans in, kissing your cheek and gazing at you with a calm smile before he whispers in your ear.

“When we get home, I’m going to bend you over the arm of the couch and tan your fuckin’ hide. Then I’m gonna stuff my fingers in your greedy cunt and fuck you ’til you cry.” His voice gets huskier as he finishes the thought—you chew on your lip and glance down, stifling a giggle. He’s going to have a rough time hiding the firm bulge of his cock as you walk home together.

“Bring it, old man.”

Hope you enjoyed! Find this work on AO3 or check out my about me, feel free to say hi or leave an ask/request! Thank you to @jennaispunk for taking a look at this for me before posting :3 comments are always appreciated!

[tightjeansjavi]

⟡ sentiments n’ bubbly ⟡

A/N: so, this one another one of my post shower thoughts that has now transformed into this little fic 🥹 this time of the year is a struggle for myself and for others, and I hope it can bring us all a bit of peace before the new year 🤍

~word count: 4.5k~

pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: it’s NYE and you find yourself in Joel Miller’s coffee shop. He’s a firm believer that no one deserves to spend New Year’s Eve alone.

Warnings: angst, fluff, no age gap, discussions of self image issues, bullying, food/eating, language, anxiety, fear of social situations, fomo, mentions of therapy, NYE blues, self deprecating thoughts, flirting, meet-cute, no outbreak/modern day AU, Sarah and Tommy exist in this universe, soft!joel, mentions of alcohol, reader has no physical descriptions such as body type or skin color, some content included may be triggering for some as Joel and the reader have some very real conversations about life. +18 minors dni!

It’s New Year's Eve. The official last day of the year. A whole 365 days has come and gone, and yet, you find yourself feeling the same way you did last year. It wasn’t like you had a particularly terrible life or anything of the sorts, but you still had your struggles. Your daily contemplations over whether you were doing enough, being enough in your little life. You try to focus on all the good that happened in those 365 days of life.

All the laughter, smiles, the warm fuzzy feelings that you found yourself chasing more often than none. The bad times always find their way to trickle in and weasel into your conscience like an infection. The truth is that you know life comes with both good and bad memories. But why is it so hard to push back the bad? Why is it so easy to beat yourself down? You could have done this better, you shouldn’t have said the things you said, did you remember to turn your out of office on before you left the office?

Shit. There was that one email I didn’t get to.

Maybe you find yourself trying to cram in as many last minute tasks before the new year. Closet clean out? You haven’t worn that sweater in months..yet, you find yourself holding onto it because it was a gift from a dear friend, and you don’t want to unintentionally hurt their feelings by donating or regifting it.

Fridge clean out? Well, it does say that horseradish never expires..but you can never be too careful!

Clean your living space from top to bottom? Maybe next year you’ll invest in cleaner products for both the earth and your brain cells. Bleach can be awfully nasty to deal with.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of you. Leftovers are your meal of choice for the evening. You spent hours cleaning your kitchen, and you’d rather not have to do another wipe down till tomorrow.

Hey, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight? We’re leaving in an hour!

It's not that you don’t want to go out with your friends, it’s the steps before getting out the door that have always been a struggle for you.

What if my outfit doesn’t look the way I planned it out in my head?

What if I completely botch this makeup look?

What if the club is too packed?

You hate feeling this way, often thinking you’re a burden to your friends because you're constantly planning ahead of time. Living in the moment for you has always been tough. A gray area that sometimes you have found yourself making peace with, and other times you just wish you could be different.

You reach for your phone while you’re already mentally planning the steps in order to get ready in time. Being late is never an option, even when it’s just a fun night out in town.

Hey, I thought it over and I’d love to come out with you guys :) see you soon!

You send the text in a flash before tossing your half eaten slice of pizza onto the coffee table and rush to your room.

You tear up every inch of your closet looking for the perfect outfit. It's New Year’s Eve after all, and you want to be shimmering like a grand disco ball.

The outfit is on, and you look great! It turned out even better than you pictured it in your head. But the longer you stare in the mirror.

Fuck. Can’t I just turn my brain off for one night? Please?

And there it is, again. That gnawing little voice inside your head that pops up, gleaming and waving its hand just in case you forgot that it existed.

You aren’t actually going to wear that..are you?

It looks all wrong.

And you’re going to be freezing—

Your friends are going to look 10x better than you—

“ENOUGH!” You shout to no one in particular before you stomp off to the bathroom.

After taking a deep breath, you pull out your array of makeup from one of the bathroom drawers. Pinterest becomes your best friend again while you scroll to find a makeup look that screams you.

Bold. Glittery. Too much glitter?

There is never such a thing as too much glitter. You remind that little voice inside of your head.

Even with your ‘going out playlist’ on full blast, you feel your confidence begin to shrink and diminish as you stare at your painted face in the mirror. It’s not exactly like the picture you found on Pinterest, but there’s no time for you to change it now.

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s your friends sending you a group picture of all of them pregaming in their glittery outfits and bright smiles. You heart the message before typing back,

Wow, you guys look amazing! Please don’t be mad, I’m just not feeling up for it tonight. I hope you guys have a blast and stay safe! :)

Your friends understand, because they know that this has always been a struggle for you. A sore spot that hasn’t exactly quite healed the way you wish it had. It’s hard to dig yourself out of a hole that you dug, but you're grateful that they have always been so understanding.

No worries, we love you, and Happy New Year!

And all you feel is guilt.

But instead of wallowing away in your apartment, you grab your coat, purse and keys before making the final decision to go out.

You find yourself outside of a coffee shop just down the block from your apartment. You passed by it everyday during your commute to work, but you never found yourself going in, until now.

The coffee shop is found to be empty as most people are already out to dinner or at a party. It’s somewhat comforting that it’s just you and the lone barista who hadn’t heard you come in yet. His back is turned to you while he wipes down one of the counters, humming to himself as he moves about.

You're immediately drawn into how cozy everything feels. From the decor to the crackling fireplace to the soft music playing through the speakers.

The man turns then, towel gently grasped in his hand when he finally registers that he’s no longer alone. He takes in your attire, finding it odd that someone all dressed up for the evening found themselves here. Then he remembered how his daughter told him it’s rude to judge strangers because you never know what the next person is going through.

He smiles warmly instead. “Hey there, I was uh—jus’ about to close up for the evenin’ but can I get you anythin?’” He’s got a face that you already know you’re going to have a hard time forgetting. Strong built frame, yet soft in all the right places and despite his exterior appearing to be hardened, he seems friendly enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed that you were closing up for the night..I don’t want to keep you here. I can always come back another time?”

He detects the way your face slightly begins to fall as he lightly taps his fingers along the counter top he just finished wiping down. “S’alright. I forgot to change the sign out front so that’s all on me. So, what can I get ya? It’s on the house.” He gestured to the menu board above his head.

You hesitated for a moment as you didn’t want to inconvenience this man who probably had his own New Year’s Eve plans to get to. “Are you..sure? I really don’t mind coming back another day.”

“S’alright, I promise. I don’t have anywhere important I need to be anyway.” He said with a slight shrug.

“No fun New Year's Eve plans? And I’ll take a cappuccino, please.” You stepped closer to the counter as you reached into your purse for your wallet.

“Nah. ‘Supposed to meet my brother at a bar nearby for a couple drinks, but he can wait a little longer.” He was already reaching his hand out to stop you from pulling out your wallet, when your eyes met his.

“For the tip.” You said with a smile while placing a couple five dollar bills into the tip jar.

“Oh, thank you. ‘Awfully kind of ya.” He responds softly, out of surprise because most people never bothered to tip. He might even be blushing a little..but he can’t really tell. Maybe it was just the steam from the espresso machine.

“It’s no problem. Gotta support small businesses, y’know?”

He nods in understanding. “Yeah, it’s the least people can do. Anyway, I’ll get that Cappuccino goin’ for ya. Feel free to sit wherever.” He gestured to the empty tables.

The table closest to the fireplace ended up being the one you ultimately chose. It happened to also be his favorite spot as well, go figure.

On any other occasion, Joel would call the customer's name once their drink was ready, but given the current circumstances..and the fact that he hadn’t asked for your name, bringing the coffee to you was perfectly acceptable.

“Here’s that Cappuccino for ya.” His voice drawled above you as he set the mug down in front of you. “Let me know if I can getcha anythin’ else. I’ll just be in the back finishin’ up with the cleanin.’”

“Thank you..” you start to say before realizing that you don’t know this man’s name either.

“Joel.” He clears his throat. “My name is Joel, and you are?..”

You tell him your name and he nods with a small smile.

You're left alone to your thoughts as his footsteps disappear behind the countertop once more. You can faintly hear him busying himself and putzing around as your cappuccino begins to cool without you realizing it.

You find yourself vacantly staring through the windows, and the dimly lit streets and passerby’s. You’ve always had a fond love for people watching and imagining what their lives were like. What their jobs and aspirations were. Did they have a family waiting for them? What made them happy? Would they be able to relate to you?

You don’t even hear Joel’s approaching footsteps nearing the table until he’s saying your name with an edge of concern in his voice because you’ve neglected to have a single sip of your cappuccino that has now become room temperature.

Your eyes meet his deep brown warm ones as your own sense of confusion washes over you.

“Is everythin’ alright? You haven’t touched your cappuccino at all..” he’s not offended, nor hurt, but the empath in him is genuinely concerned, even though you’re just a stranger in his coffee shop.

“Oh.” Your voice falls flat. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I guess I got lost in my own thoughts and completely forgot about it.” You feel bad, awful actually because he took the time to make you this drink, and all you had to do was just drink it—

“Hey, it’s alright. I find myself getting lost in my own thoughts as well. But, I can’t have ya drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino. I’ll make you a new one, alright? It’s no trouble at all.” He’s already reaching over to grab the mug.

“Joel, are you sure? You really don’t have to—”

He cuts you off reassuringly, “I insist. I won’t have my customer drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino on my watch. Ain’t no way.”

He disappears back behind the counter before you are able to protest. Joel returns 10 minutes later with two mugs in hand. You listen to the sound of the chair across from you scraping before he slowly sits down.

“I uh—hope you don’t mind me joinin’ ya? You jus’ seem like you could use some company, darlin.’ S’that alright for me to call you darlin?’”

He’s sweet like warm sticky molasses and honey. He actually might be the nicest guy you’ve met in a long long time.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Joel. I could actually use the company, and you can call me darling. That’s alright with me too.”

He smiles at you over the rim of his mug that is clasped between his hands. He gently blows on the billowing steam before he takes a small sip. “So, do you have any fun plans for the evenin’? I’m only assumin’ cus’ you’re all dressed up for a night out in town.” He gestures to your glittery getup that sparkles under the warm flames.

“Well, I did have plans to meet up with some friends tonight..but I wasn’t feeling up for it in the end and somehow ended up here.” You said with a sigh before taking a sip of your own Cappuccino. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“How come?..if ya don’t mind me askin?’ And I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it. Tastes a lot better when it’s hot.”

The last thing you expected tonight was to engage in a conversation about your daily anxieties with this absolutely gorgeous man. Whom you just met, but crazier things have happened before.

“I don’t mind you asking, Joel. I just don’t want to burden you with my troubles or anything. Especially since I think they’re a bit silly and blown out of proportion.” Your eyes casted downwards into the mug.

“Hey, I doubt you can do that, and between you and me? I’ve heard it all. Got a teenage daughter who’s goin’ through all the things that I’m tryin’ to understand..but as a single father, it’s fuckin’ tough sometimes. But I’d be happy to act as a listenin’ ear for ya.” He genuinely means it, too.

“You have a daughter? How old is she? Teenagers can be a handful, that is very true.” You responded thoughtfully while leaning back against the chair.

You watch the way his eyes light up like a Christmas tree when you show a genuine interest in this man’s life. It’s sometimes a rare occurrence to meet a stranger who you feel like you can just immediately open up to without thinking too hard about it.

“She just turned 13 this year. She’s a good kid, super smart. The kinda kid that probably will end up growin’ up and changin’ the world. She’s..well, my world.” He clears his throat and you notice his dimple poking out in his cheek.

As if this man couldn’t become any more attractive.

“Anyway, she’s already goin’ through some friend and boy drama and it’s jus’ a lot to keep up with. Her mom ain’t in the picture either, so it’s not like I can turn to her for any guidance. She went to her first ever school dance this year in a dress that she picked out. The next thing I know, she’s callin’ me up in tears because some kids thought it was okay to make fun of how she looked. I know kids can be mean sometimes, but I wanted to go in there and teach those little shits a lesson myself.”

He was quite the protective father.

“Kids can be real bitches sometimes, Joel. I never quite understood it myself. Especially since I’m sure your daughter was just minding her own business and having a good time? I learned at a very young age that there’s a lot of jealous people in this world that enjoy causing pain in others for no apparent reason.They might have their own struggles, but that is no justification. Those kids that bullied your daughter will hopefully learn from their mistakes sooner rather than later.”

“She was just mindin’ her own and having a great time. She was so excited to wear her dress. It jus’ makes me so goddamn angry because I can’t protect her from everythin’ out there. It’s somethin’ that I’ve really struggled with this year especially. And I’ve tried to talk to my brother about it, but he doesn’t get it either.” Joel said with a sigh. “I’m glad that you can understand all of this though. I don’t really have any female friends to talk to about this stuff either.”

“Most kids grow out of their ‘mean’ phase after highschool. I can admit that I went through a phase similar to that. Made a lot of mistakes that I had to hold myself accountable for. But, with your love and support, I think your daughter is gonna end up being okay. She’s lucky to have you as a dad.” You reassure him.

“Really? You don’t seem like the type of person to ever hurt someone..then again, I ain’t perfect either. Never have been, never will. I’ve had my own regrets as well. But, I appreciate all that you’re sayin.’ S’Nice to be validated every now and then.” He leans forward with his elbows resting along the table and you’re just beginning to notice how broad his shoulders truly are under his faded flannel.

“I don’t think anyone can ever claim to be perfect. We don’t know everything and can make genuine mistakes. But all we can really do is learn from them, make it up to the people we may have hurt, and move forward. I think you’re a really nice person, based on our conversation, Joel.”

“You’re right, darlin.’ No one in this world can claim they are perfect. It's impossible.” His knee brushed yours gently from how close he was leaning in giving you a clear indication that he was actively listening to everything you were saying. “Anyway, I’m sorry I went off on that tangent jus’ now when we were talkin’ about your New Year’s Eve plans.”

“Dammit.” You sighed with a smile tugging on your lips. “I thought you forgot all about that.”

“Nah. I’m pretty good at rememberin’ even if I find myself havin’ to circle back. So, you didn’t feel up to meeting’ your friends tonight?”

“I was going to, truly. But I just got into my head way too much. It started with finding an outfit to wear. I absolutely tore my closet up and I’m really dreading having to clean it up later. Anyway, I’ve got the outfit on, right?”

He nods while taking another sip of his Cappuccino.

“I’m feeling great, and loving the way the outfit looks on me, and then there’s that stupid mean voice inside my brain. You know the one?”

“Ahh yeah. The voice that tells us that we’re unattractive and worthless? Like when we put on our favorite outfit and it’s not fitting quite right, and we know it’s silly to cry over clothes..but sometimes we just can’t help it? And that voice is right there beating us down because sometimes we forget that it’s natural for our bodies to change?”

Damn, he’s good.

“So...you hear that voice sometimes too? I honestly thought I was alone in this feeling. I tend to keep these thoughts to myself because I don’t want to burden others, y’know? I do see a therapist, though. It definitely has helped a lot, but I’m still struggling.”

“Darlin,’ I know exactly where you’re comin’ from. I had these favorite pairs of jeans that I would wear pretty much everyday. Well, just this past month I found that they ain’t fittin’ the way they used to. The zipper wouldn’t budge, and then I spent a good hour tryin’ all the tricks in the book to get those suckers to fit. Well, none of it worked and then I started beatin’ myself up. Sayin’ all the nasty names I could come up with. Then after all of that, I thought about all the delicious meals I had this year and especially these damn ice cream sundaes that my kid is obsessed with. Suddenly, the jeans not fittin’ didn’t bother me as much anymore.”

“Ice cream sundaes are delicious, and even more-so when you are enjoying them with your daughter. I pretty much went through the exact thing that you’re describing. I know that we shouldn’t give into the societal bullshit of looking a certain way to appear more attractive, but it’s just hard sometimes. That’s why I try to cycle through my closet every now and then so I’m not holding onto clothing that doesn’t fit me anymore. Did you end up keeping the jeans?..”

“She’s been requestin’ them for dessert pretty much every night, and I have a hard time tellin’ her no. They are absolutely delicious. It is definitely hard to pass them up sometimes. It’s comforting to know that other people go through the exact same thing that we’ve gone through. I did in fact donate the jeans, and then bought a new pair the same day. Wearin’ ‘em now actually, and I gotta say, I think I look quite good in ‘em if I do say so myself.” He said in a cheeky tone that sent heat rising on your cheeks.

“Well, I think you should stand up, if you feel comfortable doing so, that is, and let’s see what this jeans talk is all about.”

He grins at you, eyebrows playfully dancing while he sets his mug down along the table before pushing his chair back to stand up.

He gives you a little spin, one that neither you were expecting, but you could tell that he was having fun showing off his new denim.

“Okay, respectfully? Those jeans look amazing on you, they are very flattering, Joel.”

He laughs a warm and hearty laugh as his cheeks turn beet red from your words. Even if you’re just playing along, he’s feeling charmed by your presence.

“Really? Y’know, I was thinkin’ the same thing and a’that..but I’m a pretty humble guy.” He said sheepishly.

“Joel, screw being humble. You’re wearing those jeans like they’re made for you! You gotta own that.” You said with a giggle.

“Alright. Alright. If ya say so, darlin.’ I appreciate the compliment, but have ya taken a look at yourself tonight? You’re glitterin’ like a goddamn mirror ball. Gonna blind me with all that sparkle Y’got goin’ on.” He’s flirting, now. He’s absolutely shamelessly flirting with you.

You find yourself leaning forward then, close enough that he can see the pretty shimmer painted on your eyelids and your undeniable flirty smile.

“Joel, are you flirting with me right now?” You’re feeling bold, and curious to know if you were reading the signs correctly, or letting your brain run a muck in theories.

“I am, darlin.’ Is that..alright? Cus’ if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can stop.”

“No, please continue to flirt away. I’m glad that you’re getting to see my outfit, Joel. I probably have glitter in places where glitter doesn’t belong.” You said with a light, airy laugh.

“You’ll be finding little bits of glitter all over the place well within the next year. Do you have any to spare?” He asked with a warm chuckle.

“Actually..I do have some to spare.” You reached for your purse along the side of the chair and pulled out your tube of glitter eyeshadow that you had brought just in case you needed any touch ups. “May I?”

“Oh, you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you have some to spare, huh?” He leaned in closer to get a better look. “That’s a really pretty color, darlin.’ You think I can pull that off?”

“I don’t kid when it comes to my glitter, Joel.” You said teasingly. “I absolutely think you can pull this color off. But, I’ll need you to close your eyes so I can apply this more eveningly.”

“Okay, I’m trustin’ you, darlin.’” He slowly closed his eyes then and only flinched a little when he felt the applicator glide across his eyelid. “Sorry, wasn’t it expectin’ to feel that damn cold.” He murmured softly.

“No worries, Joel. It can be a bit ticklish at times.” You scooted your chair in closer to him so both of your knees were tucked in between his as you delicately applied the shimmering shadow. Your tongue was peeking out between your lips as you focused on the task at hand.

He tried to peek his eye open once, before you playfully scolded him and said, no peeking.

To which he grumbled out a response with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Am I pretty yet, darlin?’” He asked with his eyes still shut as you admired your work.

“Very pretty, Joel. Okay, you can go ahead and open them.” You pulled out a little handheld mirror from your purse and held it out for him to admire his appearance.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the feeling before he averted his attention to the mirror you were holding. “Oh, shit. Wow. Y’know what..I actually think I like it.” He looked over at you then before he realized how close you were sitting to him. “Thank you, darlin’ I feel like I’m a mirror ball too.”

“It really brings out your eyes, Joel. They were already pretty before, but now, they’re even more beautiful.”

You were already forgetting about how awful you felt earlier, and the guilty feelings for turning down your friend's offer to go out. It admittedly felt nice to talk to another person that shared more things in common with you than you realized. To be validated, and in turn, validate someone as well? It felt really, really good inside.

“So, now that we’re both glittered up, and it’s two hours till the start of the new year, would you maybe care to join me for a drink? Only if you’re feeling up for it, that is.” Joel asked you with his eyes flickering back to yours. Truthfully, he’s happy that you somehow found yourself in his coffee shop tonight. He can’t remember the last time he’s connected with someone on such a deep and personal level.

“I’d love to get a drink with you, Joel.” You don’t even second guess your answer, and if the feelings come up later, so be it. That little voice inside of your head is nowhere to be found as Joel offers you his arm.

You help him finish closing up for the night before the two of you find yourselves walking arm in arm to the bar that his brother Tommy was at. During your walk, you find yourselves falling back into conversation that flows easy like a steady stream. When you bring up feeling guilty for often being a homebody, he reassures you that wanting to spend a quiet evening with yourself is perfectly normal, and it’s something you shouldn’t feel ashamed of. He goes on to add that if you want to go out more, that’s perfectly okay to do as well. But you should never pressure yourself to go out and have a good time, if that’s truly not what you want to do.

And when you find Joel’s brother at the high top with a glass of bubbly in front of him, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Joel, what is that on your face?” He leans in close to inspect the glitter shadow painted on Joel’s eyelids.

You and Joel turn to one another with two knowing smiles plastered on your faces before you laugh in unison, “it’s glitter, of course!”

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[ramenrains]

She's at Your Window • TLOU • Joel/F!Reader • Explicit • 12k • Complete

🔗: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58707901

[the-odd-shu]

Sun's coming up

(Pre-Joel x Reader)

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find it here! Along with the rest of the series.

Part 1 --> Part 2

Summary: When a spare pair of hands would have made Breakout Day just a little bit easier.

Word Count: 8,633

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

September 2003 - Outbreak Day

It had been just another typical autumnal day. 

A long, cold one spent on the construction site, hauling bags of cement around, and weaving around the puddles left over from the rainstorm the night before. The chill had been biting despite your layers of shirt, hoodie and high visibility jacket, and your temper had been growing short from exhaustion and dealing with delivery delays. You knew the foundations couldn’t dig themselves, but damn did your shoulders ache now from flinging your shovel around for so many hours.

And to top it all off, you had been late leaving tonight thanks to your chatty co-worker and were only just on your way home. 

Your body was weary. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, making it hard to plan what you were going to have for dinner, since your bed sounded like a much better idea than warm food in your belly. 

Perhaps, it was that tiredness that had distracted you enough that the crash had been your fault. Maybe you hadn’t checked properly before pulling out onto the next road. Or perhaps it was purely the fault of the asshole who had rear ended your vehicle at a truly fantastic speed. 

All you knew was that one minute, the radio had been chiming along merrily to ‘Take on me,’ by Aha, whilst you performed a left-hand turn out of a junction. And the next, there was an all-mighty crunch of metal as something colossal bulldozed into you with a painful lurch, that made your seatbelt bite into your neck and jaw, and your teeth clack sharply together. Your tongue only narrowly avoided being bitten clean off from the impact.

The squeal of tires from behind informed you that the driver was attempting to accelerate even now. Your truck was bullied off to the side of the road until one of its front tyres collided with the grassy bank, and then the second car leapt ahead, before veering dangerously off the road, straight into the trunk of a thick oak tree, twenty feet from the tarmac.

For a heartbeat or two, you did nothing.

You stared glassy-eyed down at your hands white knuckling the steering wheel, and then you slowly lifted your head to the busted car ahead of you.

Its headlights were still on full beam. Its bonnet wrapped around the trunk of the tree. From what you could tell, it was a blue Honda Civic, and it only carried the driver.

The driver who was not moving, nor making any attempts to exit their smoking vehicle. Both of which struck you as odd. In your experience, the stuck up people in this town loved to have it out after a crash and spar for the final word of ‘no, it was YOUR fault!’

Tearing your eyes away from the other car, you glanced in the rearview mirror to find your truck bed completely twisted and warped, and your back window spiderwebbed with cracks. 

Not again. This could not be happening to you again! It wasn’t even your car this time, it was a company car. And Joel had been horribly reluctant to lend it to you in the first place. He had only caved because Tommy had argued your case. That you lived in the butt fuck of nowhere, and neither he nor Joel wanted to take it upon themselves to drive further out of town to pick you up and then drive all the way back to town to get to the construction site. Surprisingly, Joel had caved easily enough and you had this truck until you could replace your wrecked old one. 

He was going to ring your neck personally when you pulled into the parking lot tomorrow. And you had no doubt that Tommy was going to be laughing his ass off as he watched.

“Fucking damn it.” You cursed, shakily glancing back forward.

The interior of the other car was still devoid of movement. 

Silently, you debated driving away. And then you debated calling your repair company further down the road. And then you finally realised that you could do neither before checking the other asshole was alive and breathing. That they were simply choosing to channel their anger into calming down before exiting their car to come and talk it out with you.

Anxiously, you waited for another minute.

The driver’s door remained stubbornly closed. So with a groan, you pressed your hazard lights and reached down to unclip your seatbelt. 

With a huff, you angrily slammed open your car door and stepped out onto the tarmac.

“This is what I get for having a bleeding heart.”

The road you were on was one you used every day to commute to and from work. It was a small thing, winding and tight, with a field of tall, yellow grass swaying on one side, and the beginnings of a pathetic forest darkening the other. There were no street lamps out here. So you could only see by the diminishing orange glow of the sunset disappearing over the trees, and what your truck and the Honda’s headlights illuminated.

The air was growing sharper now that the sun was setting, but the driver’s window was rolled down for some reason. But you let the thought slide away unexamined, since that just made it easier for you to talk to them.

Picking your way over uneven ground and fallen sticks, you carefully approached the rolled down window. The yankee candle air freshener blew over your senses from the active air conditioning unit, the car itself still running. Odder still. Wasn’t having the air con on and the windows rolled down counter productive?

People could be so odd sometimes.

Stepping up to the window, you absently noted the woman behind the wheel was dressed in scrubs, her stethoscope still curled around the nape of her neck. Her head was lolled forwards in her chair, only her seatbelt keeping her upright. And she was twitching. Sometimes it was small jerks of her fingers, but mostly it was violent twists of her spine that had spittle dribbling down her chin from her slack jaw. 

“Shit man, are you okay?” You breathed, feeling unease settled like a stone in your belly.

You yelped, jerking back from her window as her seatbelt did the rest of the work. She writhed in her seat, twitching like someone was electrocuting her nerves, and babbling incoherently. She didn’t seem to remember how to unlock her seatbelt. 

At the sound of your voice, her head snapped up and towards you. Her eyes were wild. Her pupils were blown and her eyelids were pulled back to show the whites all around her irises. Spit-slick lips peeled back into a snarl, and she lunged for you.

Okay, tonight just got a whole lot weirder.

“I’m just, I think I should call you an ambulance.” You fumbled to explain, to which she squawked and tried to lunge at you once more. “Shit! Stop that!”

What the hell was that? A fucking breakdown? A panic attack gone wrong? A fit? Rabbies?

Turning your back, you jogged back to your truck.

You didn’t fucking know, and you were no medical expert. Best to leave it to the professionals. 

Tapping your work trousers, you groaned again when you remembered your phone was in your bag in the passenger seat. 

The road was utterly deserted in both directions as you returned to your truck and hauled open the passenger door. Rustling around in your bag, you found your phone tucked away beneath your high-vis jacket, and then you noticed the shovel that had somehow ended up in the footwell. 

Despite your situation, the sight startled a little laugh out of you. You must have been so tired after today, that you hadn’t let go of it until you got into your truck. Even from here, you could definitely see the company logo engraved in the handle. Hopefully, with the truck in the state it was, Joel wouldn’t even notice it was gone. 

Straightening up, you dialled emergency services and waited for the call to go through by leaning on the backdoor of the truck. The line rang and rang, and then suddenly went dead. You frowned and tried again, only for the call to immediately void. 

Pulling the phone from your ear, you checked to see that you had signal. A deeper frown. This road was notorious for four working bars, and now you had absolutely nothing. 

“Shit.” You cursed aloud, because it made you feel a little better.

Mentally, you ran through every first aider course you had ever sat through, and glanced back towards the crashed Honda. Only, the silhouette of the driver within was gone.

Your skin prickled at the eerie sight.

Heart beat picking up in your ears, you slowly retraced your steps back around to the driver’s side. Your phone was heavy in your hands; forgotten.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded too loud in the stillness of the road.

Your feet froze mid-step at the sight of the nurse crumbling to the dirt; convulsing. One of her legs was still awkwardly caught on her window sill from where she had clambered out. And you could just make out a strip of seat belt hanging from between her lips, which she chewed on in jerky, uneven motions. She was panting. A wet, desperate sound as if she couldn’t get enough air in.

Every instinct you possessed, screamed at you to back up. 

This wasn’t right. 

She wasn’t right.

Your boot landed on and snapped a twig when you made to retreat. The resulting crack was sharp and crisp in the otherwise silent atmosphere.

With predatory speed, her head snapped towards you.

You remained frozen.

She audibly sniffed. Dragging in deep lungfuls of air.

Then she harshly yanked her foot down from the car at a muscle straining angle. On wobbly hands, she shot to her feet, and charged at you. 

“FUCK!” You shriek, launching your phone at her head as you darted back. The device smacked into the bridge of her nose and bounced into the grass, but did little to actually slow her down. If anything, she seemed to forget she couldn’t bulldoze through the car as she had your truck, and did more damage to herself by crashing head first into the back of her car and bouncing off. 

“Stop it! You’re freaking me the fuck out!” You bellowed as you continued to scramble away from her.

She let out a warbled squawk in reply, and you heard her claw her way back to her feet. 

You needed a weapon! A stick! ANYTHING!

The awful noises she was making had the hair on your arms sticking up. It sounded like screaming, but the sound was warped and choked before it could fully escape her lips.

Behind you, she was on her feet again. And her attention was solely on you. You dared not look back, but you could hear her. Could hear the sniffing, the uneven, but unnaturally fast footsteps of her chasing you off of the grass and onto the road.

The SHOVEL! You could use the shovel!

Your truck was right there. Its hazards were still on, and its truck bed still twisted up from the collision. How stupid you felt now for not checking if the engine was alright. 

With fumbling fingers, you ripped open your passenger door. The woman slammed into it. Her nose crunched from the force before she toppled backwards and hit the tarmac. You shot your hand into the footwell, and wrapped shaking fingers around the shovel handle. The woman squawked again, rolled onto her belly and found her feet. 

She lunged. You threw yourself backwards just in time for her to slam into the open car door a second time and throw it shut with her weight. She threw herself off balance in doing so. She wailed, spun unsteadily on her heel, and stumbled straight into the shovel head you sent soaring for her skull. 

Dirt encrusted metal collided with bone. Her head snapped to the side with a painfully audible crack. And then she crumbled to the dirt. 

Your panting breaths were the only sound in the now too quiet road. Her car was still running, but you paid it no mind as you stared down at the body. 

“Oh god.” You gasped, as the reality of what you had just done dawned on you. She was dead. You had killed her. “Oh. God!” You repeated, stumbling back from the corpse and the pool of blood growing from her head. The edge of the shovel head had split the skin above her eye, and it was bleeding heavily.

This was a prison sentence lying at your feet. 

“Fuck.” You swore again. Hands shaking so hard around the handle of the shovel, that the tool was practically vibrating in your grasp. “Oh, holy fuck. I am so dead.” 

>_<

After a long few minutes of panicking, you dragged her back to her Honda and hauled her body back into the driver’s seat. If anyone came along, it would just look like a bad crash and they wouldn’t think much of it. Hopefully.

Your mind was hazy with panic. Every possible scenario running round and round in your brain, as you tried to recall everything the police had ever looked for in murder documentaries. You tried to wipe your prints off everything you touched with your sleeve. You stooped to locate your phone amongst the grass and dead leaves, groaning aloud when you found it cracked and glitching green when you tried to turn it on.

And then you thought, fuck it. Who were you trying to fool? Chances were, some Sherlock Holmes wanna-be would immediately deduce that the blunt force trauma to her head couldn’t have possibly been from the steering wheel, and then they’d figure it out from there. It might take them a few hours, but you didn’t have high hopes of getting away with this.

With dignity, you retreated (sprinted) back to your truck and stuffed your bloodied shovel back into the passenger footwell. When you got home, you would heavily bleach it until the metal shone. And then you would return it to the building site in the morning, and NO ONE would even know you were involved in this. 

Shit, how the hell were you supposed to go into work tomorrow pretending everything was fine when you’d just killed someone?

And how were you going to explain the bloody crumbled wreck of a truck that was now your work car? At least it was only the truck bed and the back window, rather than a side or the bonnet. The vehicle still drove fine and the engine sounded good enough for everything it had been through. 

With a couple of turns in the road, the crash sight was swallowed from view and you found yourself breathing a little easier.

Get home. You told yourself. That was all you had to do right now. Get home, have a shower, and try to sleep. You could call in sick tomorrow, and then figure out what the fuck to do from there.

Yeah. That was a good plan.

Cool. Nice. Great. Fuck…

Your truck turned a corner, and suddenly there were blue lights up ahead, and several armed silhouettes blocking the road. Surely they hadn’t found you already!?

The sun was fully set now, and the moon wasn’t yet at its brightness. The darkness meant that you noticed the people in the field rather quickly. Distracted from the road ahead, you realised that the field was in fact teeming with the headlights of several cars. Which was odd. There was no road going through that field. And the farmers certainly wouldn’t be out roaming it at this hour.

With effort, you turned your attention back to the window screen. It wasn’t any of your business. You just needed to get hom-

You almost chose to break, but then you briefly caught sight of the bloodied shovel in your foot well shifting and you knew you couldn’t. In your peripheral, the cars streaking across the field suddenly felt very promising. There was a small stream that cut threw it, you knew, nothing too deep. 

It was your safest bet.

Up ahead, one of the armed officers was striding away from his car towards you, a hand held up to signal you to slow down.

You did not. 

With a wild turn of the wheel, you veered sharply off of the road (like a guilty person) and slammed onto the uneven dirt of the field. The golden grasses were high enough to brush the door handles of your trucks, but not so high as to impede your vision. Plenty of it had already been trampled down by tyres and people, so you found it easy to navigate.

None of the police cars in the blockade seemed interested in following you, so that suited you just fine. 

You just needed to cross the stream and make for the road on the far edge of the field. It would meet up with the one you were just on, and then you were scott free for home. 

Up ahead, the glow of your headlights caught on shapes that rapidly morphed into people. A trio, from what you could tell. 

You were approaching them from the side, so you had a clear view of a duo of pedestrians being held at gunpoint by the third, who was decked out in full camo gear. His posture screamed that he was ready to open fire. And yet, he didn’t quite catch your attention as much as the others. Who, as you drew closer, morphed into a father holding his daughter.

You noticed the blood on them, and the dirt staining the girl’s pink T-shirt. Why did she look so familiar?

Your eyes jumped to the father, who was- WAS THAT JOEL!?

Your eyes leapt between the duo and the armed officer. You watched the way Joel backed up, mouth visibly moving as he turned his body as if to shield Sarah. His daughter was staring at him, only at him, and yet you could see the fear in her eyes.

You leaned forward in your seat and turned your lights up to full beam. Oh shit, it was Joel! And that had to be little Sarah clutched in his arms. Why the fuck was he out here? He left to go home hours ago?

You snapped your attention back to the guard. The guard who clearly had his rifle aimed straight at them. The guard who approached on steady, sure footsteps and didn’t look to be stopping any time soon.

Joel wasn’t even armed for fuck’s sake. He looked pleading, and Sarah just looked down right terrified. And the officer was not backing down. 

You had mere seconds to make a decision, and so you did. 

“Fuck it.” You said aloud.

This choice was an easy one. You were already fucked and destined for jail anyway when they inevitably discovered the nurse. Why stop now?

Setting your jaw, you put your foot down and blared the truck horn. The engine roared beneath your heels, and the tires screamed as they tore up the grass.

The guard froze mid-step, swinging round to face you, gun and all. But it was too late.

Your truck smacked him harshly in the knees and he went under your bonnet with a yelp. The truck ploughed over him like he was little more than a speed bump. A speed bump that shrieked and screamed and crunched under the belly of your truck. The force of him beneath the tires, made your seat lurch, and only your seatbelt kept you from flying across the car. The front types touched down, and the back of the truck jumped as the back set rolled over him. And then the suspension whined, and all four tires were back on the ground. 

You dared not look in the rear view mirror as you slammed on your breaks with a crunch of the brake pads and a lurch of tires.

Joel was just standing there, eyes wide and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from what had just happened. His attention was stuck on the bottom of your truck, and his posture was ramrod tense.

At least Sarah seemed to not have seen. Her face was now tucked firmly into her father’s neck, one of his hands cradling the back of her skull. Her arms were practically choking him with how tightly she was clinging to him.

Joel did not move towards your car, nor did he seem capable of continuing to run.

Jabbing the button to roll down your window, you stuck your head out. Joel’s attention snapped to you, and the tension around his mouth loosened in recognition.

“GET THE FUCK IN!” You bellowed.

You were uncomfortably conscious of the amount of people milling around the field. Of cars tearing up the ground as they sped off in all manner of directions. Of the police blockade that had forced you on here in the first place, and had no doubt just witnessed you mowing down one of their own as if he were a strand of grass. 

Your voice prompted Joel back into motion, and he rushed over to your truck and ripped open the passenger door behind your seat. “How did you find us?” He asked, panic high in his voice as he tried to quickly but gently set Sarah down in the seat.

Joel strapped Sarah in, and made to retreat and close the door, but her small hands wound tightly into the collar of his shirt. His expression was achingly reassuring as he tried to unwind her bloodied fingers. 

“Pure luck.” You offered, eyes torn between glancing in your wing mirrors to watch his back, and your windshield in case anyone took interest in you. 

Your stomach dropped at the mention of Joel’s brother. He was out here somewhere? Your gaze swept the chaotic field once more, as Joel tried to reassure her.

“What is it, baby girl? I need to get in too.”

“But Uncle Tommy! We promised we’d meet him here!” Sarah cried, sounding horrifyingly distraught. 

Joel rounded the back of your truck, jumping over something (or someone) you couldn’t see in your mirrors. 

“He’s coming, baby girl.” He promised, “Tommy will be here soon! We just need to be ready to leave when he turns up.”

Sarah nodded, her expression so trusting as she let her Dad go and leaned back in her seat. She looked so tiny back there. Exhausted and streaked with cuts and blood. Tension tightened her brows, and you assumed she was in pain. 

The other back door opened and he sat down with a sigh. 

“He’ll be here.” Joel promised, sounding like he was talking more to himself than either you or Sarah. 

“We won’t leave until he’s here.” You agreed, watching Sarah relax even more. 

You returned your attention to the outside world, where no one seemed to have taken much of an interest in your beaten up truck besides avoiding it. Even the military seemed not to give a shit that one of their officers was down. 

Then the phone lines.

Speaking of, what the hell was going on with everyone today?

First the nurse.

The blockade. 

Come to think of it. You paused your scanning of the field to fiddle with your radio. Hadn’t it been playing music before the crash? Had it been damaged? Only radio static came out when you played with the volume. Giving it a firm smack, that you half-expected to fix it, you frowned harder when the static only intensified. 

And the cars collective decided to try out their cross country abilities.

Joel seemed to deflate. 

“Strange.” You muttered aloud, “it was working fine earlier.”

Joel shifted in his seat behind you. “Not that this is the most pressing of our problems,” he began in that tone you always associated as his Dad voice. Judging by the way Sarah subconsciously sat up straighter, she noticed it too. “But what have you done to the truck?” You winced and refused to look back at him. Joel sighed. “You’ve barely had this a week.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault.” You quickly defended yourself, “I was on my way home and some crazy fuc-” you bit off the swear before it could finish forming, practically feeling Joel’s disapproving glare on the back of your head, “some crazy lady,” you corrected, “rear ended me and now the back is ruined. And then!” You added dramatically, “she tried to maul me! So I’m sorry that your truck is a little beat up, but it has been one doozy of a night.”

Your anger curdled into anxiety. The last thing you needed was to lose your job over this. “Look.” You reasoned, catching his eye in the rear view mirror. “I’ll replace it-”

“Damn right you’re going to replace it!” Joel jumped in, his voice loud but drained of any real anger. It sounded more like a release of stress, than proper rage. “And I’m demoting you to a bicycle from here on out since you can’t fucking drive.”

“Language.” Sarah interjected, smiling weakly. 

Joel sighed and ducked his head. It wasn’t a yes, but it was gratitude regardless. 

You turned in your seat to look at him. “Bet you’re glad for my horrendous driving skills right now though.”

“I see Uncle Tommy!” Sarah shouted, tapping against her window.

You drew your attention from Joel and followed the direction of Sarah’s pointings. And sure enough, there was a familiar looking shadow running towards the truck. You put the headlights back on full beam just to be sure, and watched as Tommy winced.

Leaning over the passenger seat, you unlatched his door and pushed it open. Tommy climbed in gratefully and collapsed onto the front seat. He grimaced, before shifting and dragging your work bag out from under his ass.

You flicked them down and honked, whilst Joel wound down his window and stuck out his arm to wave Tommy over. The relief that flooded the man’s face was obvious.

“I see you found a friend.” He threw back to Joel.

“Luckily.” Joel says dryly, clutching Sarah a little tighter. “But we need to get out of the open. The military aren’t our friends right now.”

“I don’t think anyone is.” Tommy confirmed. He stashed his rifle into the footwell, and you revved the engine and began cautiously moving again. No one was paying any attention to you, but until you found the stream and returned to the road, you wanted it to remain that way. 

Attention torn between navigating the field and stopping him, you only managed to bark out an aborted, “DON’T-” before he pulled out the shovel and blanched at the blood splattered across the head.

Rusting in your front passenger seat, reminded you of Tommy’s presence, which also unfortunately reminded you of the murder weapon that had previously taken up residence in the foot well.

“Is this one of our shovels?” The younger of the Miller brothers laughed.

Very slowly, Tommy turned to look at you. Thankfully, he did not reach for his gun, but his gaze was heavily judgemental. 

“Now I severely hope this didn’t happen at the site.” He began to lecture.

“Course not.” You immediately dismissed. “Josh is a fucking asshole, but I wouldn’t wait for you and Joel to leave before killing him. I’d do it with witnesses.” You preached honestly, as Sarah chimed ‘language’ in the background. 

“Then, what is this?” Tommy pressed.

You were very aware of Joel’s silence in the back of the truck.

“Just focus on driving, I don’t want to end up back in that stream.” 

“Some lady tried to take a chunk out of me a few minutes before I found you.” You explained, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the stream finally came into view. Your story trailed off momentarily as you navigated the thinnest looking part to cross and did so. The truck was climbing back up the opposite bank when you continued. “It was her or me, and I panicked.”

Tommy whistled. “Good thing you had it on hand then.” He said absently, before returning the shovel to the foot well. He looked mildly impressed rather than scared or murderous in the face of your actions. “Just be sure to return it tomorrow.”

“If the police don’t catch my ass, I’ll buy you a whole new one.” You promised. 

Pointedly, you added more throttle to the accelerator. “I am not that bad of a driver.” You repeated, to which Tommy threw you a look.

“Say that to the back of our company truck.”

You opened your mouth to bite back, but Joel suddenly spoke up. “Y/n, have you actually been home yet?”

“Nope.”

You watched Tommy peer back at Joel in the back seat, and they shared a look.

“Why?” You pressed.

Tommy responded. “Have you spoken to anyone since work? Been on the phone or listened to the radio?”

“Anne was the last one I spoke to at the site. There’s fudge all signal round here, and my radio has died on me, but I’m fairly certain that one was the crash.”

You glanced at Tommy who looked pained.

Joel swallowed audibly in the back. “You haven’t heard anything?”

“Joel, I love you, but you’re freaking me out. What are you implying? What is going on?”

He didn’t respond, and he refused to meet your gaze in the rear view mirror. 

Come to think of it, the nurse had been moving rather unnaturally, and with a speed you didn’t see everyday. 

It was Sarah who finally had the balls to actually speak up. “Dad said it’s a sickness.”

“A sickness.” You parrotted, and the girl nodded in the rear view mirror. “It’s making people act crazy. Makes them chase and hurt each other. One of our neighbours had it,” Sarah paused and glanced at Joel for reassurance, who simply nodded. “She chased me out of her house, and at her age, she certainly shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. It was terrifying.” 

You furrowed your brow. “So what? This is like a zombie apocalypse type shit or something.”

Beside you Tommy subtly nodded his confirmation, whilst Joel made a face and Sarah paled. “No.” The older Miller brother insisted, but you could tell it was more for reassuring Sarah than a real answer. “We don’t know what it is.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You kept driving, willing the field to end and for the road to return. With nothing but the roar of the engine and radio static to fill in the gaps, you decided to keep talking.

You bit your lower lip and sighed in relief when bushes appeared up ahead, with a splintered gate that opened up onto the road. You allowed the conversation to trail off as you carefully slotted the car between the broken gate pieces, and pulled out onto the deserted road and turned in the direction of home. 

“Do they know what’s causing it?”

Joel shook his head.

“We’ll go to my house.” You said aloud to the still car. Tommy was staring out of his window and Joel had his arm wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders. “I was headed there anyway. It’s secure and there was no one around for miles. And the roads are fucking ridiculous right now-”

As if on cue something dragged itself out of the undergrowth up ahead and began to drag itself across the road. It looked human, but it was twitching violently, like the nurse had. And it has no legs beneath the knees. Vaguely, you could see a trail of red marking its path from the trees as if it were some humanoid snail. 

There was plenty of room to go around it, but the rest of the car didn’t seem to agree. 

With a shout, Tommy pointed the thing out to you and lunged for the wheel as if he thought you hadn’t bloody seen it. You were quick to smack his hand away, but the damage was already done. Joel was alert again, his voice rising into a yell as Sarah’s eyes widened and she clung to him, bracing as if you were about to go speeding towards a tree. 

You smoothly avoided the twitching figure dragging themselves across the tarmac, and turned a lethal glare Joel’s way. “Do not yell at me Miller!” You threatened, “you’re freaking your daughter out. Don’t worry Sarah, we're fine.” You gave her a reassuring smile in the rear view mirror before elbowing Tommy sharply, “and keep your hands to yourself or so help me I will turn this car around!”

It is an empty threat, but Tommy complied, looking appropriately chastised, and Joel focused back on Sarah whilst you did your job and navigated the roads. 

“Why are you so calm?” Tommy asked quietly after a moment or two. “Joel and I haven’t stopped since we found out.”

“Home first.” You said instead of explaining, “Sleep. And we can deal with everything else in the morning.”

And for the rest of the drive, the only sound was the distant shriek of sirens and the purr of the engine as you accelerated.

>_<

As predicted, home was peaceful. So peaceful, that you were embarrassed to admit to yourself that if you had returned home earlier without incident, you would have had no idea that a country-wide pandemic had broken out. 

Your driveway gates were still standing and just as secure as they had been this morning when you had left for work. The porch light flickered on when it sensed the motion of the truck as it always did. And when you stepped out of the truck, the world was quiet. The trees lining your yard fence rustled with the breeze, and the pebbles underfoot crunched and clinked together under your weight.

There was not a person or house in sight besides your own. And there were no neighbours for miles. 

It would be safe enough for tonight. 

The next few minutes consisted of getting everyone inside. It turned out, Joel was hauling Sarah around a field because she’d hurt her ankle in a car wreck, which meant she was immediately carried to the couch. Tommy took it upon himself to lock the truck, and then bolt and begin barricading your front door once everyone was in.

Once you’d brought your bag and stolen shovel indoors, you set about hunting down a first aid kit for Sarah, and finding your cat. 

Your search led you up to your bedroom where you found both. The first aid kit in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, and the cat in the back of your cupboard, curled up on a nest of dirty clothes beside the laundry hamper that she must have dragged out whilst you were at work. 

“There you are, my darling.” You cooed in greeting, dropping down on your knees just outside the cupboard to greet her. 

She was a bony old thing, with a short-haired, tri-coloured coat, and the resting bitch face of a great-grandmother. She chirped in confusion at the shift in light before groggily lifting her head from her pillow.

“Hello there.” You mused, allowing her to sniff your hand and duck her head in preparation for affection before you did so. She stretched languidly under your palm, her wiry legs poking out harshly from her body. “We have some visitors over, and I need you to be my assistant.” You continued to say as you carefully pulled her from her nest, her ochre eyes still at half-mast with sleep. 

She was a dead-weight in your arms, content to be carted around the house so long as you were willing to carry her and do most of the work. She was going on twenty afterall, and couldn’t quite get around as well as she used to.

Downstairs, Tommy was busy barricading your backdoor, which left you to return to the living room where Sarah and Joel were talking in hushed voices. You handed over the first aid kit to the latter, who promptly settled himself down by Sarah’s feet.

“Who’s that?” Joel asked absently, eyeing the cat in your arms who was glancing around the room with squinty eyes. 

“She’s not here to see you, you’re supposed to be working.” You lightly scolded, which seemed to startle a small smile out of Sarah. Joel jokingly huffed, and went back to assessing Sarah’s ankle. 

Turning your attention to the girl in question, you knelt down beside her head propped up on the arm of the couch.

“Sarah, I would like you to meet Daisy.” You introduced formally, “she’s an old lady so be gentle with her, but I’m sure she’d love some cuddles from you. Do you want to stroke her?”

At the moment, Daisy was sitting quite contently in your arms. Her feet rolled up and resting on your forearm, whilst her cheek pressed against your bicep. Her purr kicked into motion, when Sarah lightly began to stroke her back, and Sarah smiled again.

This was going to work out perfectly, you decided. 

“Can I hold her?” Sarah asked carefully, glancing from her Dad to you as if unsure if she was even allowed to ask.

“Of course.” You readily agreed, and coaxed the girl to recline back on her cushions. Only then did you gently set Daisy down on the girl’s chest, where the cat immediately purred louder and set to making biscuits with Sarah’s pink shirt. 

You frowned at the dirt and old blood encrusted on the fabric. You should have some spare clothes upstairs for her to change into. But that could wait until later. 

>_<

Distracted by the cat, Sarah seemed to have completely forgotten about her ankle, which Joel had checked over and was tightly wrapping in several lengths of bandages. Something was visibly loosening in him at the sight of his daughter relaxing after everything she had just been through. It was such a raw and vulnerable expression, that you felt like you were intruding, so you excused yourself to the kitchen. 

Your fridge was very empty. Which wasn’t massively surprising, considering tomorrow was shopping day, and you’d been surviving off eggs and cold beans straight out of the can, for the last couple of days. But it was a rather large inconvenience what with everything currently going on. 

“There’s not a lot to pick out for dinner.” You mumbled to yourself, since the others were in the living room, or in Tommy’s case, going around the house and drawing the curtains. 

You drummed your fingers against the fridge door as you stared down the couple of eggs left in their carton, the trio of sad looking apples in the salad drawer and the bottle of orange juice and left over milk in the door. All in all, it wasn’t a very good start rationing wise.

The cupboard next to the fridge bore no fruit either, aside from some canned vegetable soups and a forgotten box of teabags. The cupboard one along was even less promising. There was not a bread roll nor pasta bag in sight, which was damn annoying. 

There was however, enough instant coffee to make a pot, so that was something. And with the day you had had, there was no hope of going to sleep at a reasonable hour anyway, so coffee was a good enough solution to the weight of sleepiness beginning to return to your eyelids. 

The kettle had just popped, when Daisy decided to make herself known by your feet. For an old lady on the cusp of dusting into nothing, she sure still had a set of lungs on her. Lungs which she put to good use by sitting where you were in danger of tripping on her, and vocally demanding that you feed her dinner right that very second. 

Coffee momentarily forgotten, you were powerless to deny her and set about opening a pouch of wet food and setting the bowl down by her water bowl. Her nails clicked against the hardwood floor as she followed you across the kitchen and began to eat without further fuss.  

You smiled fondly at her and poured the coffee out into three mugs. After countless lunches spent on the sites, and hundreds of coffee breaks to ward off sleep at the ass crack of dawn, you knew by heart how each Miller brother preferred their drink. Joel with nothing but a half teaspoon of sugar. And Tommy with enough milk and sugar to almost completely disguise the taste of coffee entirely.

You had scarcely begun preparing your own mug, when Joel drifted into the kitchen, no doubt lured in by the promising smell of coffee. 

He stewed for a minute in his own thoughts, and you preoccupied yourself by blowing on your own drink. 

“Sarah’s asleep.” He said by way of greeting, looking exhausted but somewhat relaxed with his daughter still visible through the doorway. “Is this one mine?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response, as he took the mug containing near black coffee and took a deep pull. He sighed as it went down, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Good?” You asked with a grin, holding your own mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your skin. Joel nodded and took another grateful sip.

Joel took another deep swig and nodded along. “We can’t stay here.” He said, to which you immediately agreed.

“You should probably get some sleep too, we had a long day on the site today.”

“Not a chance.” You rapidly dismissed, “too much adrenaline at the minute. And I don’t know how much longer we’ll have power for.” You began to say, “but if this is what we think it is, we need to prepare.”

You nodded along, putting aside your mug to pull some paper and a pencil out of one of the nearby drawers. Joel watched you over the lip of his own mug as you quickly scribbled everything down and added things when they came to you.

“I don’t have the food to sustain us.” You explained, “so we’ll need to find it. That, and clothes, as well as a means of starting a fire and a decent water source. I don’t own guns, so we’ll need to track those down too. Until then, we can use kitchen knives or tools.”

“We’ll manage.” Joel reassured, “make sure to add petrol to the list.” 

Further down the counter, you could feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your head. “What?” You asked when he took another obnoxious sip and failed to turn his attention elsewhere.

The rest of the words curdled on your tongue, when Joel suddenly appeared at your side, his mug in one hand and the other gently falling to rest atop your own one shaking around your pencil. His grip was warm and steadying around yours. Helping the tremors to subside.

Joel shrugged, “you’re just taking this really well, and I’m trying to figure out why.” He explained simply, “I’ve seen you freak out over a spider, and yet, a world-wide pandemic doesn’t seem to take the wind from your sails.”

“I’m in denial.” You replied simply, briefly glancing up from your notes to look at him. His expression was open, and you recognised it as the one he uses when Tommy had gotten himself into trouble, and Joel was trying to be patient with him. You looked away before you could get lost in the earnestness of his expression. “I killed two people tonight, Joel, and it doesn’t feel real. They’re dead, and here I am, back in my house, making coffee and feeding my cat, and fucking planning a road trip as if it’s just any other day...”

Your mind however, was back on that road. Instead of the pencil, you could feel the shovel back in your hands. Could feel the dirt caking the handle, now slick with your own sweat. Could hear the sound of the metal colliding with bone. Could feel the vibrations from the blow travelling up your arm. 

Joel squeezed your hand and it disappeared again. 

You were back in your kitchen, and he was a steadying presence at your side. For the first time all night, you felt unsteady and unsure. Until now, you had been operating purely on instinct, but now you had a chance to think, you just felt sick.

“Hey, it’s fine.” Joel soothed, his voice firm but kind. He had completely abandoned his mug now, and had his hands on your shoulders, applying pressure that helped you breathe a little easier. 

“Now, I need you to look me in the eye as I tell you this,” he paused, waiting for you to do just that before continuing. “One of those people was infected with whatever this is.” Joel says quietly, in a tone you’re pretty certain he used to soothe Sarah. “They were beyond reasoning and you had to protect yourself. The other was a military bigshot, who thought it was a good idea to try to kill me and my daughter. He just hadn’t anticipated that you wouldn’t like that idea.” You laughed wetly at the attempt at humour, but your heart wasn’t in it. Joel squeezed your shoulders again and ducked his head to find your eyes and hold them. “You did the right thing in both scenarios.” He promised earnestly.

“Nothing!” He said in a tone that firmly told you it wasn’t ‘nothing’. “I just never knew you had a cat!” He stated, as if you’d revealed you were secretly an ancient pirate captain planning to follow a treasure map to the moon using a scooter, instead of his co-worker who just happened to own a cat.

“But maybe-”

“You did the best you could, in the shitty situation you were dealt.” Joel reitorated firmly, “you reacted in the way you thought was best in the moment. But what is important is that you are alive. I’m alive. And so are Sarah and Tommy and,” he paused with a heavy, put upon sigh, “so is the fucking cat-”

“What do you have against Daisy?” You asked, feeling the panic ebb at the way he playfully raised his eyebrows.

“I’m just saying, you’re weirdly fixated on the cat.” You laughed wetly, and Joel brightened.

“There you go.” He said softly. A small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He gave your shoulders a parting squeeze, and then withdrew to pick up his coffee mug again.

He stepped back into his own space, and you breathed out with forced steadiness.

You let him go, feeling steadier with the lingering warmth of his hands still teasing your skin.

“All jokes aside, I just want to make this clear now.” Joel began, and you tensed. “Sarah is my priority.” Ah, your shoulders dropped down from your ears. You had been expecting this train of thought. 

“She’s your daughter, I’d be concerned if she wasn’t.” 

“No, they’re pretty much zombies.” You reassured, “there was no thought process, only action and basic instinct. They don’t think, they just react to stimuli.” It made sense even as you said it. The nurse had responded to your voice and the sight of you. She had responded to pain but she hadn’t understood the words you used.  All her higher functions had been offline in the face of something primal you didn’t know the motivation of yet. 

Joel nodded. “Every decision from here on out is going to be about keeping her safe, and then keeping Tommy safe. If you want to part ways and take care of yourself, be my guest but-”

“Woah, hey now. What are you expecting me to do? Set up a bat signal on the roof and urge the zombies to come and get us? I don’t have anywhere else to be Joel or anyone else to go to. I am in this. All in.”

“First of all, they’re not zombies-” Joel tried to argue.

“Fine, they’re zombies.” Joel sighed, “but secondly, I assumed you would be with us anyway considering you were using ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and you brought us to your house instead of dropping us off somewhere random. Which thanks, by the way, but I didn’t want to just assume. And finally, my point still stands, Sarah comes first.”

“And I hear you and I respect your resolve.” You promised, “therefore I’m going to give you a heads up that there has to be enough room in the truck for the cat carrier and several weeks worth of cat food.”

Joel scrunched up his brows.

“You cannot possibly be planning to take the cat.”

“Her name is Daisy, and she’s outlived every owner that has ever adopted her. Of course I have to take her. She’s family.” 

Joel rolled his eyes. “You need to get a partner or something, the cat cannot be all you have.”

You made a face. “Hypocrite.”

Joel returned your over the top expression with just as much enthusiasm.

“Ah, no! That is a company car and you know it!”

“Besides, my truck, my rules. The cat comes with.”

“I cannot hear you, I’m out of earshot.” You sang and promptly chugged your coffee, put the mug in the sink to deal with later, and went to have a shower.

After a day spent out in the sun, cold and sweating, and collecting grime, you desperately needed a freshen up before properly coming to terms with your situation. Only then, would you dare to think about tomorrow. 

During the conversation, Daisy had found her way back into the living room. 

As you passed the couch on the way to the stairs, you saw that she had curled up by Sarah’s head again, and the girl was absently stroking behind her ear. It warmed you to see Sarah’s smile again. Even if it was a subdued thing. Honestly, anything was better than the fear that had been plastered across her face when you had first found her and Joel. 

>_<

Two hours after dawn, the truck was packed up and ready to go. 

Daisy had been fed and loaded up into her carrier, which was now in Sarah’s lap. Joel sat beside them, looking exasperated at Daisy’s presence, but seeming to be coming to terms with it. Whilst Tommy sat in the passenger seat with his gun in the footwell and a map stretched out across his lap. 

“Sun’s coming up.” Tommy commented, “best start moving.”

“She likes hiking. And she’s very good at it.” You returned easily, and made a U-Turn for the property gate.

“Will do, just doing one last check.” You acknowledge, before leaning up and catching Sarah’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Can you make sure we’ve packed Daisy’s leash and harness please?”

Joel’s look of pure despair was worth bringing it up. “You cannot be serious.” He groaned, which prompted Sarah into a small giggle fit as she pulled out both leash and harness. Joel groaned again, playing up how much he hated the idea just to hear her laugh again. “Why is it leash trained?” 

With a bittersweet glance back to your home, you carefully pulled out of your driveway onto the empty road.

You had no idea where you were heading. None of you did. But with a kid, a cat and the Miller brothers in tow, you’re fairly certain it was going to be interesting regardless.

Part 1 --> Part 2

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[colmiillo]

When y/n does something so cringe that i have to look at the invisible camera for a sec.

[bethsvrse]

me staring at my ceiling after y/n does the most FLABBERGASTING thing ever

[mssalo]

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[inknopewetrust]

[punkassfrance]

Overnight Medley - Joel/Tess/Reader

NSFW, 18+ ONLY You weren't that tired anyway. Or, Joel and Tess are insatiable, even in the early hours of the morning. This work contains Sleepy Sex, Established Relationship, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sleepy Cuddles, Neck Kissing, Polyamory, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, AFAB reader, Pet Names, Insomnia, slight mommy kink, a bit of fluff, Smut, slight body worship, Light Angst, Mentions of Violence

You’re still half asleep when you feel a large, warm hand rubbing up and down your ass.

It’s nice- a few minutes of repetition and your skin is numbed, only sensitive to the feeling of something touching you. When the hand moves to your hip, you’re more awake.

“Morning, pumpkin.” You love when you can hear Joel’s accent.

It’s not morning. It can’t be- sunlight always gets through the makeshift curtains one way or another, and the room is still pitch black.

“Everything okay…?”

“Just fine. Couldn’t sleep, and you were right there, all soft and pretty.”

You smile, even if he can’t see it. Even if there was enough light to see any kind of detail, your face is still pressed into Tess’ chest. His arm is around your midsection, firm and stable. It was incredibly comforting when you ventured outside of the QZ together, clickers and raiders posing a constant threat as you tried to sleep. The only safe place was right here, between Joel and Tess. 

He shifts behind you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and sighing. The room is quiet, all you can hear is the buzz of the fridge humming from the kitchen. The Boston QZ has never been the most peaceful place to exist. Sure, FEDRA wasn’t as brutal as they were in some places, but the near-daily executions were a harsh reminder that the world would never go back to 2003. Even putting yourselves at risk daily to get by, it was nice to have this affection to come home to. Here, it felt safe, everything outside the bounds of your mattress fading away.  Every bastard on the damned streets of Boston couldn’t pull you away from the warm hands on your waist. 

Tess is still asleep, it seems. Her heartbeat is faint, but there, steady. She’s so warm, hand on the back of your head. If you remembered right, she’d been playing with your hair as you fell asleep. Joel and Tess both insisted they needed no affection, let alone from each other- they seemed more than happy to pour whatever emotions they had into you. In various ways.

Joel’s hand slides down your waist. 

“Joel?”

“Too tired?” You don’t answer until he slips his fingers into your waistband, his lips kissing your neck. If you’re honest, you are tired, but you’ve never been one to turn down Joel’s attention. 

“I don’t wanna wake Tess…”

“Then make sure you don’t.”

You shift a bit to lay more on your back, legs spreading as much as you can in invitation. You can’t see his face, but you can hear him chuckle a bit as his hand presses further down into your underwear. You don’t realize how wet you are until his fingers find it and spread it around, thick and rough. His thumb massages your clit, rubbing slow circles as he kisses across the line of your neck. You can feel him sucking and nibbling, leaving the marks he knows you love to admire. 

One finger dips into your cunt, trying to get you used to the intrusion before pushing any further. Joel is always so gentle with his fingers- when he fucks you he’s nowhere near as patient. His finger bumps into a spot that makes you shudder. When he hears you suck in a breath, he curls his finger into that spot, savoring your hushed whine. Tess shifts and mumbles in her sleep. You freeze.

“Careful, babydoll. Don’t wanna wake your momma.” Your eyes close as you try to focus, and as you start to breathe in and out, his thumb picks up the pace on your clit. You know Joel well enough at this point to know he’s trying to make you lose it. 

“What…what do you want?” You doubt you could take his cock without making noise- at the least, you’d have to sneak out to the couch.

“Nothing tonight. Just wanna get you off.” Another finger teases at your cunt and slides in. It hooks alongside the first as he bites a tender part of your neck, holding for a moment before releasing and exhaling over the imprint. You grab his forearm, trying desperately to exhale as he hums behind you. “Breathe, breathe…”

He grinds into your ass but makes no move to undress, seemingly happy to focus on you. His thumb moves faster over your clit, flicking side to side. 

“Please.”

He chuckles. Before you can keep begging, his fingers dig in. “Give me what I want, sugar.”

It doesn’t take you long to cum on his fingers after that demand. You couldn’t say no to Joel if you tried.

The tension from the last ten minutes rushes out in a breath, your eyes squeezing shut. The room is dead silent until you breathe again. Your mind focuses in on the arm you’re clinging to, the stability you’ve come to adore. 

He presses kisses to your face and neck for a few minutes before slipping his fingers out. It’s too dark to see him lick his fingers clean, but you can hear his quiet groan of pleasure. “Perfect. Fuckin’ perfect.” His arm tucks around you again, pulling you closer to his chest. “Get some rest.” 

You suppose that’s the closest Joel can get to “I love you”. 

-

Before the outbreak, you might have called your bedframe “antique”. Now, as it groans in protest to motion, all your tired mind can think is “rickety piece of shit”. 

The light clicks on in the kitchen. The door is mostly shut, so it doesn’t bother you too much, but your hand flops around at your sides to see who’s missing. When you smack Joel’s hip he snores softly in response, but the bed is empty on Tess’ side. 

Rubbing your eyes, you glance around the room. Early morning blue light gives you an outline of the room, just enough to get an idea of the furniture. You sit up, staring at the bedroom door as you hear the faucet run.

After a while, you manage to stand and shuffle through the bedroom. You push the door open and shut it gently behind you, looking out into the living room. Tess is standing over the sink with a mug in hand, staring out at the city like she’s the queen of Boston. As far as you’re concerned, she may as well be. She hasn’t made herself decent at all, there in the kitchen wearing nothing but basketball shorts. 

“Sorry if I woke you.” 

She stares out the window for another moment before turning to face you. White scars are scattered across her body- a few you know the story behind, but most of them she won’t tell you about. Her hair is messy, but you’re certain yours is worse. 

“It’s alright. Couldn’t sleep that well anyway.” 

From the dim light, you can see the outline of her body and where her hair falls. It’s not quite long enough to cover her chest, but you don’t think she was trying to. 

“Rough night?”

“Sort of.” You snort softly, stepping closer to lean against the counter beside her. “Joel woke up and we got a little busy.”

She smirks before taking another sip from the mug. When she pulls the rim away from her lips, her voice is hoarse. “You’re gonna give the man a heart attack one of these days.”

“Hey, he instigated.”

She grins as you lean your head on her shoulder. You can’t see much from the living room window, not from where you’re standing, but you can see enough to appreciate. 

Tess is calm. She’s usually nonchalant, keeping an air of authority, but right now she’s calm. The line of tension is gone from her shoulders, her breaths slow and even as her hand rests on yours. Eventually, she guides you to the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table and slowly working through the mug. You’re curled into her side, watching her while she pretends she doesn’t notice.

Tess was never the romantic type, exactly. She brought things home for you, she took care of you when you were sick, she whispered “I love you too” in the darkness with nobody else around to hear it. She just wasn’t the type to bring home flowers.

You wonder if she would have brought you flowers before the outbreak. If she would have taken you out to dinner and planned a future with you beyond the hour. You can see her folding laundry, or watching a movie, or calling to ask if you wanted anything from the store. If you listen hard, you can hear her say “I love you” first. The feeling that bubbles in your chest has been familiar for a long time.

Grief. 

But then you refocus on her. The morning light is kind to her. Her eyes are half shut, hair disheveled as she tilts her head back against the wall. The creases and scars from decades of stress don’t look like blemishes- they just look like Tess.

She looks down at you and finishes her tea, setting it on the coffee table. Her lips press to your forehead, lingering for just a moment. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“Eh, just…the plan for the day.” You shrug softly. Her hand brushes over your thigh and she squeezes. 

“I don’t know if I’ll go back to sleep, you go lay down. You could probably squeeze in a few more hours.” She sounds like she spent the night chainsmoking. If she didn’t smell like sweat and laundry detergent, you would have thought she had. 

“Don’t know if I could get back to sleep. Too much energy.” While your muscles are sore and tired, you want to spend the morning with her. You can catch up on sleep, but the early morning light on her face only comes once a day. You know she’s not going back to sleep. She barely scrapes by with a few hours, most days. You’re not sure what she’s thinking about, staring out the window in silence, she won’t tell you or Joel. 

She grins, her eyes sliding down. “I could help tire you out, if you want.”

You give her an incredulous look, one hand coming up to rub your eye. “Tire me out? You’re already horny? It’s…” You glance at the radio on the other side of the room. “...five forty and you’re already trying to fuck me?” 

She snorts a bit, smoothing her hand over your thigh. “Only if you’re in the mood-”

You mime looking at a watch that broke a long time ago, tapping your wrist. “It’s twilight and you’re trying to get in my panties already?”

She rolls her eyes. “Alright, fine, if you’re not interested. Smartass.”

The clock ticks on the wall.

“...well, I didn’t say that.”

She sets get mug down and slides down to her knees, settling herself between your legs with a smile. “I thought so.”

You go to pull your underwear off, but she beats you to it. She bats your hands away from the elastic and grabs your hips, pulling you to the edge of the couch. Her tongue drags over the cotton, warm and teasing, focusing on your clit for just a moment before pulling back. A quick, sharp pain runs up your leg as she nips the tender skin of your thigh, quickly soothed with a kiss. Her thumb pulls your panties to the side as she readies herself. If you looked close, you’d see her pupils wide, lips parted in quiet reverence. It’s the most powerful you’ve ever felt- the queen of Boston so eager to please.

Her tongue circles your clit, fingers spreading you gently as your head falls back onto the couch. If there was anything Tess was good at, it was oral. You wonder how many people she’s pleased like this- Joel, certainly. You. Rumors always spread of her sneaking into brothels while Joel was out. 

She buries her tongue into your heat and you tense, hand curling into her hair as you wonder who she was before the outbreak. Did she slink around clubs in Detroit, picking up who she wanted? Knowing her, she’d be right at home on her knees in the dingy bathroom of a gay bar.  Whatever she did, whoever she was, you wished you could have seen it. Seen her young and happy. 

She pulls you out of your thoughts with a firm grip on your thigh, holding it out of the way as she admires the view. Her fingers trace over your cunt, gentle as the cool air teases you. She licks what she can off her fingers before going in again, laving over your clit. You almost wish she would come up for air and kiss you properly, but she would rather die than leave this job unfinished. 

She tries to ease the tension in your legs with gentle hands, massaging absently with her mind elsewhere. Coils in your body burn hot, searing as she doubles down on your clit. She’s settled into a maddening pattern of flicking and sucking, never giving you enough of either, waiting for the right moment to drive you fucking mad. 

When she lifts her head, your heart leaps at the wetness on her chin. “You gonna cum for me, babydoll? You gonna give momma what she wants?”

Your stomach clenches with the urge to obey- her eyes flick between your face and the mess in front of her, diving back in with passion. 

You think of that word a lot, with Tess. Passion.

Everything flies out of your head when she licks a long stripe up your cunt, one hand coming up to slip a finger inside you as she sucks hard on your clit. Her other hand comes up to rest on your lower stomach, splayed out to hold as much of you as she can. 

Squirming under her hands, you reach a peak and let go, a small part of your brain keeping you quiet as you cum. It’s not terribly successful- you hear grunts and choked whines, but waking Joel is the last thing on your mind right now. You meet her gaze, but you barely realize it, a hazy image of half-lidded hazel eyes seared into your brain.

Hands and kisses ease you down from the high. You’re not sure when she got back up on the couch and pulled you into her arms, but before long, your heart beats in sync with hers. She picks up a hand towel on the side table and wipes her face, quickly wiping between your legs before tossing it aside. Soft lips kiss your cheek and neck, exhaling softly. Part of you wonders if she gets you so blissed out so she can love on you when you’re too distracted to remember it. She deserves this. A few moments to share affection without the consequence of vulnerability. You’ll never tell her you remember everything. She’ll never let you reciprocate, not like this. 

Before long, she stands. The basketball shorts hang off her hips, untied and too big. She finishes off her coffee and sets the mug down, staring out the window for one more minute. You take the chance to eye her breasts, outlined by the blue morning light. You feel your libido twitch again, just lightly, the thought of your momma’s chest almost defeating exhaustion. She’d get kinky if you let her- but it was too early for that. Both today and in general. 

She turned back to you and leaned down, tucking her arms under you and lifting you off the couch. She was so much stronger than she looked- part of you suspected she stayed fit just to carry you to bed bridal style. You felt like her bride, for a moment. 

Grief, again. Subtle but present.

She carried you to bed, gently nudging the door open with her hip and setting you beside Joel. For a moment you think she’s going to leave, back to the living room to resume her morning, but she crawls in beside you. 

“I thought you weren’t tired?”

She pauses, thinking of an answer as she adjusts the blankets and pulls you in. When she speaks, it’s a whisper. 

“I’m not. But I’m…not going to pass up a chance to cuddle you to sleep.” Her face nuzzles your neck. “It’s a nice way to start a morning.”

You don’t think Joel would have been cruel if he’d heard her. He snores softly beside you, mumbling just a bit. He’s just as tender as her- sometimes. The biggest mercy they ever granted each other was pretending their vulnerabilities didn’t exist. The biggest gift he could give her was silence in the face of bare flesh.  

Tess tilts your head towards her and kisses you one more time, sighing into the kiss and settling in. 

Here, between Joel and Tess, you feel ease.

-

When your eyes crack open, the room is bright, the clock reading 08:12. You hear tanks on the street outside your window, finishing their morning patrols. You reach down to feel the arm tucked around your waist- it’s Joel. Tess has her face pressed into your chest, her greying roots more visible from this angle. Not that she’s ever tried to hide them, but you don’t point them out in fear that she will. Pressing your lips to her head, she shifts and looks up, turning to look at the sunlight. 

“What time is it?” She rubs her face. “I didn’t think I would fall asleep.”

“Did you have somewhere to be?”

She stares at you for a moment before tucking her face back between your breasts. “No.”

The moment is cut short by an ear-splitting yawn, Joel’s arm sliding down to your hip. “Having fun without me?” His hand tucks between your legs and pulls you towards him, one finger prodding gently at your cunt. Tess pulls away from you and sits up, guiding your head into her lap as she sits against the headboard. Thin fingers scratch at your scalp.

“No, that was last night. Think I tuckered our baby out.”

You nod absently, the warmth of her thighs almost lulling you back to sleep. Joel presses on your clit, keeping your attention as you squirm. “Not quite…”

“I’ll have to try harder next time.” 

You shuffle closer to Tess as she brushes her fingers through her bedhead. She’s still shirtless, not wearing one of the ratty bras she’s held on to. You want to break into the mall at some point, grab something cute from Victoria’s Secret for her. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the thought of her in something red and lacy. 

Her calloused hand reaches down to your cheek, guiding your face to look at her. Joel’s fingers focus in on your clit, rubbing slow circles as he works you up. The blessing of having both of your lovers obsessed with cunt is not lost on you. Between the two of them, you’re never starved for attention. 

Distracted, you almost don’t notice Tess’ hand guiding your head closer. You lean up to kiss her breasts, mouthing at the tender flesh. If Joel wasn’t rubbing his cock against your thigh, busy whimpering in your ear, he’d crack a joke about Tess being your mommy. The thought has you writhing. Her hands brush through your hair as you suck softly. If you listen, you can hear her exhale. 

Joel slips his hand into your panties, speeding up as you feel his cock on your thigh. His fingers are rough and warm, running over the delicate pink skin. You’ve seen him split wood with those hands- you’ve seen them covered in dark blood, staining the collar of someone thrown into a wall. As deft fingers swirl around the rim of your core, you picture them gouging out eyes. Fingering you desperately in the alley behind your old apartment. Choking you out. It’s more of a turn-on than you like to admit. 

Before too long, he groans and something wet hits your thigh. His fingers slow but don’t stop as he catches his breath, taking a moment to recover before speeding up again. You can almost hear Tess shushing him gently, trying not to upset the neighbors again. Joel is never quiet unless he has to be. 

You break away from Tess as something grows in your throat, more intense as Joel gains his bearings and focuses on you. Tess keeps playing with your hair as you start to whimper. A blanket makes its way into your hands, you’re not sure if you grabbed it or if one of them passed it to you, but you pull it into your arms and hug it. 

It doesn’t take you long to finish- they’ve both worked you over throughout the night. Even with rest between encounters, there’s no stamina left. You’re certain you won’t even be able to sit up against the headboard once this is done, let alone finish your tasks for the day. If Joel and Tess wanted help cleaning, they shouldn’t have worn you out so bad. 

You almost black out when he pushes you over the edge- all you can hear is your own heartbeat, your own breathing, and for a moment, nothing. 

Joel’s lips press to your neck, bringing your attention back to the bed. Back to the bodies around you, the bittersweet smell of the room and your lovers. Warmth, alcohol, evergreens, sweat, decades-old perfume you stole for Tess, and if you focus, detergent.

Tess helps you into a more comfortable position as she slides down to join you. Joel pulls your hips in closer, sighing and pressing a few soft kisses to your neck. Watching Joel and Tess slink around the QZ before you got together, you never would have guessed they’d be so affectionate once you got them in bed. 

Fighting the temptation to doze off, you glance between them and smile.

“Good morning."

Hope you enjoyed! Find this work on AO3 or check out my about me, feel free to say hi or leave an ask/request!

[aphrcdites]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[fanfictilltheend]

LMAO i'm supposed to be writing a midterm essay but here is a tidbit from my unexpected ONE BED TROPE Joel x Virgin!FairlyInnocent!Reader fic

Here's a little tidbit if anyone cares lmao:

Warnings: horniness, dick and breast mention lol, ONE BED TROPE <- you got me, joel catching feelings!!??!?!?

Joel has one rule and he is breaking it! The two of you are touching! You’re curled up to him like a little koala bear and he does not have the heart or the strength to push you away. And the problem is, while you’ve passed out completely, he is wide awake. It’s been that way for over an hour now. And your body is so fucking warm. And your full breasts are pressed into his shoulder. And god fucking dammit, but Joel is only a man! His half-hard cock is pressed uncomfortably against the front of his jeans. He feels scummy, like a perverted old man, when you probably trust him more than anyone else on the planet right now.  He could get up, sure, try to jerk off in the bathroom or just go sleep on the floor, but then he would no doubt wake you and you look so goddamn peaceful and unburdened. And the sick thing is, he wants you there. Just as you are. He would never hurt you. He knows that, but this? All these…feelings…are scary for him.

EDIT: here is the finished one

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[winnysplayground]

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading