feralforfrank - Tumblr blog

feralforfrank · 13 days ago

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joel, come on domestic!joel miller x female reader

summary: you're sitting on joel's lap while he plays his guitar. "his hands, big and calloused and so good at everything they touch—the guitar, his weapons... your body." warnings: dry humping, domestic joel, soft joel, lots of fluff (imo), unprotected sex, creampie.

you were supposed to be getting ready for patrol.

the boots are already on, laced up tight, dust clinging to the sides from yesterday. your thighs bare beneath the hem of joel’s shirt — the one you threw on after your shower, thinking you’d only wear it for a second. long enough to find clean pants, maybe grab your stuff. long enough to get your shit together.

but then you heard it.

the low, familiar hum of strings sliding under his fingertips, floating in from the backyard. you knew that sound — could pick it out from a mile away. joel’s guitar. joel’s hands. joel playing like the world’s still asleep and he doesn’t wanna wake it up.

so now you're here. standing barefoot in the doorway for a second before stepping out onto the warm patio stone, boots heavy against the quiet.

he’s sitting in the shade, sun catching the edge of his shoulder, guitar cradled in his lap. his shirt rides up a little when he moves, and you watch the muscles in his forearms shift as he plays. relaxed, steady. there’s a cigarette burning in the ashtray beside him and a mug of coffee gone cold.

he doesn’t see you at first.

you watch his fingers. the way he picks, slow and careful, like he’s carving the notes out of the morning. he’s not playing for anyone. just for himself. and god, you love him like this — when he thinks no one’s looking.

you walk toward him slowly, boots scuffing lightly on the ground. his head tilts a little when he hears you, but he doesn’t stop playing. just looks up with a small, crooked smile.

“didn’t think i’d distract you that easy,” he says, eyes flicking down your legs, stopping at the boots. “ain’t even wearin’ pants, darlin’.”

“i was gonna,” you shrug, stepping behind him. “but then i heard you.”

you slip your arms around his chest from behind, palms pressed flat against the soft fabric stretched over his skin. he’s warm, all sun and sweat and cigarette smoke, and he laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating under your hands.

“mm,” he says. “this why i don’t play as much.”

you kiss the rough edge of his jaw, the place where his beard meets his neck. “you should play more,” you whisper. “for me.”

joel hums, setting the guitar aside so his hands are free to slide over your thighs, fingers slipping just under the edge of his shirt.

“you ain’t makin’ it easy for me to be good.”

“you’re never good,” you grin.

he chuckles, low in his throat, pulling you gently into his lap. “you got ten minutes ‘til you’re late,” he says, hands already wandering. “then we better make it count.”

he gives you two soft pats on the side of your hip, voice a little more serious this time.

“no, baby. you’ve already missed patrol twice this week.”

you groan and hide your face in the warm curve of his neck, your voice turning sweet and innocent. “i don’t wanna go… please.”

joel chuckles, low and amused, hand brushing over your thigh.

“you never wanna go.”

“but today i really don’t wanna go.”

he sighs, but it’s not annoyed. it’s affectionate. he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers spreading wide across your lower back. “i can’t keep hidin’ you out here forever. someone’s gonna notice.”

you smile against his scruffy jaw, then kiss it gently. “you can,” you whisper. “just sayin’. and anyway… i’ve been feelin’ kinda weird lately. tired. and… i don’t know, i’ve had these weird cravings. might be pregnant.”

joel snorts softly, but his hand moves automatically to your belly, warm and protective. “yeah?” he says, teasing. “that what this is about?”

you laugh, but your breath catches just a little when his palm rests there, gentle and sure. it’s probably nothing —just a joke— but the weight of his hand sends a fluttery little thrill through you. something soft and nervous and almost too much to hold.

he leans in, presses a kiss to your temple.

“you’re finishing the duck you promised?” you asked softly.

you’ve asked for a wooden-duck whenever you see him on his workshop upstairs. he’s always making these animals figures.

“yes, babygirl, it’s almost done.”

“you know… if we got a kid, you’re gonna make her toys.” you rubbed your thumb on his beard.

he chuckled. “yeah?”

“make her a little doll house,”

“that’d be cute,” he admitted. “but until that happens—“

“no, i don’t wanna go,” you mumble again, lower this time, like it’s a secret.

he pulls back a little, gives you that look — the one that says he hears you, the one that says he still won’t let you stay curled up in his lap all day. “you have to.”

you pout. really pout this time, big eyes and a tilt of your head, your fingers tracing lightly over his chest.

“what if i go only if you play me a song first?”

joel huffs a laugh and leans his head back a little. “you always say that.”

“because it always works.” you widen your eyes even more. “please?”

he groans, but it’s fake, his mouth twitching with a smile he’s trying to hide. “you’re evil,” he mutters. “can’t say no to those damn eyes.”

“i know,” you grin.

he shifts the guitar back into his lap without making you move, arms sliding around you with ease, fingers finding the strings like they belong there — like you both do. even with you on him, he plays effortlessly, picking something soft and slow, the kind of tune that sinks into your bones.

you don’t say anything for a minute.

you just watch him.

his hands, big and calloused and so good at everything they touch—the guitar, his weapons... your body. the veins that twist under his skin, the silver in his arms, the salt in his beard. his profile in the morning light — those soft lines around his eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the concentration, the quiet.

you love all of it. all of him.

and even though you’re supposed to be out there — armed, alert, moving — all you can think about is this. this moment. this song. this man you’d let ruin you a hundred different ways just to hear the sound of his voice when he calls you baby.

you swore you could control yourself, but not like this. not when he's practically poking on your slit. you wiggled your hips just a little, but enough for him to feel what you were doing, for him to know what you were doing.

he didn't stop you, though. if anything, joel loved when you grind your hips on him, he loves when you're the one who look for pleasure.

as he played, you kept griding your hips until you started to feel how something gets bricked up beneath you and his voice started to get more raspy. he left the guitar for a moment and moved his hands to your waist.

"you don't get enough, do you?"

"joel, please—" you plea.

his free hand slips to your inner thigh. "this isn't saving you from going to the patrol,"

you nodded. "yes, sir." you put your hand on his. "just touch me, please."

he wouldn't let you go. not alone. not if you don't want to. he would cover all your patrols if he has to, just to make sure you're safe without complaining—he never does.

it's not just about keeping you safe, though that's part of it. it's that he likes coming home and finding you there. barefoot in the kitchen, shirt way too big on you — usually his—sleeves rolled up while you bake something sweet, humming under your breath like you're playing house. like you're already his. and now that you told him you might be pregnant—whispered it with a soft laugh and your lips against his scruffy cheek—he can’t stop thinking about it. the image of you round with his baby, fussing at him to fix something while you stir batter with one hand and rest the other on your belly. the quiet, soft domesticity of it suits you. he can already see it—your sleepy smile in the morning, his hand drifting to your stomach like it belongs there, the life you’re building tucked warm between you. it doesn't scare him like it used to.

he can see you playing his little housewife and it suits you.

he was already moving your panties to the side, while the other hand was undoing his pants while you kept moving your hips. joel's grip on your hips tightens as you continue to grind against him, his eyes darkened with lust.

he moves one hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, teasing you even more. you sway your hips, this time, in order for him to touch you properly.

joel chuckles at your eagerness, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most.

"someone's impatient," he says, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks again.

"i could do this all day, you know. drive you crazy with just my touch."

"i gotta go on patrol, joel," you make a sound. "please, don't make me beg."

"aw, poor little thing," he knows what he's doing.

"please," you pout.

"oh, don't give me that look," he says, his voice a raspy of amusement and arousal. "you know damn well you don't have to beg. i'll give you what you want."

he slides his fingers between your legs, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric of your panties. you soft moan. he shifts underneath you, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against you.

joel watches your face as he slowly pushes into you, his eyes filled with desire and a hint of amusement even more when you whine.

he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one driving a moan from your lips.

joel's hands move to your hips, his grip firm as he holds you in place. he can feel your body against his, your thighs on either side of him, and he can't help but appreciate the view.

his eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of you, before they settle on your face again.

"you look so beautiful like this," he says, his voice low and rough. "sitting on me, taking me so well."

"don't stop," you whimpered.

his hands moves to your breasts, his fingers gently pinching and squeezing your nipples. he starts to move his hips in time with his fingers, thrusting up into you at the same time as he teases your nipples, sending shivers all over your body.

joel's fingers move faster, his touch growing more possessive as he continues to pleasure you.

he moves one hand down to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he thrusts harder, his pace increasing.

"and these," he says, his thumb circling your nipple. "these are so sensitive. you're right, maybe you are pregnant."

you chuckled, biting your lip. "shut up,"

"you and i both know you want that. you love playing house," he growled. "might as well just give you what you want."

joel's breathing becomes more ragged as he feels you getting closer to your release. his fingers continue to work your nipples, his thumb circling faster and faster, driving you closer to the edge

he freed your swollen breast to grip your hips with both hands, guiding you up and down his cock. he always manhandles his girl as he pleases. this time was no different, sepcially when he saw you coming, seeing your face full of pleasure was the most precious thing.

joel's control snaps as he feels you reach your peak, his own orgasm hitting him like a wave.

"fuck," he gasps, his hips stuttering as he thrusts up into you one last time. "i—"

his fingers move faster, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills inside you, his body shuddering with pleasure.

you’re exhausted, boneless, your body humming with the afterglow and the ache he always leaves behind. you don’t say anything. just sit differently and lean forward and rest your face in the crook of his neck, rubbing your cheek lazily against the scruff of his beard.

he doesn’t stop you — never does. you do it every time, like it’s instinct, like you’re trying to mark him back.

“mm,” you hum, barely audible, your lips brushing his jaw before you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. not sweet. not sappy. just… yours.

joel looks down at you. all flushed skin and heavy eyes, hair stuck to your forehead, mouth still parted a little from how good he just made you feel. you look almost innocent like this. tired and pliant and too soft for the world waiting outside.

he doesn’t say a word. just slips his arms around you again and lifts you with ease, your bare legs dangling as he carries you inside the house. holding you like something sacred

you don’t resist. you let your head fall against his shoulder, assuming he’s just trying to help. getting you to the bedroom quicker so you can pull on your clothes and grab your gear. always thinking ahead, always efficient. it’s what joel does.

but instead of setting you down, he nudges the door open with his foot and walks you straight to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with care like he’s afraid you’ll break.

you blink up at him, eyes still heavy, voice rough. “just give me five minutes,” you mumble, shifting to sit up. “i’ll be ready.”

joel doesn’t move. just stands there with his arms crossed, looking down at you like he’s already made up his mind. “you’re not goin’.”

you frown a little, confused. “but you said—”

“i know what i said, love,” he cuts in, voice low but firm. “but i’m not lettin’ you go if you don’t wanna. stay in bed.”

you pause. then your mouth curls, slow and smug like you just won something. joel rolls his eyes the second he sees it.

“don’t look so proud of yourself,” he mutters, tugging the blanket up over your waist. “this is the last time.”

you hum, already curling into the sheets. “mhm. it always is.”

he huffs a soft laugh and leans down to kiss your temple, scratching his beard against your skin on purpose just to hear you whine. but he still pulls the curtains closed, still makes sure you’re tucked in like you’re something worth protecting.

and you let him. because you know he’ll never really say no to you. not when you look at him like that. not when you ask so sweet.

♡｡ﾟ🐇｡⋆｡ﾟ🧸⊹ ࣪ ˖♡

#the joel brainrot has consumed me again

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