Little Fawn
Pairing: Old!joel miller x female!reader
Summary: 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 unseen—only to find Joel stepping into the dark after you, his presence a reminder of the bond you shouldn’t want, and the one you can’t seem to break.
Warnings: 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 don’t like things like this, I gently encourage you to just scroll or block me. This isn’t even the most taboo or ‘icky’ thing out there, but fandoms are really falling apart right now because of censorship and people’s inability to differentiate fiction from reality. So many writers are deactivating or taking their fics down, and it’s honestly really sad. If you enjoy this, the best way to support fic writers is by leaving a comment or a reblog—it helps to keep the fandom alive while everything feels like it’s 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 wardrobes—socks 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 readiness—a 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 fear‑tightened hands.
The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice.
You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch.
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.
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.
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.
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 this—half 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.
You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips.
Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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 gone—out 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 own—or 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.
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.
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.
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 Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy."
The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck.
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 him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else.
Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips.
"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those 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 efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his 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.
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.
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.
If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away.
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.
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 you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter.
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 chest—a 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.
"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 camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on.
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.
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.
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.
"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond.
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.
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.
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.
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 you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.
But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden.
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.
Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely bloomed into hunger.
"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing.
Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling 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.
"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.
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.
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.
And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess.
"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."
But rumours started to spread like wildfire
on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built.
Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal.
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, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly.
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 regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession.
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 you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew.
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.
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.
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 tent—larger 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?
The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes.
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 treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges.
Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest.
Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut.
What if you turned him away?
What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge?
He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession.
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 eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were 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.
How dare anyone reduce you to this—his 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.
You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass.
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.
Joel knew your habits intimately—how 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.
"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.
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."
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.
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."
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.
You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an 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."
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 understanding—of 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.
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. "God—that'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.
"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 stitch—it 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.
"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."
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.
With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and 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.
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.
"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.
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.
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 cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could 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.
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.
"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines.
You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his.
"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.
He wouldn't dream of denying you—never.
This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion.
"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.
The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you.
With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this 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.
"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.
"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.
"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger.
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.
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.
"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.
The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace.
Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love.
"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.
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 much—m'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 Dad—juuuust 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.
Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze.
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."
"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.
He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need.
"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.
He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you.
"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 beyond—let 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 then—slow, 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 faltering—filthy 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'mon—taste 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 body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin.
"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.
"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.
I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.
Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3
Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @Madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut t @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting
This is one of the most beautiful fics I’ve ever read. ❤️ The dynamic portrayed here is so viscerally loving and filled with devotion. I love the way you were able to capture the nurturing aspect of it. I adore this so so so so much. I could feel every part of this. So very grateful you shared it!!!
