camp counselor!Joel Miller x f!reader | 3.4K | read on AO3
Summary: Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget.
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! No outbreak AU. '80s AU. Think Camp Crystal Lake vibes w/o the murders. Set in 1980. Mention of another p-boi. Mention of semi-public sex. Accidental voyeurism. Fingering. F!masturbation. Joel is a bully AND has a big 🍆. Kissing. Breast/nipple play. One spank. F!oral. Unprotected piv. Creampie. Mention of pregnancy (not reader). Cheating. Secret fmf threesome (makes sense in context). M!oral. Cum swallowing. Reader is early-to-mid-twenties, able bodied, with breasts and vagina, but otherwise undescribed. Feel free to imagine Game Joel or Show Joel.
Adriana's note: another little thing in my wips for a few weeks, and I really wanted to have it out by the end of summer. This was inspired by a fantasy an idea of Joel in 1980s short shorts (this look should definitely make a comeback)
dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive 👑
JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST
SUMMER 1980
You love your summer job as counselor at Camp Happy Trail. You love being outdoors, helping the campers with swimming, canoeing, hiking, learning about nature. You’ve looked forward to it every summer since high school.
This year is different. There’s a new head counselor in town, and he’s trouble in the form of Joel Miller.
He’s tall, broad, graying, and stern. His dark brown eyes apprise every counselor in front of him as the group gathers on the camp’s front lawn two weeks before opening day. He goes over the rules and expectations of all staff members. You pay attention even though it’s the same old drill: no fucking around during working hours, make sure the campers are safe at all times, please report injuries and have them sent to the nurses station, et cetera. You could recite the rules by heart.
Only one thing has you concerned.
You raise your hand to speak. Joel glances over at you but continues talking, stressing the importance of keeping away from drugs and alcohol during the next two weeks, especially once the campers come on opening day. You know all that. Still, you wait with your hand raised until Joel sighs, giving you time to speak.
“What happened to Frankie?”
Joel tries really hard not to roll his eyes. “Francisco Morales won’t be here to help us set up. He’ll be here on the camp’s opening day.” He snorts, arms crossed as he eyes you up and down. “What, is he your boyfriend or somethin’?”
“No..” you reply, unable to stop the embarrassment from creeping up your spine. Of course you and Frankie hadn’t set any firm definitions about what you are, but the past two years you’ve spent here have also been spent by fucking him in the woods during early morning hikes, blowing him in the storage shed, and sneaking him into your cabin to have him go down on you all night.
You have his number, but there’s been no answer when you’ve called before driving up to the campsite. You wonder what’s keeping him from being here.
Piper, the girl you’ve hated since you’ve been counselors together these past few years, shoots a smug look your way as the meeting is adjourned, and she walks off with Joel’s arm around her waist. She glances over her shoulder at you, giving you the finger.
She’s just jealous because Frankie chose you over her two years ago. She hasn’t let you alone in peace since.
Joel is a hard task master. At dawn he has the counselors up and jogging through the trail in the woods and chopping firewood before breakfast. Swim safety is in the afternoon when the heat is at its worst, the air humid with the scent of sunblock and stagnant lake water. At the very least you’re given some time to lay out in the sun afterward, drying off on the warm boards of the dock.
Back at the cabins only two people are unaccounted for – Piper and Joel. The other counselors make crude guesses as to where they are and what they’re doing. You’re elected to go and find them before it gets dark. Piper has dinner duty and Maya refuses to do all the cooking alone.
Slipping on your jean shorts, your towel slung over your shoulders to catch the water droplets from your still-damp hair, you set out in search of Joel and Piper.
The sun is just starting to set when you find them in a thick copse of trees near the edge of the forest, Piper pressed against a tree as Joel’s fingering her, his hand down the front of her red bikini bottom as he plunges inside her, head bent close to her ear, muttering dirty things. You stop, half-hidden by the trees as you watch them, your own pussy growing wet just bearing witness. You know you should turn and leave, forget you ever saw this, just tell the others that Piper and Joel are coming back soon.
But you’re frozen to the spot, watching them in the secrecy of the woods, your own hand ghosting over your clothed clit, imagining what Joel’s thick, rough fingers must feel like.
There’s a sharp snap of a twig that echoes in the air, causing Piper and Joel to quickly part. You’re already hurrying down the path, shame and lust heating your cheeks.
Everyone is split up in pairs, the counselor bunks only small enough to house two comfortably, and unfortunately Joel assigns you and Piper together. You tell yourself it’ll just be a couple months and most days will be too busy for you to have to deal with her very much.
Piper grabs the top bunk before you have a chance to claim it. But once you’re settled in the bottom, she makes you switch back after she finds a spiderweb too close to the ceiling.
But even your nights can’t be peaceful. Joel sneaks in after lights out, and you have to endure the soft giggles and moans coming from the bunk below you. The entire bed frame rocks with Joel’s thrusts as he fucks your bunkmate.
Great, just great.
They make no effort to hide whatever’s going on between them. His hand is permanently on her ass, barely clothed in the camp counselor uniform shorts, his entire paw covering her ass cheek. The others don’t notice or don’t care, too caught up in their own romantic entanglements.
It only makes you miss Frankie more. Out here in the woods you have no way of contacting him except through the main office line, but Joel stands right in front of anyone who wants to call home, dials the number on the rotary phone, and waits with arms crossed as the call is made. Nobody does personal calls while he’s in charge.
You try to keep yourself busy with helping get the camp ready. The grass near the cabins is maintained, repairs are made to the buildings themselves (which Joel oversees, and you can’t help but to check him out a little while he’s fixing the sign above the infirmary – he looks too good with a hammer), checking that the generators are working properly, and that the electrical system and water pressure are good.
There’s so much to do that by the time you climb up into your bunk you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.
The only thing that could possibly wake you is Joel fucking Piper in the bunk below yours.
Joel’s grunts and groans, paired with Piper’s moaning and gasping, keep you awake. You lose count of how many rounds they go, the entire bed bunk frame shaking with their movements. And at one point you can’t help it as your fingers travel beneath your sleep shorts, finding your wet pussy and tracing your slit. Two fingers fit inside you easily as you lift your legs to get comfortable. Closing your eyes you start fucking yourself on your hand, imagining Joel’s fingers inside of you instead of yours.
You’re trying desperately to keep your whimpering to a minimum but you doubt they’ll hear you over their own sounds. Your fingers match the pace of Joel’s thrusts, though you imagine his cock is a lot bigger than your two fingers combined. And the way he’s been fucking Piper for almost an hour solidifies the fact that his stamina is good.
Your fingers glide over your clit, circling and swiping, your hips arching up as you chase the friction you so desperately need for your release as you listen to Piper’s moans and Joel’s increasing grunts. Eyes squeezed tight you plunge your fingers as deep as you can, timing it just right with Piper’s final, momentous scream. You try to keep as quiet as possible as your release coats your hand, clit throbbing, legs quaking.
Joel corners you after breakfast the next morning, barring you from following the others to the field where a soccer match was planned. Instead he drags you to the boat shed. You hate it there. It’s dusty and cramped and there are cobwebs in the corners.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, your heart in your throat as Joel peers down at you, something unreadable in his deep brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he mimics you. “You think I don’t know you were gettin’ yourself off to me and Piper last night?”
The blood drains from your face, leaving you cold. “Wh-what?”
“Stop actin’ innocent. You weren’t exactly quiet. Piper was laughin’ at you, sayin’ you’re a lonely little virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin,” you tell him tersely.
“Really?” Joel’s voice is full of derision. “Prove it.”
The blood drains from your face. “H-how?”
“You’re a smart girl. You know how.” But just to be mean he explains it in detail. “How about you bend over–” he slaps the hull of a nearby canoe and puts his hand on your lower back, pressuring you towards it. “--pull those pretty little short-shorts down and let me check for myself.”
“You’re not serious,” you sputter.
“You afraid or somethin’?” he smirks.
You’re not afraid per se. But you’re definitely wet enough so that he’ll tease you if he finds out. “Of course not,” you stand up to him boldly.
He looks amused by this, and the way he cups his bulge in his own shorts shows he’s more than a little turned on. Your eyes drop down to where his thick cock is hardening under the skin-tight fabric.
With determination in your eyes, you’re certain of yourself when you reach up and grab Joel by the nape of his neck, kissing him. His eyes go wide at the initial shock of surprise, but then they close, a deep and satisfied growl in his chest as he kisses you back, his tongue slipping past your lips. Your gasp turns into a soft moan as his large paw on your lower back presses you closer to him, rubbing his hard-on against you.
“I bet this pussy’s already soaked,” he mutters, finally breaking from the kiss to nip at your neck. “But first..” he pulls away, a devilish look in his eye. “Lift up that shirt, honey, and lemme see those pretty titties.”
You scoff despite the fact that you are indeed soaked, but you’re already this far in. You might as well go all the way. You lift up your shirt, your white lacy bra on full display. Joel’s big meaty hands pull down the cups, palming your tits with his rough bare hands, bouncing them in his palms. “Look at these.. you gonna lemme suck ‘em?”
Fuck. This isn’t going how you expected but you can’t complain. You nod and he immediately pulls you close, picking you up and pinning you against the canoe as he takes your nipple in his mouth, groaning, using his free hand to pinch your other nipple. “So sweet,” he groans, releasing off you with a wet pop before sucking on the other.
“Joel!” you gasp, a fresh wave of wetness seeping through your underwear.
“Don’t worry, I’m gettin’ there,” he mumbles, helping you shimmy out of your shorts and pressing you forward against the boat. He lands a quick spank across your ass cheek, chuckling at the way your flesh jiggles and the sound of your yelp. Then he spreads your cheeks wide. “Look at that.. pretty as the mornin’ dew..” He kneels down and laps at your honey, making you moan. Almost too late you catch yourself, muffling your own sounds with your palm.
His large, rough hand trails down your spine, keeping you in place as the thick head of his cock slides through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you as he slides between your cheeks. You mewl in protest as he chuckles. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not a virgin. Not the way you’re actin’ so greedy for my cock. Well darlin’, take it..”
He eases into you, using shallow thrusts and you can’t help but exhale, the rush of breath leaving you in surprise before he angles you down, sliding in to the hilt. “You’re full of me now,” he grunts out, holding steady to your hips. “God damn, tighter than a nun’s asshole.”
Your walls flutter around him with each stroke, your hands bracing you against the smooth wood of the upturned canoe. You whimper in time with each smooth thrust. Each time Joel bottoms out you feel it deep in your belly, probably deeper than anyone’s ever gone.
“Wish you could see how you’re soakin’ me,” Joel grunts, giving a few quick thrusts to let you hear the sound of your sloppy pussy. “How do you like it, darlin’? You want me to make a mess of you inside, or do you need me to pull out and shove this cock down your throat so you can swallow my load?”
“I-inside,” you pant. “I have an IUD.”
“That’s a relief,” Joel mutters, speeding up, one big hand wrapping around your front to tickle your clit. “C’mon, baby, need you to come on my cock before I bust inside you..”
He slows down just enough for you to work your way up to it, the heat building in your belly and your core, moaning at the way he lifts your hips to meet each thrust, sweat gathering at your temples. “Joel,” you whine, thinking of nothing but the way he’s fucking and filling and stretching your cunt. With an expertly angled thrust home you fall apart, moaning his name as you squeeze around him, and he picks up the pace, slamming into you until he swells inside you, his hot cum painting your walls. His cock is still twitching in the aftershocks when he finally releases his grip on your hips and pulls out of you. You quickly shove your underwear and shorts back on to catch his leavings already starting to leak out.
“Smart girl, bein’ on birth control,” Joel mutters, stuffing himself back into his own shorts. “I wish Piper was responsible like that.”
You school your features into nonchalance after you pull your shirt back down. There’s a little stab of guilt when you realize you’ve just fucked your bunkmate’s boyfriend.. even if she is a bitch. “What do you mean?” you ask innocently.
He reddens, as if he shouldn’t have spoken. “You’re sworn to secrecy, alright? Piper’s pregnant.”
“What?” Joel immediately clamps his hand over your mouth. He still smells like sex.
“Shut. Up,” he warns. “If I find out you told anyone else you’re packin’ your bags and goin’ home. Understand?”
You nod and whisper “Yes,” when he removes his hand. “It’s yours?”
He scoffs. “She says so. Still– not a peep. Got it?”
Piper becomes grumpy when Joel’s visits make an abrupt stop. But she’s no bitchier than usual, likely trying to get back into Joel’s good graces. Little does she know he’s only stopped coming to her because he’s taken up fucking you instead – in the storage shed, in the empty cots in the infirmary, the walk-in pantry in the kitchen. He maintains the position that he doesn’t like you very much while you’re in front of the others, sometimes giving you tasks you have to complete on your own – with the sole purpose of finding you to hook up.
The last night before the campers are due, everyone lets loose. Couples sneak off into the woods with sleeping bags and sinful intentions, some stay on the pier by the lake, drinking and laughing.
You’re the only one who’s made it to your bunk at an appropriate hour, wanting a full night’s rest before the big day. But your sleep is interrupted when Joel and Piper come in, slamming the door behind them, all over each other, kissing and giggling. With a silent groan you put your pillow over your head, already expecting to drown out the noises they’re about to make, which are going to keep you up all night.
They’re in the bottom bunk, a little quieter now that their mouths are busy. But soon there’s that familiar rocking rhythm and the sound of Piper’s moans and squeals, coming to a crescendo. Once again Joel’s stamina is off the charts. You’re in the middle of pleasuring yourself, two fingers shoved as deep as you can go, when everything stops and you hear Joel murmuring. There’s a creak as he gets out of the bunk, and Piper giggles as he positions her facing away. Now Joel’s eye level with your bunk and you gasp as you come face to face with him. He winks at you.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you whisper as quietly as you can.
“She caught up with me. I couldn’t shake her,” he explains just as softly. “Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart. Bring that pretty pussy to my face.”
Without hesitating you lift up your nightdress, scooting to the edge of the bed, thighs spread around Joel’s face as he fucks into Piper – oblivious to everything going on – in the bottom bunk. He’s got his dick buried in her while he’s eating you out. You’ve never experienced anything hotter.
You hear Piper’s staccato cries as Joel pounds into her from behind, his own moans humming through your flesh, heightening your arousal, your clit standing at attention between Joel’s lips, his mustache tickling your soft skin. You already know you’re going to come when your legs start shaking, toes curling at the waves of pressure building up in your very core.
“Joel!” you try to whisper as softly as possible. “Joel!.. I’m gonna come!”
He only smacks harder into Piper, her own cries louder than yours. “Come for me,” he whispers back, the tip of his tongue giving one teasing swirl around your pearl before he dives back in. Your back arches off the bed, lightning shooting through your veins as your cunt pulses, drenching Joel’s mouth as you come. He groans, licking up every drop, watching you through his lashes. “Good girl,” he whispers, backing off when you become too sensitive, his lips warm on your inner thigh, stubble scratching at your soft skin as he pulls off of Piper, turning her around so she’s sucking him off.
You hear her moaning and sighing, gagging on his cock. Meanwhile Joel lazily fingers you, scissoring his digits inside your sloppy pussy, his eyes black and glossy while Piper deep-throats him. Your fingers card through his hair as you ignore the softening of your heart in seeing him so tame and vulnerable.
Your name is on his lips but he moans Piper just in the nick of time, his breaths growing unsteady as he comes close to the end, getting ready to bust in Piper’s mouth. You take his head in your cupped hands. “Come, Joel.. give her what she wants,” you whisper. He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy as he fucks his girlfriend’s throat, stilling at last, his features tensing then relaxing as Piper gasps softly, swallowing his thick load.
The next day Joel treats you the same as he always has. Everyone’s minds are on the Opening Day festivities ahead, even if some of the counselors look like they’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep. You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not just because of last night, but because you’re genuinely excited for summer camp to officially begin.
The campers hurry out of the stuffy buses and onto the rolling green grass, toting duffel bags, wearing the gold and blue camp tees and ball caps, eager for their summer to begin. Everyone is assigned to a counselor, and as soon as your group is ready you start to lead them to their cabin. You have a full day ahead: a quick icebreaker so everyone can become acquainted, a scavenger hunt that will enable the kids to work as a team, then a game of capture the flag, then lunch. You have your day cut out for you, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll cross paths with Joel again..
Your thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting back at the buses. All the counselors turn to look, surprise written on their faces as they find one more latecomer to Camp Happy Trail.
Frankie Morales, adjusting the Standard Oil cap on his head, dark curls already sticking to the sweat on his neck, hurries off the last bus. His royal blue camp tee clings to his torso like sin, accentuating his broad frame. You’re speechless when he reaches you, putting his arms around you and lifting you off the ground before landing a big kiss on your lips. The campers are grossed out, giggling and making faces.
When he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, just as shocked as you are to see him finally arrive. “I missed you, babe,” he says, planting one more kiss on your forehead. “So what have I missed?”
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Haaaa I loved camp counselor Joel so much, he’s so cheeky and hot 🤭 This was so fun and unexpected and I particularly appreciated the threesome situation 🥵😏
And OMG when Frankie arrived I squealed 😂
I wonder if there’s more to come cause I’m really intrigued and I would love to find out what happens next 👀 but no pressure of course ♥️ this was absolutely great and I’m now yearning for Joel in tiny shorts 🤤
Contains: violence, canon typical themes, angst, crying, panic, fighting, hurt, little bit of comfort, age gap (24 & early 50s)
Wordcount: 6,692
Masterlist of this story
Masterlist
Joel
"Fuckin' hell…" he mumbled through sealed lips, striking the match with a forceful swipe, though nothing happened. His ankle prickled, and he wanted to kick something to get rid of his frustration.
"Do you need my help?"
Great, just what he had been missing.
"No. Sit down somewhere. M'gonna get ya when I'm done."
She was probably so eager to finally get her little hands on a gun, which drove him mad. She was so goddamn naïve, had no clue about the responsibility she was about to carry. But if he were to withdraw his proposal now, Amy wouldn't stop niggling for the rest of the day. And then some more.
"I can help you, Joel. Just tell me what to do."
"I told you to sit down. This is what's gonna help me the most, jesus christ…"
His temper had calmed a little when there was a small fire crackling at last. He thrust out his flat palms, allowing the heat to crawl beneath his skin and warm him from within while he heard rustling behind him. Amy, probably, who was restlessly wandering around, waiting for him to be finished.
Reluctantly, Joel approached his bag, grabbed the gun he had taken from Bill and Frank's and rotated it in his hand. As if he had magically called Amy with that gesture, she stood next to him all of a sudden, head high like she was about to be knighted by him. Joel just threw her a dismissive glance, gesturing her to follow him.
"I'm gonna explain this once. If you're gonna interrupt me or won't listen, that's it. No gun for you."
"Okay," Amy uttered shortly, which was at least a good start.
He wasn't blind to her mood shift ever since she had been so stupid to sneak around the gas station and stumble upon the infected, but he had no intentions to address the encounter again. He had reprimanded her for being so careless, had given her the sugar for her frail body. His job was done.
"Stretch out your arm."
Amy followed his instruction, offering him her left hand.
"Right," Joel sighed and waited for her to comply.
She had beautiful hands, he noted. Soft, untouched skin that looked like it had never seen the underside of some raw, coarse, jagged wood that burst open one's hand. They weren't at all the hands of fierce fighters, at least not the ones Joel had met in the course of his life so far.
But whatever, he wasn't here to turn Amy into a skilled soldier but just to teach her how to use a gun.
He placed the weapon in her hand, then reached underneath it to make her form a fist around the gun handle. Fuck, she felt just as soft and warm as she looked. The skin of her wrist was a little brittle, though.
Joel moved around her slightly, positioning himself behind her so that he could supervise how she was doing while guiding both her hands.
"Grip it tightly. If you fight with an infected, you don't want 'im to punch it out of your hand."
Her knuckles tautened, applying more force.
"Tighter. Look, I can just take it away from you."
He wriggled at the gun just to prove to her how easily he could disarm her if he wanted to, which caused Amy to clench her teeth and try again, putting in more effort this time.
"Good. Now take your left hand and put it on the other side."
Joel didn't know why he was even guiding her hand with his words as he moved it right into position himself, giving her no choice but to obey.
"You protect your knuckles with it. Always make sure your thumbs are parallel. That's your sign that you're doing well."
Joel scrunched his nose, straightening up a little to see her grip overall. Shit, he shouldn't have done that. Only now he realized how close he was to her, how his mouth was just inches away from her earlobe, how he would have been able to close the distance between them with a single step and his crotch would have been pressed against her backside.
Jesus Christ… Joel felt short of air, little drops of sweat collecting on his temples.
He needed oxygen. Clean, cold, fresh oxygen, if possible.
"Yeah – Yes, like that."
He took a stride backward until he had brought a few feet between them, which was Amy's sign to turn toward him, glaring at him in surprise.
"Is it good like that? So I can use the gun?"
"Yeah, you can – Yes, take it. Put it in your bag, but – only use it if you really have to. Only when I tell you to."
Joel was so fucking mad at himself, he felt ready to smash his own head against one of the trees surrounding their little camp. He couldn't stop paying attention to her pretty, smooth skin and the closeness of her body, and not only that, he was also too befuddled to play it cool and act normally.
What was wrong with him, seriously? He couldn't seriously feel attracted to that – stubborn brat who had been making his life hell for the past few days.
What had been one of the first things that had gone through his head when he met her? She was barely a woman. Twenty-four years old, good lord. Half his age.
And yet his throat always dried when Amy smiled at him, yet he caught himself peering at her skin like some pervert when her shirt yanked up because she stretched to get something nearby. Joel usually always had a solution for anything, mostly smashing his problems with his fists until they were fixed. But in that case, he felt puzzled.
He had never been in such a scenario before, so he didn't know how to stop feeling drawn to someone. Obviously, it was entirely physical, as Joel still couldn't stand her awful personality and her annoying voice. He just… Gosh, he just wanted to touch her.
Actually thinking it for the first time felt weirdly relieving, even though it was a disgusting thought all the same. Yes, he wanted to put his calloused, dirty hands on her. Hands that would be even filthier and fouler after they took such terrible action. No, of course he couldn't do it, but that didn't mean he couldn't stop dreaming about it.
Last night, his thoughts had drifted off a lot while he leaned against a tree in the dark. It had been only him and his mind, so Joel hadn't felt like he really had had a choice. At least he had stopped himself from observing Amy in her sleep, as that would have been a level of loathing he wouldn't have been able to endure. No, he had just rested his head against the trunk behind him, peered into the night sky and pictured her beautiful face, her pretty hands swallowed by his much larger ones.
Maybe he would have been able to stop himself, if he had used all his willpower, maybe not. Probably he would have been, but he had been too tired to put up a fight against his own hammering heart, so he had ended up in that dark hole every few minutes, imagining dreadful things that went way beyond her eyes and plump lips.
At the apex of the night, when he had been sucked into that shadowy void, Joel's thoughts had wandered off to Tess. What would she have thought about this? What about Tommy? Would they crucify him, abominate him for having such fantasies about a girl so young, so naïve and innocent? Would they be disappointed in him and say that they hadn't expected him to be so rotten and depraved?
Not that Joel had many standards for himself. After all the shit he had done, he didn't even try to pretend to be a good human being, but this… No, this was unacceptable. Frightening. His job was to keep Amy safe, get her to Marlene and the Fireflies, not crave her warm skin.
He was her caretaker, goddamnit. Without noticing it, Joel had walked a few steps away from Amy, whose grasp had loosened around the gun.
"Joel?" she called in his direction, making a muscle draw in the back of his neck. Please god, just make her shut up… Make her never look at me again, make her never smile at me again.
"Joel."
Her footsteps became louder behind him, and the next thing he knew, Amy was standing next to him, grabbing his arm to shake him.
"What are you doing? What's wrong? Did you see something?"
"No. No, it's – it's fine, just go back and I don't know, practice shootin'. But not too much, can't have ya usin' up all the ammo."
He didn't even know what he was trying to achieve by distancing himself from her, but every time Amy stepped into his periphery, he felt too warm and breathless. The farther away she was, the better he could order the storming thoughts inside his head, even though he had yet to find a definite solution.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Amy whispered, gazing up at him through her lashes.
Someone put a bullet between his brows. He was in terrible fucking danger, the thread holding him together thinning with every second.
"I am," he pressed through gritted teeth. "I just need a second. Stay by the campfire. I'll be right back."
Obviously, Joel wasn't gone for long, nor did he walk away more than a few feet. He could still keep an eye on Amy throughout his brief stroll, which had two reasons: firstly, he didn't come to a conclusion anyway, so there was no reason to meander through the woods, stuck with his own thoughts, and secondly, he didn't want to leave Amy alone and risk being inattentive. What if she was so stupid again and wandered off without letting him know? Or worse, what if raiders spotted the fire from a distance and gave her an unexpected visit while Joel wasn't around?
He hadn't lied when he had told her that as a young woman, she was exposed to many threats, which was part of the reason why he had already decided to keep watch for the second time in a row tonight. There were sick people out there, raiders who might not do him the favor of shooting them both quickly when they stumbled upon them but instead let him sleep or killed him while they kidnapped Amy, doing horrendous things to her until they murdered her as well in the end.
There was nothing Joel hadn't seen before, and he most certainly didn't want it to happen to Amy. Yeah, there was a lot of bad blood between them, but he would do anything to prevent her from getting into such a situation. It was why he was here, wasn't it? To protect her and keep her safe from human monsters and infected monsters alike.
When he returned to the camp, Amy was sitting close to the fire, cross-legged, her hand spinning the gun around.
"Put it in your bag," Joel said instead of a greeting, which made her glance up at him.
"Have you calmed yourself?"
"I am calm."
He plopped to the floor as well, which he only did because the ground was dry and covered in dead leaves.
"When are we gonna arrive at Kansas?"
"Kansas City," Joel corrected and reached for his rucksack, which held their lunch.
"I know. Kansas is a state. Kansas City is in Missouri."
"Then why are you sayin' it wrong?" Joel scoffed humorlessly.
"Because it's shorter."
"Right," he muttered, then started to prepare dinner over the little camping stove.
Amy offered her help again, and because he didn't know what else she was supposed to do while he took care of their meal, he asked her to get two bowls and two spoons from one of the bags in the trunk of the car. When she came back holding the items he had requested, her gaze dropped to his wrist.
"Joel?"
"What?" he snapped, stirring the canned ravioli in the little pot. At least those meals were always prepared quickly and he had every reason to look down rather than at her face.
"Why do you wear a watch that doesn't work?"
He froze, nearly letting go of the spoon. He inhaled deeply, hoping that his reaction wasn't that noticeable to her.
"None of your business."
"Really?" Amy sneered and took her seat on his opposite side. "Come on… Why is it so hard to tell a little something about yourself? I can tell you things about me too if you want."
I don't care, Joel was about to belt out, lips already pursed, but he stopped himself, just waiting.
"Did you know that I've always wanted to be an astronaut?"
Joel's upper lip twitched, but his gaze remained fixed on the pot. The steaming pot… that was all he should focus on.
"I even had a bunch of books about it. About the first moon landing and stuff like that."
"We're gonna pass Kansas City tomorrow," he said, as though he hadn't heard any of what she had just shared with him.
He imagined the look on her face. perhaps her eyebrows were dropping, maybe her shoulders as well. Maybe her eyes even grew sadder at his lack of interest in her past. Or, there was another option: she didn't care that much and Joel just thought himself more important than he was.
"And then?"
"What do you mean, then? We're gonna take the highway around the city, then we're gonna keep drivin' west."
"Am I gonna see the city?"
Joel shrugged and decided that the meal was done. At least the air smelled delicious, which aligned perfectly with the rumbling coming from his stomach.
"From afar. But as I said, we're not gonna go in. We ain't got no business there. We're just gonna take the highway that leads around it."
With a loud splash, Joel heaved a big spoonful of the brown, perhaps a little too runny mass into one of the bowls. After adding a second, then a third portion, he handed it to Amy, who grabbed the meal with a quiet "Thanks" that almost sounded a tad apologetic.
The moment he shoved the first ravioli into his mouth, she started babbling again, which made the blood rise in his cheeks, only this time it was from rage. This girl seriously couldn't shut her mouth for once, could she?
"Are you gonna keep watch again tonight?"
"Yes," he groaned while chewing open-mouthed.
"And what about your rest?"
"Well, someone's gotta do it, right?"
"Do you want me to…" she began softly, drawing a loud chuckle from him that vibrated through his chest.
"You? You wanna keep watch?"
"Yes. Why not? You think I can't do it?" Amy hissed, her dark eyes narrowed, reminding him of a hostile cat.
"I think you're not that practiced when it comes to shootin' people. You only started learnin' how to use a gun today."
It was a diplomatic, neutral response, even though Joel knew exactly that he wouldn't put his life in her hands even if she had been training how to use a rifle since the age of five. But he knew that Amy probably wouldn't be so fond of such a response.
"But – I mean, you can't stay up a second night. I don't think this is healthy at all."
"I don't think so either," he hummed, scooping up another ravioli with his spoon.
"Then let me help you."
"You can help me by eating your food and keeping your mouth shut."
Amy rolled her eyes, eyebrows drawn together, but stopped pelting him with her annoying questions and opinions that he hadn't asked for.
"You don't have to," she whispered when it appeared that she couldn't keep her words inside her throat any longer. At least Joel was finished with his meal now, which was why he reacted a little less irritably.
"What do you mean?" Joel grunted, putting the bowl next to him on the forest floor.
"You don't have to keep watch. Not for me, I mean. I don't know… Maybe you did it for me last night. I don't know, maybe not. But… If you did it for me, I just wanna say that you don't have to do it a second time."
Joel took a deep breath, scrutinizing her face, her eyes scurrying across the ground with a strange urgency, as though hunting for something.
"I'm gonna keep watch," he then clarified and grabbed her bowl, which he intended to clean with some water.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's okay. I can handle it."
An hour later, Joel sat against a tree, his rifle nearby just like last night.
The trunk was a different one, obviously, but he still felt transported back to the night before, when he had spent hours staring into space while sleep had lurked around the corner like a hunting animal, ready to strike and kill its prey.
It had taken him much effort not to be caught and dragged off to the lands of dreams, but after the travels of his mind to places it was not supposed to be, things had become easier. Which Joel loathed more than anything else.
Now, he would have to come up with another occupation because there was no way he could allow for it to happen a second time. He had to be able to stay awake without thinking about Amy, her lovely hands and her skin that – as he had found out today – was just as soft as it looked.
There had to be more, other thoughts and fantasies he could resort to, thrilling and exciting enough to keep him awake and effectively fight the drowsiness.
He thought about Tommy, hundreds of miles away to the west. Hopefully. There was always a chance that he was dead, but he wouldn't go down that path now.
No, he already carried a burden grand enough.
The next day, Amy was tired, barely speaking a word to him while she slurped up her porridge and watched the forest ground through hooded eyes.
It was a nice exception, which Joel enjoyed quite a lot, the silence a welcome moment of peace. Only when the two of them were in the car again, driving down the road, did he decide to address her, asking if something had happened during the night. If there was a specific reason why Amy was so calm today.
"Cat got your tongue?" he grunted rather cheerlessly, sparing her a brief glance.
"Tired," she answered and dropped her head against the window.
"Huh. Funny. I remember you snortin' like a fuckin' dinosaur all night."
"So? I don't know why. I'm just tired. Whatever…" Her voice trailed off, which made Joel silently shake his head.
But when Amy woke again an hour later, she seemed more present, his suspicion confirmed when she began with her nagging questions again, which made Joel seriously doubt whether he preferred that version of her.
"Have you ever been to Kansas before? Pre outbreak, I mean."
"Kansas City," he automatically corrected, eliciting a groan from her.
"I didn't know you were such a big-mouth, Jesus… Okay, Kansas City. Have you ever been there?"
"Yes." Joel stared ahead at the road, features rigid until Amy cursed again, lowly and accompanied by a sharp exhale.
"That's it? Just yes? You don't wanna tell me when, with whom… If you liked it?"
"Look at the map, goddamnit. Focus on the map, make sure we're takin' the right route, 'cause I swear to god, if we get lost, I'm gonna blame you."
Obviously, he would rather cut his own tongue off than tell her anything about the trip Tommy, he and Sarah had taken together when his daughter had been eleven years old. His past belonged to him, the good parts as well as the ugly ones. There was no reason to stir up the past again and listen to Amy's condolences that he could just shove up his ass. It didn't mean anything anyway. He had had this conversation countless times before, people telling him how very sorry they were about Sarah's death.Amy didn't know Sarah and she didn't like him, so there was no doubt about how sincere her pity would be if he told her.
"How can we get lost? It's one fucking highway."
Neither of them could have guessed that just as they were about to take a left turn, a new problem would appear. The broken, crashed cars lined up on the road as if they were just stuck in traffic and about to move again grew more frequent until they were packed so densely that Joel found he had no choice but to slow down.
"What the fuck happened here?" Amy asked, her face pressed against the window.
"People tried to get out of the city. But there were too many, so they got stuck, panicked and fled. And left their cars."
"Shit," she hissed, and for once in his life, Joel actually agreed.
"Yeah, shit…" he groaned, turning the steering wheel.
"What are you doing?"
"We can't take this highway. So we gotta take another route."
"What – "
"Eyes on the map."
Shit… as if all of this wasn't stressful enough. With the highway blocked they had to make their way around Kansas City more creatively and find a different solution.
"I – Where are we heading right now?" Amy asked after a while, the fact that she was turning the map upside down a very bad sign.
"That's your fuckin' job," Joel grunted and took a right turn as soon as he could. Putting more distance between them and the city seemed like the right call.
"I don't know where we're heading with you turning around all the time… Shit. You could've warned me or given me some time."
"Oh Jesus!" Joel exclaimed, jerking the wheel a little, which seemed to make the whole car shudder. Or maybe it was just his boiling blood. "Do you want me to drive the car and look at the fuckin' map? You got one goddamn job, and I can't even rely on you!"
They ended up in the city, obviously. Amy had desperately tried to navigate him around it, but she hadn't found the specific tunnel that she claimed must have disappeared since the map had been printed, which had been in 1987.
So now they were driving through some neighborhood that looked quite similar to the ones Joel had seen before. Trash cans that had fallen over, bikes that hadn't been touched in years and broken windows.
"There is no QZ… right?" Amy asked carefully, clearly scared to upset him further.
"There was. But they overturned it."
"Who's they?"
A very reasonable question, as Joel didn't really know either.
"Not Fireflies. But also some kind of resistance group. They messed up this place so badly, terrorized everyone, no matter if they were FEDRA or just a normal citizen, and ended up destroying FEDRA."
"Destroying…?"
Another valid question.
Joel had only heard about it in tales that Tess or Tommy had told him, which they had been told by other people, so the authenticity was questionable in some cases. But if only a quarter of them were true, Joel had no further doubt about what kinds of people they were. Inhumane, brutal ones who didn't just kill for their own advantage but also because they found sadistic delight in it. None of these things were relevant to Amy, though. Sure, he hoped she would be careful, but there was no need to upset or frighten her with things that weren't even confirmed to be true.
"Just scared 'em off, I guess."
He shrugged and squinted to get a better view of the street in front of him. The sun was shining brightly, which made it hard to see, but after the next turn a tall building was fortunately offering some cover.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang. Loud enough for Joel to jerk the steering wheel and curse while Amy looked outside in shock.
"What the fuck!" she yelled. "What is that, what – "
They were under attack. Someone was shooting at them, Joel realized when the first bullet made the rear window shatter.
"Fuck!" Amy screamed again, looking at Joel in horror, but that wasn't his way of coping with something like that. He just drove faster, locking his jaw, but when the next bullet hit the windshield, his hands reflexively turned the wheel and they crashed into the building to their right.
Then, everything went very quiet all of a sudden.
Light-headed and with throbbing temples, Joel blinked a few times, feeling like the past minutes had happened in a dream. His hands were still holding onto the steering wheel like it was his anchor, but the car had come to a stop. Not only that, it was totaled. And Amy…
"Amy!" Joel grunted, shaking her arm, which made her straighten up abruptly. Good, at least she hadn't passed out.
"Are you hurt?"
He didn't receive a reply as a shot was fired at that moment. So it wasn't over. Whoever had aimed at them wasn't satisfied with their car crash. Perhaps they wanted to rob them or make sure they were dead.
"Out. Quickly!" Joel hissed and pushed the passenger door open, shoving Amy's arm. Maybe it had been a mistake, he found when he crouched behind the car next to her, the air around them filled with loud bangs and the sound of metal hitting metal.
"What do we do?" Amy wanted to know, her voice threaded with panic and fear.
Shit, she was looking at him like he knew the solution to everything, like she trusted him completely to get the two of them out of this…
But then, Joel's eyes landed on the wall beside him. Whatever this building was that they had crashed into, it must have been some kind of store or garage, because there was a small room next to it. He couldn't be sure that the door to it wasn't locked, but there was a small hole in the wall. It definitely wouldn't be big enough for him to crawl through, but it would suffice for Amy. Once she was inside that space, he would have one fewer problem and could focus on scaring off those motherfuckers without having to worry about her.
"Go," he uttered, pointing to the hole while bullets wrecked the interior of what had once been a store. Or maybe a repair shop.
"What?" she whispered, her eyes wide and damp with what looked like tears.
"Go through that hole in the wall and stay silent. Just don't look away, focus on that hole and crawl through it. They're not gonna hit ya, I promise. Just don't think about them. You hear me?"
Pale as a ghost, her bottom lip quivering, Amy nodded and raised her head as though she were about to dash toward it when Joel held her back by her arm.
"On my count. Go when I tell you to, okay?"
Fuck, his ears were ringing, and it only got worse every time another bullet grazed a desk or the wall next to him. His plan was risky, but it was better than keeping Amy next to him where she was so exposed to the open firing.
"Go!"
At the same time as she started to rush toward the opening, Joel raised his rifle and fired a few shots in the direction where he assumed their enemies to be, across the street. His body urged him to look to his left, follow Amy's movements to ensure she was getting behind the wall safely, but he needed to focus on drawing the attackers' attention to him.
Only after a minute Joel turned his head and found the space next to the hole empty, indicating that Amy had made it. Good. Even though the danger was far from over, he sighed in relief and reloaded his rifle.
Then, it took him a couple more well-aimed shots to take out the guy on the other side of the road, who went down with a loud groan. Joel's head dropped back, resting against the metallic side of the car, which had a cooling effect on his burning scalp. He allowed himself a moment of recovery, closing his eyes, but then he stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
He should go check on Amy, make sure that she hadn't been hit and –
Joel choked on his breath, growling when a person wrestled him to the ground from behind, their hands around his throat like claws. His feet kicked, desperate to reach any body part, hands flailing around in despair, but the person pushed him forward with such immense force that Joel fell onto his front and was buried beneath their weight an instant later.
He rattled, his hands coming up to his own neck, trying to peel off the other person's fingers, but their grasp was too unyielding, too tight to do anything other than wriggle beneath it.
A strangled whine left his throat, his lids fluttering. He began feeling dizzy, his legs starting to slacken.
Then, a shot. Joel didn't understand what it had been at first, and neither did his body seem to care. All that mattered was the pressure releasing, his airways free to force the needed rush of fresh oxygen in so that he wouldn't die.
His heart pounded in his chest, sweat dripping down the side of his face while he stirred and tried to command his feet and legs to turn.
Then, he saw her. Amy, standing a few feet away, her shoulders pulled up to her ears and her hands clamped around a gun. That very gun he had given to her two days ago at Bill and Frank's.
Her posture was panic-struck, her eyes wide like she couldn't believe what had just happened. She didn't look at Joel, it seemed like she hadn't even noticed him move, let alone registered his presence. Her eyes were on the man who was dragging himself across the floor, a big, gaping wound on his calf.
Joel rubbed the marks on his neck that would probably bruise in the coming days. Then, after swallowing hard and drawing a few coughs, he rose on unsteady feet, taking a stride toward Amy.
"Go behind the wall," he commanded her in a relatively stable voice, though his weakened state surely hadn't escaped her notice. Well, if she could even pay attention to something like that at that moment.
"What? No, I – " she stammered, still staring at the man. He was young, probably in his late twenties. It was no surprise that Amy was shaken by the sight, by the fact that she herself had put him in that state. When Joel was younger, he had found it harder to kill people his age than guys well into their fifties or sixties, finding solace in the idea that they were lucky to have made it so far. Everyone's luck ran out at some point, right?
"Go behind the wall, Amy," he repeated and grabbed her shoulder. He couldn't care about her trembling bottom lip right now, nor about her shaking hands clutching the sleeves of her jacket.
"What are you -"
"Go."
Finally, she obeyed.
By the time she was gone, the man was wheezing, hands reaching out to grab something, but they only touched air. And some dust. Perhaps he was trying to say something, but before any of his babbling could start to make sense, Joel had fired a bullet into his head, which made his lights go out at once.
Poor guy. He was really young, even younger than Joel had assumed at first. Probably just a forlorn, ambitious guy who had made a bunch of bad choices in his life. Well, Joel couldn't take that into account while he was trying to get two people safely to Wyoming.
After grabbing his rifle as well as his and Amy's bag from the car, he knelt down beside the hole, exhaling softly before clearing his throat.
"Amy?"
Although she didn't answer at first, he could hear some rustling, indicating that she was moving around in the room.
"Amy. I need you to open the door for me. I can't get through that hole."
Quiet settled over everything. Joel waited for a few seconds, finding the right moment to repeat his request when he sensed a pair of shoes shuffling across the floor.
"Yes," she pressed, sounding on the verge of crying.
She took some time maneuvering pieces of furniture around, a heavy cupboard scraping across the floor until the door handle dipped at last and the door flew open.
He spared himself a snarky comment and instead entered the room, closing the door behind him. Amy had sunk down onto the chair in the corner at once, almost as though opening the door had taken all the strength from her body, and now she was drained and lifeless.
He didn't even need to see her face to know how she was feeling. Joel definitely wasn't a natural when it came to reading emotions off people's faces, but he wasn't stupid either. Talking to Amy, though, could pose a difficulty. Was he even supposed to do that? Should he just leave her alone and inform her of their next steps, or should he address what had just happened?
For a while, Joel just stood in the middle of the room, feeling pretty helpless while Amy sat in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her, busy with her own emotions. Her head was lowered, hands flat on the armrests.
"Okay," he at last barked, running a hand through his hair. "That was – unexpected. M'sorry, I should've been more prepared."
"It's okay," she breathed, not attempting to meet his gaze.
Shit, was he supposed to be alarmed? She was a miserable little heap, hair concealing most of her face, though he would have liked to take a look at her and see if she was crying. The fact that she wasn't fighting with him and giving him shit about handling all of this so badly was concerning in any case.
"Hey."
A finger twitched, but aside from that, Amy didn't react.
"Amy."
"What?" The answer shot out of her too rapidly to be convincing in any way.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
He shoved his hands into his front pockets, sighing heavily while he ran his options through his mind. He should probably back off and leave her be, instead of fighting wars that weren't his to fight. Amy was clearly shaken by what she had just done and would need some time to process what it was like to kill a person. There wasn't anything he could do about it as it was entirely up to her to deal with it. But he couldn't stand this either. Her slouched posture, her frail voice that sounded like it was about to break any second.
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying."
"Amy." His tone was sharper now, impatience resonating in it.
"Just let it go. I'm okay."
"You're clearly not," he insisted, scoffing dryly.
"Why do you care? It doesn't matter, it's none of your business, is it? You like to tell me that a lot, right? Well, now I'm telling you it's none of your fucking business."
She had briefly peered at him only to remember that her cheeks were tear-stained and red, which only gave Joel more reason to worry. Ignoring what she had just thrown at him, Joel sank to one knee in front of her, chewing on his bottom lip.
"You wanna know about the first time I killed someone?"
"No."
He sighed heavily, but then tilted his head a little so that he could at least catch a faint glimpse of her pouty lips.
"It was a few days after the outbreak. I'd killed infected before, but not a real human being. T'was a young man. Healthy and strong. He tried to rob me 'n' my brother, so I shot 'im in the head. Just like that."
Amy's brow wrinkled, a tear silently rolling down her cheek, then catching on the curve of her lip.
"It did things to me too. I don't care if you believe me or not, but it did. It's hard for anyone, no matter who they are. But you know, I – I just want you to know that you did nothin' wrong."
"Oh shut up," she hissed, flashing her glossy eyes at him in a way that made him flinch.
"It's true," he insisted. "He was a 'lil shit who would've killed us without the blink of an eye."
"But he looked scared," Amy whispered, sniffling and planting her feet on the edge of the seat so that she could wrap her arms around her own knees. "Didn't he?"
For a moment, Joel didn't know how to answer that, so he just breathed steadily while Amy rested the side of her face on her knees.
"Yeah. He did."
"I've killed infected before. Obviously. So I – I mean I know what it's like…"
Joel nodded slowly, just glad that she was talking again instead of hitting him with that unfamiliar silence.
"I just – I've never seen a real – person look like that. The pain in his face… And – the fear. The infected just – drop dead, you know? They – they scream once, but then they just fall back. But he… he looked so fucking scared, Joel."
He swallowed hard. It was true, he had to admit. There wasn't just the obvious difference of it being a healthy human being in one case and a body controlled by the cordyceps in the other, but also their response to a deadly gunshot to the head or any limb.
"I think he was scared of what is waiting for him on the other side," Amy whispered next.
Joel said nothing, because he felt that none of the possible answers swirling around in his head were fitting.
"Maybe he did some bad stuff too. And he was scared that it was all gonna come back to him now. Maybe he regretted some of it."
"Stop doin' this to yourself."
"What?" Amy murmured, her voice low and neutral.
"Don't – Stop thinkin' about it so much. It's only gonna make it worse, I promise."
Joel dipped his head lower, running his gaze along the cracks in the concrete floor beneath him.
"Do you wanna give me your gun? You don't have to use it again. If you don't want to."
"No," Amy said clearly.
"Alright… We… We should think about how we're gonna get outta here now."
"What about the car?"
Joel sat back, soles planted on the dirty floor. "No fuckin' way. It's bust."
"So… We find a new one?"
Shaking his head slowly, Joel glanced at the wall next to him, trying to figure out how late it had gotten without being able to see the sun.
"No. We walk."
"Walk?" Amy repeated, eyes wide, putting her feet back down.
"Yeah. Gettin' a new car's gonna take too long. I doubt we're even gonna manage to find one in this shithole."
"So how are we gonna get out?"
Joel sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, looking down at his hands as though the answer lay there.
Contains: canon typical violence, infected attack, age gap (Joel is in his early 50s, Amy is 24), strong language, hurt, comfort, angst, brief crying
Wordcount: 9,741
Masterlist of this story
Masterlist
Joel
Reaching for a fresh deodorant he had found in the top drawer underneath the sink, Joel nearly knocked over the soap with his elbow.
"Fuck," he cursed, quickly applied it under his arms and put it in his bag with a quiet sigh. The mirror was fogged, the air warm and steamy after the long shower he had taken, but he felt cleaner than he had in weeks, maybe even months.
Hair still damp, Joel grabbed his belongings and left the bathroom, only to nearly bump into Amy, who was just stuffing a few long-sleeved shirts into her bag. She had already taken a shower, her hair curling at the nape of her neck.
As she straightened up, startled by the sound of his footsteps, he caught a glimpse of her face, which looked a little different now that she was clean and fresh. Pretty, Joel thought, before internally shaking his head at such nonsense. Jesus Christ, this was a twenty-four-year-old woman. Barely even a woman, to be exact. Joel had been a father by the time she was born. He wasn't supposed to feel anything toward her except the hostility that was still deeply rooted in his bones. Most certainly no admiration for her beauty.
But as Amy gave him a gentle smile, Joel's stomach fluttered and he couldn't help but let his gaze roam up her neck, streaking over her lips and then the curve of her nose. Now that she had washed her hair and worn it down, her whole appearance was a little unfamiliar, which made him take in her face from a new angle.
Thick, long lashes framed her eyes, which were all soft and relaxed for once. Perhaps the private time in the bathroom, the opportunity to extensively scrub her body clean, had brightened her mood in exactly the same way it had his. The smile looked good on her face, Joel found.
He felt a light sting beneath his chest, which spread through his whole body a moment later. He should bury these thoughts in the darkest corner of his mind and never return to them. Amy was the last person he should ever take a second look at, let alone deem pretty. The next time a similar thought would cross his mind, he would shut it down at once and numb his brain, he promised himself as he shifted his gaze toward his own bag, which was still waiting for him to shove a few clothes inside.
"Are we gonna leave now?" she asked and pulled at the sleeves of her new shirt, covering her hands with the fabric.
"Soon. But first we're gonna go to the basement."
He led the way again, feeling Amy's presence closely behind him. The stairs creaked under their weight as though they hadn't been disturbed by humans in quite some time, which might well be the truth. As far as Joel was aware, Bill and Frank had been occupied with much more pressing matters than cleaning the guns stored down here. Such as caring for Frank's declining health.
"Wow…" Amy hummed as she took in the countless rifles and guns hanging on the walls, a sight that could have been straight out of an action thriller.
"That's insane. What did they need all that for?"
"Well, most of it is from before the outbreak. Back when Bill was rottin' away in his basement and assumed the fascist government was tryin' to control and spy on people." Joel turned around slowly, hands tucked in his pockets. "But I'd guess they had a lot to fight off over the years. There're always raiders who find this town and wonder why it's so well intact."
"Can I have one?" It took him a moment to comprehend what she was talking about.
"What, a gun?"
"Yeah."
Gaze drifting across the heavily loaded wall, he let out a slow breath, realizing she was probably right to want to carry a weapon as well. Joel was a man of control, someone who liked being in charge of as much as he could possibly supervise, and that included matters of safety. But Amy was an adult who definitely wasn't as capable as he or Tess had been, but he could teach her. And two armed people were better than one.
Reluctantly, Joel reached for a small gun, easy to handle and not too heavy to overwhelm her. There was a sour taste in his mouth as he handed it to her, furrowing his brow at her bright eyes.
"Have you ever carried a gun before?"
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Of course."
"And have you shot one before?"
"Yes."
Joel didn't let go of the weapon yet, which made her raise her gaze, some of the excitement falling off her face.
"Tell me about it."
"It was just once… It's – It doesn't matter, does it? Why do you wanna know?"
"'Cause I wanna know how much you know about guns, you little brat."
Amy's lips puckered, her hand loosening its grip as she gently traced the handle. "Not a lot, I guess… You can start with the basics."
"Oh, thank you very much, princess. How very generous of you." Joel roughly yanked the gun away, grabbing a few other things that might be useful, such as ammunition, before heading upstairs again.
"What, am I not gonna get a gun?" Amy asked loudly and quickly followed him up to the ground floor.
"You will," Joel grunted, huffing in annoyance. "But do I look like I wanna get shot in the shoulder when you try to aim without knowing how? Ain't no way I'm lettin' you walk around with this before you know how to use it. I'm gonna teach ya. And if you do a good job, you're gonna carry it."
She looked up at him with wide eyes, teeth grating as she nodded. "Okay."
"Good," Joel uttered, surprised and quite frankly relieved that his earlier rules seemed to be sticking for once. At least she was accepting his instructions without talking back.
"How do you shoot with a rifle?" Amy asked while Joel stuffed a few last things into his backpack, throwing her a suspicious glance.
"Why, do you also wanna learn how to use a rifle? We should start with a handgun before we move to this heavy thing."
"I know… I know, I just – how did you learn it?"
Joel sighed, feeling no desire to give her extensive insight into his history and how he had come to own his first rifle.
"Experience. Time. And some luck. Now move. Have you packed everythin'?"
The two of them had already brought most of their things to the car, so all that was left were their bags, which Joel carelessly threw onto the backseat.
"Go on. Ain't nobody comin' to hold the door open for ya," he scoffed, walking around the car to get into the driver's seat. She released a soft breath, climbing into the vehicle, which made Joel realize something he hadn't considered before.
"S'your first time in a fuckin' car?"
"No. I've been in a car before. I just… can't remember it, you know?" Amy let her gaze wander curiously around the interior, from the wheel to the mirror and the windshield, ending at the gear shift.
"I would really like to learn how to drive."
"No fuckin' way," Joel stated, starting the car, which fortunately rolled on with no problems.
"Why not?"
"'Cause I spent weeks practicin' with my father, I drove around a lot and I had a driver's test. You think I'm just gonna let you drive without any of that? You think I wanna crash into a fuckin' tree?" Joel rolled his eyes, navigating the car through the abandoned town and then out through the gate.
"Alright. Fine. But you're gonna change your mind once you get tired and you have no one to take the wheel."
"Watch me…" Joel grunted, narrowed eyes fixed on the road ahead as he picked up speed.
Two hours later, Amy was sound asleep.
Once Joel noticed her steady breathing, he turned his attention to his surroundings and realized for the first time that it must have gotten late, the moon casting a silvery gleam across her face.
"Alright," he growled, but when she didn't stir, Joel waited until he had parked the car off to the left of the road in the forest and then shook her by the shoulder.
"Time to wake up."
"What?" Amy asked in confusion, darting around only to realize that she didn't know where she was. It seemed like she was still too sleepy to recognize the car either.
"I parked the car. S'time to get some rest for the night."
"Where are we? I swear to god, if you kidnapped me –"
"Kidnapped you?" Joel snorted, opening the driver's door. "Why would I kidnap you? What would I do with you, huh? I'm already gettin' you to the one person who's gonna give me anythin' I want in exchange for you. Now get out."
He left the car, waiting for Amy to do the same, then pointed to a small clearing that was beautifully lit by the moon.
"Same rules as last night. No loud noises, no talkin', no light, and we're gonna be fine."
"Aren't we gonna eat something first?"
"'Course we are. Why do you think we packed all that stuff?" Joel opened the back door and grabbed one of the large backpacks he had found in a closet in Bill's basement, filled with all sorts of canned goods such as beans, meat, whole meals.
Fifteen minutes later, after Joel had lit a small fire to cook some ready-made pasta, Amy chuckled softly, pulling the sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders.
"What?" Joel asked, unable to guess what was amusing her.
"I had a dream. During our drive."
"Congratulations." He didn't spare her a glance, determinedly staring at the little steaming pot.
"You don't wanna know what it was about?"
"No. I don't."
Silence settled over the scene until Amy cleared her throat and started talking regardless.
"Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway. I dreamt that I was still inside the QZ. But there were no humans, just infected. Who could suddenly talk to me, so I was confused at first, but then I treated them like any other people."
Her mouth twisted as though she knew exactly that Joel couldn't have been less interested in her dreams. "What about you?"
"What about me?" he growled.
"Do you dream?"
"I dream every night."
Her eyes rolled, then followed his hands as he scooped some of the noodles into a bowl. "No, I mean how often can you remember?"
I wish I never remembered, was the thought that raced through his mind, but he just replied with a shrug.
"Sometimes. Occasionally."
"And do you –"
"Eat," Joel cut her off, expression stiff. His lids were heavy and his sore limbs were urging him to lie down after that long, draining day. No wonder Amy was in a talkative mood after her extensive nap.
He should be grateful, Joel thought, taking a spoonful of hot pasta. Every second he could spend without Amy's voice ringing in his ear was precious to him. Just like the day before, Joel told her to go to sleep as soon as the two of them were done with their meals.
"I'm not even tired yet," Amy hummed as she lay down, but Joel ignored it. Of course he wasn't either, but resting on his side, eyes open and mouth shut, was better than sitting here with her. Perhaps Amy would get ideas and assume that he was interested in a conversation.
He suppressed the urge to curse as he slipped into his sleeping bag, pulling it up all the way to his chin as if it would protect him from his own thoughts.
From this angle, he had the perfect view of the back of her head, her silky hair that looked so soft and light he believed a single breeze would make it flutter in the wind like leaves. He wished he could turn onto his other side and peer at the dark, slim stems of the trees instead, but in that case it would be his weak, nearly deaf ear listening for any approaching danger. Sure, Joel could ask Amy to switch sides, but he felt too worn-out to make the effort.
"Joel?"
He scoffed through his nose, closing his eyes the moment the woman shifted to face him. He couldn't look at her. Everything was too much; he felt overwhelmed and scared of the thoughts that might course through his mind at the sight of her. Joel was able to handle his mood during the day when he was focused on more important things such as driving or raiding Bill's home, but right now he didn't want to risk it. Especially not when Amy gave him those big, doe eyes that always made his bones go slack. What a good thing he was already lying down.
"What?" he barked.
"Are you cold?"
"No," he hissed, though he tucked his sweatshirt under his chin.
"Me neither."
"Then why are you askin' me, goddamnit. Go to sleep."
He didn't receive an answer, which made him cautiously open his left eye. Amy looked small, vulnerable beneath a pile of clothes. Just like the night before, she was wearing an extra layer to keep her warm, which was probably a good thing.
"I'm not tired," she almost apologetically whispered, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile playing at her lips. Shit. His heart was pounding in his chest, so he quickly forced himself to think of something else. The next day. The ten-hour drive in a stuffy car, the scarce meal that would await him in the morning, the horrible sun glaring through the windshield —
"How do you know Marlene?"
Well, at least that was a question he could answer with closed eyes and that would lead his thoughts elsewhere.
"My brother was with the Fireflies. S'how I met Marlene."
"Your brother was a Firefly?"
"I said he was with the Fireflies."
"Where's the difference?"
Joel sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. "Sleep."
For roughly five minutes, he believed there was a chance his travel companion was taking his words to heart at last, which was why he finally relaxed as well, doing his hardest to keep his mind from wandering off to her pretty hair, her beautiful hands, her gorgeous smile.
He knew how wrong it was, but he found that it wasn't that simple to banish certain feelings from his heart. He could distract himself by consciously concentrating on other things, but the more tired he became, the less control he had over his own mind. Which was why he always found himself dwelling on Amy's beauty.
When he turned onto his back, huffing out his frustration, he tried to change his angle on this. Yes, he found her pretty. Because she was. Objectively. And Joel was a man who liked pretty women, it was simple. He hadn't been with a woman in years, so it was only natural to have these thoughts. It didn't mean he had any intention of acting on them. Perhaps it was even healthier to accept that he felt attracted to Amy. These feelings would probably disappear on their own once he stopped trapping them and hiding them in the back of his mind. He might suffer for a few days, head swirling and his eyes lingering on her a little longer than was appropriate, but then they would fade on their own and he could live in peace.
Jesus, she was twenty-four. Could be his fuckin' kid.
Yeah, everything would be fine. No one, and especially not Amy, could read his mind and find out about his rotten brain. As long as he kept his desires to himself, they could inhabit his head for a while until this strange phase was over.
"Joel?"
Damn, he had assumed she had dozed off by now.
"What." It didn't even sound like a question, his voice laced with hostility.
"Are we safe here?"
"Didn't you ask the same fuckin' question yesterday?"
"Maybe," she admitted quietly.
"And did somethin' happen?"
"No."
"There ya go."
He turned onto his other side, thinking that he better trusted his gut over what he had told Amy instead of torturing himself by lying on his right side just so that his good ear was free. What he had said to her was the truth. There was no one out here, and even if there were, they wouldn't see the two of them in the dark.
"But there could be infected, right?"
"Yes," Joel grudgingly groaned. "Theoretically. But the chances are low."
"And… raiders."
"Yes," he whispered, and didn't soften his words this time. Not that he deemed it very likely to meet raiders out here in the middle of the woods, but claiming there were none would be a lie Joel wasn't comfortable telling her, despite all the trouble between them.
"Okay," Amy replied, but she couldn't fool him with her neutral, steady voice.
For the most part, Joel wished she would just go to sleep without bothering him again with more pointless questions, but there was also a part of him that understood her fear and pitied her genuinely. Of course she was scared. Was there any way around it? She was so young, so incapable of defending herself if it came down to it. Someone who had never been outside the QZ. Probably. At least, that was what Joel assumed about her past.
Sure, he was here to protect her, but Joel had to admit that it was a frightening thing to just close one's eyes, let oneself fall, and trust that nothing would happen to one's exposed and vulnerable body in the night.
Without saying anything, Joel sat up.
He didn't even know if Amy was still awake as he reached for his rifle, rubbing his swollen eyes with his knuckles. He was so tired he felt light-headed, craved sleep so much that it ate at him from within like an insatiable hunger.
And yet, Joel kicked off his sleeping bag a while later and rose to his feet.
He did it mostly so Amy would sleep at last without disturbing him with any more questions about their safety. And maybe because he felt for her, just a trifle. Just enough to make his eyes drift over her form, curled in a ball, while a quiet warmth spread through his lower belly.
Joel must have fallen asleep at around 5 a.m.
That was what he guessed, at least.
When he woke up the next morning, his lids still felt heavy, as though little stones were attached to the skin, pressing down onto his eyes with a relentless force that only vanished when he closed them. But to finally do that, he had to endure another day and pray that this time, Amy and he would find another place to sleep, one where she would feel safer than out here.
He was just brewing some coffee when his travel companion blinked awake, yawning and shifting on the ground.
"What time is it?" she breathed, rolling her head as though her body was still fighting off sleep. Surely this little brat was about to complain about being tired after he had spent a whole night on his feet just to make her feel a little safer and make sure nothing happened to her.
"8."
"You made coffee?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, traveling mistrustfully over the friendly look on her face.
"Yes?"
"Can I have some?"
"No fuckin' way."
Amy sat up, holding her head, which was probably spinning from the sudden motion. "Why not?"
"'Cause you're already a pain in my ass. No way I'm givin' you caffeine so you're gonna be even more annoyin'."
She folded her arms in front of her chest, greedily eyeing the steaming liquid that, Joel had to admit, emitted a delicious, nutty scent.
"Please. Otherwise I'm surely gonna fall asleep again."
"I don't care if you fall asleep. Actually, please do. S'gonna make all of this a lot easier for me if I don't have to listen to you talkin'."
With that, Joel closed the lid of the coffee pot, throwing her one last irritated glance, which Amy returned by jutting her chin out. God, she really did look beautiful in the morning, and that was despite the pronounced crease on her brow. When other people's skin was sallow, eyes hooded and hair standing out in all directions, Amy just looked… adorable. Sure, she wore dark circles underneath her eyes and looked a little drowsy herself, but somehow all of those little details only added to his feelings.
He quickly averted his gaze from her, hoping that his thoughts would disappear the moment his attention lay elsewhere, but of course nothing helped. Her features, her pretty pout were still stuck in his head like a song he couldn't get out of his mind. She was like a curse haunting him in two different ways, he realized, though both were very bad. Like problems he wished he could be rid of. She vexed the shit out of him, and every time he found peace for a single moment, it wasn't her obnoxious behavior burdening him but her appearance. It was unfair, really. It wasn't like she had done anything to deserve her looks, or the way she appeared to the outside world.
"Okay, just a sip," Amy stated. His head began throbbing, and he wished he could bury it beneath a pile of clothes just to drown out the noise. Or get another hour of sleep.
"What, are you addicted to coffee? You shouldn't be. Not at your age."
"At my age? What's that supposed to mean?" she indignantly spat.
"How long you been drinkin' coffee?" Joel asked suspiciously, but poured a little of the dark liquid into a cup. If there was one thing he had learned about addicts, it was that they became insufferable when they didn't get their fix. And since Amy was already intolerable, he didn't want to make it worse by dealing with her withdrawal symptoms all day.
"Since I was… 15, I think. And I'm not addicted. I just need it to wake up."
"That's the fuckin' definition of bein' addicted," Joel grunted.
"Then you're addicted too. We all are, it's just not an unhealthy addiction."
"This ain't about me." He handed her the cup roughly, the liquid nearly spilling over the rim. "Drink up. But you ain't gonna have this privilege every day, so enjoy it. No way I'm wastin' my coffee on a brat like you."
Amy savored the coffee silently and far more slowly than Joel would have liked.
"C'mon. We're leavin' in ten, so you better hurry up."
"So you grew up in Austin… How did you get to Boston?"
"None of your business," Joel barked, keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead of him. It was his new tactic to prevent his thoughts from wandering off to places they weren't supposed to be. Not looking at her. Avoiding her. He stood by his mantra to let his feelings in rather than forcefully packing them away, but he didn't have to provoke them by admiring her profile, beautifully lit by the rising sun.
"Really?" Amy scoffed, getting comfortable in her seat. "I'm starting to feel like you're the child here."
"I'm just not interested in sharing my history with you. And I'm not interested in learning about yours either."
Joel tightened his grip around the steering wheel, silently cursing at how his eyes flicked over to her every now and then. He had to get a grip on himself, goddamnit.
"Why? We're on a ten-hour drive and you just wanna sit here in silence? Jesus… Besides, I can promise you, you're gonna fall asleep if you don't talk."
Had Amy witnessed him keeping guard that night? The thought crossed his mind briefly, but watching her turn her head to look up at him with that victorious expression, he let the idea go.
"I'm not gonna fall asleep," Joel ground out through his clenched teeth, blinking against the bright sunlight warming his skin.
"You're saying that now. Come on. Just tell me a little something. Okay, I'm gonna give you a choice: either you're gonna talk, or I will."
"Talk about what?" Joel asked, not feeling particularly enthusiastic about either option, but he feared that if he ignored her, Amy would simply start talking his ear off without his permission.
"About our lives after the outbreak."
He had to suppress a chuckle, which quickly turned into a sour taste on his tongue. She was talking about the outbreak like it had been a groundbreaking shift in her life, even though she barely knew what the world had been like before that day twenty years ago.
At the same time, though, it made him aware of their massive age gap once more. He had lived a whole life, had gone through all possible stages before the outbreak, while Amy had been four goddamn years old. Younger than his daughter. The fact that he had ever glanced at her and felt drawn to her pretty face was downright disgusting. He was supposed to view her as a child, not a beautiful, attractive woman. But then again, she was that. It was a pretty accurate description of her, and no matter how hard Joel tried, he wasn't capable of bringing himself to see her as that.
"C'mon. You choose," Amy demanded again, challengingly drawing her eyebrows up.
"Fine… I'll tell ya." He chose that way first and foremost because if she started speaking, he might be more tempted to peer at her from the corner of his eye. That way, he could just stare ahead and ignore her presence, acting like he was talking to himself.
"My brother 'n' I –"
"The one we're traveling to?"
"Yes, goddamnit," Joel rumbled, exhaling in annoyance. "You asked me and now you're cuttin' me off after the first fuckin' word."
"Sorry." Amy leaned back, or at least that was what he could sense happening beside him.
"Anyways. We traveled east. Just 'cause it was horrible in Austin and we thought it must be better somewhere else. The first years after the outbreak were a mess. Everyone was just movin' around, tryna get somewhere better only to realize that it was shitty everywhere. Then the QZs came and many people went back."
"You and Tommy too?"
"No," he stated, lips a thin line. "We traveled further northeast, just tryin' to survive. We met – Tess. On the way. And some others. Just made our way around the country… lived day to day and then ended up in Boston. That was six years ago."
Amy let out a quiet breath. "Six years? You spent six years in the Boston QZ? Wow, no wonder you're so fucking grumpy."
Joel chose not to reply to that, just rolled his eyes. "I wasn't there all the time. Tommy 'n' I, we started smugglin' stuff in and out of the city. Traded with people, mostly desperate FEDRA soldiers, and had our little business runnin'."
"And why did Tommy leave? Did he have enough of you 'cause you suck?" She chuckled quietly, twisting her fingers together on her stomach.
"You think you're increasin' your chances of me tellin' you anythin' else about my past by bein' a fuckin' brat? Do you ever use your brain and figure out when to talk and when to shut your goddamn mouth? Mostly the second one, of course." Joel's jaw tightened, gritting his teeth so firmly he thought he might crack a tooth.
"Okay, I'm sorry. Go on."
Although he didn't feel like being told by Amy of all people to speak, just like he didn't want her ordering him to do anything, he did. Without being certain why he even bothered and didn't just keep silent, hoping she would soon fall asleep.
"He joined the fuckin' Fireflies."
"Oh right… You mentioned that. That's how you met Marlene."
"Correct," Joel muttered, chewing on his bottom lip as the memories bubbled to the surface.
"So he ditched you for the Fireflies? Or how am I supposed to picture that?"
"You're not supposed to picture anythin'…" Joel growled, but then took a deep breath. "He joined 'em. 'Cause he's an optimistic dreamer who thought he could make the world a better place. And I didn't 'cause I see those idiots for what they are."
"If you wanna gossip about the Fireflies, you've come to the wrong person. You know that, don't you?"
Joel narrowed his eyes slightly, casting her a quick look. "Why? 'Cause they wanna cut your arm open and steal your blood to do something that won't work? Are you sayin' you're grateful for that?"
"How do you know it won't work?" Amy asked, sounding more serious than she had in many hours.
"'Cause I've heard those tales before, kiddo," he explained, using the nickname on purpose to reestablish himself as someone with a lot more life experience and knowledge than her. "I've heard people talk about the genius vaccine that's gonna save us all, and we just gotta wait a few months while FEDRA develops it and hands it out. I don't care if they just didn't work or if those motherfuckers didn't hand out the vaccines 'cause they wanna continue oppressin' their people, but it doesn't matter. I haven't seen it yet. And we never will."
Joel paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in while Amy brought her thumb to her teeth, nibbling softly.
"It's not FEDRA, though. It's the Fireflies."
"Oh, and you think they can perform magic tricks just 'cause they're not fascists? There's no vaccine, kiddo. They can cut your arm open all they want, take your blood and do god knows what, but it ain't gonna work."
"How can you be so certain? You have no idea what –" Joel let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly.
"'Cause it's happened too many times. People gettin' their hopes up 'cause they thought some savior was about to come. I learned my lesson. Which is why I don't believe in this shit anymore."
"So you once had hope," Amy whispered.
Joel waited, expecting her to add something to that, but she didn't. And Joel didn't feel like it either.
Amy
When the sun hit the edge of her seat, Amy started counting the power poles by the road.
When it climbed so high in the sky that it burned directly onto her thighs, she moved on to the road signs, figuring it would take longer until that activity bored her too. But when, after an hour or two, she grew tired of observing the bleak landscape as well, her gaze landed on Joel instead.
"Joel?"
She liked saying his name. There was something grounding about the sound, how she could stretch the vowels or clip it short, depending on what she felt like at that moment.
"What?" he said without shifting his gaze to her.
That, she didn't like. Of course, Amy understood that he had to keep an eye on the road and make sure he wasn't driving into one of those power poles she had so intently watched that morning, but she secretly wished he would let his gaze wander to her more often. Not just because she liked looking at more of his face than just his profile, but also because Amy guessed she simply enjoyed having his undivided attention.
"What?" he repeated, hissing the word out like it was a disease.
"Can we stop for a moment? I have to pee."
"Oh, the 'lil princess has to pee again," he snarled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in irritation.
She bit her bottom lip to hold back a smile, and for a moment she felt relieved that Joel had his eyes on the road. Otherwise, he might have noticed the faint warm shudder that rippled down her spine whenever he called her that. Amy definitely preferred that nickname over kiddo. Princess made her feel… special.
She wasn't an idiot and was well aware that Joel used it in a sarcastic, almost mocking way, but the effect was the same. Just the sound alone, the way his lips twisted every time he was about to pour it over her like warm honey… Jesus, maybe she really had stared at that man a little too long today, Amy thought, feeling warmth creep up her face.
Hopefully she would come up with other distractions tomorrow and spend her time doing things that wouldn't require focusing on Joel so much. It was just hard not to let her gaze drift to him at times, especially when he called her princess.
"It won't take long, I promise," Amy said and looked out of the window, searching for an abandoned gas station or repair shop.
"Wasn't I the one who told you not to drink so much?"
"Do you want me to die of fuckin' thirst?" she shot back, impatiently throwing her hands up.
"No, but I told you to drink a lot at once so you don't have to pee so often. You've been sippin' on that water bottle for hours without a fuckin' break. Not surprised you gotta pee so often…"
Despite his complaints, Joel pulled off at the next gas station, parking next to the small building and climbing out after grabbing his gun.
"I really don't think this is necessary," Amy muttered and slammed the door shut behind her.
When they had stopped for her first pee break, Joel had insisted on standing outside the bathroom, armed with his gun like a guard dog. Of course she had found it ridiculous back then too, but she couldn't deny the effect his protectiveness had on her. It was the same when she had noticed Joel keeping watch the night before.
His reasons for doing it were utterly insignificant, but feeling taken care of, protected by a man as capable of violence as Joel, made her stomach flutter and sometimes even her lips curve, even though she tried to hide it from him whenever that happened. The stomach fluttering, at least, he couldn't see.
So when Amy complained about his thorough safety measures, she only meant it to some extent. Mostly, she felt flustered, delighted and shy about Joel following her inside, standing so close to the door that she could nearly hear his breathing.
No one had ever cared for her in such a way, and it didn't even matter that he did it solely for the reward Marlene had promised him. She was a broken woman, and had once been a scared little child who had never received the love, shelter and warmth she would have needed after her parents died so early. So it was no surprise that she soaked up Joel's feeble gestures like a dry sponge, no matter how coldly he delivered them. Protection was protection.
"It is," Joel barked, resembling that dog now more than ever. "C'mon. You said you were gonna do it quickly. I wanna drive a few more hours before we make camp."
Joel practically pushed her inside, even holding the door open while Amy slipped under his arm.
"How am I supposed to relieve myself with you lurking around like a fuckin' shadow?" she complained before Joel closed the door with a rough bang.
"You're supposed to pee. Not write down the theory of relativity."
"Joel?" Amy asked, absent-mindedly tracing her finger over the window beside her.
"What?" he barked, casting her a brief glance. "Don't do that. You're gonna get the window dirty. Then I can't see, and I'm gonna crash the fucking car."
"How am I gonna get the window dirty?" she sneered and examined her own fingertip as if looking for the filth he was talking about.
"Just – don't. What's your question?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me more about your brother. How are we gonna find him? Do you know where exactly he lives?"
"I know that he's in Wyoming."
"That's it?" Amy asked, tilting her eyebrows upward.
"No, you little brat. Would you mind letting me finish? I know roughly where he is."
Of course, he had no fucking clue. Great. So she wouldn't just have to endure his horrible temper for the next few weeks — she would also have to wander around Wyoming looking for a man who had left no traces whatsoever. How big was Wyoming even? What did it look like? Was it cold up there? And should she ask Joel these questions or would he taunt her?
"So you have no idea, asshole," Amy said, sounding a lot bolder than she felt.
"What's wrong with you?" Joel hissed, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. Good. At least her words had gotten a reaction out of him. "I know where he is. I'm gonna find him 'cause there ain't no other option."
"And what about me?" Damn, she hadn't meant for it to sound so pathetic, so needy. But after ten hours in this car with nothing to do but stare out of the window, Amy was stuck with her own thoughts and slowly started losing her mind. Her future was more uncertain than it had ever felt before, and all she wanted was to know what was going to happen to her, whether Joel was just as uninformed about where he was going to drop her off as he was about finding his brother, his own flesh and blood.
What if he didn't know anything at all and she ended up on the side of an abandoned road? Amy could already see it clearly in her mind, Joel's triumphant scoff, his features relaxed for once in his life as he left her in the dust. But then again, he wanted that reward Marlene had promised him, right? Goddamnit, she had no idea, but she wanted a little stability. That was all.
"What about you?" Joel snapped, causing her to chew on her bottom lip.
"What – where are we gonna find the Fireflies? What if they're gone? And – I mean, after we find your brother – if we find him – is he… will he come with us?"
"You got a whole lotta questions, kiddo…" Joel groaned, grinding his teeth.
"What do you expect? You think I'm gonna be satisfied driving around with some old grump like you?"
"You can be glad you're drivin' around with me, brat. Others would've killed you already. Would've sold your fuckin' organs for a bit of food."
"But then you wouldn't get Marlene's reward."
Yeah, that worked. Maybe Amy should feel a little more confident about the fact that Joel needed her as much as she needed him. Okay, maybe not just as much, but if something happened to her, he had no purpose going west. Except for his brother, of course.
"Don't worry about that… I'm gonna get Marlene her little prize. And I bet your ass you can't imagine how badly I wish we were there already…"
"Oh, believe me, I can," Amy muttered and rested her chin on her knee, which she hadn't done before. She had thought Joel might not appreciate seeing her put her shoe on the leather seat. Whatever. If he acted like an asshole, he didn't get to be mad at her for disrespecting his rules.
When Joel and Amy stopped at another gas station an hour later, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from making a snarky comment. Something like I told you not to drink so much at once was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't say it, thinking that the fact that the two of them hadn't torn into each other during the past few minutes was a win.
"C'mon. Get out of the car," Joel commanded after pulling to a stop, making her sigh in annoyance.
"I can wait in here."
"No, you won't. I'm not gonna say it twice."
Shoulders dropping in defeat, Amy unfastened her seat belt and climbed out of the car, doing so begrudgingly enough that she hoped he felt it.
"Can you stop huffing like a fucking steam locomotive?" Joel grunted on their way inside.
"Oh, excuse me. Now I'm breathing too loudly? What else? You want me to walk differently?"
The store was just as run-down and grimy as the previous station. Some of the food and other merchandise had been knocked off the shelves and was scattered all over the floor. Amy kicked a can aside as she followed Joel toward the bathroom, provoking him to dart a look at her from the corner of his eye, though he restrained himself from commenting.
"You wait here. I swear to god, don't move around, don't do anything stupid. Don't search the store. Just stay by the door. Am I clear?"
"Yes," she said sharply, barely able to stop herself from saluting.
"Alright."
He gave her one last quick, suspicious look before pushing through the bathroom door, rifle in his hand. Amy almost wanted to laugh. What kind of danger was he expecting to lurk inside a bathroom except for mildew on the ceiling and some rusty pipes. Well, whatever made Joel feel safe.
She whistled through her pursed lips, taking in the store more carefully. All those cans and packages spread across the floor…
Why hadn't Joel told her to take a look around and find them some useful snacks for the drive? It would be in both their best interests, right? Maybe that was just what he needed, Amy thought, grinning to herself. A few snacks, a chocolate bar or a handful of salted almonds. Would he consider it a peace offering if she handed him one, or would he be mad at her for ignoring his rules?
In the end, she was too curious to just stand by the door, which was why she started to wander through the shop. It turned out to be a lot larger than she had initially thought. There was another large room connected to this one, with even more magazine stands and empty refrigerated shelves. The latter were obviously not intact anymore, though Amy still took pleasure in finding out what had once been stored in there. The magazines caught her interest as well. Perhaps she could take a stack of them to keep herself entertained during the drive, so she wouldn't have to force conversation with Joel.
Screw him for telling her to wait by the door… If she had obeyed, she wouldn't have found any of this, and would probably bore herself to death after more endless hours of sitting next to him in the car with nothing but the movement of the sun to hold her attention.
Suddenly, she paused. There had been a noise, right? She was just about to call Joel's name, already readying herself to explain what she was doing at the back of the shop, when it happened again.
No, that wasn't Joel…
Amy's brow furrowed, her feet quietly carrying her toward the source of the sound. She passed the checkout counter, the rack with the postcards - she froze.
Without even seeing what was inside the room behind the door that stood just a crack open, she knew at once. The quiet groan that was almost a yelp.
"Oh fuck me," she whispered, feeling so startled by the sudden appearance of the infected that she had yet to move.
Jesus, she should run in the opposite direction, find Joel and get the hell out of here, but something drew her closer to the door. It was dark in there, which was why she couldn't quite make out the creature, but a thin strip of light illuminated its right cheekbone.
This was it… Her worst enemy, which had simultaneously given her her superpower. Amy despised the term, but Marlene had sometimes called her immunity that, which had made her feel like a small child who couldn't understand what any of this was about without that kind of language.
She took another step forward, her hand hovering an inch from the door. She just couldn't stop. The sight was fascinating, the yellow eyes sending a shudder brushing against the back of her neck, her hair standing on end. It was excitement and fear in equal measure, but above all she felt that the thrill of it had an addictive effect on her.
Shit. She had taken another careful step forward without knowing why, and suddenly the creature stirred. At first it was just its face twisting, the milky pupils, which didn't look so milky and distant now, settling on her.
"Shit," she breathed, stepping back slowly. No, no, no, she hadn't been prepared for this. Was she supposed to run or sneak away, hoping the infected wouldn't find her? Joel had said something about Clickers not being able to see. Was this a Clicker? How could she tell if it — The infected lurched forward abruptly, jerking as though possessed by some demonic force, and crawled toward her.
"Oh fuck," Amy gasped, jumping backward and kicking out wildly, when something, or rather someone, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back.
Joel.
She had never felt so relieved to catch the leather scent that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.
He pulled her behind his massive frame, shielding her from the infected, and fired a few shots at it. Amy couldn't see any blood, but she could only imagine it was an ugly sight. The smell of gunpowder spread rapidly through the air, and suddenly the only sound she could hear was her own heavy panting, whereas the room had just felt so loud and chaotic.
Joel yanked her along without a word. He didn't even allow her a glimpse of the scene, deliberately walking to her left so that his body blocked the view. And Amy let him guide her without question or protest, her head swimming and her fingertips prickling as the adrenaline gradually began to ebb.
She felt stable at his side for once, as though she could let all her emotions run free, allow herself to be afraid, sad, or overwhelmed, because Joel was there to protect her. And there was something incredibly grounding about his solid presence.
By the time they reached the door that led outside, she was trembling, which prompted Joel to place a hand on her back. It was a wise move. Why did she feel so weak in the knees all of a sudden? Was she going to faint? Her breathing came out shallow, her chest rising faster than usual as her body worked to fill her lungs with oxygen that seemed to nourish them but not yet her brain.
Joel directed her back to the car, but instead of walking around to the passenger side, he opened the driver's door and helped Amy onto his seat. Her vision was still a little blurry, and she twisted her trembling hands together to hide her body's struggle, but the fact that she could stretch out her legs and didn't have to support her own weight anymore made her racing heart begin to slow.
"Eat this." Joel's deep voice cut through the fog in her head, making Amy's eyes flicker toward him. He was standing in front of her, one hand on the hood, the other holding a small package.
"What… what is that?" she breathed, unnerved by the thinness of her own voice.
"Glucose. You know what that is?"
She shook her head but allowed Joel to place the item in her open palm.
"Well, it's some sort of sugar. I don't know exactly, but it's gonna help ya."
Amy swallowed hard, then tried to rip the plastic open. Unsuccessfully, of course. Her trembling fingers slipped immediately, which made her exhale in frustration.
"C'mon. Give it to me."
She obeyed, though she couldn't deny feeling a little helpless, sulky, even, for not being able to do it herself. At the same time, she was taken aback by his sudden show of kindness, something Amy hadn't known him to be capable of.
"What is that… Why am I feeling –"
Joel handed her the white tablet, which almost looked like compressed flour.
"Adrenaline. Something about… blood sugar. The point is, you had a lot of energy from the shock, and now that energy is leaving your body all at once, so you're feeling extra weak. Eat it. Why would I poison ya? I would've gotten rid of you already if I wanted to."
Amy paused for a moment, looking at the tiny tablet that was supposed to save her from her own body betraying her. Then she put it in her mouth, chewed gently, and tasted sweetness on her tongue a moment later.
"How long until it kicks in?" Amy asked, glancing up at Joel, who was still watching her as though afraid she might drop dead the moment he looked away. A tremor unfurled along her spine, warm and pleasant, like the graze of a soft feather drawn slowly across her back with the sole purpose of making her feel good. Maybe it was just the angle, but from this perspective Joel's eyes seemed a little kinder than usual. Well, maybe it was just the lighting, but right now they appeared to lack the darkness that usually shone through his irises.
"Not long. Just give it a few minutes," he replied, but Amy barely listened.
Heat rose in her cheeks as she reflected on the thoughts coursing through her mind. Goddamnit. She had come this close to getting ripped apart by an infected, then almost collapsed, and she was thinking about Joel being nice to her for once? About how she felt safe with him and how that fact had somehow gotten through to her? She must have gone insane. Maybe she had just hit her head, couldn't remember it, and that was why she had paid such close attention to the color of his eyes.
"Amy."
Her head shot up, her blown pupils tracking the wrinkles on his brow.
"I asked you if we can keep driving."
"Yes. Yes, of course," she stammered, avoiding his eyes as she rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet.
"Good. Get in then. If you need more sugar, tell me. I got some in my bag."
Finally, Amy regained her ability to think and found her voice again.
"You've been storing those in your bag and didn't think to mention it?"
"Why would I have told you?"
Since Amy had no real response to that, she just shrugged and climbed back into her seat, releasing a deep breath and letting her head fall backwards.
She enjoyed exactly five minutes of that while Joel pulled the car back onto the road before he opened his mouth again and let his shrewd eyes wander across her pale face.
"Well, I ain't gotta tell ya why that was bad, right?"
Amy remained silent, feeling both deflated and furious all at once. God, she was supposed to feel grateful, but for some strange reason she couldn't find that emotion anywhere in her swirling mind right now. At least not on the surface.
"Amy."
Her head turned at the sound of her name slipping past his lips, but she still said nothing.
"I told you to stay by the door. Exactly 'cause of situations like this. And if I recall correctly, I told you a day ago that I was only gonna take you with me if you did what I told you when I told you. You disobeyed me and look where it got ya."
The blood beneath her skin was burning, the world around her tilting. Amy felt strange and unsteady again, though she had been better just a moment ago.
"Yes, and if you had let me stay in the car, none of this shit would have happened!" She detested how emotional, how rattled she sounded, but her feelings were getting the better of her and she was fully at their mercy. All she could do was watch the show as though she were an observer from the outside.
"If you had stayed in the car, worse things could have happened! Do you ever think that I might know what's best for you? That I have a little more life experience than you? Just 'cause you happen to have a big mouth doesn't mean everything coming out of it is good or smart. In fact, most of it is bullshit. You think you're safe in the car? You think you're safe when there's another car passing by with someone inside who sees a young, helpless girl who's unarmed? Someone who might not have good intentions?"
Amy's head began to throb. God, she didn't think she had ever heard Joel talk so much all at once. Why was she even so angry? Why did she feel like she would spit fire if she parted her lips? Why did she want to hit Joel on the arm and maybe kick him in the shin? Those arms that had just killed the infected for her, and those legs that had guided her out of the gas station.
"You could've given me a gun…" Amy murmured after a few minutes, only a shadow of that confident, stubborn girl left that Joel had been talking to a moment ago.
"I told you, you're only allowed to use it when I know that you know how."
"And when is that gonna be?" she asked, pressing her right cheek against the cold glass to cool her hot temper. It was working to some extent, her senses slowly sharpening.
"Tonight, if you want."
"What?" she breathed and carefully tilted her head in his direction.
"If we make camp early and you do as I say for the rest of the ride, I'm gonna show you how to use a gun. I'm not promising anything 'cause I don't know how well you're gonna do, but I'm gonna show ya how to hold it. How to aim right."
Amy sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, blinking a few times. There were tears collecting on her waterline, which didn't make any sense at all given that Joel was just making her a peace offering, but she couldn't help feeling so incredibly worn down by all of this. Always having to come up with a quick-witted reply, staying tough in front of Joel, resenting herself for feeling safe in his presence, feeling ashamed when she had to admit to being comforted by his role as her protector.
It was all too much. Amy had no idea if he noticed any of her emotions and how she was holding back tears, but at least he didn't speak to her for the next few hours, which could mean many things.
Joel just drove in silence, and as far as Amy could tell, he didn't even toss her a quick look. Amy spent most of the time with her head turned away from him, cheek pressed against the cool surface of the window, and the rest of the time she dozed. Because of those quick shifts between being awake and being fast asleep, she had no sense of the time, so when Joel steered the car off the road without a word, Amy could only guess the hour by the height of the sun in the sky. Late afternoon, maybe early evening. Maybe he was really holding true to his promise to give her a shooting lesson. The day before, he had made camp later.
"You okay?" Joel grunted the second the engine cut off.
"Yes," Amy answered mechanically.
"Did you eat the glucose?"
"No."
The next thing she perceived was the click of his seatbelt.
"Get out. Ain't gonna help ya, sinkin' into self-pity."
Amy wanted to grab him by the arm and ask what the hell he meant by self-pity, but he was already out of the car, stomping through the tall grass toward the trunk where the two of them had stuffed their sleeping bags, camping stove and all sorts of other things.
Self-pity, she thought, scoffing to herself. Why would she feel pity for herself? It was quite the opposite, actually. If there was something bothering her it was the rage she felt toward herself, not pity.
"Are you gonna teach me now?" Amy called in his direction, trying to mask her irritation by putting an extra measure of coolness in her tone.
"Give me a minute, alright? Jesus… I'm gonna start the campfire, then I'm gonna teach ya. Just – stay put."
Amy jutted her jaw forward. Anything to conceal the rebellion in her chest.
summary: you want to try out your new outfits with Clint.
contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - basically pwp (sorry not sorry), established relationship, terms of endearment, they're in loveeee (it's sick), banter, teasing, smoking, mentions of handcuffs and a vibrator, roleplay (??), dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Clint is a certified munch bc I said so, overstimulation, no description of reader (just hair and curvy), no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.
wc: 2200+ (after i just said i was making these shorter lmao)
a/n: first time writing for clint and it's smut ?? anyway i had this unhinged idea... didn't proofread (oops) idk if i like this but yolo 😛
The light rain patters against the windows. You lay on your stomach, facing the TV as ‘All I Want for Christmas’ plays for the hundredth time this week. The faint hum of the heater fills the house, spreading a nice warmth throughout your body.
Clint is sitting up against the headboard, your feet in his lap as he massages your heels with the pads of his thumbs. A cigarette hangs low in his mouth as he focuses on his ministrations. It had been a long day, and the two of you just wanted to relax.
The movie goes to commercial and your eyes fall to the black shopping bag in the corner of the room. Clint had no idea where you went when you left with your girlfriends, but he asked a million questions when you got back to the house.
You bought a little surprise that you wanted to see if he would even consider. The two of you never really ventured out with sex–aside from handcuffs and a vibrator–but never anything fun or kinky. A sliver of red velvet was peeked out from under the black tissue paper, and an idea sparked in your mind.
Suddenly, you sit up on your haunches, earning a confused look from Clint. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked as he actively reached to pull you closer. You settle into his side, a leg resting across his as you prop your head up on the pillow behind him. He could see that unmistakable glint of mischief in your captivating eyes, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“What did you do?” he asks slowly, earning a small chuckle from you.
“I didn’t do anything. I just have a question.” He nods slowly, reaching for the remote to turn the TV volume down.
“What is it?” he probed.
You didn’t know how to actually ask, so you just blurted it out. “What do you think about roleplaying?”
His eyebrows practically flew to his hairline once he registered your question. “Roleplaying?” he repeated slowly, “We don’t- Why would you wanna do that?”
Immediately you wanted to retract your question and return the outfits you got, but you were determined to crack your husband tonight–crack his thick armor and crack him. “Just something fun that I thought of.”
He groans, leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. “Why do you do this to me?”
“Do what?” you chuckle softly, moving to straddle him.
How fast his hands move to rest on your thighs should amuse you, but you’re used to how handsy he is with you. He’d never admit it, but his love language is physical touch alongside quality time. Admitting something like that would make him seem less tough and more soft. In his opinion.
His gaze meets yours again, gun-calloused hands slowly rubbing and squeezing the plump flesh of your thighs. “I am not dressing up as anything. You love me just the way I am, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” you say with a small shrug.
“Then why do I have to dress up as…” His gaze travels to the black bag in the corner, “whatever the hell is in that bag you brought home.” The look he gives the bag amuses you–like it personally offended him somehow.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” your grip on his shoulders tightens a bit so you can shake him. He chuckles, meeting your gaze again once you’ve stopped trying to shake some sense into him.
“Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, “What did you get for us?”
You squeal softly, planting his cheeks in chaste kisses before you get off the bed. He shakes his head as he watches you move to the corner of the room, grabbing the bag, and bringing it back towards him. The mattress dips slightly under the bag before you pull out the red velvet.
His eyes widen, flicking towards your face and the outfit in your hands. “I am not dressing up as fucking Santa Claus.”
You wiggle your eyebrows before you toss the outfit into his lap. “You will once you see this,” you pull out another little outfit, “on me.”
His jaw goes slack as he takes in the little red dress in your hands that will most definitely not cover your ass at all. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Chuckling softly, you walk over towards the bathroom door. “Put it on, Clint,” you point at him, narrowing your eyes before you disappear into the bathroom.
Clint lets out a heavy sigh once the bathroom light flicks on from under the door. Roleplaying wasn’t something he ever really considered because he loved just having you and you having just him. Against his own accord, he would do anything you asked him to, though.
With that, he stands up from the bed, already unbuttoning his flannel as he looks at the Santa outfit in mock disgust. There was no way he was wearing the entire suit. He’d get too hot in it the second you walked out. Just the image of you in the little dress has his manhood straining against his jeans already.
God, you were driving him crazy. He wasn’t confident that he would last long once he was inside you, so he had to make–whatever this was–worth it for you.
He only put on the pants. The red velvet easing his nerves as he runs his hands along the side of his thighs. He peeks into the bag still sitting on the bag, pulling out a Santa hat that you didn’t show him before. “Baby?” he calls out to you, “do I have to wear this hat?”
You chuckle quietly before you answer him, “It’ll be taken off just as quickly as it’s put on, so that’s up to you.”
“Can I fuck you in it?”
Your breath catches at his question. Now it’s his turn to chuckle, “Dependin’ on how that dress looks on you, I’ll say that you’ll be just in the hat when I fuck you.”
“Clint.” Your voice doesn’t sound like a warning as much as you wanted it to.
He goes quiet so you continue getting yourself ready; applying red lipstick, tying up the back of the dress, pulling up the white stockings to your knees, and putting on red heels. If Mrs. Claus was naughty, you would be the perfect example of her. You felt confident as you adjusted your hair in the mirror.
The dress did nothing to cover the lower half of your body, and you had a matching red thong on underneath. Honestly, if you weren’t married to Clint, you would fuck yourself. There hasn’t been a day since you got with him that you’ve had to do such a thing, and you were grateful for it.
Reaching for the doorknob, you ask him, “Are you ready, Mr. Claus?”
You can imagine him rolling his eyes at what you called him, and it makes you chuckle. “Yeah,” he pauses, “Mrs. Claus.” His voice is dripping with mock disgust, making you second guess this for a moment. The both of you have already gone this far with it, so you might as well commit to it, right?
Slowly, you open the bathroom door, leaning against the frame once you come into his view. He stares at you from his place on the end of the bed—lips slightly agape, legs spread, beckoning you to stand in between them, his bare torso waiting to be marked up by you.
You can see his breath catch in his throat from where you stand, and you know he’s right where you want him. “So,” you draw out, “you still wanna do this?”
He doesn’t answer you—too busy gawking at the present between your legs that’s only covered by a sheer thong. A smug smirk is plastered on your face as you saunter over towards him, slowly dropping to your knees once you’re in between his legs.
You cup his face in your hands, beckoning him to look at you, “Santa, baby, did you hear me?”
His eyes flick to yours—dark, full of desire, and a desperate hunger. “None of the nicknames,” he growls before his hands are on you, tossing you onto the bed.
You chuckle softly, propping yourself up on your forearms as he stands on the end of the bed. “You don’t want me to call you Santa?”
He shakes his head slowly, stalking towards you as a predator would towards its prey. “There’s only one name that I want you screaming. And it’s not Santa.”
His broad frame hovers over you, legs in between yours, hands on either side of your head, caging you in. It’s moments like these where you can truly take in your husband’s beauty; the curve of his nose, his soft lips, those dark orbs that harden when he’s doing his job, but hold so much tender care and love when he’s looking at you. The duality of Clint Flood is something that always took your breath away. But his lips traveling down your body is what’s stealing your breath now.
He nips and licks down your body, traveling towards his favorite place to be. “Need to taste you,” he murmurs against you, breathing hot on your skin as his teeth graze over your covered core. Your slick heat is already seeping through the fabric, making your arousal for him clear. “This all for me, sweet thing?” he looks up at you from between your legs.
Your nod stutters when he kisses the tender skin where your thigh and cunt meet, “Yeah, baby.”
He hums in approval, hands flexing against the flesh of your thighs. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your body. If you weren’t already soaked, that would’ve done you in.
The feeling of his hot breath fanning over your slick heat has you spiraling, needing more–anything. “Clint, please,” you breathe out, making him chuckle quietly.
“Please what, baby?” A faint kiss just below your navel, “Use your words.”
“Need you,” you manage to get out weakly. If the ache between your legs wasn’t so unbearable right now, you wouldn’t resort to begging.
He sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. It’s taking all of his strength not to just dive between your legs, but he knows he can’t deny you any longer. His fingers hook into the delicate fabric of your thong, pulling it to the side to reveal your glistening folds. He makes a deep noise from the back of his throat at the sight of you.
No time is wasted before his mouth is on you, hungry and desperate as he laps at your pussy with no warning. His hands hold your thighs open, not letting you move from his greedy mouth. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping his curls as he feasts on you like you’re his last meal.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan out, “Santa’s hungry?” You tease him through your pleasured haze, earning a nip at your clit that sends a sharp sting of pleasure-pain down your spine, making you yelp.
The sounds of him lapping at you fills the room alongside his grunts and groans–like he’s the one being pleased. His hips rut against the mattress once. Twice. Trying to ease the heavy ache between his legs. “Such a sweet fucking pussy,” he murmurs against your slick heat.
He was losing his mind, seeing you in the little dress, the stockings, the heels–it was all too much for him to take. He sucks your little bundle of nerves between his lips, flicking his tongue against it to send you spiraling towards your orgasm.
“Clint, fuck-” you moan out, “‘m gonna come.”
He hums in approval against you, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal through you. “Be a good girl for me, baby. Come on,” he encourages you before diving back in with a renewed feverish hunger.
Your thighs tremble in his grip, hands tightening in his hair as the coil deep in your gut snaps, sending a white-hot pleasure through you. Moaning incoherently you lean your head back against the mattress, arching your back as you finish in his mouth.
Clint doesn’t stop. He licks up everything you give, and then some. The pleasure quickly becomes too much, your vision blurring around the edges as you weakly push at his head. “Clint–ah–too much, baby,” you croak out, whimpering when he doesn’t stop.
He finally pulls back with a wet pop, peppering kisses on your inner thighs as a silent apology. “You okay?” he whispers against your skin, eyes locked onto yours.
You nod weakly, chuckling quietly as you lean your head back to stare up at the ceiling. The mattress shifts under Clint’s weight, his body caging you in as he takes in your beauty. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, running his knuckles along your cheek.
It was a stark contrast to the man who just had his head between your legs, eating you out like a full-course meal. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you come down from your high.
“Baby?” His voice makes you crack one eye open, humming in acknowledgement. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
You gaze up at him, reaching up to wipe the excess of yourself off of his mustache, “Hm?”
He kisses your thumb before a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”
pairing: Clint Flood x woc!reader
contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - porn without plot, established relationship, sub (??) Clint, he loves it messy, riding, multiple orgasms, creampie (oops), unprotected PinV (don't do this irl), fingering, overstimulation, aftercare, i did imagine a woman of color while writing this, but all are welcome to read, no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.
wc: 865
song: under you by nick jonas - "baby you're my only fix"
a/n: clint has been on the forefront of my mind for a month straight (i wish i was kidding) i've been absolutely feral for the last few days so here's this little word vomit i had earlier 🌝 (not proofread... sue me)
Something Clint would never admit to anyone but you, is how much he loves being under you. His eyes half-lidded as he watches you take what you need from him.
His hands never guide your hips, they just ground you. Your head tipped back, your hands on his thick thighs, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock stimulating your clit just right.
His cock stretches you obscenely, reaching the deepest depths of you as you rock your hips. Your slick coats his length, your inner thighs, and is starting to coat his base. Clint doesn’t mind the mess. He likes when you please yourself on him, taking whatever and however much you want from him over and over again. The creamy mess just reminds him of how devoted he is to you. Like you’re marking him in the most intimate way possible.
He’s not completely sure of how many times you’ve cum now, but he’s holding back for you. Sweat beads at his temple as he waits for you to give him the go ahead. He already knows he’s going to give you a lot, living up to his last name and flooding your cunt with his seed.
You’re like this drug he can never get enough of. If neither of you worked, he knows you’d be on each other constantly. He can’t lie when he says that he hasn’t thought about filming porn with you once or twice. The two of you would make a killing selling your tapes. The passion both of you have when it comes to sex is something that other people would enjoy.
But Clint is possessive, and he’ll keep you to himself for as long as he can.
When you lean down, burying your face in his neck, he knows that’s his cue to let go. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you in place as he plants his feet flat on the bed and thrusts up into you. You reciprocate–wrapping your arms around him as you moan against his skin. Your walls flutter wildly around his cock as you near your last peak of the night.
Clint grunts in your ear, gritting his teeth at the sound of wet skin slapping against each other. The ache between his thighs was beginning to become unbearable–his cock so pent up that it was nearly hurting. His hips pick up speed, slamming into you one last time before he shudders through his orgasm, taking you along with him. Your walls milk him dry, his body locking up as his cock spills hot, relentless spurts of cum deep inside of you. He was right about having a lot to give, feeling it spill out and pool around his base before he’s even done.
Your hearts hammer against each other’s chests, your breaths heavy against sweat slicked skin. You hum softly when you feel his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back, unsure if he’s trying to soothe you or himself. “Are you okay, baby?” he whispers softly.
Nodding against him, you answer, “I’m okay.” You lift your head to take in his blissed out expression, “Are you okay?”
He huffs quietly, staring at the ceiling, “You make me lose my goddamn mind, gorgeous.”
You lean into his touch when he cups your face, his thumb gently rubbing across your cheek. “You gotta stop making me cum like that,” he lightly teases.
“You know you love it.”
He grins wide, unable to contain it any longer. “I do,” he admits quietly, “but then I have nothing left to give after that. I just… sleep.”
“So do I,” you softly kiss him, gently easing your hips off of him.
Clint doesn’t let you get very far, rolling the both of you over so he can hover over your spent body. He peppers you in kisses until you giggle from his mustache tickling your skin. “I’ll be right back,” he kisses your forehead and stands up with a grunt.
You prop yourself up on your elbow, eyes on his ass as he walks to the connecting bathroom. He doesn’t close the door, letting you see him clean himself up before he returns with a washcloth to clean you up. Clint’s eyes travel down between your thighs, watching his cum drip out of you.
“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand up your leg, “look at that.”
His thumb swipes through the mess he made, pulling a small whimper out of you from overstimulation. “Clint,” you warn him weakly, earning a chuckle from him.
“I know, I know,” he gently presses the warm cloth to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, being careful not to press too hard.
The lack of attention he’s giving your core isn’t lost on you, but you still tense a bit when two of his thick fingers push his cum back inside you. “Can you hold it all night for me, mi amor?”
Involuntarily, your sensitive walls clench around his digits before you answer. “Yeah, sure.”
Clint chuckles lightly, pulling back his hand with a filthy squelch. “My good girl,” he says once his arms are wrapped around you again, the both of you succumbing to sleep.
summary: you want to try out your new outfits with Clint.
contents/warnings: Explicit (18+ MDNI!) - basically pwp (sorry not sorry), established relationship, terms of endearment, they're in loveeee (it's sick), banter, teasing, smoking, mentions of handcuffs and a vibrator, roleplay (??), dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Clint is a certified munch bc I said so, overstimulation, no description of reader (just hair and curvy), no uses of y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.
wc: 2200+ (after i just said i was making these shorter lmao)
a/n: first time writing for clint and it's smut ?? anyway i had this unhinged idea... didn't proofread (oops) idk if i like this but yolo 😛
The light rain patters against the windows. You lay on your stomach, facing the TV as ‘All I Want for Christmas’ plays for the hundredth time this week. The faint hum of the heater fills the house, spreading a nice warmth throughout your body.
Clint is sitting up against the headboard, your feet in his lap as he massages your heels with the pads of his thumbs. A cigarette hangs low in his mouth as he focuses on his ministrations. It had been a long day, and the two of you just wanted to relax.
The movie goes to commercial and your eyes fall to the black shopping bag in the corner of the room. Clint had no idea where you went when you left with your girlfriends, but he asked a million questions when you got back to the house.
You bought a little surprise that you wanted to see if he would even consider. The two of you never really ventured out with sex–aside from handcuffs and a vibrator–but never anything fun or kinky. A sliver of red velvet was peeked out from under the black tissue paper, and an idea sparked in your mind.
Suddenly, you sit up on your haunches, earning a confused look from Clint. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked as he actively reached to pull you closer. You settle into his side, a leg resting across his as you prop your head up on the pillow behind him. He could see that unmistakable glint of mischief in your captivating eyes, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
“What did you do?” he asks slowly, earning a small chuckle from you.
“I didn’t do anything. I just have a question.” He nods slowly, reaching for the remote to turn the TV volume down.
“What is it?” he probed.
You didn’t know how to actually ask, so you just blurted it out. “What do you think about roleplaying?”
His eyebrows practically flew to his hairline once he registered your question. “Roleplaying?” he repeated slowly, “We don’t- Why would you wanna do that?”
Immediately you wanted to retract your question and return the outfits you got, but you were determined to crack your husband tonight–crack his thick armor and crack him. “Just something fun that I thought of.”
He groans, leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. “Why do you do this to me?”
“Do what?” you chuckle softly, moving to straddle him.
How fast his hands move to rest on your thighs should amuse you, but you’re used to how handsy he is with you. He’d never admit it, but his love language is physical touch alongside quality time. Admitting something like that would make him seem less tough and more soft. In his opinion.
His gaze meets yours again, gun-calloused hands slowly rubbing and squeezing the plump flesh of your thighs. “I am not dressing up as anything. You love me just the way I am, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” you say with a small shrug.
“Then why do I have to dress up as…” His gaze travels to the black bag in the corner, “whatever the hell is in that bag you brought home.” The look he gives the bag amuses you–like it personally offended him somehow.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” your grip on his shoulders tightens a bit so you can shake him. He chuckles, meeting your gaze again once you’ve stopped trying to shake some sense into him.
“Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, “What did you get for us?”
You squeal softly, planting his cheeks in chaste kisses before you get off the bed. He shakes his head as he watches you move to the corner of the room, grabbing the bag, and bringing it back towards him. The mattress dips slightly under the bag before you pull out the red velvet.
His eyes widen, flicking towards your face and the outfit in your hands. “I am not dressing up as fucking Santa Claus.”
You wiggle your eyebrows before you toss the outfit into his lap. “You will once you see this,” you pull out another little outfit, “on me.”
His jaw goes slack as he takes in the little red dress in your hands that will most definitely not cover your ass at all. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Chuckling softly, you walk over towards the bathroom door. “Put it on, Clint,” you point at him, narrowing your eyes before you disappear into the bathroom.
Clint lets out a heavy sigh once the bathroom light flicks on from under the door. Roleplaying wasn’t something he ever really considered because he loved just having you and you having just him. Against his own accord, he would do anything you asked him to, though.
With that, he stands up from the bed, already unbuttoning his flannel as he looks at the Santa outfit in mock disgust. There was no way he was wearing the entire suit. He’d get too hot in it the second you walked out. Just the image of you in the little dress has his manhood straining against his jeans already.
God, you were driving him crazy. He wasn’t confident that he would last long once he was inside you, so he had to make–whatever this was–worth it for you.
He only put on the pants. The red velvet easing his nerves as he runs his hands along the side of his thighs. He peeks into the bag still sitting on the bag, pulling out a Santa hat that you didn’t show him before. “Baby?” he calls out to you, “do I have to wear this hat?”
You chuckle quietly before you answer him, “It’ll be taken off just as quickly as it’s put on, so that’s up to you.”
“Can I fuck you in it?”
Your breath catches at his question. Now it’s his turn to chuckle, “Dependin’ on how that dress looks on you, I’ll say that you’ll be just in the hat when I fuck you.”
“Clint.” Your voice doesn’t sound like a warning as much as you wanted it to.
He goes quiet so you continue getting yourself ready; applying red lipstick, tying up the back of the dress, pulling up the white stockings to your knees, and putting on red heels. If Mrs. Claus was naughty, you would be the perfect example of her. You felt confident as you adjusted your hair in the mirror.
The dress did nothing to cover the lower half of your body, and you had a matching red thong on underneath. Honestly, if you weren’t married to Clint, you would fuck yourself. There hasn’t been a day since you got with him that you’ve had to do such a thing, and you were grateful for it.
Reaching for the doorknob, you ask him, “Are you ready, Mr. Claus?”
You can imagine him rolling his eyes at what you called him, and it makes you chuckle. “Yeah,” he pauses, “Mrs. Claus.” His voice is dripping with mock disgust, making you second guess this for a moment. The both of you have already gone this far with it, so you might as well commit to it, right?
Slowly, you open the bathroom door, leaning against the frame once you come into his view. He stares at you from his place on the end of the bed—lips slightly agape, legs spread, beckoning you to stand in between them, his bare torso waiting to be marked up by you.
You can see his breath catch in his throat from where you stand, and you know he’s right where you want him. “So,” you draw out, “you still wanna do this?”
He doesn’t answer you—too busy gawking at the present between your legs that’s only covered by a sheer thong. A smug smirk is plastered on your face as you saunter over towards him, slowly dropping to your knees once you’re in between his legs.
You cup his face in your hands, beckoning him to look at you, “Santa, baby, did you hear me?”
His eyes flick to yours—dark, full of desire, and a desperate hunger. “None of the nicknames,” he growls before his hands are on you, tossing you onto the bed.
You chuckle softly, propping yourself up on your forearms as he stands on the end of the bed. “You don’t want me to call you Santa?”
He shakes his head slowly, stalking towards you as a predator would towards its prey. “There’s only one name that I want you screaming. And it’s not Santa.”
His broad frame hovers over you, legs in between yours, hands on either side of your head, caging you in. It’s moments like these where you can truly take in your husband’s beauty; the curve of his nose, his soft lips, those dark orbs that harden when he’s doing his job, but hold so much tender care and love when he’s looking at you. The duality of Clint Flood is something that always took your breath away. But his lips traveling down your body is what’s stealing your breath now.
He nips and licks down your body, traveling towards his favorite place to be. “Need to taste you,” he murmurs against you, breathing hot on your skin as his teeth graze over your covered core. Your slick heat is already seeping through the fabric, making your arousal for him clear. “This all for me, sweet thing?” he looks up at you from between your legs.
Your nod stutters when he kisses the tender skin where your thigh and cunt meet, “Yeah, baby.”
He hums in approval, hands flexing against the flesh of your thighs. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your body. If you weren’t already soaked, that would’ve done you in.
The feeling of his hot breath fanning over your slick heat has you spiraling, needing more–anything. “Clint, please,” you breathe out, making him chuckle quietly.
“Please what, baby?” A faint kiss just below your navel, “Use your words.”
“Need you,” you manage to get out weakly. If the ache between your legs wasn’t so unbearable right now, you wouldn’t resort to begging.
He sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. It’s taking all of his strength not to just dive between your legs, but he knows he can’t deny you any longer. His fingers hook into the delicate fabric of your thong, pulling it to the side to reveal your glistening folds. He makes a deep noise from the back of his throat at the sight of you.
No time is wasted before his mouth is on you, hungry and desperate as he laps at your pussy with no warning. His hands hold your thighs open, not letting you move from his greedy mouth. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping his curls as he feasts on you like you’re his last meal.
“Fuck, baby,” you moan out, “Santa’s hungry?” You tease him through your pleasured haze, earning a nip at your clit that sends a sharp sting of pleasure-pain down your spine, making you yelp.
The sounds of him lapping at you fills the room alongside his grunts and groans–like he’s the one being pleased. His hips rut against the mattress once. Twice. Trying to ease the heavy ache between his legs. “Such a sweet fucking pussy,” he murmurs against your slick heat.
He was losing his mind, seeing you in the little dress, the stockings, the heels–it was all too much for him to take. He sucks your little bundle of nerves between his lips, flicking his tongue against it to send you spiraling towards your orgasm.
“Clint, fuck-” you moan out, “‘m gonna come.”
He hums in approval against you, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal through you. “Be a good girl for me, baby. Come on,” he encourages you before diving back in with a renewed feverish hunger.
Your thighs tremble in his grip, hands tightening in his hair as the coil deep in your gut snaps, sending a white-hot pleasure through you. Moaning incoherently you lean your head back against the mattress, arching your back as you finish in his mouth.
Clint doesn’t stop. He licks up everything you give, and then some. The pleasure quickly becomes too much, your vision blurring around the edges as you weakly push at his head. “Clint–ah–too much, baby,” you croak out, whimpering when he doesn’t stop.
He finally pulls back with a wet pop, peppering kisses on your inner thighs as a silent apology. “You okay?” he whispers against your skin, eyes locked onto yours.
You nod weakly, chuckling quietly as you lean your head back to stare up at the ceiling. The mattress shifts under Clint’s weight, his body caging you in as he takes in your beauty. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, running his knuckles along your cheek.
It was a stark contrast to the man who just had his head between your legs, eating you out like a full-course meal. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you come down from your high.
“Baby?” His voice makes you crack one eye open, humming in acknowledgement. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
You gaze up at him, reaching up to wipe the excess of yourself off of his mustache, “Hm?”
He kisses your thumb before a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: Your neighbor plays his cello way too fucking late, and all you want to do is get off and get to sleep...
Warnings: smut, masturbation, cello lessons, grey sweatpants, hot neighbor, voyeurism due to thin walls, bach, i have zero clue about this character but i want to fuck him, riding, unprotected p in v, finger fucking and sucking, like he HAS to be good with his hands right?!, written in a fevered few hours, i feel like that jon hamm gif
Words: 3,000
A/N: Did I fuck off and ignore work for a few hours to write this? Yes. Am I going to have to pay for it by working tonight? Yes. Is it worth it? I don't know man, I'm horny af for this new character. Siri, play "Fresh Out The Slammer" because I feel rejuvenated in my delusional porn writing. Gif made by me because I'm that fucking insane.
Masterlist
—-
The notes mock you, mock the catch of your breath, the beat of your heart, the way your fingers move across your clit, pressing and swirling. You’re so close, and yet so far. Your trusty vibrator, rose, and grinder sit discarded on your quilt. The mournful music filtering in through the thin bungalow walls and windows is not helping. So close. So far. Your orgasm drowns again.
You slap your hand down against your stomach, killing the last vestige of your mood and roll off the bed. You just wanted ONE singular orgasm, something to take the edge off. But no, there’s a sad cello playing some sort of depressing, somber thing that just leaves you even more frustrated.
You check your phone and grumble. 11:39. Who fucking needs Vivaldi or Bach this loud after eleven?
Your new neighbor, apparently.
You don’t even bother to close your robe when you stomp out into the damp night. Your bare feet squelch in the wet grass, and you don’t care. The music gets louder when you get to your neighbor’s door. It’s nice? You guess. You don’t even know anymore.
You pound on his door. Three rasps. You give your neighbor time. Nothing. So you pound again. Until the music stops. Footsteps get closer, floorboards creak.
The door opens, just like your jaw drops. Dark hair slicks back from a face that the gods might as well have sculpted. Sharp cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips, big brown eyes. He’s in a black tank top, ridiculously broad shoulders escaping the flimsy fabric. His gray sweatpants hang loose on his hips. His whole look suggests either a strategic carelessness or a total lack of giving a shit. It might be due to how fucking horny you are, but your new neighbor could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
His dark eyes size and assess you. Your robe. The flimsy, light pink tank top sticking to your skin, the short, barely there sleep shorts with tiny, green polka dots. Your hair’s probably a mess, your skin still damp with a sweat of frustration. He looks almost amused at the sight of you, but his eyes linger a little longer than propriety should suggest at your thighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks. Deep, kinda dark, like a freshly poured cup of your favorite coffee.
“It’s la—” your voice squeaks. You clear your throat, square your shoulders. “It’s late. Your music. It’s… loud. Some of us have to, you know. Sleep.”
He leans on the doorframe, folds his arms, and your eyes square in on the way his biceps bulge, the line of his forearms. “Sleep,” he says.
“Yes. That’s right. It’s past 11.”
“Didn’t think it was that loud.”
“Could you turn it down at least?”
A thick eyebrow arches up. “Guess these walls are paper-thin. I suppose I could use a different bow.”
There’s no shame in his voice, no apology, and it just irks you more. You wobble a bit in the way he looks at you, half wanton desire, half boredom.
“I’d… appreciate that.”
“Mm,” he says, and his lip quirks up in a maddeningly handsome smirk… like he knows he’s gorgeous and getting under your skin. “You best get back to… sleep,” he says.
You nod, because you have no other fucking clue how to respond under his heated, cocky gaze and the revelation that the music was being played by him and not a too-loud stereo.
The silk of your robe swishes across your hot skin as you make your way across the grass to your bungalow. You’re sure your neighbor’s watching you the whole way and you don’t dare look back.
He keeps his word, you can barely hear the music when you lie back down in bed. Fuck him for being beautiful. Your whole body is still reverberating from the baritone rasp of his voice. You press a pillow over your face and scream an annoyed sound into it, as the heat of his gaze still blooms across your body.
At least now all you can hear is nothing but the sound of your breathing, picking up when the heel of your hand slinks its way back between your thighs. Jesus Christ, you’re even wetter now. You’re leaking a frustrating hunger, the image of your neighbor’s big shoulders and golden skin playing in your mind. You imagine his biceps pinning you down and his thick fingers hooking against your waist as he pounds into you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, picturing his wide palm against your mouth. You wonder what he sounds like when he cums, is it as sad and tragic sounding as the music he plays?
God, it’s so easy now. Your body’s arching up, desperate to feel how soft his tank-topped chest is when it’s shoved against your chest. You can almost feel him, the weight of him atop you, his dark eyes searing into you as you edge yourself closer and closer. You’re pressing needy circles against your clit, your thighs tensing and toes curling. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan out, too loud for your own good and the silence of your own bungalow. Your hips are moving against your hand harder, faster, and when you think of that damned smirk of his and the way he’d watch you shatter apart for him, you orgasm, hard and hot and loud. “Oh fuck, godddd,” you moan. You don’t even care. You want him to hear it. Maybe he will, with the thin walls. Maybe he won’t, because he’s too busy playing that damned music. Maybe he heard a hint, and now he’s sat, frozen in his chair, bow in one hand, listening to your own symphony between the walls.
—-
Two nights of silence, and then you hear it… a loud cat-like moan around 11 PM. Followed by another high-pitched mew. “Aleeeeex,” the shrill sounds. “Oh god, Alex.”
So, your hot neighbor’s name is Alex.
A rhythmic thumping starts up against your wall, fast, brutal, not sweet. You can’t help yourself as you move towards the wall, listening in for any type of low grunt or groan, but there’s nothing… just a repetitive smack of wood against drywall and the squealing of a woman.
You roll over, turn on your speaker, and pick up your phone. You know the perfect song. You scroll to the B’s in your music, find Cello Suite no. 2 by Bach, and let the sad, melancholy play… loud.
The pace just behind the shared wall picks up, and the wails of the woman speed up, along with the tapping against the wall. Now it’s your time to smirk, take that, Alex, and whoever he’s decided to fuck.
And when the roaring sadness of the music slows and quiets at a point… you hear it. A long, low groan timed perfectly to the song, almost like he was waiting for it.
You feel the angry roar of want in your body at the sound of him and let the song fade out as you reach into your drawer and pull out your vibrator.
—-
The next night, the cello is back, at 11 on the dot. Louder. Like it’s back to mock you. You shake your head and smile, willing it not to bother you as you turn in bed and put a pillow over your ear, but even through the muffled down, you recognize the song. It’s Cello Suite no. 2, just like you played him last night.
Damn, he’s talented. You have to give him that.
By 11:30, he hasn’t stopped, and the cello almost plays like a siren song to you and your sleepy, horny frustrations. You step out into the night air, and you swear the cool air hisses against your heated skin. No robe this time, just you and your light blue silky, short nightdress, complete with the lace trim across your breasts.
You punch at his door again, then stand back, arms crossed. You’re sure your nipples are pressing against the thin fabric, and you don’t care.
He answers almost instantly, and good lord, he’s only in a pair of boxers and a loose, button-up shirt.
“You’re playing on purpose now, aren’t you?” you ask him, no greeting, just attitude.
“I need to practice. Figured you’d like to hear it.”
You snort. “So why that song?”
His hand rests against the doorframe and he looms over you. “Thought I’d return the favor of last night.”
You roll your eyes and huff. “Thanks.”
He turns his head back to his living room, then back at you, deep brown eyes searing into you. “Come in. I’ll play you something else.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway.”
You don’t say anything, you just walk past him into his place. It’s neat, in order, vintage furniture with modern touches. His bow is discarded on the floor, the cello leaning against the wall.
He lifts his hand, guides you to his couch, a soft, buttery leather that dips when you settle on it, mindful of just how short your nightdress is. He bends to pick up the bow, and your throat goes dry as you stare at his ass. You blink yourself back to reality as he takes a seat and places his cello between his legs. God, his legs, strong and dusted with hair, he looks to be golden all over.
He begins playing. Something you don’t recognize, but it’s smooth and sultry. Your heart and body answer, heating and beating with each note of music that flows from the instrument.
Alex doesn’t look up, he’s transfixed by the music he plays, and you’re just as spellbound. You’re sure you’re breathing hard, sure your pulse is thrumming along to the song. You don’t know how long you sit like that, mesmerized by the music and the man. If this is how he looks as he plays, then you’ll surely sacrifice the nights of sleep, just to let this beauty out into the world.
His head tips back, neck straining as his head lulls back and forth, caught in the notes, and when he looks at you, dark brown eyes meeting yours, you know he can see the way your chest is rising and falling, the heat of your stare. He gifts you one of those damned smirks, but this time it’s different. It’s heated and full of desire. He watches you watch him, and you can’t look away. Every note he plays flows through you, from your ears to between your thighs.
Alex’s arm slows, the bow stopping, and the last warble of the strings escapes the cello. He sets the cello against the wall with reverence, his loose shirt gapes open as he turns, exposing golden chest and a dark line of hair. You try to adjust how you’re sitting, the leather couch sticking to you with the heat of your thighs.
His eyes roam over you, from your bare legs up to your chest, up, up, finally meeting your eyes again. He licks his lips, pink tongue against his plush bottom lip. He smiles, hot, knowing, painfully cocky. “Did you like it?” he asks.
You answer with a bobble of your head. Any type of words would just fail to be husked out of your dry throat. Goodness, you want him. You want him a way that’s almost embarrassing in the desperate, feral way you do.
"You want to try to play?" he asks.
You’re silent again, just another nod sent to him.
He pats his thighs, beckons you over, and you rise and pad towards him, going to exactly where he wants you. He parts his legs, and you straddle his lap, your back meeting his chest. You’re painfully aware of the silk of your dress clinging to the arch of your ass, the way your thighs bracket his, his skin meeting your skin. You move, hoping he can’t feel how wet you are for him, but you hear the small grunt, and you know he absolutely can.
He picks up the cello and sets it between both of you, the smooth wood is cool against your thigh. He wraps his arms around your waist, enveloping you in his strong arms, his chest flexing against your back.
You’re glitching, absolutely dumbstruck by how gentle and low his voice is as he places your fingers over the strings. “Here,” he whispers, guiding your hand to the cello’s neck. “Thumb here. Not too tight.” His hands are big and hot. His breath fans across your ear, and it makes you shiver.
“Now, try,” he says, handing you the bow. You attempt to make a song, but you’re so heady off the closeness of him that you’re too clumsy to do anything right. The bow draws across the strings, and it’s… like a car crash of a note, but he tightens his arms and chuckles low against your ear.
“Again,” he whispers, and you try. This time, the note is softer, a pleasant hum leaves the cello. “Good,” he says, lips grazing against your earlobe. He rewards you by letting his hand skim against your thigh.
There’s a shared hunger, an almost understanding, guided by the music and want that’s drifted between the walls. You melt and tense at the same time, and you feel the press of his cock against you when you tilt back and press yourself into him.
He slides his hand up, rucking up the hem of your dress. “You still want to play?”
You’re dizzy, barely holding onto the bow. “No.”
“Then set the bow down.”
You obey, letting it clatter to the floor. He takes the cello from between your legs and sets it aside while keeping you still locked against him, hand splayed against your belly. “Spread your legs,” Alex tells you.
You instantly spread, letting him slip his palm between you and trace your soaked pussy through the wispy layer of your lace panties. You almost lose it right there, hips jerking at the thick, callused fingers of his exploring the drenched line of your cunt.
He lets out a low, incredulous growl as he touches you, pressing his mouth to your neck, sucking at the skin. “Feel good?” he rumbles. “Yeah?”
“Fuccck,” you manage.
He smiles into your neck, slides his fingers into your panties, parts you, thick, middle finger slowly exploring before plunging deep into you. You moan, noisy and erupting, louder than any song he can play.
He fucks you with his hand, two fingers, thick and skilled, shallow then deep, giving you a pattern you’ll never guess. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you stupid with just how good he is at this. You’re sweating now, shaking, under the control of Alex’s possessive hands against your body.
He’s rutting and hard against you, whispering “that’s it, that’s it,” over and over as his fingers play you like an instrument he’s mastered.
You cum for him, so hard you shudder and squeeze. Head knocking back against his broad chest. He growls, licks up the sweat of you, holding you tighter as you ride and writhe against his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out, yanks your panties to the side, and frees his cock from the thin cotton of his boxers. You don’t know if you’ve ever wanted someone so bad before and when he brushes the fat tip of him against your accepting hole, you gasp at the promise of his size.
It’s one monstrous, behemoth of a thrust that makes your eyes flutter shut and all the air escape you. He fucks up into you hard, and you grab at his big hands, holding on as the old wooden chair frame creaks. He’s so fucking thick, overwhelming and rough, but Christ, the way your slippery cunt swallows him, it’s like he was fit for you. You ride him, back rubbing against his chest as he pumps in and out of you, the noise of your slick and his grunts crescendoing in the sex-heavy air.
He grabs your hips, planting both feet on the floor, and starts railing up into you so deep you let out a sob of his name. He’s rewarding and withholding at the same time, sliding all the way out, holding you above himself, letting you beg for him, until he plants all of himself into you. He slinks a hand up your body, thumb stroking your cheek before he sticks two of his fingers into your mouth.
You taste the sweet tang of your orgasm, tongue licking at the rough and ridges of his fingers. You suck, and he groans, bucking so hard the chair actually scoots back across the floor.
He must want to see you desperate and dumb, his other hand finding your moving between your legs, playing with you there. It only takes a couple strokes of his fingers against your puffy, needy clit for him to orchestrate your orgasm out of you. It’s shocking how fucking hard you cum for him, how white your vision goes, how the pulse of your body pulses a cacophony of beats. Alex fucks straight through your orgasm, cock spearing you as you whimper around his fingers and drip around his cock. But, he’s losing it now, panting into the crook of your neck, hips snapping so loud against you.
He pulls out, and you feel the slide of his cock head against your clit when he cums, thick, white ropes painting against your panties, your belly, the silk of your dress. You’re still floating high like the music notes he plays, a trembling mess in his arms when you lean your head back and can’t help but laugh. Alex chuckles, too. Both of you are sticky and soaked, pressed together, glazed in shared sweat and cum.
The cello sits unused, the bow on the floor. Alex’s forehead rests against your shoulder as he comes down. You think he’s going to say something smart and frustrating, but he just kisses your shoulder blade and tightens his arms around you.
summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.
warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]
You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.
Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.
That’s when everything fell apart.
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.
The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.
"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.
You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…
"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.
He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.
You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.
"She hates me."
You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."
"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”
“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”
He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.
"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.
You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."
Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.
"Come here.”
You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.
"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."
You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.
He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."
You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”
There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.
"Let's get you home, yeah?”
He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.
As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.
"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.
He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.
He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”
It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.
"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.
His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.
“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”
“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”
Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.
“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”
“It’ll work out.”
Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.
"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.
You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.
"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."
Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."
You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."
He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"
You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.
"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."
Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.
"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."
He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.
He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.
It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.
He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.
His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.
The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.
He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.
His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.
He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.
“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."
You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”
His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"
You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”
His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.
“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”
He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”
You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.
"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.
He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.
His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.
His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.
He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.
You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.
Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.
You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.
“Never been better.”
There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.
“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.
You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.
“You’re so beautiful.”
You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.
You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.
You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.
Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.
Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.
“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.
“Yeah?”
You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.
You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.
"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."
"Oh, my god..."
You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.
“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.
"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."
"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"
He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.
"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.
"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.
“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.
His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”
“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”
Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.
“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”
You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.
"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”
“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”
Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.
“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”
summary: after ellie embarrasses joel at the winter dance, you help take his mind off of it.
warnings: smut. fluff. angst. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). use of pet names (sweetheart, honey, my love, darling). praise. age gap (reader is in her 30s, joel is his age in the second season). no mention of y/n. [ 4k ]
You saw Seth's outburst at Ellie and Dina firsthand, and Joel's reaction was immediate — his body tense, fists clenched at his sides. He pushed his body away from the bar he stood at beside you, rushing forward and placing his hands on the older man, the entire town watching Seth fall to the floor from Joel’s forceful shove.
Ellie’s face was frozen in horror, but it was anger that burned through most vividly. She watched as Maria rushed to pull Seth away, then turned her eyes to Joel – the man who had become a father to her – standing there, silently waiting to ask if she was alright.
That’s when everything fell apart.
“I don’t need your fucking help.”
The entire hall fell silent, the weight of Joel’s pain hanging in the air, and he took a step back, his chest tightening with a pain that was sharper than any blade. His eyes locked onto Ellie, but all he found was a hardness in her eyes that he had never seen before. The harsh words hung in the air, and for a moment the world seemed to fade away. It was as if time had frozen, the silence so loud it deafened everyone in the hall. Then everything came crashing back. The hum of electricity, your breathing, the sound of Joel’s boots on the ground as he walked forward and out of the church. Acting on nothing but instinct, you gave Ellie a small, tight-lipped smile as you past her and followed Joel outside.
The sudden cold hit you as you walked outside, the temperature having dropped significantly despite it only being an hour or so since you entered the church. The lights of Jackson were dim compared to the lively glow of the dance. You spotted Joel's tall, broad figure stood by a lamp near the church, one hand running through his hair as his head tilted downwards.
"Joel?” You started, and his attention snapped over to you as you approached, head lifting to meet your gaze.
You heard the quiet sniffle that he tried to hide and watched as he brought his hand up to wipe away a tear. A beat of silence passed as you took a few steps closer, then another. And another. You stopped when you were less than a meter away, the light from the lamp illuminating Joel’s features. His face was weary and gaunt, the years showing themselves on his tired, sad eyes. You wanted to reach out to him… To comfort him…
"You alright?" You heard yourself ask, and the moment the words left your mouth you knew it was a dumb question.
He let out a scoff in response, hand dropping to his side as he moved to lean back against the wall of the building next to the church. He was quiet, his gaze falling to the ground, eyes glossy. You gave him a soft smile, a small one that held both love and understanding. Silence fell once more as you studied Joel’s figure, his shoulders slumped and head lowered in defeat. He looked broken, as if everything was finally catching up to him. And in a way, it probably was.
You knew better than to try and get Joel to talk about how he was feeling. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions, not even with you. Instead, you took in a deep breath and allowed the silence to envelope you both once more. You leaned against the wall beside him, not wanting him to be alone in that moment.
"She hates me."
You turned your head to look at him, hand reaching out to touch his, trying to ground him. "She doesn't. She's just angry because she wanted to handle the situation herself."
"I just wanted to protect her," he said, voice thick and full of emotion. “What that asshole said was out of line.”
“I know, my love.” You reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You did what you thought was right, and no one can fault you for that.”
He still wasn't looking at you, instead staring down at your hand, his thumb gently stroking over your skin as his fingers wrapped around your own. He was silent for a moment as he processed your words.
"But it still hurt her,” he admitted finally, his voice soft yet rough.
You nodded in understanding, your heart felt heavy seeing Joel this way. "I know," you replied gently, “But trust me when I say that she'll come around. She just needs some time to process everything."
Joel said nothing in response, his eyes now having returned to looking at the ground. You could tell he was still beating himself up over the entire situation.
"Come here.”
You let go of his hand and moved to stand in front of him, arms open for him to fall into. He didn’t hesitate, and you felt his head rest against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, instantly feeling the dampness of his tears on your skin. You held him tightly, one hand moving to gently stroke his greying hair as the other rubbed circles across his back.
"It's okay," you whispered, trying to soothe his pain. "It's going to be okay."
You felt him take in a deep, shaky breath as he pulled you even closer, his grip on you tightening. He stayed as he was for a while, silent save for the occasional soft sob or quiet sniffle that escaped him. His weight against you was comforting, and you continued to hold him, providing a safe place for him to let out his pain and frustration.
He shook his head lightly against you, and you heard his voice, muffled by the fabric of your clothes. "I just... I want her to be happy. I miss her."
You nodded, and even though you knew he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "I know, honey. She just needs some time to cool off, that's all.”
There was a moment of silence as Joel held onto you, and you could feel the tremors running through his body as he tried to contain his emotions. You continued to run your hand up and down his back, not saying a word, just allowing him to feel whatever he needed to feel. After several moments, he pulled away slightly and looked at you, his face tear-streaked. Your heart broke seeing him like this, so vulnerable and hurting. So, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, right above his scar.
"Let's get you home, yeah?”
He nodded, a final sniffle leaving him before he pulled back from the embrace. You interlocked your fingers with his once again as you turned and began walking together, the snow-dusted dirt crunching beneath your boots.
As you walked through the streets of Jackson, the town was quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the faint music in the distance. Tall lamps on the sides of the roads gave off a soft, warm glow, and the houses had large porches wrapped around the outer walls. You could see glimpses of the town's residents inside their homes through the windows, warm fires burning in the fireplaces and the low hums of conversation. There was comfort in the silence, in the way your shoulders brushed every so often.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach home. When you stepped into the house, it was warm despite having no heat source on for a few hours. You flicked on the nearest lamp, letting the soft orange glow fill the room, and turned to Joel as you shrugged off your jacket. You saw the exhaustion in his features, the deep bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. He shut the door behind the two of you and walked over to the couch, collapsing down onto it with a huff.
"I'm gonna grab something to drink, you want anything?" you asked softly, stepping closer to him.
He shook his head, but just as you were about to turn and head toward the kitchen, you felt a hand grab yours. Joel pulled you around, making you face him. Without saying a word, he tugged you closer until you were standing between his legs. You let out a small noise of surprise but quickly settled, your hip pressed against the edge of the couch. You could see Joel's face clearly now, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight streaming in from the window.
He was watching you closely, eyes roaming your face like he was trying to commit every feature to memory. His grip on your hand tightened, drawing you closer still. His other hand moved to rest on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your jeans. You felt butterflies in your stomach as he looked at you, his touch sending electric shocks through your body. You placed a hand on top of his that was resting on your leg, gently tracing your fingertips over his knuckles.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Joel spoke quietly, his voice gruff but holding so much love. He lifted your hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back. “I love you.”
It was like a bolt of lightning striking through you at his words. No matter how many times he said it, your heart skipped a beat.
"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. You brought your other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the scruffy facial hair along his jawline.
His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, and he leaned into your hand, seeking out your touch like a man starved of affection. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed this side of Joel — the vulnerable, tender side that only came out when he was with you.
“Still can’t believe ya want me,” he mumbled against your hand, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Don't know how you put up with me.”
“Always have, always will,” you promised, gently running your fingers through his hair, the silvering strands soft against your touch. “And quite easily, believe it or not.” He cracked an eye open, looking at you like he didn't quite believe you. You smiled softly and cupped his face in your hands. “I love you. That’s not gonna change just because you and El are going through a rough patch.”
Joel let out a small huff at your words, and you saw the corners of his lips pulled up in a slight smile. He leaned into your touch once more, eyes closing as he savored the feeling of your hands on his face.
“She’s pissed off with me,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can’t really blame her.” He sighed. “I just... I dunno, feel like I keep messing up with her, ya know?”
“It’ll work out.”
Joel was silent as he looked up at you, his expression softening even more. He lifted a hand to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, the calloused skin rough against your own. You leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. It felt nice to have these moments of comfort with each other, in the midst of all the chaos that was constantly happening around you.
"I hope so," Joel said after a moment of silence, and you both knew he was talking about more than just his relationship with Ellie.
You opened your eyes to look at him, feeling a little pang in your heart at the pain that was visible on his face. He looked tired, like he had been battling demons on his own for far too long.
"Hey," you said softly, your hand moving to cover his, "You're doing the best you can. You have to give yourself some credit for that."
Joel let out a scoff, his gaze drifting away from your face to look at something in the distance. "Doesn't feel like it."
You could feel the guilt and blame radiating off him, and it pained you to see him like this. You frowned at his words, not liking how he was talking about himself. "Stop that," you said firmly and brought your hand up to his chin, tilting his head to look at you again. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself."
He let out a gruff sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a hum, but he didn't argue. Instead, his thumb brushed over your cheek again, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Sometimes my best doesn't feel like enough, ya know?"
You nodded, understanding the weight of those words all too well. "I know, but it is," you promised him. "You may not see it, but you're doing more than enough." You lifted a hand to gently touch his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You're only one person, Joel. You can't save everyone."
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign of a lie or doubt. When he found none, he let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against your chest, his grip on your waist tightening. You could feel the tension leaving his body as he leaned into you. His head rested just above your heart, the steady rhythm of your pulse filling his ears. It was a comforting sound, grounding him in the moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. And here in your arms, he felt safer than he had in years.
"I just want to protect you all," he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. "I'm scared of losing you."
Your fingers running gently across his broad shoulders, tracing small patterns as he let his guard down. He was strong and capable, but even the toughest man could break.
"You've already saved so many people," you reminded him, your voice soft. "Including me." You leaned down so your chin rested atop his head. "You're not alone in this, Joel. I'm here for you. Always."
He finally lifted his head, looking up at you from where you were perched on his lap. His eyes were tired but filled with love. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind you ear, his thumb gently tracing along your jaw before sliding down to rest on your chin. The corners of his mouth tugged up into a small smile and his eyes were glossy. You could see the raw emotion in them. It was rare that he let himself be this vulnerable, and it only happened when he was with you.
He didn't say anything, his hand coming up to slide up your leg, fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake. You shivered slightly at his touch, the heat of his hand seeping through your jeans. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slid under your shirt, hand pausing at the spot just above the waistband, his thumb rubbing small circles into the sensitive skin. You felt yourself leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. This is what it meant to feel alive. To feel his hands on you, knowing that he was there, that you had each other.
It was a feeling you'd never get tired of.
He was watching you closely, his gaze filled with both heat and hesitation. You felt your heart rate quicken, the intensity of his look coupled with his touch driving you crazy. You knew he was asking a silent question, and with a slight movement of your hips, you gave him an answer.
His breathing hitched in his throat as you shifted on his lap, the movement bringing you even closer together. You felt his grip on your hip tighten, his fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly. There was a moment of hesitation, a split second where the both of you held your breaths, and then he was pulling you down, crashing his lips against your own. The kiss was heated and hungry, as if he was starving for the taste of you. His tongue immediately sought entrance, and you willingly obliged, your own tongue meeting his in a desperate dance as your hands moved to cradle his face.
The two of you were pressed tightly against each other, and you could feel his body heat seeping through your clothes, the heat from his kiss adding to the flush that was probably evident on your cheeks by now. His hands were everywhere — on your hips, in your hair, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the soft skin of your back. The kiss was frenzied, the desperation in his touch sending your head spinning. You both needed this, needed the connection, the reassurance. He pulled back for a moment, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, but the look he gave you held a clear message — he wasn't done with you yet.
He kissed you again and you let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his long, greying hair. The feel of his lips on yours was enough to send you spiraling, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him, your body molding against the hard planes of his. You could feel him hardening beneath you, the knowledge sending tendrils of electricity throughout your body.
His hands slowly moved up your sides, calloused fingers skimming your ribcage, causing you to shiver. His touch was both rough and gentle, a contradiction that only served to drive you even crazier. You ground down against him, wanting nothing more than to feel closer to him, every touch and kiss leaving you needing more.
He pulled back momentarily, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the heavy-lidded eyes that were filled with desire. You began placing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as you went. The sound of your name slipped from his lips as you nipped at the spot just below his ear.
“God, darlin’," he murmured, voice thick with need. "You're driving me insane."
You pulled back slightly with a small grin. “Yeah?”
His eyes locked with yours, the intensity behind them making your heart skip a beat. "You have any idea what you do to me?"
You ground down on his lap again, biting your bottom lip as a groan left him. “I can feel the effect I have on you.”
His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as you rubbed yourself against him, the friction causing a curse to escape his lips. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
"You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he rasped out, his voice low and filled with want.
“After everything you’ve been through, you’ll end up dying in a funny way — like slipping on a golf course or something.”
He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder, vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through you. He lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted against you, the action causing his groin to press up into yours, and you felt the hard length of him press against you, even through the layers of clothes.
Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling, and he let out a soft chuckle. "You're hilarious, ya know that?”
You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your hips involuntarily bucking against him, seeking that delicious friction. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, a gesture that only heightened the desire coursing through you. He shifted again, his grip on your hips tight as he ground up into you, his eyes never leaving your face.
"I have my moments,” you managed to gasp out, your hands going to his shoulders to steady yourself.
He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking down to your flushed face, the desire in his expression nearly pushing you over the edge. "Oh, I know," he murmured, his voice deep and rough. He shifted again, his hips rolling against yours, creating friction that had you biting back a moan.
His fingers moved from your hips up to your waist, the gesture almost reverent, like he was touching something precious. He tugged you closer, his body heat seeping through you even through the thin shirt you were wearing. Your hands slid down from his shoulders, moving to his chest and fingers playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt, a silent request to get his consent to go further.
His eyes flicked down to your hands as they played with the buttons of his shirt, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick nod and you felt his grip on your hip loosen slightly, allowing you to move freely. He leaned back, resting against the couch and watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes dark with lust. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal a toned chest beneath, sprinkled with scars and dusted with a light covering of hair. You traced your fingers over his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him, his muscles twitching faintly under your touch. Your eyes flicked up to his face and you saw his gaze was hooded, watching your every move with rapt attention.
He was the perfect blend of strength and snacks, body holding a soft armor of fatherhood.
You pulled back for a moment, breath coming out in short gasps. Joel's eyes were still fixed on you, his breathing just as erratic as he attempted to control his own desires. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the tension between the two of you at its peak.
Your pause was met with a slight frown from Joel as you pulled back, his hands sliding up your arms, gripping your elbows. "Ya alright there, sweetheart?" he asked, disquiet evident in his voice.
You smiled, giving your man a slow, short nod. Gazing down at him – eyes hungry, heart full – you saw the want mirrored in his face, raw and unspoken. Right then, right there, you were exactly where you belonged.
“Never been better.”
There was a moment of silence, Joel's gaze studying you intently, his hands still holding your elbows. He could sense the sincerity in your words, and it caused a slight smile to pull at the corner of his lip.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you began unbuttoning your own shirt, the action causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The sight of your fingers moving, the movement of the fabric sliding down your shoulders... it was all driving him crazy.
“I’m one lucky son’a bitch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes following your every movement.
You dropped your hands as Joel's replaced yours, working to unbutton your shirt, his fingers deft and precise as they popped open the buttons one by one. His eyes were fixed on your skin, his breathing increasing in pace as more was revealed. He gently pushed the fabric aside, his gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin.
“You’re so beautiful.”
You smiled softly and thanked him, leaning forward to press your lips against his — this time much more soft, despite the urge still being there. He returned the kiss with equal softness, his grip on your elbows loosening as he allowed the moment to settle into something more tender. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch light and almost tentative. The kiss was gentle, a far cry from the heated passion of before, but no less intimate. The feel of his rough-worn fingers against your face a comfort as he deepened the kiss slightly, his tongue brushing against your bottom lip, seeking entrance.
You parted your lips in response, letting him in, your breaths mingling. His kisses were slow and thorough, his touch tender but firm. You could feel the heat building again, but it was different this time — less animalistic and more forbearing. His tongue glided against yours in a slow, lazy dance, as if he was savouring the taste of you. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat of his bare skin against yours driving you crazy.
You could feel his body respond instantly to your movements, his grip on your waist tightening as he let out a low groan. His lips left yours, trailing down your chin to the sensitive skin of your neck. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you forward, grinding himself up into you. His teeth nipped at your pulse point, a desperate moan leaving your lips as you found yourself once again caught in a vehement moment with your lover.
Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, struggling to undo them as you continued to move against him. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at where his hands worked to achieve his goal of taking your pants off. He tapped your thigh, a silent signal for you to stand, and – with your help – he managed to successfully pull them down, watching as you kicked them off before settling yourself back on his lap.
Once you were settled, his hands were on you again, impatiently sliding up your thighs, leaving scorching trails in their wake. His eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in laboured gasps as he looked at you, his fingers digging into your skin.
“Need you,” you mumbled, hands lowering to his belt and pulling at it. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you as you slid his belt through the loops of his jeans.
“Yeah?”
You nodded desperately, hands moving to undo the buttons of his jeans. You didn’t care if his shirt still hung around his shoulders or if his jeans weren’t entirely off — you just needed him inside you. You were soaked, all because of Joel Miller. There was something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.
You leaned forward to kiss him, your lips meeting his instantly. He kissed you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him. Your hands switched between resting on his chest and shoulders, pushing your underwear to the side as Joel pulled pulled himself from his boxers. He reached down and lined himself up before allowed you to sink down onto him. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you would never get over how good he felt.
"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "That's my good girl."
"Oh, my god..."
You took a moment to collect yourself before lifting up and sinking back down onto him. He could feel your hands on his shoulders, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. You moaned as you moved, the sounds of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.
“That feel good, sweetheart?" Joel asked, voice strained with how good you felt wrapped around him.
"S-So good," you nodded, eyes closed in pleasure and moans falling freely from your pillowed lips. "So deep."
"Fuck," Joel moaned in response, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. The backs of your thighs hit his as you bounced, and it left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Joel looked beneath you. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that, darlin’, shit-"
He could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. Despite often struggling with reaching an orgasm at his age, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he knew he couldn't hold back for much longer. You leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed your forehead against his. Joel suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his chest and leaving red marks in their wake.
"F-fuck!" you cried, the pleasure consuming you. You sped up, moving harder and rougher. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer.
"That's it," he rasped. "Let me hear how good you feel." He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to thrust up into you, his body tensing at the movement.
“Joel-” you whined, one hand moving to the back of his neck. You stared into his brown eyes, seeing nothing but love and desire in them. He knew you were close, could feel it in the way you moved, and he felt his own body grow taut in response.
His name on your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft moan, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. He pushed himself against you, his chest rumbling beneath your hand.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he murmured, his lips grazing against your jawline. His lips began to trail kisses down your neck, his kisses open mouthed and hot. His beard scratched against your skin, causing a moan to leave you at the feeling. “Doing such a good job for me.”
“Fuck,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down at him. “Y’look so good, Joel– Oh my god.” Another moan left you. “Want you to cum so deep inside me.”
Joel let out a low grown, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me here." He pressed his face into your neck, hot breath against your skin, his fingers digging even further into your thighs in a vice grip.
“Need it, Joel — please.” He nodded against your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as his arms wrapped around your wait, holding you to him. His thrusts sped up, a clapping sound filling the air around you as his breathing became more laborious. “‘m gonna cum-!”
You pretty much screamed his name as you did, legs shaking around his hips with your arms hugging his head to your chest. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn't hold back anymore.
"That’s it, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled, running purely on primal instincts now. Your tits bounced as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Gonna- Fuck. Gonna cum, darlin’.”
“Inside me, cum inside me,” you pleaded, pressing kisses up and down his neck. “Please.”
Joel grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You felt his cum fill you up, letting out a hum of content. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.
“Did I ever tell you that you’re really sexy when you’re angry and protective?”
best friend’s stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader | 4.7K | read on AO3
Summary: Your plan to seduce your best friend's stepdad is coming along perfectly. But there's one small hitch..
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Girthy age gap (reader is 21, Joel is in his 50s). Frenemy relationship. Alcohol. Passing out. TW: Stepcest. TW: Dub con. Unprotected piv. Voyerism. F!masturbation. Jealousy. Multiple orgasms. Secret relationship. Daddy issues. Mention of virginity loss. TW: infidelity. Nipple play. Creampie. TW: drugging. Not beta'd because I'm insane enough to think it's pretty good.
A/n: another one that's been in the wip folder for centuries 😅 this is purely for entertainment reasons, if you don't like what's in the tags feel free to keep scrolling.
dividers by @/sisterlucifergraphics 👑
JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST
Tonight's the night. You're finally gonna fuck your best friend's stepdad.
Joel Miller has been haunting your every waking thought since you first met him over Christmas break. You and your new college friend Katie spent a few days with her mom and her new husband after you decided you couldn't stand your own family for very long. And that was when Katie's stepdad became a fixture in your fantasy department.
Tall, broad, a permanent tan from working in the sun, and with biceps as big as tree trunks, Joel is first on your list of Old Men to Fuck.
Before him you never bought into the whole "older guy" kink. Most men Joel's age are balding, with bulging guts and tiny dicks. Mr. Miller himself has none of those things. And the third one you hope to find out for yourself.
You show up on Katie's doorstep unannounced, your overnight bag in hand. Your bikini is already on under your shirt and shorts. She looks less than enthusiastic. Surprised, even.
"I wasn't expecting you until next weekend," she tells you, looking like she might even shut the door on you.
"C'mon, don't leave your best friend hanging." You prop the door open with the flat of your palm, swooshing past her and into the foyer. Joel and his wife have a nice place. Lots of different rooms and a huge pool in the back. "My parents are fighting again. Don't be a shitty friend and turn me away." Your words have a bite despite the smile plastered on your face.
"How long are you staying?" she asks, trudging upstairs after you.
"Umm.. not sure. How long is your mom gone for work?"
"The rest of the week. She comes back Thursday night."
"Where's Joel?" you ask innocently.
A pause from Katie. "He's in the backyard."
You ignore Katie's weirdness and stride outside, through the French doors and onto the deck. Joel's out at the grill, and the scent of cooking meat greets your nose.
"Well, hello there Mr. Miller." You saunter up to him, your top and jeans chucked off in Katie's room, your big and perky tits on display under the neon orange bikini top. Your bottom isn't a thong but it may as well be, the amount of ass you're showing.
Joel smirks at your chipper greeting, offering a little nod. "Hey there, scooter," he says. You want to lick up the drops of sweat beading on his forehead. He's the epitome of the Ultimate Dad, dressed in a navy blue Dallas Cowboys shirt and tan cargo shorts, crisp white New Balance sneakers on his feet.
"That looks so good," you tell him, leaning over the grill, arching your back so he can get a good look your generous cleavage. "Ooh.. I just love a good, thick sausage!"
The brief smirk on his face isn't lost on you, and you give him a little wink as you walk to the pool. He wipes his face on his sleeve before going back to the grill.
It's so easy to flirt with him. He takes it in stride, but you know it's because he can't openly flirt back in front of his stepdaughter, who will surely tell her mom on you both.
You stay within his line of sight, spreading sunscreen on your skin even though Katie has the spray kind. You take your time, hands roaming over your body, surreptitiously glancing at Joel. And he's definitely watching. Smiling, you come up to him as he closes the grill, getting ready to join you and Katie in the pool.
"Get my back?" you ask, handing him the bottle.
You untie the knot holding up your halter bikini top, feeling the heat of his gaze upon your skin. His large, roughened hands knead the cream onto your shoulders, smoothing down your back, settling briefly on your waist, squeezing lightly before tracing back up, massaging the sunscreen into your skin. "Anywhere else?" he asks gruffly.
You glance over at Katie, who's sitting on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water. She's glaring at you, but turns away when she catches your eye. She's either angry or embarrased, probably both. You don't care. You're gonna be bouncing on her step-daddy's dick soon.
It's easy to keep Joel's attention on you once you have it. Your breasts are practically spilling out of your top. You make it a point to show them off as much as you can, especially in the pool, staying in the shallow end so they stay above the water, bountiful and enticing. You can practically see him licking his lips. Later when you eat you keep eye contact with him as you seductively eat the sausage on your plate. By the time lunch is over you're sure you're getting that cock tonight.
You lay on the lounge chair, soaking up the sun. Katie naps peacefully in the chair next to you, mouth open, snoring lightly. Joel's on your other side, the sunlight gleaming on the water droplets on his skin, his arm over his eyes to block out the harsh sun. You admire the soft paunch of his belly, the hairiness of his navel, the little peek of a happy trail leading down to his swim trunks. And there, currently at rest, the soft line of his thick cock, just visible through the material.
You run your tongue along your lips, reaching out ever so cautiously. But Joel looks up in time to grasp your hand. "What do you think you're doin', little lady?"
"Just admiring the view, Mr. Miller." you tease him, not releasing from his grip. You glance over to Katie. "She's asleep, she won't see anything," you whisper to him.
Joel's mouth is set in a firm line, and you can practically see the decision-making going on behind those dark lustful eyes. "You always this bold?"
"Only when I see something I want.."
"You're trouble," he whispers.
"You don't know the half of it.."
Katie wakes up suddenly, breaking the mood. But you've come prepared, and bring out the bottle of whiskey you brought with you. "Shots, anyone?"
You wake up groggy, your mouth dry and bitter, your stomach swirling with nausea. Your phone lights up at your touch, showing it's two in the morning.
The last thing you remember is doing shots with Katie and Joel. Maybe you went past your limit, though you pride yourself on handling your alcohol. Sitting up in Katie's bed you try to clear the fuzz in your brain as you reach for a bottled water on the nightstand.
Only then do you realize Katie's gone. Hopefully she just went to the bathroom. Refusing to divert from your plan of seducing Joel you get up and change into the sexy pajama set you'd bought for just this occasion, and start your way downstairs.
Your heart is thudding with excitement, your pussy already drenched with thoughts of what you're going to do to him.. and what he's going to do to you.
Halfway down the stairs you hear a thud coming from the living room, and then a harsh "Sh!" and a soft groan.
Joel's not alone.
Did his wife come home early? You peek into the living room where the TV casts its cerulean glow on a completely unclothed couple on the sofa, the woman writhing on the man's lap, his large hands on her hips. Your heart lurches when you see who it is.
Joel and Katie.
They're trying to be quiet, despite the rhythmic thwacking of flesh on flesh, and they're too absorbed in each other to notice you standing in the doorway. Katie's little whimpers of pleasure fill the room as Joel stares up at her, eyes evoking unbridled lust.
It makes your head spin as you put all the pieces together. Katie hadn't wanted you around this weekend - specifically because she wanted Joel for herself. She must have put something in your drink to make you fall asleep so she could sneak out and fuck him.
Katie's not as much of a shrinking violet as you thought. Part of you can't help being a little proud of her subterfuge.
You know you should leave, but a bigger part of you stays rooted to the spot, your hand going into your sleep shorts and under your panties as you watch your best friend and her stepdad.
Joel covers Katie's mouth as she comes, his huge palm barely able to mimimize the moan of pleasure that emits from her. Once she recovers he gently places her on her back, her legs hanging over his shoulders as he steadily pumps into her.
Your fingers are inside you, scissoring to spread you as wide as you imagine Joel's dick is, pumping your hand into you at the same speed that Joel is going. It should be you stuffed full of his cock on the living room sofa. It should be you moaning his name in ecstasy, barely attempting to quiet yourself.
Every time she comes he talks her through it, murmuring sweet things to her as he lets her come down and then switches position again, likely wanting to feel her in every way possible. Now he has her face-down ass-up as he pummels into her from behind, his grip on her so strong it's leaving bruises on her hips.
You whimper as you imagine yourself in Katie's place, but they're too engrossed in each other to hear it. You're waiting for her to come so you can let go too. And right as she's moaning his name Joel pulls away, stroking himself until he spills his load on her ass, both of them breathing heavily and slumped over. You come right after, soaking your hand in your panties, your free hand clamped over your mouth. What a rush, and yet you have so many questions as to what you've just witnessed.
They're talking now, speaking in low tones, likely trying not to wake you, under the impression that you're still asleep upstairs.
"I'll send her away," Katie's saying. "I know you don't like her. I don't like her very much, either."
Biting back a retort you harden your gaze at the two of them, laying side by side on the sofa.
"I saw the way she was throwing herself at you," she continues. "I wanted to push her into the pool."
Joel chuckles low and soft, the way you'd been fantasizing he would do with you. "She's the type of girl who's used to getting what she wants. She's nothing like you, soft and shy and quiet. I love that I don' t know what's goin' on inside that pretty head of yours." To top it off he kisses the top of her head.
"She's only my friend because she wants to sleep with you," Katie warns.
"She ain't gonna get that far," he says as a promise. "Look at me." He cups her chin and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "It's just you and me, okay? Not even your ma can come between us."
You're back in bed when Katie returns. Even as she stands over your bed, you feign sleep. You don't have the mental fortitude it takes to process what you just witnessed. It was like a porn coming to life. Except it should have been you, not Katie.
"Wake up," she says. "I know you saw us."
"What?" you murmur, feigning tiredness. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Cut your bullshit," she growls. "You saw me fucking Joel, didn't you?" You've never seen this side of her before. Sweet, gentle Katie, who cried at those stupid SPCA commercials and said yes ma'am/yes sir to everyone over the age of thirty. The Katie you thought was a virgin and saving herself for marriage, or at the very least, romance.
Maybe you've met your match.
You sit up, dropping the act. "So what if I did? I was on my way to fuck him myself. Little did I know his own stepdaughter got to him first. You're gross, you know that? He's practically like a father to you."
"He's not my father. Besides, I love Joel, and he loves me."
This makes you laugh. "You're kidding, right? Katie, he's married to your mother! The man's not gonna drop everything just to be with you. He found an easy lay. No one in the world is dumb enough to give that up."
"You're just jealous."
"Yeah, let me tell you how much I want to run away with your stepfather." You roll your eyes. "You really think he loves you? You're delusional, Katie."
She sits on the bed, shoulders hunched. The closer she gets, you can get a whiff of sex off her.
"It's real between us, you know," she says quietly. "It's not just sex. We really do love each other."
"Oh honey, be real," you urge her. "It's fine for you to have your fun with him, but it's not gonna go anywhere. He'd lose everything. It's not worth the risk."
She's quiet, as if she's contemplating your words. Of course sweet little virgin Katie would fall head over heels for the first older man to give her some attention. You just never thought it'd be Joel Miller of all people.
"How did it happen?" you ask out of curiosity, a gnawing need that must be sated. Scooching over, you make room for her in the bed with you as she begins her story:
She used to steal his flannel shirts from his hamper when he was out. She liked the scent of him, whether it was the cologne her mom had bought him for his birthday or his own natural scent, the sweat the lingered on him as he came inside from mowing the lawn or working in the shed out back.
It was her secret sin that she had a crush on the man her mother married. Her own dad left to start over in another state with a younger woman who worked at his office. He wrote emails, sent gifts, but didn't put the effort in that showed his love. Joel hated him for that, cussing him out whenever his name was mentioned.
"You deserve better than that," Joel would mutter, squeezing Katie's shoulder. It was innocent at first. He had eyes only for her mom. He saw her as a daughter of his own, or so he'd told her. He'd never done anything inappropriate or acted untowardly with her. Part of her was relieved. A deeper, darker part of her wished he'd cave in so she could do so too.
She studied you, your behavior around men when you used them to get what you want. Standing shyly on the sidelines, she learned how to move, how to use her voice, how to dress. Luckily Joel didn't seem to mind what she wore, always complimenting her whether she had on her worn overalls or the sundress she'd borrowed from your own closet.
She was wearing that sundress the first time she kissed him.
He'd froze at first before pushing her away, telling her she shouldn't have done that, it was wrong for numerous reasons. But then he gave in and kissed her again.
That's all it was at first, just kissing and touching, always when her mom was out, or upstairs in bed, aided to sleep by a combination of pinot noir and heavy medication. Katie was a virgin, but despite her curiosity she didn't want to rush into this.
Certain sins she kept from him, like the way she'd steal his favorite flannel shirt from the laundry hamper, still bearing his scent, his sweat, the remnants of his cologne.. When he was out she would sneak the shirt into her room and touch herself, playing with her pussy while she held the fabric to her nose, imagining things she didn't dare suggest to him outright.
One night she didn't count on him coming home so early, and had fallen asleep on his bed after bringing herself to pleasure over and over..
Joel's heart stopped as he took in the sight of her on his bed, her legs bare beneath the t-shirt. He felt a jolt of desire course through him, his fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to touch her. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, torn between doing what he wanted and doing what was right. He slowly approached the bed, his eyes roaming over her body. His hands itched to touch her skin, to pull her into his arms. "Katie," he whispered, his voice almost reverent.
"Mm?" she moaned, waking up slowly.
Joel froze as she stirred, his heart thudding in his ears, He didn't know what to do, what to say. "You.. you're in my bed," he managed to croak out, his eyes glued to her half-naked body.
"S-sorry," she realized she was still holding his flannel. Joel's eyes flickered to his shirt still clutched in her hands and swallowed hard, trying to find a coherent thought. "You shouldn't be in here.."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, with no excuse for why she was in there in the first place. Joel shook his head, his voice a low growl. "Don't apologize." He took a step closer to the bed, his body moving of its own accord, drawn to her like a magnet.
Her breath shuddered and despite herself her core grew warm and wet. "I'll go."
"No," Joel said firmly, his hand shooting out to grip her wrist as she started to get up.
"Joel?" She gasped when he pressed her down, undoing his jeans. Her panties were pushed to the side as she held onto him, heart buzzing with excitement.
"Katie.. God, I'm sorry," he groaned as he settled between her thighs.
All her breath left her as he pushed forward and she gasped in surprise. Joel stilled above her, his face mere inches from her. "Did I hurt you?" His body trembled with the effort to keep still.
"I'm okay," she whispered, the pain melting already. As soon as she said that he started to snap his hips against hers and she cried out.
His breath caught in his throat, fingers gripping her thighs as he thrust fast and deep. "Christ.. Katie.."
Before she knew it he was pulling away, removing from her as something warm and sticky covered her belly. Joel groaned as he spilled himself onto her stomach, feeling both relief and guilt wash over him. He looked down at Katie, her body trembling under his. "I'm so sorry.. I shouldn't have.."
"It's okay," she whispered, her mind still spinning with what had just happened.
"We won't tell anyone what happened, okay?" He found a towel and cleaned her, his touch gentle.
"And so.. what, you've been fucking him ever since when your mom's not around?"
Katie shrugs. "Yeah.. she's been going on more work trips lately. I don't think she suspects anything.."
"Katie, she's not stupid. You're fucking her husband under her roof. She's bound to figure it out eventually. You or him or both of you will slip somehow."
"What is wrong with you?" she counters. "You told me yourself that you mess around with your own stepfather."
"That's different," you huff. "I only blow him sometimes when I want a little extra spending money. I would never straight up fuck him!"
"It is different.. because Joel and I love each other," Katie stresses.
"He doesn't love you! He just wants to fuck you!" you nearly shout. "Jesus! What would happen if your mom found out? She owns a fucking gun!"
"Quiet!" Katie hisses. "She'd never hurt us. When the time is right he's going to leave her and be with me."
"You don't honestly believe that, do you?"
Katie doesn't answer you, she just gives you a sad look, as if you could never understand.
You're starting to think you don't want to understand.
Still, that doesn't deter you from pursuing Joel yourself. Now that you've seen that cock in action you need it. If a sweet, simpering virgin like Katie can somehow persuade him, you with all your know-how will land this easily. Piece of cake.
After making sure Katie won't bother the both of you, you find Joel on the deck outside, enjoying an ice cold beer.
"You look comfy," you purr, standing in his direct sunlight so he has to look up at you.
"What're you doin' out here?" he mutters, sipping a beer, sitting straighter up as you sit next to him on the deck sofa.
"I just wanted to come out and say hi," you say prettily, swiping his beer and taking a sip, letting the tip of your tongue linger on the bottle.
"Where's Katie?" he asks, voice rough as he watches you.
"She got her period or something. She had to run out to buy pads." A little smirk dances across your face. "So we're all alone. What should we do?"
He turns to glance over his shoulder at the house, as if to check that Katie really is gone. "It's up to you, darlin'. Wanna get in the pool? Sunbathe a little?" His smirk matches yours.
"I've got something better I'd like to do." You perch your barely-covered ass on his lap, grinding down slightly, his bulge twitching beneath you.
Realization dawns in his eyes and he keeps his hands at his side, a feat of restraint. "You're practically just a kid."
"The last time I checked, twenty-one is a full grown adult."
He exhales through his nose as you continue to press him. Another sip of beer passes his lips before he replies. "I'm over twice your age," he mutters.
"So?"
"I'm old enough to be your dad. I've got wrinkles and everything."
You trace your fingertip over his crow's feet and the deepening ridge between his brows. "I think your wrinkles are cute."
"You're just bullshittin' me." Joel's blushing though.
"No bullshit. Promise." You rub your hand on his knee. "Girls my age love older men."
He's intrigued now. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"Because y'all know what we need while we're still figuring out what we want."
He makes a hmph sound in his throat, but he's nonetheless intrigued. "And what is it that you want, kid?"
Your fingers wander to the graying curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take care of you, see that your needs are met."
Joel shakes his head. "Why waste all that on an old man?"
"I just think we could have a good time together."
"Good time, huh? What exactly do you think we'd be doin'?" His brow arches.
"Might be more fun to show you."
Joel gives an amused scoff as you pull him close, brushing your lips against his. His rough hands grab your waist, pulling you to straddle him. Your lips part, allowing his tongue in your mouth, exploring and tasting.
He's married, he's involved with his stepdaughter, and now this.. you're a beautiful girl and he's just a weak man.
His arms wrap around you, hands sliding up your tank top, stroking your soft skin. His kiss turns rough and greedy, biting your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You start to grind on his lap, moving your hips in little circles as you slowly pull your top off. Joel's breath hitches in his throat, his eyes hungrily admiring your flesh. He'd be lying if he said he'd never snuck a look at you before. And now you're giving him exactly what he wants.
He leans in, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and chest. You arch into his kiss, his beard lightly scratching your skin. "I want to feel you," you moan softly.
"Yeah? Think you can handle me?" he mumbles against your skin. "I'm more than two decades older than you, sweetheart."
"I'm well aware." You grind down on his lap as he gazes up at you with his big brown eyes, his hands gripping your thigh, holding in you place on him. "They say older trees are the sturdiest," you add.
"Never heard that line before, darlin'.." He gives your thigh a squeeze, his hand sliding up the hem of your shorts.
"Glad I can give you some kind of first," you whisper, your lips running down his neck as you unbutton his jeans. You lift off him enough to touch him through his boxers. Joel inhales a sharp breath, reaching to grasp your wrist. "Don't you think you're gettin' a little ahead of yourself, darlin'?"
"What? Don't tell me you're feeling guilty.." you tease him, unclamping his hand from your wrist so you can pull down your shorts and panties in one go. "I wanna feel you, Joel.."
That's the moment when his self-control goes out the window. "Fuck," he growls, eyeing the slickness present between your thighs as you climb into his lap. "Think it'll all fit?" you murmur, allowing the tip of him to sink in.
"Gonna find out," he grunts, thrusting up into you, his hands gripping your hips. God, he's big, bigger than you'd dreamed, and thick.
"You okay?" He gives you a chance to adjust to him. After you nod, he pulls almost all the way out then back in again at a torturously slow pace. "Takin' me all the way in," he mutters, running his tongue along the side of your throat.
"Joel, you're huge," you sigh. "I can feel you in my belly."
"Yeah? Right here?" He presses his palm to the small bulge protruding in your lower stomach. "Come on, sweetheart, take it. Ride me like you mean it."
"Oh, fuck.. it's so good," you moan as you start moving in earnest, bouncing on his lap as your pussy squelches around his cock. He grabs your hips, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he tries to steady you. "Slow down, darlin'," he warns you. "I'm close. Don't want this to end so soon."
"Already?" You tsk-tsk. "Poor guy.. you must really need to get rid of that load." You hear his scoff and decide to go for the jugular. "I bet Katie never lets you come inside her.."
"What?" His eyes jerk up to yours, hands tightening on your hips, ready to throw you off. "What are you talking about?"
"Easy, tiger. She already told me everything. I found you two by accident on the couch, fucking like the perverts you are," you whisper, bearing down on him with punctuation.
"What the fuck.. you saw that?"
"I did.. and I got myself off to it.. so hard." You swivel your hips just so, still riding him. "You want to fill me up, don't you? Young and pretty thing like me, filled up with you?"
His eyes close as you kiss his cheek, his body reacting way ahead of his brain. "Yeah, I do. Gonna let me come inside this sweet pussy?"
"I have an IUD. You can pump me full of you." You gasp as he dips his head, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking it, swirling his tongue over it.
"You're gonna be leakin' me for days," he warns you, guiding you up and down, thrusting up into you at a relentless pace.
"Fill me up.. use me," you whimper, your walls starting to convulse around him. Joel felt the tremors beginning deep inside you and holds back until you're coming apart on top of him, wet and tight and urging him to spill. His hips stutter as he comes hard, bottoming out as his warm release jets up into you.
"Look at you. All messy." He lifts you off of him, a combination of your fluids already oozing out, glazing his dick and his pubes.
"I'm gonna go to sleep just like this, full of you," you plant another kiss on his lips before you get to your feet and get dressed. "And when I wanna get filled again, I know exactly where to go." You wink at him before going upstairs.
Checking on Katie upstairs you find her still asleep, knocked out from the sleeping pills you crushed into her drink earlier. A little payback for the way she'd drugged you the night before. "See? All I wanted was a taste," you tell her, softly stroking her hair. "You didn't have to be so greedy. We're best friends, after all. And that means we share everything."
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꒰ঌ ໒꒱ bad idea - old! Joel Miller x Fem reader - not proof read!
Context: Joel’s age keeps him from making you his. But what happens when he realizes you want it as much as him?
Warnings: unprotected sex!, p in v, breeding! kink, large legal age gap, pet names, mentions of somnophila, use of daddy, needy reader, reader making Joel cum inside her (Joel wants it but is an over thinker), dubcon??, bit of pussy! drunk old joel
ʚɞ p!link inspo
“T- tha’s it baby, ride dadd- Jesus” Joel chocked. His eyes squeezed shut and his hips jolted forward, you took him by surprise with your thrusts.
You were laying on top of him, hands on his plush hairy chest as you rode him in his own bed. You moaned and gasped with your back slightly arched, giving you the perfect angle to hit that warm gushy place inside you.
“Feels so good Joel, ssoo fucking good” you dumbly slurred with a messy smile on your face. Every time Joel fucked you raw, you went completely dumb. He loves seeing how desperate you get whenever he does, like you know he wants to pump you full of his cum.
He always made sure to pull out, the old man could still manage that. Joel wouldn’t burden you with a child with a guy his age. But even then he can’t deny all those nights of him pumping his fist at the thought of you with a baby on your hip.
“W- what’s gotten into you h- huh?” Joel gasped out as you rode him like a stallion. You’ve rode him dozens of times before but never like this. You were pushing all your weight into his chest and into the mattress. This gave you easier control on your hips, allowing you to pound yourself onto Joel at a messy pace.
You didn’t reply. All you did was shake your head before grinding onto his lap with his cock squeezed inside you. You didn’t want to talk right now, you were so desperate and needy for him.
You stared at Joel with doe eyes, admiring how good he looked. He was so big under you, the textures of your skins were nothing alike. His was calloused and wrinkled from age and yours was soft and supple. It made you so wet.
Joel’s eyes widened between your movements, he was trying so hard not to show how stupid you have him. His body was buzzing all over, his dick was pulsing and twitching inside your wet cunt. He couldn’t help but throw his had back as you used him, finally allowing his eyes to roll back into his skull.
You smiled at the sight “feels good daddy?”
Joel grunted in reply. You leaned down a bit, nose almost touching his. “S’ good baby, s’ heaven” Joel slurred with his hands in your hips.
He felt himself slipping from reality until that familiar twitch coursed through him. He tried to lift you off him but you didn’t stop. You pushed him on the bed and fucked yourself harder onto his lap.
“A- alright kiddo I- pull out” Joel groaned in pain. He was doing everything not to cum inside you but his bones seem to give out. “I want it Joel, please daddy I wanna feel you leaking out of me please” you sobbed.
You were slobbering a bit, pleading with Joel to let you have it. It was the look on his face after you said it that had your nails digging into his shoulders.
His hips jolted up furiously, you let out a breathy moan as he nudged at that perfect spot. You crumbled in Joel’s arms, pulsing and gasping in his arms as he sucked a deep breath of air in.
Joel broke.
His moan roared out into the room as he heard those words. He squeezed you into his chest, rutting into you slowly as his dick continued to twitch out his loads.
“Th- tha’s what you want kiddo? m’ old enough to be your father and you still want my babies?” Joel seethed as he softly fucked into you. The gross lewd squelching sound of both of you cum mixing just pushed Joel to keep fucking into you just to hear it.
You hummed in approval with a wiggle of your hips.
“Gonna be waking you up with a tummy full of cum baby, just to make sure it sticks”
context: A major heatwave hits Jackson and Joel comes home to you naked in bed. He just can’t help himself :(
warnings: TABOO SUBJECTS, large legal age gap, MAJOR DUBCON, somnophila, unprotected sex, slight fingering, touchy Joel, pet names, pervy Joel, fauxcest, NONCON? (Reader doesn’t know it’s Joel for a few seconds and tries to fight him off but stops once she realizes it’s Joel :3)
plink inspo
Not proof read!
It was burning in Jackson. The scorching sun beamed all day and the heat continued to linger at night. You woke up every night with a heavy layer of sweat even if you didn’t sleep with any blankets.
You asked Joel to trade some of his cigarettes for a fan if he could but that old man loves his cigarettes. It was a plain no of course.
You weren’t really sure what your relationship was with Joel. Love interest, friends, bane of your existence, a father figure? It felt like a little of all four.
Joel has been out scavenging with his brother and a few other people from Jackson. They’d find abandoned buildings and try their best to find something of value to bring back to Jackson.
It’s been about 2 days with the house to yourself. Calm and quiet, just like you like it. With this rare moment of solitude mixed with the scorching heat, you took pleasure in sleeping naked. It really did help.
The thin shirt and undies you wore when Joel was around still felt like hell in this stuffy home. But with nothing on you swore there was a slight cold breeze that was just enough to not wake up every few hours in a sweat.
It was late at night when Joel’s heavy boots echoed threw the house. Everything but the creaking of the rusty wood floors was silent. Joel sighed as he placed the dingy looking fan he found in a hospital down and stretched with a groan.
It was heavy for a peice of plastic.
He looked around and was pleased that you didn’t leave any plates in the sink like you usually do. Joel hates his home looking a mess but maybe all those scoldings finally went through your thick skull.
It made the fact that he got you this stupid fan a little bit better.
Joel picked the fan up with a sigh “better appreciate this damn fan” he grunted as he walked up the stairs.
When he opened your door, his knuckles went white as he squeeze the bottom of the fan. Joel’s eyes went wide like he’s seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.
You laid peacefully in your bed with nothing on. No covers, no blankets, just your naked form. Quiet breaths left your lips as you hugged onto your teddy bear. You had one leg raised with your arms wrapped around the stuffed animal.
Your cunt was on display for Joel’s eyes. Everything was on display. “God all mighty” Joel huffed under his breath as he placed the stupid fan down.
He couldn’t ignore the painful erection growing in pants even if he tried. He stood in place, not knowing wether to walk out and shut the door or take a better look, maybe even a feel.
His heavy palm moved down to his pants. He tried squeezing the bulge back down but it only made it worse.
He could feel his tongue salivating, his chest heaving as he just stood there. Unmoving.
His boots made their way to the end of your bed. He kneeled at the corner, coming eye to eye with your plush cunt as he stared. He didn’t touch, didn’t move a muscle. He just kneeled there like a pervert taking in the scene.
Your pretty cunt plush and wet with a coat of slick and sweat. The room was a bit warm but the open window brought in a cool breeze. Joel licked his lips.
Don’t touch Joel told himself. He flinched as your hips bucked back, a muffled whimper leaving your lips as you squirmed in your sleep. The noise made Joel let out a heavy breath.
He was disgusting for this. Everyone in town saw you as his daughter, but nothing he’s doing is fatherly. It’s sinful.
But he told himself he wasn’t your father because he wasn’t after all. He took you under his wing for reasons still unknown to him. So it wouldn’t hurt right? It wouldn’t break his code of honor?
Joel gave in. He raised his fingers up to your cunt slowly. He brushed against your lips slowly, spreading them apart and dipping in ever so slight. Just enough for you to coat his fingers so he could get a taste.
Joel moaned as he sucked on his fingers. You taste so delicious.
“S’made for me” Joel whispered to himself, now getting up from his knees and back on his feet. He reached for his belt without hesitation. You were a deep sleeper right? He remembers that about you.
He slid out of his jeans and out his boxers. His tip was angry and red as he tugged at his dick a bit. A groan left his mouth as he bit his lip “pretty little thing”
The bed shifted under Joel’s weight as he adjusted himself behind you. He didn’t try and fix your position, you were comfortable and he didn’t want to change that.
You were in the perfect position actually. Easy access for him.
Joel slapped his tip on your folds. He was slow and steady with his movements. His head fell onto your shoulder as he fucked through your folds. His breath fanned onto your skin, his lips slobbering all over you.
“S’ good baby. Heaven.” Joel whispered. You light snored as he reached for your tits. Joel was dizzy, he felt like he was about to pass out.
His dick fucked through your folds as he kissed onto your shoulder with one hand playing with your nipple. How you still asleep, joel had no idea.
Joel seethed as he finally pushed into your warm pussy “Jesus” he choked. He moved slowly with his eyes trained on your face, careful to not wake you up.
“My pretty little doll” he whispered as he moved a strand of hair out of your face. Joel’s thrusts got heavier as he spread your ass with his thumbs and watched in a trance.
His dick was coated in a thick layer of white slick, you were so damn warm. “F- feel so fucking goo- oh honey” Joel moaned a little too loud.
Your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of a heavy weight above you. It only took a seconds before your mind began to realize what was going on. As you were about to squirm, a hand wrapped around your mouth.
You could feel them fucking deep into your guts as they squeeze your mouth shut.
You yelled into the palm as you tried to get away “hey hey kid s’ me, s’ Joel. Came home to you like this and could- couldn’t help myself sweetheart. M’sorry”
Your body relaxed as Joel’s voice came from behind you. Joel let his hand slip a bit from your mouth, just enough to let you speak but also enough to be able to keep you quiet.
“Joel?” You groggily asked. “Mmhm” Joel replied with his dick still moving in and out of you. “Feels so good daddy” you whined as he rocked you into your plushies.
“Oh yeah baby? You like me deep in your tummy?” Joel cooed. He smiled at your words, you liked this.
You hummed in agreement as you clung to his flannel from behind. “C’mon baby turn around f’me, wanna see that pretty face” he cooed. You did as told and shifted yourself into missionary “that’s it baby”
He wasted no time and pushed back into you without hesitation. You mewled at the stretch, Joel had your legs spread open as he fuck himself nice and snug.
Your head was thrown back as spit pooled out of your mouth, he just felt so damn good. “Made my little girl go stupid yea? Look at you honey” Joel smiled as he ran his hands down your chest and back up to play with your nipples.
“Feel so good Joel. Love it so much” you cooed as he fucked into you at rhythmic pace. Joel hummed at your confession, you liked it just as much as he did.
He could tell by the way your eyes lulled back into your skull and your cunt talked back to him that you were enjoying this maybe even more than him.
And that’s because you were. The feeling of Joel’s thick dick slipping in and out of you while your still coming out of sleep was making you dizzy. The weight of his body on yours, his hands touching and rubbing all over your body has your pussy gushing round him.
“Love it pa, s’good” you cried out. Joel grunted and moaned with each thrust he gave you. You were so fucking wet and gushing all over his thighs. “Yeah baby? Love your pa all deep in your guts? Like him waking you up with a hand wrapped around your mouth and dick deep in your tummy?”
All you could do was nod at his words. It was all so overwhelming. “Yeah? Yeah you love it huh kiddo?” Joel cooed as he felt you pulsing around him. “Yes yess” you squealed out as Joel picked up the pace.
A wretched moan spilled from your lips as you came. Your whole body shook in pleasure as Joel came right after you but he didn’t stop. He fucked himself to the point of overstimulation as he watched his cum spilling out of your cunt from where you both connected.
“Jus’ like tha- oh yeah kiddo jus like that” Joel moaned into your mouth as you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him forward and pushing him to the hilt. Joel’s dick twitched as he spilled his loads into your cunt. His eyes were completely white by the way he rolled his eyes back.
Both of you were covered in a thick layer of sweat as you both came down from your highs. Joel pulled out of you with a softness so different than seconds ago.
2k8 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist
Summary: you want Joel and finally get the opportunity to have him
Warnings: 18+ mdni. Virginity loss, age gap (reader is 23, Joel is in his late 40s), dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f/m), piv
a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta reading, and for holding my hand with this one 💕🫶
***************
You had been watching the exchanges between Joel and Fedra soldiers for several weeks and finally he got scammed by one of them. When you offered him a new deal, you had a hard time hiding your satisfaction.
“You fucked up, Joel. Trusted the wrong guy,” you said with a smirk, “But I can help you.”
You had known him for several years. He sometimes did business with your father and never seemed interested in you. You were just “the daughter of”. He looked at you before letting out a surprised “You?”
“Yeah, me. Those supplies you need, I can get them for you. Come to my place tonight. I’ll show you a part of them and tell you how to get them all.”
He sighed, nodded, and left for his shift.
You heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and opened the door before he knocked. He must have worked in the sewers that day because he had showered and changed. His hair was slicked back and still slightly wet.
“Ok, show me the supplies.”
You took out half of them, having watched his previous exchanges. You spied on him regularly, but you never thought you'd have the chance to get some kind of leverage over him. You had your own apartment in the QZ, where you lived alone after moving out of your father’s place.
No man interested you, except Joel. In recent years, you started looking at him differently. His gaze, his broad back, his hands obsessed you. At night, in your bed, you thought of him when your fingers rolled over your clit or when you rubbed yourself lying against your pillow. You imagined his body against yours. His kisses on your neck, his hands on your breasts. You imagined what you would have felt if he’d buried his length inside you. You wondered what his cock looked like and a few times, when you met him, you dared to lower your gaze to his crotch.
You had boyfriends before, but never did more than quick handjobs and blowjobs. None of them wanted to go further and you suspected them of being afraid of your father. You thought Joel would know how to deal with you. And now you had leverage.
“What’s your price?”
“I wanna have sex with you”, you replied confidently, making him laugh.
“You’re just a kid. Ain’t gonna fuck you.”
“I’m not a kid, I’m 23.”
“That’s what I said. A kid.”
“Come on, Joel. You can have all these supplies, just after having sex with me. Could be worse, don’t you think?”
“What about your dad?”
You rolled your eyes.
“I’m not asking you to fuck my dad, right?”
He smirked.
“You really want my dick that bad, that you’d give me all the supplies for it?”
“Yeah, in fact I do.”
He sighed. “Ok, your choice. Make me hard, if you want it that bad.”
You smirked and kneeled before unzipping his jeans. When his cock slipped free from his boxers, your lips formed an O. He was semi-hard, and already his size was impressive.
“Fuck”, you breathed out.
“Your boyfriends don’t have these kinda cocks? Come on, suck it.”
His hair there was slightly graying. He smelled of soap. You took his cock in your hand and collected the precum with your thumb.
“Spit on it.”
You did as he said, and you started jerking him off. He was getting harder. You licked his tip, lingering your tongue on his slit, filling your throat with his taste. You rounded your lips and took him in your mouth, applying yourself, breathing through your nose. You inwardly thanked the cocks you had practiced on before. Your head was bobbing and rising, and he was now fully hard. His cock was filling your entire mouth, precum flowing, and his taste was intoxicating you.
“Yeah, just like that. Keep goin’. You’re doing great.”
It was the first time a man spoke to you this way, and you were soaked. Gaze fixed on him, you took his cock out of your mouth and licked his entire length. From the base of his shaft to the slit. Then you licked one of his balls and took it in your mouth.
“Fuck…yeah, keep goin’. Didn’t know your father raised such a slut.”
You moved to the other ball, still jerking him, your thumb caressing his balls.
“Yeah…shit. Take my cock in your mouth again now. Keep suckin’ baby, just like that.”
His praise encouraged you. His hand was on your head, not applying any pressure. But when you took him back in your mouth, he held your head between his palms.
“Gonna fuck your throat now.”
He pushed all the way in, slowly, but giving you time to get used to his girth, to breathe calmly.
“Stay like that, don’t move. Yeah…good girl.”
He pulled back until only his tip remained in your mouth, and thrusted in again, faster, hitting the back of your throat. Again, he held you against him, your nose buried in his hair. Then he fucked your throat. You heard him grunt, and you were afraid he would shoot his cum down your throat. Like the other guys before. But Joel wasn’t like them. He was fucking your throat for a while, letting you catch your breath from time to time by pulling out. He was smirking watching the string of saliva connect your mouth to his cock. Finally he released you.
“Lie down on the bed and take off your clothes. Show me that cunt.”
You took off your clothes: t-shirt, jeans and panties, lay down and spread your legs, showing him your dripping pussy. He stroked himself a few times, eyes on you.
“You really want that? Ain’t got any boys of your age to fuck you?”
“Don’t want them.”
He looked at you again and shrugged before taking off his clothes.
“Need to stretch you first. Don’t wanna tear that slit.”
Shivers ran through your body when he placed his mouth on your folds and his tongue ran over them. “Fuck,” you moaned. Other men had gone down on you before, but he was different. Joel was eating you like a starving man, lapping at your pussy, drinking all the wetness that flowed from it. And he was hot. He was looking at you with a piercing stare while his tongue was buried in you. His broad shoulders were forcing your thighs open, and his hands were keeping them against the sheets.
“Yeah, you really want it…,” he growled between your thighs. And he was right. You wanted him, you wanted all of him, and you were moaning nonstop. He placed his lips around your clit, swirled his tongue over it and pushed his middle finger into your core, making you whimper. He added his index finger and you winced.
“You’re fuckin’ tight…when was your last fuck?”
“Shit, who cares? Keep goin’.”
He shrugged again, and thrusted both of his thick fingers into you. You focused on your clit, moaning. He was fucking your cunt with his digits easily now. You felt your wetness flowing down to your ass.
“Gonna cum for me? Come on, baby, you can do it. Give it to me, then I’ll fuck you.”
He sucked your clit again and your body shuddered, squirming under his tongue and fingers.
“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl, clenching on my fingers like that. Want to get fucked that bad, uh? I’m gonna give it to you now.”
He carefully removed his fingers, and lapped between your folds one last time. When he stood up, you looked at his cock, hard as steel now, and you felt your cheeks heat up.
“Sure you can take it?”
“Yeah…yeah, I can take it, Joel.”
He nodded and laid between your thighs, cock in his hand, and he pressed it against your entrance before pushing lightly. You gasped and he pulled out.
“What is it?”
Your eyebrows were furrowed, and a tear ran down your cheek.
“Fuck, don’t tell me…don’t tell me you’re a virgin?”
He looked at you with wide eyes. You nodded shyly.
“Damn, what’s wrong with you? I ain’t gonna fuck you.”
“Please, Joel! I want it. Please.”
“I…fuck…sweetheart, I ain’t for first time. That cock ain’t for first times. I'm sorry."
“Please. Just…I don’t know, go slow?”
“Shit…It’s one thing to fuck you. Being your first time, is something else. The fuck is wrong with you? Can't you have your first time with a good boy in a decent place…But not with me, not as my payment.”
“Stop protecting me, or whatever you’re doing. Just fuck me. How many times do I have to tell you I want it?”
He looked at you, hesitant. You expected him to shrug but he didn’t. He laid between your thighs again. His tip nestled at your entrance. He pushed in again, slowly, his eyes locked with yours. He must have felt you tense, even if it was involuntarily, even if you wanted it, and he caressed your cheek. He pressed his lips to yours with a sweetness you didn’t expect coming from him.
Joel’s ruthless attitude was well known in the QZ. And here, right now, he was offering you an unexpected kindness. His lips were warm and soft. You felt your heart race when his tongue sought yours, passing the barrier of your lips. His cock twitched inside your walls. Before kissing you, he had paused pushing in, only his tip nestling inside you. He pulled away from your face and took your hands in his. He placed them on either side of your head, against the mattress, and said, “hold my hands, baby. Hold ‘em tight.” His body was warm against yours. Somehow, you felt reassured by his weight pressing you down.
So you squeezed his hands, and he looked at you, pointing his chin towards you, as if to say “ready?” You nodded, and he thrusted in again, muttering “fuck” through his clenched teeth.
He pushed halfway inside your pussy and you closed your eyes. “Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip as you opened your eyes, struggling not to tell him to stop, not to let the fear overwhelm you. He pulled back, his eyes in yours, keeping just the tip at your entrance, before thrusting in again. This time he didn’t stop. You squeezed his hands tighter and held your breath, until he bottomed out. He rested his forehead against yours, pausing deep inside you, and said, “Breath, sweetheart. You’re gonna be ok.”
He pulled back before thrusting in again, his movements were smooth and gentle. Your pain was gone, and the way he buried himself inside you, caressing your folds, made you squeeze his shaft. Your gaze remained fixed on his, devouring him. His brown eyes, his furrowed eyebrows, the brown curls of his now dry hair.
He stopped again and you pleaded “no, no, no, please, don’t stop. It’s…it’s good, it doesn't hurt anymore.”
“I know, baby, but…fuck. I need a minute. You’re too tight. Lemme…hold my breath, ok? Or I ain’t gonna last.”
You nodded, but you had a hard time stopping your hips from rolling towards him. You didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to stop feeling him in you. So you focused on him again. His nose, his mustache, his lips, and his patchy beard. You let go of his hands and placed yours on his biceps. You wanted to feel his muscles under your fingers, the warmth of his skin under yours.
“Shit…ok. How do you feel, baby?”
“I’m ok, Joel. Told you I could take it”, you said proudly with a cute smile - at least you hoped.
He smiled and kissed you again, as he started to fuck you, a little deeper this time, slightly faster.
You roamed your fingers over his arms, his shoulders, his back. His lips left yours, and his nose ran across your cheek before brushing your neck. His soft mustache made you shiver, and when he kissed the delicate skin there, everything you had imagined about him came back to you. He was perfect, just like in your fantasies.
He was fucking you slowly again, and you spread your thighs to feel him deeper in you. He was rubbing his pelvis against your clit, and you felt another orgasm building. Different from all the others you had so far. A deeper one, coming from the depths of your body, and you were moaning at every thrust.
“You like it, sweetheart?”
“Yes Joel, it’s so good…I don't want it to stop, please, don’t stop..”
He kissed your neck again, and said “I won’t. I know you’re good. You feel it coming?”
“I…fuck, yeah! How do you know?”
He gave a confident little nod, just as your orgasm overwhelmed you and made you clench on his cock. You whimpered and he held you tighter against him, his arms under your shoulders.
He whispered in your ear, “you’re such a good girl, coming on my cock. Damn, you’re squeezing me so tight baby.”
You could barely hear him, and your body was still trembling.
“Joel…,” you whined.
“I know, baby, I know…You’re ok. You’re ok.”
He kept thrusting into you the whole time, slowly, deeply, and you felt like his cock was made for you. You knew it was a dangerous thing to think, but couldn’t help it.
You heard him whisper in your ear again, “wanna try something, sweetheart?”
“I’m not sure if I can-”
He stopped moving, and placed his hands on your cheeks.
“Do you trust me?”
You nodded. Of course you trusted him. Right here, right now, he seemed to be the most trustworthy person in your world.
“I’m gonna lay on my back, and you’re gonna ride me. I’ll help you if you need me.”
You nodded again, and when he withdrew you whimpered, crying his loss as silently as you could. He lay down on his back, and when you saw the stained sheets you froze. “It’s ok. Nothing that can't come off after washing. And if it doesn't go away I'll give you other ones.”
You realized that he was constantly reassuring you since he found out that you were a virgin, and had never been rough. Your heart sank again.
You straddled him and whispered “how do I do it?” You felt inexperienced and clumsy, but once again he didn’t judge you.
“Take my cock in your hand, use me how you want it. You’re in control.”
You positioned his tip at your entrance and he nodded encouragingly. You lowered yourself onto his shaft, feeling your pussy welcome him. You didn't dare take all of him at first, and you rolled your hips slightly, your chest against his.
“Yeah, just like that baby”, he said, caressing your back.
When you felt like you could take more, you welcomed him deeper, whimpering in his neck, rubbing your cheek against his beard, as if to forget the heat in your core. You slid down his shaft, your hands roaming his cheeks, his neck, his torso. You wanted to feel everything. To fill all your five senses with just him.
You sat up, ready to take him fully. He placed his large hands on your breasts and hard nipples. You welcomed his warmth and covered his hands with yours. You were feeling his cock differently. Deeply. You looked at him, he seemed wrecked and you didn’t expect it.
“I’m not gonna last much longer. Rub your clit now, baby. Come on my cock one last time”, he said.
You nodded, and placed your finger on your clit. You felt fully exposed and vulnerable in front of him, but there were no red flags in him. You wondered if that would change the next time you’d see him, if he would avoid you. You pushed the idea out of your mind, focusing on your sensations. You kept riding him, eager to show him you were learning how to do it right. How much you loved it. And you truly did. Your finger was swirling over your clit, and you couldn’t believe that another orgasm was building in you.
“Joel…I’m gonna cum again, it’s…fuck, it’s so good.”
“Yeah, you like that, baby? Can feel it…you're gonna clench on my cock again? Gonna soak it, till you’ll drip on my balls?” His words made you whimper and you came a third time on his cock. Your head fell back, and he waited as long as he could before he lifted you up lightly and pulled out. He jerked off quickly, then spurted his cum against your thighs and your pussy, growling.
You laid against him, both of you trying to catch your breath, and he held you in his arms. You knew that you wanted to feel him again. To feel his lips, his hands on you. His cock in your mouth and in your cunt. You played tough when he arrived at your place, and now you felt different, your heart wanted to be filled too.
Again, the word “after” flashed in your mind, and pain twisted your heart.
****************
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Summary: Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain.
Pairing: Husband!Marcus Pike x Wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, drama, Husband!Marcus, F!Reader, reader is afab and goe sby she/her, brief smut, unprotected pinv, kissing, happy ending, no use of y/n, marriage drama,
WC: 3.9k
A/N: This is my entry for @pedroscurls dialogue challenge! I guess i woke up in a mood one day and wanted to be angsty, but i struggled because Marcus is Perfect™ and he would never do this but i figured if he did he would absolutely bust his ass to make everything okay. Come yell at me if you disagree
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you sit in the waiting room, the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall delivering another blow with each beat, with each grating click. You fidget, watching the clock, the nail in the coffin hammering deeper and deeper.
You know the receptionist isn’t judging you. Her eyes are kind, but underneath, you know it’s pity she feels for you.
Because he’s late again. Always delayed. Always prioritizing his career. Always sacrificing your marriage for another opportunity. Always keeping you firmly planted to the side where his job remains front and center.
He always attends your sessions. He at least makes an effort for that. But after last night’s fight, you’re not even sure your marriage is worth the trouble anymore. The thought makes you ache, your chest growing tight and the tears burning hot now. One slips out and you swipe it away before it has the chance to fall. To become real. If the receptionist notices, she doesn’t say anything, which you’ve learned is a small mercy.
A door opens and your head snaps up. It’s the wrong door. Not the entrance to the comfortable, sparsely decorated waiting room, but the door to the office housing your therapist. Your heart sinks, another fresh tear springing up and threatening to spill over.
A couple steps out. The woman grins at her husband over her shoulder, muttering something. He laughs, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her back to kiss her cheek. They whisk by you without a glance, touching, holding, cherishing each other. They’re absorbed in one another in a way that’s become a faint, distant familiarity to you.
That used to be you and Marcus. But it hasn’t been for some time.
“You didn’t even call to tell me you couldn’t make it, Marcus,” you sigh, arms tight around yourself, leaning against the counter just out of his reach. He knew better than to touch you right now.
“I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry —“ he answers softly, eyes pleading and warm. Almost irresistible.
“Then why does it keep happening? If you’re sorry, why do you do this to me every time?” You demand, eyes stinging. You don’t want to cry right now. You never want to cry in front of him. Because a sick part of you knows he hates it and it hurts him to see you upset. And you don’t want that. You never want to hurt him. “Why can’t you just —“
“Just what?”
“Just — keep your promises! I looked like such an idiot waiting there for you. Alone at a table set for two,” you sucked in a breath when you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. “The server just looked at me like I was pathetic. Like I’d been stood up by some blind date. She even asked me if it was a first date. And I just lied to her and told her it was. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that no, it’s my husband who stood me up. Not just some random guy I met. My husband!”
Your chest heaves after your outburst, tears flowing freely. Marcus looks like he’s in physical pain, like every word had sliced through him, down to the bone.
“I am so sorry, baby,” he says again and takes a step forward but you inch away. He stops, “Please, let me hold you. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not the one pushing you away, Marcus. Your job is doing that for you,” you sniff, turning your back to him.
“No, no, no, honey,” he reaches for you again, a hand grazing your bare shoulder before you whip around to glare at him.
“Don’t touch me right now.”
He clenches his hands into fists, keeping them pinned at his sides instead. You swipe at your tears before looking down at yourself. You were stupid to get so dressed up for a date night you knew would be ruined by his job. But you did it anyway. You wanted to feel beautiful. You wanted to feel like your marriage wasn’t hanging on by a frail, easily snapped thread. Like it was a normal date night and you knew without a doubt that he would show up and you’d have dinner and laugh and be in love and strip each other down when you got home.
The dress was a waste, clearly. Simple. Black. Thin straps, enticing neckline, slit in the thigh. You wanted to look good for him. And you did. You look stunning.
And he hadn’t even shown up. Hadn’t even bothered to tell her he couldn’t make it.
“Why is your job more important than me?” You ask the question you’ve been careful to avoid in your therapy sessions, always skirting around the true issue, always minimizing your pain. Your voice was so small, so feeble, one small blow would incapacitate you. Shatter you beyond recognition.
His eyebrows draw together, jaw clenching. Big brown eyes brewing with heartbreak. You can see it. The realization.
“It’s not. It’s not more important. Nothing is more important than you,” he tells you, voice low, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles are white.
“You love your job. I know you do. I would never ask you to stop doing what you love. I just wish you’d love me too. I don’t want to feel like I come second to some case or some promotion or whatever else.”
You can’t help the sob that rips out of you. The bone deep misery crashing into you. You cradle yourself, arms wrapped so tight it squeezes the breath out of you, as if keeping the last shreds of yourself intact.
“Honey,” his voice wavers, reaching out to you, fingertips grazing your arms, “Please, baby, I’m sorry. It’s not like that. I swear, you’re — you’re everything to me. Maybe I — maybe I get preoccupied sometimes. I get a little busy. Maybe I lose track of time. But that doesn’t mean my job means more.”
“I ask for one night a week, Marcus. One night where I get you all to myself,” you sniff, “You can’t even manage that.”
“I’ll do better, I swear,” he promises, finally resting his hands on your arms and pulling you into him, but you shake your head and look up at him, eyes burning.
“You always say that.”
“I mean it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t ever wanna be the reason you’re so hurt. I’m sorry. Please, don’t –“ he chokes on whatever thought passes through him and you frown.
“Don’t what? Leave you? Divorce you?”
His eyes are so dark and pleading, you wish you hadn’t spoken the words. Wish you hadn’t just confirmed his worst fears. Because you had considered it. He knows you must have thought about it at least once or twice. But to verbalize it is the very same thing as manifesting the outcome.
You can’t look at him anymore, and even though you don’t want to hurt him, you still say it, “Well, maybe that’s what’s best.”
”It’s not,” he says immediately. Firmly. Final.
”How do you know? You’re barely involved in our marriage as it is.” It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to him, and it silences him in the blink of an eye.
You regret it the moment he turns away from you. The way his shoulders shudder, his hand trembling as he drags it down his face. The anguish in his posture is evident. And before you reach out to him, you force your hands to still, reminding yourself that he hurt you long before you hurt him.
Still. It was a shitty thing to say. But you don’t apologize. He can think on your words. Stew over them, turn them over in his mind until he’s wrung dry with the pain of loving you.
“I’m going to bed,” you say softly, sniffing. The tears have run out, but you know the moment you lie down, they’ll return. They always do.
He only nods, doesn’t look at you, ashamed. Good, you think.
You go upstairs, strip out of your dress, the sexy lingerie you’d worn for him, and slip into a pair of his plaid pajama pants and an old FBI t-shirt. You wash your face. Press a cold washcloth to your eyes, and try to push him out of your mind. You can’t, though. Part of you doesn’t want to. The part that’s so hopelessly in love with him, you feel like your chest will cave in with the intensity of it.
The other part, the part that wants to forget, remembers the pain. The humiliation. The loneliness. The neglect. And you want to purge it all from your mind. Everything tainted by him.
You finish getting ready for bed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you’re even nestled under the covers. The exhaustion drags you under. And just as you’re slipping away, you swear you can hear the front door closing. And you think it means something. But you’re too tired to understand.
You waited with your therapist for fifteen minutes before leaving. Even though you cancelled the rest of the session, you still paid for a full sixty minutes. You didn’t care. You only wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and succumb to your misery. Drown in the despair of your failed marriage. But you keep telling yourself – it wasn’t you who failed. It was Marcus.
You’re buried under your comforter, consumed by soft down and fluffy pillows, hiding from the weight of your turmoil, when you hear the front door open and close. It’s nearly nine o’clock at night. On a typical evening, that would be considered an early arrival for Marcus, but on your therapy nights, he’s not only missed the appointment, but he’s over three hours late.
He doesn’t come upstairs right away. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, and you’re dreading the moment he decides to confront you, because you know he will. He didn’t come to bed last night, and you’re almost positive he went back to work after your argument. Good. At least he’ll always have his career to keep him company.
When your bedroom door opens to reveal him, his tie is loose, jacket missing, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, you almost flinch with the intensity of his presence. Like he’s the physical embodiment of the culmination of your pain. Right in front of you.
He doesn’t say anything when his eyes land on you, concealing yourself among the bedding, so you speak first.
“You didn’t come to therapy.”
Shaking his head, you can see his jaw clench, his eyes drop to his shoes, and his shoulders slump. “I had some things to take care of.”
You nod, eyes burning, anger pooling in your chest, hot and bright, “Of course you did.”
He sighs your name, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It couldn’t wait.”
“I never can.”
He looks at you then, his eyes sharpening, pained.
“They offered me the promotion.”
You expected as much. It’s the reason his life has been centered around his job for the past couple of years. At first, he’d only been held up a handful of times. It was nothing you didn’t understand and he always made it up to you. You were supportive, enthusiastic even, encouraging him to work as hard as he needed to to get the position.
Then, he missed one date night, then two. Then several in a row. He’d get home later and later each night until the two of you were simply strangers living under the same roof. You'd never felt lonelier.
And now, the job that kept him away for so many nights, was within his reach. You were proud of him for working so hard for it. But the bitterness that crept in was unmistakable. An odious, noxious feeling you wanted to smother. You didn’t want to be this person. This kind of wife. But his absence was worse. It carved a hole in you you didn’t think you could ever fill. Not without him. Not if it meant his job would rip him away from you permanently.
“I said no.”
Your eyes snap to his, unsure if you actually heard him correctly or if it was wistful thinking. If your mind was playing tricks on you. Your heart hammers away at your chest, blood rushing through your ears. You’re sure he can hear it.
“Told them I wanted to transfer.”
That makes your heart sink. Transfer. Transfer where? A different city? Is he trying to tell you he wants a divorce after all?
You swallow thickly, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. His eyes are so dark, so unreadable, you don’t know the path his thoughts are taking. When he doesn’t say anything else, you only nod, willing, pleading for your voice to be steady when you said, “So you’re leaving.”
You prepare for the worst.
With his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, he scoffs, and it stills your beating heart for just a moment.
“You drive me crazy.”
That makes you scowl, makes you want to jump out of bed and storm over to him so you can slap him. But you remain rooted in place, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he begins, his voice low and solid in a way you’ve never heard before. He’s never stern – not with you. He’s always been soft and gentle. Now, the grave look he gives you silences you. “No job, no promotion, no opportunity, no pay raise, or anything else will ever be as important to me as you are.”
Your eyes well with tears, hands clasping in your lap, heart racing. Your skin buzzes with awareness, with the shock of his declaration.
“Do you hear me?” He says, loud and crisp, “Tell me that you understand.”
“Yes,” you answer, voice so frail and searching. You’re not sure if this is real or not. You don’t dare to hope.
“I’m taking over Analytics. It’s still a promotion. But less field work. More delegating. More in house investigating.”
“What does that mean?” You ask, looking down at your hands, twisting your fingers together, gripping the comforter.
“It means less late nights. Less absences. Less making you feel like you come second to absolutely anything. Because you don’t.”
You’re crying now, your face twisted, hands flying up to hide yourself from him. Ashamed. You never expected him to make such a drastic decision, not when he’s worked so hard for this. You never expected him to abandon it all just to make you happy. The guilt builds in your chest, bursting like a dam. You’d been prepared to divorce him, primed and braced for divorce.
And he’d surprised you.
“Hey,” he says softly, his weight sinking the bed, warm hands on your wrists to pull them away. When he does, he lowers his head to find your gaze and what you see there is warmth and understanding and remorse and it only makes you cry harder. “I can never take back the time that I missed with you. And I’m sorry I let myself get lost in my work like that. I know I can’t repair the damage I’ve done just by saying all of this. It’s going to take time for you to trust me again. But I want —“
He closes his eyes and takes a breath, centering himself.
“I’m sorry I missed our appointment today. I couldn’t get away, but I want to keep going. I need us to keep going. I never meant to make you feel like my job was more important than you. You’re —“ he swallows thickly, eyes pleading, fingers trembling against your wrists, “You’re my entire world. I would quit my job entirely before I let you go. I need you to know that.”
He lifts your hands to his lips, kissing each of your palms, then your fingers, holding them close, eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting his own tears. You press your hands to his cheeks, making his eyes flutter open to look at you.
“Did you really reject the promotion?”
He nods, kissing your hand again, lowering his eyes, "I did what I should’ve done the second I made you feel neglected.”
“Marcus —“ your throat feels tight when you speak, but you have to tell him, “I never wanted you to choose between me and your job. I’m sorry —“
“Don’t,” he hushes you gently, “It was never a choice, baby. You are the only thing that matters.”
“But you worked so hard,” your eyes burn with more tears, the terrible, aching sensation of dread clouding you, this moment, “You’re going to resent me.”
His eyes soften and he shakes his head, resolute and firm, “Listen to me.”
“I gave you an ultimatum —“ he shakes his head again, cutting you off, letting the words die on your tongue.
You stifle the next sob that threatens to escape, looking at him — genuinely looking at him — for perhaps the first time in months. His eyes are so dark. So warm. Gentle in a way that makes you regret ever looking away.
“I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t give me an ultimatum. You didn’t tell me to choose between work and you. You were very clear about what you needed, and I refused to see it. Do you understand?”
You nod.
“I did this to us. And I had to fix it, okay?”
You nod again.
“I can’t have you thinking I’m not completely and totally in love with you.”
You can’t help it. You let out a laugh. Partially a sob, and a huff of air. A breath you’d been holding in since the first missed date night. The tension in your body melts when he wraps you in his arms, still seated on the bed next to you, your legs buried under the comforter. He holds you so tightly, so securely. You never want him to let go.
You burrow a hand in his hair, turn your head to kiss the side of his neck. He pulls away, giving you a beseeching look.
“Can I kiss you?”
You don’t hesitate, nodding, diving into him before the sentence is even fully formed on his lips. He meets you there, and it’s the best kiss you’ve ever shared. It takes shape quickly, dripping with desperation and longing and sorrow. You taste the remorse on him as he licks past your lips, threads his fingers in your hair, tips your head back. It’s hungry and deep and searching for salvation.
You’re the first to begin undressing him, pulling his tie loose and working on the buttons of his shirt as he continues to pour his entire soul into the kiss. He shrugs out of the shirt and breaks away when you start yanking his undershirt up his body. He does the same to you, both of you shedding everything in a matter of seconds.
When you’re both bare from head to toe, and he’s settling between the valley of your welcoming thighs, hand braced next to your head, he just looks at you. Takes you in. Scrutinizing the details of your face like he hadn’t done for some time.
“I love you so much,” he whispers like it’s a secret he’s been keeping to himself. More tears spring to your eyes and you pull him down for another kiss, his stiff cock brushing your slick folds.
You whimper as he breaches you. It’s been so long since he’s touched you this delicately, this tenderly, or at all for that matter. His job has consumed every moment of his life, leaving little to no room for you. The lack of intimacy between you and Marcus an unwelcome side effect of his burgeoning career.
The sting of him pressing into you makes you gasp, your walls clenching tight. You break away with a whine, clutching at him, arching your body into him. He moans into your neck and flexes his hips.
“Never gonna let you go,” he mutters, sinking into you further. Your eyes flutter shut, and then you feel the brush of his thumb against your cheek. “Open for me, baby.”
You look at him then, and the adoration and truth behind his words strikes you, makes you shudder underneath him. It breaks you open in a visceral, raw way that has you pulling him impossibly close. He drops to his forearms, the weight of him covering you, grounding you.
When he starts to move, his lips are on you. Your neck, your breasts, your cheeks, anywhere he can reach. In turn, your hands roam his body, feeling the muscles of his back tense with each thrust, nails digging and hips meeting.
He’s slow and deliberate at first, making you feel every thick inch of him the way you were always meant to. But when your pleasure builds, his desperation eclipses anything tender and slow in favor of power and depth. You come on his cock with a cry of his name, chanting how much you love him, how you never want him to stop.
He’s right behind you, careening over the edge so fast, you’re unprepared for the intensity of it and the aftershocks it delivers. Marcus remains seated inside you as your breaths even out, pressing delicate, intentional kisses across your shoulders, up your neck, until he reaches your lips. You clutch him to you as though he could slip away at any moment, reveling in the attention he willingly gives.
Neither of you speak as he slides out of you and collects you in his arms. You can’t even remember the last time he held you like this, and it makes your chest ache at the lost moments his career stole from you both. You nestle against him, he tightens his arms around you, likely dwelling on the same misgivings.
His thoughts are loud, the tension in his body not quite eased. You look up at him and he’s already staring down at you. Forlorn, somber eyes greet you, and you kiss his jaw.
“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly, “But I want to be. I’m trying to be – for you.”
The twinge of his admission is sharp and prominent. You press a hand to his cheek, “Marcus, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you.”
He frowns, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Exactly how his insecurities are burrowing under his skin, darkening his thoughts.
“Tell me,” you say, kissing his jaw again.
“I almost lost you. I hurt you. And I didn’t even see it. I’m a fucking idiot.”
You don’t want to lie to him. But you also don’t want to tell him how his neglect had plagued you. How it wrung your self-worth completely dry. How lonely you were. How unloved. But you also know that neither of you can heal unless he knows. Unless you’re honest with him too.
So you tell him. You watch his face fall, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears, then close because hearing how deeply he’d wounded you is unbearable. His grip on you tightens, fingers threading in your hair.
And though your marriage is far from perfect, and you two have a lot of ground to cover before it’s as strong as it once was, you’re hopeful.
Because for the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep with your husband at your side.
Summary: Marcus loved it when you stole his clothes. Loved it even more when you paraded around in them like an insatiable temptress. It's like you wore his clothes for the specific purpose of letting him unwrap you. To unearth the beauty hidden under his too-large button downs, or the oversized sweats you had to roll three times in order to walk safely around the apartment. But his favorite was the FBI t-shirt. Because it had a very. Specific. Meaning.
Warnings: established relationship, Marcus Pike x reader, somnophilia, consent is sexy, Marcus Pike is a Consent King, reader is afab & goes by she/her, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, Marcus is a Giver capital G, unprotected piv, Marcus Pike is Boyfriend Material ™
Rating: 18+, MDNI
Word Count: 3.5k
Notes: I do love clean shaven Marcus Pike, but this look was something else. Peak. Unmatched. How I imagine him every single time. Also this is my first time writing him/anything in a very long time, pls be nice to me.
Entry for the 2026 Kinky Challenge hosted by @time-for-my-weekly-spanking. Marcus Pike fics are always lacking so i decided to step up. This will not be the last time i post Marcus P, as i love him dearly.
Dividers by @ghostgum & @222luvr
The only light on in your apartment when Marcus enters is the one over the stove. He knows you leave it on for him when he’s forced into late nights at the office. Cases wrapped up in the dead of night. Paperwork filed the moment they’re closed.
It could wait until the next day, but he’s not the kind of person who lets tasks sit idle, not even overnight.
So it’s nearing one am when he reaches your place, pitch black except for that light in the kitchen. He’s always loved that about you. You require total and absolute darkness to sleep. Even light from the windows or under the doors makes you restless.
He found that out the hard way when you first spent the night at his place. Even after he’d fucked you into a boneless mess, you still couldn’t sleep because of the digital clock glaring at you from his nightstand. He unplugged it, was late for work, and fucked you again the next morning to make sure you knew how desperate he was to have you in his bed after you’d apologized profusely for your little quirk.
Marcus gifted you a pink silk sleep mask the next day that you now wear religiously.
Still, though. It only manages to stay on your face about half the time because you’re always moving in your sleep. Another quirk he’s welcomed into his life wholeheartedly because the thought of not having you near is crippling. He’ll take all of your quirks, good, bad, inconvenient. Everything.
Marcus is quiet as he gropes around in the dark, getting to the bedroom without injury. The door clicks shut behind him, as quietly as he can manage, and his eyes have adjusted just enough to make out your supine form sprawled out on the bed, mask over your face, perfectly protected from the light from the street lamps outside your window, covers kicked off, one hand over your tummy, the other resting on his pillow.
Where he’s supposed to fit in, he doesn’t know, but that’s not what draws his attention. No. What makes him stop in his tracks, just inches inside the room, is your t-shirt. His t-shirt. The one with the FBI logo stamped across the chest. And the one that holds a very specific meaning.
You’d brought it up months ago. Seated on his couch, legs in his lap. Bare. Smooth. Goosebumps pebbling your skin where he’d been running his fingers, up your calves, seeking the soft expanse of your thighs. You were wearing that FBI t-shirt and it looked so fucking good on you. Much better than it ever looked on him.
There was a movie on in the background, he doesn’t remember what it was, but it wasn’t as interesting as the way you were whimpering and sighing under the attention of his lips and tongue.
When you surfaced for air, you were chewing your lip nervously like you weren’t sure if you even wanted to broach the topic. Shy and hesitant.
“Tell me,” he grinned, fingers itching to touch you in more intimate places. But he was nothing if not a gentleman. He could wait.
You shook your head, trying to stifle a grin, but with a few well placed kisses, he’d coaxed it out of you.
”What if… you fuck me…”
He chuckled, lips brushing your neck, teeth and beard scraping against your sensitive skin. You trembled, tugging his hair. God he loved it when you did that. When you did, he knew you were desperate for him. That you liked what he was doing to you. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out before he stripped you bare and had his way with you.
“While I sleep…”
That caught his attention, made him rear back to look at you. Your eyes were wide, innocent, almost embarrassed at the request.
“You want me to fuck you in your sleep?” He asked for clarity. The idea sent the blood draining out of his head and to his cock so fast that he was sure he would’ve collapsed if he wasn’t sitting down.
“Yeah,” you bit your lip, demure, timid, “When you get home late sometimes, I miss you.”
His heart warmed, melted into a giant puddle in his chest. He leaned in to kiss you, fingers curling in your long, soft hair, silken under his touch. Marcus tilted your head back, swallowing your whimper before you had the wherewithal to pull away.
”You don’t think I’m weird?”
He shook his head, “No, but I do have some concerns.”
”Like what?” You ran your fingers through his hair in a way that sent a shot of pleasure straight down his spine, almost making him lose his train of thought.
He shrugged despite the feeling of his skin buzzing with need, wanting more of your touch. More of you. “I like hearing you. I like knowing you’re enjoying yourself.”
You only grinned up at him, pressing light kisses along his chin, “You know I’m a light sleeper.”
”So, you want me to fuck you awake?”
”Mhm.” You nipped at the sensitive spot below his ear, hands wandering from his hair, down his shoulders, pressing against the solid heat of his chest, briefly playing with his black tie – he hadn’t changed since he got home from work, but you never complained. He suspected you liked threading his tie from his shirt and plucking the buttons open with methodical intent. He liked it too. Liked how attentive you were when you undressed him. Like he finally found someone who wanted him just as badly as he wanted them.
He hummed in delight, elation, “What if you’re not in the mood?”
He felt you smile into his neck as you started undoing his tie, then the top two buttons of his dove grey shirt. You pulled back to look at him, eyes sparking with a scheming glint, “I’ll wear this shirt.”
He glanced down at the t-shirt. The way it fell on your body, falling slightly off the shoulder, loose on your frame. Hanging down well past your hips. It consumed you, made him burn with desire whenever you wore it. Or any of his clothes for that matter. But this one. It looked so fucking good on you, he could scarcely form a single coherent thought whenever you greeted him in this shirt.
“When I wear this shirt, you’ll know.”
He nodded, staring at your lips, “Okay.”
”Yeah?”
”I’ll do anything for you, honey,” he said right before you sealed your lips against his and straddled his hips.
It was the best sex he’d ever had with you, which was a pretty high bar to clear in his opinion.
Now, as he stares at your half-bare form, FBI shirt riding up your thighs, so high he could see that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, the blood rushes straight to his cock.
You hadn’t worn the FBI shirt to bed since your discussion. He’d almost forgotten about it entirely. Either you weren’t in the mood to be woken like that, or you forgot about it too. But this. This is a clear message. Intentional. Almost as if you’re goading him, daring him to keep his word.
Marcus sheds his jacket and loosens his tie, eyes trained on your soft, bare thighs. You knew what your legs did to him. This was a targeted attempt at driving him insane with need and he knew it. You laid yourself out for him like an all you can eat buffet and he plans on indulging excessively.
Tie and jacket gone, he rolls the sleeves of his stark white shirt to his elbows and prowls toward the bed. If you were awake and saw the way he was looking at you now, you’d be writhing and ready for him.
“Fuck,” he whispers, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth as he stands over you. The shirt might as well not even exist with how far it’s ridden up, revealing your slick, uncovered pussy. His mouth waters at the sight.
You definitely planned this, and it makes his cock so hard he has to adjust himself in his pants to relieve the pressure. He’s powerless against the urge to taste you, to feel you and undo you.
He puts his knee on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, then leans over you to feel the silken skin of your thigh. You sigh when his hand makes contact, shifting into him, seeking his touch.
His cock pulses, and he feels obscene looking at you like this. Putting his hands on you without you being aware or lucid. But then your hand shifts down your body, resting just above your waiting heat and he just knows you want to touch yourself. To seek relief. Release. Even in your sleep.
Did you fuck your fingers earlier while you waited for him to come home? Did you cum thinking about him finding you like this, waiting for him to fuck you awake? He shudders, rubbing the front of his pants as his fingers inch closer to your dripping core.
He reluctantly moves your hand away, replacing it with his own and running his thumb over your clit. You whimper. Shift your hips. Seek more pressure and he swipes over it again. Fuck you’re wet.
As Marcus climbs further onto the bed, you part your thighs, sensing him and his intentions.
He settles between your legs, shoulders keeping them spread wide for him. It’s late and he doesn’t have the patience to tease you for very long, so he dives right in. A heedless, uncontrollable moan leaves him when his tongue makes contact, the taste of you always unraveling him like a loose ball of yarn. He could lick you for hours. And he has.
Banding his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer to his mouth, his tongue hot and persistent against your clit, dragging through your slick. He brings his other hand up, massaging your thigh, pressing it back to spread you wider for him, parting your folds for easier access.
You’re so fucking wet and dripping for him. How many times did you get off to the thought of this?
It takes every ounce of control in him not to pull his cock out and fuck you into the mattress without a thought for your comfort or enjoyment. As eager as you’d been to be fucked awake by him, he knows you’ll enjoy it all the more if he takes his time. So he does.
Keeping his tongue persistent and gentle on your clit, he slowly sinks one finger into your tight, wet cunt. Knuckle deep. He adds a second finger because he knows you can take it.
You whimper in response, hips shifting. He can feel your walls fluttering around him, can practically taste your approaching climax.
He loves making you cum like this, but he misses the delicate weight of your hand tugging and yanking his hair when he knows you’re enjoying yourself. Listening to the way you keen and cry out when he whispers filthy words to you.
Marcus pumps his fingers slowly, curling them to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that would make you purr if you were awake. He moans against your soaked pussy, his cock so hard he can barely think. Doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to dwell on why he’s so turned on by the prospect of touching you like this while you’re sleeping.
But he doesn’t want to tease you anymore. He just wants to feel you.
Typically, he’d make you cum on his fingers and tongue at least twice before he fucks you. But this isn’t typical and he’s so very impatient.
“Sweet girl,” he mutters as he kisses the inside of your thigh before straightening to his full height. “Look at you.”
After divesting himself of his button down, undershirt, and pants, he palms his straining cock through his black briefs, watching the way you shift your hips, mewl, and keen for him.
He never edges you like that. He’s always so indulgent, giving you exactly what you want. What you ask for, because you’re such a good girl, he can’t help it, especially when you beg.
But now, you can’t beg. So he can be a little mean. He smiles, wondering how far he could take you another night. If you’d give yourself to him to do as he pleases.
Now, though, he focuses on his leaking cock as he kicks his boxers off and kneels between your parted thighs. He’s practically trembling with anticipation at sinking into your wet pussy, but he doesn’t want to wake you too soon. So he has to go slow.
“Fuck, I bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby girl,” he groans, petting your thighs, parting them further to make space for his wide stance. His heavy cock falls against your slick entrance and he can’t help but grind against you.
Your hips move, arching, seeking his cock like you can sense him hovering above you. He can’t help it, he yanks the FBI T-shirt up to expose your tits, grabbing at them a little more firmly than he intends to. His rough hands don’t wake you.
His thumbs brush your nipples, eliciting another whimper from that sinful mouth of yours. He flexes his hips, his cock pressing deliciously against your clit.
Your tits are so soft and perky and they fit so divinely in his hands that he has to lean over you to taste them, diving in tongue first, then plucking your taut nipples with his teeth. He moans into your chest, keeping a slow, excruciating rhythm against your cunt with his aching length. It takes everything in him to keep from sinking into you, opting to tease and play instead.
“Marcus,” you mumble, hand resting on the back of his head. The tiny, delicious sounds you make send a shot of pleasure up his spine and the head of his cock nearly slips inside you. “Mmm…”
“You’re so fucking sweet, honey,” he mutters, peppering your skin with kisses, nipping your breasts, massaging, kneading, all while he refrains from fucking into you as he so desperately needs.
You arch, lifting your chest so he has no other choice but to take your breast between his lips. He reaches up, yanking your silk mask off your face, knowing full well the light from the street lamps outside will wake you eventually, even if his cock doesn’t.
Marcus can’t hold back any longer. He has to feel you.
Leaning back on his knees, he drags his tip along your folds slowly, deliberately. You shift in your sleep, whimpering again, your hips following his movements.
Then, after another lazy drag against your clit, he sinks into you, patient, methodical. His jaw clenches as your tight warmth envelops him inch by inch. One hand on your breast and the other holding your thigh up to give him room, he finally finally feels all of you.
You always tell him he won’t fit, writhing and moaning and doing an excellent job at playing to his ego — though he’d deny it if anyone asked.
“Fuck, baby girl,” he grunts, “You’re killing me.”
He hunches over you to trail kisses along your neck, body pressed to yours, thigh hiked high on his hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there — so hard it will bruise. But he’ll apologize tomorrow. Repent. Beg for forgiveness. Right now, he’s too overcome by the ecstasy within your depths to care.
Your walls quiver around him as he pushes his hips into you. You whine under him when he presses in deep, so deep he bottoms out.
“Holy shit,” he grunts into your neck, withdraws slightly, then sinks back in. You stir when he does it again, lips parted and eyes clamped shut. Marcus releases your thigh to plant his hand next to your head, his entire body tight and trembling with the effort of holding back.
Dipping his head low, he nips at your jaw, your neck, delighting in the happy hums leaving your parted lips.
Flexing his hips, you gasp, shifting under him but still not waking.
He withdraws and pushes in again, watching your face carefully, the pinch of your eyebrows, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips form around a breathless moan.
“Baby,” you mutter, the beginnings of consciousness just within reach.
His composure snaps, the wet heat of your pussy overwhelming him, kicking him into motion. Marcus develops a gentle, steady pace, watching as you wriggle and squirm underneath him.
“That’s it, baby girl, take it,” he pants, hips picking up the pace. He nips at your breast, then caresses your cheek tenderly, watching as your eyes finally, finally flutter open. “There you are.”
“Marcus?” You gasp, eyelids still battling against the weight of your exhaustion. He slows his hips to a gentle grind, making you arch into him. Your hands press against his chest, nails digging in. “Fuck.”
“You like that, baby girl?” He asks lowly, nudging your cheek with his nose.
You’re already nodding before the words are out of his mouth, “You remembered.”
“How could I forget?” He breathes, his thrusts picking up speed again. Your lips part around a silent moan that makes him grin, “You’re so wet for me, honey. Did you touch yourself while you waited for me?”
You nod again, one hand reaching up to yank at his hair, pulling him into a breathless kiss. Your hips tilt, sending his cock arrowing straight at that delicious, sensitive spot deep inside you. As you break away from him, you whimper a confession, “I thought about you fucking me like – like this. And I – I came so hard, baby.”
”I bet you did, dirty girl,” he chuckles, squeezing your breast and nibbling on your chin. Tasting as much of you as he can reach, feeling you, all while his hips take on a punishing pace, your cries of ecstasy luring him into a feral race for completion.
”You fuck me so good, Marcus.”
Every word out of your mouth threatens to make him cum before he’s ready, sends him into overdrive, wipes all sensible thoughts from his mind. He’s wild. Insane with lust, pounding into you so hard, the headboard smacks against the wall. He’s never been this rough for you. Sex with you is always tender and gentle, if a little frantic at times.
But the way you’re moaning underneath him now? He feels as though he’s unlocked a secret, wanton part of you that begs for satisfaction. The rough drag of his hips. The manacled grip of his fingertips around your wrists. Driving his cock into so hard and fast, you’re a keening mess underneath him.
Marcus skims the fingers of one hand up your arm, down to grip your breast, and then around your throat, resting, squeezing gently, feeling the flutter of your pulse against your skin. You whimper as his thumb skirts up across your chin, tongue darting out to taste him. He lets you suckle on it for just a moment before he squeezes your throat again and reaches down to rub circles around your clit.
You cry out at the new stimulation, hips tilting, allowing him to sink deeper, “That’s it, baby girl. I know you’re close.”
”Your cock feels so good, Marcus,” you gasp, veins on fire, walls trembling, threatening to clamp around him with your approaching orgasm. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”
And then you do, your entire body locking up as you spasm around him. You cum so hard, he thinks you might pass out, the shriek you let loose almost inhuman.
”You’re squeezing me so tight, honey,” he grunts, forehead pressing to your shoulder as he drives into you with reckless abandon. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”
The sound of his hips smacking into you, the obscene way your pussy grips him, the thundering of your pulse under his hand. It all works to undo him. At the height of your climax, a surge of white hot pleasure washes over him and he can’t contain it any longer. Heat zips up his spine, his muscles tighten, and he paints your walls with ropes of cum.
“Baby,” you whimper, working your hips against him, holding onto the wrist he has locked around your throat. “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” He pants, but it comes out as more of a grunt.
He continues fucking into you at your praise, trembling and wrecked until you’re both spent, and he collapses into a breathless heap, skin slick with sweat, the FBI shirt bunched up around your neck. He hadn’t even gotten you out of it before he lost himself in you. Marcus rectifies that now, lifting up and peeling you out of it.
”Don’t lose that. I’ll need it again tomorrow,” you say with a delirious laugh, fingers curling into his hair. You pull him into a kiss as he settles on top of you again.
”Liked it that much, huh?”
”Mhm. Feel free to wake me like that any time. Shirt or no shirt.”
Marcus pulls back in surprise, leaning up to survey you, your grin devious, but eyes warm and satisfied. God, you’re going to be the fucking death of him.
Summary: After a string of mishaps at work keeps Joel away for far too long, you come up with the perfect way to help him unwind.
Pairing: Husband!Joel x F!Reader
Warnings: established relationship, Husband!Joel, reader is afab and goes by she/her, unprotected pinv, they are married so it's fine, fluff, needy joel, fingering, blow job, hand job, massage, no use of y/n, dirty talk, Joel is a simp for his wife, pet names all over the place, both reader and joel are touch starved, no outbreak, sarah doesn't exist sry, i think that's it.
WC: 5.5k
A/N: I need more Husband!Joel, so that's what this is. Zero plot. Also took me longer to make this cover photo than it did to write it. And im physically incapable of writing something under 5k im sorry sue me.
You’re curled up on the threadbare couch, legs tucked under you when the front door opens, thick boots scraping against the hardwood – Joel would never do that on a normal day, always discarding them near the door lest he track dirt and debris through the house. You can hear the weariness in his stride, though, feel the exhaustion radiating from him even as he crosses the threshold to the kitchen at half past eleven at night.
It made your intentions that much more meaningful.
You watch him from your spot on the couch, afforded by the direct line of sight to the refrigerator, as he opens it, snatches up a beer, and twists the cap off like he’s flicking a piece of lint off his shirt. He takes three long swallows before setting it off to the side and sagging against the counter.
You don’t move, only watch. Joel drags a hand down his face, scraped up, covered in paint or plaster or whatever else he’d had his hands in today. After scratching his beard, his eyes skim across the floor, slowly drawing a line from his boots, through the kitchen, across the narrow hallway, into the living room, up the couch, and finally landing on you. You blink at him from your spot, not saying a word. Not wanting to disturb his moment of peace.
Hesitating, you lift your lips in a tight smile, greeting him silently.
He’s been absent as of late, one catastrophe after another setting his most recent project back by weeks. You know how much he hates delays. And even more so how he hates that his crew caused them. Time, money, and labor wasted on one small miscalculation.
And because of that miscalculation, he hadn’t had the energy or occasion to touch you. For two weeks, you’d been yearning for him. When everything is right and work doesn’t keep him busy, he spoils you. You go to sleep well fucked, and wake up feeling refreshed and cherished each day. He’s an attentive husband, always giving you exactly what you need. Sex and affection and love and everything in between.
And maybe if you’d been able to wait up for him during these past late nights, nothing would’ve changed. It’s not for lack of trying. But your own exhaustion crept in and dragged you under before you could even see him most days. Home after midnight, up before dawn. You’ve hardly even crossed paths.
The most interaction the two of you have had in the last two weeks were the sweet texts you exchange during the day and the post-it notes he leaves on the coffee machine every morning telling you he loves you and he hopes he’ll see you when he gets home.
”I didn’t expect you to be up,” he says, voice laced with fatigue. His navy t-shirt hugs his arms and shoulders, sparking wicked intent deep in your belly. “You didn’t have to wait for me, darlin’.”
“I missed you. I wanted to wait.”
You offer him a soft smile before lifting up from the couch and padding over to him. His dark, weary eyes catch your bare legs before skirting up your body to land on the soft flannel draped over your frame – one of his.
”You look good in that,” he tells you, his lips lifting in a serene smile. He says it every time, as he’s seen you in his clothes more often than you wear your own.
“Are you sure? I can take it off,” you tease, tiptoeing up to him and pressing your hands against his chest. His hands float to your hips like magnets, pulling you closer.
A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, “I’d be fine with that.”
A coy smile, then you stand on your toes to kiss him, instantly melting against him. He squeezes your hips gently before wrapping you fully in his strong embrace. You can feel the way his muscles bunch against you, tight, strained, but unwilling to loosen his hold on you.
His resolve cracks, his stoicism fracturing as he succumbs to your presence.
”God, baby,” he sighs against your lips, tongue licking into your mouth, heart pounding against your chest. “Been such a shit couple a’ weeks. I missed you.”
“Want me to make it better?” You ask, nibbling is lower lip then slipping your tongue against his with a precision that makes him groan.
“Mhm,” he hums. It’s the only confirmation you need. Pulling away, you glide your hands down his biceps before taking his calloused fingers between yours. He looks a little pathetic at the loss of your lips on his, but follows instinctually as you tow him along behind you.
Through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway, and into the bedroom, you drag him, his hands grabbing at you, pressing to your stomach and halting your movements more than once with his lips on the back of your neck. You snicker, enjoying this mood shift. Excitement pulsing through your veins. Almost prepared to say to hell with your little plan.
You get him to the bedroom where several candles adorn the dresser, side tables, and along the window, casting the room in a warm glow. He arches an eyebrow at you and you can’t contain your grin as you pull him inside to start undressing him.
“First, a shower. You’re covered in paint.”
The rumble of his laugh is pleasing under your fingertips as you meet him for another kiss. He completely envelops you in his strong arms, muscles rigid and firm around you. His tongue finds yours and you whimper, and extracting yourself from him is no easy task when he starts backing you toward the bed.
“Joel,” you laugh when he tries to settle you on the bed. “Don’t distract me.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, pulling away and turning toward the bathroom. But you stop him, grinning at the confused look on his face.
“I didn’t say you had to shower by yourself.”
You begin undressing him, first discarding his navy t-shirt on the floor. You grow momentarily distracted by the planes of muscle along his torso, toned and refined from years of hard labor. Sculpted by his craft, but slightly softened from years of comfort and pleasure. You love how soft he’s become.
“Y’alright there, darlin’?” He drawls, the dimple in his cheek just visible under his beard. You swallow hard and nod, even though he’s teasing you. Because he knows what his body does to you. You are shamelessly attracted to your husband. He can tease you all he wants.
You answer with a hum and a kiss to his throat, hands roaming, exploring, feeling every inch of him. His breath hitches when you reach for his belt, undoing it, snapping the button of his jeans open and pulling the zipper down with aching slowness. Your fingers brush against the hard line of his cock and his hands fly to your wrists.
“You tryn’ to tease me, honey?” He asks, his voice hard with warning. You snicker and nibble on his chin.
“I would never.”
“Hmm, do I need to bend you over and teach you a lesson?” He threatens, voice smooth as silk, fingers plucking at the buttons of your flannel. He starts backing you toward the bathroom, noting the flush up your neck and your breath stuttering in your throat.
You’re quickly losing control of the situation, but you don’t mind. You love it when he gets like this. Handsy. Impatient. A little feral.
He flicks the shirt open and immediately palms your breasts, thumb grazing your nipples in turn, making you arch into him, panting, seeking more. This was supposed to be for him, but now he’s taken over. And you’re not even sure you can reclaim it.
Joel’s gaze consumes you, the dark glint in them hungry and needy. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, baby. What am I gonna do with you?”
You shudder, fingers dipping into his boxers and grazing the vein running from below his belly button into his briefs. Fingers creeping lower, you finally take him in your hand. The sigh he lets loose is so deep, you feel it in your own chest.
He’s hard as stone, hot and heavy in your hand as you stroke. You can’t wait to get him in your mouth, in your cunt. But as needy as you are, you try not to lose focus. You turn the shower on and continue stroking him as it heats up, his breaths growing labored. He shucks his jeans and boxers off, eager to have you.
“You make me crazy, baby. Let me fuck you,” he pleads, hands moving down to grip your ass, pulling you tight against him and creating pressure against his cock as he traps you against him. You almost let him take over as his rough hands slip your panties down your legs, as his lips consume you again. He backs you into the shower once you can both feel the steam billowing out, and presses you against the wall. Your hand is still wrapped snugly around his cock, but before he can do something that will push you past the point of no return, you nudge him back.
“You’re distracting me,” you say, breathless, the water hitting his back and shielding you. He only grins, grabbing your hip to pull you with him under the water.
“S’only fair. You greetin’ me the way you did. Wearin’ my shirt, lookin’ like you’re ready to be fucked.”
You shudder, twisting your hand and rubbing your thumb over the tip of him. He hisses through his teeth and presses a hand against the shower wall, the other still tight on your hip.
“Fuck, sweetheart…”
You pepper kisses along his chest, up his neck, and stand on your toes to reach his lips, each gentle graze punctuated by the stroke of his cock. You smile, nibbling his chin, “Scrub. You’re covered in paint.”
He looks at his hands, his arms, and sighs, grabbing the small brush he uses to scour his skin at the end of the day. Your hand leaves him as you lean against the wall, watching with interest as he methodically removes every mark on his hands and arms. Brows furrowed in concentration, trying to rid the filth from his body. Focused, thorough, and efficient. His skin is a little red and raw when he’s done, but he’s clean. And even though you don’t mind it when he’s a sweaty, filthy mess, you love it when he’s fresh and rejuvenated. Because you know he feels better too.
The moment he sets the brush aside, you loop your arms around his neck and press yourself against him. He lifts you a little as he kisses you, turning you so you’re under the stream of water with him again. You reach behind you to grab his shampoo and bite your lip as he tilts his head curiously.
“I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Don’t argue.”
The rolling laugh in his chest warms you more than the gentle cascade of water, “M’not complainin’.”
You nudge him back before lathering the soap in your hands and bringing it to his thick curls. He has to lower himself a little for you to reach him, but the way he bends his head and presses closer is a perk. His cock is nestled between you, still standing proud. You wiggle a little, making him grunt.
His hands take your hips to continue your movements, and you snicker.
“So desperate.”
“Always, for you.”
You massage his scalp thoroughly, brushing your fingers through his gritty hair, trying to expel the dust and sweat from him. His hair grows smoother under your ministrations until you’re sure he’s thoroughly washed. He groans when you press your thumbs against his temples, now working the suds in a more intentional way. Coaxing him into a boneless heap in your arms. When you’re done, you rinse away the soap with the detachable shower head he’s used on your pussy countless times, and repeat the process with conditioner.
His fingers tighten around you with each pass of your fingers, slowly swaying you against him to give a little relief to his erection. You can’t help but laugh at his desperation. Another rinse, and his hair is so silky and smooth under your touch, you just want to pet him and run your fingers through it until you both fall asleep.
“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, squeezing your ass to make you arch against him. The way his cock brushes against your mound has you shuddering against him. Again, you almost let him take you right there, but you shake your head.
“Patience is a virtue,” you sing, bringing your lips to his chin. Your hand sneaks out to grab the loofah, and you drizzle his musky, pine scented body wash along the mesh.
After working it into a lather, you bring it to his chest. He stands up a little straighter as you spread suds across his skin.
“You’ve already done plenty, darlin’, you don’t have to go through all this trouble,” he mutters.
Your chest aches at his insistence. His devotion to you and taking care of you. Never doing a thing for himself. Neither spending money on himself nor taking time for himself. Nothing. It’s all for you. It makes you love him so much, your heart full, overflowing.
Down his arms, over his hands, then back to his chest, you soap him up. Inching south, the loofah grazes the leaking tip of his cock and he clenches his jaw.
“It’s no trouble. I like taking care of you for once.”
His smile is so warm it almost melts you.
He leans up against the wall as you work suds over his skin, enjoying the scent of his body wash, the feel of his body growing slick, his muscles under your fingertips, the softness of his tummy, the firmness of his cock. It’s almost mesmerizing. Touching him like this. You rarely get to explore him the way he explores you, so you want to take full advantage. To take care of him.
A quiet sigh fans over your cheek as you grip his erection again, spreading soap, massaging, stroking. He moans when you rub your thumb over his leaking tip, hips jutting toward your hand. He’s so big it makes your mouth water, fingers stretching to fully encompass him.
“Fuck, honey,” he mumbles, hands reaching for you. One finds your breast, the other seeks the heat between your legs and you whimper when he begins circling your clit. You allow it for the moment, partially because it feels so fucking good, but mostly because you like when he can’t keep his hands to himself.
He massages your breast, firm in his palm, while he works your clit like a fucking mastermind. You lean into him, pumping his cock slowly, suds dripping down his body. Joel lowers his head to take your breast between his lips and teases you with his tongue.
He hums, teeth scraping over your nipple as he sinks a finger into you.
Your knees buckle.
“You’re so fuckin wet for me, sweetheart,” he says, making your movements falter. His voice slides over you like oil, slick and coaxing. You know he’s trying to fuck you, and god you want him to.
“You’re unfair.”
“Me? You’re the one touchin’ me and scrubbin’ me down and treatin’ me so good,” he grumbles, plucking your nipple with his teeth and moving to the other breast.
You shudder, bringing the loofah down to his thigh as he adds a second finger, making you whimper, “Joel..”
“Hm?” He curls them with precision, thumb still circling your clit, lighting up every nerve in your body.
It takes every ounce of strength in you to get the words out, your legs weak and skin humming with need, but you do it. “Turn around.”
Joel gives you a sly smile, lips and hand withdrawing from you and doing as you say with little complaint. Your hands skim over his hips as he turns, and you continue your careful attention to him, bringing the loofah across his shoulders and watching his head tip forward in pleasure.
“When are you gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, glancing back at you as you work your hands over his back, admiring the muscles in his shoulders.
You snicker, kissing the base of his neck and pressing yourself against him, “You’re so impatient,” you chastise.
“Can’t help it. You’re all wet and rubbin’ up against me. You got me so hard, baby.”
You nibble at his shoulder, soaping and kneading and skimming all across the broad expanse of him. Once he’s thoroughly scrubbed, you take mercy on him, bringing him under the spray and letting the suds rinse from his skin.
“You just have to wait a little longer,” you tease, rinsing off the loofah, hanging it on the hook where it belongs, and turn him around to face you.
He grabs your hips to ground himself, dipping his head for a kiss that you eagerly accept, slick body pressed to his, arms around his neck, tongues chasing, teasing. His scruff prickles your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck as he moves down, groaning as you take him in your hand again.
“Now?”
You shut off the shower and stroke, making him hiss. “Nope.”
Before he has a chance to object you’re out of the shower and draping a towel around yourself. He’s still standing among the lingering steam when you tiptoe out into the bedroom.
The candles cast a warm, comforting glow throughout the room, the moon slanting through the window. It’s warm and inviting, the perfect mood to fit your intentions.
When he follows you out, towel low on his waist, erection tenting the fabric, he’s scowling at you, “Why’re you teasin’ me?”
You laugh, patting the bed and holding up a neck pillow, “Just get over here.”
He arches an eyebrow, reluctantly traipsing forward. You press a kiss to his neck, then his jaw as he examines the bed, the pillow, the oils on the nightstand. You know he’s not mad, just frustrated because he wants to fuck you. Frustrated because he hasn’t been able to in weeks.
“Lie face down,” you instruct, placing the neck pillow there so he can at least breathe without twisting his neck to the side and causing himself discomfort when your goal is to do just the opposite. You make a note to ask him to build you a nice sturdy massage table for this specific task.
He does as he’s told, towel still slung around him. You leave it, for now, but run your fingers along his spine once he’s lying flat. He shivers.
“Baby,” he grouses. You can hear the tension in his voice, but with any luck, it’ll melt away once you get started.
“Shh…”
Pent up from the shower, you’re eager to get him inside you, but you want to treat him. You know he’ll appreciate it once you get to work, so you keep that in mind as you grab the oils and drop your towel. You swing one leg over him and straddle his hips, just barely hovering above him.
“What —“ his protest is cut off when you drizzle oil along his back and shoulders.
You laugh as he lifts his head, scowling, “Joel, will you please just relax?”
He grumbles something you don’t quite catch before replacing his head onto the neck pillow. When he settles, you set the oil aside and start at his lower back, spreading it with deft hands and massaging it into his skin. You work the muscles along his spine, taking special care to ease the dimples at the base before slowly moving up until you reach his shoulders where you know he holds the most tension.
You lose yourself in him, loosening the knots in his body, easing the aches and pains he carries daily, lifting every burden off his wide, strong shoulders.
He groans when you start pressing harder, working one shoulder, then the other, then alternating between the two until he’s a boneless puddle beneath you. You apply more oil, working it down his arms, rubbing it into his fingers. He’s terrible at moisturizing, so you take extra care to allow the oil to absorb into his skin until he’s silky smooth. He never takes the time to pamper himself and rarely lets you do it either. So you’re not going to do it half way just because you want him to fuck you.
“How’s that feel?” You ask, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. You follow your lips with your fingers, manipulating the perpetual knot in the left side of his neck.
He grunts, “Feels good, baby.” No more protests. Only deference. Just serenity. Peace. A placid stillness he likely hasn’t felt in years.
You grin, kissing him again. When you sit up, you stretch your fingers and arms, loosening your limbs as you climb off of him. He lifts his head, a scowl marring his face, irate at the interruption to his tranquility. Before he can object, you tell him to turn over.
There’s only a brief moment of confusion before his eyes flash with heat and he does as he’s told.
“Good boy,” you tease, making him growl. Once he’s lying on his back, he eyes you warily, hungrily, taking in your bare form, glistening with the faint remnants of the oils.
“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”
”Just a little longer, I promise,” you tell him, scraping one manicured nail from the middle of his chest, down to the thin trail of hair leading down to his manhood. His towel is fighting for its life against his raging erection, and the sight makes you snicker earnestly. “I’m going to take this off now.”
You’re not surprised when he doesn’t object, and lets you peel away the soft terry cloth from his waist. His cock springs free, and it makes heat pool between your thighs, your skin warming, breath hitching. He’s always been a sight to behold, but it catches you off guard every time.
You suck in a sharp breath when his hand skirts up the back of your thigh until he’s gripping your ass, “Wanna take a ride?”
You laugh, nodding eagerly, but pressing a palm flat against his tummy instead, “Don’t worry, I will.”
Drizzling more oil along his chest and arms, you lean down to kiss him, concentrating on his biceps, shoulders, and chest before working your way down his abdomen. You massage the oil into his skin, enjoying the way his breath stutters and his groans amplify the closer you get to his cock. He’s so needy for touch, so eager to have you, his hips jut up when you press the ball of your hands against the tight muscles of his upper thighs.
“Fuck,” he grunts, keeping a tight hold on your ass, pulling you closer. His fingers are so close to your pussy, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet.
His cock twitches where it lays heavy and hard against his tummy, and you stand up straight while you work your hands over his strong thighs.
Despite your best efforts to focus your attention on him, you push your ass into his hand, allowing it to drift from your cheek to the heat between your thighs. He thumbs your clit delicately, making your movements falter.
“Touchin’ me made you this wet, sweetheart?” He asks, opening one eye to look up at you with that teasing glimmer he reserves just for you.
He strums your clit again, this time coating his fingers in your slick as you suck in a sharp breath. Your hands move up and down his thighs, inching closer to his cock. You allow your thumbs to brush against him as you work your hands up his body. He slips a finger into you and your resolve snaps.
Tracing a path back down to the muscles in his abdomen, you finally finally take his straining cock in hand and enjoy the deep, low rumble in his chest. As you twist your hand up and down his length, he adds a second finger, his hips adjusting, seeking more, greedy for your touch.
“I’ve missed you,” you whisper to him, making his eyes flutter open. The moment his lips lift in a tempting grin, you lean over and kiss him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers in your hair and keeps you there, his tongue hot and persistent, cock throbbing in your hand, and fingers working wonders on your cunt.
He deftly probes and twists, thumb lazily brushing your clit, somehow too much and yet not enough to make you cum. You gasp into his mouth, turning your lips to his neck and sucking, all while your hand works him into a keening mess. Precum beads at his tip and you smear it along his cock, working him a little faster until his breathing goes ragged.
You cry out in protest when he withdraws his hand and smacks your ass, “Lemme see those pretty lips around me, baby,” he grunts, and you press your thighs together, aching at the loss of him. But once your lizard brain catches up to what he’s said, your mouth waters at the thought of getting to suck him off. You don’t hesitate for a second. After nipping at his jaw, you kiss your way down his chest until you reach his cock.
First a flick of the tongue, your eyes darting up to see his darken to a near black that has your breath stuttering. Then you kiss the tip of him, before taking him into your mouth like a woman starved. Your head is fuzzy with lust, and you’re all action and sensation, laving at him with practiced ease while your pussy clenches around nothing.
He collects your hair in his fist, keeping it away from your face and adjusting his hips to give you better control. You hollow your cheeks, tongue swirling around the salty head of him, tracing the vein in his cock, teeth grazing just the way he likes.
“Goddamn, baby,” he drawls, his accent always thicker when he’s in the throes of arousal. “Takin’ me so good.”
You try to open your throat to him, but he’s too big to fit, so you keep one hand wrapped around his base and squeeze. The deeper you take him, the more breathless he becomes, his fingers tightening in your hair and his hips pushing up to meet you.
“Fuck,” he hisses, head thrown back. You bob on top of him, licking and sucking and squeezing just right, drawing a pathetic whine out of him that almost makes you laugh around him. Your mouth envelops him so completely, you think he might cum.
But with a firm tug, he pulls you off and barks, “You tryna’ kill me, woman? Get up here.”
With a devilish grin, you wipe the pre-cum from the corners of your mouth and suck it off your fingers. He smacks your ass, eyebrows drawn tight.
You know you’re both at your limit, so you climb on top of him and hover over his glistening cock. With his help, you position him at your entrance, his tip nudging your opening and pressing in just the smallest amount. He withdraws, using his tip to tease your clit before pushing back in. A fraction at a time, you sink onto him, nails pressing into his chest, head thrown back, the burn in your cunt so delicious you have to keep going.
“Joel,” you breathe, taking him inch by inch, his girth splitting you open. Your walls flutter around him once you’re fully seated; he’s so deep, you can feel him everywhere. Every pulse, every tremor, every shuddering breath.
“Deep breaths, baby,” he grunts, circling your clit briefly, making you cry out, “It’s been too fuckin’ long. Christ, you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”
You lift up, testing, aching, cloying pleasure almost making you double over. He moans, moving his hands to your hips to steady you, support you. “Too - too much.”
Shaking his head, he tightens his grip, “S’not too much. Just go slow for me, honey.”
You do. Your movements are slow and tentative at first as you reacquaint your body to his, taking him a little deeper each time you come back down. You’re soaking his cock, the slick of you making each breach easier and easier to take, walls fluttering, limbs near jelly with the way the satisfaction of having him settles over you.
“So big, baby,” you whimper, swiveling your hips, brushing your clit against him, nails digging into him. He groans, fingers tightening around you. He presses his head into the mattress, neck pillow long abandoned, as he watches you ride him.
“Look at you ridin’ me like a little temptress,” he grunts, making you gush around him. Fuck, you love it when he talks like that. “Takin’ my cock so good, baby. Told ya s’not too much. S’just been a while since I’ve gotten to fuck you right.”
The next time you come down, he bucks his hips and it knocks the breath out of you. You grip his wrists where he holds you and hang on for dear life.
“Pussy’s so fucking tight,” he grunts, pushing up against you impatiently, rutting and filling you with each drive of his hips. Your vision goes white with pleasure, and you convulse as he prods at that spot deep inside, sending you spiraling over the edge of sanity. You cry out his name, hunched forward as he continues pounding you from below, “That’s it, baby. Come all over my cock. I know you need it just as much as I do. Takin’ it so good, aren’t you? You’re such a good girl.”
His sweet, filthy words barely register as you quake on top of him, waves of pleasure making your head spin. His pace doesn’t relent, hips smacking into yours, punching the air right from your lungs. No longer able to keep yourself upright, you collapse on top of him.
“S’okay, sweet thing, I gotcha,” he grunts, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. The new angle is almost diabolical with the way it forces your clit against the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Each thrust makes you grind into him, his thick length plunging deeper, wiping any trace of coherent thought from your mind. You’re nothing but sensation and pleasure.
You can tell he’s close by the way his breathing changes, the desperation and speed of his thrusts. He’s fucking you so hard and so thoroughly, you know you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it.
“Cum for me, one more time, baby, I’m so close,” he breathes into your ear, one of his hands coming up to grip the back of your neck. You nibble and suck on him just below his jaw, his thrusts driving you toward another orgasm fast, your clit tingling with each pass of his hips.
“Joel Joel Joel,” you chant, crying out as your climax slams into you like a high speed train, whisking you away from reality. You’re dimly aware of his frantic thrusts growing rougher until warmth fills you, his own orgasm combining with yours to turn you both boneless, brainless, and blissed out.
He continues rolling his hips until he’s entirely spent, hand still in your hair, arm tucked firmly around your waist. His heaving chest lifts you with each breath, but it’s comfortable, listening to his racing heart, feeling the slickness of his body against you. After so many weeks without his comforting touch, you’re content to lie there on top of him until his back says otherwise.
It’s a long time before he speaks, chest reverberating under you, “Thank you for this, baby. You’re too good to me.”
“I just missed you,” you mutter, peppering kisses along his neck until you finally lift your head and reach his lips.
“I know,” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you and rolling you so you’re on your sides, his cock softening inside you, “‘M sorry. ‘M not gonna let this happen again. Can’t go that long without you.”
You nestle yourself against him, limbs pliant and reduced to jelly, unwilling to move, “I’ll have to start visiting you on site if it gets like that again.”
His low growl makes you snicker.
“Wear one of my little dresses. Short skirt, low cut. No panties,” you say, looking up at him thoughtfully. His eyes turn molten, and you feel him stir inside you. “Let you bend me over a stack of drywall.”
In one swift move, he has you pinned underneath him, one leg draped over his shoulder while he spreads the other wide. The sudden change makes you gasp, but your heart pounds in your chest, exhilarated, breath hitching. When he leans down, his voice is low, dangerous, warning.
Lips grazing yours he says, “Don’t make promises you aren’t willing to keep.”
Summary: Joel takes you on a date. And then he takes you home.
Pairing: Contractor!Joel Miller x Married!Reader
Warnings: Porn with some Plot?, unprotected piv (please for the love of god wrap it up), cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, Joel works for reader, adultery, but reader's husband cheated first so it doesn't count and i stand by that, divorce, Joel has a big dick, light choking, dom!Joel if you squint, reader is down bad for Joel, shitty marriage, 18+ only, reader is afab,
WC: 6k
A/N: Looks like I'm turning this into a mini series thanks to popular demand (by me, I kept thinking about this). thanks for reading pals :)
Part 1 | Ao3 | Masterlist
The chime of the doorbell makes your heart jump in your chest, the staccato rhythm picking up as you approach the front door.
After Joel had fucked you next to your pool, he gave you a kiss, left you there to sunbathe, and returned to the meticulous task of assembling your kitchen cabinets. You spent the entire time exchanging heated glances with him where you lay, still naked and reeling from being fucked so thoroughly.
This time, he made no attempt to hide his perusal of your body and it heated your skin more completely than the sun ever could.
By the time the sun began to dip behind the towering trees lining your property, he’d finished the cabinets and covered them with a canvas tarp to protect them overnight. You watched as he wiped his forehead with the end of this t-shirt, giving you a peak of his tummy. You licked your lips — something he quickly noticed even from across the yard.
Sauntering back over to you, he sat on the edge of the lounger and ran a hand from your hip, up your tummy and between your breasts before landing at your neck. His thumb circled your pulse point as he leaned over to kiss you.
“M’ gonna go home now, darlin’. Shower. Put something decent on. And then I’m comin’ right back. That sound good?” His voice was like gravel, deep and rough and it made your entire body tingle. It did sound good, but you wanted him to fuck you again.
All you could do was nod as he kissed you again and then helped you up. You wrapped yourself in your towel and took his hand as he guided you through the house. Your stomach fluttered as he brought those soft lips down to you again and kissed you goodbye.
It took you a long time to process everything that happened, and when you finally did, you couldn’t stop smiling. The thrill of dinner with Joel carried you on a cloud of anticipation as you showered, primped, prepped, and dressed in a baby blue sundress that reached the tops of your thighs, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline.
You even had time to paint your nails — a matching blue with small white polka dots.
Now, you bite down on your lower lip to stifle your smile as you open the door to find Joel on your front porch, a bouquet of pink, orange, and white wild flowers clasped in his large hand.
The corner of his lips tick up as you take each other in, his eyes roaming you hungrily, nostrils flaring at the sight of you. He doesn’t say anything yet, and you’re equally as speechless.
He’s swapped his dirty boots for a pair of worn but carefully maintained ones, his jeans black and faded instead of the ones he normally wears that are always covered in dust, paint, and plaster. His green button down brings out the hints of gold shimmering in his eyes, the top few buttons open and providing you a glimpse of his hard chest.
You don’t even want to go to dinner at this point, and it takes every ounce of self restraint you have to keep yourself from pouncing on him.
“You look gorgeous, darlin’” he rasps, voice quiet and low. It sends ripples of heat straight to your core. He steps forward to hand you the flowers, but something snaps between you and he’s wrapping you in a heated kiss before you even realize that you’re the one who leapt first.
He grunts as he presses you closer, one hand still holding the flowers while the other knots in your dress at your waist. He’s being respectful, not ripping your clothes to shreds or even touching your ass yet. But his tongue is right there, pushing past your lips and pulling a moan right from you.
Joel has the awareness to pull away before you do, breathing heavy, neck flushed with want.
“Gotta treat you to a nice meal before I fuck you again,” he reasons, setting the flowers onto the table by the door.
It’s sweet how he thinks you need that. Sweet that he knows you yearn for a little bit of romance. And even if there wasn’t the promise of him taking you home and fucking you senseless, you think you’d still love the idea of dinner with him.
Getting to know him. Opening him up and taking a peek at his thoughts. His wants. His needs. Giving him the same. You haven’t dated in years, but the thrill of it is still the same with one exception. You know he’s good and he’ll treat you right. You’re sure of it.
He nods behind him at the open door, the beat to shit red pick up parked on the street, engine sizzling, “After you.”
You can’t resist. You stretch up to kiss his chin, nipping with your teeth and snickering when he growls low in his chest. You snatch your clutch from the hook by the door and saunter out to the truck. He opens the door for you and helps you up to settle on the comfortable seat.
It’s surprisingly clean for a guy who works construction and likely tracks all kinds of debris into his vehicle daily.
“Cleaned it up real nice, just for you,” he says after climbing in and starting it.
Your skin heats, his thoughtfulness doing unspeakable things to you.
The drive is quiet, but comfortable. If there’s one person who knows how to exist in easy silence, it’s Joel. You like that about him. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the space with inane chatter. Like Jeremy. Always eager to hear the sound of his own voice.
When Joel parks outside a small Italian bistro, your grin widens. It’s quaint and out of the way, tucked behind a copse of trees that doesn’t make it immediately visible from the busy street if you aren't looking for it.
He helps you out of the truck and rests a hand at your lower back as he guides you inside. You can’t remember the last time you were treated with such care.
He tells the hostess his name and uses her momentary distraction to drop a kiss to your bare shoulder like it’s a habit he’s been waiting to fulfill. Your cheeks feel hot as you look up at him, his eyes twinkling in the dim candlelight of the restaurant.
The hostess confirms the reservation and takes you to your table. It’s an intimate place, small tables dispersed throughout the room, white table cloths, a small vase containing a single white rose on each one, warm, flickering candles decorating the room.
There are a handful of other couples already seated, relaxed, enjoying their meals. But you pay them no attention as he helps you take your seat and finally settles in across from you.
You can’t help but compare each and every one of his behaviors to Jeremy. You don’t want to, but you do. Jeremy would never pull your chair out. He’d never help you into the car. He’d never plan a romantic evening out. He’d never touch you the way Joel touches you.
He offers a tentative smile, tilting his head, “What?”
“Nothing,” you say, trying to fight the urge to beam at him. He may or may not be aware of just how thoroughly he’s romancing you.
He looks down at the menu, “How do you feel about wine?”
“Love it.”
“White?”
“Perfect.”
When your server flits by the table, he orders a bottle of Chardonnay that she quickly returns with to fill your glasses. The moment she steps away, you catch the amused glimmer in his eyes.
“So, you’re married. And I fucked you in your backyard.”
Very direct. Just as he was after he’d done it.
You almost choke on the wine, but are able to carefully arrange your features into a neutral, unbothered expression, “Yes.”
“He’s a piece of shit.”
It’s not a question or an assumption. He knows, heard Jeremy yelling at you the last time he was home, heard the derision in his voice, the malice. You nod.
“He cheated on you?”
Again, you nod, your eyes flashing with the briefest flicker of pain you’re unable to control. Even if your marriage had been failing long before you discovered Jeremy’s infidelity, it still hurts to know how deeply you’ve been betrayed.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, his voice soft and silken. He reaches across the table to thread your fingers together.
You want to climb into his lap and kiss him. His words are sincere, not placating, but genuinely apologetic about your husband’s indiscretions. About how it must make you feel.
“Don’t make it right – what we did,” he says quietly, “What we’re doin’.”
You take another measured sip of wine while you formulate your response, nodding slowly, “No. It doesn’t. Does that mean you don’t want to do it again?”
“Didn’t say that. Just said it ain’t right.”
The candle flickers across his expression, briefly illuminating the way his eyes have dilated, his lips tightening, his jaw ticks. You stare across at him, admiring the shape of his tension and the intensity of his gaze.
“Don’t know if I can stop myself now,” he admits.
You suppress a laugh, “Why? You seemed perfectly in control before I got naked and told you to touch me.”
That gets a low growl out of him, half grumble, half chuckle, “Tommy was there. Couldn’t very well go around flirtin’ and touchin’ you with him around. Anyway, he told me to stay away from you.”
You suck in a sharp breath, “Why?”
“You’re a client. Wouldn’t be right.”
“I think I can decide what’s right for me and what’s not,” you answer stubbornly, annoyed at Tommy’s intervention. Would Joel have fucked you sooner had Tommy not meddled? Probably not.
“Mm, I know, darlin’,” he says with an appraising nod. He sips his wine and purses his lips, disgruntled.
“We could’ve ordered something else,” you acknowledge, realizing he probably isn’t a wine drinker.
“‘S no trouble. You like it,” he says simply, forcing another sip.
That makes your chest ache, your need for him growing. Drinking something he doesn’t like just because you like it? Another point for Joel.
“So, Tommy is a meddler.”
Joel huffs, “Yeah. Always has been.”
“He told me to stay away from you too. Said you’re a grumpy old bastard,” you tell him.
His smile drops into a scowl, “I don’t care if he’s a brand new daddy, I’m gonna wring his neck.”
“Stop! Your niece or nephew can’t be fatherless!”
“Nephew. Benji. He’ll be alright. Better off, if I’m honest,” he grumbles. You know he doesn’t believe it, which makes it funnier.
You snicker into your glass, hidling your smirk just as the server approaches to take your orders. Joel looks across to you as you recite your selection. He orders the same and hands the menus to her with a gentle thanks.
“Big fan of ravioli?” You ask, resting your chin on your fist. “Would’ve pegged you for a steak kind of guy.”
He shrugs, “Ain’t no harm in tryin’ somethin’ new.”
“Hm, like fucking a client?”
“That’d be new, yes.”
“Is that so?”
His ears turn red at your inquisition, but he quickly settles his features into a calm, severe look as he leans forward to look at you properly, “Swear on my life. This is the first I’ve ever laid a hand on a client. Promise.”
Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod, satisfied with his answer. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. Were you unique? Does he do this with all his clients? He’s single, after all, according to Tommy.
“‘M I the first tradesman you’ve fucked?” He asks suddenly, making you blanch and laugh louder than what is appropriate in a tiny little restaurant like this. He grins, clearly very pleased with himself.
“Oh my god, yes. Jesus, Joel, don’t do that,” you gasp through your laughter.
Dinner is easy after that, relaxed and smooth with the difficult topic of your ill conceived exploits out of the way. He pours each of you another glass of wine, devours his ravioli, and smirks across at you as you run your heeled foot up his leg to tease him.
He plays with your fingers, his smile coy and shy despite having already fucked you within an inch of sanity. You finish the bottle of wine together, the alcohol warming your skin, cheeks hot with its effects, and with the way Joel makes you blush with his heated looks and dark eyes.
The candlesticks in the room shrink into nothing and soon, you and Joel are the only people left in the restaurant. When he realizes this, he signals for the check.
He’s a gentleman when he pays for your meal and helps you out of your chair. He’s a gentleman when he guides you out to the parking lot with a tender, warm hand on your lower back, then opens the truck door for you. But as you’re about to climb inside, he yanks you back, spins you around, and kisses you.
You lean up to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he clutches at your dress, tangling his fingers in it like he wants to lift the skirt and fuck you right here in the parking lot. You really wish he would. Don’t really care who sees. You’ve been aching for him since he left you lying naked and trembling by your pool.
“You’re trouble,” he mutters, your back hitting the side of the truck, “Wearin’ this skimpy little dress. Lookin’ prettier than anythin’ I’ve ever seen.”
His beard scrapes against your cheek as he plunders your lips, tongue seeking yours while his hips pin you in place. You can feel the hard outline of him through his jeans and you shudder at the thought of sucking him off as he drives you home.
Despite his fervor, he doesn’t lift you up and fuck you against his truck in the parking lot of a little Italian bistro regardless of how desperately you want it.
Eventually, he tears himself away from you and offers you a heated look before finally helping you into the truck. His hand remains firmly planted on your thigh the entire drive home, his fingers steadily creeping upward each time your hips shift.
”Patience, darlin’,” he chastises, giving you a warning look as he drives toward your home.
The moment he parks in the driveway, you don’t wait for him to open your door like the gentleman he’s been all night. You hear him chuckle as he follows you up to the front door, wiggling your ass a little just for his benefit.
As you fumble in your purse for your keys, he stands a respectable distance behind you, hands tucked in his pockets so the urge to paw at you doesn’t hinder your hunt. You find the keys, get the door unlocked, and skip inside like the excited little minx you know you are. He chuckles again.
“Someone’s eager,” he rumbles, shutting the door behind him and finally reaching for you.
Your purse gets tossed aside as your arms come up around his neck, his lips finding yours like a homing missile. He shuffles you in the direction of the stairs until your ankles hit the bottom step. Since he’s been working on your house for the better part of three months, he’s become intimately acquainted with its layout, making it easy for him to navigate while he guides you along and turns your legs to jelly.
In a stunning display of brute strength, he lifts you up, hooking your legs around his waist so he can carry you up the stairs. You break apart with a gasp and clutch his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands under your ass, powerful legs climbing higher.
“Nothing,” you squeak, instantly soaked at the ease with which he carries you. What girl doesn’t want to be whisked away and fucked within an inch of her life by the rugged handyman building her house? You’re a simple girl with simple needs that he’s extremely adept at handling.
His lips curve into a smile that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
He doesn’t set you down until he crosses the threshold to your bedroom, his lips on yours again, this time tender and slow like he’s trying to savor you. It weakens your knees and your fingers curl into his shirt to hang on.
“You understand what this means, don’t you?” He asks, big, strong arms curling around your waist while he backs you toward the bed.
You look up at him with wide, curious eyes, his meaning unclear.
“If I fuck you in this bed. In your house…” he lowers his head, lips brushing your ear, breath hot on your cheek, voice dripping with power, “You’re mine.”
Your entire body shudders at the possessiveness soaking his words. You were a goner the moment he laid his hands on you.
You nod, fingers curling in his shirt, “Yours.”
He lunges then, capturing your lips, sinking his tongue between them, devouring you wholly and completely. His big arms wrap around you, pressing you closer, making you whimper into him as he guides you toward the bed. Before you can fall onto its surface, his fingers find the zipper at your back and tugs.
He slips the straps off your shoulders and lets the dress fall to your ankles, leaving you bare apart from the scrap of lace covering your pussy. Joel breaks the kiss and takes a step back to admire you.
“Darlin’, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he growls, eyes dark and hungry as they take you in. With one, thick finger, he skims a path from your belly button up to your chin, stopping briefly to play with each of your nipples before continuing on. He lifts your chin gently, assessing the way your breathing changes, lips swollen from his kisses, thighs squeezing together, “Your husband fuck you in this bed yet?”
Once Joel and Tommy had completed the renovation of your upstairs, you had opted to redecorate the space with all new furniture, art, accents, everything – mattress included. You’d only slept next to your husband once since then. And he hadn’t touched you. Not a single graze of flesh, or a tender caress.
Shaking your head, you bite your lip, “No. He hasn’t fucked me in over a year.”
Joel’s eyes flash, something dark and dangerous in them that makes your thighs clench, “That right?”
”Too busy fucking his secretary,” you admit, leaning into his touch, his thumb tracing your plump lower lip. Your tongue darts out for a taste.
He allows it, and then grips your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting his head, “You usin’ me to get back at him?”
You can tell by the question that he doesn’t like the idea of that. That he’s just some pawn in a battle between you and Jeremy. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. You shake your head, eyes softening.
”No, no, I promise. I want you, Joel,” you whisper, fists still clenched in his shirt as you press yourself against him, “I don’t care about getting back at him. I just want him gone.”
”You send your divorce papers yet?”
“Tomorrow. First thing, my lawyer will serve them.”
”Good girl,” he says lowly, giving you a brief kiss, “You still think fuckin’ me while you’re still married is a good idea?”
You nod, “Yes, I need it, Joel,” you whine, feeling the slick between your legs, the soaked fabric of your panties rubbing against you, “I need you.”
“You need to get fucked?” He nips at your chin, then moves down to your neck, making your legs weaken, “You need your pussy filled to the brim?”
Speechless, you nod frantically, hands flattening on his chest as he takes your waist and turns you to putty with his lips on your throat. “Please…”
”Alright, darlin’, lie back for me,” he grumbles, peeling himself away from you and helping you lie on the bed. When you position yourself in the center, he clicks his tongue and takes you by the thighs to pull your hips to the edge of the bed. Joel drops to his knees, and your stomach does a flip. “Need to taste this sweet little pussy before I fuck you.”
You’re not complaining.
His thumbs hook at the hem of your panties and he drags them down your legs slowly, your entire body lit with anticipation and a fresh wave of desire.
With his wide hands, he spreads your thighs gently, peppering kisses along your skin and inching his way methodically up to your center. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, hips lifting in search of any sort of contact. It seems Joel isn’t in the mood for teasing today, because after parting your folds with his thumbs, he drags a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your pussy.
He groans into you, your body overcome with sensation as he does it again. And again, and again, and again.
“Taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby,” he says, moving his hands to your hips to pull you further toward the edge of the mattress.
He drinks you in like a man possessed, his tongue strumming your clit effortlessly and drawing out the most pathetic noises from the back of your throat. You writhe and arch, his movements slow and precise as he licks you. Your toes curl, fingers digging into his mess of curls. Fuck, he’s good.
He uses his tongue on you like he can’t get enough of the taste of you. Like he’s been desperate to make you cum on his tongue all evening. And maybe he has been. Maybe it’s all he’s thought about, because you know damn well it’s all you’ve thought about.
Before you can even register anything else, two, thick fingers press into you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out.
Joel lifts his head and scowls, “What are you doing?”
You blink, hips moving to the slow, steady stroke of his fingers, “I — I —“
“Nuh uh, I wanna hear those pretty little sounds you make. You understand?” He asks, voice hard and stern like you’ve made a grave mistake.
You nod, whimpering a little when he crooks his fingers just right.
“Words, baby. Use your words,” he rasps, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” you insist, letting loose a sound that would make a porn star blush when he starts pumping his fingers steadily. His tongue is back on you, and in the next instant, you’re careening toward your orgasm.
Your skin is hot and your blood electric in your veins as you cum, a strangled moan puncturing the quiet of your bedroom. Joel grunts into your pussy and licks and laps at your release until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore. You’re still trembling when he pulls his fingers from you and moves up your body to give you a kiss.
Tasting yourself on his lips, you let out a faint sigh, pulling at the buttons on his shirt and pushing it off. His tongue is heaven on your pussy, but infinitely more devious when it slips between your lips. It’s dirty and slow, like he’s building you up just to shatter you again and again. Your entire body still tingles with the aftermath of your climax.
Your hips lift against him, clit scraping against denim. His cock is hard in the confines of his jeans, and all you want is for him to be inside you.
With searching hands, you map out the contours of his muscles, built slowly over time by his craft. His tummy is soft, but underneath, you feel his muscles clench as your fingers continue their perusal.
As much as you enjoy kissing him, you need him to fill you up, so you begin the delicate task of undoing his jeans and shoving them down his hips. They’re barely down past his ass when you arch up again, and dig your nails into his lower back to get him closer. His cock is thick and heavy against your pussy, making you both groan.
“So fuckin’ needy,” he growls, pushing his hips against you and creating a friction so overwhelming you swear it’ll make you cum if he does it again.
All you can do is nod, because you are. You need him so bad, you think you’ll die if you don’t get him inside you soon.
He grinds against you again, the underside of his cock stimulating your overworked clit. You squeal, arching into him, both somehow seeking more and less at the same time. Joel takes your hip in his large hand, thumb pressing into you to still your movements.
“Ask nicely, darlin’.”
It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with his words. You sound needy when you say it. Desperate and fucked out. “Please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I need it so bad.”
The sentence hasn’t even fully left your lips before he pushes into you with a low growl. Once he’s seated with the coarse hairs at his base nestled against you, he flexes his hips, pushing just a bit deeper until there’s nowhere else to go. You’re so full of him, aching as he settles against you, his girth splitting you wide open.
Your nails rake down his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, honey,” he hisses into your ear, withdrawing an inch and pushing back in. “Fuck.”
Under your hands, his muscles tremble with either the effort of holding himself over you, or with the restraint of not fucking into you like you want him to. Either way, you’re flattered and tilt your hips to take him deeper.
“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he warns, pushing his hips against you and making you gasp at the intrusion. Your walls flutter around him, practically screaming at him to move, pussy leaking with your arousal, “Ain’t bein’ polite.”
“S-sorry,” you whimper, nails digging into his lower back, “I need –”
“What do you need?”
“Need you to move, Joel, please fuck me,” you beg, sounding so pathetic to your own ears, you almost cringe. But the slow smile and jut of his hips makes you forget in an instant.
“Yeah? Need me to wreck this pretty little pussy?” He hums, the low vibrato of his voice sending you into another simpering fit as you try to move your hips against him. “Careful.”
He gives you a hard kiss before sitting up to tower over you, knees braced on the edge of the bed as his hands roam your body. The steady shift of his cock inside you has slowly eased the ache, but you need more. He feels so big, your cunt practically drools around him.
“You’ve got such good manners, baby,” he huffs, arms hooking under your thighs to lift you higher, pushing his cock deeper. Your hands fly out to cling to the comforter, eyes hazy as he withdraws and pushes in again, so fucking slowly it’s driving you crazy. It’s the same position he took you on the lounger by the pool, the same heavy stare, the same dark look and powerful body looming over you.
When speech evades you, he simply smiles and adjusts you again before he begins a steady, rhythmic pace that’s both hard and easy all at once. His hips smack into you, before he slowly withdraws, then fucking into you again like he’s trying to make you cum on force alone. And it’s working.
Each push of his hips elicits a little gasp from you and a spark of arousal pulsing through you. Sweat gleams on his forehead with the effort of his control, so you’re not surprised when he abandons his subdued pace in favor of quicker, deeper thrusts.
“Takin’ my cock so good,” he grunts, pulling you up higher, “You gonna cum on it like a good girl?”
You nod frantically, already on your way to your own undoing. When his thumb circles your clit and his cock hits you just right, your vision goes dark and your back arches. Your moans are obscene and loud, and you’re certain your neighbors can hear the way you scream for him. But you don’t care. The pleasure coursing through you crests while he fucks you through your orgasm, his groans faint and labored.
The moment you come down, he pulls out, making you suck in a sharp breath at the loss. He flips you onto your stomach while he lies prone on top of you and pants into your ear, “This sweet little pussy is gonna be the death of me, baby.”
In one, brutal thrust, he’s back inside you, making your back arch against him. He takes the opportunity to wrap a large hand around your neck, holding you up as he takes his own pleasure and gives you everything in return. Even after two orgasms, the size of him burns through you, fire coiling tight in your belly with each plunge.
Your walls clench around him and he growls into your ear, his breath hard. His lips find your throat and he grunts with each push, “Tryn’ to make me cum before I’m ready to be done with you, darlin’?”
You shake your head, voice broken and barely there, like he’s fucked the will right out of you, “No… no, I swear.”
His fingers squeeze around your neck, not enough to cut off your air supply, but the pressure is there, and it’s exquisite. His pace is relentless, his cock so deep, filling you so completely, all you can do is writhe and cry under him. A large hand lands on your ass as he growls into your ear, “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
You don’t even hesitate, not for a second, “You, it’s yours. It belongs to you.”
“What belongs to me?”
“My p-pussy,” you cry out, another crack of his palm against your ass. “Joel…”
“I gotcha, baby,” he breathes into your ear, his beard scraping your cheek, lips and teeth adding sensation to your skin as his cock stretches you out. His restraint snaps then, and he begins pounding into you with a force that makes your eyes roll back into your head and your entire body lock up. “That’s it, honey. I know you’re about to cum. Give it to me.”
It’s remarkable how quickly he’s become attuned to your body and its signals. He adjusts his hips, pushing deeper, harder, faster than what he should be capable of. His breath ragged in your ear, muscles tight against your back, cock dragging in and out of you. When he releases your neck, you slump to the bed, only for him to plant his hand next to you, while the other sneaks underneath you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.
It undoes you so quickly, you scream into the sheets, hips pushing against him as you cum. Your climax washes over you so completely, you think you lose consciousness for several seconds. You’re nothing but sensation and bliss.
His deep growl reaches your ears, breaths coming in short bursts as he fucks you through it, “Fuck, feels so good. Pussy is grippin’ me nice and tight baby. I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum inside me,” you plead, words muffled by the bedding. You can feel him trembling above you, holding himself back, and then a rush of warmth as he fills you, cumming with a bone shattering groan that makes your entire body tingle. You love the way he sounds, love that you can do this to him. Wreck him just as thoroughly as he wrecks you.
His thrusts slow, then ease to a stop, and he bends over you to kiss along your shoulder and down your back until he’s withdrawing from you completely. A quiet whimper leaves you, devastated at the loss.
After wiping up the mess you two had made, Joel settles in bed next to you, drawing you against his chest and giving you a tender kiss. It’s slow and thoughtful and lingering. There’s no intent behind it other than to claim and cherish.
“I can’t stay,” he says when he pulls away, “Gotta be up early for a job tomorrow.”
You sigh and nestle deeper, chasing his lips, “I don’t want you to go.”
“Mm, I don’t either. But my client is extremely demanding. Gotta get to the site on time to make her happy,” he mutters, tongue swiping against you. Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as he pulls away with a smile, “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Stay a little while longer?”
He answers by pulling the sheets around the both of you, his arms cradling you against him despite the sweat you’ve both worked up. Joel kisses you again, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck.
He’s warm and solid against you, his breathing heavy and deep, but you know he’s not asleep yet.
“Joel?”
“Mm?”
“Are you gonna tell Tommy?” You ask, not out of fear or hesitancy, but simple curiosity. If he tells his brother, what will that convey about the two of you?
He lifts his head to peek down at you and arches an eyebrow, “Do you want me to?”
You shrug, truly unsure. You’re still married. He’s still technically working for you, and you’re not sure what this means for either of you.
“Don’t see that it’s any of his business. But I meant what I said earlier. I don’t do shit half way, darlin’. This ain’t some game to me,” he tells you, resting on his elbow to look down at you. You look up at him with wide, glimmering eyes, “You either want this, or you don’t. But you better tell me soon so I –”
“I like you too,” you blurt, cutting him off so he doesn’t spiral. You’re growing accustomed to his directness. He doesn’t want to play mind games like some men. Doesn’t want to string you along. It’s refreshing. “I – I don’t want to tell Tommy, though. Not until you’re done… working for me.”
A sly smile creeps onto his face, “You don’t want him to know I’m fuckin’ the boss?”
“No!” Your skin heats and you bring the sheet up to hide your embarrassment, “It’ll look like I’m taking advantage of you.”
“Darlin’, if anyone’s takin’ advantage, it’s me,” he chuckles, pulling the sheet down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Saw you walkin’ around in those skimpy little outfits and couldn’t help myself.”
“I didn’t exactly give you a choice, Joel. I basically stripped naked and threw myself at you.”
“Still,” he shrugs, “Could’ve said no.”
You look up at him with a slight smile, his eyes warm and gentle, softened in the dull light of the bedroom lamp, “Glad you didn’t.”
He smiles back. “Me too.”
The next morning, you wake to an email from your lawyer telling you that the papers have been delivered to Jeremy. He was confused and pissed off, but it’s done. The weight of it shifts something in you, the relief burning at your eyes.
Joel left sometime during the night, but you wish you could reach for him, celebrate with him, kiss him. Because of him, your life has changed drastically in the past twenty-four hours. You want to thank him.
You get the chance to do just that over the course of the next few days, kissing him when he arrives to work on your house for the day, sitting in his lap while he eats lunch, begging him to fuck you before he leaves for the evening. It’s pure bliss, and for the first time in years, you feel something dangerously close to happiness. Something Jeremy hasn’t given you in so long, you forgot what it felt like.
You should’ve known, then, that it would all come crashing down.
