The fact that this ever was an issue in the first place is insane. The Constitution is clear, yet we have a President who decided to defy the law and a Judiciary who very nearly overturned an amendment.
"Why can't Trump be impeached" because the democrats don't control the house or the senate. "Why doesn't the Supreme Court stop him" well the lower courts are stopping him but he stacked the Supreme Court in his first term. "Why can't they do the 25th amendment" because that requires the president to be basically unconscious. "When will congress do something" probably in January when the new congress comes in if the democrats pick up a lot of seats in the midterms
I got a 4 min long video of Kimchi dreaming today, so here's a clip
You get the whole walk cycle and the little sprint at the end.
Sometimes her sprints last for like 4 or 5 seconds and she can shoot herself off the couch or into a wall if she gets a grip with her back claws. If she does it next to a wall, her head smacking into it sounds like someone is trying to break into the house. She doesn't wake up.
Later in the dream she injured her paw and was limping, and earlier she caught something and ate it.
I love how Zohran Mamdani is wearing a suit everywhere. And if he has anything else he puts it ON TOP of the suit. A basketball jersey. A high-vis vest. All worn over the suit. Heâs like the mayor character in a cartoon whoâs always dressed as The Mayor. If I didnât know who he was and he biked past me in NYC Iâd be like holy shit was that the mayor
Summary:Â In a camp where survival depends on silence and obedience, you hide in the supplies tent, trying to outrun the shadow of the man who once pulled you out of the woods and claimed you as his own. But when a cruel voice cuts too deep and old wounds split open, you retreat to the only place you can fall apart unseenâonly to find Joel stepping into the dark after you, his presence a reminder of the bond you shouldnât want, and the one you canât seem to break.
Warnings:Â 18+, smut, fluff, fauxcest, taboo dynamics, daddy kink, reader calls Joel dad, ddlg themes, age gap (20s and 60s), dom!daddy!joel, praise kink, pinv, nipple pinching/rubbing, clit rubbing, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, squirting (once), finger sucking, pet names, joel calls reader bambi, little fawn and little one, kinda icky, insecure!reader, sub!reader, outbreak
A/N: Okey⊠if you donât like things like this, I gently encourage you to just scroll or block me. This isnât even the most taboo or âickyâ thing out there, but fandoms are really falling apart right now because of censorship and peopleâs inability to differentiate fiction from reality. So many writers are deactivating or taking their fics down, and itâs honestly really sad. If you enjoy this, the best way to support fic writers is by leaving a comment or a reblogâit helps to keep the fandom alive while everything feels like itâs crumbling. Anyways...I really hope yall enjoy this pookies!! <3
It was all a big, fucking mess.
Missing clothes darped haphazardly over boxes like ghosts of forgotten wardrobesâsocks unpaired and with holes in them, jackets with messy hems spilling from open bags, and shirts crumpled into balls that might have once shielded someone from the biting chill.
You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.
Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readinessâa rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fearâtightened hands.Â
The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice.Â
You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch.Â
And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor.Â
Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root.Â
But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.
The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed.Â
A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.
"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at thisâhalf the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."
It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste.Â
You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escapedâa soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying toâ" before it died on your lips.Â
Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time. Â
You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.
And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep."Â
The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment.Â
But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl.Â
He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.
When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire.Â
He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.
Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.
 Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.
"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're goneâout there with the infected and the dead."
The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his ownâor something dangerously close to even more?
Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said.Â
You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.
As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."
He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.
Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark.Â
But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.
The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured.Â
Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.
"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Liviaâcheck the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy."Â
The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck.Â
Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through himâno one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else.Â
Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips.Â
"Billy, you reinforce the watchtowerâthose boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."
His hands moved with practiced efficiencyâclapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically thereâhis presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again.Â
Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.
His girl.Â
The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor.Â
If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right thenâpushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away.Â
But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.
The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips. Â
It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.
Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted youâa huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter.Â
Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chestâa fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.
He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame.Â
"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."
With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient campâa trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on.Â
The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths.Â
One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.
"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"
Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.
You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender.Â
Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips.Â
"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond.Â
Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.
Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence.Â
He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were  crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand.Â
One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."
The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever.Â
He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for youâthe father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.
But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden.Â
One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll.Â
Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed himâa small brush of lips that slowly but surely  bloomed into hunger.Â
"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing.Â
Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for yearsâpeeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.
He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you.Â
"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.
His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought.Â
In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release.Â
Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt.Â
And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journeyâyour body marked by his touch, heart entwined with hisâhe envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess.Â
"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."
But rumours started to spread like wildfireÂ
on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built.Â
Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal.Â
Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."
The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstoodâa weirdo in a world that already judged harshly.Â
So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.
Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularlyâslipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession.Â
Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.
As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of youâvulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew.Â
He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.
-
As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones.Â
He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour.Â
His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tentâlarger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.
He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he?Â
The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himselfâa sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes.Â
Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasureâan old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet momentsâall of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges.Â
Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest.Â
Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut.Â
What if you turned him away?Â
What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge?Â
He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession.Â
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.
"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."
The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.
Your eyesâthose sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him inâwere rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret.Â
How dare anyone reduce you to thisâhis girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?
"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice.Â
You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass.Â
The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter.Â
Joel knew your habits intimatelyâhow you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality.Â
"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."
Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed.Â
He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.
"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever."Â
You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger.Â
Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.
"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.
"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that."Â
The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.
Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.
"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur.Â
You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chestâan echo of warmth now soured by shame.
"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit."Â
His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.
You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understandingâof how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream.Â
He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.
"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Godâthat's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."
"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.
"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."
He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek.Â
"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitchâit was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."
You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise. Â
"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.
Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.
"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will."Â
His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.
You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a  pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you.Â
With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his handsâthose rough, capable hands of his that built your worldâand guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.
Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding.Â
Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss.Â
"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."
His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.
You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide.Â
His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly.Â
He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cockâfollowed by the shattering release of orgasmsâcould reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.
"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts.Â
He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy.Â
"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines.Â
You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his.Â
"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.
Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected.Â
He wouldn't dream of denying youânever.Â
This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion.Â
"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone.Â
The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you.Â
With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouthâthis time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul.Â
"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."
His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit.Â
"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."
He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.
"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin.Â
"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger.Â
Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble.Â
The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate.Â
"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.
Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand.Â
The dual sensation overwhelmed youâmouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touchâyour mind traveling further into that blissful subspace.Â
Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love.Â
"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."
The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence.Â
Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too muchâm'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.
"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dadâjuuuust like that, baby." he cooed.
Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat.Â
Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before himâcheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze.Â
Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.
"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me."Â
"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness.Â
He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cockâ thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need.Â
"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."
You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light.Â
He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dipsâin just the head, then out, coating himself in your slickâeach withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you.Â
"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.
He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyondâlet them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.
Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.
"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."
He built a comfortable rhythm just for you thenâslow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.
"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."
You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.
"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."
He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never falteringâfilthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.
"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.
"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.
The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.
"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."
You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.
Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.
The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.
"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'monâtaste how good we are together, focus on dad."
You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.
Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your bodyâforehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin.Â
"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."
He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace.Â
"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."
And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.
Finally.Â
I donât know if I like this or not⊠I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit âpoetic,â but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didnât know how else to write them, and Iâm sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.
Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and Iâm really excited to see what yâall say. <3
Summary: Daddy Joel knows how much your period hurts you. So he takes you to the strawberry field he found. He carries you when your legs give out, feeds you berries one by one, wipes the juice from your chin with his thumb. All he wants is to make you feel better, to remind you that you're his sweet, whiney girl.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, FAUXCEST, huge age gap (60s and 20s), daddy!joel, ddlg undertones, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, slight breeding, praise kink, spitting into mouth, slight food play, slight cum/period eating, clit rubbing, period sex, secret relationship, idk how much it makes sense that strawberries exist after the outbreak but
A/N: guess who had strawberries AND her period in this heat? đ„” i was craving some dada joel and some ickiness sooo...ALSO im currently writing a lot of requests (bc they've been sitting in my inbox for agesđ«Ł) and one of them is sleazy!joel hehe. As usual: if you don't like something you can just scroll and block me. I hope yall enjoy this one pookies <333
Joel had a surprise for you.
He lied to Maria, the Guards and even to his own brother Tommy.Â
"Got some scoutin' to do," he told them. "Won't be long."
And once you two were out of Jackson, he slowed. His hand moved from yours to the small of your back, guiding you through the tall grass.Â
But the last half mile had been rough. You've been whining under your breath, one hand pressed to your lower belly, the ache a dull, stubborn throb that pulsed down into your thighs.
The walk had begun to feel endless, every step a small betrayal as you dragged your feet through the wild grass, letting out a little huff of complaint.Â
"JoelâŠwhere are we goin'?" you whine, your voice thin and pitiful.
He doesn't answer, just keeps walking ahead, his broad back a quiet wall of patience. The afternoon light catches the gray in his hair, and you watch the way his shoulders move under his flannel. He's carrying a small canvas sack, but you don't know what's in it.
"Dad," you try again, letting the syllable stretch into a whimpering plea, knowing the name gets him.Â
He glances back, and his eyes are soft, the corners crinkling. "Hush now, sweet girl. We're almost there."
You let out a dramatic sigh, but you keep walking.Â
Your underwear is already damp with blood again, the fresh pair with a slip he helped you into earlier felt already too sticky. You remember the way he knelt in front of you in your little room, his big hands gentle as he peeled off the stained panties, knowing you're embarrassed. "That's alright, honey. S'just your body. Nothin' to be ashamed of." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your hipbone, then another to the swell of your belly, and you'd felt the tension crack open, just a little.
The first thing anyone noticed about Joel Miller was his rough edges; knuckles permanently shadowed by old scars, deep-set furrow of his eyebrows. A voice that could drop into gravel and command a room by sound alone.
But you...you noticed his soft edges.Â
Maybe it was the way his fingers moved with a deliberate gentleness on your skin. Pressing a warm hand on your belly. Smoothing back your hair when you dozed off against his shoulder. The way he cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
Or maybe the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that kept him grounded in this God abandoned world.Â
You noticed it first, when you called him 'dad'.
It slipped out, honestly.Â
You were curled in his lap after a nightmareâsomething about clickers, about teeth, about the cold. He had held you, rocked you, murmured soft, sweets words into your hair. And you had looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks and said, "Thanks, Dad."
His hands had stilled. His eyes gone dark and soft and hungry all at once. He didn't correct you. He just kissed your forehead and said, "Anytime, bun."Â
Later, when he was on top of you, cock hard against your thigh, he growled (or begged) for you to "Say it again," and you did.
But nobody needed to know, of course.Â
What would everyone say? A sixty year old, together with a woman whose youth made him feel almost ancient.Â
And oh, how much he tried to forget your face, to ignore your touch, to dismiss his feelings for you.Â
You were too young to remember the world before, too soft, too sweet. He said that as if it was an accusation, but his eyes said something else.
Now you're outside, and the world smells of earth and green, and you're following him like a child, trusting blindly.
Halfway up a small rise, you stop, leaning over with your hands on your knees. "Can't," you breathe. "Cramps are real bad."
Joel turns, and there's no impatience in his face, only that steady, watchful tenderness that makes your chest ache.Â
He walks back to you, and without a word, he crouches, one hand reaching for your wrist, pulling you gently towards his back. "C'mon. I got you."
You don't argue.Â
You climb onto his back, your thighs wrapping around his waist, your arms looped over his shoulders. He stands easily, one hand cupping your ass, the other holding the sack. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing that comforting smell he has.Â
The sway of his walk is hypnotic, and your cramps start to ease slightly with the steady motion.
"You're so good to me," you murmur against his skin, pouting.Â
"S'what daddies do, peanut." His voice is a low rumble, the vibration felt more than heard.
He carries you for what feels like forever, until the path opens into a small clearing. You lift your head, and your breath catches.
Strawberries.Â
A whole patch of them, sprawling over the ground like a spilled paint of red and green. The vines are tangled, the berries fat and gleaming, some half-hidden under leaves. The sun falls directly on them, and the scent rises upâsweet, earthy, soft.Â
It's impossible, a tiny miracle in this broken world, a secret pocket of something beautiful.
"Joel," you whisper, your voice thick with wonder.
He sets you down carefully, and you stand there, staring.Â
"Found it last spring," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. "Thought youâdâŠI dunno. Like it." You didnât give him time to second-guess itâjust threw your arms around his neck, pressing sticky kisses to his stubbled jaw until he huffed and swatted your ass. "Quit it. Pick some before the birds do."
You let out a soundâsomething between a gasp and a laugh and you immediately dropped to your knees in the middle of the patch, the soft soil giving way, the leaves brushing your knees.Â
You plucked a strawberry, fat and crimson, and bought it to your mouth. The first bite is a burst of sun and sugar, juice running down your chin, and you moan, closing your eyes.
Joel chuckles, a low, warm sound. "That good, huh?"
You don't answer.Â
You're already reaching for another, and another, stuffing them into your mouth, the red juice dripping over your fingers, staining the front of your dress.Â
The sweetness floods your tongue, and for a moment, the cramps, the heaviness, the embarrassment of earlierâall of it just fades.Â
You're just a girl eating strawberries in a field, and your daddy found this for you.
He settles down across from you, legs crossed, watching you with an expression of pure, quiet adoration.Â
"Messy girl," he coos.
You look up at him, your lips smeared red, your hands sticky. You grin, a wild, happy grin. "Dad. Open your mouth."
He raises an eyebrow but complies, his lips parting slightly. You pick a perfect berry, hold it up to his mouth, and press it gently past his lips. He bites down, and you feel the slight brush of his teeth on your fingertips. You giggle, pulling your hand back, but he catches your wrist, sucking the juice off your fingers with a slow, gentle pull.
Heat flares low in your belly, a different kind of ache.
"Gonna bite your hand off if you ain't careful, bunny." he murmurs, his eyes darkening.
"Don't you dare," you say, but your voice is breathy.
He lets your hand go, and you pop another strawberry into your own mouth, chewing slowly, watching him. Your dress is hiked up a little from kneeling, the hem bunched around your thighs.Â
You're not wearing a bra (you never do when you're with him) and the thin cotton of the dress clings to the curve of your breasts.Â
You feel his gaze travel down, lingering, and then a slow smile spreads across his face.
"Lemme see, babygirl."Â
Your heart stutters. "DadâŠ"
"C'mon. Just a peek."
He leans forward, his fingers hooking into the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by inch. The air kisses your thighs, your belly. You shiver, but you don't stop him.Â
His eyes drop to the patch of white cotton between your legs, the damp spot visible, pale pink. He hums, low and appreciative.Â
"So pretty," he breathes, and then he's leaning in, pressing his mouth to the inside of your knee, then higher, his lips brushing fire along your skin.Â
You forget about your strawberries. You forget about everything. Your head falls back, a small moan escaping your lips.
His fingers find the waistband of your panties, sliding under, brushing through the soft curls. You gasp, the touch electric, and then he cups you, his palm warm and firm, pressing against the ache.
"Daddy," you whisper, your voice small. "S'full of blood. It'sâŠmessy."
He looks up at you, his mouth still against your thigh. "Don't give a damn, honeybun. You think I care about a little blood?" He shakes his head slowly, his eyes holding yours. "You're my sweet girl. Every part of you. Even the messy bits."
Your cheeks flush red.Â
Then he shifts, laying you back on the grass, the ground soft and cool under you.Â
The strawberry vines brush your arms, the leaves tickling your skin. He moves between your thighs, settling his weight over you, and you feel the length of him pressing against your hip, hard even through his jeans.Â
"Let's make you feel even better, huh?" he asks, his voice a low, rough whisper.
You nod, your mouth dry.
He strokes your hair away from your face, his thumb tracing your jaw. "Are you gonna let dad see your pretty pussy?"
The words send a shiver through you, a wet heat pooling deeper than the cramping. You nod again, your eyes half-lidded, already sinking into that warm, foggy space where there's only him, only daddy.
He lifts the hem of your dress higher, bunching it around your ribs, and then he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulls them down slowly, deliberately. The damp cotton slides over your hips, your thighs, and then he's lifting your legs to slip them free. The air hits your cunt,  cool and tingling, and you feel the slow, thick trickle of blood sliding down to the grass. A sensation that would make you flinch if it was anyone else.
But it's Joel.Â
He looks down at you, at the smear of red on your inner thighs, the way the ground beneath you darkens. He makes a sound, soft and almost reverent. "Look at you," he murmurs. "Bleedin' into the grass."
Your face heats. "DaddyâŠ"
"Shh, baby. S'beautiful." He leans down and kisses your soft belly, just above the mound of your cunt.Â
Then he's unbuckling his belt, pushing his jeans and briefs down just enough for his cock to jump free, already thick and flushed, the head glistening with pre-cum.Â
You watch him stroke himself once, twice, his eyes fixed on you, nodding as if he is counting his strokes.Â
"Tell me if it's too much," he says, but his voice is thick, and you know he's as desperate as you are.
He lines himself up, and you feel the blunt pressure at your entrance, warm and heavy. Then he pushes in, and the sensation is a shockâtight, wet, the blood acting as a slick, silky glide. You gasp, your fingers digging into the grass. Your body clenching around him, the fullness making you dizzy.
"Dad, ohâ"
"I know, I know," he hushes, stroking your hair, his forehead pressed to yours. "Let go, honey. Let daddy in."
He pushes deeper, the squelching sound is loud in the quiet field, obscene but intimate. The blood and the wetness and the heatâit all blends together into that perfect, cozy feeling.Â
That feeling only Joel could give you.
He starts to move, slow, deep thrusts that rock your whole body, the ground beneath you soft and yielding.
"Somebody'll see us," you whimper, but the words come out as a moan.
He shakes his head, his breath hot against your cheek. "Cleared the whole area before. It's not patrol time. Just us, baby bun. Just you and me."
He picks up a strawberry from where it fell, pressing it to your lips. You open, bite down, the juice running down your chin. He leans in, his mouth catching yours, and he swallows the bite from your lips, his tongue sliding against yours.Â
As he pulls back, you see him gather a bit of spit and juice in his mouth, and when he opens, he lets it drip into yours.Â
"Swallow," he murmurs, and you do. "That's my girl."Â
His cock is a steady, dragging pressure inside you, sliding against that deep spot that makes your toes curl. Your hands find his chest, clutching his flannel, and you arch into him, desperate for more. The cramps start to dissolve under the pleasure, only the squelching sounds of blood being the proof of your period.Â
The red and his cum will mix later, but for now, there's only that gentle rhythm, the wet slap of his hips against your thighs, the soft grunts he makes against your neck.
He looks down between your bodies, at where the red is pooling around you, staining the green leaves. "Aw, honey," he coos, and there's a tenderness in his voice that makes your heart clench. "Makin' a mess of yourself." He reaches down, his fingers dipping into the warm slick, and he brings them to his lips, tasting. "S'just life, baby. Nothin' bad."
Your eyes well up, a mix of embarrassment and overwhelming love. "Dad..."
He shushes you, kissing your eyelids, your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You're doin' so good. So beautiful. Just let it happen."
He slows his pace, making each thrust a languid, deliberate drag, and you feel every ridge of him, every pulse. Your body starts to tighten, the pleasure building like a wave, slow and inevitable. You're gripping him, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Close," you breathe. "Daddy, I'mâ"
"I know, sweet girl. What did we speak about? Focus on that feeling. Focus on daddy." His voice dropping low.Â
He reaches between your bodies with that, his thumb finding your clit, pressing in tight circles.Â
The sensation spikes, your mind trying to focus on his thrusts and on the pleasure while a foggy cloud wraps around yours mind.
Joel coos and coos, persistent with his thrusts and rubs.Â
"C'mon, peanut."Â
And you shatter, your back bowing, a cry torn from your throat. Your cunt clenches around him in rhythmic waves, spilling blood, and he groans. His hips stutter as he drives into you one last time, spilling deep inside, the warmth spreading through you like honey.
He stays buried, his forehead resting on yours, both of you panting.Â
The world is silent again except for the hum of insects, the distant rustle of leaves. You can feel the mixture of blood and cum seeping out of you, pooling on the grass, and for a second, embarrassment flickers.
But then Joel shifts, lifts himself, and looks down.Â
He scoops his fingers through the slick, gathers a pearl of red and white on his fingertip. He looks at you, his eyes soft and dark, and brings his hand to his mouth, tasting it slowly.
"Tastes so sweet," he says, his voice husky.
You bury your face in his chest, hiding your blush, and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. He rolls to the side, careful not to crush you, and you curl into him, your head on his shoulder. The strawberry leaves are crushed beneath you, the juice and blood and cum mingling with the earth.
He picks a fresh strawberry from a nearby vine, holds it to your lips. You open, and he feeds you, watching you chew with that soft, paternal satisfaction. Then he plucks one for himself, eats it, and kisses you, sharing the taste.
"This was a good surprise," you murmur, your eyelids heavy.
"The best surprise is seein' my girl happy." He strokes your hair, his fingers catching on tangles, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear. "You feelin' better?"
You think about the cramps, which are still there, but muted now, cushioned by the glow of pleasure. You think about the blood, the mess, and how he didn't flinch, didn't make you feel less. You think about the way he looked at you, as if you were something precious and holy, even with red smeared across your thighs.
"Yeah," you whisper. "Much better."
He hums, satisfied, and pulls you tighter. The sky is deepening to gold and pink, the sun lower now, casting long shadows across the field. You're sticky and sore and perfect, and he's here, solid and warm, your daddy in a world that doesn't deserve him.
You reach for another strawberry, and he catches your wrist, bringing it to his mouth, biting it in half, offering you the other half with his lips. You take it, and the sweetness blooms on your tongue, the last light of day catching the red on his lips.
"My messy girl," he says, so softly it's almost a prayer.
And you smile, burying your face in the crook of his neck, the blood and the cum and the strawberries all blending together into one warm, pink, perfect afternoon.
This is so shortđ«Ł i hope you all stay hydrated especially while taking antidepressants or stimulants!!! Also, i think the past tense and the present tense is very confusing in this, it's the one thing i struggle with most so im sorry...đ„Č
summary: after the outbreak, you and joel met in jackson. he never thought he will find love again, but then he met you. young, sweet and so beautiful. after a rough start, you and joel got together. after three years in jackson, you decided to move out of jackson, and find an old farm house, so joel could have his sheep farm he wished for and you two were just by yourself. and now, you found a way to built this new life of yours. and fully embraced it.
trigger warnings: 18+, age!gap (joel in his 50s, reader in her 20s), quite a domestic life, fluff, public sex (no one is around but still outside), degrading kink, praising kink, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, spanking, light choking, breeding kink, rough sex
words: 2,3k
a/n: missed writing some good smut, stilll working on it but hope you like it! keep in mind, english is not my first language <3
tangled beneath the sheets, the soft sun light starts to creep up on your resting face.
the birds were singing outside and you could already hear the chicken and sheep, as well as the cows waking up by making all kind of noises.
next to you, you feel his warm presence. his face buried in your neck as he takes in your smell by taking a deep breath, before placing a kiss on the nape of your neck.
he was already awake, duty calls.
you hum quietly and yawn, turning on your back.
ââgotta get up now, darlingâ, he grumbles in his deep, low morning voice, which already makes you feel a tingle between your thighs. sometimes heâs already up before you even get up. but if youâre up, he lets you know.
âhmh..â, you hum as you nod slightly. not even opening your eyes.
his hand runs slowly over your chest, before it goes up to your neck, softly grabbing your jaw into his hand and turning it towards him, before pressing a kiss onto your lips. his beard softly tickles you, as you smile into the kiss.
you softly open your eyes. your vision is just clearing up as you see his beautiful, still a little bit puffy face.
âlove youâ, he grumbles before he presses a last kiss onto your forehead, before you can feel the mattress shift as he gets up.
âhmh.. love ya tooâ, you whisper as you stretch your arms, and close your eyes again.
âdonât sleep in too late againâ, he reminds you as you hear him get into his jeans, closing his belt.
âyea yea..â, you just mumble before you sink right back into the sheets again. you just hear a little chuckle, knowing he was probably rolling his eyes at you, before he left the room.
and then, you just fall right back to sleep.
you hear the rooster scream outside as open your eyes as you yawn. checking the clock next to your bed.
9.23am
at least youâre not running too late.
you sigh. not wanting to get up. but you do.
you just needed to collect the eggs. so, you just slip your white sundress over your naked body, quickly brushed your teeth, ruffle through your hair and step out of the bedroom.
the smell of black coffee hits you hard. joel brewed it every morning for himself. you hated it. couldnât understand how you can drink something bitter like this, but whatever.
you slip into your black chelsea boots, grab your basket and step outside. the soft warm refreshing breeze hits you right in your face. you close your eyes and take a deep breath.
god, how you loved this.
you step down the porch and walk down to the henhouse. âgood morning, brigittaâ, you chuckle one of the hens as you walk over to their nests, take their freshly laid eggs and out them into the basket. then, you throw some seeds over the ground for them to eat, before you step out.
you look around, figuring joel is probably down at the fence of the cows and sheep field. your theory turns out to be correct, as you already hear his deeper breaths and grunts.
yep, heâs fixing the fence.
you watch him. his shirt tugged up to his elbows, revealing his strong hands. some sweat on his face making him literally glow in the sun. gosh, he was so fucking hot. already at the sight of him, the butterflies were going crazy in your stomach, and you could feel a well known heat radiating between your thighs. but the slight cold breeze hits it and calms it down.
thatâs when you realise, you literally donât have anything under your dressâ
but whatever.
you slowly walk up to him, with the basked in your hands.
âgood morning there, sirâ, you snap him out of his focus on the fence that was not as easy to fix as he wished for.
he immediately looks up. and his face softens.
he looks up and down at you, seeing your nipples right through the sundress, because the fresh breeze made them hard.
âi see somebodyâs upâ, he grunts as he needs to hold back a smirk, before turning back to the fence.
you walk up to him, standing now to his side.
âfence broken again?â, you observe.
âyeaâ fuckinâ runners freaked out one of the cows. so, one ran against it.â, he sighs, cursing under his breath. as he grabbed the hammer again.
you hum in acknowledgment. and keep standing there. watching him.
âyou need something, darlinâ?â, he breathes out as he lifts up the piece of wood again, staring to hammer it back together.
âno, not really⊠just, wanting to check on youâ, you mumble. your heart already picked up a speed, but you take a deep breath. he grunts in acknowledgment, focusing on the fence.
damn perfectionist.
you knew he needed to get this done, so. no attention for you yet
you get back inside, out the eggs into the fridge and clean up some of the dishes from the night before. you do some stuff outside of the house, giving some food to the animals, checking on them, while always glancing at him while he was fixing this fence.
half an hour later you were walking up to him, as he just finished it, looking at his masterwork.
you hug him from the side, pressing a kiss onto his arm.
âdone?â, you mumble. he hums with a nod. this moment lingers on a bit. until.
âwell, now to youâŠâ, he suddenly said as he turns to face you.
you giggle as he suddenly comes up to you and lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder in one move. the basket drops. âjoel-â, you squeak out of surprise. you let out a yelp as he gives you a firm spank onto your ass.
âyou think i didnât notice you walking around with no panties on, swaying your hips and staring at me, while i was fixing the fence, huh?â, he mumbles in his thick southern accent.
as you were just about to say something, he puts you down onto a soft hay bale. suddenly, he slams his lips onto yours. his one hand holds you around your neck, while the other slides down to your breast, squeezing it softly. âyou wanted to distract me huh? not wanting to let me do my work?â, he says in between your kisses. "that's not very nice, is it?"
âjoelâ, you just breath out desperately.
your nipples hardening as he runs his thumb over them through your sundress.
âwhat? use your words. darlinâ, we talked about this already.â, he says in his deep thick voice, which just send all the feelings down between your thighs.
âiâ i need you-â, you whimper. he pushes your upper body back onto the hay bale, lifting up your dress, so it was right around your hip.
âfuckinâ hell.. look at you dripping all over, huh?â, he growls with a chuckle. âspread your legs for me.â
you do. immediately.
âgood girl.. there you goâ, he breathes out, as he leaned down between your legs, wrapping his strong arms around each thigh. your ass was barely over the edge of the hay bale. you could feel his breath right onto your pussy, as he took a long lick from bottom to the top. you moan, arching your back as your hands immediately find his hair, grabbing onto it.
âtasting so sweetâ, he whispers before he dives in. his lips wrap around your clit, sucking softly. he moves his tounge right in front of your entrance, his beard was tickling a bit, adding to the overwhelming sensation.
âfuck joelâ please-â, you cry out, rolling your eyes back and tugging into his hair.
âyou wanted this huh? thatâs why you distracted me? so i can fuckinâ eat you out, right here?â, he says in between his licks.
you couldnât answer as your breath hitches. you were already clenching inside, but clenching around nothing.
ânot yetâŠâ, he said in a warning tone as he pulled away. wiping over his glistening beard. you let out a whine at the sudden missing sensation.
âdonât gimme that attitude, darlinââ, he quickly cuts that whimper off before he leans over you, catching your lips in a kiss. you could taste yourself on his lips, before he kisses down your neck. you lift up your hips, just shivering at the rough sensation of his jeans rubbing at your clit. his thick cock very much noticeable and pressing against the fabric. you whine again.
âpleaseââ, you cry out again. demanding.
then, he pulls back and turns you onto your stomach, your dress still hauled up to your hip. âtold you to drop the attitude, babyâ, you felt his hand running over your ass, your breath hitches.
âyou wanted thisâ practically begging for my attention. now you gotta take what i give youâ, he delivers a sharp smack onto your ass. you gasp, biting your lip. other smacks followed right after until your cheeks turn into a soft pink.
âyou like this huh? when i spank you to put you back in line?â, his hand moves between your legs, sliding in two thick fingers of his in you.
âyea you doâŠâ, he observes as you cry out in pleasure, your hands grabbing into the hay.
you were a fucking mess.
âi- i doâ pleaseââ, you whimper. hearing the wet sounds of him pumping his fingers into you.
your toes curl. your moans get louder. âare you gonna cum for me? cum all over my fingers?â, he delivers another sharp spank onto your ass while his fingers pick up the speed. âhm.. yesâ joel- iâ, you moan louder as you start to clench around his fingers.
âthen fucking cumâ, he growls and you do.
your body tenses up, your legs squirm and you let out a loud cry. he keeps his fingers moving in you, helping you to ride through the orgasm. but as he pulled them out, you can already hear his belt unbuckling.
and you got wet right after again.
âdamn- gonna fuck you right here on this hay bale right outside.â, he breathes out as glance back, seeing his thick and hard cock, which he strokes slightly before you can already feel it at your wet entrance.
he starts to rub his tip up and down, circling it around your already overstimulated clit. âso fucking wet⊠my beautiful girlâ
âplease..ââ, you breath. âneed you.. need you inside of me-â
âi know, sweet girlâ gonna fill you upâ, he says and then thrusts right into you. you yelp at the fullness and the softly burning stretch.
âfuck- always so tight for meââ, he groans as he lets you adjust for a moment, before he started to move in a quick pace. the sound of your skin slapping together echoed through the whole farm. your continuous loud moans are following right after.
he talks you through it. he always does. telling you how good you feel, how perfect youâre made just for him.
during his thrusts, he gives you some swats onto your cheeks, keeping the color of a soft pink right there. he already started to feel you clench around him.
suddenly, he pulls out of you, flips you back onto your back and pushes right back into you. he catches your yelp in a messy kiss. his tounge exploring your mouth, while his hand softly wraps around your throat, squeezing it, making you a little bit light headed.
âdoing so fucking goodâ, he whispers into the kiss before he pulled back, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest, fucking you in another better angle, hitting right your sweet spot inside of you.
âjoel iâm gonna cumââ, you whimper as you start to tense up again, but he already knew. of course he could already feel you clenching around him.
he was chasing after his orgasm either as he sped up the pace. he usually takes his time with you, slowly, so you can fully feel him. but then there was this rough side. and you fucking loved every second of it. you're feet dangling in the air, while he hold harshly against your under thighs,so you're knees were still pushed up against your chest.
âyouâre gonna cum right onto my cock? fuckââ, he groans, biting his lip as he keeps your knees up to your chest.
his groans mix with the sound of your moans and the skin slapping together. joel was never to make noise either.
he pushes you right over the edge with another sharp thrust, and follows right after. you could feel his warm cum filling you right up while he was moving through the aftershocks.
you catch your breath. your vision blurry since you teared up at the overwhelming pleasure. as he pulls out, you feel an emptiness inside of you again, but feeling his cum leaking out of you. he pulls you up, so youâre sitting up right, your dress falls down to your ankles again as you wrap your arms around his neck.
âdid so well, my beautiful girl hmâ, he whispers as he was still catching his breath, pressing a soft lingering kiss onto your lips, while wiping away some escaped tears from your cheek.
âfuckin love youâ, he grumbles into the kiss. he lets the kiss linger on for a bit, before he pulled up his jeans again, and then picks you up in a bridal style.
âmaybe i should walks round with no panties more oftenâ, you joke with a tired voice.
he just chuckles. shaking his head.
âalright, letâs get you cleaned upâ, he places a kiss on your forehead and carries you back to your home.
Pairing: pervy!oldman!joel Miller x cheater!female!reader
Summary: you bring apple pie to Joel Miller's porch, telling yourself it's nothing; just a visit to your boyfriend's older brother. But uncle Joel has been lingering in your mind since the night you heard him say it. This is a tale about something more than apple pieâthe sweet pull of longing, care and the making of cream pie.
Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, huge age gap (20s and 60s), pervy!joel, cheater!reader, FAUXCEST, Joel calls himself uncle, reader cheats on Tommy, sub/needy!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, praise kink, slight nipple play, slight degradation, no outbreak
A/N: Itâs too hot to function and my brain is mush, so here's a "little" draft while I melt and work on a million other fics. Check the warnings, SCROLL if needed, it's really easy peasy. Drink water, my dear pookies <3
The throbbing started in your belly.
It was a deep, insistent pulse radiating outwards in slow, heavy waves that settled right between your thighs. Heat hummed relentlessly against your center, leaving your skin feeling tight and feverish. Slowly but surely, that dull ache migrated to your lower belly, then to your mound, before finally landing squarely on your clit.
And it was all because of two words:
Uncle Joel.
Your mind hadn't stopped circling those words for the past weekâa constant, agonising reminder that echoed in your mind, your belly, your cunt, and even deep in your thighs.
The desire was as stubborn as the man himself; it refused to leave you. But then again...maybe you didn't want it to leave.
"Hell, you should bring her over to Uncle Joel sometime. I'll give her somethin' that satisfies her proper."
You could still remember standing there, just inside the screen door, heart hammering against your ribs and thighs pressing tight together as every filthy word Joel uttered sank straight between your legs.
The heat had pooled low in your gut, your cunt throbbing with every perverted suggestion Joel tossed out oh so casuallyâcompletely ignoring the fact that your boyfriend, Tommy, had simply asked him for tips on how to handle your high libido.
You couldn't even bring yourself to care once Joel started talking.
It started with, "Jesus, Tommy. You complainin' about good pussy?" before spiraling into explicit instructions on how to break a woman. "Well, sounds to me like you got yourself a girl who knows what she wants. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. You gotta treat that pretty little thing right, boy. Show her who's in charge. You gotta work that pussy like it's the last one on earth. Fingers, tongue, cockâwhatever it takes. And when she starts shakin', don't stop. Push her right over the edge till she's squirting all over your hand, your face, your sheets. That'll settle her down proper."
Heck, you knew he was a pervert.
It was no secret. Even Tommy called him an old, perverted bastard.
But that didn't change the fact that he was older, bolder, and possessed large, rough hands that gestured emphatically as he spoke. Those were the same hands you'd watched grip tools and beer bottlesâand the same hands that had, once or twice, brushed against your waist a little too long.
His eyes always lingered on your tits and your ass, looking at you as if he was already imagining exactly what he'd do to you if his pissy little brother didn't exist.
Since that night on the porch, your hand hadn't stopped wandering down to your cunt. Your fingers wouldn't stop rubbing that twitching nub until you came all over yourself, shivering with the forbidden thoughts of your boyfriend's brotherâor as you desperately wanted to call him:
Uncle Joel.
And now, three days later, you stand at his door, pie in your hands warm, the heat seeping through the dish into your palms, grounding you, reminding you why you're hereâyou baked it, you told yourself, because you're a good neighbor, a good sister-in-law, because it's what a good woman does, brings pie to her man's brother, a gesture of kindness, of family, of nothing more than that.
But that lie tasted like bitter ash on your tongue, so you swallow it down, and you knock...
When the door opens, the world already narrows to the shape of him. Big. Board. Frame like a wall of stone, chest rising and falling beneath that old flannel shirt, the buttons straining across his big belly and smelling like musk or something unwashed in the best way.Â
It makes your nostrils flare and your thighs press together of their own accord, a slow, wet shift of muscle and fabric that you can't control, that you don't want to actually control.
A slow, crooked smile spreads across his lips.
"Well, well, well," he says, and his voice is exactly as you remember it from that night on the porch, from the endless, aching hours when you pressed your fingers into yourself and imagined this moment, this exact moment, here, now, with him looking at you like you're something to eat, something to savor, something to devour slowly, filthy, until there's nothing left but the memory of pleasure. "Look what the cat dragged in."
He leans against the door, arms crossing over his broad chest, letting his gaze wander down your body and back up again, taking his sweet time; savoring every inch of you, from the curve of your hip to the swell of your breasts to the flush on your cheeks. You feel naked under that gaze, stripped bare, even though you're wearing a dress, a simple cotton thing, light blue, that falls just above your knees. Chosen unintentionally, or not?Â
"Hello there, honey," he says. "Did my brother treat ya so bad you come to uncle Joel?"
Uncle Joel...uncle Joel...
He says it like a joke, a teasing jab, but the word uncle hits you square in the chest, soaks into your belly, and your thighs press together involuntarily. And oh, you know he sees it. Â
You know he sees everything, because his eyes flick down to your hips, to your thighs, and his smile widens, deepens.Â
You clutch the pie tighter.Â
"I...I made pie," you say, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended. "Apple. I thought you might like some."
His grin widens, and he pushes off of the doorframe, stepping aside with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that makes the flannel stretch across his shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of that hair on his chest, thick, dark and curling, and you want to press your face into it, to breathe him in, to taste the salt on his skin.
Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you?
"Apple pie?" he says, voice full of amusement. "Lord, girl, you know the way to a man's heart. C'mon in, c'mon. Don't stand there like a stranger."
You step past him, and the door closes behind you with a soft click. There's no going back now, no pretending you came here for pie, no pretending you're anything but what you are: a hungry woman, a desperate woman, a needy, shameless woman who has come to her man's brother to be filled, to be claimed, to be taken the way she's always wanted to be taken.Â
A worn sofa the color of dried blood sits against the far wall, the cushions sagging in the middle, shaped by the weight of his body.
He gestures for you to sit, and you do, sinking into the cushions, the pie still warm in your lap.
Joel disappears into his tiny kitchen, and you hear the clatter of plates, the running of water, the soft hum of a man moving through his space. He returns with two plates, two forks, a knife, setting them on the table with a soft clink.
Then he drops onto the sofa besides you.
He doesn't sit far away, doesn't leave a polite distance between you, nah, he sits close, his thigh brushing yours through the fabric of your dress.Â
"Alright, alright," he says, reaching for the pie. "Let's see what we got here."
He cuts three generous slices, the knife sliding through the crust with a soft crunch, and he slides one slice onto your plate, two onto his, then picks up his fork and digs in like a starving man.
"Oh, fuck me," he groans, closing his eyes, and the sound is raw, almost sexual. He chews, swallows, shakes his head slowly, his eyes still closed, his jaw working, and you watch the muscles in his throat move, watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.
"That's..." he says, opening his eyes. "That's real good, sweetheart. Real good. You got a gift."
You flush, the heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks so you look down at your plate.
"Thank you," you say, your voice is small.Â
He takes another bite, and another, and you watch him eat, watch the way his lips close around the fork, the way his tongue flicks out to catch a crumb, moaning around the taste.Â
He sets his fork down and leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers brushing your shoulder, tracing the line of your collarbone through the thin cotton of your dress, a featherlight touch that sends shivers down your spine, that makes your breath catch in your throat.
"C'mon," he says, and his voice is lower now, a purr that vibrates in his chest. "Tell me what's botherin' ya. You don't usually come over alone. Not without Tommy."
You look down your plate, pushing a crumb around with your fork.
"Nothing," you say, and the lie is thin. "Just...wanted to bring you something. That's all."
His fingers trail down your arm, featherlight, tracing the curve of your elbow.
"You ain't the type to make a pie and show up for no reason," he says, and his voice is patient, knowing. "I know ya, girl. I've seen you grow into a woman. I've seen the way you look at things." He pauses, and his fingers still, resting on your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. "The way you look at me."
Your heart hammers against your ribs, and before you can even process what he says, you're already trying to escape the situation.Â
"I should go," you say and you start to rise, but his hand lands on your knee, firm; squeezing once.Â
With that, magically, your muscles relax, your hips sink back into the cushion, your thighs open slightly, just slightly, an invitation maybe.
"Sit down, honey," he says, and his voice is gentle, but a command wrapped in silk behind it.Â
So you sit.Â
He leans in closer, and his breath is warm against your ear, smelling of apple and cinnamon.Â
"Is it Tommy?" he asks. "He can't take care of you?"
You loved Tommy. God, you loved him.Â
You shake your head, a tiny, jerky movement, "No. That's notâ" your throat tight, your mouth dry, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your god damn ears.Â
"Because he told me something the other night," he says, and his voice drops lower. "Complainin' about how much you need it. How he can't keep up. How he's exhausted. And I gotta say, I felt sorry for you."
You swallow.Â
"A woman with that kind of hunger," he continues, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your knee. "All alone in her bed, touchin' herself while her man sleeps. Thinkin' about what she could have. What she deserves."
He pauses, and the silence stretches.
Untilâ
"Thinkin' about me?"
You can't answer. Your mouth is full of cotton and want, your tongue is tied, your throat is closed, and all you can do is just sit there, trembling, your thighs pressed together, your hands clenched in your lap, your eyes wide and wet and desperate.
"You wanna show uncle Joel?"Â
A whine bubbles from your throat. You immediately feel yourself nodding like a desperate little puppy excited to get treats, making him chuckle.
"Words," he says, and his voice is patient. "I need words, babygirl."
"Yes," you whisper. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please...uncle Joel."
He chuckles again, and the sound vibrates through you, settling in your bones, in your blood, in your cunt, and you feel yourself clench.Â
"That's a good girl," he says. "Now stand up for uncle Joel. Right in front of me. Let me see you."
You rise with shaky legs, thighs trembling, and you stand before him, your hands at your sides, your heart in your throat, your cunt aching wet and ready.
He stays seated, looking up at you, his dark eyes hooded and patient, like a wolf watching a deer wander into the clearing...like a predator who knows his prey is already caught.
"Now pull that dress up," he says, and his voice is softâa gentle command. "Slow. Let me see what my brother's been wastin'."
Your fingers tremble as you gather the hem of your dress, lifting it inch by slow inch, the fabric sliding up your thighs, revealing the skin of your legs, the soft curve of your hips, and then the oh so wet, slick fabric of your panties. The cotton clinges to your folds, almost translucent with arousal, a dark stain spreading across the pale blue.
Joel exhales slowly, a long, low breath that seems to come from somewhere deep down his chest.Â
"There you go," he coos. "Keep goin'. Let me see that pretty pussy."
You pull the dress up to your waist, exposing your ruined panties, the glistening outline of your cunt hidden behind the soaked cloth.Â
He reaches out immediately, hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugs them down, and the fabric slides over your hips, past your thighs, down your legs, and you step out of them, standing before him completely bare from the waist down.
"Well, would you look at that," he murmurs. "Ain't that the prettiest thing I've ever seen. All wet and ready for me. And Tommy, that dumbass, he can't even handle it."
You whimper, the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. He starts spreading your labia with his thumbs, gentle; exposing your slick, pink flesh, the small nub of your clit, the opening that clenches and releases with your breath.
"Would ya look at that, honey." his voice barely above a whisper, and he leans in, closer, closer, until his breath is warm against your cunt. "Glistening like a goddamn jewel. You're so fuckin' sweet, baby. You know that? You know how fuckin' perfect you look right now?"
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, just above your knee, then another kiss, higher, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and another, higher still, his beard scraping against your skin.
Your fingers find his hair, tangling in the salt and pepper strands, gripping him, holding him, wanting to feel his mouth on your cunt, but he doesn't go there, he just keeps kissing your thighs, your hips, the soft skin of your belly, until you're trembling, shaking, your knees weak, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
"Please," you breathe. "Please, Joel."
"That's uncle Joel to you," he corrects, his voice a gentle growl against your thigh as he looks up at you.Â
"Now c'mere, sweet pea..." he says, and he pulls you down onto his lap. "That's it, right where this old man wants ya."
You straddle his thighs, your bare cunt pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, without much thinking you grind against him, a slow, desperate movement, a plea of want.
His hands slide up your sides, under your dress, palming your breasts through the lace of your bra. He finds the clasp, unhooks it with practiced ease, pulls the straps down your arms, and the bra falls awayâyour breasts spill free, full and heavy, your nipples peaked and aching.Â
He cups them quicky, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure down your cunt.Â
A whine escapes from your throat.Â
"Oh, I know," he murmurs, his mouth against your neck, his lips brushing your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "You're my good girl."
He kisses your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. You arch into him, pressing your breasts against his chest, grinding your cunt against his thigh.
Then his hand slides down, down your belly, down through the soft nest of hair between your legs. His fingers find your cunt, and he doesn't tease, doesn't play, doesn't dance around the edgesâhe plunges two fingers deep inside you, making your hips grind at him and your back arch.Â
"God damn," he groans against your throat. "This pussy's so hot and slick, clenchin' every time I push in deeper."
He pumps his fingers in and out, a steady, rhythmic rhythm.
You hear it: the wet, sucking sound of your own arousal, a rhythmic schlick schlick that fills the quiet room, that echoes off the walls.Â
"Tommy don't know what he's got," Joel murmurs, curling his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes, and you feel the pressure building, the heat rising, the pleasure coiling in your belly ready to snap. "He don't know how to take care of a woman like you. But I do. Uncle Joel knows."
He kisses you then, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting of apple and cinnamon, and you moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
"Christ, you're suckin' 'em in like you don't ever wanna let go. Keep those hips still, baby girl, or I'll have to hold you down while I work 'em deeper." he says, pulling back, his forehead against yours, his breath hot on your lips.Â
His thumb finds your clit then, circles it, presses down, gently at first, then harder.
"I'm gonnaâ" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling, your cunt clenching around his fingers, "Joel, I'm gonnaâ"
"Mhm, let go for me, honey." he commands, soft but firm. "Cum on uncle Joel's fingers. Show me how good I make you feel."
And you do.
You shatter. A cry tears from your throat as your climax rips through you, waves of pleasure crashing through your pelvis, your thighs clamping around his hand, your cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers, the release slowly going through your body as he works you through it, slowing his rhythm, gentling his touch, murmuring praise after praise.
"There we go," he says, his voice soft, tender. "That's a good girlâŠlet it happen. You're making such a mess on uncle Joel's hand."Â
You slump against him, boneless, panting, your forehead resting against his. You can feel his smile, feel the satisfaction in his chest.
But before you can catch your breath, before the aftershocks have even faded, he's lifting you, shifting you, laying you back on the sofa, and your head hits a cushion, your legs hang over the edge.
He unbuckles his belt, and unzips his jeans, the sound of the zipper a slow, deliberate rasp, a sound that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing.
He pulls his cock free, and your breath catches in your throat.
It's thick, hard, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum already, a vein running along the shaft like a river on a map. It's bigger than Tommy's; thicker, fuller.
"Look at that," he says, stroking himself slowly, his hand a rhythmic pump, and you watch his hand move, watch the way his fingers wrap around his shaft, the way his thumb swipes over the head, spreading the pre-cum.Â
"Cunt clenching around nothing. You hungry, sweetheart? This pussy hungry?" he asks. "You want uncle Joel inside you?"
You spread your legs wider, your pussy still clenching, still dripping, still hungry for more, and you look up at him, your eyes wide, your voice a whisper. "Inside. Please. Please, uncle Joel."
He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. You hold your breath, waiting until he pushes in, and when he does you gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he opens you up.Â
He is so much bigger than Tommy, thicker, fuller that you feel a moment of panic; can I take this? Can I really take this?Â
But then he's soothing you, voice soft and gentle.
"Shh, shh, easy now," he says, and his voice is a balm. "Breathe for me. That's it. You can take it. You can take all of uncle Joel. Let it in nice and deep."Â
He pushes deeper, inch by agonising inch, a slow, but huge invasion, and you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you, filling you in a way you've never been filled before.Â
"Feel that?" he whispers. "Feel how good we fit together? Tommy never made you feel like this, did he?"
You shake your head, tears sliding down your cheeks, and you can't speak, can't find the words, can't do anything but feel, feel, feel.
"No," you whisper, and your voice is broken, cracked, raw. "No, never."
"Because he's a fool," Joel says, and his voice is tender, loving, even as he pushes deeper, even as he fills you completely, even as he buries himself to the hilt. "A fool who don't know how to handle the treasure he's got. But I ain't a fool. I know a good thing when I see it. I know a hungry woman when I see her."
He is buried to the hilt now, letting you adjust to his grit, letting you feel the weight of him inside you, the stretch, the ache, the pleasure, and you feel your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.
"Atta girlâŠthere it is. I'm allll the way in. Gonna keep you pinned nice and deep, grindin' slow so you feel every throb, every pulse." He says softly.Â
Tears start to prickle in your eyes when he starts to thrust. Slow at first, deep, each thrust a drag against your walls, a wet slide that makes you moan, and his hips meet yours with a soft, wet slap.
"Listen to those messy soundsâChrist, you're drippin' down your thighs already." He murmurs, making a sob erupt from your throat. "Oh, I know, that's my girl. Takin' me so good, aren't you? So fuckin' tight. You like being filled by your uncle, hm?"
"Yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders, the pressure rising, the coil winding tighter, ready to snap again. "Yes, yes, yes."
"Say it again, honey." he demands softly. But his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the couch creak beneath you.
"Uncle Joel," you gasp. "Please. Please fuck me."
He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, and his pace quickens, his thrusts become harder, deeper, more urgent, and you feel the pleasure building; rising, the coil winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap.Â
"Goddamn," he grits out. "you're perfect. You're gonna make me cum, sweet pea. You gonna cum with me? Cum with uncle Joel?"
"I don't knowâ" you gasp, your vision blurring. "I'm closeâit's too muchâ"
"It ain't too much," he says, and his voice is firm. "You can take it. You're a strong girl. A hungry girl. Let go for me. Let me feel you break."
He drives into you harder, faster, and you feel the coil snap, the pleasure explodes and you shatter again. A broken cry tears from your throat as you cum, your inner walls clenching around him, fluttering, pulsing, milking every last drop from him.Â
A guttural groan leaves his lips and he follows a moment later, spilling inside you in hot, thick dropsâfilling you up with a warmth that spreads through your belly.Â
Your cunt still works around him as he collapses on top of you, his breath hot against neck.Â
After a long moment, he stirs, lifts his head and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips.
"You did so well, sweet pea," he murmurs. "Took everything right into that cunt of yours."Â
He pulls out slowly, and you whimper at the loss, the sudden emptiness a hollow ache.Â
He fetches a damp cloth from the kitchen and cleans you up with gentle hands, wiping between your thighs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, whispering: "We made some cream pie, didn't we?" and you feel like crying, like laughing, like giggling.Â
"You gotta go home soon," he says. "Tommy'll be back in an hour."
You nod as you sit up, and reach for your panties, but he stops you, his hand on your wrist, his eyes dark and possessive.
"Leave 'em," he says, and his voice is a firm command.Â
"What?@
"The panties, hon." he says. "Leave 'em here. I want to know you're walkin' around without 'em. Thinkin' about me. Feel my cum drippin' down your thigh."
You blush, a deep, burning flush that spreads across your cheeks, but you don't argue. You pull your dress on over your bare skin, leaving your soaked panties crumpled on his coffee table like a trophy.Â
He walks you to the door, and as you step out into the fading light, he calls after you.
"Come back tomorrow," he says, soft. "I'll have the pie warmed up."
You smile, and your thighs are still slick with his spend, and your cunt is still sore and full, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your bones like honey, like syrup, like warm apple pie, that you will.
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