sstan-hoe

[sstan-hoe]

"I don't want to look at anything else but you"

post outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

summary: You and Joel had found peace in the quiet life you had built together in Jackson. Despite him hurting from the growing distance between him and Ellie, he knows he has you and you have his back.

wc: 6,4k >

warnings: a bit of angst for joel but is mostly fluff. Age gap but not specified. Remember English is not my first language and i'm lazy when it comes to checking.

a/n: okay. I didn't write a lot of blind faith during this week and I'm giving you this other joel fic as a sorry and because i'm already grieving Joel. I hope you like it 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Ever since you and Joel had settled into a normal life in Jackson. The dynamic between the two of you changed. The cold mornings spent outdoors turned into mornings wrapped in sheets. The two of you, your head on his chest and his arms around your waist. The closest thing to normalcy Joel had experienced since the world had ended that September, years ago.

It wasn’t the easiest path, not for him, not for you. Years ago, when everything was ash and violence, the QZ had been nothing more than a temporary shelter with concrete walls and a rot at its core. But somehow, even in that godforsaken place, you had found Joel. Or maybe he had found you. Either way, you clung to each other like driftwood in a storm.

He was older, weathered by loss, hard edges and thick walls that didn’t crumble easily. And you—well, you were younger, yes, but you’d seen enough to understand him without needing him to say a word. That’s what got him first. The way you looked at him—not with pity, not like someone trying to fix him—but like you saw straight through him and chose to stay anyway.

You were a constant when the world refused to be. He never told you just how much that meant, how many nights he laid awake beside you in the QZ, eyes tracing the ceiling, wondering what he had done to deserve someone like you. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. But you stayed. Even when the Fireflies whispered about change. Even when the world outside called to you both with the promise of something more.

And then came Ellie. The girl who turned everything upside down. The moment Joel took her in, you followed without hesitation. You were the only one who never questioned him—not when he made the choice that changed everything. You held his secret like your own, wore the burden of it in silence. And when the truth finally tore open the fragile thread between Joel and Ellie, you were the one caught in the middle. Not because you chose to be—but because you loved them both.

Ellie had barely spoken to Joel in months now, but you still caught her glancing toward your porch sometimes, like she missed him but couldn’t quite forgive. You didn’t push. You gave her space, the same way you gave Joel comfort. Even when he didn’t say it, you could feel the guilt radiating off him in waves—quiet, heavy, and relentless.

But he still came home to you. Always. His hands shaking slightly when he poured whiskey into a glass at night, the ghosts of the past flickering behind his tired eyes. And you would press your fingers to the side of his face and whisper that he was not the man he used to be. That maybe, finally, after all this time, he deserved peace.

He didn’t say much in response. Joel wasn’t one for poetry or declarations. But his love was in the way he kissed your forehead in the mornings before you even opened your eyes. It was in the way he made sure the firewood was stacked high so you’d never get cold. It was in every silent glance across a crowded dining hall, in every soft murmur against your temple when the nightmares woke him.

Joel had built a warm home for you. A place where the both of you would end up dying after cherishing all the loved you shared for each other. After a fulfilled life, a happy life.

He became a fundamental part of Jackson, a community that grew every year thanks to his efforts and help. A community where he had become loved, and not just by you. While Joel reviewed maps and extensions that could continue to be built, you were part of the group patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

And when you rode out past the gates on patrol, he stood on that damn porch, arms crossed, waiting for your silhouette to disappear into the trees. He never said “be careful,” never asked you to stay. Because he knew you wouldn’t. But he always waited.

Because no matter how many years passed, no matter what came between him and the world, he knew one thing:

You were the one thing he had never wanted to live without. He would rather die before seeing life leaving your body in a lifeless frame.

Joel had built a warm home for you. A place where the both of you would end up dying after cherishing all the loved you shared for each other. After a fulfilled life, a happy life.

He became a fundamental part of Jackson, a community that grew every year thanks to his efforts and help. A community where he had become loved, and not just by you. While Joel reviewed maps and extensions that could continue to be built, you were part of the group patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

Today was one of those freezing days of winter when snow covered all paths. You'd been riding with Rick for nearly two hours in silence, save for the sound of snow crunching under your horses’ hooves and the occasional radio crackle from the patrol team. The morning was cold, but sunlight still broke through the trees in patches, casting gold across the frostbitten forest. You were glad for the silence. Patrols were always easier when you didn’t have to think too hard.

But Rick was fidgeting.

You noticed it as you dismounted to check the broken fence line on the north perimeter. He stayed unusually close behind you, clearing his throat every few seconds like he was about to say something and then thinking better of it.

You finally turned to him with a raised brow, snowflakes sticking to your lashes.

“Spit it out, Rick. You’re twitchier than a Clicker.”

He looked at you, flushed already from the cold but turning visibly redder. “Okay, so—I wasn’t gonna say anything. Like… ever. But if I don’t, I think I’m gonna explode or something.”

You leaned on the post you were fixing and blinked. “That sounds dramatic.”

“It is. I’m being dramatic,” he admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. “Look, I know you’re with Joel. Everybody knows you’re with Joel. Joel definitely knows you’re with Joel. And he could probably kill me with, like, a stare. But… I kinda like you. I have for a while.”

You stared at him, hammer halfway raised, not sure if you’d misheard him or if he’d actually just said that. “Rick.”

“I know! I know. It’s not cool. It’s kind of stupid. But I figured maybe if I just said it out loud once, I could move on and stop acting like a dumbass every time you’re around.” He ran a hand over his face, half laughing, half mortified. “Jesus, you’re gonna tell Joel and he’s gonna bury me under the tomato garden, huh?”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Hard. Rick blinked at you like he wasn’t sure whether he’d just been spared or sentenced.

“I’m not gonna tell Joel,”You said, still chuckling as you shook your head. “Unless I need leverage to make him do the dishes.”

Rick exhaled loudly, shoulders slumping in relief. “God, please don’t do that.”

“Hey, I might. That’s premium blackmail material,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow before getting back to work on the fence. “Look, I appreciate the honesty. I really do. It’s weird—but kinda sweet, in a ‘high school crush’ kind of way.”

He gave you a sheepish smile. “I’ll take it.”

“But Rick,” you added, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your voice gentler now, “Joel’s it for me. I love him. He is my husband, law or not law. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Hell, everyone does. Just needed to clear my chest.”

“Well, chest cleared,” you said, patting him once on the shoulder. “Now let’s go back to our work or something. You’re not gonna make me do all the work just because you embarrassed yourself, are you?”

He laughed, finally relaxing. “Nah, I’ll take point. You just hang back and bask in the awkwardness.”

“Perfect,” you muttered, smirking as you mounted your horse.

As the two of you rode off, the moment settled behind you like footprints in snow. Something a little strange, a little uncomfortable—but harmless. You knew Rick wouldn’t cross any lines. He wasn’t that kind of guy. And besides, by the time the sun dipped low and Jackson came into view again, your thoughts were already back home.

To the porch where Joel would be waiting, arms crossed.

To the way his jaw would twitch the moment he saw you, trying and failing to hide the relief in his eyes. To the warmth of his hand on the small of your back when he pulled you close and muttered, “Took you long enough.”

Because no matter what happened outside those walls, you always came back to him. You always would.

The sun had dipped behind the trees by the time you and Rick made it back to Jackson. The patrol had been uneventful after the confession—thank God—and Rick had thankfully returned to his usual self, cracking a dumb joke or two to break the tension. You left him at the stables with a casual wave, brushing the snow off your coat as you handed off the reins.

As you stepped out into the chilly late afternoon, your breath puffed white in the air. The lanterns strung along Jackson's paths were starting to flicker on, casting a golden hue over the snow-covered streets. You shoved your gloved hands into your pockets and turned toward home.

And then you saw Joel walking your way, just down the path near the greenhouse, shoulders relaxed in that slow way of his, with the glasses still perched low on his nose that made you pause and smile like a fool. He rarely kept them on outside. Said they made him look “too damn old.” But there they were, catching the glow of the lanterns as he walked, reviewing something in a worn notebook like the world wasn’t even there.

He looked up as if sensing you before he even saw you.

The second his eyes found yours, his entire face shifted—like watching ice melt under a flame. His mouth tugged into a lopsided smile, soft and real and just for you. And God, it still got you. After all this time. After all the hell, the healing, the hurt—he still looked at you like that.

“You’re late,” he said, voice low and warm as he closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm.

“You’re wearing your glasses,” you replied, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He huffed. “Didn’t mean to. Just got caught up in the numbers. Didn’t wanna strain my damn eyes again.”

You stepped closer, heart easing in your chest the way it always did when he was near. “You look good.”

Joel gave you a look, tilting his head. “You makin’ fun of me?”

“No,” you said, wrapping your arms around his middle.  “I mean it. There’s something kind of... sexy librarian about you.”

He let out a dry laugh, hand coming up to tug the glasses off and hook them into the collar of his shirt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know, but you love it, though”

“I do,” he said without hesitation, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his gaze shifted a little more serious, a little softer. “Everything go alright out there?”

You nodded, leaning your shoulder into his chest. “Yeah. Nothing we couldn’t handle. Rick confessed his love for me, though.”

Joel stopped mid-step. “He what?”

You burst out laughing at his expression. “It was harmless. Kind of awkward. I think he mostly just needed to say it to get it off his chest.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, but there wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his face, just amused disbelief. “Poor boy.”

“Right?” you said, still grinning. “He looked like he was about to faint. Said you’d probably bury him under the tomato garden.”

Joel gave a thoughtful nod. “Not a bad idea.”

You swatted his arm as he slipped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against him. His body was warm, solid, familiar.

“You know I only love one grumpy man in this town,” you murmured, tucking your hand into the space between his coat and flannel.

He looked down at you, something tender and unspoken in his eyes. “I know.”

Your steps slowed, gravel crunching gently beneath your boots as the space between the two of you closed even more. You turned to face him, chin tilted up, your hands sliding into the open edges of his coat to rest against his chest.

Joel's brows lifted just a bit, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. You leaned up and kissed him softly—just enough to make him pause and breathe you in. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in that way that always made you feel like you were something rare. Something precious.

The kiss lingered, unhurried and warm in the freezing air.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “Tell me about your day,” you whispered.

Joel hummed low in his chest, his nose brushing against yours. “Not as excitin’ as yours, apparently,” he muttered, and you could hear the faint smirk in his voice.

You grinned. “Still wanna hear about it.”

He sighed, but it was soft. Content. “Well, I argued with Tommy about expanding the southeast fence. Again. He’s still convinced we need to pull it in tighter. I told him he’s just scared of dealing with the extra patrols.”

You chuckled. “He is scared of extra patrols.”

“Damn right,” Joel muttered, clearly pleased you agreed. “Helped Maria sort through some of the winter inventory. Got roped into fixing a leaky pipe in the clinic because somebody thought I was the only one with ‘good hands.’”

You looked up at him with a grin. “Well… they’re not wrong.”

That made him laugh again, the sound low and rough and good. “Are you flirting with me, darlin’?”

“Maybe.”

“After all these years?”

“Especially after all these years.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a beat. “You keep that up and I’m gonna have to warm you up properly once we get inside.”

You raised a brow. “Promise?”

Joel groaned and gave a playful shake of his head. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it,” you said again, smiling as you slipped your hand into his and started walking toward home, where the hearth was probably still warm and the bed even warmer.

And God, you really did love this life. This normal, beautiful, quiet life with him.

As you reached your home, Joel’s hand squeezed yours gently before slipping away. He paused on the porch, his eyes drawn toward the garage across the yard. A faint flicker of light glowed from the crack beneath the door, soft, irregular, probably from that old lamp Ellie refused to replace. You followed his gaze, the air suddenly still around the two of you.

“She’s in there,” Joel murmured, his voice lower now. Not tense, exactly—but something sad, almost wary. You knew that tone. He’d been using it a lot when it came to her lately.

You nodded, shrugging off your coat. “Yeah, she seems to spend a lot of time in there.”

Joel lingered, eyes fixed on the garage like he could see right through the wall and into her thoughts. “Do you know if she’s going to the New Year’s thing tonight?”

You turned to look at him, reaching out to take his gloves from him as he pulled them off. “She didn’t say a lot to me this morning.”

Joel nodded; lips pressed into a thin line. He looked older when he worried—shoulders heavier, jaw tighter. “I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn´t.”

“Things are different now,” you said softly, brushing a bit of snow off his shoulder. “She’s still figuring out how to be... okay with everything. With you, okay. With both of us.”

“I don’t blame her,” he said after a moment. “I just… I hate not knowing how to make it better.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand against his chest. “Maybe it’s not the right time. You’re still here, waiting, still being there for her.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He looked at the garage one more time, eyes soft with a regret and longing, something like hope, but worn thin.

Then he turned back to you, lips brushing your forehead as he let out a long breath. “C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s get inside before you freeze that smart mouth off.”

You smiled and nudged the door open. “Too bad. I had plans to use it tonight.”

Joel laughed under his breath as he followed you inside, letting the door close gently behind you.

The world felt warm and still when you opened your eyes.

That fuzzy kind of stillness where the light was soft and golden through the curtains, and your limbs were heavy in the best way—boneless and relaxed under the weight of a thick quilt. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the calm, to the scent of pine still lingering from the firewood and Joel’s flannel shirt close by.

Your head was resting on his lap.

Joel sat slouched back against the couch cushions, legs stretched out, a book open in one hand, his glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t noticed you waking yet. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t say anything.

The fingers of his free hand combed lazily through your hair, tracing slow, thoughtful paths over your scalp and down to the nape of your neck. Over and over again, like it was as natural to him now as breathing. That kind of tenderness that wasn’t loud or showy, just there—anchoring and steady.

You smiled, sleep still in your voice. “You’re gonna put me right back to sleep doing that.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down from the page to meet yours, and a slow smile spread across his face. “That a bad thing?”

“No,” you murmured, shifting just slightly to curl closer into his thigh. “It’s a really, really good thing.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, low and warm. His thumb brushed along your temple in a soft arc. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You were out cold.”

“Blame your lap. It’s cozy.”

He chuckled, eyes returning briefly to his book. “Didn’t think you’d fall asleep halfway through tellin’ me about how Rick nearly dropped his gun while trying to impress you.”

“He did!” you laughed, eyes closing again. “It slipped right outta the holster when he tried to be all cool and stretch like nothing hurt. I nearly fell off the damn horse.”

Joel shook his head, the quiet amusement clear in his face. “Man’s a disaster.”

“Mmm, but at least a harmless one,” you yawned.

Another beat passed, quiet except for the sound of pages turning and the fireplace crackling low in the background. His fingers never stopped moving in your hair.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked softly, not even sure where the question had come from. “Before here. All the chaos we used to live in. The constant movement. The adrenaline.”

Joel’s hand slowed, just slightly. You felt the pause. Then the steady rhythm picked up again, gentler.

“Sometimes,” he admitted after a moment. “Not the danger, but the feeling of having to keep going. No room to think too hard. Now Ellie doesn’t talk to me.

You nodded; eyes still closed. “That would be temporary, you know.”

“Yeah.” His voice lowered, more thoughtful. “But I’d trade a hundred years of running for one of these. You and me like this.

That made you laugh again, and his hand cradled the back of your head as you shifted to look up at him.

“You’re getting soft in your old age, Miller.”

He looked down at you over the rim of his glasses, brow raised. “Say that again and see if I let you keep using my lap as a pillow.”

You smirked. “You’d miss me.”

“I would,” he said quietly, and just like that, the teasing faded into something real.

You smiled at him, “I should start getting ready for the party tonight.”

“You look perfect just like this.”

“How romantic, Joel Miller, but I probably smell bad.”

Joel snorted softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he closed the book and set it aside. “Darlin’, we’ve both smelled worse. Remember when we reached Bill’s house?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face into his thigh. “Don’t remind me. That was not my best moment.”

“I didn’t mind it then either,” he said, his fingers grazing down your jaw, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You could be covered in mud and I’d still think you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by how easily he could say something like that now. It hadn’t always been like this. It used to come out in actions, his silence, his worry, the way he stood between you and anything that even looked like a threat. But now… he let himself say it. He let himself mean it.

And you never took that lightly.

“I’ll take the compliment,” you murmured, sitting up slowly and stretching under the blanket. Joel helped you out of it without a word, and you lingered just a second longer to brush your lips over his before standing.

He watched you, content and quiet, as you moved toward the bedroom. “Do you want me to wear that sweater you like?” you asked over your shoulder.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “The one with the buttons?”

You nodded, already pulling your hair back into a messy bun.

“Hell yeah,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “That one drives me crazy.”

You laughed as you disappeared around the corner, the sound making Joel lean his head back against the couch with a quiet, content sigh. His hand drifted absentmindedly to the spot where your head had been resting only moments ago, like some part of him still needed to hold on.

From the window he noticed the light in the garage had gone dark. Maybe Ellie was getting ready too. Maybe tonight would be a little bit closer to feel like a whole again.

You stepped out of the bedroom a few minutes later, brushing the last bit of lint off the front of your sweater—the one with the buttons Joel never shut up about. It was a little snug at the waist, hugged you just enough to make your point. Paired with the jeans he said made your legs look “dangerously good,” you were banking on at least a solid double-take.

Joel looked up from the couch, still lazily sprawled across the cushions, glasses sliding down his nose.

And damn if you didn’t get more than a double-take.

His hand went straight to his chest like he’d been physically struck. His mouth opened, then closed again like he forgot how to breathe.

“Jesus,” he muttered, sitting up straighter, eyes trailing slowly from your boots to your eyes. “You trying to kill me?”

You grinned, one hand resting on your hip as you posed, just a little. “What, this old thing?”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look…” He trailed off, searching for the word. “I don’t even get a word for it. Beautiful doesn’t make it justice.”

“You’re such a liar,” you teased gently, though your cheeks were already warm.

“I’m not,” he said, still staring. “You walk into that party lookin’ like that, I’m gonna have to fight half the town.”

You walked over and stood between his knees, his hands naturally coming to rest at your waist, thumbs sliding along the hem of your sweater.

“Don’t worry,” you said, brushing a hand through his hair with deliberate slowness. “I’m only going with one man tonight.”

His eyes met yours, serious under all the teasing now. “You’re mine,” he said lowly, not like a warning, but like a vow.

“I always have been,” you whispered back.

And for a second, it didn’t matter where you were going or who’d be at the party. There was only this, his hands steady on you, your breath soft against his, and the quiet thrum of a life you’d built together piece by piece.

“C’mon, Miller,” you said, pulling back with a smile. “Get dressed. Can’t show up to a New Year’s party looking like you just came in from the stables.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “I was gonna wear the flannel you like, but now I’m reconsidering.”

You leaned down and kissed him slowly, “Wear the flannel. Then lose the flannel later.”

Joel groaned into your mouth. “You’re evil.”

You smirked. “You love it.”

He planted a kiss on your lips before standing up from the couch.

The lights in the main hall of Jackson’s community center glowed warm and low, casting golden halos over strings of mismatched decorations—handmade banners, old Christmas lights, paper stars that crinkled every time the door opened and let in the wind. Music played softly from an old radio in the corner, laughter and voices mingling with the hum of people pouring in, already loosening up with drinks and stories.

You stood near the back wall, a glass of something vaguely sweet in your free hand, the other laced tightly with Joel’s. His thumb brushed slow circles over your knuckles as you chatted with Maria, who was animatedly retelling something Tommy had done earlier that day involving a runaway chicken and a very confused patrol dog.

You were half-listening, smiling and nodding along, but you felt it more than saw it—that Joel wasn’t really paying attention. His body was here, steady beside you, but his focus had shifted.

You followed the subtle line of his gaze, and there she was.

Ellie.

She was standing on the edge of a table, watching Dina, dancing in the middle of the place. Her hair surprisingly neat. She wore one of the jackets Joel had patched for her last winter, and she looked... better. Not completely at ease, but not avoiding people either. Laughing at how Dina enjoyed herself, her face lit up in that rare, open way that used to be more common. That Joel hadn’t seen in too long.

Your fingers squeezed around his, gently tugging his attention back to you. He blinked, then looked down, sheepish.

“She showed up,” you said quietly, so only he could hear.

Joel nodded, but didn’t speak at first. His jaw worked slightly, like there was something caught there that he couldn’t quite get out. “Didn’t think she would,” he murmured eventually.

You leaned your head into his shoulder, your hand still holding his like it anchored you both. “She’s trying,” you said softly. “Just like you are.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched Ellie for another long moment. His face unreadable, but you could feel the storm behind it—the guilt and the love and the endless what ifs he carried like extra weight on his back.

“She still wears that jacket,” he said finally, voice a little rough.

“She still loves you,” you said, just as sure. “Even when it’s complicated.”

Joel looked down at you then, the depth in his eyes something that stole your breath a little. “You think it’ll ever go back to how it was?”

You turned slightly to face him, brushing your thumb along the inside of his wrist. “No,” you said honestly. “But maybe it’ll become something new eventually.”

He nodded slowly, like he was trying to believe it. Maybe tonight helped.

The minutes had stretched into hours, in a few ones. A new year would come into your lives and you were enjoying the hope that brought to all people in the community. Yes, you were enjoying the party, until something completely shifted the ambiance.

When Ellie’s voice came.

Loud. Angry. Hurt.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Joel!”

You froze.

The room quieted, just a little. Just enough.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. You watched his face—how it closed off, his expression almost neutral except for the way his jaw clenched. There was something like shame in his eyes. Like he’d overstepped. Like he knew this was coming.

He turned. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just quietly stepped back, like every inch he put between himself and Ellie was one he’d deserved. He didn’t look at you. Just walked toward the door of the hall, shoulders tight, hands in his pockets, and disappeared outside.

You turned slowly, your gaze falling on Ellie.

She was still standing there. Chest rising and falling like she'd just finished running. Dina beside her, wide-eyed, unsure whether to step in or stay back. The room had started to move again around them, but you stayed where you were, heart sinking.

Ellie looked at you.

And you didn’t say anything. Didn’t frown or shake your head. Just… looked.

There was disappointment in your eyes—yes. A flicker of sadness too, not just for Joel, but for her. For the pain stitched between them. For the ways she still didn’t understand that Joel didn’t defend her to take control, or because he thought she was weak—but because he loved her.

Because she was still his.

And whether she was ready to admit it or not, he would always be hers.

Ellie looked away first. Back to her shoes. Her jaw tensed like she was biting back words. But she didn’t say anything else.

You waited another beat, then gently set your glass down, excused yourself from the people at your table with a small nod, and went after Joel.

The cold had settled deep by the time you made it back home.

The porch light cast a soft glow across the wooden steps, and there he was—sitting in the chair like he had nowhere else to be, guitar in his lap, hands quiet on the strings. He wasn’t playing. Just holding it, his fingers curled around the neck like they used to when he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

His glasses were off, resting on the side table next to him. The soft creak of the porch boards under your steps made his head lift, and his eyes met yours.

You smiled gently. “Hey, cowboy.”

Joel didn’t say anything right away, just gave you the ghost of a smile before looking down at the guitar again.

You crossed the porch and crouched in front of him, resting your hand on his knee. “She didn’t mean it.”

He let out a breath, slow and tight. “Yeah, she did. Maybe not in the way she thinks. But she did.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you just leaned your head against his leg, wrapping your arms around his knee. “Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s freezing.”

“I like the cold,” he said quietly.

“You’re getting old,” you teased, tilting your face up toward him with a smile. “Your bones can’t handle it anymore.”

That pulled the faintest smirk from him. “You keep talking like that and you’re getting a snowball to the face next time it drops.”

“Promises, promises.”

You stood up and reached out a hand to him. He hesitated for a moment before placing the guitar gently against the wall. His hand slid into yours, warm and rough and steady, and you led him inside.

The house welcomed you with its familiar warmth, soft light spilling from the kitchen lamp. You tugged him into the living room and stopped, turning to face him, fingers still wrapped around his.

“You remember how to dance, Joel?”

He raised a brow. “Now?”

You nodded. “Now. Just us.”

There was no music, just the sound of the wind outside and the hum of life still buzzing faintly in town. But you stepped closer, placing your other hand on his chest as his found your waist, and you started to sway slowly, like there was a song only the two of you could hear.

You looked up at him, voice soft. “You know there’s no life for me after you, right?”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching. Quiet.

You swallowed. “Not just no one else… No life. I’m not made for this world without you in it.”

His jaw tensed, his hand tightening slightly on your hip.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I even thought I could.”

Joel's voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you saw the fight in him—the weight of it all, the doubt, the guilt. But you also saw the way his heart ached for you. How much he wanted to believe he deserved it.

“You’re all I’ve got,” he said finally. “You… and her. And I keep messin’ it up.”

You shook your head and pulled him closer, pressing your forehead to his. “You didn’t mess anything up tonight. You stood up for her. That’s what love looks like, even if she doesn’t know how to take it right now.”

Joel let out a shaky breath. You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “Always.”

And with his arms wrapped around you in the middle of that quiet living room, Joel let himself hold on.

You kept swaying with him, barely moving, your arms snug around his broad frame like you were afraid he might drift away if you let go.

The firelight from the hearth flickered softly across his face, casting shadows that danced along the lines etched into his skin. You lifted your gaze, taking him in—really taking him in.

His hair was more silver than brown now, especially at the temples, and his beard had followed suit, peppered with white that hadn’t been there when you first met him back in the QZ. The creases around his eyes were deeper, more permanent, carved by years of worry, loss, and that rare, secretive laughter you’d always tried to pull from him like a prize. His hands, still strong, still steady, were rougher too—scarred by more than just time. And his eyes… God, those eyes. Still the same deep brown, still full of everything he never said out loud, but they were heavier now, more tired.

But even in all of it, in every reminder that time had passed, that the world had taken its toll on him—he had never looked more beautiful to you.

This was the man who had survived when others hadn’t. The man who had chosen you when he could’ve kept his walls up forever. The man who still held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

Your fingers slid up his chest, fingertips brushing over the soft fabric of his flannel before curling lightly at the collar. You rose up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering. Then another, along the edge of his jaw. One at his temple. His brow.

Joel's hand tightened on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head now, and his breath caught when your lips found the corner of his mouth.

You pulled back just an inch and whispered, “I love all of it. All of you. Then. Now. Always.”

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

And then you kissed him—soft, deep, like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. His lips moved against yours with that familiar tenderness, that unspoken hunger that had never gone away, no matter how many years passed. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow and sure, like he wanted the moment to last forever.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, breath warm on your lips.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You shook your head gently. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Joel let out a quiet, broken laugh and kissed you again—softer this time, like a thank you.

You leaned in again, drawn to him like the tide to the moon. Your lips brushed over his once more—slower this time, tender and unrushed. A kiss that said everything without needing words. His hand slid up your back, fingers splayed gently between your shoulder blades, holding you to him like he never wanted to let go.

When you finally pulled away, your noses still touching, you smiled against his mouth. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

He exhaled softly, his breath warm as his eyes opened to meet yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart full. “This is to us,” you whispered, “to spending more years like this. Together.”

Something flickered in his gaze—quiet, reverent, a little disbelieving like the weight of your love still knocked the air out of him every time. His thumb stroked along your jaw, rough and careful all at once.

“Until the end, darling,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion.

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, resting your head against his chest, right over the steady thrum of his heart. And there, in the soft quiet of your living room, with the muffled echo of fireworks somewhere in the distance and his arms holding you like a vow, you knew there was no one else you’d ever need.

Joel held you there for a long, quiet beat—his hand resting at the small of your back, the other curled at your nape, cradling you gently like the world might crumble if he let go.

Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes finding yours again under the soft glow of the fire. There was something raw in them now—unguarded, soft in that way only you ever got to see.

“Happy new year, baby,” he said, voice low, gravelly, full of something deep and real. “To more years. However, many we’re lucky enough to get.”

You felt your throat tighten, the words catching in your chest. But then he said it, firm, steady, like it had lived in him for years.

“I love you.”

Not rushed. Not whispered. Just said. Like a truth that didn’t need any decoration.

Your hand slid to his cheek, thumb brushing over the slight stubble there. His eyes closed at your touch, leaning into the warmth.

This was your beginning. Again, and again. Every year. Every moment. Joel was your home.

[sstan-hoe]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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An Interview to Remember — congressman!bucky • standalone • slight power imbalance • smut

Keep Your End of the Bargain — demon!bucky barnes • standalone • secret affair • darkish • smut

bucky barnes collection

steve rogers collection

joel miller collection

The Devils Den — multiple!incubus x one!reader • smut • chris and sebastian characters

𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖞𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖊𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Summer Night City — assassin!reader • enemies

Everything for You Sunshine — established relationship • soft!lloyd • drabble

Little Slut — pornstar au • enemies to lovers • drabble

My Bestfriends Dad is the One — bfd!lloyd

Lights, Camera, Action! —pornstar!lloyd hansen • pornstar!reader • enemies to lovers

𝖨𝗍'𝗌 ���𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖬𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 - lloyd comforting you and some other stuff — DELETE

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖧𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖧𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖮𝗇 𝖬𝖾 - Lloyd also has a gentle side and only if the reader is near him. Lloyd wants to kill/hurt a man in front of a child. The reader tells him that he should not do it - and what the reader says is law. — DELETE

series

They Changed Me Forever — mob!andy + mob!lloyd • both are obsessed with reader • poly!relationship

𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

He shouldn't Love Her — criminal!reader • darkish

Pay Back is a Bitch isn't? — ps!reader • cheating

Sex on Legs — bfd!andy barber • smut

Happy Birthday — h!andy + hbf!bucky • threesome

New Louboutins — husband!andy barber • smut

A Secret Held and Kept — pornstar!ceo!andy • potentially a series • open ending • love at first sight

series

They Changed Me Forever — mob!andy + mob!lloyd • both are obsessed with reader • poly!relationship

𝖆𝖗𝖎 𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Friends...how does that Work? — pornstar!ari • pornstar!reader • friends to lovers

Grocery Shopping — established relationship • drabble

smutty drabble

𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖐𝖊𝖒𝖕 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Stockholm Syndrom — smut • darkish

𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖋𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Changing Room Classic — mob!nick | one-shot | smut

*aemond targaryen can be found under the following tags: #my one eyed prince / #aemond targaryen x reader — or through the navigation on @aphroditessaturn

[sstan-hoe]

𝖇𝖚𝖈𝖐𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

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Standalones

Happy Birthday — Today's your birthday and your handsome husband invited his best friend over to gift you a special present.

-> hbf!bucky barnes | ft. husband!andy barber | threesome

I'm not Yours Anymore — Bucky and you had a secret relationship that ended months ago, but there was an unspoken tension between you.

-> brothers bestfriend! bucky | forbidden love

Take My Breath Away — it's your wedding day, you are marrying the man you love...or are you? he says he loves you, so why is he letting you marry the man he claims is not right for you?

-> stepdad!bucky barnes | forbidden love | moodboard

Angel to Love for Eternity — you're his angel and he will love you for eternity, he does everything for you...it's time to return the favour.

-> vampire!bucky barnes

The Storm He Calms — with a hot-headed wife like you, Bucky's life was never boring. Add to that, his daughter. Seven years, cute as a button with the temper of her mother.

-> teacher!bucky barnes | established relationship | moodboard

Keep Your End of the Bargain — your boyfriend bought the perfect house, he said. The house in question beeing a ruin. You hated it but loved him. However, finding an old book and a cocky demon was not what you expected. He proposes a deal, will you accept? What if you don't keep your end of the bargain?

-> demon!bucky barnes | secret affair | darkish

An Interview to Remember — interviewing congressman James Buchanan Barnes didn't seem like a big deal, if he wasn't known for getting the journalists fired... but with you...he had other ideas...

-> congressman!bucky barnes | power imbalance

Series

Show Me How — meeting him might be the best to ever happen to you. He showed you things you've never thought you'd try, he learned you to stand up for yourself and be confident. For Bucky Barnes you were an angel, a savior and maybe the one he's been searching for all his life.

-> ceo!bucky barnes | sex-relationship

Hearts on the Line — bucky barnes was the man of your dreams, you would do everything to make him fall for you...and making a bet out of it is even more fun...

-> mob!bucky barnes | 'it was all a bet' trope

[sstan-hoe]

𝖏𝖔𝖊𝖑 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

oldest to newest

-> standalones

Thank God You're Pretty — you love joel, but god he can't cook. Meaning it's time that he learns a thing or two! However having a daughter who finds it quite amusing could make things difficult.

-> pre-outbreak | Sarah & Joel | fluff

[sstan-hoe]

𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

oldest to newest

-> standalones

Give You A Ride – you had your eyes on him for a long time...finally something happens but you have to follow one rule; the cowboy rule...

-> cowboy!steve rogers | smut

[sstan-hoe]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — mob!bucky barnes × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — bucky barnes was the man of your dreams, you would do everything to make him fall for you...and making a bet out of it is even more fun...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — slight stalker!reader, smut, angst, a little dark? bucky is a criminal sooo, reader is not a good person either, specific things will be found in the chapters!

PART ONE

PART TWO

[sstan-hoe]

Finding Refuge {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Age gap (reader's age is not specified - make it as large or as narrow as your heart desires), teasing, fingering, slightly domineering Joel, arthritis, orgasm denial by accident, unspoken feelings, Joel in therapy, threats, protective Joel, angst, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fucking out your feelings, confessions

Comments: We had some thots after the season premier and you know we gotta insert ourselves in this story. And change Joel's fate.

A/N: There was a post from @strang3lov3 talking about how sexy Joel was with his bifocals, age spots and arthritis and it was like 'yeah....let's fuck this old man' 🥴😅

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Walking through the streets, the ice and snow crunch under your moderately worn boots. Boots you are thankful to have new soles on since the cobbler had gotten over the pneumonia he had been fighting. His apprentice was good, just not quite as good as Mike is. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you see the house ahead, currently torn to pieces and being put back together for a new family to live in. Grinning to yourself because you know where you will find him when you open the door. Seated at the table, the bifocals that you tease him about perched on the edge of his nose. Sometimes muttering to himself as he tinkers with whatever has captured his attention and makes his achy hands work. You stomp off the snow, opening the door to a house that isn’t much warmer than the street outside and find Joel exactly where you thought you would. “What are you working on now?” You ask, walking up behind him and rubbing his shoulder slightly, basking in the small touches that he doesn’t reject anymore.

Joel knows he shouldn’t tense but he does a little. So unused to tender touches like the ones you give him. He doesn’t think he deserves them. The last person who touched him like this was Tess. He doesn’t think he deserves it after all the blood he’s spilled. “Breakers. They were gonna toss them but they just need the spring replaced.” He explains and you nod, leaning closer. “Can you teach me?” You ask, eager to learn whatever you can from him. He nods, adjusting his glasses and he gestures to the chair next to him.

It’s not that you really care about this stuff, you do, but it’s more about spending time with him. When he’s talking about building houses, about anything connected to before the outbreak, he opens up. Talks. Can ramble for hours about electrical code and permits, making you giggle to yourself when he repeats a story and doesn’t even realize it. Sitting next to him, you smell the warm, spicy scent that is unique to Joel. Turning your head so you can see the silver in his hair, the lines and age spots on his face that you find fascinating. He’s a handsome man, so fucking sexy, and he doesn’t even know what those eyes do to you.

Joel can feel you watching him as he starts to point out the different parts of the breaker he's fixing. "Otherwise your whole house is gonna be on fire." He says and turns his head to find you watching him. "You learnin' or fuckin' me with those eyes?" He asks, eyebrows raised and his eyes twinkle with slight amusement at your dazed expression.

“Can’t a girl do both?” You ask, biting your lip as your eyes flick down to his mouth. “You have great hands.” You praise. “Have I ever told you that?” Reaching for them, you pluck the breaker out of his hands and your fingers trace over work rough, calloused skin. “Sturdy, strong.” You hum. “Nimble.”

He snorts, wondering if you’re even talking about him or imagining a ghost of your past. “You like when they are inside you.” He murmurs and you fluster as you trace his fingers and over the sunspots on his hands. “You wanna learn?” He asks and you nod, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Good. You’re gonna learn. Come sit on my lap.” He orders, pushing his chair back and he pats his lap before he picks up the breaker again.

You smirk slightly as you push off your chair and wiggle your ass suggestively as you settle into his lap. You can feel the bulge that will harden underneath you, twitch, not immune to you as much as he pretends. “Learn me something then.” You tease, twisting around to grin at him as he frowns back at you. You’re used to his frowns, his gruffness, not taking offense to it at all. You’ve pushed past him not wanting you around. 

Joel snorts at your grin, picking up the pliers. “Watch. You’re gonna fix this.” He orders gruffly, “you gotta be gentle. Nothing heavy handed when it comes to stuff this small. We can’t break it because we don’t have any more.” He explains and he hands the pliers to you, his fingers brushing yours as you take the tool.

You love the little jolt of pleasure that flashes through you at his touch. Joel is not considered a gentle man by most people’s estimations. He’s hard at times, unyielding when it comes to those he loves, especially Ellie. Fiercely protective. Most see it as being bullish but you see the care, the concern, the fear of loss behind it. So it doesn’t bother you like it might others. “Okay.” You murmur, focusing on the breaker since he wants to teach you this.

His hand guides yours, showing you how to gently remove the spring. “That’s it.” He murmurs, leaning in closer towards you, and his hands shift to your waist as he watches you gently remove the spring. “Good girl.” He praises you roughly and his fingers trail down to the button of your jeans, popping it open. “Concentrate.” He orders when your hand shakes as you pick up the new spring.

Fuck. He’s in a teasing mood. Your brain seems to melt, forgetting what he had just told you about fixing this stupid thing as his hand slides under your shirt, into your pants. Chuckling when he discovers you aren’t wearing any panties. “Plan to get fucked today?” He growls in your ear, but you shake your head. “Laundry day.” You lie. “Too cold to wash clothes last week.”

He snorts, knowing you’re lying. He’s lived too many lives to not read people nowadays. “Right. Now get the spring and you’re gonna want to carefully - carefully - put the new one in place. You gotta be slow.” He commands while his fingers find your clit and start to run slow circles on your bundle of nerves.

“Joel-“ you whimper, making his fingers freeze over your clit, not even pressing. “You have to be quiet.” He chides, even though the crews working outside couldn’t hear you unless they come inside and no one really disturbs Joel unless it’s urgent. “Really?” You huff and he smirks against your neck. “Get back to work.” He instructs.

Your hand shakes slightly as you grip the pliers, picking up the spring from the table. “Doin’ good, girl.” He murmurs, rubbing your clit again as you bite your lip, trying to focus. “Keep it slow. Wanna make sure it’s in there nice and tight.”

“Shit.” You hiss, making him pull his fingers back again. You bite your lip and lean over the table, trying to concentrate and desperately wanting him to touch you again. “You gonna behave?” He asks, but you don’t answer, knowing he doesn’t want you too. You very carefully pick up the spring again to replace it.

He watches you, glasses perched on his nose, and he continues to rub your clit. “You can do it.” He reassures you gruffly, cock hardening beneath you as you whimper, biting your lip to try and concentrate.

It’s so fucking hard to concentrate when he’s touching you. Especially when he’s trying to make you break. Your hands shake slightly. “Gotta be able to work through distractions.” He breathes in your ear. “Distractions can get you killed if you’re not careful.”

You inhale deeply and he bites his lip to conceal his smirk as he watches you struggle to focus while he circles your clit with his fingers. "That's it baby. Doin' good." He murmurs when you manage to get the spring in position. "Now tighten it up." He murmurs, fingers continuing to work you over.

The screws are tiny and you huff slightly, swallowing harshly when he taps your clit in reprimand before starting to slowly drive you inside. Your walls are aching to have him push his fingers inside you, but you know he won’t until he’s good and ready. “Fuck.” You grumble when you drop the tiny screwdriver after putting the pliers down.

Joel tuts, pausing his touch, “pick it up.” He orders and you whine softly, making him pinch your clit. You gasp, gripping the pliers, and he chuckles, “concentrate.”

Your eyes flutter closed and you take a deep breath, trying to calm down and do what he tells you to. “Yes Joel.” You murmur softly, opening your eyes again to concentrate on fixing the breaker.

He’s hard now and eager to see you fall apart for him. He grunts when you grind down onto him, continuing to rub your clit. “That’s it, baby.” He murmurs, biting down on your earlobe and he shifts his hand back to give you what you need. Pushing two thick digits into your pussy.

Your breath catches and it’s the lack of sounds that keeps him from pulling his fingers out. He doesn’t stop, starting to pump them in and out of your slick walls. It feels incredible, making you tremble as you continue to work on the part, finally managing to put it back together with the new spring.

Joel grins when you put it back together, a smug look on your face until he wipes it off by pushing his fingers to find that spot that makes you fall apart. He finds it within seconds and you moan his name, leaning back against his shoulder. “That’s it. Good girl.” He coos, “damn good girl.” He praises until and you pant, “Joel. Gonna - fuck. I’m gonna-” Joel hisses, a searing pain in his hand and he stops his movements, unable to do anything but pull his hand from your pussy and out of your pants. Shaking it to try and eliminate the pain.

“No, no, noooooo-“ you think that he’s punishing you at first, teasing you more. Eyes flying open and you drop the tools to grab his hand until you hear his grunts of pain. Twisting around in worry, you see the frustration, the disappointment in himself, swimming in his eyes. It’s not ideal, but your first line of defense is teasing. “Can’t get it done, old man?” You hum, picking up his hand and rubbing his knuckles gently, ignoring how wet his fingers are with your juices.

He’s so mad that his damn arthritis has robbed you of your orgasm. “Shit.” He mutters, looking down at you caressing his knuckles, “sorry, darlin’.” He sighs and leans in to softly kiss your cheek. “It’s okay, old man.” You tease him and he snorts, “tongue still works just fine,”

“Might have to take you up on that. Later.” You sigh softly and let go of his hand. “But for now, I gotta go.” You admit, wishing you can stay. “Have to go out.” You know that Joel tried to keep Ellie from scouting even though she’s old enough, but he hasn’t even tried to talk you out of it, knowing that would be useless. “You gonna be at the thing tonight?”

Joel tilts his head in uncertainty, a habit he’d picked up over a lifetime. He feels guilty for teasing you but he knows he can make it up to you another time. “Maybe. I don’t - I don’t think so.” He confesses, biting his lip. “I gotta go soon. I’m, uh, I’m seeing Gail.” You know about his deal with her, having told him it’s a good idea to seek some help after you caught him having a panic attack.

“Don’t forget her baggie.” You remind him, standing up and buttoning up your jeans. You lean down and kiss his cheek again. Joel sometimes doesn’t want a kiss on his lips and while you would always want them, you don’t judge him for that. “Then I’ll see you sometime.” You straighten and wink playfully. “Later, old man.”

He rolls his eyes and snorts until he winks at you, knowing he needs to show you some affection. He sighs and taps his damn fingers on the table as you walk out of the room. He wants to meet Maria first to discuss the progress before he heads off to see Gail. 

**** 

“There’s this thing called a constructo-meter. You see, you crank this dial and-” Maria rolls her eyes at her brother in law. “You’d think you getting laid would mean you’d be less grumpy.” She snorts, looking out at the newly arrived refugees.

Joel huffs, wanting to deny it, but Tommy knows better and whatever Tommy knows, Maria knows. Joel turns his attention to the list of problems he has. “With the manpower we have, I don’t see any of this gettin’ done until summer.” He admits, although Maria is still looking out the window at something below. “This window isn’t keeping the cold out anymore.” She says and he looks up from his notes. “Yeah, yeah, caulk.”

Maria knows that Joel wants to protect the town and in his mind, that means keeping out refugees, even if he was one himself once upon a time. When his nephew runs in the room, Joel grins and his cold heart warms for the little boy, watching Maria greet him before he shows him the map.

He actually really likes kids. The part of him that he had thought died the day Sarah had has been slowly coming back to him. Ellie helped awaken a part of him that had been dormant but then his nephew brought it to life.

Maria watches Joel and when Tommy strides in, she watches her husband embrace her son with the rifle slung over his back. Tommy asks about the dial and Joel snorts, making Maria roll her eyes at the brothers. “You know he’s gotta go tonight.” Maria says your name, “I’m sure she will be there.” Tommy raises his eyebrows and looks at Joel who huffs, “she don’t wanna be seen with an old man like me.”

It’s Maria’s turn to huff, knowing you don’t give a damn about what people think. You would proudly walk down any street in Jackson with Joel, if he would just open his eyes. “You need to get your glasses checked if you believe that.” She tells him. “If you just asked her to move in with you, we could have another house already ready for another family.” She points out, brows raised. 

Joel sighs, rubbing his temple before he removes his glasses, he looks at the clock on Maria’s desk and sighs, “I gotta go.” He’s been running behind all day. He pretends to get shot by Benji and chuckles as he leaves the office. His mind is silent as he makes his way to Gail’s, the guilt of seeing Eugene’s things hitting him every time he walks in the door.

It doesn’t go well. He leaves before the hour is up, long before the timer goes off. The guilt burrowed deeper, even though he knows he did the right thing. He would do it again if it meant keeping the town safe. That makes him feel even more guilty. It seems like he can never just do the right thing and have it understood. Rolling his shoulders, he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, glancing at your house as he walks past.

The thing that really got to him during this failed session was what Gail said about you. 

**** 

“Apart from Ellie, I can see there’s something else bothering you.” Gail observes, glass in hand, and Joel clenches his jaw, “it’s - it’s stupid. I- I shouldn’t even be able to get it up still. Especially not for a younger woman. I mean, what does she see in me? I’m old. Hell, earlier I couldn’t even fing- damn arthritis.” He scoffs, flexing his fingers and Gail chuckles, “so what’s the plan? Be alone forever. Or what else would you do? Fuck an older woman? Someone like me?” She smirks and Joel frowns, shaking his head, “you’re not really my type. You know, you kinda hate my guts.” He says and she says your name, making his eyes widen. “What? You think I’m blind? The whole town sees the way you look at her? When are you going to stop being a pussy and ask her to move in?” Joel clenches his jaw at her words, anxious that everyone seems to know what’s been going on between you. “It ain’t like that. She - she doesn’t - fuck.” He huffs and Gail leans closer on her elbows. “Maybe I should kill her. Since you killed Eugene. We can be even.” Joel growls, standing up, and Gail manages to beckon him to sit after giggling and saying she couldn’t kill you, you make the best pies in town. “I’m not a killer. I’m not like you. If Eugene were alive, I wouldn’t - what I’d give to have one more moment where I could tell him I love him. I never imagined I’d lose him, even with the world going to shit. I’d give anything to tell him how I felt about him.” She confesses and Joel sighs, twisting his hands as guilt swirls in his stomach. “Does Ellie know about the two of you?” Gail asks and Joel shakes his head, “Ellie - she doesn’t know - fuck.” He rubs his temple and it doesn’t long for him to storm from Gail’s, tears stinging in his eyes.

Out on the patrol, you slowly guide the horse. The other group has gone north and you are taking the familiar path south. Doing a wide loop around the town, making sure that there aren’t any threats that could jeopardize the safety of the little community that you have come to love. “So are you going to the New Year’s dance?” Scott asks as he rides up beside you, startling you out of your thoughts. “Um- I don’t know.” You admit. “I might, I might not.” You would see if Joel was there and if he wasn’t, there wasn’t really a need to stay.

Scott turns to look at you. Jesus, you're beautiful and while he's heard a rumor about you and Joel, he doesn't know if it's serious or you're just messing around. "You wanna go...with me?" He asks after a few moments, cautious as his stomach twists in anticipation.

Your stomach twists, feeling guilty because you have to turn him down. This thing with Joel isn’t defined and it might never be, but you wouldn’t be fair to Scott and he’s a good guy. “I- thank you, but-“ you shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Scott grips the reins a little tighter, inhaling the cold air so hard his throat hurts, but he knows whatever the fuck it is with Joel would mean you’d never truly be his. He thought that was really over but your answer tells him it’s not. “I get it. I just - I hope one day he opens his eyes and sees what’s right in front of him.” He says softly and seconds later, the group beckons you over.

You fluster slightly, feeling your cheeks heat up even in the cold as you guide your horse over to the group. Knowing that people see that you and Joel are stuck in limbo makes you wonder if you are just wasting your time. However, you can’t help how you feel, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.

**** 

The music is fun and lively, people dancing on the floor, and Joel watches from the dark corner of the room, wondering where you are. He shouldn’t have come to this but he’s desperate to see you. After what Gail said, he just needs to put his eyes on you, even if he doesn’t speak to you.

Standing in front of the mirror, you look at the dress you are wearing, wondering if you should just stay home. Everyone in town is there, beyond those keeping watch on the walls. Everyone except Joel. You bite your lip and grab your jacket. You’ll go for an hour, and if he’s not there, you’ll dance with Scott and go home.

Joel sees you when you walk in, dressed up and looking so goddamn pretty. He watches Ellie as she dances with Dina. His heart bursts with hope for the girls as he watches them kiss. His chest aches for their future, hoping to see them flourish together, when his eyes land on you. He flexes his fingers, wanting to get up and approach you. He spends far too long fighting with himself and the moment he decides to approach you when you’re standing there with a cup in your hand, he hears Seth insult Ellie. His mind is clouded and he doesn’t hesitate to shove the asshole, thinking he’s doing the right thing until Ellie yells at him and his heart breaks all over again. Nodding, he steps away and his eyes meet yours as he leaves the party.

Your heart clenches, seeing the hurt and rejection in his eyes. Feeling the yearning that he can’t express, the need to just be needed by Ellie. She turns back to Dina and you decide to say something. Walking up to her and sighing softly, you touch her arm so she turns towards you. “He loves you.” You remind her softly. “He’s lost nearly everything he’s ever loved and he just wants to protect you.” You don’t wait for her to argue, or tell you to mind your own business, just turning and grabbing your coat to track Joel down.

Joel stomps back into his house, his chest aching as the anxiety sets in, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Everything suddenly feels so restrictive and he shrugs his coat off, kicking off his boots and he rips at his gloves and scarf. Tossing everything to the floor, he inhales deeply when he hears a knock at the door. “Go away!” He growls and his heart stops when he hears you call his name. He stumbles, walking over to the door, and he rips it open to find you standing there. Your eyes soften and he doesn’t think as he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in so he can press his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

You don’t gasp but you are surprised by the kiss. Expecting Joel to open the door and tell you to go away again or let you in and watch him pace while venting his frustration. Apparently he had decided on another way to work out his emotions and you kick the door closed behind you while wrapping your arms around his neck. You’re still wearing your coat, but you don’t care, you’ll give him whatever he needs right now.

His hands are frantic, not stiff like earlier, and he shoves your coat from your shoulders while he kisses you like he’s been starved of your touch for a lifetime. He’s desperate and he breaks the kiss so he can grab your waist, dragging you into his living room. You bump into things while your tongue caresses his, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass until he’s pulling the dress up your legs.

You let him touch you how he wants, how he needs to. Joel has never been this frantic before. Not even the first time you had sex and it had been a long time for both of you. You moan when he cups your cunt, whining into his mouth as he grunts, obviously pleased that you had decided not to wear underwear again.

He doesn’t even think as he pushes your body down until you are bent over the sofa, ass in the air. His grunts are deep as he works on unbuckling his belt, pulling his throbbing cock free moments later, and within moments, he’s pushing into your dripping pussy.

Your cry fills the empty house, pussy stretched beyond his fingers this morning because his cock is so much thicker. Not even giving you a moment to adjust, he starts hammering into your body with a fierce pace that pushes the breath out of you and has you clawing at the worn and sagging sofa.

His jaw is clenched as he unrelentingly fucks you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Nostrils flared as he grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he takes his frustrations out on your tight cunt. “That’s right, girl. Take all of it.” He finally hisses out through clenched teeth, “so good for me. Takin’ it all.”

Your eyes roll back, jaw slack as you let him just destroy your pussy with every snap of his hips. Fucking you like he’s possessed as your toes curl in your boots. It’s so fucking good, his rough voice making your walls clench tight, body shivering in pleasure while you take everything that he gives you and your body begs for more with the slick squelches.

For this moment, Joel isn’t a 61 year old man with arthritis fucking a woman that’s too goddamn young for him. No, he’s a man who needs to fuck out his feelings, and nothing is gonna stop him from making you squeeze his cock so he can forget about every goddamn mistake he’s ever made. “Fuck.” He pants, his hand squeezing your ass until he slaps it, your dress flipped over so he can see how his cock disappears inside you.

“Joel!” You choke out his name, the sting of his hand on your skin making you clench around him again. You never knew that Joel could be this rough, but it’s incredible. He’s never touched you with anything but determination to make you shake in pleasure, but the man has been gentle every time. As if trying to prove to you, to himself maybe, that he wasn’t the monster that he believes himself to be. “More.” You beg, eyes fluttering and sounds pouring out of your mouth as he drives into you again and again.

He pants, loving how you beg for more, and he obliges. Thrusting into you, he pants your name, and smacks your ass again. “Fuck. Feel so good, sweetheart. Takin’ it like a fuckin’ - like my whore.” He doesn’t ever call you names in bed but right now, he’s lost to the sensations.

You shudder, knowing that’s exactly what you are. So willingly his whore. “Yes.” You moan. Your fingers scratch against the fabric of the sofa, thin padding and hard wood of the frame digging into your hips as he rails you, but you wouldn’t change a thing. All you want is more, for him to keep fucking you just like this. Body hovering on the edge of completely shattering from his pace and the way his cock hits deep inside you.

He groans, hand trailing along your spine until he is gripping the back of your neck. “Fuck. Look at you. So fuckin’ good for me.” He praises you as he fucks you like a man half his age. You bring this out of him. You make him feel like this. “Fuck. You’re - need you to cum for me. Wanna feel you.” He groans, sliding his hand down to squeeze your breast as he pushes into you a little faster despite the pain in his hip.

“I’m gonna.” You pant out, so close to cumming for him. The pace is just as harsh as it was before but there is an extra push of his hips, grinding in before he’s pulling back and it's perfect. Only taking a few more thrusts before you are squealing his name so loud anyone passing by his house would hear, clenching down around his cock and soaking him with your juices.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants when you squeeze him and Jesus, he loves it. He groans your name, squeezing your ass in his hands and his hip is really aching but it doesn’t stop him thrusting a few more times until he’s buried deep in your pussy, painting your walls with his seed. He never cums inside you but right now, he has to possess every single part of you.

Your moan is low, animalistic, as you feel the heat of his cum pushing inside you. Filling you. Joel never filled you before, pulling out to cum on you, unless he’s fucking your ass. Then he won’t pull out, but apparently he decided that tonight was worth the risk. “Fuck.” You pant when he finally stops moving, his own harsh breathing all you can hear.

Joel’s body aches but he bends over you to press a soft kiss to your neck before he slowly pulls out of you. He tucks his cock away and stumbles to sit down in his chair, watching you shift onto your haunches, a frown on his face. “I’m sorry. I- shit.” He murmurs, “I shouldn’t have been so rough.” He flexes his fingers, feeling the ache in his bones.

You snort, shaking your head as you look back over at him. “No, don’t apologize.” You tell him, “you needed it just like that and I fucking loved it.” You shift to sit down, wanting to reach for him but you’re afraid he might pull away. “Are you okay?” You ask softly.

Joel bites his lip, shaking his head for a second, “no. I, uh, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do.” Tears fill his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall. “Every day it’s like I can’t do nothing right.” He confesses, looking over at you and you don’t touch him.

You know that he’s talking about Ellie, licking your lips, you shoot him a small smile. “She’s a teenager.” You remind him softly. “She thinks she’s gotta be independent.” He looks so forlorn. “One day she’s going to be so fucking grateful you were there. That’s all you have to do.” You promise. “Just be available to her. She will come around.”

He absorbs your words, “and you? Will you - I’m an old man. You deserve someone younger…better. You deserve to be happy. I can’t give you kids. I can’t give you a home. I’m messed up. I can’t - I’m a monster.” He looks down at his hand, flexing his fingers.

You frown at his statement, getting up and moving to the coffee table to sit right in front of him. “I don’t want kids.” You admit quietly. “I admire people that have them, but I couldn’t risk losing a child in this.” You gesture around you. “Jackson is safer than outside the walls, but it could change in an instant.” You look around the house. “Looks like a home to me.” You point out. “And I don’t give a shit that you’re messed up.” You reach for his hand. “I’m messed up too. We’ve all had to be monsters. It’s why we are still alive.”

He looks at you, your hand in his, and he sees the differences in your skin - yours is beautiful and his is worn. “What do you want?” He asks softly, “because if you decide to be mine, I ain’t letting you go. I will protect you until my last breath. I’ll love you until the day I die.” He confesses, remembering Gail’s words earlier.

“That better be a long goddamn time from now.” You threaten, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles. “I want to be yours.” You whisper, looking up at him. “I love you, Joel.” Smiling softly, you shrug. “I think I did from the moment you told Maria to tell us to fuck off.”

He chuckles at the memory, caressing your cheek with his free hand, “I’m glad she didn’t turn you away.” He murmurs, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you now.” He swallows harshly, “move in with me.”

You honestly hadn’t imagined he would ever ask you that. You know Ellie had moved into the garage, and you have no problem if she ever wanted to move back into the house, you would never even dream of opposing that. “Are you sure?” You ask, reaching out and stroking his cheek. “If I move in, you won’t have a chance to brood and be grumpy all by yourself.”

Joel offers you a self deprecating grin, "I could brood outside the house." He teases and you chuckle, leaning in to softly kiss him and he responds, "I want you in my bed every night." He confesses, knowing that he won't be easy to live with but he wants to try, he wants you.

“Then you’ll have me in your bed every night.” You grin and kiss him again. “Might stay warmer. Help those old bones of yours.” You tease, stealing one more kiss. “I love you.”

He smiles, "love you too, darlin'." He sighs after squeezing your hand, "you wanna sit outside and see the new year in?" He asks and when you nod, it's not long before you and Joel are sitting on the porch dressed in your coats and your eyes widen when he produces the guitar from his side. "Fixed the strings for Ellie." He murmurs, bringing it up to his lap.

You’ve never heard Joel play, but you knew he did. Maria had told you. Asked for you to be on the lookout for some guitars since she wanted her son to learn. She had told you about Joel teaching Ellie. “Play me something.” You ask softly, watching him as he gently strokes the wood grain of the instrument.

He is nervous but he nods, plucking the strings, until he softly plays. His rough voice is surprisingly gentle as he starts to sing. He can feel your eyes on him and he continues to play.

Joel has an amazing voice. It’s slightly rough, but in a way that makes you yearn for the heartache that you know is coming. Like one of the country stars that could sing about loss and make you cry. The snow stopped falling, and the night is clear, a perfect New Year. A time for new beginnings.

He plays until you hear the countdown begin, the cheers, and he smiles sadly, leaning closer to you. "Happy New Year, sweetheart." He murmurs, cupping your cheek and he walks in to press his lips to yours.

“Happy New Year.” You whisper when he pulls back slightly. “This year, we will make sure that we improve on the years before.”

Joel nods, kissing your forehead before you pull back, looking at him with a smile that makes his heart flutter. He grips the guitar, offering you a wink until his face drops. You turn your head to see Ellie standing in the driveway and she stares at Joel like he’s her enemy. You hear his soft sigh but he doesn’t let the hurt show on his face as she stalks off into the garage. “She’ll come around.” He doesn’t believe you but at least he can find comfort in you. “Maybe when I’m dead.” He snorts, reaching for your hand to squeeze it. “That won’t be anytime soon.” You declare and he nods, looking back out to the darkness, unaware of the threat that is heading towards him.

[sstan-hoe]

just a quick update, I'm redoing my blog so some fics will be taken off and re-written! This also means it could potentially happen some links don't work!

[sstan-hoe]

18+ NSFW. MDNI.

dreamlike — tommy miller x fem reader

warnings: slightly dark content, dark!tommy, smut, unspecified age gap but reader is over 22+, masturbation, handjob, cheating, tommy’s moral compass breaks down, unclothed grinding, surprise ending, sex outdoors, tension, maria ily this isn't personal I just rlly like ur man

notes: hi guys it's been 100 years I'm sorry ily + take this bc im ovulating 😎 tommy miller suddenly making me feel things bc of gabriel luna that's right. likes and reposts are appreciated🥹

“I don't think you've settled down quite just yet.” joel tells him one day while they're eating breakfast together. tommy glances, swallows then responds.

“I don't know what you mean.” but his eyes betray him as they return somewhere for the fifth time; at a distant specific table where you're reading some silly book again.

your food is yet to be touched while tommy’s and joel’s are nearly gone.

“tommy we're too old for this shit, you and I. you're my brother, I already know what you'll do before you even do it.” joel throws the bait and tommy bites it.

“I’m not doing anything joel except—”

“except eating Maria's food while throwing damn heart eyes at her.”

tommy hisses at joel’s truthful interruption, not so much at being interrupted but at the validation of those words.

“I’m just making sure she likes the food.” joel deadpans, tommy does the same right after because of his own words. gods, he is pathetic.

“fuck, just shoot me already.” joel shrugs at his brother's words and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's grinning. “tell your wife, I'm sure she'll be delighted.”

tommy shakes his head and keeps on eating. he stresses over his thoughts so much that, lucky for you, he misses your piercing gaze and the bite of your lips.

he spends days trying to blame it on something other than him being a terrible person. the breakout, the virus, the living circumstances, the we need to work faster from Maria or that everyone depends on him for the hard stuff.

sure, tommy had chosen this in the first place but he doesn't even know if he wants whatever this is anymore. what does he want?

“mister miller!”

the tension leaves his shoulders as he watches you walk towards him, only wearing that favourite sundress of yours and an oversized jacket.

it's the first real summer that wyoming has felt since the outbreak. tommy only appreciates it because he's too lazy to gear up for winter.

“you’re early.” he says and finds himself smiling as you flop down beside him, sitting on the green weeds.

the snow is still melting but it doesn't make things less cold — but clearly you don't feel the cold he does.

“I helped in the kitchen so they let me off early.” you explain and tommy hums. he thinks about the past months when he'd found you during patrol, covered by the snow and nearly dead. he'd never ridden back home faster, urging for the medics to help you out and thank gods they'd done a great job. now you were here, a few months later, and trusting him more than anyone else while tommy was just a straight up bastard.

he fed you more than others, brought you new clothes that you might like and most importantly showed you his spot. that well hidden spot outside the fences which was an hour's walk away... it wasn't even special but it was spacious and quiet and a little cleaner — and suddenly he was calling it our spot instead of my spot.

for months you'd come here, chat with him and draw in your worn out notebook. the pages were running out and tommy made a mental note to find you a new one. fuck.

“what’s this?” tommy murmurs while his hand points at a very specific drawing on the left page.

he seems to pale while you just feel yourself growing hot. you'd drew him back in the cafeteria when he was looking at you, when he thought you were so unaware of his eyes but you always knew.

“I just—” you try to find the right words, or better yet the right excuse, but you can't. “I just did it.”

tommy catches on your tone as if you were afraid to receive a reaction. his reply surprises you.

“do I really look at you that way?” he asks and you nod, the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder clearly to test him.

tommy has never succeeded in any tests in his entire life.

you lay on the ground, indifferent about the weeds tangling in your hair. tommy’s face hovers over yours as he kisses you, one of his hands sneaking beneath your dress to squeeze your thigh and nothing more.

“tommy.” he swallows his own name from your lips, his lips kissing you feverishly yet the rest of his body doesn't dare move. tommy just sticks to laying beside you while his elbow achingly supports his weight.

he cannot trust himself to move, to slip between your thighs and only kiss.

the hand he's placed on your thigh earlier starts to retreat but you don't let it as you use both of your hands to capture his wrist.

“sweetheart.” tommy warns, his eyes blown wide with lust while his chest heaves up and down. he’s affected by this, feeling overwhelmingly lustful like he's young again, while also fearing the consequences of this. the aftermath of it.

for the first time you don't listen to him, pushing his hand between your thighs until his fingers come in contact with your soaked panties.

you hear him cursing beneath his breath, fuck this, as he touches you after what feels like forever.

he rubs you through your panties, his massive hand feeling the material soaking further as his thumb finds your clit. your head turns and you bury it in his chest while tommy just rubs.

his breath is hitched and he's in a far worse state than you for a different type of reasons. you drool on his shirt and throb against his fingers because you're excited, you feel good. on the other hand, tommy cups and fondles your pussy possessively while stressing over the limits. he can't do more than this — he shouldn't.

“can I touch your cock?” you whisper almost too shyly and tommy wishes joel would have just shot him when he had asked the first time.

your hand unzips his trousers and takes out his cock because tommy has obviously agreed, because it's your fault for looking at him with those sparkling eyes.

your foreheads collide as tommy touches you and you touch him.

his fingers eventually sneak beneath your panties because he wants it to be fair, you're touching his bare cock so he's entitled to your pussy right?— or maybe he really is just an asshole deep down.

nothing like the tommy that maria loves, nothing like the tommy that everybody respects. no, once again he's the tommy miller that only joel knows.

your fingers circle around his cock, feeling it at first, before caressing every inch of skin you can get. your eyes are on tommy’s as your foreheads keep touching and a soft smile occupies your face while you stroke his cock.

you're smiling and touching his dick and tommy likes it too much.

“you need a new notebook, don't you?” tommy asks through gritted as your fingers squeeze around his hard cock. because it's definitely the right time for conversations.

you nod, mouth slightly agape as his fingers circle your swollen clit and then dip between your lips, feeling you dripping.

“anything else?” he asks too softly while his nose brushes against yours, offering some intimacy that isn't just sexual.

“pencils?” you don't order him or demand. you ask because you care and tommy likes that you care in that way. it's always only if it's okay with you and that's exactly how he needs it.

“notebooks.. pencils.. whatever you say, it'll happen.” he slaps your pussy, not too hard, and you whimper.

you can feel your nipples hardening beneath your dress while your pussy simply leaks for tommy miller. your legs shift and you spread them.

tommy sways his hips, fucks his cock into your tight but soft fist and curses.

the summer breeze carries your soft whimpers and tommy’s gentle grunts. your hand strokes him a little faster as your thumb purposely brushes against his sensitive slit and you don't fail to notice the way tommy’s hips twitch when you do it.

the front of his shirt is a mix of your drying drool and his sweat but it doesn't bother him. his solid focus is to fuck your small fist and, of course, to pleasure you which is his first priority.

tommy can handle you, his middle finger circling your wet entrance slowly before he pushes in, the slide smoother than he'd expected. he adds a second finger minutes later, then a third.

you stroke his cock as he thrusts his fingers inside your pussy and for a while nothing else really matters.

the squelching of your cunt is loud and tommy curls his fingers inside you, reaching a place that makes you see stars. “tommy!” you gasp in that angelic voice and he goes a little crazy, fingers digging into your sweet spot as he becomes a little desperate with his thrusts.

your lower tummy shudders with delight and your thighs flex as his fingers thrust into your tight pussy recklessly, poking at those sensitive nerves every damn time.

tommy thinks you warn him about your orgasm but he's also not sure as he's too busy watching your face and your pussy reacting simultaneously. your eyebrows furrow and your mouth forms a small ‘O’ as your walls are suddenly gripping his fingers too tight, too deep.

you cum with a shuddering moan of his name and coat his fingers generously, becoming a spectacle. you squirt for him, because of him, and he'd draw out more if it wasn't for time running away from you two.

tommy seems confused when you push his hand away but then everything happens so fast. he can't stop it, he swears.

he watches as you roll to your side, your chest brushing against his, and slip his cock between your thighs. tommy can't breath when his entire girth slides between your pussy lips, soaking through, until his tip kisses your clit.

“no sweetheart—” tommy warns weakly but you're already moving, swaying. his cock is wet with your juices as it slides against your pussy, harder than ever, and he is utterly defeated.

“please cum on my pussy.” you mumble against his lips and he kisses you otherwise he might do worse. he satiates himself with this situation, sucking your bottom lip while thrusting his hips upwards and taking half of what he wants. something he doesn't deserve.

his balls swell and then clench as he orgasms, lowering his hips a little to cum on your pussy. he fulfils his promise, painting the surface white with his cum before resting his forehead on yours again. spent.

it's quiet for a long time as his arms remain lazily wrapped around your body. you melt against him, into him, and you two do your best to catch your breath.

when he looks at you again, the sun is setting right behind you and making you look surreal. you're like a dream while tommy is just there with a stupid smile on his face and half indecent because of what you've done.

then suddenly he doesn't feel real, his body is all too light before it gets incredibly heavy.

he hears his name being called out repeatedly tommy tommy tommy and he jumps, looking around with sweat dripping down his back.

maria stands over him as he lays on the couch because he's home — not outside the fence. not with you.

“I told you to cut day drinking with joel. he's bringing back old habits.” his wife tells him, pressing a kiss on his forehead before walking away.

tommy rises and stumbles to the window. the snow is still there, white and thick, while the red calendar on the wall reads December 25 like it's a fucking joke. like he'd never met you secretly in the spot that belongs to you and him.

reality hits hard as you pass by his house, that familiar notebook resting against your chest as you hug it preciously. you look at him instinctively, as if feeling his burning gaze, and you smile.

“merry christmas, mister miller!” you yell cheerfully and tommy nods, forcing his best smile.

miracles can only go so far and in the end, tommy can be content with just dreams.

[sstan-hoe]

frank had a hard night. he’s beaten, bloody, and sore. the guys he was tearing through the city to find slipped through his fingers. to make matters worse, fucking daredevil decided to jump in and get in his way.

frank is pissed, and it’s evident by the way he bangs through the front door and starts to stop and slam his guns down. you know he’s pissed, but that doesn’t change your sour mood. he said he would be home hours ago, promised he’d spend some time with you. frank makes a lot of promises.

you don’t want to be petty, but it’s hard when frank constantly lets you down and expects to be forgiven like it’s nothing. you don’t come out of the bedroom to greet him, which you know he likes.

eventually he comes into the bedroom, jaw tight and face colored with blooming purple bruises. he finds you laying on the bed, in nothing but one of his old t-shirts. you know he likes to see you like that and it would’ve been a nice surprise if he came home three hours ago. you don’t say anything when you see him, which clearly bothers him.

“hello to you too, doll,” he says gruffly. “clean me up?”

you raise your eyebrows and look at him. you weren’t going to instigate, you really weren’t. but sometimes frank is so fucking difficult you want to scream.

“clean you up? i’ve been waiting for you for hours and you walk in here, no apology, expecting me to get all bloody?”

the look on his face says so it’s gonna be like that?

frank walks over to you, slowly like he’s stalking his prey. his boots are heavy on the floor but he’s no longer stomping. you know this is the calm before the storm, but right now, you don’t have it in you to care.

when he reaches your side of the bed, he grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. his hands are dirty and stink of gunpowder and metal. in the back of your mind, you know you’ll have to wash your face and re-do your skincare after this.

“you want an apology, huh? i’m sorry you were waitin’ for me in your nice cushy bed, watchin’ your show and eatin’ ice cream while i was tearing through half the scumbags in this goddamn city to keep you safe,” he says.

he’s not angry with you, he’s never angry with you. frustrated, sure, but anger is reserved for bad people who hurt others. at the most, you’re just a pain in his ass.

“you could’ve called,” you say defiantly. part of the reason frank loves you so much is because you don’t back down. you’re as stubborn as he is, and there’s a fire that burns hot inside you. he loves it, he does, but being on the other side of it makes him wonder if he is this difficult too.

“called you, sure. yeah and while i was at it, i could’ve shouted from the rooftops and jumped around. sometimes i swear there’s nothin’ in that head of yours.”

you narrow your eyes at him. if his grip wasn’t so tight, you might be able to open your mouth wide enough to bite his hand. you doubt that would end well for you, but you don’t have much physical power over frank.

“i’m sore, i’m tired, and all i wanted was to come home, get cleaned up, and spend some time with my girl. but you had to go and be all pissy. you could’ve gotten what you wanted, but you’d rather be stubborn than give me a break.”

“i give you a break all the goddamn time, frank. have you ever been on time to one of our dates? have you ever come home not bloody?”

frank’s hold on your face doesn’t waiver, but you can see the guilt on his. he knows he disappoints you and you know he feels bad about it. maybe it’s a low blow to play that card.

“this is my life, sweetheart. you knew that. you knew that i wouldn’t stop all this, not until every one of those assholes are in the ground.”

you sigh. he’s right, you did know what you were getting yourself into. that doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. when you met frank, you couldn’t fathom why he was single. the deeper you get in with him, you understand it more and more. it’s hard to be with someone who you know will never put you first.

“i’m not cleaning you up,” you say. the anger is gone from your tone, but you’re not letting him off scot free.

“then i’ll get into bed just like this,” he responds. it’s as much of a joke as he could muster in this situation.

he lets go of your face and starts to undress, starting with his shirt, then his boots and pants. as he exposed more skin, you can see the map of the injuries he’s sustained tonight. once down to his black boxer-briefs, he moves to get into bed but you stop him.

“got a problem?” he asks, a slight smirk on his lips.

“you’re not getting in this bed like that.”

frank huffs a laugh. he loves when you get bossy like this. “yeah? or what? you gonna stop me?”

“yes i am,” you say, crossing your arms. “you’re filthy and i washed the sheets today. you can come to bed after you shower.”

“really layin’ down the law, ‘round here, huh? givin’ me shit for coming home past curfew, not lettin’ me in my own bed. you must really be upset with me.”

his teasing tone should annoy you. he’s making fun of you, trying to downplay a serious problem. you want to stay mad, but all of this boils down to how much you miss him when he’s gone.

“you’re really not gonna let me in bed?” you shake your head. “after the day i’ve had? all i want is to be with my girl.”

you don’t need to ask what kind of be with he means. you want it too, it’s been on your mind since he walked through the door.

“you’re ridiculous,” you huff. you’re not really mad at him anymore, but you’re playing it up a bit.

“if you won’t let me in bed,” he starts as he pulls back the comforter and exposes your bare legs. “i’ll make you come to me.”

he grabs your ankle and pulls you down the mattress, making you yelp. you know frank is strong, but it always catches you off guard when he uses that strength on you.

you’re on your back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread so he can stand between them. the pull made your shirt ride up, which exposed the panties you have on.

“these are cute,” he says, finger toying with the elastic of your underwear. light pink cotton, patterned with daisies. not your sexiest pair, but they’re comfortable and breathable, perfect for sleeping. frank doesn’t mind, though. he’s always preferred the cute, innocent look to the playboy bombshell.

“you’re crazy if you think i’m gonna let you fuck me,” you say. he knows you’re bluffing, but he plays along.

“what’s it gonna take, baby? new shoes, a fancy dinner?”

you roll your eyes. “i want you to apologize.”

“i apologized before, honey.”

“that was not an apology.”

frank sighs. “i’m sorry, baby. i’m sorry i was late, i’m sorry i didn’t call.” his hands trail over your legs, fingers tips skimming your skin and groping at the meat of your thighs. “i’m sorry you were waitin’ here all night for me. i should know better than to keep a beautiful thing like you hanging.”

you close your eyes and hum, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you. “mm, yeah you should. you know i have a type, and there’s lots of vigilantes in this city.”

his fingers dig into your hips, threatening to bruise. “watch it.”

you crack open an eye to see the furrow in his brow. “don’t be jealous, frank. i’ve put up with your shit for too long to leave you now.”

you put up with so much of frank’s shit, but to be fair, he puts up with all of yours too.

[sstan-hoe]

Stubborn

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel sees your baby bump for the first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding/Impreg Kink. Hurt/Comfort (mostly comfort). Mention of insecurities related to changes in Reader’s body from pregnancy (!!) Praise kink. Creampie. Girthy but unspecified age gap. Nothing bad happens to Joel Miller. He lives to 103 :)

Word count: 4.9k

It had been a long week.

The one before that had seemed even longer. Joel Miller spent every night of it curled up on too-cold hardwood floors in remote cabins or in guard towers, on duty. He would’ve given anything to be someplace else, but as it stood, Jackson was on high alert for hordes of Infected. That meant he had had to contribute his fair share and go on extended patrol, no matter how loudly every last ligament, muscle, and bone in his old body protested.

Evidently, there was a dearth of strong and gun-savvy folks in town. No exceptions could be carved out for anyone among them—not even expecting fathers.

Today, Joel stood in a greenhouse, running off two hours of sleep. He’d made it back home that morning, but before he’d even slid off his boots you’d told him you were headed to the farmer’s market and you wouldn’t be gone more than twenty minutes at most, just stay here and get some sleep while I’m out, OK? Joel had refused.

“Already spent too much damn time away from you two,” he’d said grumpily, pressing a kiss to your temple before ushering you out the door. He caught you smile at that.

By ‘you two,’ Joel hadn’t needed to gesture to your belly and the life growing within it to explain what he meant. You both knew it—had been aware of this little world-altering development for weeks now—but no matter how much time had passed, neither one of you seemed quite capable of saying the words without a glance or a grin.

“Me and baby did just fine on our own these last nights,” you’d assured him teasingly as you walked along then. “In fact, I think he was glad not to hear all your snoring.”

Joel had almost chuckled through his latest yawn.

“Yeah? She tell you that herself while I was gone?”

He was convinced the baby was a girl.

You swore you were having a boy.

As Joel leaned against a display of sun-dried tomatoes and yawned extra big again, he decided it didn’t matter one bit what the gender was going to be. He just wanted to meet the kid. He hated that he would have to wait another six months to see their face and pinch their pudgy cheeks between his fingers, but that was a minuscule price to pay for what was to come in time.

Tiny feet. Bright eyes. Beaming, toothless smiles. Greedy hands that would no doubt be yanking at his silver hairs all hours of the day. He just hoped they’d take after y—

“Joel?”

Your eyes flickered to him in question. He hadn’t heard it.

“What’s’at, sweetheart?”

You furrowed your brows.

“I’m blanking on what Maria asked us to buy. Zucchini?”

Joel had no fucking idea.

A sea of fruits and vegetables lay out before him like a technicolor dream; he was so sleep-deprived it almost seemed surreal to see so much vibrancy at once, and he had to blink a couple of times to get his vision to adjust.

Then he was looking back at you. You were frowning.

“Baby, we can go home. You’re about to pass out.”

And Joel knew you meant it—despite only being at the market in town a grand total of five minutes, he knew you’d be willing to leave in a heartbeat if it meant giving him a moment’s worth of rest. It had been his own doing in bringing his drained, deadened, stubborn body here.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m good. You said, uh…cucumbers?”

“Zucchini.” You fended off his taut forced smile with a warning look of you own, as if to say: ‘You suck at lying.’

That look remained on him for a while and was only marginally diminished by a kiss he dropped on your forehead, followed by a promise to sleep the rest of the day. He didn’t like seeing you put off in the slightest, but if it meant getting to spend an extra half hour with you and Junior, Joel decided he was willing to bend the rules.

Fortunately, your scowl was even more short-lived than expected. The next second had you turning and, seeing something in a small wooden crate across the way, glowing with a bright, eager look. You walked over.

“Look—our baby!” you cried, peering into the box.

Joel was puzzled, but then you turned again and were suddenly holding a lemon up to your stomach, grinning.

“At thirteen weeks, the baby’s about the size of this.”

You balanced the thing proudly in your palm, just over your navel, and flashed him an irresistibly sweet smile. Joel smiled back, and was right about to squeeze the little fruit and tell you he couldn’t believe this kid was growing so fast, when a new voice cut in. It was some neighbor of yours. You turned to greet her, scarcely had a second to get through ‘hello’ before talks of an upcoming potluck were entered into, and before Joel knew it, he’d lost the opportunity to marvel your fruit fetus. He felt unusually dismayed at that but blamed it on burnout.

Why did he feel like he’d missed so much already?

It wasn’t like he could change the fact that this world you inhabited was overrun with the living undead, and he had to help defend this community against them, but still.

Joel was just about to yawn again and rub his bleary eyes when his gaze meandered somewhere else.

His yawn caught in his throat as soon as he saw it, and like before, he had to blink several times to clear the sight in front of him. This time, though, it wasn’t total exhaustion which clouded his vision—it was something more, snagged in his periphery at first, only to gain his full attention an instant later. Joel’s chest tightened.

Surely it wasn’t fatigue alone making him see this.

You’d tilted your body from him a little more while talking to your friend, and in your profile, Joel could make out an unfamiliar shape in your ensemble that he hadn’t noticed when you were holding the lemon: just under the swell of your breasts, beneath the apricot-colored material of your dress, he could see the faintest outline of a bump.

Joel stared harder, half-expecting that picture to fade like a mirage. He couldn’t believe the sight before him.

He’d seen you in fits and bursts over the last two weeks—he worked double shifts on patrol, so you were often asleep when he was home, and there were all the times he was forced to sleep at one of the far outposts, but no.

No.

Joel wouldn’t have missed something like that.

He couldn’t have missed the first glimpse of your growing belly when he’d gotten so…fixated on you, this baby, the thoughts of your future together as a family.

No, he shouldn’t have missed that. A good dad wouldn’t.

Hell, even a halfway decent father-to-be wouldn’t have not noticed the growth of his own child inside you. That seemed so rudimentary—how the fuck had he missed it?

Suddenly, a coil was forming in his stomach. Unlike the one in yours, it wasn’t a child but a pit of guilt growing there. He felt his legs weaken underneath him, and he swallowed dryly. He cleared his throat. He tried to cast a sideways look at you, maybe try and urge you to get on with this neighborly conversation and be done with it, but who was he to say anything now? Joel slumped against a table full of leafy greens and tried not to sulk.

He blinked and five minutes had passed, at least. His head was swimming with thoughts of shame and remorse, wanting to kick himself for agreeing to pick up shifts for his brother last week, and feeling like he’d failed you and your baby already—and they weren’t even born.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder again. Two bloodshot eyes darted to the left.

“Joel,” you said, softly. Your voice was full of sympathy.

The man couldn’t bear to hear it. He didn’t deserve it.

In fact, he felt so down on himself and dead tired now that he couldn’t muster up the strength to speak when you nudged him back onto his feet. You walked beside him with a basket that now contained three zucchini, two bulbs of garlic, a lemon, and a dozen other food items that he couldn’t place at the moment. Joel had no idea what you’d be cooking tonight, but he couldn’t help but wince at the sight of that tiny yellow fruit in front of him.

You knew this would be a long day.

Joel never slept well after those week-long stints going back and forth between patrol and home, and ever since taking Tommy’s as well while he was out sick, the man before you was drained of all his energy. Dead, almost.

Okay, maybe ‘dead’ was an overstatement.

Joel was very much alive; his body just sagged, his head lolled forward where he stood, and he refused to sleep.

It made no sense to you. It was like the longer he’d been awake, away from you, the more adamant he became that he couldn’t spare a minute while he was home dozing off. When you’d dragged his hulking body up the stairs to your bedroom, he shook his head in protest.

“I— I missed seeing her,” he mumbled dejectedly. Resisting your efforts to push him onto the bed.

“I know. You can talk as much as you’d like after you get some rest, OK? We’ll be right downstairs in the kitchen.”

That didn’t seem to appease Joel at all. If anything, he made an effort to shake his head harder and seemed ready to follow you back downstairs to help you cook.

You weren’t having any of that, so you nudged him back.

“Joel—”

“No, I missed it, honey. I missed it.”

He was talking nonsense now, surely.

“What do you mean? Missed what, Joel?”

With a deflated sort of sound, he collapsed on the bed behind him. Joel steadied himself wearily, blinking more.

Seeming as if he wanted to meet your gaze but couldn’t.

Then, to your surprise, he slid off of the bed and sank to the floor, on his knees. He shuffled closer to where you stood, and then slowly, sheepishly, peered up at you.

“I missed seeing this,” he clarified quietly.

And two hard, muscly arms wrapped around your lower half from where he kneeled. Joel’s face was mere inches from the fabric of your dress—where it flared the slightest bit out front and almost prodded at his nose.

Your little bump was protruding under your clothes now. It couldn’t be helped, no matter how loose of winter attire you wore, and you felt guilty that, at first, you hadn’t liked how it looked. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be some exquisite, transcendent experience wherein every waking moment had you cherishing what your body did for you, like sustaining a brand new life? You’d felt awful.

So terrible, in fact, that you hadn’t even thought to mention the development to Joel, which somehow made things even worse. You just wanted to wrap up and hide, for no other reason than that you felt so self-conscious.

Now here Joel was, pressing his face to the little bulge in your frame and peering up at you with the widest, most glass-like pair of eyes you’d seen in a long time. He was watching you like he was riddled with guilt himself, oddly

You couldn’t imagine what the shame might be for.

“What are you talking about? You didn’t miss anything,” you said softly, lowering your voice to just a murmur.

Joel winced as if you’d just reared back and struck him.

“I did,” he whispered back, tone hoarse. Then, somehow, his next words came out even more broken. “I was gone so long I— I didn’t even notice you had a bump already.”

He sounded so despondent as he said it—like he’d missed some great milestone in your pregnancy and not an event that you’d actually wanted to keep out of sight.

Your heart ached in your chest. You hated seeing this.

You wanted to join him on the floor and hold him tight, tell him he hadn’t missed one single thing, but Joel’s grip around your hips was far too much to move an inch. So you remained standing instead and stroked his hair.

“What, this?” you said, gesturing toward the swell of your belly against his face. Forcing a smile when you felt guilt flood your insides. “It’s…it’s just a little bump, Joel, it’s—”

Joel drew back momentarily to meet you, eyes serious.

“It’s our baby,” he resumed, tone all soft solemnity.

That made the shame balloon in your chest.

You should’ve told him. Shown him.

But no, you’d been too afraid of what he might think of your changing body. You’d kept the news to yourself and let things go on as if nothing had happened at all. At the time, you told yourself you were doing it in Joel’s best interest—letting him rest and not spend too much time off-duty worrying about you. You’d played tougher than you really were and ended up causing the man pain over missing a moment like this. Your bottom lip trembled as you pulled him in closer to you. You hugged him to you.

“I— I’m sorry,” you croaked. You touched his head gently.

You’d just threaded your fingers through the soft, grey hair at the back of Joel’s head when he tilted his whole face back up to you. His chin hovered above your bump, and his eyes were shining up at you. Shortly, he frowned.

“Sorry for what, sweetheart? You didn’t—”

“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to see.”

You blurted it out before you could think.

Joel was watching you so intently—tenderly—with his face so close to that spot you’d been trying to hide away. His look was open and sincere, and you felt like shit, so you just kept rambling on to clear your conscience of it.

“Ever since I saw the bump myself, I…I just…” you trailed off, feeling dumb as soon as the words started tumbling. “I didn’t like the way I looked. I wanted to keep it from you, because I was…scared of what you might think.”

And here he was, on his knees from how bad he felt.

His grip loosened, like he was processing things.

You found yourself lowering to the floor, too. You couldn’t help it. Your eyes began filling with hot, wet, hormone-induced tears like you’d been experiencing a lot of these last few weeks, and you hugged Joel again. You winced.

“I didn’t think it would mean so much to you, Joel. If I had known…If I knew it would hurt you not to know…”

Your wince became a full grimace—an ugly kind of cry that you’d long chastised yourself for doing—and you pulled back. You placed your palms over your eyes to hide your shame, but a couple stray tears leaked out.

Before you knew it, there were arms around you again. Big and muscly and warm, not hugging, but lifting you.

“Joel,” you sobbed into his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

You expected the father of your child to respond in words, but instead, at first, he just sat down on the bed with you in his hold. He let you rest your head on his chest, and for several long moments, he rocked you.

He held you, and you cried, and one of your hands came to fist the warm flannel of his shirt for sometime before you realized that Joel’s own palm was stroking your hair. Caressing it. Then, slowly, moving so he could thumb at the tears sliding down your cheeks, and holding you as close to his body as possible. Because of this, your ear was pressed flush against his chest, and you heard him.

Joel’s heart was hammering, and his breaths were quick.

You lifted your head, and as soon as you did, you were greeted with the sight of Joel peering down, face no more than a few inches away. Eyes soft and glossy.

“Joel, I’m so sorr—”

“You don’t,” Joel cut in, words still impossibly tender. “Don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, baby. Not one thing.”

You searched his face and saw exhaustion in every feature—there was no hiding that. Not just in the weeks but in the years he’d spent living in this world, fighting to survive and having all the scars and striations and thick, shining grays to prove it. You took stock of every sunspot and wrinkle, seeing a softness there that no pain had stolen, and found yourself all the more in love with this man. Your old man, the one who’d put this baby in you.

Without thinking, you reached for the hem of your dress.

You couldn’t get to it, as the skirt was long, and the material was splayed out all over Joel and the bed, but you were still able to bunch the fabric in your hands.

Tug it gently, but resolutely, up your legs. Near your hips.

Then over them. Suddenly sitting at your ribs, while your eyes stayed locked on Joel’s. The air felt a bit cooler now.

The house that you shared was always warm in winter. Now, with your stomach bared and your hand sliding at a snail’s pace up your front with Joel’s fingers clasped in it, you’d never felt a chill so biting in your life. Or frightening

Joel’s touch brushed the little bump above your pantyline, and instantly, you wanted to squirm. You hated how you felt that way, but it also couldn’t be helped. Your belly never protruded like this before, and you were still getting used to it—it would take time.

Joel hadn’t seen it even once before today.

Although he touched your body nonstop, with his focus centering a lot more on your tummy these days, he’d never actually gotten to feel the proof of his child growing inside you until now. You were showing.

Your belly was swollen beneath his hand and heaving lightly with every breath you took. You looked up at Joel.

And for once, he wasn’t looking back. He was looking at you, but his gaze this time was plastered to your lower half, where his palm was gradually moving to rest atop that tiny bump. He splayed his fingers. Yours sat timidly above his, and you wondered if you might not move back

Then you felt wetness on your hand. It was an odd, foreign feeling at first; you had no idea where those little droplets came from, but in a second, it dawned on you.

Joel’s head was bowed, and he was blinking hard.

The moisture was from his tears dripping down.

Your body almost caved with the realization. Your fingers tightened around the back of Joel’s hand, and presently, your voice was as hoarse as it had ever been as you shifted to sit up higher. Trying not to cry yourself.

“Joel, don’t—don’t, no. This is my fault.”

“It’s my fault. I haven’t been here.”

And just hearing those words leave Joel’s mouth seemed ludicrous to you. He’d been there every step of the way to date, rubbing your back through the worst bouts of your morning sickness, spoon-feeding you on days you found it difficult to move a muscle, stroking your cheek and speaking soft words of consolation—he was there.

And here he was, meeting your gaze with bleary, bloodshot eyes as he blinked through his tears.

You couldn’t bear to see it.

You scrambled up from Joel’s lap and hugged him—no, attacked him with an embrace that knocked him flat on his back on the bed. Your arms wound around his neck, and your stomach brushed against his softer one. If it weren’t several weeks premature, you might’ve thought you felt some movement inside you. You squeezed your old man even tighter then and started shaking your head

“Oh, Joel…”

You pressed your body to his, hoping he’d feel your sincerity, if not the heat and the swell of your belly, thanks to what he’d done inside you. Now, more than anything else, you wanted to show him what he’d made happen—what you were so happy to feel every day, despite your insecurities and fears about some parts.

You wanted him to know how much you loved him.

“You’ve been here,” you assured him softly. Lifting slightly so you could lie on top with your front to his. “You always have and you always will. You hear me?”

Joel swallowed as soon as your lips attached to his neck and started peppering kisses to tufts of black and silver.

Gently, he reached around your back to hold you to him. His arms had just constricted in a protective grip around the base of your spine when you wriggle out. You sat up.

You unzipped your dress and shifted on your knees to pull it off you completely. You tossed it and took a breath.

Now you were naked, save for your pale cotton panties, and sitting there. Straddling him. Soft rays of morning light filtered in through the window, and for a beat, you hoped the shadows it cast on your body didn’t make you look…odd, or undesirable to the man lying beneath you.

Fortunately, that fear was dispelled as soon as it arrived.

Joel’s gaze melted at the sight, and he swallowed again.

Wiping his eyes with one hand and beckoning with the other, he said, soft as anything: “Sweet pea, I love you.”

“I love you more.” You were fumbling to get your panties off—not even with sex in mind, but just so that Joel could see more of you. All of you. You wanted him to be able to drink in every inch now, like he couldn’t before.

You wanted to be naked with him, like you’d been when you made this baby together. It didn’t have to be anything more than pure and simple appreciation.

Though when you fumbled with the bottom buttons of Joel’s flannel and murmured, ‘Take yours off, too, please,’ you couldn’t deny that it had an edge of something else, as well. That was only natural.

Within seconds, Joel was stripped of his clothes, and his body was on display, the same as yours. You could stare at him, he could stare at you, and together, you could cherish the knowledge that these bodies made a third. There was a new one growing inside of you, day by day, and now you could see the proof as well as you’d felt it.

For once, Joel hardened, and it didn’t feel like just lust or love or arousal at the sight of your nude body, but a primal urge. When your folds dripped and glistened in turn, it wasn’t merely a product of wanting but of acknowledging what had already been done here.

This big man, this stiff and graying man, this kind man had put his seed inside you more times than you could count, and one of those moments had made him stick.

Stuck as he was, claimed as you felt, you were happy.

At last, one of your hands came to rest over your belly in a sweet, appreciative, and loving way, and you rubbed it.

It might’ve been the first time you’d done it.

That was definitely a first for Joel.

His hand immediately joined.

“You put a baby in me.” You said it gently.

“I put a baby in you,” Joel repeated.

In a breath, it was affectionate. In the next, it was protective. In the one after that, you felt his cock pushing inside you, but it hardly felt that way at all sitting on him.

It was sex, though. You rolled your hips and took him to the base. Joel’s hand stayed on your belly, trailing each movement with a look of awe. And strain. His smooth, bulbous tip grazed somewhere deep within your body, and your walls contracted around him. Sucked him in.

“Right there.” His fingers flexed over where his cock was currently stretching you out from the inside, and you whimpered softly. “Ain’t that where I stuffed you full?”

“Yes,” you breathed, free hand anchoring on his chest.

Joel fucked up into you gently, and damn, this was even better in the second trimester than the first. Your body was more responsive. Your slick warmth drew him in.

Every nerve-ending in your system seemed attuned to the one man who’d made himself a part of you, like he was made to be exactly where he was, and no place else.

“My sweet girl let daddy make her a mama, huh?”

It didn’t feel like fucking and still, you were a minute from coming. Joel’s words, paired with a hand on your swollen belly and the soft, pleasuring cadence of his thrusts made you helpless to the sensation. You looked down.

And for once, you relished the sight below. You loved it—Joel’s hand over your belly, his cock splitting you in two.

“Y’like how it looks? Me in you?” Joel chuckled. Behind it, you could sense that he was getting close too, though.

His thrusts sped up, and you bounced to meet them, a smile spreading across your lips once you found his gaze.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Know how goddamn pretty ya look swole up with me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice was sweet. Supplicating. Sincere.

It wasn’t as if your fears and insecurities all vanished the moment Joel told you you were pretty, or when he said that you had no need to be sorry. That would have to come with time—but the praise certainly helped. His words spoken so tenderly to you then had an effect.

You wanted to believe all these things, and the closer you got to climax, the more readily you shed your inhibitions. Your hips started gyrating with more force, and you no longer gave a shit whether your body looked so different.

For now, at least, you’d just have to accept that growing Joel Miller’s child inside you meant many things would change. There was no escaping it. What mattered now was your health, being together with Joel, and knowing how much he loved you, no matter what might happen.

And that much was clear from the way he eyed you suddenly—needily—and how the fingers splayed across your front migrated down your stomach, over your bump, and between where your body and his were joined. He always made sure you were taken care of, and of course, that concern extended virtually everywhere.

A series of quick, deliberate circles on your clit and his cock hitting you repeatedly in your most sensitive spot made you see stars. Your eyes were tempted to roll back in pure bliss, preparing for your orgasm to hit, when Joel snagged your attention back. He pulled you in until your chest was practically parallel with his, and then he drilled you from below. His mouth moved dangerously close to your ear, and from there, it was apparent he had plans.

Pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust, he spoke gently. He made sure you heard, though

“Y’like the way this feels now, don’t ya, sweet pea?”

In response, your words were more like a babble.

Still, you somehow managed to whine a ‘yes.’

And that was all Joel needed, apparently.

He leaned in even nearer, murmuring:

“Good.”

Good?

You were seconds from release. One hand was fisting the sheets now, your body moving in frantic tandem with Joel’s, and all at once, he was lifting your head. Tilting it sideways to meet his own while he fucked you relentlessly from below. He was beaming.

“Better get used to how it feels, ‘cause I’m keepin’ this belly full as long as you’ll let me keep on givin’ it babies.”

Fucking hell.

Your stomach clenched as if to say yes again, your brain went blank, and all you could think while you came on his cock was how much you loved him back—no matter how wary you were about these changes, how unwise making a man change diapers all throughout his sixties might seem, you’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

You might change your mind.

You might not.

But by the look on Joel’s face as he finished and flooded your insides with all his hot, sticky seed, you wanted to believe you would. One baby or a hundred, you’d give just about any number a shot with your old man, Joel Miller. You let him fuck you and fill you to the brim, and when it felt like he couldn’t go any deeper, or give you any more of this release, Joel pulled you in for a kiss.

Against his lips, muted between soft, sloppy movements, you managed to get out quietly:

“Whatever daddy wants.”

And when you’d finally pulled apart and were eye-to-eye again—after everything you’d been through today and these last couple weeks, these past few months—you couldn’t help it. A grin broke out on Joel’s face at the same moment it did yours. You both breathed heavily and felt your belly pressed against his. You were reminded, once more, of what brought you here and all you had to look forward to in the next months and years.

It would be hard, but well worth it with Joel by your side.

Gently, you nudged his nose with yours.

“I love you so much, Joel,” you whispered.

“I love you more, sweet pea,” he whispered back. Smiling

[sstan-hoe]

text message. l Joel Miller

a/n : a while ago i got a message from anon asking me to write something for joel. i managed to do it today. sorry you had to wait so long. i hope you like it.

warnings : pre-outbreak Joel, some angst, misunderstanding, age difference (about 10 years), suspected pregnancy, argument, Sarah and Tommy mentioned, lots of uncertainty and fear

[Joel Miller masterlist] [my masterlist]

He shouldn't have done that. It was crossing all boundaries, violating your privacy and trust, but he couldn't help himself. When your phone made a series of strange noises that indicated a message had been received and you were in the bathroom at a gas station, Joel reached for it and looked at the screen. A cold chill ran down his spine a second later.

"Two weeks late? Did you take a test? You should see a doctor. What did Joel say?"

A heavy stone landed squarely in his stomach, and he felt his head spin. “Fuck!” he groaned almost silently, shaking his hand as he placed the phone back where you’d left it.

He immediately guessed what you and your friend could have been talking about, he had no doubts. If you were pregnant, that complicated everything.

Joel Miller wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, but when he met you on one of his bar crawls with his younger brother Tommy, he felt like fate had finally favored him. He was almost thirty-six, had a teenage daughter, worked hard, and couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman. You, on the other hand, were simply beautiful, talkative, with a charming smile on your lips. You were also almost ten years younger than him.

It didn't bother him as much on your first date, or your second, or when you kissed on the couch, or after the first time you had sex. Joel felt younger and happier with you, and everyone around him noticed the change in him.

He fell in love like a stupid teenager, and you didn't make it any easier for him. It was only after a few months that he started to wonder. Maybe dating you wasn't so wise? Maybe you were really too young for him?

When you would visit him at work, bringing him lunch or something, guys would often make fun of him. Joel wasn't as immune to this as he thought. His insecurities grew, and worries about whether he was doing the right thing also grew in his mind too.

And now this. Pregnancy. When Sarah was born, he was too young, and now he felt too old to be playing in diapers. What if you, too, disappeared, like Sarah's mother? Would he be able to cope? What if no woman saw the possibility of a permanent relationship with him, and when the baby came, she simply ran away?

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

He didn't even notice that you had returned and were already sitting next to him. He nodded uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Tommy called, something at the construction site." he lied, quickly starting the engine.

"Do you want to go there?"

"What? No, I don't have to." Joel replied, "Sarah has a game today."

He didn't say anything else the entire ride home, and then to the game you went to with them. He seemed strangely distant, but you were certain he was constantly thinking about work. Even when you suggested ice cream afterward, Joel showed almost no interest.

You dropped Sarah off at a friend's for a sleepover and you were sure that you and Joel would go to his place, but when he suddenly said, "I'll drop you home." You already knew something was wrong.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled the truck up in front of your apartment. Once again, you spent the entire ride in silence, which wasn’t normal.

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine."

“Joel? Look at me, please.” He did it reluctantly, but eventually your eyes met. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s wrong?”

"I've had a lot on my mind lately and..."

"Please, don't lie to me." You interrupted him. You weren't mad, he saw concern on your face. "Did something happen?"

“I…” he began, but the words were hard to get out of his throat. He felt your warm hand on his forearm and it broke him. “Are you pregnant?”

"W-What?" you blurted out, completely surprised.

"I saw, quite by accident, a message from your friend. You're two weeks late. Something about a test and a doctor. I need to know."

You looked at him with slightly parted lips, a small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows. You couldn't gather your thoughts in your head, but Joel clearly couldn't stop himself from talking.

“I think about it all the time. You’re still young, you have plans,” he said, and you felt every word hit you harder. “I know we should be more careful. This whole thing between us is still new and uncertain. You’re so young, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. I fucked it up.”

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" you gasped, completely stunned by his words "What do you mean - too young? I..."

"Look at us. I have a teenage daughter, and you're at the beginning of your career. You can leave this town anytime you want, because there's nothing keeping you here. But what if you're pregnant? That complicates things like hell and..."

"Stop it!" you raised your hand in warning "You're talking nonsense! I knew how old you were from the beginning, I knew about Sarah and it didn't bother me."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Now you say that."

“Oh! And you’re a know-it-all!” you snorted angrily. “So I think it’s safe to say you took advantage of a young and fresh pussy.”

Joel gave you a stern look, but you didn't even blink. You were ready to fight him if he wanted to. You were aware of his fears and insecurities, but you thought that by this point you had already shown him how much you cared about him. Age was just a number to you, and ten years didn't make much difference when you weren't a teenager anymore.

"I never thought of you that way." he replied, clenching his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"I feel different now." you replied, shrugging. "Because you're acting like you're just looking for an excuse to break up with me. Because you read some message on my phone? Please! That's pathetic!"

“Pathetic?!” Joel raised his voice. How could you be so indifferent to how your life might change? No one in their right mind would decide to have a child so soon. But of course, you were still young, the romantic vision of a family still lingered in your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

Joel wanted to say something else, but you suddenly grabbed your things and got out of the car slamming the door. He quickly got out after you.

"Did you take the test? When are you seeing the doctor?" he asked, catching you before the door.

"Leave me alone." you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do."

You looked at him in a way Joel had never experienced before. Your warm gaze turned hard and angry, your mouth a thin line, and your entire body took on a defensive stance. You had never argued like this before.

"Fine." you finally said. "I'll tell you. I have an appointment on Monday. Are you happy?"

"I'll go with you."

“Don’t be ridiculous, this doesn’t concern you at all,” you laughed nervously. “And it definitely doesn’t concern you now.”

Joel looked at you in surprise. So he's already screwed everything up? He's already erased those few really good months?

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “My last checkup showed I had ovarian cysts. They caused my periods to be irregular, and now my period is a few weeks late. The doctor said I should see him if that happens.”

"Cysts?" Joel repeated.

"Yes! I didn't tell you anything because I didn't see the need." you replied "I'm not pregnant, Joel. And you... You, fucked up."

You turned around and disappeared through the door before he had a chance to say anything.

Joel had all night to think about what had happened. All night without sleep, when he kept seeing your angry face in his mind, when he kept repeating your words and feeling worse by the moment. He picked up the phone several times to call you, but he kept giving up, terrified you wouldn't pick up.

What would he have done if you hadn't picked up? Would that have meant the end for both of you? He couldn't believe that his own fears and insecurities had led him to attack you so suddenly. He could have done it differently, he could have waited for you to say something. Instead, he had cornered you and forced you to admit to something that was clearly your own personal issue, one that you wanted to resolve on your own.

He knew nothing about women's health issues. When Sarah got her first period, he managed with the help of a nice store employee, and then his daughter took over. For Joel, a missed period meant pregnancy, and that meant panic and everything he had experienced before.

No, he didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. He had screwed up. He felt like you were disappointed in him and he had no idea what to do about it.

It was still early when he showed up at your place. You opened the door, sleepy, with ruffled hair, in one of those oversized t-shirts you slept in.

"Joel?" you mumbled hoarsely, rubbing your face, "Did something happen? Something with Sarah?"

He shook his head. "No. I had to see you. I had to... Fuck." He scratched the back of his neck, nervously shifting from foot to foot, "Can we talk? I, I need to know that I didn't completely fuck this up."

You looked at him for a moment in silence, as if you were considering his words in your head. It was a really long few seconds, but you finally pulled away, allowing Joel to step inside. The apartment was bathed in morning sunlight, and Joel's eyes immediately went to the few framed photos of him and Sarah that you had at your place. Another needle stabbed him in the heart.

"So?" you asked, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm listening."

"I don't know where to start." he mumbled completely sincerely.

"I suggest you start from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'm a fucking idiot."

You tilted your head. "Good start."

Joel took a deep breath. He wanted to do it right, he wanted to take advantage of the chance he was given. Maybe it was the last one he had.

"I know now that I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I still can't believe you chose me. I kept thinking we weren't right for each other, that we were too different."

“Are you still thinking about age?”

He nodded. "Yeah. See, you're young, and I..."

You rolled your eyes and cursed loudly. “If you’re going to give me this age difference bullshit, maybe just leave. Jesus! That’s not twenty or fifty. Joel, I’m an adult, I work, I pay taxes. I get to decide who I’m with?”

“You think so now.”

“I thought so from the beginning! When I met you, the first thing I thought was that you have gorgeous eyes and really broad shoulders. I felt good with you, I liked you, and I think you’re really sexy. It has nothing to do with your age.” You took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips, like you were trying to explain something really obvious. “Sarah is amazing, I love spending time with her. I love you, even though sometimes you drive me crazy, and yesterday you really pissed me off. I didn’t tell you about the doctor because there was nothing to talk about. But if you had any suspicions, you should have come to me instead of getting even more upset. I felt like you were just looking for a reason to break up with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Joel took a step toward you. “When Sarah’s mother left us, I was left to fend for myself. Yes, there was Tommy and my mother to help us, but single parenting is no easy feat. I was certain you would disappear, too. Not only would you leave me with a child, but you would simply conclude that I was somehow flawed, that I wasn’t cut out to be with you. I guess I preferred sabotaging us rather than simply facing my fears.”

You looked at him, trying to understand his words. His face, eyes, and body language told you he wasn't lying. Joel was full of uncertainty and doubt, but you thought you were past that stage. You told him many times that you loved him, you didn't belittle his needs, and you always helped him with Sarah or around the house. And yet he felt all of this?

“I’m trying to understand you, Joel, I really am.” You finally said, sighing softly. “But I can’t be the only one in this relationship fighting for us. I feel like no matter what I say or do, you’ll find a reason why we can’t be together. Do you even love me?”

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, moving closer and taking your face in his hands. “You have no idea how much I love you. And that scares me. I’m always afraid you’ll find all my flaws.”

"You have a lot of them. I do too. But does it matter when we're happy together?"

No, it didn't matter. The fear of losing you showed Joel what really mattered to him. He cared about you more than he could admit. He saw how perfectly you fit into his family, always trying to help everyone and make everyone happy. He didn't think he'd ever feel the same way about anyone again. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I could do to fix this." He whispered, you felt tears welling up in your eyes at how much he was going through. "But I don't want to end what we have. I love you, I'm sure of that."

"You think so now." You replied, parroting his words.

He smiled slightly. “I’ve known this for a long time, and I think the knowledge scared me. The fear that you’d disappear and I’d be left alone with this feeling. I don’t want you to disappear. I want to stay, permanently.”

"I want to stay too, Joel. Don't push me away ever again."

"Never again, baby."

He kissed you, softly and tenderly, as if he was afraid he still might. But when you kissed him back, Joel felt an unimaginable sense of relief. He had you in his arms again, all the dark thoughts swirling in his head dissipated and he felt happiness fill him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, letting him kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

You could get through this, together. By being more honest, by giving each other a chance at happiness and love, by supporting each other. Joel knew he would do anything to deserve you, and you couldn't imagine not giving him another chance.

“I’ll go to the doctor with you on Monday if you want,” he said as you poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

“If you want. I could use some support,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of your head and smiled. He would give you anything, and you never asked for much. You just wanted him to love you, and Joel wanted that too.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sstan-hoe]

Summary: Joel was a bad man. Perverted, dirty-minded, and old. He couldn’t keep you out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. You were the new neighbor across the way, though he’d made sure you’d never spoken. He kept his distance, kept to himself. Until Dina nearly dragged you into his dining area, forcing you to sit with him as he averted his gaze. And just like that, she got up and left—leaving you to whatever quiet little plan she'd already set in motion. || smut MDNI 18+, peepaw!joel, oldman!joel, big ol' girthy age gap (not specified but LEGAL), soft!joel, the man's obsessed, perv!joel, daddy kink, pinv, f!receiving oral, masturbation, << joel watches you, joel mentions reader's body is 'little' but only because he's a big boy, big dick joel miller, idk what else to put here, this fic lives in a world where creampies ≠ pregnancy, this takes place *before Ellie & Dina get together || a/n: couldn't stop thinking about this all damn night. Ok he’s actually an angel but THINKS he’s a bad man

Just focus on the wires, Miller. The wires.

But the zap bit into his fingers the second he looked, eyes drifting up just for a moment, out the window and onto you.

You were kneeling in the garden bed along the edge of the street by your house, wrist-deep in dark soil, the late-spring sunlight gilding your skin like something out of a goddamn dream. Your shirt had ridden up your back as you reached forward, and he caught the bare curve of your spine, the subtle arch of it with every shift of your hips.

He hissed quietly at the sting in his palm, jerking his hand back from the breaker.

He was supposed to be working. Minding his own business. In his own house. At his own dining table. Just tinkering. That was all.

Wasn’t his fault the window faced the street. Wasn’t his fault you were outside in cutoff shorts and a t-shirt, sleeves shoved up as you planted an unruly bramble of something in the dirt.

God bless late spring, he thought. Then immediately cursed himself for it, trying in vain to look away. But you stretched your arms over your head, back arching. Your shirt lifted with the motion, a sliver of skin flashing above your waistband before falling back down.

He blinked, hard, and dropped his head.

The wires. Focus on the wires.

The breaker sat in his palm, cold and sharp-edged. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose, trying to reorient himself with the tangled mass of copper and springs he was meant to be working on. His pliers hovered over the rusted coil, but his mind had already betrayed him.

The air inside felt too still. Dust floated through shafts of sunlight that slanted across the kitchen floorboards. A breeze fluttered the thin curtain over the sink. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped. A dog barked. Life, irritatingly, continued.

Then he heard voices. Loud enough to pull him from his head. He looked up.

Dina was out there now, talking to you, animated as ever. You frowned at something she said, then shook your head. He didn’t know why that made his chest ache, but it did. 

He wanted to know what she’d asked. Wanted to know what you needed. If you asked, he’d do it. Build it, fix it, find it. He’d do it with no hesitation.

But asking meant talking. Talking meant being near. And Joel didn’t allow himself that kind of luxury with you.

Because if you saw him— really saw him—you’d see right through the practiced nods and gravel-toned grunts. You’d see the way his eyes trailed a second too long, the way his jaw clenched when you laughed at someone else’s joke. You’d catch the heat of it. The filth of it.

And you’d run.

He wouldn’t blame you.

But God, he wasn’t sure he could take it if you did.

And yet… if you hated him, at least you’d be thinking about him.

As he stared out the window, Dina suddenly gestured toward his house, thumb hooked over her shoulder. Then your eyes followed. You looked right at his place. And shrugged.

Shrugged.

He had to sit back for a second, stunned. What the hell did that mean? Were you talking about him? Dina was, clearly. But you…were you indifferent? Unbothered? That hollow thud behind his ribs wasn’t from a breaker.

He told himself he didn’t care. He tried. But then she was dragging you to your feet.

No.

You resisted at first. Body language stiff, reluctant. But Dina…Dina was not the kind of girl to take no for an answer. Joel knew it well, she was Ellie’s closest friend, after all. And now she was dragging you up his walkway.

“Joel?” Dina called out, knocking.

He scrambled to look busy, heart pounding, thoughts buzzing like flies.

“Yeah,” he called, low and even. “Come in.”

The front door creaked open in the corner of his eye, the sound of footsteps soft and careful as they moved closer. And then your legs came into view. Long, bare, sun-warmed. He had to force himself not to look higher, not to follow the shape of you all the way up to that sweet little body wrapped in tiny shorts and a thin tee, practically begging to be devoured.

The wires, Miller.

“Hey,” Dina said cheerfully.

“Howdy,” Joel replied, short and clipped.

“What’re you working on?” she asked, plopping into the chair beside him.

He kept his tone casual. “Old breaker. They were gonna toss it, but it’s just a spring issue.”

She leaned over the table, inspecting it. “Teach me?”

He grunted in what he hoped passed as agreement. Felt the chair next to her shift. Felt your hesitation fill every inch of the room.

There was a beat, some hushed whispers of Dina urging you again, but Joel still kept his eyes down.

Then the chair across from him scraped, and you sat. Tension spiked in his chest.

“Joel,” Dina said sweetly, “have you met my new best friend?”

Joel lifted his head just enough to look at her. “Thought Ellie was your best friend.”

“She’s in the Hall of Fame. But this one—” she beamed at you “—makes the best apple pie in Jackson.”

“I know.”

Ah, shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

You gasped. A soft little breath that made his stomach twist. He still didn’t look at you, but now he could picture it perfectly. The way your lips parted. The way your eyebrows probably lifted.

He wasn’t supposed to know.

You’d left it for him on a rainy afternoon. Knocked once, maybe twice, then stood there for a minute like you were trying to decide if you should wait. But when he didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—you turned and walked away, your footsteps soft against the damp porch.

He’d seen you enough around town, neighbors fawning over your story, your smile, your damn cooking. He didn’t want any part of it. Didn’t want to be another man pulled into your orbit just because you were sweet and sunny and made people feel something.

He told himself he wouldn’t touch it. But later, when the sky had gone pink and the house was quiet, he peeled back the foil, took one bite, and almost dropped to his knees.

It was perfect.

The kind of taste that sent him spiraling back through decades. Holidays at his grandmother’s house. His little hands and floured countertops and the sound of laughter he hadn’t heard in years.

He tried to hate it. Hate you for making it.

But Joel Miller was a lot of things. Stubborn, angry, mean when he had to be.

He was not strong enough to hate you.

Not even close.

Dina leaned over the table, elbows planted, chin in hand. “So listen,” she said, flicking a glance toward you before turning back to Joel. “Ellie told me you’ve been fixing up old stuff again. Thought maybe you could take a look at my space heater—it’s making this really weird buzzing sound, and I’m ninety percent sure it’s not supposed to smell like burnt popcorn.”

“What you need that thing for now? S’warm out now,” he grumbled over to her.

Dina’s brow furrowed at him, “My place is freezing!”

Joel rolled his eyes, grunting, eyes back on the breaker. “Probably just dust. I can swing by later.”

“Sweet,” she said, clapping her hands once. “I told Ellie you’d say yes.”

You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Joel could see it in the corner of his eye, the way you didn’t quite know where to look. Your gaze darted from the breaker to the worn tabletop to the window. You didn’t want to be here.

Dina, ever the social architect, didn’t miss a beat. “Anyway,” she said, standing suddenly and brushing her hands down her jeans, “I’m gonna run back and check on Ellie. She’s making me a cassette tape in the garage.

You looked up, surprised. “Wait, I thought we were gonna—”

She cut you off with a little wave of her fingers. “You’re fine. Stay. Learn how to fix shit. Or don’t. Flirt awkwardly. Whatever works.”

Joel finally looked up at that, shooting her a warning glare, but she just grinned and backed toward the door.

“Thanks, Joel. You’re the best,” she said sweetly. Then, turning her back to him, shot you a wink.

And just like that, she was gone.

The front door clicked shut behind her, and silence fell over the house again.

Thick as syrup.

You cleared your throat softly, the sound barely audible over the ticking wall clock and the quiet hum of the fan. Outside, the breeze rustled through the garden beds, and you could still hear the soft creak of Dina’s boots fading down the porch.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just let the silence stretch, long and taut, like a wire about to snap.

Then he finally exhaled, “She can be a bit…”

Your eyes lifted to his face, and he had to remind himself to hold your gaze. Don’t be impolite. Don’t be a scrooge. So he looked up a you.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, lips quirking at the sides.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he said, voice low as he looked back at his hands and quickly busying them, placing in a spring to the small breaker.

“I know…” you said, hesitating, and then, sitting straighter, you added, “Actually, I was gonna ask you…think somethin’s wrong with my water heater.”

His gaze snapped up. 

Anything you needed.

He’d do it. 

Fix it, build it, find it. 

God, he was so screwed.

“Been a few days now,” you continued, rushing the words under his stare. “Water’s comin’ out freezin’, and the pressure’s been real weak. Can you come look at it for me?”

Joel paused, the breaker in his hand feeling like a hundred pounds. 

Don’t, Miller. He told himself. But his mind, his imagination, the unhelpful bastard that it was, already lept at the thought.

You, naked under a stream of frigid water. Shivering. Nipples tight from the cold. Your fingers rubbing at your arms, slick and bare and goose-pimpled. Hair heavy, dripping, clinging to your collarbones. That soft little sound you might make when the water hit.

He swallowed hard, fighting the flush rising under his collar. He couldn’t have you suffering like that. No man in his right mind would leave you to freeze in your own house.

“Yeah,” he said, voice catching. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s tomorrow?”

Joel nodded, quick and clipped. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t already planning it out down to the damn hour. He’d come by early. First thing. Get it done and gone before he did something stupid like linger.

But early meant sleepwear. Meant you might answer the door in those tiny shorts he pretended not to notice through his window.

Afternoon, then.

That’d be safer.

“Just, uh,” he said awkwardly, fingers twitching around the pliers. “Maybe don’t be there when I show up.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His eyes flicked up to yours, brief and sharp, “In the shower.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, “Right. No—of course. Definitely not.”

But his ears burned. And no matter how hard he tried, the image came back anyway.

You. Cold. Naked. Wet.

He was so fucked.

Joel felt sick to his stomach just crossing the street.

Would you know?

Could you tell he’d spent the whole damn night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your tight little body haunting every inch of his imagination as he tugged at his fist beneath the covers?

He felt filthy. Perverted.

Bad.

He was a bad man, and worse, he knew it.

He probably didn’t need that second cup of coffee that morning—his limbs jittery, his hand aching as he lifted the old metal toolbox from the shed beside Ellie’s garage. His knees popped as he straightened, the ache behind his eyes a dull throb. He was too old for this.

Too old to be thinking about you like this til all hours of the night. Like some teenage, horned-up fool.

Still, he made his way over, the weight of the box not half as heavy as the tension in his chest. At his feet, the little garden bed was already blooming—blackberry bushes nestled in the soil and climbing your freshly painted fence. They suited the house. Suited you. Sweet, wild, a little thorny. He wondered what you planned to do with them. Jam, maybe. Pie, if he was lucky. If he was ever lucky again.

He doubted he’d get the chance, not after today.

Not with the thoughts scrambling around in his head, sharp and dirty and desperate to spill out.

He knocked once with his knuckles, quiet, almost hoping you wouldn’t hear.

Maybe you were out—off at the community garden, like he’d seen you some mornings with a basket slung over your arm. Or off sweet-talking the horses, sneaking carrots to your favorites. Maybe you forgot.

But no such luck. The door opened.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes widening like you hadn’t expected him to actually show. The sound of your voice—saying his name for the first time—ripped something open in his chest.

Say it again, he wanted to beg. Please. Just once more, so I can keep it locked away. So I can die with it in my memory. 

You smiled, a little sheepish.

He didn’t smile back. Just kept his brow furrowed, his expression hard. He couldn’t afford to let you get close. Couldn’t let you mistake him for someone safe.

“Hi,” he nodded, voice low.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Uh, my shower’s just… in here—”

“Need to take a look at the water heater first,” he cut in.

“Oh,” you blinked, hands still gripping the door and its frame. “Right…”

“Can I come in?” he added, one brow raised. A flicker of something like amusement in his voice. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was.

“Course,” you said quickly, stepping aside. “Please.”

He stepped inside.

Into your world.

It smelled like cinnamon. Like apples and woodsmoke and something fresh baked—though he saw no tray of anything waiting on the counter. Just your scent, clinging to the walls. Like you lived here completely. Like you’d settled in, made it your own.

Of course you had.

Fresh flowers sat in a mason jar on the table. Little framed paintings dotted the walls—ones he recognized from the barter-and-trade shop, and a few of horses that made his chest ache. One in particular, just a lone cowboy on a mountainside, was his personal favorite.

“The uh… water heater’s down in the basement,” you said, already walking toward the narrow door at the back of the kitchen.

Joel followed, but when you stayed behind, hovering uncertainly near the top of the stairs, he didn’t protest. It was better that way. He needed to get himself under control.

He ducked into the dark, found the breaker box, and the old water heater behind it. It didn’t take long to spot the issue.

The main switch was off.

Just… flipped off. No blown fuse. No leak. No damage.

He stared at it, confused. Then narrowed his eyes.

No.

No, no, no. That wasn’t right.

Had someone messed with it? Played a prank? Messed with you?

But he’d never seen anyone else go in or out of this house. You lived alone. He was sure of it. Which left only one possibility.

His pulse thumped in his ears.

He flipped the switch. Waited for the hum. Then made his way back upstairs, each step landing heavy beneath his boots.

“You should be all good now,” he said as he reemerged.

“Yeah?” you asked, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” he nodded.

Easy. To get him here. To get him to look. To fix it.

Fix it, build it, find it. He was your man. He wanted to be your man.

“Well,” you said, fidgeting, “you sure you don’t need to check it upstairs?”

Joel moved to the sink instead, turned the handle all the way to hot, and waited. Within seconds, steam curled up from the basin. He held his hand under it, felt the sharp bite of heat.

“Good to go,” he said, glancing at you. He wondered if he would’ve noticed it before, but this time he was certain. You turned a little pink under his gaze, pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh,” you murmured. “Good.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave.

He didn’t want to.

Not now that he knew, by some cataclysmic star crossed miracle, you’d brought him here on purpose. That you’d wanted him here. But he wasn’t sure what that meant. What he was supposed to do with it.

Still, you let him make his way to the door. Sweet as anything, practically shoving cookies into his hands as thanks.

He refused, hands up in surrender as he backed toward the entryway.

“Really,” he said, voice lighter now, accent thicker as he let his shoulders relax, “I’m fine, darlin’, please. Just—” his hand found the doorknob, “Just let me know if there’s anythin’ else you need. You just holler, alright?”

You smiled, soft and a little playful. “Alright. Well… thank you.”

But, somehow, your water heater broke again only a few days later.

Then the lights went out in your second bedroom. 

And then— his last and final strike—the curtain rod came crashing down from your bedroom window on a Saturday morning.

Joel stood on a small foot ladder beside your bed, boots braced on the tread, hand wrapped around the curtain rod bracket as he tightened the last screw into the wall. The hardware clinked softly against the metal as he adjusted the fit. You sat on the edge of the bed behind him, legs swinging, talking about something—weather, or the community garden, or a dog you’d seen with a lopsided face. He wasn’t really listening.

Not in a rude way. He just liked the sound of your voice more than whatever it was you were actually saying.

He hummed now and then, nodding at the right moments, letting you fill the space. It helped. Gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he was in your bedroom, that even your curtains smelled like you. That your nightstand had a little dish with jewelry in it and a book with a pressed flower between the pages. That your closet door was cracked just enough to show a glimpse of your laundry basket, and his brain, the traitorous thing, kept wondering what might be folded inside.

He exhaled slowly through his nose and gave the bracket one last twist.

“You sure must’ve worked real hard to get this damn thing off the wall,” he said, voice low.

Your words stopped mid-sentence.

He turned his head, just enough to catch the look on your face.

Eyes wide. Mouth parted. Silent.

Caught.

The silence stretched between you like something taut and dangerous.

Joel straightened up slowly, the curtain rod still in his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked, voice gentler than it should’ve been. “Or should I just assume you wanted me back over here so bad, you started pullin’ things off your walls?”

“I—” you choked, voice barely above a whisper, the color draining from your face as the words stuck in your throat.

Joel caught the way your fingers curled against the bedsheet, how your knees shifted slightly, like you might bolt. And God, part of him wanted you to. Part of him needed you to.

But the other part, the selfish part, couldn’t bear the thought.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he said softly. “I like your company too.”

Your eyes lifted to his, wide and searching.

“You… you do?” you asked, like you didn’t believe it. Like no part of you had expected it to be true.

Joel nodded, slow. “Yeah.” The word came out tight. It took effort, like he had to shove it past all the reasons why he shouldn’t say it.

You stared at him, stunned and unmoving. He stood still for a long beat, then finally stepped down from his stool. The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to your bed, each step slower than the last. He moved slower than he really needed to, but it kept him steady, until he finally sat beside you. 

Not too close, not touching you, but he could feel the heat of you anyway. He caught the faint trace of your perfume, something soft and warm and inviting, and it nearly knocked him out. He wanted to breathe it in until it lived in his lungs. He wanted it to cling to his shirt, to the collar of his flannel, so he could press his face into it later—alone in the dark—like that might be enough.

Or better, that filthy corner of his brain, the beast that lived inside him wanted you to smell like him. Wanted it clinging to your sheets, your wrists, the hollow of your throat. Wanted people to catch it in passing and wonder why you’d let a man like him get that close. 

But he wouldn’t. He was trying to be good, to have restraint.

His hands stayed on his knees, tense, knuckles pale where they pulled against the denim. This was your room, so soft and warm and clean. The kind of place he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. 

“Ain’t a good idea, what you’re doin’,” he murmured, “I’m an old man, honey.”

Your eyes tracked over his face as he looked at you, “I like that you’re older, Joel.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, jaw flexing. Christ. You didn’t know what you were saying. 

“I’m old enough to be your daddy, baby,” he whispered. The words came out rougher than he intended.

He heard the way your breath caught. Saw the way your body stilled. Like something inside you had jolted awake.

He should’ve looked away.

Instead, his gaze found yours as he swallowed dryly. When he finally got control of his heavy tongue again, he asked, “That do somethin’ to you, sweetheart?”

You didn’t speak. But the answer was all over your face.

Joel exhaled slowly, leaning back just enough to get a better look at you. Still not touching, but close enough to see the flush rise in your cheeks.

“Gonna answer me?” he asked.

Your voice trembled. “Y-yes.”

His brow lifted slightly.

“Yes, I like… thinking of you that way.”

His stomach turned over. “You think about me, huh?”

You hesitated, lips parting, and for a second he thought maybe you’d lie.

Then your voice hit him square in the chest.

“All the time.”

Joel went still. Your words rang in his head, loud and clear. Like a bell tolling inside his ribs.

Now he knew. You wanted him. You thought about him the same way he thought about you. And if he so much as reached for you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

So instead, he just looked at you. He let his eyes rake over your face, your body, looking at how your thighs had pressed together. How your breathing had changed. How your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands now that the words were out.

And then, his voice came low and steady, like it was coming from somewhere deeper than his own body, “Show me.”

Your brows drew together in confusion, your mouth falling open. “What?”

His eyes locked with yours, and he knew you could see it. The way his pupils had all but swallowed the color from his irises, how tightly he was clinging to the last scrap of control he had left. He could feel the sweat at the back of his neck, the pulse in his throat, the ache in his hands from how hard he was trying not to reach for you. Not to ruin you.

He couldn’t let himself slip. Couldn’t let it crack wide open.

“When you think of me,” he said, quieter now, words coming like gravel dragged behind his teeth, “what do you do?”

You looked away for a second, your gaze dropping to the bed beneath you, cheeks heated and mouth parting like you didn’t know how to answer. But then your eyes found his again—wide and shining, nervous and breathless.

“You want me to… to show you?”

He didn’t speak. Just nodded slowly.

That was all he needed. Just to watch. That was the line. That was what he could live with. He wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t lay a single hand on your sweet, perfect, young body. He’d sit still like a good man, like a gentleman, and let it wreck him quietly. He’d carry the memory of it back across the street like a loaded gun and bury it deep where no one would ever find it.

You hesitated, breath shivering, legs pressing together as you sat there, body unsure while your eyes held his like they were searching for something—permission, safety, the truth of how far this would go.

“S’alright,” he said again, his voice soft like velvet, “Just lay back.”

He saw your throat bob, and then, slowly, you leaned back onto your elbows, shifting further onto the bed. The mattress dipped with your weight, the sound of your shorts brushing the sheets too loud in the stillness. He swallowed hard as you arched your back just enough to hook your thumbs in the waistband of those tiny, soft little shorts, sliding them down your hips, exposing the smooth skin beneath inch by inch.

“Slow–” he said, voice rough and wrecked. You paused, and nodded, eyes never leaving his face as you gently brought them down your legs. Your hand quickly and gently let them fall to the floor. 

And there you were. 

Laid down on your own bed, your legs bending slightly, thighs pressed together, hiding yourself from his fiery gaze. Joel’s knuckles popped with restraint to keep himself from spreading them for himself.

He tried to keep his eyes on your face, so sweet and flushed and burning with heat. You let out a breath, seemingly collecting your courage as you let your thighs fall to the sides. He couldn’t do it anymore, his eyes dropped almost immediately, giving in. Your precious puffy lips were outlined in the panties, light colored enough that he could see the stain of wetness forming in the cotton.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your fingers slid slowly down your stomach, over your panties, pressing lightly between your thighs.

Joel’s lungs locked. His jaw ticked. Every muscle in his body coiled tight as wire.

This is all I get, he told himself. This is enough.

He could feel his pulse hammering behind his eyes. His jeans were too tight, his hands were trembling, and he hadn’t even touched you.

You moved your fingers again, slower this time, dragging them up and over the damp fabric, letting out the softest sound—barely audible, but to Joel it was deafening. It struck him in the chest like a damn hammer.

He was going to die here. He was going to die right here in your bedroom with his boots on the floor and you moaning into your own palm, and he was going to deserve every second of torture.

You didn’t rush.

Joel thought maybe that would save him. That you’d move fast, try to get it over with. But you didn’t. You took your time. You let your fingers glide softly over the front of your underwear, lazy strokes that did more to him than anything explicit could have. Your thighs shifted, knees bending up and falling open a little wider, and Joel could see the heat of you blooming beneath the thin cotton, darkening it, making it cling.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, just to breathe. Just to stay sitting where he was and not reach for you, not grab your hips and tear those panties clean off your body. When he opened them again, you were watching him. Watching the way he breathed through his nose, the way his fists stayed locked tight on his legs, the way his gaze kept dropping down no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

You circled yourself again, slower now, the fabric catching slightly, and your breath caught in your throat. Joel’s heart was pounding so hard he thought you must hear it from where you lay.

His voice came out low, nearly wrecked. “Take ’em off.”

You paused, fingers freezing for a moment, your expression flickering with nerves and something else—excitement, anticipation, the realization that this wasn’t just about putting on a show. This was about him needing it. Needing you.

You slid your thumbs under the waistband and raised your hips off the mattress. He watched, helpless, as you peeled them down your legs—slow, hesitant, like maybe you were savoring the tension just as much as he was—and let them join your shorts on the floor.

Laid bare in front of him, thighs parted, glistening, flushed, and so fucking soft-looking it almost hurt to look directly at you, you looked like a god damn angel.  Joel swore under his breath and dragged a hand over his mouth again, like it might erase the things he was thinking. It didn’t.

His voice cracked when he spoke. “Touch yourself.”

You nodded, barely, and your hand slipped down again. But this time, there was no fabric in the way. Joel watched your fingers move over your folds, the way your hips tilted up to meet them. He could see everything now, every flicker of pleasure across your face, every little tremble in your legs. When you let out that first real moan—low and quiet, almost like you were trying to stifle it—Joel’s body jolted like he’d been shot.

“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, his voice nearly breaking.

You rubbed slow, steady, getting yourself wet, and his eyes dropped to where your hand moved, slick and glistening, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for what he wanted to see.

“Put a finger inside,” he said, and it came out lower than he meant it to—rough, almost angry with need.

You looked at him, lips parted, lashes heavy. “Joel…”

“Do it,” he rasped. “Just one, baby. That’s all.”

You hesitated, breath shaking. Then you did it. You brought your fingers lower, traced the slickness, and pushed one inside—slow, stretching, burying it to the knuckle—and Joel’s hands finally left his knees, flying up to rake through his hair as he groaned quietly.

He couldn’t fucking take it.

And neither could you.

Your back arched, mouth falling open with a quiet gasp—daddy—as you moved your finger in and out, your palm pressing down against your clit for more friction. Joel couldn’t even pretend to look away now. He was locked in, watching the way your body responded, the way you started to tremble.

And then he heard your voice again. Small, breathy. Needy.

“Please.”

Joel’s heart stuttered.

“Please, Joel,” you said again, whimpering now, your eyes shining, mouth wet, hips starting to lose their rhythm. “I don’t… I can’t… I need you.”

He clenched his jaw so tight it ached, his whole body bowstring-tense as he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his thighs, fists clenched again, because if he moved even a little further he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t beg me, baby. I can’t—”

But you did. You begged anyway.

“Please touch me,” you said, breathless, desperate, your hand moving faster now, legs trembling under the pressure building in your body. “I want you, Joel. I think about you all the time, and I—fuck—I want it to be you.”

He shook his head again, slower this time, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. But then your leg moved—bare and trembling—and your ankle brushed against the back of his hand where it still rested uselessly on the bed.

And that was it.

That one small touch, like permission and invitation all wrapped into one. He didn’t think. Couldn’t. His fingers wrapped gently around your ankle, warm and steady, and for a second he just held it. The first time he’d touched you. The first contact after all this time spent trying to keep himself in check.

You whimpered under the weight of his touch, a soft, aching sound that nearly unraveled him. His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle against your skin, and his heart beat so hard it was nearly dizzying.

So soft. So warm. So alive.

He bent forward without a word, still clutching your ankle, and pressed a kiss to the inside of it. The smallest kiss. Barely even a breath. But it was everything.

His lips moved again—just a little higher.

Then higher still.

Trailing up your calf, slow and worshipful, his hand shifting to the back of your leg, guiding it gently as your thigh began to tremble. You were still breathing hard, hand stalled now, frozen against your center as you watched him.

He pressed another kiss to the inside of your knee. Then just above it. Each one a little firmer than the last, like he was testing the shape of you with his mouth. 

And then, eyes locked on your hand still buried between your legs, he grasped your wrist gently, his touch reverent but sure. He pulled your finger from yourself and brought your hand to his mouth and looked at you like he was asking permission, even now, even on the edge of ruin.

You didn’t stop him.

So he parted his lips and took your finger into his mouth.

His tongue circled it first, slow and wet, curling around the soaked digit, savoring the taste of you, dragging it over the pad with aching, deliberate pressure. He sucked it in deeper, lips wrapping tight as his tongue moved along the underside. You watched, frozen in intense rapture, mouth parted and chest heaving. His eyes never left your face, even as he groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering half shut.

You whimpered his name again—breathless, high, barely held together.

He let your finger go with a wet sound, still panting, his voice hoarse and ruined when he finally spoke.

“So fuckin’ sweet, baby.”

You whimpered his name again, breath catching as he released your hand and kissed higher on your leg, faster now, the heat of his mouth so close to where you wanted him. He nudged your thighs further apart with gentle pressure, his hands firm but trembling slightly as they moved up the backs of your legs, his thumbs dragging over the delicate curve of your inner thighs.

He paused just before reaching you. Breathing heavy. Hovering.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, barely a whisper. “You want me here?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already breathless, already gone. “Please, Joel.”

That was all he needed.

He dipped his head and finally—finally—dragged his mouth over you, slow and sure, tasting you like he’d been starving for it. His tongue parted you, flat and warm, collecting everything you’d made for him. He moaned low against you, the sound vibrating through your whole body, and his hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open like you were something sacred.

And God, you were.

Joel wasn’t delicate with it. But he was steady, focused. Slow only because he wanted to draw it out. He licked a purposeful stripe up your center, then did it again, dragging his tongue in slow circles over your clit until your back arched off the mattress.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting into the graying strands.

Daddy daddy daddy fell from your lips like a prayer, and he groaned into you, tongue pressing deeper, tracing the way you opened for him. He noticed you said it the most when you were falling apart. When your brain was lagging and hazy. 

And couldn’t stop thinking—this is what you taste like when you think of me.

He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just once, firm and slow, and your legs clenched around his shoulders as a broken sound tore from your throat.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, beard soaked with you.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh again, slower now, lips softer. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

You begged again—don’t stop, please don’t stop—and he didn’t. He buried his mouth back between your legs and gave you everything. He wanted you to come on his tongue. Wanted to feel it. The way your body would tighten, the way your thighs would tremble, the way your breath would stutter in that pretty chest of yours before falling apart completely.

He was going to carry the sound of it for the rest of his life.

And still—he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t grind against the bed or reach for relief. This was for you. All of it.

If he could only have this, this taste, this sound, this moment, he’d take it.

And he’d burn for it later.

Joel’s tongue moved with steady, reverent purpose, his mouth open and hungry against you, like this was the only way he knew how to live anymore, by giving you this. His hands stayed firm, keeping your legs open, thumbs brushing softly against your trembling thighs, grounding you even as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

You were panting now, moaning freely, head thrown back against the pillow, your fingers tangled in his hair, his name falling from your mouth like it was the only one you’d ever known. He could feel the way your body was coiling, tightening, the way your hips were starting to stutter beneath him, like you were trying to chase that last bit of pressure before it ripped through you.

He sucked gently around your clit again, tongue flicking against it just right, and that was all it took.

You broke.

Your whole body arched, legs tightening around his shoulders, a sharp cry punching from your chest as you came hard against his mouth, your fingers fisting in his hair, holding him there while you rode it out. Joel groaned low in his throat, the sound dark and satisfied, almost possessive as he kept licking through it, gentle now, working you down slowly, coaxing every last tremble from you with his mouth still warm and wet against your skin.

He felt it, all of it. The way your muscles fluttered and clenched, the way your hands shook where they gripped him, the way your breath hitched as you tried to come back to earth.

And still, he didn’t stop touching you. Not yet. His lips moved lower, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hips, the crease where leg met pelvis, like he couldn’t stop worshipping you now that he’d started. His beard was damp with you, his mouth swollen, his hands still gentle where they rested at your hips.

But then your hands shifted.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers curling tight in the collar, and tugged.

“Joel,” you gasped, voice high and breathless, chest heaving as your eyes found his, wild and wanting, “Please.”

He lifted his head, eyes glazed, lips shining, chest rising and falling with every labored breath. “What, baby?” he rasped, even though he already knew. Even though his own body was screaming with the need he’d been trying to bury.

You pulled again, harder this time, dragging him up your body with shaking hands, your mouth still parted, your skin flushed and damp.

“Please,” you whispered, again and again, like you were unraveling, like the word was all you had left, “please, Joel… please, I need you…”

Your legs parted wider beneath him, your hips rising, searching, the fabric of his jeans rough between your thighs as he braced himself over you.

“I can’t—I can’t wait anymore,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your voice shaking. “Please—I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me, Joel. Please.”

And who was he to deny you?

Hadn’t he said it himself?

Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d be the man for you.

He'd said the words and meant them. Even if they were only in his head, he meant them down to the marrow in his bones. And now, here you were, laid out beneath him, skin flushed, lips parted, pupils wide and pleading as you begged for him. Begged with your hands, your voice, your whole trembling body. And something inside Joel cracked so deep it felt like it might never close again.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue slipping past your lips so you could taste yourself on him. It was filthy, intimate, perfect. He should’ve been ashamed of how much he needed it, how tender it felt even with the heat still thrumming through him.

He’d always thought that stuff was bullshit—the way books and movies and every sappy romance insisted sparks flew when two people kissed. That it meant something. That it could change you.

But this… this was something else entirely.

This was fire and gravity and truth all wrapped into one aching, perfect moment.

And for a moment, Joel believed every goddamn word.

His hands fumbled with his waistband as his tongue explored your mouth, your sweet cooing noises filling his ears, your breath soft and sweet as honey as you gasped against him. The sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper lowering filled the room, sharp and electric. Finally, he wrapped his hand around himself, freeing his cock as it sprang free, tender, aching, and flushed dark and thick with need. He swore under his breath as the air hit him, the head already leaking for you. 

The idea of being a good man was long gone now. Left back on the floor with his restraint, his better judgment, his self-control. All that was left was you. Your scent, your skin, the desperate way you reached for him like you couldn’t bear another second of distance. Your gasp hit his mouth like a spark to gasoline. You moaned into him, hips lifting, thighs spreading wider around his waist as he rocked forward, lining himself up, his cock dragging through your slick folds.

He groaned deep in his chest, the weight of your heat soaking him instantly, the wet glide of your cunt against the underside of him making his whole body jolt.

And then you whimpered.

Joel pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips.

“I know, honey,” he cooed, his voice low and sweet, like a lullaby wrapped in filth. “I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. You can, baby. I know you can.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your throat, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious even as his cock pressed closer, sliding lower with each slow grind.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, barely able to breathe it out. “Knew you’d be so good, so sweet. Just let me in, honey.”

You whimpered, needy and breaking, and he slid forward again, this time pushing the head of his cock inside, slow and careful, watching every flicker of sensation cross your face. You were so warm. So tight. Your walls clenched around him instantly and his head dropped to your shoulder with a strangled groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he choked, his voice barely holding. “You feel so fuckin’ good, angel.”

You clung to him, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until you were gasping, trembling, completely filled.

Daddy. It was like a siren’s call from your lips.

Joel didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You take me so good. So perfect for me.”

And then, finally, he moved.

Slow at first. Measured. Deep, rolling thrusts that pulled back just far enough to make you whimper before he pushed forward again, thick and steady, dragging every inch through your soaked, desperate cunt. He kissed your shoulder as he rocked into you, his voice hot in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doin’ so good.”

You were breathless beneath him, hips lifting to meet every stroke, your nails digging into his back, your mouth pressed against his neck as you moaned and gasped and whispered his name like a prayer.

Joel was unraveling with every sound you made, every pulse of your body around his cock. He held your face, kissed your lips, your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. He told you how beautiful you were. How tight. How fucking sweet you felt around him. Told you you were his good girl. His angel. His.

Joel moved inside you like he was trying to memorize every inch—slow, deliberate, reverent. His hands mapped your body like he’d never get the chance again. One gripped the underside of your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide for him, the other braced beside your head, grounding him, holding him back from fucking into you the way his body screamed for.

But he didn’t want to rush this. God, he couldn’t. Not when you felt like this.

So tight, so warm, so wet and fluttering around him with every slow thrust of his hips. Each roll of his body drew a breathy moan from your lips, and he drank them down like they were keeping him alive.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your cheek, his voice rasped and heavy with worship. “Just like that, sweetheart. Grippin’ my cock so good, angel girl.”

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, your body arching into his with each stroke, and every time your hips rocked up to meet his, he felt it—that trembling pulse in your cunt that told him how close you were.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, then lower. “So goddamn sweet. Feels like you were made for me.”

Your hands slid down his back, clinging, like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice soft and shaking, “You feel so good—I don’t want this to end.”

His heart almost broke right there.

“Baby,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours, hips rocking slow and deep, “don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” you whimpered. “I—Joel, I think I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you. I used to dream about this. About you.”

Joel groaned, low and guttural as he kissed you. Not hard or frantic, just deep and warm, letting you feel every bit of how much that meant to him. How much he wanted to give it back.

He rolled his hips slower, deeper, angling just right until he felt your legs tense around his waist again, your body tightening, that little gasp he was starting to crave spilling from your lips as you tipped your head back against the pillow.

“There she is,” he whispered, voice rough and desperate. “You’re gonna come again, ain’t you? Gonna let me feel her squeeze my cock, huh?”

You nodded, mouth open, breath catching on each thrust. “So close—oh my God, daddy, daddy—”

“Come for me, angel,” he said, his voice shaking now. “C’mon, baby girl. Be my good girl and come.”

You cried out as it hit you, body seizing under his, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him in tight, wet pulses. You clung to him, your fingers locked in his hair, your mouth gasping out his name again and again. 

He kept moving, kept fucking you through it, slow and steady, letting you ride it out, watching the way you shattered so beautifully for him. He held you through every wave, every twitch, every soft sob of pleasure.

And then he couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your cunt still fluttering around him, soaked and tight and perfect—Joel’s control finally snapped.

His hips stuttered, breath coming in short, punched-out gasps, and he buried his face in your neck.

“Fuck—oh baby, I’m gonna come—Christ, you feel so good—I can’t—I can’t—”

He gripped your thigh tighter, pulled you flush against him, and thrust deep one final time as his release hit him hard, spilling into you with a broken groan. His whole body shook, teeth gritted, face buried in your skin as he came in long, slow, pulsing waves that left him shaking above you.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there. Still inside you, just breathing with you. His hand smoothing softly over your ribs, then your belly, then your cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered finally, voice barely there.

You nodded, turning your head just enough to kiss his jaw. “Yeah. More than okay.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, really look. Your skin was warm and glowing, your eyes heavy, dreamy, dazed in the way he hoped he’d be seeing again and again. You looked happy. Content.

He’d wait ‘til tomorrow to let the guilt creep in.

PEEEEEEE PAAWWWWWWWWWW

[sstan-hoe]

didn't expect to come home from work and see this, ughhh but I loved it! 😍

Bestie pls we need pt.3 of be a man 😭

Be a man

Steve Rogers x reader

summary: Steve finds Bucky and Sam

warnings: cursing, angry Steve

a/n: English is not my first language, meaning you will probably find a lot of misspelling etc.. This is my first fic since a longggg time, so it’s not the best.

Part 1 Part 2

Main Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

Steve is mad as he walks around, searching for his now ex best friend. How could he do this to him? He knows that he’s extremely anxious around you, and Bucky still had the audacity to put him in such an embarrassing situation. Steve doesn’t know yet what he’s going to do when he finds him, but one thing is sure: it’s not going to be nice.

Then Steve sees him.

Bucky is talking to Sam in the living area, sitting on the couch like nothing’s wrong. In front of him is a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of coffee, which is the typical thing he always has after a run.

A fucking run.

Bucky told him he had to go because of an emergency regarding Sam. Now here they are, sitting and eating after a run. Not only that, but they are looking like they are actually having a good conversation. In any other situation, Steve would be happy that they are getting along, but not this one. Definitely not this one.

They both haven’t seen Steve yet as he walks, or to be more precise, rushes over to them. Steve suddenly stops when he hears his name in their conversation.

“Yeah, I know. Steve needs a girlfriend. I mean, he’s 100+ years old and will continue to age until he looks like a rotten raisin. Nobody will want him then…I hope” Sam says to Bucky. Bucky nods, agreeing with Sam.

“He is too shy and insecure for that, which is weird because he should be so confident. He’s a gentleman, smart, creative, and not bad looking”.

“I would’ve listed good looking first” Sam says, chucking. “What do you think Cap and our little future Mrs. Cap are doing right now?”.

“Definitely not what Tony would be doing” Bucky replies with a shrug, “I think he’s either pissing his pants or getting an erection again”. Both boys laugh at that, while Steve is still there, listening to their conversation.

He’s furious.

His friends are joking about his problems as if he isn’t worrying about all this enough.

“I hate you, but your plan was actually great. Seems like you, after all, have some brain cells, frosty. Would’ve thought that they all disappeared during your 50 year sleep”.

“Asshole”.

“I like you too, man” Sam says and takes a bite of his own sandwich before continuing, “but for real, your idea was good. We are lucky that we found out what path she’s always running”.

“Thanks to the security cameras, bird. Do you think she just agreed to work in the med for the day because we said that Steve doesn’t like talking to male doctors?” Buckys asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Steve’s veins start showing because of his rising anger.

“I think she agreed because she is new and doesn’t want to make a bad impression. Perhaps because she likes Steve, but I don’t think so” Sam says, and Bucky nods.

Steve’s heart breaks when his friends say that. They don’t even believe in him. His worst fear just came closer to being true, that you don’t like him. How could he even think that you could like him. He’s been acting like a pervert and freak for all he knows.

“We will never tell Steve about all that, right? You know, getting them to talk, or at least trying, asking her to work in the med, and you putting something in his food so he gets sick”.

“Never”.

His head snaps up at that, and all the sadness is immediately replaced with anger.

Fucking Barnes poisoned him.

Without a second thought, he stomps over to them. Sam is the first to see him, while Bucky has his back towards Steve. Before Sam can warn Bucky, he’s already getting pulled over the couch by Steve and pushed against the wall.

“YOU PUT SOMETHING IN MY FOOD!”.

Bucky gulps: he knows he just fucked up.

“We just wanted to help! We even-“ Sam tries to explain, rushing over to them.

“WHAT DID YOU PUT IN MY FOOD!” Steve screams at Bucky.

“Listen pal-“.

“ANSWER ME!”

“I mixed a lot of stuff under it, which you were allergic to back then, and some rotten eggs” Bucky tries to say, knowing Steve will probably kill him now.

It’s silent for a second, like someone paused a movie. There’s a thick tension in the air ready to snap any second.

And it for sure does.

Steve throws Bucky across the room. He’s laying on his back, grunting through the hard impact. Before Bucky can stand up, Steve is towering over him.

“Listen, I just wanted to help. We both know you could’ve done anything on your own, but because of me and Sam-“

“NO” Steve spits out, “You’ve been planning all this without caring for my opinion and wishes!”.

“Steve, we just-“ Sam tries to calm the situation down, but Steve is not having it.

“Shut up! You both tried to take control of the situation and manipulated me for your stupid plan!”. He looks at them again before walking away. Just as he’s about to vanish around the corner, he speaks without looking back. “Don’t talk to me again. I hope you two are happy with what happened” and then just walks away. Sam calls after him, but he doesn’t react.

Sam puts his hands on his hips and looks at the ground. He never meant to hurt Steve; all this was supposed to help him and not make this entire thing into a huge shit show. Sam knows Bucky and he acted like two assholes who don’t deserve forgiveness for their mistakes. They didn’t realize the danger in their plan because they just focused on the goal.

Getting Steve a girlfriend. Looking back at it, Sam realizes that maybe this wasn’t the plan after all; maybe they just tried to give Captain America a girlfriend.

Bucky feels deep regret, more than the regret Sam is feeling right now. His best friend abandoned him. It’s not like he doesn’t understand why; he knows exactly what he did wrong. In all those years of being best friends they never had a real fight, minus the time he was brainwashed.

“What do we do?” Sam asks, helping him up.

Bucky can’t look at him; he wishes he could take everything back.

Telling Steve’s secrets.

Lying about actions.

Poisoning him.

Manipulating Steve to do stuff he doesn’t want to do.

“Nothing”.

tag: @bitchy-bi-trash @notcamii @purple-ash27 @queenofdisaster12 @fallout-girl219 @nerdytreeflower

[sstan-hoe]

Sweet on You

Chapter 4: Sweet Enough

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x baker!reader

summary: You try to keep it together. He refuses to let you do it alone

WC: 5.2K

tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson Era, Age Gap, Protective Joel, Emotional Smut, Reader Has Trauma, Soft Dom Joel, Filthy Talk, Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Oral (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Against the Wall, Praise Kink, Confession Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Series Masterlist

You wake up to the sound of wind.

Not loud — just the soft creak of it brushing against the windows, gentle and cold, like it’s trying to get in but can’t. The room is dim, tinted in pale morning gray, and the scent of sugar and cinnamon still lingers faintly in the air from yesterday.

Joel’s arm is draped over your waist.

His body’s curled around yours, chest warm at your back, one leg tangled loosely with yours beneath the blanket. You can feel his breath against your shoulder, slow and even, the rise and fall of his chest syncing quietly with yours.

For a second, you don’t move.

You just exist in that stillness — in the weight of his arm, the heat of his skin, the unfamiliar comfort of not being alone when you open your eyes.

Your fingers flex against the sheet. There’s a dull ache in your chest — not panic this time, not fear — just something heavy and tight, caught between disbelief and relief.

You survived last night.

You told him not to leave.

And he didn’t.

Joel shifts slightly behind you — not enough to pull away, just enough to nuzzle closer. His nose brushes the edge of your hairline, and you feel him press the softest kiss there, half-asleep.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he mutters, voice low and gravel-rough.

You smile. It’s small. Barely there.

“You always wake up like this?”

He huffs a quiet laugh into your skin. “Only when I’m warm.”

You’re quiet for a beat.

“You stayed.”

He pulls in a slow breath behind you. His arm tightens around your waist, just a little.

“You asked me to.”

That sinks in deeper than it should.

You shift onto your back slowly, and Joel lifts his arm to let you move. When you turn to face him, he’s already watching you — eyes heavy with sleep, hair tousled, face open in a way you rarely see.

There’s something about him like this that feels different.

Not softer.

Just... less guarded.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask, voice scratchy.

Joel shrugs, one corner of his mouth tugging up.

“Better’n usual.”

You nod, then glance down at the edge of the blanket pulled to your collarbone. You’re still in yesterday’s clothes — your sweater wrinkled, your leggings twisted at the knee. His henley is dark at the shoulder where your tears soaked through.

It should feel embarrassing.

It doesn’t.

You glance at his knuckles.

They’re bruised.

Split.

Swollen.

You reach for his hand without thinking, turning it over gently in yours. His skin is rough and warm, the knuckles scraped raw.

“Does it hurt?”

Joel shrugs again. “Not as much as watchin’ him touch you.”

You inhale sharply.

His voice was soft, but the memory behind it is sharp — and you feel it slice across the moment like a cold wind under the door.

Joel seems to sense the shift. He wraps his hand around yours, thumb brushing your palm.

“You don’t gotta talk about it.”

You nod slowly.

Then:

“I think I dreamed about it. Last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Not the fight. Just… the way I felt. The way he made me feel. It’s like it’s still in my skin.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just shifts forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“Then we’ll scrub it out piece by piece.”

Your eyes burn.

He pulls back slightly, watching you for a reaction.

“You hungry?”

You blink. “Not really.”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again — slower this time.

“Still gonna make you somethin’. Can’t have you runnin’ on nothin’ but stubbornness.”

You smile. It breaks the tightness in your chest just a little.

“Okay.”

He untangles from the blanket, sits up on the edge of the bed, and stretches — broad shoulders, bruised hands, soft sigh.

He looks like home.

You stay right where you are, watching him move through your space like it’s his too.

And for the first time in a long time… you let yourself want that.

Joel cooks like it’s normal.

Like he’s done it a hundred times.

He hums low under his breath as he moves around your apartment kitchen — sleeves pushed to his elbows, knuckles bruised and swollen from last night, but still precise as he cracks eggs and slices bread. You sit at the small table tucked into the corner of the room, blanket draped around your shoulders like armor, watching him move like he belongs there.

He sets a plate in front of you. Toasted sourdough with melted butter and scrambled eggs done just how you like them. He doesn’t sit right away — just waits to see if you’ll eat.

You take one bite.

Then another.

Joel watches you with that same quiet, steady intensity. Like he’s not gonna make you talk — but he’s also not gonna pretend like nothing happened.

You clear your throat.

"I thought you had to check in this morning."

Joel nods slowly. "Gonna stop by patrol. Maybe check on Ellie, too. Shouldn’t take long."

You don’t say anything, just look down at your plate.

He softens his voice. "You want me to stay?"

You hesitate.

"I don’t want you to go."

Joel reaches across the table, his fingers brushing over yours.

"Then I’ll be back quick. Before you even miss me."

That earns him a half-smile.

He squeezes your hand once, then stands. Shrugs on his coat, adjusts the holster on his belt. When he leans down to kiss your temple again, you close your eyes and lean into it.

The apartment feels quieter after he’s gone.

You take your time getting ready. Pull your hair back. Change your clothes. Let your fingers hover over the radio once, debating calling him back — just to say stay — but you don’t.

You walk to the bakery alone.

It’s just down the street, a few turns away — close enough to be convenient, far enough that it gives you a few minutes to breathe before the day begins. You unlock the side entrance, flick on the lights, and slip into the back kitchen like it’s a suit of armor.

But it doesn’t feel like yours this morning.

The sunlight is too sharp through the front windows. The scent of cinnamon clings to the walls like something you can’t wash out. You move slowly, mechanically — wiping down counters, checking proofed dough, prepping the register.

You unlock the front door just before 8 a.m.

And by the time the first customer walks in, you’ve almost convinced yourself it’ll be fine.

It isn’t.

The whispers start early.

One woman, eyeing the bruises on your arm, leans to her friend and murmurs just loud enough for you to catch it.

"I thought she had better taste."

The other one shrugs. "Joel Miller’s been circling her for weeks. Guess she gave in."

You pretend not to hear them. Keep slicing bread.

By midmorning, someone bolder walks up to the counter — a regular. A man who’s always smiled at you, always paid on time, always chatted about the weather.

He looks at you differently now.

"You alright?" he asks.

You nod. "Yeah. Just a long night."

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just taps his fingers against the counter.

"Y’know, folks been talkin’. Word is Joel roughed someone up pretty bad. Over you."

You freeze.

He chuckles like it’s funny. Like it’s not your life he’s picking apart.

"Didn’t think you were his type."

You grip the edge of the counter until your knuckles ache.

"I’ll have your total in a moment."

He doesn’t apologize. Just smirks and pulls out his coins like you’re entertainment, not a person.

When he leaves, the bell above the door rings like a warning.

And you think:

Maybe Joel didn’t leave all the danger behind when he walked out this morning.

Maybe he just took the part you could trust.

You keep your head down after that.

Serve the next three customers without looking them in the eye. Pretend the doorbell doesn’t jolt your spine every time it chimes. Pretend your hands aren’t trembling when you slice bread or make change.

They’re looking at you like you asked for it.

Like you deserved to be fought over, pitied, whispered about.

Like you’re some cautionary tale in a too-tight sweater and a fading bruise.

By the time the lull hits midmorning, you slip into the back kitchen and close the curtain behind you. Lean your hands on the prep table and breathe — or try to.

You want to scream.

You want to cry.

You want to grab the next person who says Joel shouldn’t have stepped in and shove their face into the memory of that alley.

But you don’t.

You just press your palms harder into the table and let your breath shake through clenched teeth.

Maybe they’re right.

Maybe he’ll get sick of this.

Maybe he already is.

You close your eyes and whisper it like a confession to the empty room.

“I shouldn’t have let him stay.”

You don’t mean it.

Not even a little.

But you say it anyway.

Because if they keep tearing you down long enough, you start doing it for them.

You’re back behind the counter when Maria walks in.

No warning. No clipboard. No polite knock on the bakery door. Just the creak of the hinges and her boots on tile — confident, steady, impossible to ignore.

You look up and immediately see it in her face.

This isn’t a check-in.

Maria doesn’t smile.

She waits until the bakery is empty, glances once toward the windows, then makes her way to the back where the curtain hangs. She doesn’t pull it aside — just lifts the corner, like she’s asking without asking.

You nod. She steps in.

It’s quiet in the kitchen.

You lean against the table. Cross your arms. Try not to look like you’re bracing for bad news — even though you are.

"He’s not here anymore," Maria says simply.

Your stomach tightens.

"He left the morning after," she adds. "Before we could hold a formal hearing."

You blink. "So… he ran?"

Maria nods. "Seemed to know what was coming."

You pause.

"Was he—" You hesitate, then force it out. "Was he banned?"

Maria’s mouth pulls tight.

"No."

The word lands like ice water down your spine.

She sees it — the way your shoulders tense, the way your eyes flick to the window like you expect to see him standing there.

"We gave him a formal warning," she says carefully. "There wasn’t enough in the council’s eyes to justify permanent removal. They wanted testimony. A report."

"And since I didn’t…" you say quietly.

Maria doesn’t answer.

You swallow hard. "So technically he could come back."

"Not without someone noticing," she says. "We’ve got eyes on the gates. Runners check the perimeter every day."

You don’t feel better.

Not even a little.

Maria steps closer, her voice softening.

"I’m not here to pressure you. I just want you to understand the situation. Right now, if he walked into Jackson — unless you file something official — there’s no record of what happened."

You feel the words settle into your bones like cement.

"So I’d have to relive it. In front of them. Just to prove I wasn’t lying."

Maria doesn’t argue.

She just says, "If that’s what it takes to keep you safe, we’ll be there for you. But no — you shouldn’t have to."

You grip the edge of the table, fingers curling tight around the worn wood.

"I thought it was over."

"I know."

She watches you for another long beat. Then her voice drops to something quieter — not the councilwoman, not the enforcer. Just Maria.

"You’re not weak for surviving. You’re not wrong for being scared. But if he ever shows his face again — I promise you, it won’t be your burden to carry next time."

You nod slowly.

But the fear’s already sunk back in.

She starts to leave. Then turns back.

"If you decide to file… I’ll back you. Fully."

And then she’s gone.

The door shuts behind her with a soft click.

And you’re alone again.

The bakery is quiet when Joel returns.

He doesn’t knock. Just pushes the door open like he belongs there — and he does. You look up from the counter as the bell above the door chimes, and for a moment, everything inside you screams to run into his arms.

But you don’t move.

You’ve cleaned up since this morning. Changed into a fresh sweater. Tied your hair back. The bruises still show, but you tried to cover them with a scarf. You almost look like nothing happened.

Except Joel sees it the moment he steps in.

You’re too still. Too quiet.

You haven’t touched the coffee in front of you. There’s a full cup cooling on the table, your hands wrapped around it like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

Joel’s face shifts.

"Hey," he says softly. "Place looks good."

You nod, eyes not quite meeting his.

"Busy morning?"

"Not really."

He doesn’t believe that for a second.

Joel closes the distance slowly. Sets a paper bag on the table — you smell fresh bread and something savory.

"Brought lunch. Thought you might not’ve eaten."

You look down at your hands.

"I had something earlier."

Another lie.

Joel crouches slightly, bracing his forearm on the edge of the table to meet your eye line. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t push.

But his voice is gentle. Purposeful.

"What happened?"

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because if you say it — if you tell him that your abuser wasn’t officially removed, that the council didn’t believe there was enough — it becomes real. Tangible. Like you’re inviting him back in just by speaking his name.

So you just shake your head.

"Nothing happened," you say quietly.

Joel’s eyes darken. Not with anger. With understanding.

"You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready."

You nod again, and something in your chest pinches. Because he should be mad. He should be angry that you’re shutting him out. But instead he’s just here. Still steady. Still warm.

Still staying.

He straightens up and pulls a chair beside you, dropping into it without asking.

"I’ll sit with you then," he says.

You press your lips together.

"You don’t have to."

"Didn’t ask if I had to."

He pulls out one of the wrapped sandwiches from the bag and offers it to you. You take it. Not because you’re hungry — but because it feels like the only thing you can accept right now.

Joel doesn’t ask again.

He just eats beside you in silence, shoulder brushing yours every so often, like he’s reminding you he’s not going anywhere.

You don’t say it out loud, but part of you wants to cry.

Because no one’s ever stayed this long before.

You eat half the sandwich.

Joel doesn’t comment. Just stays there next to you, chewing slowly, eyes occasionally flicking to the window like he’s tracking every movement outside. Watching for anything that might hurt you. Even now.

It’s suffocating.

Not because he’s doing anything wrong. Because he’s not.

Because he’s sitting there being everything you never thought you’d get to have.

And all you can think is how quickly it could be taken away.

You shift in your seat. The silence stretches.

Joel glances over, quiet for a beat.

"You want me to head out?"

The question lands like a slap.

"No," you say too fast. Too harsh.

He raises his eyebrows slightly, then softens. "Alright."

You let out a shaky breath.

"I just—" Your voice breaks before you finish. "I’m not used to this."

Joel leans back slightly in the chair, giving you room.

"This?"

"You." You pause. "Someone staying."

He doesn’t speak.

"I keep waiting for you to get tired of this. Of me."

Joel’s jaw flexes.

"Not gonna happen."

"You say that now."

"I mean it now. And I’ll mean it tomorrow."

You shake your head and stand abruptly, pacing toward the window.

"I don’t need protecting, Joel. I don’t need you hovering like I’m some scared little thing that’s gonna fall apart again."

He stands too — but slowly. Measured.

"You think I don’t know how strong you are?"

"I think everyone looks at me like I’m glass."

Joel crosses the space between you in two quiet steps.

"You’re not glass."

He’s right behind you now. Not touching. Just there.

"You’re steel."

You blink hard. Your eyes burn. But the anger’s still caught in your throat like a splinter.

He leans in closer.

"You just forget sometimes. So I’ll remind you."

And that’s when the tension snaps.

You turn to face him, arms folded tight across your chest.

"They think you only want me because I’m broken," you say quietly. "That I’m some pathetic thing you took pity on. That you’re—"

You stop.

Joel’s eyes darken.

"That I’m what?"

You look away. Your throat’s tight.

"Slumming it," you whisper. "That you’re using me ‘til you want something better."

Joel goes still.

Then:

"Who said that?"

"It doesn’t matter."

"It does to me."

He steps in closer. Not touching. Just radiating heat now.

"You listen to me, and you listen close."

His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

"You’re not weak. You’re not some charity case. And if anyone in this town thinks I’m with you for anything less than wantin’ every fuckin’ piece of you—"

His hand curls gently under your chin, tilting your face up.

"—then maybe I should start makin’ that clear."

You try to look away. Joel doesn’t let you.

"You really think I’d put my hands on someone I didn’t want?"

"Joel—"

"No. I want you to answer me."

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans in, voice quieter but no less sharp.

"You think I’d spend every goddamn minute of my day wonderin’ how you’re holdin’ up? You think I’d cook for you, sleep in your bed, carry you home from the worst fuckin’ night of your life just to… what? Kill time?"

Tears sting your eyes. You blink them back, throat aching.

"I’ve seen what weak looks like, sweetheart. You are not it."

You open your mouth, try to speak, but your voice cracks.

"They make me feel like I am."

"Then fuck what they think."

He takes your wrist — gently — and presses it flat to his chest.

"You feel that?"

His heart. Steady. Strong.

"It beats harder every time you look at me."

Your breath hitches.

"You wanna know what I think when I see you?"

You nod, barely.

"I think about how you open this place every day when the whole fuckin’ world wants to swallow you. I think about how you never ask for help, even when you’re bleeding. I think about how soft your voice gets when you say my name, and how your hands shake when you’re trying not to cry, and how goddamn lucky I am that you let me see any of it."

His voice breaks — just a little.

"You think I’m here out of pity? Baby, I am wrecked for you."

You finally look at him. Eyes wet. Guard cracked wide open.

"I don’t know how to let you love me," you whisper.

Joel smiles. Not soft. Certain.

"Then I’ll fuckin’ teach you."

You don’t even have time to breathe before he kisses you.

It’s not rough. Not hungry. Not yet.

It’s firm. Anchored. His hand slides up to cradle the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek like he’s grounding himself just as much as you. His lips part yours slowly, deliberately — no rush, no force, just a promise. One that sinks in deep.

You don’t realize you’re trembling until he pulls back just enough to whisper, “You okay?”

You nod.

Joel’s eyes darken.

“Then I want you to listen to every word I say, and I want you to believe it.”

You nod again — shakier this time.

“Say yes.”

“Yes,” you breathe.

His mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, then lower, kissing the spot just beneath your ear, where your pulse is fluttering hard.

“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he murmurs. “But I’d rather see you fall apart for a better reason.”

You let out a shaky laugh, and he smiles against your skin.

Then his hands slide down your waist — slow, reverent — and he backs you toward the wall like he’s lining up every thought he’s ever had about you. Every dirty dream. Every quiet, aching want.

Your back meets cool brick, and you gasp, but Joel’s already there — one hand splayed across your ribs, the other at your thigh.

“Let me see you,” he whispers.

You don’t hesitate.

You lift your arms as he pulls your sweater up over your head. Then your shirt. He doesn’t even touch your bra at first — just drags his fingers down the sides of your torso, feeling the shape of you, warm and solid and real.

His mouth follows the same path.

Kisses down the valley between your breasts, over your stomach, down to the waistband of your pants.

He looks up once — pupils blown wide, lips already parted.

“You still good?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums low in his throat.

“I like when you beg.”

He tugs your pants down slow — watching your face the whole time. Watches the way your breath stutters, your thighs press together. He kneels in front of you, big hands dragging down your legs as he helps you step out of them.

You brace your hands against the wall, trying to breathe through the heat building in your chest.

Then his mouth meets your inner thigh, and you forget how to breathe at all.

Joel doesn’t rush.

He kisses every inch of skin like he’s learning it — from your knees to the soft flesh near your hip. When his mouth finally moves over the fabric of your panties, you gasp.

"Joel—"

He shushes you gently, then licks a long, slow stripe through the center.

You whimper.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs. "Already soaked for me."

You bite your lip.

His fingers slide the fabric aside, and then he’s on you — tongue deep, slow, relentless. Like he’s got nowhere else to be, like there’s no one else in the world but you.

Your hand flies to his hair.

“J-Joel—”

"That’s it," he murmurs against you. "Let me hear it."

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even think about stopping.

His tongue flicks over your clit while two fingers ease inside — slow, gentle, filling. You cry out, head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back as he works you open like he was made for this.

“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s mine now.”

You come hard.

Legs shaking, voice breaking, fingers gripping his hair as you fall apart for him with a soft, wrecked cry. Joel groans into you, tongue still moving as you ride it out, as if he can’t get enough of the way you taste, the way you sound.

And when you finally come down, breathless and trembling, he stands — wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and kisses you like he’s still hungry.

"That’s lesson one, baby," he says against your lips. "Now let’s see what else I can teach you."

He kisses you like he needs to own you.

Like the taste of your orgasm on his tongue wasn’t enough — like he wants to fuck the memory of every awful word ever said to you out of your body. You’re still gasping, legs shaky, brain barely catching up — and Joel’s already backing you into the wall like he’s starving for more.

“You still with me?” he murmurs, voice low and frayed.

You nod, breathless. “Yes. Joel, please…”

“Good,” he growls. “’Cause I’m not done with you.”

His hands are already back on your hips, spinning you gently to face the wall. His body crowding yours. Heavy. Hot. You barely catch your breath before he presses in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Put your hands up. Keep ’em there.”

You do.

Forearms braced against the cool brick, your cheek resting between them. Your chest heaves when he kneels behind you and drags your panties down, slow and deliberate.

Then his palm spreads over your ass.

“Fuck, baby… look at this. Look at what’s mine.”

You whimper as his hand squeezes, then smacks — not hard, just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“Joel…”

“You’re so goddamn pretty like this. Drippin’ for me and beggin’ to be fucked.”

You hear the sound of his belt coming undone. The rasp of the zipper. The quiet groan that rumbles out of his chest when he strokes himself behind you.

“You want my cock?” he asks, voice rough. “Tell me.”

“Please, Joel—”

“Nah, that’s not beggin’. You want it, you tell me exactly what you need.”

You shiver. “I want you to fuck me.”

He groans.

“Yeah?” His hand spreads over your lower back, keeping you still. “Want me to ruin you, baby? Split you open on this cock? Fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll be drippin’ me for days?”

“Yes—please, yes—”

“Then take it.”

He thrusts in with one slow, thick push — your body stretching around him, already so wet it makes him swear under his breath.

“God damn, you feel good.”

You cry out, the stretch of him too much and not enough all at once.

Joel leans in over your back, hand sliding up to wrap around your throat — not squeezing, just holding.

“You feel that?” he rasps, hips starting to move. “Feel me fuckin’ you like you need it?”

You nod frantically, every thrust punching little noises from your throat.

“That’s it. Take it like the good fuckin’ girl you are.”

You moan.

His voice gets filthier with every word, grinding against your ear as his cock drives into you — deep, relentless, claiming.

“This pussy’s mine now, y’hear me?”

You can’t speak. Can only sob out a broken yes.

He grabs your hair, tugs gently — just enough to pull your head back, your spine arching perfectly.

“They can all talk. Let ‘em,” Joel snarls. “But you know who fuckin’ owns you.”

“You do,” you gasp. “It’s yours, Joel—fuck—”

He snaps his hips forward harder — rough, brutal strokes that send heat spiraling through your gut.

“Yeah, that’s right. Say it again.”

“It’s yours. It’s yours—”

You come with a sob, walls clenching tight around him, body spasming so hard your knees nearly give out. Joel curses loud, hands holding you steady as he fucks you through it.

And then he breaks.

With one last bruising thrust, he buries himself deep and comes with a growl — low, wrecked, feral.

You feel every pulse of it inside you.

He stays there, chest pressed to your back, both of you gasping for air.

Then his mouth is on your shoulder, dragging soft kisses across the skin he just marked.

“Look at you,” he pants. “So fuckin’ perfect like this. Full of me.”

You let out a weak laugh. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Joel kisses your cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll carry you.”

Your legs barely work.

You’re still pressed against the wall, thighs sticky, body trembling, and Joel’s mouth is brushing slow kisses along your shoulder like he’s not the reason your bones feel like pudding.

“Can’t believe you made me come like that,” you murmur, breathless.

Joel chuckles — smug, low, and way too satisfied.

“Made you? Sweetheart, I was on my knees for that.”

You groan and turn your face into the wall. “Shut up.”

“Don’t remember you complainin’ when I had my tongue in you.” His hand slides over your bare hip. “In fact, pretty sure I remember you sayin’ this pussy was mine.”

“I was overstimulated.”

“You were beggin’.”

You snort and shove at his chest, which only makes him grin harder as he steps back to let you breathe.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands raised in surrender. “Come on, pants on before you catch cold. Then I’m gettin’ you home.”

You blink. “You’re not staying?”

He tilts his head. “I am stayin’. I just think maybe you oughta be horizontal for it. Somewhere with heat. And a bed.”

You blush and reach for your leggings — still pooled on the bakery floor from earlier. It takes some effort to get them back on; your thighs twitch when you bend, and you hiss under your breath.

Joel notices.

“You good?”

“Fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You’re walkin’ like I rearranged your spine.”

“You did.”

Joel chuckles and steps behind you again. “Well, lucky for you—”

He sweeps you off your feet before you can react, lifting you like it’s nothing.

You squeak. “Joel—!”

“I got you.”

He kisses your forehead and starts walking like it’s the most natural thing in the world — one arm under your knees, the other around your back, your legs covered but trembling against his solid frame.

“You do know I can technically walk.”

“Uh-huh. And I could technically let you.”

You sigh, but you don’t fight him.

Instead, you rest your head against his shoulder and let yourself be carried through the quiet streets of Jackson like something that matters.

Your apartment is warm and still when you get inside.

Joel sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, presses a kiss to your cheek, then disappears for a minute. You hear water running, a cabinet open, the sound of him moving through your space like he belongs there.

He returns with a warm cloth and a softness in his eyes that undoes you more than anything else tonight.

“You’re not gonna let me do anything for myself, are you?” you murmur.

“Nope.”

He cleans you up slow, gentle, careful. Helps you out of your sweater, leaving you in his shirt from earlier — it smells like him. Then he changes, too, and slides into bed behind you, arm wrapped around your waist.

For a moment, it’s just breathing.

Then you speak.

“Maria came by today.”

Joel stiffens behind you — not tense, but alert.

“Yeah?”

“She said he’s gone.”

Joel stays quiet.

“But he wasn’t banned. There wasn’t enough. Because I didn’t file anything.”

Now he goes still.

“They warned him,” you whisper. “That’s it.”

Joel’s voice is low. “You think he’s gonna come back?”

“I don’t know.”

His arm tightens around you like a reflex.

“If he does—he won’t leave again.”

You close your eyes. Swallow hard.

“I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?”

You hesitate.

“I thought you’d leave.”

Joel shifts so you’re facing him, his palm finding your cheek.

“You really think I could walk away from you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. After everything…”

He shakes his head. “There ain’t a version of this where I leave.”

You try to hold back the tears.

Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You’re not broken. You’re not too much. And you’re not alone anymore.”

And this time, you believe him.

AN: Listen. I blacked out somewhere between “say it again” and Joel carrying her home like a fresh loaf of trauma bread. As always, if you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know 😇

Sweet on You Taglist: @suzysface, @vikiii07, @chewie-bars, @nrschuster30, @thecasualnope, @lady-artemis27, @seraphimcollections, @brittmb115 @dean-and-baby343 @biopicsabouthorsesonly @its-in-the-woods @cosm1c-babe @marysucks-blog @pascal-mynightlyobsession @winchestergypsy90

[sstan-hoe]

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

[sstan-hoe]

After all

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A morning in Jackson with your husband Joel and his kid Ellie, only ever since you got pregnant he has seemengly become insatiable.

Warnings: A bunch of fluff, reader is pregnant, unspecified age gap, smut| Unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, big dick Joel (ofc), soft!dom Joel.

a/n: this is a weird short lil thing bc i am delulu and i dont wanna think about the next ep. this is what happens. all of this is canon 100%.

You'd stopped setting an alarm long ago.

This was the only way you ever woke up now... with Joel Miller's mouth on you.

Today, the kiss had landed on the top of your head.

"Mornin' beautiful"

The man was like an alarm clock, he always woke up at the same exact time, and he'd made it a routine now of taking his sweet time in the morning.

Each day felt like a blessing when he opened his eyes and you were in his arms, breathing deeply onto his chest, his neck... every morning he'd wake up and stare at you for a little while, letting you have a few more minutes of sleep, thanking whoever was responsible for having ever let him meet you.

And this morning had been no exception.

"Good morning" you mumbled, softly rubbing your face against his neck as you tried to will your eyes to open.

Your senses were invaded with everything Joel- his potent manly scent, his heat, his touch... just as every morning he was the welcome reprieve against the daunting task of starting your day.

But today it seemed a slow morning wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

You finally craned your neck up with a yawn before smiling softly at him.

He always looked so cute in the morning, when his defenses weren't up because it was just you and him...

Without speaking, without needing to, both of you leaned closer to the other until his mouth was gently pressing on yours- which is how you usually greeted each other every morning... what didn't however happen every day was his lips pressing harder, his tongue infiltrating your mouth, or his left hand forcing your head even closer to his.

You didn't even have time to smile at his eagerness that he'd pinned you beneath him, kissing you brutally now, his tongue fighting with your own as his right hand began to trail down your swollen belly looking to get beneath your sleeping shorts.

Your hands went to his hair- it had changed since you'd arrived in Jackson, his locks had grown longer and greyer and it didn't matter how many times he'd come up with an excuse as to why he wanted them short again... you'd never allow it, it was as if his long hair was the proof of how comfortable and safe he'd grown here... around you.

"Joel" you managed to murmur, trying to slow him down.

But he didn't answer, he only groaned in response as his left hand seeped underneath your shirt, desperately grasping your boobs.

"Baby" you cooed as his mouth left yours to peck whatever inch of your neck he could reach.

"I need ya darlin'"

You wanted nothing more than to accept what you knew was about to come, but even if it killed you, you spoke up.

"I wanted to make breakfast baby" you murmured as his calloused fingers touched your belly as if it were made of porcelain, caressing it with all his love "before Ellie goes on patrol"

The groan he let out was one of both frustration and protest.

Joel had never been a fan of Eliie going on patrol... quite the opposite really.

He'd tried to talk her out of it countless times, he even persuaded Tommy into getting her off some shifts, but to no avail, she always got her way.

He even tried getting you on his side, and although you didn't love the idea, you knew better than to tell Ellie what to do.

You'd had countless conversations about it, hundreds of:

"You can't protect her forever Joel" and "She's not a kid anymore, you can't tell her what to do"

And he'd always say something like:

"It's too damn dangerous" and "I just don't get why she has to go"

And then he'd always complaint about how "She's so damn reckless" and every time, you couldn't help but smile as you reminded him: "She's just like her dad"

But in the end, he had accepted it... he wasn't happy about it, but at least he got Ellie to promise she would be 'real fucking safe' and that she'd stay out of trouble.

Which is why you smiled as you guided his head up so you could kiss him.

"Please?" you bit down a smile, half laughing "I'll make it up to you later"

He grumbled displeased before giving up.

"I hate that goddamn patrol"

__ __ __

Eggs were frying in the sizzling pan, but all your focus was on Joel's mouth devouring your own... again.

Joel Miller had always had a voracious appetite, but from the very first moment you got pregnant he'd become insatiable.

Every single second he had to have his hands on you, no matter if you were in public or not, his palm was on your lower back, on the inside of your thighs, on your cheeks, and most of all on your growing belly.

And then there were times like now, where he had every inch of your body pressed against his, both his hands on your ass, as he kissed you like it was the very last time he ever could.

That was until a voice startled you.

"Jesus"

It seemed Ellie had made it to breakfast.

"Get a room you two"

Joel begrudgingly took a step back, letting you out of his hold so you could finally greet poor Ellie... you would have liked to say this was the first time she'd caught you showing a little too much affection to each other, but the truth was the girl must be tired of it.

"Hi Ellie" you smiled wide, certain that your face and cheeks were flushed enough to notice.

"Good mornin' kiddo" Joel nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee, completely unfazed.

"No wonder you got pregnant in less than a year" Ellie grumbled, making you chuckle.

__ __ __

Breakfast flew by. It was mostly Joel and Ellie who talked, yapping about whatever disgusting discovery Ellie had made on some recent patrols or the new jokes she and Dina had made up.

The whole time Joel's hand remained on your thigh as he listened eagerly at every word leaving Ellie's lips- but you... you weren't really listening, all you could do the whole time was smile, as the rising sun shined through the windows, as Joel's and Ellie's laughs filled the room, as your child grew in your belly, you could only smile as the reality of how great life could really be, even after all, set in.

__ __ __

Ellie had run out of the house only minutes ago.

You were just starting to wash the first mug in the sink when he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your cheek.

He set down the last dish he'd retrieved from the table into the sink and guided your hands away from the task, forcing you to turn around.

You could see it in his eyes before he even spoke a word.

"Jesus baby you're insatiable today" you laughed as he smirked, leaning closer to leave a soft kiss on your lips.

"can't help myself when my wife looks so goddamn beautiful" he murmured, his hands finding your sides so his thumb could trace small circles on your belly.

You smiled at his words as he moved you against the kitchen counter. "You're gonna be late to work"

He nodded mindlessly, kissing your neck and sending shivers down your back.

"'m sure they'll survive without me"

And that was that.

You didn't even know why you'd tried to protest, you could never deny him... and he never did change his mind.

"You wanna go on the bed?" he asked breathlessly between kisses, his big warm palms working your shirt up and off of you.

Jesus, you got hotter every day.

You let out a soft cry as his leg found its place in between your thighs and he grinded his rock-hard cock against you.

You hadn't even touched him and he was damn near losing his mind.

"You're the one with the bad back... and knees... and-"

He interrupted you with a kiss, moving you onto the counter as an answer.

"You're saying I'm old sugar?" he challenged, his voice sweet as honey and lustful as ever.

You grinned, your hands traveling downwards to the tent in his sweatpants.

"Well it sure isn't me who needs glasses"

He couldn't help but softly laugh, his forehead falling to yours- though the moment your hand infiltrated his boxers and grabbed his dick, giving it a slow, torturous pump all the sounds coming out of his mouth turned to a desperate groan.

"fuck doll" he growled, getting rid of your shorts and panties in one quick move "You sure you're comfortable here?"

It was funny, the way while he asked that, he was already guiding his cock into you.

"Yeah," you nodded nonetheless, your voice barely a whisper "it's... it's perfect"

The cold of the counter against your skin grounded you as Joel thrust his dick inside you- inch by inch.

No matter how many times he filled you, you were never getting used to him.

"Fuckin'- Jesus Christ babydoll" he growled, his mouth just an inch from yours, both your heavy breathings mixing with one another.

"Feel like fuckin' heaven," he growled before he started moving.

And... yeah... fuck.

Moans started spilling from your mouth like prayers as your hands went to his back, scratching his skin as you held onto him for dear life.

He never went particularly hard since the baby, but he still managed to go fast... and deep.

"Oh my god" you cried, eyes locked with his as he split you in half "Joel" you mewled, earning a messy kiss.

"takin' me so well darlin'" he praised, moving some hair from your face as your eyes fogged up with that pre-orgasmic haze "Always so good for me... I'll never tire of this perfect fuckin' pussy baby- think about it every second of every day... fuck"

At that, at the feeling of his cock grazing your cervix with each thrust, your walls hugging him impossibly tight and his sweet southern drawl coming out more the more ecstasy took over, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your moans got higher and louder.

You'd never had to be quiet since Ellie moved to the garage, and you sure didn't miss it.

"J-Joel-- Oh shit"

You threw your head back as the pleasure started overriding your body, your legs spasming as your mind went blank, and Joel took it as an opportunity to bend down and kiss every inch of your neck he could reach- eventually, he started focusing right beneath your ear, where he knew drove you crazy.

"You're gonna come for me sugar?" he purred, the sound of his skin slapping with yours bouncing off the kitchen's walls "be a good girl and come on my cock darlin'"

He didn't even have to ask.

You silenced your own cries by biting down on the piece of him where his neck met his shoulder as your vision went white and all you could feel was pleasure in its purest form.

Joel watched every second of it, his eyes inevitably lowering to your belly together with his hands... he couldn't believe this was real.

You didn't know how long the orgasm went on, but Joel didn't stop for one second. It was only when you finally relaxed that he let himself off the hook.

"I'm gonna come babygirl" he groaned, his thrusts turning sloppy "Gonna fill you up" he smiled, kissing your mouth as you tried your best to reciprocate in the post-orgasmic haze "It don't matter that I've filled you up already... need to show everyone you're mine" he grunted, his hands cradling your belly making you beam "gonna make you a mama over and over again, sugar- fuck- goddamnit"

Before you knew it, he was doing exactly what he'd said- filling you up.

His head fell to the crook of your neck as he groaned loud enough for the whole Jackson to hear.

His eyes seemed even bigger as he peeked up at you after a while, nothing in them if not joy and devotion.

"I love you" he murmured, kissing you softly.

"I love you" you promised back.

Yeah... life really could still be great after all.