Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

💘24👻DILFS, ghosts, and smut👹she/her🩵fanfiction writer🦌+18 only!🖤 Masterlist

[abbyreedus]

abbyreedus’s Masterlist

Created: 07/09/24

Updated: 11/28/24

All of my writing is 18+ and purely smut, so proceed with the utmost caution. Minors do not engage!!🖤🖤

Hi and welcome to my blog! My name is Abby Reedus, and I’m 23 years old. I prefer she/her pronouns! Not actively taking requests at the moment.

I write smut about hot older men from a female pov. I’m currently writing for:

Norman Reedus characters:

Save a Prayer: (the Bikeriders) Sonny x Prostitute! reader

Call me with thy Saints Surrounded: (The Boondock Saints) Murphy x reader x Connor

Pedro Pascal characters:

Patrick Wilson characters:

Grass Feeding the Grass: (In The Tall Grass movie adaptation) Ross x reader

His Apt Pupil: (Insidious) Teacher! Josh Lambert x reader

Banner made by: @cafekitsune

[a7estrellas]

PEDRO PASCAL for Fantastic Man issue 42 photographed by Ethan James Green

[abbyreedus]

Holy f*#%king Hell yall 😀

[gutsby]

Walker Bait

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Warnings: NSFW. Protected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Hatefucking, facefucking, and lots of dirty talk, leaning heavy on the “enemies” in the enemies-to-lovers trope. Mentions of a variety of sex toys and other filthy materials, including a blueberry-flavored condom and a walker wearing nipple clamps. 6.5k words.

“All ya gotta do is suck it.”

You were eye-level with the length of it now, all but staring down the barrel of the gun, so to speak. You wetted your lips, shifted uncomfortably on your knees. Then, almost reluctantly, you looked up at Daryl.

“What if it gets in my mouth?”

“It won’t.”

Daryl gripped the base of it with a sturdy hand and guided it closer to your mouth. You made a face as if to recoil, but Daryl was adamant. Insistent. One more false start and he’d probably just shove the thing down your throat. A man of many virtues he may have been, but patience was not among them.

“If I’d known you’d take this long I would’ve done it myself,” he scoffed.

You had just begun parting your lips to allow him entry, but on hearing this, you forced them shut, frowned, and opened them again just to retort:

“Why don’t you, then?! You wanna suck this shit so bad, be my guest.” You were already wobbling back onto your feet, wiping the dirt off your jeans and watching Daryl’s face turn even redder.

“‘Cause I’m teachin’ you, dipshit,” he snapped, “Can’t even tie yer fuckin’ shoes, but I figured ya maybe could siphon gas this once. My bad.”

And there it was: smug, shitstain Daryl ready to jump down your throat with another show of superiority. You couldn’t track, couldn’t forage, couldn’t hunt, couldn’t suck the gasoline out of a car or even put the hose in your mouth. You were useless in his eyes, and he was never shy to make sure you knew it. He looked you over once and hardly seemed to see you at all—just narrowed his eyes and flung the plastic tube in your direction.

Because Rick and all the rest of them were home, and you were here, scoping out the remnants of a seedy one stoplight town miles away, Daryl felt far more at liberty to act like a dick. He would’ve rather anyone been by his side but you, and he let you know as much, but somehow, in some sick and absurd twist of fate, you had been obliged to tag along. You sensed it was because you were the newest addition to Alexandria. And, quite frankly, because you sucked at every other task you’d been given, sucking gas out of cars was all that was left for you to do.

So easy a walker with a dislodged jaw could’ve done it. But you couldn’t. And Daryl despised you for it.

“Figure it out,” he muttered, turning on his heels to stalk off.

You weren’t sure if it was the irate glint in his eyes or the air of condescension in his tone, but you were floored. He’d made two, maybe three steps in the opposite direction when he felt something strike the black leather on his back. He turned again, dropped his gaze to the ground, and saw the plastic hose at his feet. When he looked back up, you were quick to trail behind, stomping past him without a second glance.

“Suck it yourself, asshole.” And you couldn’t help it; you gave him the finger over your shoulder.

You didn’t need eyes in the back of your head to see the rancid, sullen scowl plastered flat across Daryl’s face. Didn’t need ultrasonic hearing to catch him curse beneath his breath and kick something at his feet. You just kept walking in the other direction and hoped with everything you had he wouldn’t follow.

When you’d made it a ways down the street and Daryl hadn’t bothered to chase after you, you breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could raid the mini mart and loot canned foods to his heart’s content or prove himself useful in fifty other ways, and you could just explore.

From the looks of it, you were at the heart of this defunct podunk town and had virtually every amenity at your fingertips.

A barbershop on your right and a dive bar on your left, two boutiques with their windows all busted in, an unsightly patch of grass that once passed as a park, and one lone Texaco, almost treacherous in the light of day as it stood without a single car stationed at its pumps. “NO WAY OUT” emblazoned on a makeshift placard and half a dozen bodies littering the sidewalk before you.

Nothing quite like that small town Southern charm.

Against your better judgment, you went fishing in your back pocket for a few familiar friends to lift your spirits. First, the near-spent package of Virginia Slims, then the lighter, then your Walkman and headphones. An admittedly lethal combination for any would-be survivor of the apocalypse—limiting your hearing and crippling your lungs was no way to live in a world like this, Carol always warned before she snatched both culprits from your hands—but you didn’t care today. You were most of the way down the street and turning down a side avenue; if any walkers were in the vicinity, you figured you would’ve heard them moaning and groaning and dragging their boney asses behind you long before. By all appearances, you and Daryl were totally alone.

You thumbed one miniature flame into view and brought it close to the cigarette you had clamped between your teeth. Then you deposited the lighter back in your pocket, snapped your headset over your ears, and fiddled with the portable cassette player until the strains of some archaic Molly Hatchet tune went spiraling in your ears—“Bounty Hunter,” by the sounds of it.

You were walking at an easy pace now. Took a left off Main and strolled quietly onto Sheppard Street, careful to dodge every bottle, beer can, and rotting body you could. You took a drag and ogled some of the saddest storefronts you’d ever seen. Windows all blown to bits and insides looking like shit as every place appeared to be looted.

It wasn’t until you’d walked a little longer and made your way past the epicenter of the havoc that you saw any spot worth looking at. Where it seemed every other place for food, clothes, firearms, or frozen yogurt along this stretch of road was ransacked and dilapidated, you noticed one building that wasn’t.

In fact, it stopped you dead in your tracks and warranted a triple take to ensure you were seeing things properly the first time you saw it. Blinking with disbelief in the face of this scorching Georgia heat, came your first, unfathomable, ‘What the fuck?’

Juicy Peach Pleasure Shop—Take a bite inside!

There were some sick, twisted people in this world before the turn, that was for sure.

You made a beeline for the entrance.

Admittedly, you’d seen your fair share of funky ass sex shops in your day, but this one took the cake. All shuttered up and seemingly untouched since the world first went to shit—because who in their right mind was robbing a pocket pussy emporium in the midst of the apocalypse?—the store was in surprisingly pristine condition.

The inside was probably tiny and grimy and crawling with walkers—but it was also now your only hope to make yourself useful to the Alexandria community, you thought.

You quickly came to realize that this store would allow you to supply a truckload of sex toys and offer every adult back home the opportunity at a kinkier recreational outlet. With a stockpile of vibrators, ball gags, and anal beads alike, you could finally show them you were good for something. Maybe even worth keeping around, in spite of your subpar siphoning skills and the fact that you’d scared off nearly every animal Daryl attempted to hunt.

You’d be a Juicy Peach pioneer, and one that was likely to meet with tremendous success, if you could just…get the damn door open.

You gave the handle several violent shakes and thrust your body against the door, to no avail.

The sun’s rays were relentless on your back and already bringing a sheen of sweat to your skin, try as you might to keep your cool. You fooled around a few more seconds with the knob, found it hopelessly stuck in its position, and were about ready to abandon the task altogether when you felt the glass begin to give way. Instead of pushing the door, all you had to do was pull it open.

If you were around anyone else but yourself and the dead, you probably would’ve blushed. Would’ve taken a peek at your surroundings, perhaps lifted one half of your headset off your ears and tried to listen to see if anyone had heard. But no, you forged ahead, as careless and oblivious as you were engrossed in the present song’s guitar solo.

Should you have bothered to do either, you likely would’ve heard a set of feet sprinting in your direction and seen someone reaching for you in a hurry. Would’ve caught a glimpse of the stranger’s left hand before it clamped over your mouth or the right as it closed around your own on the door handle and yanked it back. The next thing you knew, you were being hauled inside and held tight against someone’s body, all but immobile in their grip and struggling to gasp for air.

Then a breath, hot on your ear as the person pulled you closer:

“Herd. Don’t move.”

You tensed in Daryl’s arms and watched the scene unfold before you. Just outside the store’s boarded windows, a super-sized group of geeks began to descend on the street where you’d just been standing. Seeing them shuffle, stumble, groan, and hiss their way down, you shuddered to think you hadn’t heard them at all—and would have been overrun in a minute if Daryl hadn’t intervened just then.

The man’s hand remained glued to your mouth, sensing you might shriek as you watched the horde grow in size.

Slowly, he backed you away from the door and started looking around.

“Daryl, I—” you began in a whisper, turning around to face him.

Before you could continue, a half-rotted corpse rose from the floor a few feet away and started toward you and Daryl. You fought your first inclination to scream, remembering your current predicament, and opted instead for a frantic, furious wave of your arm as you pointed behind Daryl.

The man leveled his crossbow in a blink and had a bolt lodged in the walker’s skull even faster. You watched the body crumple to the ground, just before another one of its companions came rounding the corner.

This time, Daryl slipped his dagger from the sheath on his belt and in a single, swift maneuver, drove the blade through the walker’s temple. You watched with widened, paralyzed eyes as this one, too, dropped fast to the floor. But when it did, you still couldn’t bring yourself to displace your gaze, for something bizarre had snagged your attention.

“What in the everliving fuck is tha’?” Daryl breathed, eyes stuck to the same sight as yours.

That rank, decayed biter had a pair of nipple clamps fastened to its chest.

Just as your mind raced to furnish the man with an answer, Daryl took a sweeping look around the place and scrunched his nose.

“Is this—”

“Daryl, I can explain—”

You watched the anger flare in his eyes as he turned.

“You got us trapped in a sex shop?” Daryl snarled.

Though neither of you were in a position to speak too far above a whisper with the walkers outside, it was painfully obvious that your partner was yearning to yell in your face. In an instant, he got within an inch of it and stood towering over you, seething between gritted teeth:

“Risked our lives for a fuckin’ vibrator?”

“How was I supposed to know?” you whispered back, gesturing wildly to the window behind you.

Daryl’s fingers curled into fists, and for a second it seemed like one was primed to strike the nearest surface, but he stopped. Unclenched his hands and simply glared down at you.

“Ain’t you a peach,” he muttered, low and slow, “Ain’t you a goddamn useless little peach, huh?”

He took off in the other direction, probably in search of a back exit.

You stood and silently scolded yourself for feeling even the slightest inkling of arousal at the last, sarcasm-soaked insult. What the hell was wrong with you?

You hung back another minute or so and weren’t surprised in the least when you heard Daryl groan out loud, coming to find the back door barricaded all the way to the ceiling.

“Sonovabitch!”

Taking one, apprehensive look out the window, you observed the herd hadn’t budged. They were moving and milling about, to be sure, but the bulk of them hadn’t wavered from the shop’s front stoop, leaving you and Daryl prisoners within these four walls.

You flinched when one of the walkers bumped its near-fleshless head against the glass. Silently, warily, you backed away and hoped it wouldn’t stray any further.

At length, none of them did.

Nearly an hour had passed before you could tear yourself away from the window, watching each doe-eyed, groaning monster outside like your life depended on it. Then Daryl came staggering back, all but drenched in sweat and slashed every which way down his arms. He’d been prying whatever stuff he could get from the exit, only to find that the door itself had been boarded up and jammed shut. The herd hadn’t stirred.

Daryl had barely been able to look at you when he demanded you start looking—for batteries, rope, whatever the hell you could find in this “depraved place.” You’d gone searching without another word, and the pair of you had been radio silent ever since. Combing over aisles of porn flicks and cock pumps and pretending like this wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing either of you had ever had to do.

When the opportunity to slip somewhere else first presented itself, you took it.

Toward the back of the store, you found a set of changing rooms. All cluttered with boxes and other junk but nevertheless a potential treasure trove for supplies. You eased your way in.

To your relief, there were only two half-rotted walkers making their rounds amongst the wreckage. You knifed them both and went calmly about your business.

And for awhile, it was just that—business. You were ecstatic to find two pairs of boxcutters, a dozen rolls of tape, and more rope than you knew what to do with. You had loaded your arms chock-full of finds, were just about to step outside to show Daryl, when a clothes rack caught your eye.

You turned your head and stopped to take in the sight.

On a single, flimsy hanger at the center of the shelf, there dangled a baby pink lace lingerie set.

You hadn’t seen anything that tantalizing, lithe, and sheer in a long, long time. You were practically drawn to it, feeling your feet shuffle clumsily in its direction and your arms drop every last item they held. Surely, then, you embodied everything a Victoria’s Secret salesman could’ve dreamed—so singularly focused on that stupid piece of clothing that you were literally stepping over dead bodies to get there.

If Daryl could see you then, he’d probably slap you upside the head.

“This ain’t a fashion show, sweetheart, we got the dead beatin’ down our front door!” You could almost hear him now.

Almost. Any hypothetical harangue from your supply run partner and every other pressing concern, it seemed, was lost on you now. All you knew was lace embroidery and plunging necklines, satin fabrics and fuck-me mesh open gussets.

You were clothed in the garment quicker than you could say, ‘Bad idea.’ You did a spin in the mirror.

A thousand dumb ideas danced before your mind’s eye as you placed your hands on your hips, moved your shoulders in sync, gave your ass a little shake. It was ridiculous, but you just hadn’t thought of yourself that way in so long; it was like you were staring at a brand new reflection. Years in a noxious, nightmarish world like the one you currently inhabited would do that. Turn a person into a bloodless stoic, so focused on the means of survival that they couldn’t even say a simple—

“What the fuck?!”

Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw Daryl’s form appear in the corner of the mirror. You quickly covered your tits and turned back to look at him.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Daryl, I—”

“You off yer fuckin’ rocker or sumn’?” Daryl spat, striding right over to you, “We got a whole pack of walkers champin’ at the bit to get us outside, and yer in here playin’ dress up?!”

Daryl clenched his jaw and shoved the clothes rack to the side, sending it tumbling over the two dead walkers with a crash. You hugged your arms to your chest even tighter.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak again, to try and apologize once more, Daryl shoved a thick, angry finger in your face.

“If you go and get yer dumbass devoured by a dildo-wielding geek, tha’s on you. I ain’t fuckin’ comin’ ta save ya no more.”

Damn if the man didn’t have a way with words, even when he was fuming out the ears.

You glanced down and immediately wished you hadn’t. Or had, sooner. Your blue-eyed nemesis was currently sporting the largest hard-on you thought you’d ever seen.

Daryl looked down too and seemed only to grow in his anger, if that were even possible, as it appeared he was infuriated at the sight below him. Enraged with his own erection.

You almost would’ve found this predicament amusing if you weren’t still afraid Daryl might throw you over his shoulder and feed you to the herd outside. Deciding to play it safe, you kept your mouth shut and stood with your hands clasped in front of you. Eyed the outline of his dick only once. Okay, maybe twice.

When your eyes traveled back up to his face in a nervous gaze, you found that Daryl was glaring at you. A hand hovered uncertainly above his belt buckle.

“Fuck it.” You heard him say under his breath before suddenly reaching for you.

Your whole body tensed in his calloused hands as he shoved you toward the door, gripping your wrists behind your back and thrusting you ahead.

You dug your heels into the floor, uselessly, trying to stop your vicious path past the changing rooms and into the store. Your eyes widened as you saw an even larger horde amassed beyond the front door, and for several, fleeting seconds you seriously thought that Daryl might throw you out there.

“Daryl, please,” you wailed, thrashing against him, “I didn’t mean it, I was being stupid—you don’t have to do this!”

At the center of the store, Daryl stopped. Spun you around shortly to face him.

“What?”

“Don’t feed me to the herd, please, I’m begging you.” Your stomach clenched with fear.

Daryl’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. If you weren’t so goddamn terrified, you would’ve detected that tiny change was in fact amusement.

“‘M not gon’ feed you to the walkers, girl,” he grunted, all matter-of-fact. Then, just as calmly, “‘M gonna fuck you over this counter.”

Oh.

It seemed your World War Z nightmare-fantasy had taken a pornographic turn. The meaning of his words hardly registered in your brain before he shuttled you off to the cashier’s counter at the front of the store. Before you knew it, you were lying flat on a cold, glass surface and staring straight out into a sea of undead faces a few yards ahead. You swallowed.

You flinched with another grating sensation, this time at your wrists.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Daryl binding your hands together behind your back. Where he had obtained the black BDSM rope in the time it had taken him to bring you here was beyond you.

“Not to be a Debbie Downer here or anything, but isn’t this...kind of…dangerous?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the walkers outside the window.

“Don’t care.” Daryl pulled the rope even tighter.

“But they can hear us if they’re right outside.”

From your vantage point, it seemed Daryl was ready to yank your hair and pound you senseless. Instead, he smiled. Gave your ass a light pat.

“Then you’d be wise to keep tha’ pretty mouth of yours shut while I’m fuckin’ ya, sunshine.”

Daryl pressed one quick kiss on your shoulder before bounding off in the other direction. You shimmied helplessly against your restraints as you tried to flip yourself over.

“You’re sick, Dixon. You’re a sick son of a bitch, I hope you know that,” you whisper-shouted after him. You doubt he heard you but had a sneaking suspicion he’d already seen the soaked-through spot between your legs to disprove it even if he had. You pressed your head to the counter and cursed your primal instincts for turning your lower half into an uncomely mess every time a man twice your age said something mean to you.

You would’ve liked to have leaned back—or, rather, forward—and said a big ‘fuck you’ to Molly Hatchet as well for getting you into this bind in the first place, were it not for the sound of Daryl’s footsteps returning.

“Listen, I learned my lesson, Dar. If you could just untie me, we would be a lot better off figuring out a way to escape this place than—”

You yelped as something smacked your ass. It wasn’t Daryl’s hand.

“Ouch!” You strained against the rope once more, only succeeding in wiggling your ass before Daryl’s pleasantly occupied eyes.

“C’mon now, it ain’t tha’ bad, honey. Stuff’s meant to feel good,” he chided. Another strike on your ass check punctuated his words.

He was right; it didn’t really hurt. Just felt strange, all bent over and exposed before him like that. You glanced back and saw the crop in his hands, the smug look on his face, and for a second, you did feel a twinge of pleasure as you imagined him doing much more.

You whimpered when he spanked you again—this time, with the flattened palm of his hand.

“Better?” Daryl quipped, grinning.

The second you nodded your head, you heard the sound of the crop clatter to the floor behind you. Daryl swiftly took your ass in both hands and started kneading the skin. Really digging his fingers into the flesh and sending shockwaves trembling all through your body.

“Rick’s the only reason yer here, y’know,” Daryl said behind you. You yelped when he smacked your ass again, and you curled your toes into the linoleum below.

The man rubbed the spot as soon as he’d struck it, palming your skin like it was the softest, smoothest thing he’d ever felt.

“Thinks you’d be an asset.” Another slap on your rear.

“I told him he don’t know wha’ the fuck he’s talkin’ ‘bout. Said you were ‘bout as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest.”

You fought back a chuckle. That was pretty good.

And when he spanked your ass another time, the sting didn’t hurt as much. You propped your chin on the surface beneath you, pursed your lips, and actually suppressed the threat of a moan.

“I said ya were a liability,” Daryl continued, “Didn’t know no fuckin’ manners neither.”

At that, you were tempted to speak, almost wanting to defend yourself against his baseless accusations. But Daryl stopped that from happening, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and arched your back up to meet his face, half-standing.

“I think ya need me ta teach ya some manners, how ‘bout tha’?” he growled in your ear.

If the warmth pooling between your legs couldn’t answer for you, you decided words would have to do. You nodded and said, “Uh-huh.”

Daryl threw you back onto the counter and gave your ass another brutal smack.

“‘Uh-huh’ don’t sound too polite to me, sugar,” he said sharply, cruelly. He didn’t soothe your backside with the pulse of his fingers and stood back from you instead.

“Yes...y-yes sir,” you stammered out, legs trembling underneath you.

Your feet were slightly raised, all but standing on tip-toes to keep your body propped up against the counter, and you were suddenly aware that your cunt was plainly exposed. The open gusset in your lacy attire seemed to have spread even further, swelling with the size of your now-engorged folds and probably displaying yourself to Daryl in all the worst ways.

The man groaned behind you.

You sensed some fabric shuffle, the clink of a belt come undone, and finally a tongue—pressed flat against you and licking a stripe up your oozing heat.

You shuddered forward on the tabletop and let out a lewd-sounding squeal. Your eyes widened at the sight ahead of you as you swore you could’ve seen a walker turn their rotted head in your direction outside. Daryl clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Now tha’s— what we’re not gonna do,” he whispered through gritted teeth, “We’re not gonna make one fuckin’ sound so the geeks out there can stay right where they are. Ya hear me?”

Daryl’s hand moved to your throat and pinched it in a vicious grip when you didn’t answer him.

“Ya hear me?”

You managed one strangled ‘Yes sir’ and left your lips parted as Daryl placed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on them. He stepped back again.

You heard some other quiet stirrings behind you as Daryl fiddled with something above your back. Frankly, you were already too lust-struck and cum-hungry to care, breathing out in soft, gentle puffs of air as you tried to rein in your reeling mind. You watched the walkers for a minute, tried to ground yourself in the unsavory reality all around you—the precarious position you were currently standing in, as one stray stumble of one of those undead shitheads might veritably mean the end of you and Daryl’s lives as you knew it—and you sighed. Scanned your eyes across the sea of wretched, fleshy heads and wanted to hurl.

At present, Daryl stroked your lower back with the tips of his fingers.

“Y’know, it’s been real tough ta find anything useful here,” he mused aloud, running his touch over your skin and sending a flurry of goosebumps in its path, “Ain’t nothin’ worth keepin’ here, really—‘cept maybe some dirty magazines.”

You internally rolled your eyes. Good for you, Daryl.

Then he lifted his hand and dragged it down a little further, causing you to clench your legs and snag your bottom lip between your teeth.

“But I got curious, see…” Daryl’s forefinger followed the contour of your ass and slid down between your cheeks, traveling lazily ‘til he reached your aching core. He sank that same finger deep between your folds and circled around in your heat, eliciting a strained whimper above as he gathered your juices.

“Daryl—” you whined.

“Don’t interrupt,” Daryl growled, slapping your pussy.

You winced and let out the smallest of moans. Daryl smirked.

“I found some stuff,” he resumed, “Might actually make this little trip worthwhile.”

You panted in your current position, hardly hearing a word he said.

When he lifted something else to your heat, you did quickly sense that his wasn’t any part of his hand, or even his cock. You squirmed in place but didn’t speak.

“Found batteries,” Daryl declared, as though it were the grandest discovery he’d ever made.

“Ya know what batteries are good for, darlin’?” You could almost hear the grin in his voice.

Before you could answer, you felt a fierce pulse at your center. A tremor, a throb, an artificial oscillation.

A vibration.

You moaned.

Daryl twirled the tip of a pink vibrator against your clit and pressed.

So overcome with that raw, potent jolt, you couldn’t help it when you cried, “Fuck, Daryl!”

Daryl didn’t cover your mouth, but he did withdraw the device from your slit for a moment, just to whisper in your ear to shut. the fuck. up. The two of you ogled the swarm of walkers once more and stood in muted suspense. Waiting for one to turn toward the glass.

Not a single set of eyes drifted in your direction.

Bent over you with a buzzing vibrator at your core, Daryl couldn’t deny the rush was...addictive. He pushed the thing a little deeper and smiled when you stifled a moan.

“Ya might’ve been right comin’ all the way out here after all,” Daryl teased, “This shit’s way more fun than suckin’ gas, don’t ya think?”

You buried your face in the glass and wanted to scream when Daryl’s fingers started sliding in and out of your hole.

You were being so good, not making a sound, eyes all but welled up with tears at the pleasure that was coursing through your body. Daryl rubbed your back with his other hand and seemed to be treating you a little gentler now.

“Aw, tha’s my girl,” he said, words ripe with condescension. He traced his palm up the length of your spine and kept fingering you quietly. You barely even noticed that the vibrator was designed to hook inside you, still punishing your clit as it quivered away at the sensitive spot within your walls.

“Who woulda thought all it would take ta shake that disobedience away was a couple’a fingers in yer cunt and a stupid little toy.”

You were far too close to your release to give a shit about his patronizing speech; you bucked your hips against his hand, his front, and gritted your teeth as a tender bubble of pleasure grew deep within your belly. Then, to your surprise, you felt Daryl clasp your fingers while they were still knotted with rope behind you and squeezed them.

“Tha’s a good girl. Cum all over me, make tha’ pussy feel nice f’me, c’mon.”

You followed his command in short order and released all over his hand, humping his fingers and humming through a muffled shriek as you came.

Daryl beamed with pride and hardly had it in him to look away, notwithstanding the growing throng of walkers close ahead of you. He uncurled his fingers, slid them out, and took a nice, long taste of his hand while he watched you writhe underneath him.

“Take it out!” you hissed, thrashing against the vibrator still buzzing within you, “Take it out, take it out, take it out!”

In truth, you’d never felt so fucking good in your life. You surprised yourself when you stood there another couple seconds and came again, clenching repeatedly over the tiny pink toy and groaning into the condensation-dampened glass.

“FUCK!” you screamed, this time with no hint of restraint.

Daryl’s eyes bulged out of his head, and he yanked the thing out of you. Gaze darting to the window in a petrified look.

One walker paused in place and craned its neck with the slowest of motions. It stared blankly at the window before it but didn’t move. Daryl saw its mouth open and close, wheezing something violent, and stared another few seconds before shuffling back to its previous path. Daryl closed his eyes.

“What did I say about—” he started to whisper down to you, but you cut him short,

“We need a safe word or something, Daryl. This is too fuckin’ risky.”

You were right about that. Daryl straightened up and tucked the vibrator in his pocket, before wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Yeah? How ‘bout ‘Walker Bait’?” he muttered, rubbing his face.

Then he was fumbling with the rope around your wrists and loosening it up. His heart was still thudding in his chest, scared half to death with the narrow miss you’d just had, though he didn’t want you to see it. He turned around as soon as you’d gotten free.

“Fine by me,” you grumbled back.

You watched Daryl disappear down a random aisle and felt obliged to cross your arms over your chest, pivoting back to the walkers with a wary gaze.

And, just when you started to wander back into the recesses of your mind, watching the swarm grow thicker and thicker and starting to doubt you’d ever escape this nightmare, you felt Daryl’s hands on you again. Squeezing your hips and turning you to face him.

“Jump,” he ordered.

You did as he said and locked your legs around his waist, welcomed by the familiar feeling of the counter behind you as Daryl pressed your bodies into it. He half-braced you against it, half-held you in his arms as he fingered something small and delicate beneath you.

Your smile widened at the sight of a condom wrapper being torn in two, and grew even bigger when you caught a glimpse of the rubber itself.

It was bright blue and littered with ridges. You laughed.

“The hell is that, Dixon?” you asked, bringing a hand to your mouth to muffle your amusement.

Daryl gingerly dragged the cobalt-colored condom over his length and made a face.

“Ain’t a single damn rubber here for normal people,” he grunted, “This one’s fuckin’ blueberry flavored.”

At the last, neither of you could contain your laughter as you both stared down at the bizarre blue condom stretching over Daryl’s cock. You scooted forward just a little.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there, Dar?” you said as you pushed his chest lightly. Telling him to step back so you could hop down and sink to the floor in front of him.

Daryl sucked in a breath as you took his shaft in your hands. He slapped a hand on the countertop and squeezed when your tongue darted past your lips.

Surely he couldn’t get a fruit-flavored condom and not expect you to give it a taste.

With the base of his cock between your fingers, you licked a long, wide line up his dick and moaned.

“Doesn’t taste much like blueberries,” you hummed, feigning disappointment as you gazed up at Daryl. He gripped the counter even harder and gritted his teeth to suppress a groan.

Regardless of the unsavory artificial flavor, you took the head of his cock between your lips and sucked. Bobbed your head up and down over his length as though trying to get a real mouthful of those so-called berry juices. You found yourself sorely dissatisfied with the taste but more than compensated for this loss in the form of Daryl’s throaty moans above you. It seemed he was letting loose on the restraints to keep quiet and finally gripping your hair, rutting into your mouth.

“Ah, honey, tha’s’it. Tha’s a good little slut,” he panted as he pushed you further down on his cock.

You tried not to gag when he grazed the back of your throat but couldn’t control the reflex. Daryl groaned even louder above you.

In a second, you were plucked off his bright blue boner and taken back into his arms, then shoved on the surface behind you.

“I ain’ fuckin’ waitin’ no more. Ya done achin’ for daddy’s cock?”

You nodded that you were. You readily accepted Daryl’s lips on your own and his tongue pushed deep in your mouth as he showered you with a string of sloppy kisses. Shifted you in his arms almost viciously, frantically, before bringing you down on his cock.

The second you were fully impaled on him, the two of you groaned. You bucked your hips and he rutted his, bouncing you up and down again and again with no time at all to adjust to his size.

All that could be heard in the deserted store was the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, punctuated every now and then with strangled moans and stifled whimpers. You steadied your hands on either one of his shoulders and stared, deeply, in Daryl’s half-hooded eyes. He panted out a breathy sigh as you clenched around him.

“Tha’s right, girl, fuckin’ take it. Take this fuckin’ cock like it’s yours,” he growled.

“It is mine, Daryl,” you bit back, grinding even harder, “Tell me it’s mine.”

Daryl’s jaw seemed to slacken just a bit, evidently aroused by the sound of you talking so dirty to him. In a blink, he was digging his nails in your sides and saying,

“It’s yours, baby. All fuckin’ yours.”

If someone had told you at the start of the day that this was how your dreaded supply run with Daryl would go, you wouldn’t have believed them. As your once-despised partner drilled you even deeper and caught your lips in a frenzied kiss, you still almost couldn’t comprehend it now. You bounced, and you writhed, and you rolled your desperate hips against him, but how in the fuck did this happen?

The moment Daryl dropped his thumb to your clit, you decided you didn’t care.

Your walls hugged him even tighter as he drew loose circles all over your swollen nub, and your head fell back. Daryl held you even tighter.

“Gonna cum again f’me? Gonna cum all over this cock?” he goaded you as your heels dug deep in his lower back.

All you could do was nod again—bring your lazy, fucked-out gaze back to Daryl and murmur in what hardly felt like words to you at all:

“Y-yes, daddy, yes.”

Daryl smiled at the sound of that word on your lips and thrusted his hips even harder, fucking you fast to build the friction on your sensitive, trembling walls.

That, paired with the flick of his thumb on your clit and the narrowing eyes holding you tight to his gaze—wordlessly coaxing you to cum for him now, make daddy proud—sent your senses spiraling into ecstasy. You released all over Daryl’s fat, throbbing cock and gripped him harder than you ever had before.

Before another scream could escape your lips, Daryl yanked you closer for a kiss and attempted to swallow every sound as his own orgasm surged inside him. You felt the man move both hands to your sides, seize them, and all but crush the bones beneath his fingers as he fucked you hard against the counter. He shot his load in the condom and groaned against your mouth.

Two former enemies, fucked out like a couple of crazed fools, stayed glued in place and blinked back at one other like you hardly understood what had just happened. Grinning nonetheless.

As Daryl leaned in for one last kiss, the pair of you froze—something rapped against the window.

The two of you turned and almost swore you could’ve felt your stomachs fall to the floor.

The herd of walkers outside, seemingly doubled in size, now stood at full attention at the storefront. Every undead, rotted head turned straight to face you.

They looked real fucking hungry.

[abbyreedus]

@gutsby you are such an incredible writer. I always find myself returning to this fic. Ughhh amazingg 😭

[softcherryvanilla]

Daryl Accidentaly Walking In On You While You're Changing...

... if he has a crush on you.

╰⪼ Daryl Dixon x fem!reader / prison era ╰⪼ Word Count: 439 ╰⪼ Warnings: little bit of smut ╰⪼ Masterlist

𑣲 Let's be honest, if this guy walked into your cell and saw you standing there almost completely naked, he would definitely get paralysed. He would suddenly stop mid-step, frozen, unable to move or even look away. His gaze would immediately be drawn to your bare chest. The way your boobs bounce as you jump, startled by his sudden intrusion, makes him feel things he shouldn't feel.

𑣲 Even though you immediately cover your breasts with your hands, he just stands there staring like some old pervert until you finally squeal his name, which makes him look up. His face turns bright red and his whole body heats up so much that he feels like he's on fire. It doesn't help that you are definitely not pleased with his presence at this moment. He can't get out a single word, all thoughts left his mind except for one very filthy one that makes him feel dirty.

𑣲 He would try his best to not let his gaze slip, but your body attracts his eyes like a magnet. It's not easy to look at your (adorably flushed) face, even when you ask him what the hell he wants. Your hands are still covering your breasts, holding them tightly, and all he can think about is coming up to you and making you lower your arms. Not to grope you, no. He just simply wants to admire you.

𑣲 It would take him a good ten seconds before he could finally turn away. He'll probably scold you for not putting up a “Do Not Disturb” sign or something when you're changing. He would never admit that it was his fault. He would also never admit that his pants became much tighter after that incident.

𑣲 He will be haunted by the memory of you standing there wearing only lace panties, and every time he looks at you, he will be so flustered that he will have to avoid you at all costs. Especially since he would jerk off to that memory almost every night.

𑣲 He is so deprived of love, touch, and action that he gets so worked up by your bare chest that he almost loses his mind. What's worse (for him), he knows you know it. He sees how you look at him when he tries to act like you're not there. However, he doesn't know that you have a crush on him too, and once the initial embarrassment of him walking in on you passed, you decided to take advantage of poor, very flustered Daryl Dixon. You'll definitely show him your boobs again, this time on purpose.

Taglist:

@theskinniestjackson-denny @stephtuckerwriting @bl4ckt00thgr1n @olive-gardens @gothicxbarbie @slutforgrey @chansmai @bat-revival @oh-to-be-a-girl @marylimlp @sunshine-girl013 @gwenlinthegremlin @electroniczombieprince @cinefilaleitora @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @flirtysnakes @martuxduckling @emmanem1331 @peachycheekz @aliceliddell13 @satata @annylaugh @anaaam @thatonewriterchick @dixons-wifey @belovedmoony @idkmaybeitskhloe @baileyelizabethbarlow @vampsan @lilratbb @final-sights @shattersoftly @imadisneyprincessiswear @cryptidsrcool @jicama420 @securityinarkham @joelmillerisbabygirl @beacon-cause-pigs-suck @visiblyawkwardecho @rttnteef @rzmyersbiggestfan @buffydixon

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3

[littledes1re]

Strawberry creampie

Pairing: Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You’re cramping, cranky, and just needed to grab a few things. Joel’s mouth had other plans. What starts as a simple ride to the store turns into a slow spiral of sleazy muttering, tuna-fueled rage, and unsolicited period advice. You’re in pain. He’s insufferable. And somehow, you still end up in his van—a heat pad, a stolen shirt, and Joel’s version of comfort waiting in the back.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, non specified age gap unprotected sex, fuck buddies, sleazy!joel (he’s back hehe), pinv, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, period sex, size kink, slight descriptions of blood, praise kink, chubby/fat!joel, slight degradation, daddy kink (just once), joel says the most unhinged things, aftercare, no outbreak,

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY POOKIES!!🎉🥰 Can y’all tell I’m on my period rn lmao😭 I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a period fic and I finally did it!! Also yes, I used a picture of Hopper for the header—SUE ME. We needed to see Joel Miller’s belly more 😔😔😔😔

Joel pulls up in that same beat-up truck—the one that sounds like it’s coughing up its last breath every time it moves, held together by duct tape and Joels stubborn will.

The passenger door creaks loudly as he opens it for you to slip in.

“Looking good, sweetheart,” he drawls, eyes flicking over you with that lazy smirk that always makes you want to roll your eyes and punch him into the ribs. “You do somethin’ different with your hair, or is that just bedhead?”

You don’t answer.

“Goddamn door’s stickin’ again,” he mutters, slamming it shut behind you with a grunt once you’re in. “Gotta hit it twice now. Like I’m tryin’ to put down a damn zombie. I swear, one of these days this whole piece’a shit’s just gonna fall apart while I’m drivin’. Hood’ll fly off, wheels’ll roll in opposite directions, and I’ll just sit there like an asshole in the middle of the road.”

Joel was a man of many words. Too many, as you always liked to say. There wasn’t a sentence he didn’t lace with a curse or a complaint, but that’s just what made him Joel.

He slaps the dashboard affectionately, like it’s a stubborn old dog. “But she’s got character, y’know? Can’t just toss her out. She’s earned her miles.”

You glance at the cracked windshield, tape curling at the edges, smelling the familiar faint scent of gasoline and old leather.

He’s already shifting into gear, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the back of your seat. The truck lurches forward with a wheeze, and Joel mutters something under his breath that sounds like a curse (once again).

You weren’t sure when exactly your life veered off of course—which wrong turn, which bad decision, which moment of weakness landed you here, tangled up with this sleazy, grumbling old man who smelled like motor oil and cheap soap and somehow still managed to get under your skin in all the worst ways.

Joel wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even really a friend. He was just…there. A warm body, a familiar mouth, an orgasm when you need it the most.

And yet, here you were asking your fuck buddy to help you run errands, as if that was something normal.

“Tommy called this mornin’,” he starts, like he has been waiting all day to talk about it. “Said he needs help fixin’ the fence again. I told him, ‘You break it every damn week, maybe stop leanin’ ya fat ass on it.’”

He snorts, clearly pleased with himself. “Didn’t like that much. Got all huffy. Said it’s not his fault the wind knocked it down. I said, ‘Bullshit. The wind didn’t eat three burgers and leaned on that damn thing.’”

You glance at him, unimpressed. He doesn’t notice.

“Then he starts goin’ on about how I never answer my phone. I said, ‘Maybe if you stopped callin’ me every time a nail pops loose, I’d be more inclined.’ Told him I’m not his damn handyman. He said, ‘You’re not doin’ anything else.’ I said, ‘Exactly. Let me keep not doin’ it in peace.’”

He shakes his head, muttering, “Idiot’s gonna be the death of that damn fence. Or me.”

He glances at you again, expecting a smirk, a laugh, something. But you’re just staring out the window, arms crossed tight over your chest.

Joel frowns, drums his knuckles against the steering wheel, a soft, rhythmic tap that fills the quiet. His eyes flick back to the road, then to you again.

“What about you, sweetheart?” he asks, voice casual but slightly unsure. “How was your day?”

You shrug, barely. “Forgot my eggs on the pan.”

He snorts. “Shit. Bet the whole house smells like rubber now.”

You nod, still not looking at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “One time I damn near burned my kitchen down doin’ that. Left the stove on, went outside to yell at the neighbor’s dog—little bastard kept barking like a maniac—came back in and the whole pan was blacker than my coffee.”

You shift slightly, arms still crossed, but your mouth twitches. Just a little.

Joel catches it. Keeps going.

“Whole place smelled like shit. Like scorched tires and disgusting rubber. Took a week to air it out. Had to throw the pan out too—thing looked like it’s been through a war.”

A quiet laugh escapes as a huff, involuntary and short.

Joel glances over, smug. “There she is.” He taps the wheel again, slower this time. “You alright?”

You don’t answer. Just shift again, pressing your hand to your stomach, feeling that sharp pain tearing through your insides.

Joel notices. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“Where d’you want me to take you, sugar? Grocery store? Liquor store? Straight to hell?”

You mutter, “Just grocery store.”

“Good. I was runnin’ low on stuff too.” He answers, looking at you, expecting a smile—a something. But you just look out of the window.

He asks again, slower this time. “You really good?”

You nod, but it’s tight. Joel doesn’t push—not yet. Just mutters, “Alright then,” and pulls out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on his thigh.

The ride to the store is mostly filled with Joel’s annoying voice: a steady stream of complaints about traffic, gas prices, and some guy who apparently parked too close to his truck last week. You let it just wash over you, eyes fixed on the trees and strip malls outside the window, while your stomach cramps in slow, mean pulses.

Inside the store, the fluorescent lights are too bright, buzzing faintly overhead like a swarm of insects.

You move through the aisles on autopilot, grabbing the essentials: a bottle of ibuprofen, a bag of chips you probably won’t eat, a chocolate bar you definitely will. You pause at the feminine hygiene aisle, grab a box of pads and one box of tampons—just to be prepared for everything.

And Joel…well Joel, of course, is nowhere near the checkout. You find him two aisles over, standing toe tp toe with a man in a hoodie, voice raised just enough to draw attention.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s real damn fish,” Joel is saying, gesturing wildly with a can of tuna in one hand. “You think they’re just grindin’ up mystery meat and callin’ it tuna for fun?”

The other man scoffs. “I’m just sayin’, it don’t taste like fish. It’s like…fish adjacent.”

Joel’s eyes narrow. “You ever seen a cow in a can? No? Then shut the hell up.”

You sigh, stepping in before it escalates. “Joel.”

He barely glances at you. “Tell this guy tuna’s real damn fish.”

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, grabbing his arm and steering him toward the checkout. “Come on.”

He lets you pull him away but not without a parting shot. “You’re the reason the country’s goin’ to hell, y’know that? Can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”

You don’t respond. Just shove your items onto the band and pretend you don’t know him while he mutters under his breath about “fish truthers” and something about “goddamn grocery store philosophers.”

Back in the truck, you toss the bag into the backseat and climb in, settling into the passenger side with a sigh. Joel’s already midrant, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing like he’s still in the store, still arguing with the guy in the hoodie.

“I’m tellin’ you, it’s fish. Tuna is fish. I don’t give a shit if it’s in a can or swimmin’ in the damn ocean.”

You don’t even care anymore.

Because this is Joel—a man who’d argue with a stranger over canned tuna like it was a matter of world security. A man who was always loud, always wrong, and always ready to throw hands over the dumbest shit.

But he could fuck. God, could he fuck. And when this whole thing started, that was the only part you let yourself care about.

The rest? The attitude, the mouth, the sleaze—you told yourself you could ignore. Just noise. Just background. Even while it’s annoying.

Joel keeps going, voice low and gravelly. “I swear, people get one opinion and suddenly they’re a damn marine biologist. ‘Oh, tuna’s not real fish.’ What’s next? Chicken’s not real poultry? My dick’s not real meat?”

You snort, but don’t look at him.

Joel catches it instantly. “You agree with me now, right?” he says, smug as hell. “Knew it. Knew you were on my side.”

You shake your head, staring out the window. “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just think it’s funny you almost fought a man over a can of fish.”

He scoffs, still grumbling about the tuna guy when his voice drops into something lower, lazier—familiar. His voice softens, just a notch. “You got everything you wanted, hon?”

You nod, slow. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a second longer, then shifts his gaze back to the road. “Need to go anywhere else?”

“No, but…thank you.”

“Oh, my polite girl,” he says, grinning all cheeky. He reaches over and pinches your cheek, rough fingers warm and calloused.

You huff, batting his hand away. “Don’t.”

He chuckles, leaning back against his seat. “Got adrenaline runnin’ through my veins. You should’ve just let me fight that dude.”

You glance at him. “You still there?”

Joel scoffs. “Ain’t lettin’ myself get disrespected like that. People piss me off,” he mutters. “Whole damn store full of idiots. Got me all wound up.”

He glances at you, then back at the road. “Could use a distraction. Somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You shake your head.

He smirks to himself, voice dipping into that slow, familiar drawl. “Could bury my face in somethin’ soft. Shut my mouth for a while. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

That actually makes him pause.

“Woah,” he mutters, glancing over. “Usually you like my tone.”

You don’t respond, keeping yourself from insulting him.

He watches you for a second longer, then scoffs. “What, now you wanna get on my nerves too?”

You still don’t say anything.

Joel shakes his head, muttering, “What’s the matter with you today anyway?” Then, under his breath, half a joke, half a threat: “All stuck up. Need me to fuck it outta you?”

You roll your eyes while shifting, pressing your palm tighter against your stomach, jaw clenched.

Joel watches you for a second longer, then leans back in his seat with a low exhale. “Ah,” he mutters. “So that’s what this is.”

You glare at him. “Don’t.”

He grins wider. “You on your period, sugar?”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Joel.”

“What?” he says, all mock innocence. “I’m just observant. You get all quiet and mean, start holdin’ your tummy like that. I’ve seen it before.”

You mutter something under your breath and look out the window.

He leans in a little, voice dropping. “Y’know, I used to see this girl who loved gettin’ fucked on her period. Said it helped with the cramps. Said I was better than Midol.”

You groan. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but I’m not wrong.”

A beat of silence. The truck hums beneath you, tires rolling over cracked pavement.

Then Joel shifts, glancing at you again — slower this time. “You want me to take you home?”

You shake your head. “Don’t feel like being alone.”

He nods once, like that settles it. “Alright.”

Without saying anything, he reaches over—rough palm warm through the fabric and lays his hand over your tummy. Rubs once, slow and firm, like he’s done it before.

“C’mon,” he mutters. “Let’s go back to my van.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

He shrugs, voice low. “I’ll crank the heat. You can lay down, steal my last clean shirt, bitch about my mattress. I won’t even try anything.”

You raise a brow.

He smirks. “Unless you ask real nice.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not done.

“Could even rub your tummy,” he adds, voice syrupy. “Or your thighs. Or whatever else’s achin’. I’m versatile like that.”

You snort. “You’re a menace.”

“Damn right I am,” he says, grinning. “But I’m a menace with a heated van and a soft spot for cranky girls who forget their eggs on the stove.”

You try not to smile. Fail.

He sees it. “There she is,” he says, satisfied. “Knew I’d get you.”

You sigh, long and slow. “Fine. But I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.”

Joel taps the wheel, already pulling into a turn. “Good. I’ll keep it to a low simmer.”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop him. And he doesn’t ask again.

Joel doesn’t shut up the whole ride back.

He’s still going on about the tuna guy, about “idiots with opinions and no taste buds” and how “this country’s gone soft, that you can’t even trust a man with a can opener anymore.”

Every few minutes, he reaches over to poke your side, just enough to make you flinch and swat at him, which only encourages him more.

You’re too tired to argue, and the cramps are starting to dig in deeper, like something inside you is twisting just to be cruel.

By the time he pulls up to the van, the sky’s gone a dull gray, the kind that makes everything look washed out and tired. The van’s parked in its usual spot—half on gravel, half on dead grass, tucked behind a sagging fence that leans like it’s given up.

There’s a busted lawn chair tipped over in the dirt, a rusted grill that hasn’t seen fire in years, and a pile of wood that might’ve once been a table.

It’s a mess. But it’s Joel’s mess. And somehow, that makes it feel…familiar. Even safe in a twisted way.

He hops out and circles around to your side, opening the door for you with a dramatic bow.

“Ma lady,” he says, voice syrupy.

Inside, the van is exactly how you remember it.

Dim, cluttered, smelling like cigarettes, old leather, and something vaguely wooden. The red curtains are drawn, casting everything in a soft, crimson gloom. Then there’s a pile of laundry in the corner, a half empty mug on the counter, and a pair of boots kicked off near the door.

The bed’s unmade—sheets rumpled, blanket half on the floor—but it’s still comfortable. You know it.

It’s the same bed where Joel first pulled you down with that crooked grin and promised to show you some “lovin’ and care,” and then fucked your brains out.

You sit down on the edge of it now, letting out a low groan as you clutch your stomach.

Joel watches you for a beat, then makes a soft, exaggerated cooing sound. “Poor baby,” he says, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Need some water?”

You nod, and he moves to his tiny kitche, grabbing a bottle from the mini fridge. It’s not cold, but it’s water so you take it with a quiet “thanks.”

He eyes you for a second, then gestures vaguely towards your jeans. “You need to change or somethin’? I got a shirt you can wear. Big n’soft. Smells just like me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s not a selling point.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. You love how I smell.”

You don’t answer that with a response, but when he tosses the shirt your way—a faded green thing that’s probably seen more oil stains than laundry detergent—you take it anyway.

It does smell like him. Cigarettes, sweat, and something warm and earthy underneath. You change in the cramped little bathroom, peeling off your jeans with a wince and tugging the oversized shirt down over your thighs.

When you come back out, Joel’s already stripped down to his boxers, scratching at his stomach with one hand and tossing his fannel into the laundry pile with the other.

“Gotta take a shower,” he mutters. “Sweat my damn ass off today arguing with that guy.”

You don’t look at him, but you can hear the way he grunts as he moves, the way the floor creaks under his weight. He’s big—broad and solid, with a belly that presses against the counter when he leans over it, soft and round and unapologetic. He doesn’t suck it in. Doesn’t hide. Just scratches his ribs and yawns like you’re not even there.

“You stay here, yeah?” he says, nodding toward the bed. “Look—heating pad.”

He pulls it from under a pile of flannels and plugs it in, testing it with his palm before handing it over. “Old man like me needs somethin’ warm for his back, but you need it more than me right now, hon.”

You take it without a word, pressing it to your stomach as you sink back onto the bed. The warmth is immediate, soothing. You close your eyes for a second, breathing through the ache.

Joel steps closer, leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead—rough lips, scratch of stubble, the faintest scent of wood and sweat.

“Stay here, baby.”

You don’t argue, don’t roll your eyes. Just curl onto your side, the heating pad tucked against your belly, and listen to the sound of the water starting up in the tiny shower stall.

The van creaks as Joel moves, his body brushing the narrow walls, muttering something about how “these damn doors keep shrinkin’” as his stomach bumps the frame.

You don’t look, even while the door is open.

You’ve seen it before. The way he moves like he owns every inch of himself, the soft weight of him, the stretch of his skin, the way he doesn’t flinch when he catches his reflection. It’s not confidence, exactly. It’s just Joel. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

And somehow, that’s the part that makes you stay.

The water shuts off with a metallic groan, and a moment later you hear the soft thud of Joel’s feet against the floor, the creak of the bathroom door swinging open. Steam rolls out in a wave, curling into the cool air of the van.

He steps out, towel slung low around his hips, belly damp and flushed pink from the heat. His hair’s slicked back, droplets clinging to his chest hair, trailing down the curve of his stomach.

Then, his eyes land on you, curled up on the bed like a cocoon, Joel’s oversized shirt swallowing your frame. The heating pad hums faintly beneath the blanket, but your face is pinched, one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other curled into the sheets.

Joel’s expression softens. “Oh, honey girl,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “You look like hell, don’t you?”

You don’t bother answering. You’re too tired, too sore, too wrapped in the dull throb of your own body to do anything but breathe through it.

He crouches besides the bed, towel shifting slightly on his hips, and reaches out to brush your hair back from your forehead. His fingers are warm, still damp, and surprisingly gentle.

“There she is,” he says, voice low and fond. “My little grump.”

You close your eyes, letting him touch you. comforting. Familiar. His hand moves to your head, stroking slow, then down to your shoulder, thumb tracing lazy circles into the fabric of his own shirt.

“Hurts bad?” he asks.

You nod, barely.

He sighs. “Alright. Scoot over.”

You do, and he climbs onto the bed besides you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

The towel stays on (barely) as he settles in behind you, one arm draping over your waist. His hand finds your stomach, warm and broad, and he starts to rub in slow, steady circles.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

You hum, the pressure easing something deep inside you. He keeps going, patient and quiet, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

After a while, his hand drifts lower, to your hip, then your thigh. Kneading and soothing. His touch is firm but careful, like he’s trying to press the pain out of you with his palms.

You melt into it, tension bleeding out of your muscles one knot at a time.

Joel leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Told you I’m better than Midol.”

You don’t answer, but your body does—softening under his touch, breath slowing, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re warmin’ up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Feelin’ better?”

You hum, eyes half-lidded. “A little.”

He leans in, lips brushing your temple. “Good. Hate seein’ you all curled up like that. Makes me wanna fix it.”

His hand drifts up, slow and warm, brushing the hem of the shirt. He pauses just beneath your ribs, thumb tracing lazy circles into your side.

“These girls also sore?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

You don’t answer right away. Just let out a soft, miserable whine and nod, eyes still closed.

Joel hums, like he’s been given permission. “Yeah, figured.”

His hand slides up, careful and slow, until he’s cupping you through the fabric. No pressure, just warmth. His thumb strokes gently along the curve, feather-light.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “All swollen. Poor things.”

You let out a shaky breath, but you don’t stop him. You don’t want to. So he keeps going, slow and steady, massaging with the kind of care that makes your chest ache in a different way. Something that makes you feel safe and seen.

His hand quietly drifts lower, just a little—not quite crossing any lines, but close enough that your breath catches. He notices. Of course he does.

“Y’know,” he says, tone going sly, “I wasn’t kiddin’ earlier. Had a girl once swore up and down that a good fuck was better than any painkiller.”

You groan, but it’s half-hearted. “Joel…”

He grins against your skin. “What? I’m just sayin’. Could be medicinal. Therapeutic, even. I’m a giver like that.”

His hand slides a little farther, palm warm against the top of your thigh now, thumb pressing slow, soothing circles into the muscle.

“Bet I could make you forget all about that ache,” he murmurs, voice like honey and gravel. “Real gentle. Real slow. Just enough to take the edge off.”

You don’t answer, but your body does. Your hips shifting slightly, breath hitching and already a small pulse inside your underwear.

Joel chuckles, low and pleased. “That’s what I thought,” he says, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Feelin’ better already.”

There’s a pause—not awkward, just quiet and then you murmur, barely above a whisper, “I’d bleed all over your sheets.”

Joel’s hand stills for a second. Then he lets out a soft snort, amused but not mocking.

“Y’think I care?” he says, voice low and rough. “Sugar, I can throw ‘em in the machine. Hell, I’ll toss ‘em out if I have to. Ain’t like they’re made of gold.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at his sheets, jaw tight.

He leans in, brushing his nose against your temple. “Ain’t nothin’ about you that’s disgusting. You hear me?”

You shift again, uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with your body. “It’s not exactly…sexy.”

Joel huffs. “Who said anything about sexy? I’m talkin’ about you. Hurtin’. Needing somethin’. I don’t give a damn what time of the month it is. You think I’m scared of a little blood?”

You glance at him, uncertain. He meets your eyes, steady and sure.

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, smirking. “Hell, I’ve bled more than that just tryin’ to fix the damn carburetor.”

You let out a reluctant laugh, small and shaky.

“You know i’m right” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d scare me off. You wanna lay here and groan, I’ll rub your back. You wanna cry, I’ll hold you. You wanna ride me bloody, I’ll lay down a towel and thank you after.”

Your face burns. “Joel.”

He grins, unbothered. “What? I’m just sayin’. You don’t gotta be embarrassed. Not with me.”

You look at him, really look, and there’s no judgment in his eyes. Just that same crooked affection, that strange mix of sleaze and sincerity that somehow makes you feel…safe.

You exhale, long and slow, and let your head fall back against the pillow.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Joel leans down, presses a kiss to your forehead again—softer this time, lingering.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now stand up. Let me take care of you.”

Joel shifts behind you also standing up, the bed creaking under his weight as he leans over to the far end. You hear the soft rustle of fabric, the tug of a pillow being yanked free from under a pile of laundry, the click of the heating pad being unplugged and moved.

You blink up at him, glassy eyed. “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just lays a pillow down near the end of the bed, smooths the heating pad over it, then tosses a towel on top.

“Gonna make you a little nest,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked grin. “Get you all warm and comfy. Then I’m gonna fuck the pain right outta you.”

You huff, but your body’s already responding—a slow, low ache curling in your belly, different from the cramps. Deeper. Thicker.

Joel pats the towel. “Lay down on your tummy, sugar. Right here. Let that heat hit you where it counts.”

You hesitate, but only for a second. Then you shift forward, letting him guide you down. The towel’s soft against your skin, the heating pad radiating warmth through the fabric, straight into your lower belly. You exhale, already feeling the relief.

Joel stands behind you, hands smoothing over your hips, adjusting you just so. “There we go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy. Just like that.”

You bury your face into the sheets, the scent of him everywhere—smoke, sweat, soap.

Then he leans down, presses a kiss on your thigh, and whispers, “Just let go, baby. I got you.”

You feel the slow, deliberate tug of your panties being eased down.

“Is it… is it dripping blood?” You tense.

Joel pauses for half a second. Then he lets out a low, appreciative sound, voice thick with that familiar drawl.

“Nah,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “It’s drippin’ heaven, baby.”

You groan, burying your face into the sheets. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles, unbothered. “Yeah, but you’re still lettin’ me touch you.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. Not when his hands are back on your hips, warm and steady, not when his voice is in your ear, all gravel and heat.

He shifts behind you, the rustle of his towel hitting the floor barely audible over the sound of your own breathing.

One hand slides down, fingers brushing between your thighs, exploring your folds. “Already wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, lower: “Need me to prep you?”

You shake your head, barely. You just needed relief.

He exhales, rough and quiet. “Alright.”

He pushes in slow, careful, just the tip and then stills, breath catching in his throat.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice rough. “You’re so damn tight like this.”

You whimper, hips twitching under his hands.

He leans over you, lips brushing your hip. “But feels like heaven, baby. All warm and snug and squeezin’ me like you missed me.”

You bury your face in the pillow, flushed and aching, but you don’t pull away.

He pushes in slow, inch by inch, his breath ragged, hands gripping your hips like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will. You’re warm and tight around him, body pulsing with heat and ache, and he groans low in his throat.

Joel groans, rolling his hips just a little. “Could stay right here all night. Just like this. Deep and slow. Let you milk the pain outta both of us.”

You whimper, burying your face into the sheets once again, the stretch deep and aching but good. So good.

Joel stills once he’s fully seated inside you, chest heaving. Then, with a low grunt, he shifts—knees bracing on either side of your thighs, his body rising over yours.

And then he lowers himself, slow and heavy, until his belly settles against the small of your back, warm and solid.

You moan, the weight of him pressing you deeper into the heat of the pillow, the pressure on your belly somehow soothing and overwhelming all at once.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice rough but careful.

You shake your head, breath shallow. “Just…heavy.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “Yeah, I know. Big ol’ bastard, ain’t I?”

You huff a laugh, even as your lungs work a little harder under him.

Joel shifts, just enough to take some of the weight off your ribs, his forearms bracing him up. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll hold myself up. Don’t want you passin’ out on me—not unless I earned it.”

You roll your eyes, but your body relaxes under him. The weight of him is grounding, comforting in a way you didn’t expect. Like being blanketed in heat and muscle and the steady rhythm of his breath.

The bed creaks again as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that rock the whole frame. The headboard taps the wall in time, a soft, rhythmic thud that fills the space between your moans and his low, filthy praise.

“Fuckin’,” he breathes. “You’re so goddamn soft under me. Like a warm fuckin’ peach, ripe and drippin’.”

You whine, half from the ache, half from the way his words go straight to your spine.

He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s it, you just lay there, sugar. Let me do the work. Let me press all that ache outta that sweet little belly. Ain’t no Midol in the world that hits like this.”

You cry out, feeling him hit that one spot in you.

Deep, dragging thrusts that make your breath catch and your fingers curl into the sheets. Every inch of him presses into you, every roll of his hips sending a fresh wave of heat through your belly.

“Shit, girl… I’m stickin’ to you. Sweat, blood, all of it. My belly’s glued to your back like we’re welded together.” He murmurs.

You’re already so sensitive—from the cramps, from the heat, from everything he’s done to you tonight. Every stroke against your walls feels like too much and not enough all at once.

And then he shifts just right—hits that spot deep inside once again, and you gasp, a high, broken sound, and your thighs tremble.

Joel stills, just for a second. “Oh, baby,” he groans, voice thick with heat. “You gonna cum already?”

You can’t even answer. It’s already happening—your body clenching around him, breath stuttering, pleasure crashing over you like a wave you didn’t see coming.

Joel groans, low and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl. So goddamn tight, milkin’ me already.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your neck—his weight just pressing you down more.

“Didn’t even have to work for it,” he murmurs, voice all grit and honey. “Just slid in and you broke for me. That sweet little body was beggin’ for it, huh?”

You’re still trembling beneath him, body limp and flushed, breath catching in your throat as the last waves of your orgasm ripple through you. Joel stays buried deep, his weight a warm press on your back, his breath hot against your neck.

He leans in. “That helped? Made your cramps all better?”

You nod, still dazed, cheek pressed to the mattress.

He grins, slow and smug. “Told ya I’d fuck those cramps right outta that pretty little belly.”

Then he looks down again, and you feel the way his breath hitches—the way your hips twitch, the way the blood is dripping down his cock.

“Look at this fuckin’ mess,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “All that blood and slick… drippin’ down my cock like you needed it.”

You cry out under him, body limp and flushed, when Joel grinds in again—slow, deep, relentless. The overstimulation sharp and sweet all at once.

“Sensitive?” he rasps, voice thick with heat. “Good. Daddy likes it like that.”

He shifts his knees wider, bracing himself, and then he thrusts deeper. So deep. You gasp, the pressure sharp and overwhelming, like he’s pressing into something you didn’t even know was there.

“Shit,” he groans, voice thick and ragged. “You feel that, baby? That’s me hittin’ the end of you.”

You whine out loud, hips twitching, the pillow under your belly pushing everything tighter, more intense.

Joel leans in, his belly heavy on your back. “Can feel your little womb flinchin’ around me,” he mutters, filthy and reverent all at once. “Like it’s beggin’ me to stay.”

You moan, overwhelmed, and he grinds in again—slow, relentless, like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into you.

“You’re shakin’ like a leaf, baby.” He coos. Overstimmed, overstuffed, and still takin’ it. That’s my girl. That’s what I like.”

“Joel—“ you whimper, your head already floaty.

“I know, honey.”

The bed creaks beneath you both, the heat from the pad, the weight of him, the stretch—it’s all just too much and not enough. You’re drowning in it, in him, in the way he fills every inch of you.

Joel kisses your shoulder, then growls, “You’re gonna come again, baby. I can feel it. Gonna milk me dry, ain’t you?”

And with the next thrust—deep, slow, all in—you do.

Body shaking, cunt releasing all kinds of fluids and your breath knocked away.

“Second one’s always the messiest.“ he whispers, pulling out an inch and looking at all the mess you did. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that? Sweetest little thing I ever ruined.”

You’re wrecked. Muscles slack, thighs sticky, brain fogged. And before you can calm down, he moves again. Gentle, deliberate rolls inside your cunt and your body jolts like it wasn’t expecting more.

You gasps, voice all breath and disbelief: “You’re still? Joel… I can’t take no more…”

And he just leans in, mouth hot at your ear, hand now sliding up your ribs to hold you still.

“Shhh… hush now.” A low, lazy murmur. “You said that last time. And look at you—still here. Still takin’ it.”

He starts pressing in deeper, making you see stars.

“Mmm… this one’ll fix those cramps up real good. Better than any damn pill ever could.”

You try to speak, to protest, but all that comes out is a broken moan. Your legs twitch. Your breath stutters. And he feels it—the way your body starts to tighten again, even before your mind catches up.

He slows down, just enough to make you feel every inch, every drag of him inside you. His hand stays between your legs, fingers slick and steady, working your clit with maddening precision. You’re trembling, overstimulated, breath hitching with every pass of his thumb.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “I know it’s a lot. I know you’re sensitive.”

You whimper, hips twitching, trying to pull away—but he just follows, keeps you pinned with his weight and his mouth at your ear.

“But you’re takin’ it so good,” he breathes. “So fuckin’ good for me. Just one more. You can do that, can’t you?”

You shake your head, but it’s useless—your body’s already betraying you, clenching around him, grinding into his hand like it’s got a mind of its own.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me feel you. Let me help. Gonna fuck those cramps right outta you.”

And then he adds: “That little belly will thank me later.”

You’re too raw, too full, too far gone—and he knows it. He wants it.

“Cum for me,” he growls, thrusts deep and slow. “Give me that third one. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you do—again—with a cry that’s more sound than breath, your body seizing around him as he fucks you through it, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your overstimmed, aching core.

Your thighs clamp under his hips, your cunt pulsing so hard it borders on pain. You sob through it, too sensitive, too full, and still he doesn’t stop, dragging it out until you’re writhing, begging, soaked and ruined.

He groans deep, guttural, and his hips stutter, grinding in deep, and staying there. His voice is a rasp: “Fuck… that’s it. That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of it.”

You feel him spill inside you, hot and slow, his whole body pressed tight to yours, breath ragged against your neck. You’re shaking. Floating. Gone.

“God damn it—my fuckin’ back—” he grits out, voice cracking as he drives in deep one last time.

He groans, loud and low, like it’s being torn out of him, and you feel it—the heat, the weight, the way he spills inside you like he’s been holding it back for hours.

“Shit… that’s it… that’s it…” he mutters, forehead pressed to your shoulder, body trembling. “Gonna need a fuckin’ ice pack after this. Jesus.”

You can’t help it—you laugh between all that overstimulation, breathless and wrecked, still clenching around him.

He huffs a laugh too, catching his breath. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, woman. I just threw my back out makin’ you see stars.”

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just stays there, heavy and warm, muttering into your skin.

“You good, darlin’?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Still breathin’? ‘Cause I ain’t sure I am.”

You hum something soft, too gone to answer, and he chuckles—a slow, wrecked sound.

Finally, with a grunt and a muttered “Alright, here we go…”, he shifts his weight, pulls out slow, and pushes himself up. His knees pop again. His feet hit the floor of the van with a heavy thud, and you groan because you can’t feel your body.

“Sticky little thing. You know what you look like down there? Goddamn…like strawberry cream pie, baby. Red white and split open and spillin’ sweet all over me.”

You sigh, dragging a hand over your face. “Ugh, Joel… you’re so disgusting.”

He just grins, slow and lazy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Yeah?” he drawls, dragging two fingers through the mess and smearing it along your thigh. “Then why you blushin’, huh?”

You try to glare at him, but your face is hot, your body still trembling, and you can’t stop the way your hips twitch when he touches you again.

“Shut up,” you mumble, voice thin and wrecked.

He grabs a towel, wets it from the bottle, then kneels between your thighs.

But before he even touches the towel to your skin, he leans in and drags his tongue through the mess he left behind. Blood, come, sweat all of it.

You gasp, hips twitching, eyes flying open.

“Joel—”

He just chuckles, low and wrecked, licking his lips like he’s savoring it.

“Tastin’ like honey,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “Sweetest thing I ever put my mouth on.”

You groan, half mortified, half melting, and he grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Then he takes the towel and starts to clean you sweet and slow, gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard.

“Easy now,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, darlin’. You earned it.”

He leans over, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Y’wanna stay like that, or y’want me to change you?”

You groan into the pillow. “Can’t move.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you up, sweetheart.”

He slides an arm under your belly, the other under your chest, and lifts you slow—careful not to jostle you too much. You wince, legs trembling as you shift upright, and then you see it.

The sheets.

Blood and come smeared across the fabric in thick, dark streaks. A mess. Your mess.

You gasp, eyes going wide. “Joel—your sheets—”

But he’s already shaking his head, brushing a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Sheets can be washed. You? You’re what matters.”

You blink at him, still dazed, still flushed, and he smiles, soft and crooked.

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up proper.”

He helps you to your feet, one hand steady at your waist, the other grabbing a clean towel. The van rocks gently as you both move, and he groans again.

“Goddamn suspension’s worse than my knees.”

You laugh, leaning into him as he guides you to the little bathroom, and he mutters something about “gonna need a chiropractor and a cigarette” under his breath.

Btw guys, i finally have an Ao3 acc. I’m trying to post all my fics also there but i can’t promise anything because i’m struggling to understand that damn website lmao😭 but if you like to check it out here is the link!

I hope yall enjoyed sleazy!joel hehe and again, happy new year everyone! I hope you all started safely and happy and i hope this year will be just a little bit better! 🫶🏻

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl l @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @easybbgrl @Madnessofadaydreamer @Sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

Divider by @bhavihelps

[abbyreedus]

Merry Christmas. Maybe as a present for myself I’ll revive my blog.

[starvulture]

Collecting these rn

[papipedrolvr]

Pedro Pascal via his Instagram for Vanity Fair 😍

[abbyreedus]

They really know they’re doing🤭

[iszgumi]

🤭

[cherryknotsclub]

my dream blunt rotation but it's pedro pascal characters and i'm the blunt being passed around <3

[xbeababyx]

Okay I'm on my knees after this photo.

[abbyreedus]

I literally said WHAT out loud. 😛😛😋😋 fics about these two…. Joel is also invited

[azertyrobaz]

Dakota Johnson & Pedro Pascal Answer Rapid-Fire Questions | Off the Cuff | Vogue

[abbyreedus]

Imagine Pedro being your English teacher🥵🥵

[gotyouanyway]

“you can tell this writer has a fetish :/” i hope when people read my writing they can accurately guess all my kinks, fantasies, most influential moments in my psychosexual development, and how many days since i last gave head at the time i wrote it

[normanthatisall]

New Ballerina clip .. so excited for this 🩰😎😍

[abbyreedus]

I love you Norman, but this movie looks like a soulless cash grab and I cannot go spend money to see it in theaters only for you to be on the screen a total of 10 minutes…. See you when it hits streaming babe🤧

[strang3lov3]

Wants and Needs

Look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?”

WARNINGS - Mean!joel, dom!joel, cock hungry!reader, impish!reader, one shot, size kink, Joel miller monster cock, ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ vibes, cause Joel’s all guilt ridden and sexually frustrated, lots of dirty talk, guided masturbation (joel talks you through fucking yourself), mid-fuck pep talk from a man old enough to be your father, girthy legal but unspecified age gap, fingering, pain kink, brief mention of tummy bulge, dacryphilia, dubcon, unprotected PIV, cream pie, cum eating, aftercare in the form of oral sex (f!receiving) wedgie kink if you squint, horny brain took over when I wrote this, dingy motel sex.

FIC HELP - @tofics!!! Thank you for the thorough beta, sweetheart!!! you did so fucking much to help me with this fic and i'm really fucking grateful, more than words could say!! @beefrobeefcal @cum-a-calla and @/endlessthxxghts (rip i miss your presence on this shitshow of a website every day) thank you sweet babes for all of the encouragement and support!! I love you all!!

A/N - Long time no see! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic, even while since I’ve written for Joel. Gosh. I hope you’re all surviving the winter as best you can <3 it’s been a rough one, huh? Enjoy and have a safe rest of your week :)

The bed frame groans for the seventh time in a span of five minutes. Through his nose, Joel sighs in irritation at that sharp, grating creak, the sound of the bed hitting against the wood paneled walls to match. You’ve been at this for the last hour and a half - wriggling, flipping back and forth in the bed, tugging that old, scratchy, floral comforter off of Joel’s body to swaddle around yours, only to throw it off again seconds later. You’ve flipped your pillow more times than he can count, adjusting where you lay your head in search of that coveted cold spot. 

It’s hard to sleep when you keep touching him. Mindlessly, you press up against Joel, and inch away again. His patience for this routine of yours wore thin long ago, sanded down by too many nights of this same ordeal. 

Joel feels the mattress dip and shift a little, the subtle warning of you gearing up to toss your body again, but he’s had enough. He grabs you by the wrist before you can do so, holding you tight enough so that you feel the rough calluses of his palm on your skin. “Enough. Quit fuckin’ squirmin’,” he rasps, his voice tired but edged with warning. “I told you to go to sleep an hour ago.”

“I can’t,” you snap. 

“Bullshit. Y’ain’t even tryin’.”

Joel’s heard this from you before. You’ve always been more restless, whereas Joel’s a heavier sleeper by nature, aided by the alcohol and the pills that lull him off into dreamless unconsciousness. But you’ll keep him up anyway, usually complaining that you’re too hot. Or too cold. Or you’re thirsty, and you need some of his water. No, you don’t have any. Yes, you know you’re a pain in his ass. 

Joel will get you settled, only for you to start all over again. In the subsequent mornings, you’ll be crabby and snapping at him, and he’ll bite back just as hard, pissed off hours of his sleep were lost to you. 

“So what’s your excuse this time?” 

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, adjusting in bed again. You kick your feet, toeing at the tangled fabric of your pants bunched up around your legs. Joel squeezes your arm in warning, nails pressing into your skin a little. “Joel - stop. Just let me—”

Joel cuts you off, “Yeah, I know. Sit up.” 

Obeying him, you sigh and sit up straight, playing with a loose thread in the comforter as Joel leans over your side of the bed, his body radiating warmth and his own scent of something you couldn’t name, something distinctly Joel - perhaps some sort of heavy soap or maybe whiskey. It radiates thick in the space between you and him. He fluffs your pillows a little, then places them back down. “Lay down,” he tells you, and you fall back onto the soft, warm mattress. “S’that comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Joel nods quietly, then reaches for the comforter next. He shakes it a little to smooth out the bunches in the material, then lays the flannel sheet over your torso, following with the comforter itself. 

“And you have to tuck the blanket in—” 

“By your shoulders, I know,” Joel says, tucking the blanket under your chin and your shoulders. “Everything, huh?”

Joel settles himself next, situating his own pillows before lying on his stomach. “Now get some sleep. Do that slow breathin’ I told you ‘bout, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good girl. G’night, then.” 

“Night, Joel.”

Joel closes his eyes and nestles into the mattress, drifting off to something halfway between asleep and awake, but closer to the side of unconsciousness. You close your eyes too, counting your breaths. In for four seconds, just like Joel told you. Hold, out for four seconds. 

Maybe it’d work if you weren’t trying to force your body into it. If you weren’t thinking about how very awake you are, when you should’ve been asleep hours ago. If you weren’t thinking about Joel. 

He’s been on your mind lately, more than usual. You spent so much time alone with him, learning all the neat things about him. He was such a brute at first, and speaking honestly, he still is. But there’s a gentler side of Joel. Softer. Tender, in his own way.

You really, really fucking like Joel. You’ve never liked anyone the way you like him. He makes you feel all sorts of sensations. Anger, annoyance, joy. He makes your heart pound and makes you breathe funny sometimes, but not always in a bad way. You spend a lot of time just looking at him, tucking away the parts of him you love deep inside your brain, saving it for moments alone. His body is softer with his age, but his arms stay strong, shoulders so vastly broad. And his face, the wrinkles in his skin, those neat scars. That look he gets in his eyes when he’s pissed at you, and his lips and his frown. You watch the way he eats sometimes, fixated on the way his lips move, wondering how they’d move against another’s. Maybe your own. His hands, as he traces maps, books, whatever. Veins and tendons twitching. His palms are so fucking big, so masculine.

Joel keeps his distance, always decent. It’s not lost on you. You know he knows how you stare at him, contemplating whatever it is you think about in that head of yours. He doesn’t want to know. Can’t know.

His breathing is evening out now. His lips are parted, and you feel his warm breath on your cheek, tickling your earlobe. He looks so handsome bathed in that milky, bluish moonlight that pours in through the window over his face. 

There’s an ache throbbing between your thighs, the same thing that’s been keeping you up recently. Arousal. Joel seems to worsen the pain, just by existing, somehow. Even just thinking of him makes you throb a little harder. 

Squeezing your thighs together alleviates that ache momentarily, so that’s what you do. You cross one leg over the other and squeeze tight, but it’s not enough. Of course it’s not. You know what you need, something more sustainable than this. Something real, something raw. Something…Joel.

You give your underwear a gentle tug while rocking your hips, just needing that extra bit of pressure. Gripping tight the waistband of your panties while wiggling your hips, shaking the creaky bed a little in the process, the motion rouses Joel from his sleep. He opens one eye to watch you wriggle and jerk, noting that look of concentration painted across your features. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“Joel!” Your whole body jolts and you straighten your legs quickly, flattening your hands at your side. “Nothing.”

He sighs, “If you’re gonna lie to me, sweetheart, y’need to be better at it. Now what is the matter with you?”

You have to be sharp here. You could tell the truth and have Joel inevitably scold you, call you a fucking pervert and that you should be ashamed of yourself or…

…you could bend the truth some, not much. Just a little fib. You spin the story quickly in your head. Something something…you can’t come on your own - lie, and you just need Joel to do it for you - another lie. Far be it from him to leave a girl in distress, right? He’s got to be the hero, always. Has to save the day while bitching that you’d be dead without him. Because that’s Joel Miller, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and always by his own doing. How your heart bleeds for him as you proverbially rub your pointer finger and your thumb together, the world’s tiniest violin playing just for him.

“It’s - fuck,” you groan, shifting in bed as you play up the lie. “It’s nothing. Just - something kind of hurts, that’s all.” 

“What hurts? Let me see.” Joel sits up quickly, reaching for the light. “Show me,” he says.

“No, Joel. You can’t - it’s like, I don’t know. It’s…embarrassing, I think.”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles. “Y’gotta tell me. So spit it out, kid.” 

You exhale softly, closing your eyes. Joel’s lying on his side, sitting up a little as he carefully searches your face. You can’t look at him right now because fuck, you’re a bad liar. You turn away so you don’t break and smile or something. “I’m like, throbbing,” you murmur, “And wet, uh…down there, I guess. I don’t know–”

Joel holds up a hand, “Alright, enough. Jus’ - go deal with it. I’ll give ya some privacy,” he says, sitting fully upright and taking off the covers. 

“Deal with it how?” you ask, feigning ignorance. You’ll take this as far as it needs to go, or until you’re caught red-handed.

“You know, like…” Joel waits for you to get the picture, but you just stare at him blankly. 

“Won’t it just go away?” God, you are so full of shit, you almost make yourself sick.

Joel scoffs quietly, and you have to bite down on your smile. You’re playing him like a fucking fiddle. “It don’t work like that, sweetheart,” he says. “You have to handle it on your own.” 

“Can you do it?” 

“Fuck, no,” he answers quickly. But Joel looks down at you, contemplating. God, you’re fucking...this is the reason you keep him up so late? Part of him wants to leave you here, just like this, to figure it out and deal with it on your own. But Joel’s not confident that’ll happen, since you’ve gone this long without it, apparently. Feels like a lie. 

“Or can you help me?”

“Help you how?”

“Just…make sure I’m doing it right. Like, how you’d do it to your lover or something.” 

“You are fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel sighs under his breath. “How I’d do it to my lover, huh?”

“Right.”

Joel thinks for a moment, then speaks, against his better judgement. “Alright.” He takes a deep breath in and out, taking in you on the bed, scanning the gorgeous outline of your body. “I’d spread her legs,” he says, watching the comforter move as you part your thighs. “Wider than that,” he adds.

“Like this?”

“Jus’ like that, s’good,” Joel nods. “And I’d take my hand,” he says, reaching for your wrist, “Put it right here, between her thighs,” laying your palm over your mound. “Under her pants.”

“Fuck, yeah,” you murmur, sliding your hand beneath your pants and panties. You press down a little, groaning softly at the pressure. Fuck, it feels good. Even better with Joel’s presence. “Feels good,” you sigh, pressing your fingers down harder against the sensitive bud. You can feel it throbbing beneath your fingertips.

“I’d rub her in circles.”

“Hard or soft?” you ask. “Fast or slow?”

“Whatever she wants,” Joel answers. 

You spread your legs a little wider, your knee nudging against Joel’s tummy, and it takes everything he has not to touch you. It wouldn’t be right, he believes. This act alone is pushing the bounds of his morals. 

“Like this, Joel?”

Joel watches the comforter move above your hand as you trace steady circles into your clit, and stifles a groan. As his cock thickens and twitches in his pants, he inches away from you so you don’t feel his arousal. “Yeah, darlin’. Like that.” 

“And then what?”

“I’d keep goin’ til…well, you’ll figure that out.”

He takes a moment to watch, admire the show. Brows pinched together, a little bit of sweat sparkling on your temples. Joel can feel the heat radiating from your body as you work yourself, chest rising and falling, hips and legs twitching. “M’gonna leave you to it, then,” he mumbles finally, getting up to leave. 

“No,” you gasp, reaching for his arm with the hand you used to fuck yourself. Joel feels your arousal on his skin, and notices how wide your pupils are. “Stay.” He does consider it for a moment. His fucking balls ache, desperate to find his own release too. 

“It’s - it’s not enough, Joel.”

Clarity hits him then, and he shoots you a knowing glare. You’re such a bad fucking liar, laying it on way thicker than you need to be. “It’s plenty,” Joel snaps, “I’m leavin’. Hurry up an’ sort yourself out.”

“Don’t go,” you beg. “Can you try it?”

“What? No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Joel says. “It’s not a good idea. C’mon, honey, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“But I can’t do it on my own,” you argue back. “I think - fuck - I think I need you to fuck me. I need to come on your cock.”

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you can’t say shit like that. M’old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.” Joel rolls his eyes. This absolutely tracks for you, averse to doing any hard work at all. He pauses, then speaks, “You don’t need me to take care of this for you. Y’just want it. I know you, kid. You don’t like doin’ any hard work yourself. Am I right?”

“No,” you insist, “I really think I need it. Need you.”

You look at Joel, silently begging him to give you what you’re asking for. Joel’s eyes dart left and right as he searches your face, breath hitched in his throat. God, the way you look at him. Your eyes are all wide and innocent and pleading, he knows you’re giving him that look on purpose. “Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’...Christ almighty,” Joel groans. “Fine,” he concedes.

“You’ll fuck me?”

“Absolutely not,” he snaps. “You can have my fingers. If I do this for you, will ya settle down an’ go to sleep?”

“Yes,” you agree, nodding quickly. “I’ll go right to sleep, Joel, I promise.”

Joel eyes you from the side. “You’re fuckin’ trouble,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you. His bulge presses against your hip, eliciting a gasp from you. “Jus’ ignore it,” he says. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He loops his fingers over the waistband of your pants and panties, then tugs them down your thighs until he can’t anymore. “Take ‘em off the rest of the way,” he tells you.

You wriggle off your pants, then pull off your shirt, now lying bare on the bed underneath the covers. Joel’s eyes widen, then he shakes his head. “Selective hearing,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Just needed the bottoms gone, sweetheart.” 

“Oh,” you whisper, sliding down the mattress a little more, covering your shoulders with the sheets. Joel props himself up on his elbow, the side of his head resting against his knuckles. His free hand travels over to you, fingers drumming against your hips. 

“Y’ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, anxiety and excitement permeating the air. Joel’s hand slides down to your inner thigh, and he can feel the heat from your pussy, the way you vibrate with desire. 

Joel should tease your pussy. He should make you ache for it, more than you already are. Trace your lips, press his finger against your wet slit to gather your arousal. Like he would with his lover, right? But he shouldn’t even be here with you right now, god. He’s too fucking old, and you’re too fucking young. The age gap alone makes his head spin, but fills a dark part of him with an animalistic type of hunger. A hunger to ruin you, you pretty, young thing. He reminds himself that this is simply a means to an end, nothing more. 

He slides his warm palm over your mound, nudging your thighs apart a little more. When his fingers touch your clit, you sigh in relief. That alone feels miles better than your own fingers, so much more concentrated. 

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then rubs your clit. Not in circles, like he instructed you to do. He just rubs you there, fingers sliding back and forth over your clit as you relax into his touch. “Y’should be doin’ this yourself.”

“But it feels…it feels…”

“I know,” Joel says, slipping his fingers down the seam of your cunt to collect your arousal. You’re so fucking wet. He drags them back up, then rubs practiced, steady circles over your clit. It’s efficient and very bare bones, no bells and whistles or pulling out his usual stops. Joel has one goal, and that’s to get you off as quickly as possible, and that’s it. “Feels good,” he answers for you, then adds under his breath, “You’re playin with fuckin’ fire.” 

You whimper, clutching Joel’s forearm as he guides you to orgasm. What he doesn’t realize is just how close you are, only from a little bit of his touching. You know you’re on the brink of orgasm, but you also know that when you reach that point, that’s it. You’re done. Joel’s made that much clear, that this is all you’re gonna get from him, and it has to be enough. But of course, it’s not. Not even close. 

Joel dips his fingers lower, pushing his middle and ring fingers into your pussy. He keeps a palm pressed against your tummy, then curls his fingers rhythmically, bringing you to a place you’ve never been before. You moan loudly, writhing as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that special little spot he loves so much on a woman. Silently, Joel moves his thumb to circle your clit, guiding you closer and closer to the edge.

Joel can tell you’re about there, and he’s correct in that assumption. You feel like you’re about to break, staving off release. Everything feels heightened, thrumming with something electric and almost sharp. Your moans come out all breathy, Joel’s name broken as it spills from your lips. Lost in your head, Joel pulls you back down to earth, speaking softly to you. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you whimper, shaking your head. 

“Yes ya are. You’re right there, honey. Let go.” Joel rubs your clit a little harder to coax release along. He’s waiting for that golden moment, where you tense up and gasp before falling to pieces, a melting, shuddering mess in his hands. Only…it never comes. Joel studies you intently, watching the way your face moves. Finally, he realizes that you’re fighting it. 

“What’re you doin’? I’m givin’ you what you want, sweetheart, just fuckin’ come.” 

“No,” you repeat, squeezing Joel’s wrist. “I don’t want to yet.”

“Why not?” You squirm a little, and Joel stops fucking you on his fingers. “Hey - why the hell not?” 

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you whisper quietly. 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you are workin’ my last goddamn nerve. I already told you, sweetheart. You come on my fingers or you don’t come at all. Choice is yours.” Joel continues circling your clit, but you still fight him. 

“But I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, begging, balling your hands into tight fists as you stave off release. “I just - I told you already, but you’re not - you’re not fucking listening to me, Joel. I need–” Your desperation makes the mask slip. You have got to pull yourself together before you fuck this entirely. 

“Hey - adjust the fuckin’ attitude. I already told you no, sweet pea. And I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he grits, his tone biting. “Get that through your skull, because m’sick of repeatin’ myself.”

“Why?” you complain. “Why won’t you do it?”

“Because,” he explains, “You can’t handle it, kid, I know you can’t. Too big f’ya. And it’s wrong,” he adds, “I shouldn’t even be doin’ this to you.”  

You love the challenge his words incite. Oh, you’ll show him what you can handle, alright. Filled with a renewed sense of perseverance, you ground yourself and focus hard. 

Joel focuses too, hellbent on not being a worse man. What he’d really like to do, really, is split you in two with his cock. He’s not unaware of his size, what he does to a woman. Especially one like you, who’s absolutely in over her head and has not the faintest notion of what he could do to her. He’d teach you a fucking lesson, maybe. Shove his cock down your throat to watch you choke on it, feel that delicious pulse as you gag. He could fuck your ass, too, watch your eyes roll back into your skull as he makes you take all of him. That’d teach you to listen to him for once, right? A little pain to put you into place, you fucking brat?

You’re right on the edge. You know it, and so does Joel. The way you soak his two thick fingers, your cunt pulsing around them erratically. Your brows are knit together as you twitch and shudder, trying your goddamn hardest to not come. Joel’s amazed at your will.

“C’mon, kid, just come for me. Be done with this,” Joel urges, frustration laced in his tone. “Don’t piss me off, sweetheart. You don’t want that.” 

You shake your head, “Mm-mm - n - I wanna, I need your -”

Joel holds his palm over your mouth, cutting you off. “No. You’re not ready for it,” he tells you. “Y’don’t know at all what you’re askin’ for. Not a fuckin’ clue.”

Joel lifts his palm. “I do, too,” you argue. “Please, Joel, I can handle it.”

“Sure you can, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be good.”

Those three little words make Joel’s breath hitch in his throat. You have to know exactly what you do to him, with the looks you give him and the way you beg. You’ll be good. God, he’s gonna end up fucking giving it to you. He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t.

“Please?”

Joel sighs heavily, worn down by your incessant, sweet fucking begging. And honestly, what he wouldn’t give to ruin you. To fuck you in half, shatter you into pieces. So be it, he decides. 

“Fine,” Joel says. “But this didn’t fucking happen. Do you understand me?” 

“I understand,” you answer sweetly. Christ, your fucking good girl act. You have to know what you do to him.

“A’int fuckin’ right,” Joel mumbles, rising and yanking the covers off the bed. He quickly takes off his shirt and shucks off his pants, gripping his cock tightly as he hovers over you. He never should have fucking indulged you, but here he is. Joel reaches between your thighs to collect your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your mess. He’s fucking huge. He’s generously thick as well as long, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to handle it like you said you would. “No backin’ out now,” Joel says.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admit. 

“I’ll bet you are,” Joel says, and your heart races. He lowers himself, then presses the thick tip of his cock against your pussy, dragging it through your folds before notching it inside your tight entrance. “Your pussy’s too pretty f’ya to let me do this to you,” he says. “Now take a deep breath.” 

You take a deep breath in, and that’s when Joel begins working himself inside you. You whine in pain, scooting back towards the headboard to try to slow it down. 

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’, huh? You stay right there, sweetheart.”

“Slow down, please—”

“What’s the matter? Thought you could handle it, tough girl,” Joel taunts, squeezing your hip while sliding further inside you. He’s not even a quarter of the way in yet, and you’re already reeling from the pain of his thick cock stretching you out. He draws out a little, admiring the tip of his cock coated in your arousal, then inches back in. “S’really hurtin’ ya, huh?” 

You grab any part of him that you can, attempting to temper the way he enters you. Make it slower, gentler, less…less. He pulls out a little, then pushes in further than before, earning another high-pitched whine from you. 

“Who tried to talk ya out of it, sweetheart? Hm? Who warned ya? You remember how to say my name? It's Joel, darlin’. Sound it out.”

Joel’s being so mean, and it makes you feel like crying. He draws in and out of you, still yet to bury himself all the way inside, watching your reactions as he holds a hand on your ribcage, making you take it all. 

“Yeah, I know. S’a big stretch, huh? Hurtin’ pretty bad?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, looking down at where your bodies connect. You’re not even close to taking all of him in, and already it feels like he’s fucking you in two. 

“Mhm. In over your head, aren’tcha, kid? You gonna listen to me next time?”

“Yes - fuck!” Joel pushes in another inch or so, and it makes you yelp in pain. “Yes, I’ll listen,” you say, voice thick with tears. Joel watches them begin to fall, and he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand. 

“Won’t hurt forever,” Joel grunts. “S’easier f’ya rip off the bandaid. Want my help with that, sweetheart? I’ll make it quick.”

“N-no,” you sniffle. “I need you to go slow.” 

Joel nods silently, continuing working himself inside. A small movement of his hips out, then in, then out again, and in a little further. He could make you take it all right now, be done with this whole song and dance. It really would be easier on you. The proverbial mercy-kill. That dark part of Joel sort of likes the pain he gives to you, though. He tries not to think about that too hard, stuff that feeling down deep. 

Oh, the tears you cry. The pretty face you make, features all contorted in pain. Joel gives your hip a soothing little rub before moving his hand to your clit, massaging the sensitive bud as he pushes into you, making you whimper even more. 

“I know it hurts.” Joel presses his palm against your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb as your cunt pulses around his length. “Let it be a lesson to ya, huh? Stay out of a grown man’s business. He knows better’n you. ‘Cause look at the mess you’re in now, sweetheart, cryin’ on a cock that’s too fuckin’ big for you. What am I gonna do with ya?” 

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“I know you don’t. Tried to tell ya this wasn’t a good idea, sweet pea,” Joel whispers. “Now buck up. You’re halfway there.” 

Joel takes the liberty to speed the process up, to sheathe himself in you fully, and does so quickly. At least, quicker than you’d like him to, as evidenced by your high-pitched whines. “Shhhh,” Joel hushes, pushing his fingers into your mouth as if to pacify you, or distract you at the very least. “I know, I know, I know.” You bite into Joel’s palm, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel his cock splitting you in two. 

“Quit your cryin’, and breathe. I got you, kid,” he says, “We’re finishin’ this,” then pushes in you the rest of the way, the blunt head of his cock kissing against your cervix. “There,” he grunts, “Worst is over.”

You open your eyes, first looking at Joel and then between your bodies, where his connects to yours. You don’t see any of his length left, only the long, wiry, bits of graying hair that surround his member. What you don’t see - what Joel does see - is that pretty, thick bulge his dick makes against your tummy.

He lifts his hand from your mouth, “I did it?” you ask.

“You did it,” Joel affirms. “Good job. Proud a’ ya, kiddo.”

Joel gives you a second to get used to the feeling of him buried inside you, to wrap your head around it. There’s not much thinking going on in that head of yours, though, that much he can tell. All cockdumb and he’s barely even fucked you. 

It doesn’t feel good yet, like it should. It’s an intense pressure, an awful stretch, and it worsens with every throb and twitch of Joel’s massive cock. You squeeze his biceps as he lowers his head and bites your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, and then you bury your face in his curls. He draws out of you and oh, there it is. “Attagirl, easy does it,” he groans, “You just lie there and take my cock, sweet girl. Take it good for me.” 

Joel sets his pace then, steadily pushing in and out of you. It’s not violent or cruel, not even particularly harsh, but the hurt is still there. Joel rocks his hips, pulling out of you all the way and filling you right back up again with each and every stroke. Soon enough, you’re moaning.

“Yeah, that’s it. Goddamn, sweetheart. Don’t hurt so bad anymore does it?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Still hurts,” you murmur, voice tight with pain. 

Joel chuckles. “Oh, it does, huh? Tsk. Well, you’re in it now, darlin’. Gotta see it through. Don’t try an’ quit on me.”

Joel increases the speed at which he fucks you, damp curls falling over his forehead as sweat glitters on his skin, a bead of it rolling down the length of his aquiline nose. He watches you intently, a stern sort of expression painted across his features. That dimple on his right cheek flashes as he purses his lips, a grunt escaping his throat. 

“Joel,” you choke out. 

“M’almost done, sweetheart. Gimme five more minutes. You can do five minutes, can’t ya?”

The pain is relentless, unwavering, until it starts to vanish, replaced by a dull pleasure. It builds in time as Joel pounds into you, increases with every brush of his pubic bone against your clit. He keeps a hand on your breast, squeezing the flesh there hard enough to bruise, pinching your nipple before soothing the ache with a practiced flick of his tongue. Jesus Christ, you feel good. Your soft body, all for him. The way your poor cunt hugs him so sweetly - he’s not lasting much longer now. 

“Why don’t you try an’ come for me, pretty girl? Can you do that f’me?” Joel licks his fingers and starts to rub your clit in those same circles from earlier, coaxing along your release. 

It’s no surprise you come as hard as you do, as quickly as you do. All pent up for god only knows how long, and the way you were hellbent on staving off your climax earlier. It’s enough to ruin anyone. 

With a couple more good, hard thrusts, you’re clenching around Joel’s cock, his name spilling from your lips as you come undone. Poor girl. You look so overwhelmed, so fucking wrecked as you come so hard, and it’s no wonder to Joel why exactly that is. “There it is,” Joel coos, wiping away the tears you cry.  “Ohh, yeah. That’s a good one.” 

Joel guides you through your orgasm as he chases his own, fucking you harder and deeper. He pounds you in non-rhythm, his thrusts frenzied and frantic before he’s coming too, spilling load after hot load of his come inside you, filling you with the most soothing warmth. He pulls out of you quickly to watch his spend spill from between your thighs, and it’s so intimate, the way he watches you experience that private pleasure. 

“Goddamn, baby. I fuckin’ ruined her,” Joel whispers, gathering a bit of his spend on his fingertips to push it back inside. “Why’d you want me do that to ya, huh?”

You only shrug. Words are hard for you right now. 

“She still hurtin’ a little?”

“A little,” you answer quietly. 

“Mhm, she’s all swollen. M’gonna kiss her all better, alright? I’ll be nice an’ gentle.” 

Joel taps your hip and mumbles something you don’t hear, what with the ringing in your ears, then lifts your bottom half and slides a pillow beneath you. He parts your legs, and is so profoundly tender as he drags a thumb through your sensitive, slick flesh. 

As promised, his lips replace his fingers. Joel begins with a quick kiss, then another, and another. His facial hair feels almost sharp against you, almost painful, but his tongue is so soft. So practiced as he licks up the seam of your cunt, tasting his own work - not that he minds, really. His lips quickly attach to your clit, and he suckles gently. You don’t need much, not right now. He keeps himself buried in that beautiful space between your thighs until you’re coming again, a little softer than before. Gentler. The quiet after the storm. 

You’re crying, all overwhelmed still. Joel scoops you up into his arms and covers you with the comforter, quietly shushing you. “I know, sweet girl. It’s over now. Was a lot, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sniffling still. 

“S’why you gotta listen to me, hm?” Joel pushes some hair out of your face, then kisses your warm cheek as he lays you on your side. He fixes the blankets, lays them all out flat and even before taking his place next to you, curling his frame around you. “I gotcha, kiddo.” 

As you settle into bed, Joel scratches up and down your side, and kisses your shoulder. “Two orgasms,” he mutters. “You made out like a fuckin’ bandit, sweet pea. You know that?”

Another shrug, and Joel chuckles. “You gonna be a good girl and go to sleep now?” 

“Yes, Joel.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, trouble.”

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with some sweet thoughts or hop in my inbox 🩷🩷 your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write. It’s been a while. I’ve missed my Joelie perverts 🫂💕

Kitty tax for my sweet readers 🩵

[abbyreedus]

So good😍🥵

[sailorsally]

This is so 🥹💗‼️

[softnwonderful]

I don't EVER wanna hear you say they don't know how to act again.

[abbyreedus]

“Can’t act” like did these people watch any of season 1?? I thought Bella killed it every time.

Can’t speak for S2 because I can’t watch it.