The Great Belly Crisis
Pairing: Sleazy!joel x f!reader
Summary: Joel declares a full‑blown "belly crisis" after deciding his stomach deserves far more attention than it gets, dragging you on top of his belly with a lazy, smug and dangerously tempting smirk. What follows is you, grinding on his belly with a new found sensation that makes you crave more than you like to admit.
Warnings: +18, smut, sleazy!joel, unspecified age gap, daddy kink, hair tugging, belly grinding!!, nipple pinching (once), clit grinding, really unhinged filthy talk, praise kink, fat!joel, no outbreak
A/N: @lilithsmonsters ask in my inbox completely derailed my brain so badly that i HAD to write a whole fic about belly grinding and lemme tell you...he is UNHINGED. Thank you so much for the message — hope you enjoy what your chaos created lmao
"Y'know, I been thinkin'…"
Already a bad sign with this old bastard.
He gives you that lazy, half-lidded grin—the one that means he's about to say something he absolutely shouldn't—while dragging a hand over his stomach like he's showing off a trophy, fingers sinking into the soft, doughy flesh that hangs just a bit over his belt, all that fat layered over years of hard living and harder indulgences, warm and inviting in its unapologetic bulk.
"This here?" He pats his belly like he's proud of it, the slap echoing a little as his palm connects with the skin. "This is quality. Premium. Top damn shelf stuff, darlin'. Built like a goddamn fortress from all them years haulin' ass through hell, and you—" he points at you like you're the one bein' unreasonable, "you don't give it half the attention it deserves."
You stare at him. "Joel."
"Shit, I'm talkin' prime real estate, soft as a fresh-baked roll but solid underneath, beggin' for a pretty thing like you to come grind on it till you're screamin'."
His ramblings don't stop. He ignores you completely, leaning back on the bed with that smug, lazy smirk that always gets under your skin.
"I mean, hell, sweetheart, I'm sittin' here wonderin' what a man's gotta do to get a little appreciation around here. Got all this real estate goin' to waste, this big ol' gut that's seen more action than most cocks twice its age, and you actin' like it ain't the best damn seat in the house."
His hands strokes over his belly once.
"Christ, imagine slidin' that sweet little honeypot right over it, lettin' it squish up against you while I watch you lose your mind."
He leans back further, smug as sin, his belly protruding proudly, the faint trail of coarse hair disappearing into his waistband like an invitation for you.
You groan. "You can't be serious, Joel."
"Oh, I'm real serious, honey." He taps his stomach again, dramatic, the fat quivering under his fingers. "This is prime territory. Untouched. Neglected. Downright tragic, if you ask me. Bet if you gave it half a chance, you'd be real fond of it."
A beat.
That wicked little smirk, eyes gleaming with filthy intent.
"Real fond. Slippin' and slidin' till your juices are drippin' down my sides, markin' me up like I own that tight pussy of yours."
You roll your eyes, but he's already spiraling, words tumbling out in that endless, deranged stream.
"See, I figure a gal like you needs somethin' real to rub up on, not all that fake hard bullshit from younger folks. This here's authentic—warm, plush, gonna cradle that clit like it was made for it. Hell, I could lay here all night feelin' you hump it, beggin' Daddy for more while I tell ya how right I am."
You throw a pillow at him. He catches it in one had, grinning like an idiot, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact.
"C'mon, honey," he drawls, voice dropping into that teasing gravel. "Don't act like you ain't curious. I know that look—the one where you're half-pissed at my mouth but your thighs are clenchin' thinkin' about what I could do to ya."
You sputter. "What look?"
"That one." He points at your face, his other hand idly stroking the curve of his gut, thumb dipping into the soft fold above his navel. "The 'Joel, you're a filthy old pervert but unfortunately you fuck like a god' look. Admit it, darlin'. You been eyein' this belly since we started this little arrangement, wonderin' how it'd feel pressin' up on that honeypot till you're soakin' it through."
You try not to roll your eyes, annoyance bubbling up because yeah, he's maybe a rambling sleaze who never shuts up, but damn if his confidence doesn't make your pulse kick up.
He's sprawled out like he owns the damn world, that fat tummy on full display, rising and falling with each breath, the skin stretched taut over the generous swell, dotted with a smattering of dark hairs that thicken lower down, leading to the bulge in his jeans that's already twitching with interest.
"Fine," you say, crossing your arms but stepping closer anyway, because as much as he annoys you with his unhinged bullshit, those orgasms he wrings out of you are worth every eye-roll. "You want appreciation? Earn it, you old goat."
His eyes light up.
"Oh yeah? And how's a fella supposed to do that, huh? You gonna climb on and show me, or do I gotta beg? Nah, fuck that—I don't beg."
You don't answer with words.
Instead, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling his thighs first, your hands planting on his chest for balance, feeling the wiry hair and solid muscle beneath his shirt.
Joel's breath hitches, rough and eager, but he plays it cool—or as cool as this motormouth can—those big, calloused hands settling on your hips like they've done a hundred times before.
"Like this?" you tease, grinding down just a little, feeling the heat of his hardening cock through his jeans pressing against your cunt.
But you shift up, sliding your weight forward until your core hovers right over that prized belly of his.
Joel's grin turns downright feral, teeth flashing in his lined face.
"Go on, lower that pretty pussy down—let ol' Joel's gut show you what it's made for. Bet it's gonna feel like slidin' into heaven, all soft and warm, huggin' your folds just right while I talk you through every second."
You hesitate, annoyance flaring because no way his stupid fat belly gonna feel that good—no way you're giving him the satisfaction of admitting it.
But curiosity and that building ache win out, and you lower yourself slowly, your pussy pressing against the firm give of his stomach through your thin shorts, the fabric bunching up as his skin meets yours.
It's immediate; that plush warmth under you, layers that dimple under your weight, warm and slightly sticky from the day's heat, the coarse hairs tickling your inner thighs like a tease.
"Fuck, Joel," you mutter.
You start to rock just a bit, testing it. It's not bad, but you're not about to say that—his ego's big enough without your help.
He groans low, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, the other gripping your ass to guide you, fingers digging into the flesh.
"That's it, sweetheart. Ride it out. Feel how this big ol' belly cradles that honeypot? Soft as sin, ain't it? Gonna make you drip all over me, leavin' your scent on every inch while I watch you fight it." He rasps, tugging on your hair again. "But you can't fight it forever—Daddy knows what you need, and it's this fat gut grindin' up on your clit till you're shakin'."
His voice is all gravel and heat, rambling on without pause, that unhinged mouth firing off deranged filth like its poetry (or his own perception of it).
"Look at you, already gettin' slick—bet those lips are partin' for me, suckin' at my skin like they do my cock. Go on, hump it harder, darlin'. Let it squish up against that swollen little nub."
You bite your lip, grinding down despite the annoyance—his words are so over-the-top, so smug, but they worm into your head, making the friction hotter.
"Shut up," you pant, but there's no real bite.
Your hands splay over his chest as you pick up the pace, sliding your soaked pussy along the length of his belly, the slickness making every pass smoother, more obscene.
"Shut up? Nah, honey, I'm just gettin' started."Joel chuckles, the vibration rumbling right through you, sending sparks straight to your core.
"Bet you wanna lick it up after, taste yourself on ol' Joel's belly. Come on, admit it feels good—ain't no shame in lovin' a real man's body, all this padding made for makin' you cum buckets."
He bucks up slightly, pressing the swell harder against you, his free hand roaming to pinch your nipple through your shirt, twisting until you whimper.
"That's right, fight it all you want, but your body's tellin' on ya. Clenchin' and grindin' like a bitch in heat. Daddy's gonna talk you right over the edge—see how this fat tummy milks that honeypot? Gonna make you squirt if you keep goin', flood me till I'm drenched and you're beggin' for my cock next."
The words are relentless, deranged and filthy, pouring out in that confident drawl as his eyes lock on yours, dark and hungry, watching every twitch of your face.
You're annoyed—god, so annoyed at how he never stops, how he's so damn sure of himself—but the orgasms he gives are so good, and this one's creeping up fast, his smug rambling pushing you closer even as you resist.
"Joel—fuck, it doesn't—" you start, but it's a lie, your movements turning erratic, hips slamming down harder, every slide dragging your clit over that perfect ridge where muscle meets pudge.
"See? I was right all along—this premium belly's your new favorite toy. Cum for me, drench daddy, show me how much you love it even if your mouth says no." His voice drops lower, "That's it, honey—let go. See, I was right."
It's the smugness that tips you over, that endless, unhinged torrent of filth from this old man who knows exactly how to break you.
You shudder, grinding down hard as the orgasm crashes through, your pussy clenching and pulsing against his skin, soaking him in waves, the fat tummy slick and shining under you. He holds you steady, murmuring more deranged praises—"There ya go, floodin' Daddy's gut like a good girl, I was right, fuck yes"—his own breathing ragged, cock throbbing forgotten against your thigh.
When you slump forward, spent and half-laughing through the annoyance, he smirks up at you, hand stroking his now-glistening belly like a prize.
"Told ya. Premium stuff. Now, you gonna clean this up with that tongue, or we movin' on to the main event?"
You swat his chest, but there's no denying the afterglow. "Shut up and fuck me already, you smug bastard."
His laugh is pure victory, rough and triumphant. "Yes, ma'am. I got you."
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