pairing: post-outbreak joel x f!reader genre: smut, light fluff
warning: explicit (18+)
word count: 2k
summary: you and Joel have been meeting up like this for a while, just a quick exchange of pleasure. that's it. for sure.
c/w: no use of y/n, grinding, dry humping, brief oral (m!receiving), make-outs, hickies (m! and f!receiving), daddy kink (reader calls joel it, Joel refers to himself as daddy a couple of times), Joel calls reader angel, baby, and darling, missionary, 4 pussy slaps, light breeding kink, creampie, underlying pinning (mutual), angst if you squint, recently edited
Your meetings are a fog of a thing. More of a concept than feasibly attainable. more of a feeling than solid. A hot breath dispelled to mingle around two sweaty bodies that are more need than the person. You both understand each other. That's the only reason it's impossible to let go.
That's what you tell yourself, grinding down on his lap without meaning to, without remorse, shoes kicked off somewhere in his hallway.
Joel's gasp is a bubbly thing, trickling out his throat like pleasure is trying to swallow it down at the same time it's scraping out the gravel of his Texan accent. His rough hands are splayed across your hips, lazy, as if it's just second nature. As if they've always been there. He never asks you for anything, not verbally, at least. But after so many rendezvous in the silence of his house, you've come to familiarize yourself with his “tells.” So when his chin almost bobs and eyes flutter from your eyes to your lips, you know what it is he wants. He's never been very good at hiding it from you, not even in the beginning.
When your wet lips meet his. He sighs, evidently relieved, aroused. You watch his candle-lit jeans get tighter and run a hand down the dark worn denim, cupping the heat and weight of him as well as you can through the dividers. A wax-thick heat runs straight through your cunt as you watch pink splotches bloom across his collarbone and travel up his neck as if an infected had just bit him there. You think to yourself almost incessantly about how badly you want to feel the weight of him, as much as you can from how he's sat on his couch. An arm around you, a heavy cock against you, just feel him in a way that traps you - mold you - against him. Pretty brown eyes drink you in, and almost squint in a smile as he reads your mind, snakes a hand under his jeans, lifts you against his chest, and shucks them off letting you fall back on his lap, leaving a hand on your hip, but letting the other wrap-around as much of you he can. Your poker face is no better than his.
Your words are breathed into the surrounding air, “Doesn't seem so fair for you to be half naked and me covered.”
They'll be gone after this little thing between you two is over, but you can watch him cherish them, anyway. Your heart swells.
“How'r gonna fix that then, Angel? Whaddya think we do about it?” He asks you in a voice just over a whisper, head tilting to the side, feigning coyness.
Cute.
You steal another kiss from his lips, like a kid swiping a cookie from a jar, and lift off his lap, standing close to his long legs. You wore little, to begin with, not being bothered by the cold as you winded through your door and alleyways. So when you peel off your sweater, Joel's pleasantly surprised to see you've got nothing on under. His cock jumps in his boxers. He palms himself as your hands slip down your jeans and tights.
No underwear.
“F-uck, darlin’ wonder if those guys ou’there knew how little they'd have to peel off to see all that.”
He takes the time between you peeling off your underwear to shuck his shirt off. His hand is just about to find his waistband, but you beat him to it, sinking onto your knees down to his carpet.
“Wonder if they'd know just what you'd do to them if they had.”
That seems to quiet him, but he smiles down at you, agreement found somewhere behind those pretty brown eyes. Even if you two tell yourselves this is just releasing tension, stress relief, he'd lose his top at the idea of sharing. Why should he when he only shares what's his with you? He doesn't bother saying that because it sounds a bit too much like something he definitely cannot say. Not if he wants to keep reliving the look on your face when his cock springs out of its cotton confines.
He's the closest thing you've seen to perfection. More than you'd ever admit. Enough to mentally become your standard. soft, bicolored hair, strong nose, dopey eyes, deep wrinkles, rough scruff, a checklist of traits. You can find another guy with enough of those traits if you need to, if the time ever presented itself, if you and Joel ever fell out of orbit.
But his cock - now that's something you think you'd have to search far and wide for. and even then you'd still prefer the one with pre pebbling over the tip, bobbing between your eyes in front of you. It's big. He knows it's the biggest you've ever taken, you've told him so the first time he fucked you. Like most of Joel, you know his cock like you know yourself. Know where he likes you to hold it, so you massage his balls with one and grip the base of his cock with the other, drawing a low groan from his lips, making you impossibly wetter. you know where to lick and suck to get him teetering on the edge of his orgasm the fastest, so swallow the cum that's escaped his cock, let it sit on your tongue until you've collected enough saliva to spit it back down on his cock. The sigh is undoubtedly obscene, but you know that's how he loves it, so you hollow your cheeks around him and sink till you're nosing the hair at his base and he's sighing.
“Atta g-irl,” he whispers, running a hand through your hair and down his couch cushions.
You moan something unintelligible at the praise and pick up your pace. Licking the underside of his cock until you have to rise for air, suck around his tip while your hand continues stroking him. You peer up through your wetting lashes, and watch Joel's pudgy chest flex and tighten with every bob of your head. Your eyes take in his thrown-back head, thinking of how you'll suck bruises into his neck later. Your speed builds and builds until he's bucking into your mouth and his groans melt into more moans than anything. You detach yourself from his cock, drool pooling down your chin to show his balls a bit of love. Flicking your tongue between them and sucking one into your mouth, circling your tongue around the same way you do to his tip. You listen to his moans turn more breathy, colliding against the words you've spoken up around you guys somewhere and becoming something only identifiable by the two of you. Something bordering on sacred. He has to pull you off of him to keep from coming too soon.
His sweaty palms slip from your shoulders up to cradle your face, a softness specific for you and no one else. This Joel Miller is for your eyes only, touch only, pleasure, and that dizzies you enough to have you messily kissing his cum into his mouth as he kicks his boxers all the way off and spins your body around his, caging you to his couch.
You pout, “Wanted to ride you…” you mumble, spoiled on previous privileges of the burn in your thighs as you'd bounced on him with so much fervor you'd been paranoid his neighbors knew what you'd done just by the sound of skin slapping. As if they hadn't caught on a long, long time before.
He's confused, “I haven't even touched you yet.”
“Don't need you to,” You tell him, wrapping your legs around his back to cage him into you. “'M wet enough for you to just fuck me now.”
Brown eyes widen down at you, and you watch his Adam's apple bob with a gulp, “Is that right?”
You nod, too preoccupied with the buzzing heat vibrating through your core to care about foreplay. You need his cock. And you know he'll give it to you. No matter how much he loves eating you out, he'll give you anything you ask for. And that makes you drip even more.
“You've been waitin’ long enough for it, haven't you,” He coos. You have.
He doesn't bother pumping his cock before swiping it through your folds, it'll just make him cum faster. just soaks himself on the essence of you with his lip tucked between a row of teeth and you watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his face.
“Eyes on me, Angel. Watch me as I fuck this needy pussy,” He orders, and you listen, almost nodding, but your mouth drops in a silent gasp as the weight of him slowly pushes through you. You'll never get used to taking him, but you don't think you'd want to, anyway.
“F-uck Daddy,” You moan a name you know will rile him up.
And much like clockwork, you watch his jaw clench, feel hot air dispel from his nose, and feel him throb and he picks up his pace inside you.
He keeps those steady thrusts inside you for a while, and you can get there just with how he's fucking into you, telling by the white heat that threatens to flash and cover your body like the film-like sweat. But he hooks his strong arm around your thighs and pushes so deep into you, you scream out something you can't fully comprehend. You doubt it was even a word, anyway.
He whispers to you as you cry out at the feeling of his cock pistoning inside you, clawing at anything you can get your hands on. “Yeah? you like it when Daddy fucks his baby's pussy like this?” He asks, bringing a hand down to cover your mound. You'll feel embarrassed for how eagerly you nod at his words later, but you're already too cockdrunk to care. And when he fucks into that spot that has you seeing stars, your eyes snap shut as you moan out his name.
But just as soon as you do that, a sharp blow is landed on your pussy and your eyes damn near bulge out of your head as you choke out a sob.
“What did I - fuck - say bout those eyes, Angel? Keep. Them. Fucking. open,” He groans, punctuating each word with a thrust.
And the strength from his hit just makes the coil in your gut twist tighter. And of course, he notices, nothing about you gets past Joel. Not when he can feel every clench and gush from you. Not when your eyes bore into him as he fucks you with so much speed your back burns from rubbing against the couch. The plump of his lip splits into a nasty smirk and his face dips into the crevice of your neck, fitting perfectly between you as Joel always has.
“Naughty girl,” is all he says, before sucking bruises into your soft skin and slamming another hand down on your clit once. You have to fight to keep your eyes open. Then twice, angling his cock up just enough to brush against the spot that has your orgasm heat into something sharper. And as you scream after another slap, the pleasure is too hard to stall and the dam breaks and you squirt all over Joel.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
It's not the first time he's made you squirt, but by the sounds he makes after you almost think you're back in his bedroom, tied up to his bed frame again. He’s not gonna last long, not after that, not after the intoxicating moan he sang. And it's your turn to tease him.
“Gonna shoot your load down my cunt?” You ask, throat raw and evidently fucked out, already knowing the answer. But you ask anyway just to watch his mouth drop as he ruts against you. “Yea-f uckk- yes, gonna fuckin’ fill you.”
“Then fill me. F-fill me so I can still feel you drip out me when I walk home,” you tell him, bringing your hands up to cup his face.
And as he melts into your palms, so does an expression Joel Miller only shows you. But you don't have a name for the sweat and flush, or the softness of his gaze. You can't say it's not a gaze you've mirrored. A gaze you don't know how to name yourself, or are simply too scared to. So instead of basking in it, you ignore the part of you that yearns for it, and the words that dance around you with candle smoke, and the intimacy of it all, and tell him to fucking breed you.
And his face fucking falls as a loud moan pushes through his gut and he empties himself inside you, painting the inside of you white. He rides out his high inside you with soft thrusts for a while longer until he's collapsing on top of you, cock softening.
The little voice in the back of your mind chants for you to mark him. Bounces off the walls of your brain until it sounds like as natural an action as breathing, so you tilt your head just enough to suck into his neck. You bite and lick into him and pull back to watch blue and purple flower-like bruises bloom on his tan skin. As if it were second nature, you slide your head up to catch his lips with yours, not caring about how filthy you must feel. And his mouth opens up so easily because Joel is always willing to give you what you want. Lines blur every time you two collide, but you don't pay it enough mind to heed the warnings. Don't question when that voice formed, the way he'd been so willing to breed you, the way you told him to. Not to the words you've said from previous moments that have conjured themselves up once again, kissing the ones you've said today, familiarizing themselves, melding into something messy. You ignore them, picture a solar eclipse of consequences on the horizon, and ignore them too. You blame it on being cockdrunk.
“Joel,” you whisper after a while of him catching his breath.
“Hmm?”
“’Ts late.”
He nods into your neck.
“I should go.”
“You should go,” he agrees, smacking his lips against each other slowly, nosing the spot under your ear.
And maybe that solar eclipse is scheduled to happen soon, and when you walk out you'll be blinded by the feeling of emptiness you've come to find it Joel-shaped (or at least Joel's-cock-shaped), and be so overwhelmed it makes you act stupid with desperation. Because Joel doesn't make any move, and you don't mention leaving again. Just let the fatigue of a good orgasm sing you to sleep, with Joel sprawled over you like a weighted blanket.
And maybe this thing is not impossible to let go. You could slip through his doors again and never see him again. Find some guy who checks enough boxes to lay you down, trying to fill the hole Joel's practically come to own, and let tge memories fade into something obscure. You just don't want to. And that's more dangerous than any infected you've encountered.
pairing: post-outbreak joel x f!reader genre: smut, light fluff
warning: explicit (18+)
word count: 2k
summary: you and Joel have been meeting up like this for a while, just a quick exchange of pleasure. that's it. for sure.
c/w: no use of y/n, grinding, dry humping, brief oral (m!receiving), make-outs, hickies (m! and f!receiving), daddy kink (reader calls joel it, Joel refers to himself as daddy a couple of times), Joel calls reader angel, baby, and darling, missionary, 4 pussy slaps, light breeding kink, creampie, underlying pinning (mutual), angst if you squint, recently edited
Your meetings are a fog of a thing. More of a concept than feasibly attainable. more of a feeling than solid. A hot breath dispelled to mingle around two sweaty bodies that are more need than the person. You both understand each other. That's the only reason it's impossible to let go.
That's what you tell yourself, grinding down on his lap without meaning to, without remorse, shoes kicked off somewhere in his hallway.
Joel's gasp is a bubbly thing, trickling out his throat like pleasure is trying to swallow it down at the same time it's scraping out the gravel of his Texan accent. His rough hands are splayed across your hips, lazy, as if it's just second nature. As if they've always been there. He never asks you for anything, not verbally, at least. But after so many rendezvous in the silence of his house, you've come to familiarize yourself with his “tells.” So when his chin almost bobs and eyes flutter from your eyes to your lips, you know what it is he wants. He's never been very good at hiding it from you, not even in the beginning.
When your wet lips meet his. He sighs, evidently relieved, aroused. You watch his candle-lit jeans get tighter and run a hand down the dark worn denim, cupping the heat and weight of him as well as you can through the dividers. A wax-thick heat runs straight through your cunt as you watch pink splotches bloom across his collarbone and travel up his neck as if an infected had just bit him there. You think to yourself almost incessantly about how badly you want to feel the weight of him, as much as you can from how he's sat on his couch. An arm around you, a heavy cock against you, just feel him in a way that traps you - mold you - against him. Pretty brown eyes drink you in, and almost squint in a smile as he reads your mind, snakes a hand under his jeans, lifts you against his chest, and shucks them off letting you fall back on his lap, leaving a hand on your hip, but letting the other wrap-around as much of you he can. Your poker face is no better than his.
Your words are breathed into the surrounding air, “Doesn't seem so fair for you to be half naked and me covered.”
They'll be gone after this little thing between you two is over, but you can watch him cherish them, anyway. Your heart swells.
“How'r gonna fix that then, Angel? Whaddya think we do about it?” He asks you in a voice just over a whisper, head tilting to the side, feigning coyness.
Cute.
You steal another kiss from his lips, like a kid swiping a cookie from a jar, and lift off his lap, standing close to his long legs. You wore little, to begin with, not being bothered by the cold as you winded through your door and alleyways. So when you peel off your sweater, Joel's pleasantly surprised to see you've got nothing on under. His cock jumps in his boxers. He palms himself as your hands slip down your jeans and tights.
No underwear.
“F-uck, darlin’ wonder if those guys ou’there knew how little they'd have to peel off to see all that.”
He takes the time between you peeling off your underwear to shuck his shirt off. His hand is just about to find his waistband, but you beat him to it, sinking onto your knees down to his carpet.
“Wonder if they'd know just what you'd do to them if they had.”
That seems to quiet him, but he smiles down at you, agreement found somewhere behind those pretty brown eyes. Even if you two tell yourselves this is just releasing tension, stress relief, he'd lose his top at the idea of sharing. Why should he when he only shares what's his with you? He doesn't bother saying that because it sounds a bit too much like something he definitely cannot say. Not if he wants to keep reliving the look on your face when his cock springs out of its cotton confines.
He's the closest thing you've seen to perfection. More than you'd ever admit. Enough to mentally become your standard. soft, bicolored hair, strong nose, dopey eyes, deep wrinkles, rough scruff, a checklist of traits. You can find another guy with enough of those traits if you need to, if the time ever presented itself, if you and Joel ever fell out of orbit.
But his cock - now that's something you think you'd have to search far and wide for. and even then you'd still prefer the one with pre pebbling over the tip, bobbing between your eyes in front of you. It's big. He knows it's the biggest you've ever taken, you've told him so the first time he fucked you. Like most of Joel, you know his cock like you know yourself. Know where he likes you to hold it, so you massage his balls with one and grip the base of his cock with the other, drawing a low groan from his lips, making you impossibly wetter. you know where to lick and suck to get him teetering on the edge of his orgasm the fastest, so swallow the cum that's escaped his cock, let it sit on your tongue until you've collected enough saliva to spit it back down on his cock. The sigh is undoubtedly obscene, but you know that's how he loves it, so you hollow your cheeks around him and sink till you're nosing the hair at his base and he's sighing.
“Atta g-irl,” he whispers, running a hand through your hair and down his couch cushions.
You moan something unintelligible at the praise and pick up your pace. Licking the underside of his cock until you have to rise for air, suck around his tip while your hand continues stroking him. You peer up through your wetting lashes, and watch Joel's pudgy chest flex and tighten with every bob of your head. Your eyes take in his thrown-back head, thinking of how you'll suck bruises into his neck later. Your speed builds and builds until he's bucking into your mouth and his groans melt into more moans than anything. You detach yourself from his cock, drool pooling down your chin to show his balls a bit of love. Flicking your tongue between them and sucking one into your mouth, circling your tongue around the same way you do to his tip. You listen to his moans turn more breathy, colliding against the words you've spoken up around you guys somewhere and becoming something only identifiable by the two of you. Something bordering on sacred. He has to pull you off of him to keep from coming too soon.
His sweaty palms slip from your shoulders up to cradle your face, a softness specific for you and no one else. This Joel Miller is for your eyes only, touch only, pleasure, and that dizzies you enough to have you messily kissing his cum into his mouth as he kicks his boxers all the way off and spins your body around his, caging you to his couch.
You pout, “Wanted to ride you…” you mumble, spoiled on previous privileges of the burn in your thighs as you'd bounced on him with so much fervor you'd been paranoid his neighbors knew what you'd done just by the sound of skin slapping. As if they hadn't caught on a long, long time before.
He's confused, “I haven't even touched you yet.”
“Don't need you to,” You tell him, wrapping your legs around his back to cage him into you. “'M wet enough for you to just fuck me now.”
Brown eyes widen down at you, and you watch his Adam's apple bob with a gulp, “Is that right?”
You nod, too preoccupied with the buzzing heat vibrating through your core to care about foreplay. You need his cock. And you know he'll give it to you. No matter how much he loves eating you out, he'll give you anything you ask for. And that makes you drip even more.
“You've been waitin’ long enough for it, haven't you,” He coos. You have.
He doesn't bother pumping his cock before swiping it through your folds, it'll just make him cum faster. just soaks himself on the essence of you with his lip tucked between a row of teeth and you watch as a drop of sweat rolls down his face.
“Eyes on me, Angel. Watch me as I fuck this needy pussy,” He orders, and you listen, almost nodding, but your mouth drops in a silent gasp as the weight of him slowly pushes through you. You'll never get used to taking him, but you don't think you'd want to, anyway.
“F-uck Daddy,” You moan a name you know will rile him up.
And much like clockwork, you watch his jaw clench, feel hot air dispel from his nose, and feel him throb and he picks up his pace inside you.
He keeps those steady thrusts inside you for a while, and you can get there just with how he's fucking into you, telling by the white heat that threatens to flash and cover your body like the film-like sweat. But he hooks his strong arm around your thighs and pushes so deep into you, you scream out something you can't fully comprehend. You doubt it was even a word, anyway.
He whispers to you as you cry out at the feeling of his cock pistoning inside you, clawing at anything you can get your hands on. “Yeah? you like it when Daddy fucks his baby's pussy like this?” He asks, bringing a hand down to cover your mound. You'll feel embarrassed for how eagerly you nod at his words later, but you're already too cockdrunk to care. And when he fucks into that spot that has you seeing stars, your eyes snap shut as you moan out his name.
But just as soon as you do that, a sharp blow is landed on your pussy and your eyes damn near bulge out of your head as you choke out a sob.
“What did I - fuck - say bout those eyes, Angel? Keep. Them. Fucking. open,” He groans, punctuating each word with a thrust.
And the strength from his hit just makes the coil in your gut twist tighter. And of course, he notices, nothing about you gets past Joel. Not when he can feel every clench and gush from you. Not when your eyes bore into him as he fucks you with so much speed your back burns from rubbing against the couch. The plump of his lip splits into a nasty smirk and his face dips into the crevice of your neck, fitting perfectly between you as Joel always has.
“Naughty girl,” is all he says, before sucking bruises into your soft skin and slamming another hand down on your clit once. You have to fight to keep your eyes open. Then twice, angling his cock up just enough to brush against the spot that has your orgasm heat into something sharper. And as you scream after another slap, the pleasure is too hard to stall and the dam breaks and you squirt all over Joel.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
It's not the first time he's made you squirt, but by the sounds he makes after you almost think you're back in his bedroom, tied up to his bed frame again. He’s not gonna last long, not after that, not after the intoxicating moan he sang. And it's your turn to tease him.
“Gonna shoot your load down my cunt?” You ask, throat raw and evidently fucked out, already knowing the answer. But you ask anyway just to watch his mouth drop as he ruts against you. “Yea-f uckk- yes, gonna fuckin’ fill you.”
“Then fill me. F-fill me so I can still feel you drip out me when I walk home,” you tell him, bringing your hands up to cup his face.
And as he melts into your palms, so does an expression Joel Miller only shows you. But you don't have a name for the sweat and flush, or the softness of his gaze. You can't say it's not a gaze you've mirrored. A gaze you don't know how to name yourself, or are simply too scared to. So instead of basking in it, you ignore the part of you that yearns for it, and the words that dance around you with candle smoke, and the intimacy of it all, and tell him to fucking breed you.
And his face fucking falls as a loud moan pushes through his gut and he empties himself inside you, painting the inside of you white. He rides out his high inside you with soft thrusts for a while longer until he's collapsing on top of you, cock softening.
The little voice in the back of your mind chants for you to mark him. Bounces off the walls of your brain until it sounds like as natural an action as breathing, so you tilt your head just enough to suck into his neck. You bite and lick into him and pull back to watch blue and purple flower-like bruises bloom on his tan skin. As if it were second nature, you slide your head up to catch his lips with yours, not caring about how filthy you must feel. And his mouth opens up so easily because Joel is always willing to give you what you want. Lines blur every time you two collide, but you don't pay it enough mind to heed the warnings. Don't question when that voice formed, the way he'd been so willing to breed you, the way you told him to. Not to the words you've said from previous moments that have conjured themselves up once again, kissing the ones you've said today, familiarizing themselves, melding into something messy. You ignore them, picture a solar eclipse of consequences on the horizon, and ignore them too. You blame it on being cockdrunk.
“Joel,” you whisper after a while of him catching his breath.
“Hmm?”
“’Ts late.”
He nods into your neck.
“I should go.”
“You should go,” he agrees, smacking his lips against each other slowly, nosing the spot under your ear.
And maybe that solar eclipse is scheduled to happen soon, and when you walk out you'll be blinded by the feeling of emptiness you've come to find it Joel-shaped (or at least Joel's-cock-shaped), and be so overwhelmed it makes you act stupid with desperation. Because Joel doesn't make any move, and you don't mention leaving again. Just let the fatigue of a good orgasm sing you to sleep, with Joel sprawled over you like a weighted blanket.
And maybe this thing is not impossible to let go. You could slip through his doors again and never see him again. Find some guy who checks enough boxes to lay you down, trying to fill the hole Joel's practically come to own, and let tge memories fade into something obscure. You just don't want to. And that's more dangerous than any infected you've encountered.
