#strang3lov3 supremacy

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

Ghostie!!!! I hope you’ve been well lovey 🩷 just checking in to say hello!!

BITCH I NEVER FUCKING SAW THIS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM SO SORRY BUG I WAS NOT IGNORING YOU

i’m so super awesome now that i saw this and i hope you’re feeling so super awesome too bc you’re super awesome

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

I SWEAR TO FUCK I NEVER SAW THIS???? LIKE WHAT HOW. ANYWAY I IMMENSELY ENJOYED THIS SHIT. LIKE TWINKLE TOES KIND OF ENJOYMENT

In Your Room

Joel finds you asleep in his bed and has his way with you. 2.6k

Tags - dark!joel, virginity loss, dubcon/noncon, implied age gap, implied abuse, somno, oral (f!receiving), fingering, just the tip but not for long, because then comes unprotected piv, brief comeplay and come eating, pussy pronouns, creampie. Possessiveness. Some sprinkles of morality. Daddy kink sprinkles too. A hint of aftercare. Spot the Radiohead and Depeche Mode references I dare you, also spooky fall vibes 🍂 Fic help - my main squeezes @endlessthxxghts @beefrobeefcal thanks for your eyeballs!! A/N - so I lied 🤥 promised to have my new series out for you all but as it happens I do not have it ready :( So here’s a snack sized fic to satisfy until I have the other shit, hopefully next week but no promises 💜 it’s been a very busy time for me recently. I've been wanting to write a dark!joel/raider!joel for a while, here's a little bit of that. If I do end up doing an actual series/au I'll keep you posted, this one shot could end up part of that universe.

Joel’s breathing heavily as he walks, inhaling the thick, heady smell of decaying leaves and the damp soil. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are pink, kissed by the chill of the fall air. Toes and ears are beginning to feel numb. The cold weather takes its toll on Joel like this every year. His house is visible in the distance and it won’t be much further until he’s home with you. He’ll spend the evening cooking you something warm and filling and holding you in his arms, maybe he’ll read to you. 

When he finally reaches his front porch, Joel leaves the rabbits he’s killed hanging on a hook in the cold. At the door, he fumbles a bit with the keys he’s used to lock it, his joints all stiff and achy. He’s greeted by warm air and an empty living room, logs burning in an unattended fireplace. Joel grumbles to himself. You were supposed to be watching that while he was gone. 

He toes off his boots and sits in the recliner in front of the fire, warming his stiff and aching toes. “Mmm…fuck,” he hisses when he bends forward, clutching his hands over the cold fabric of his worn socks. He massages his feet, works out the soreness from his trek. After letting his feet warm, Joel gets up to find you. He hopes for your sake, that you didn’t run off again. You should know better by now. 

Joel puts out the fire by spreading ashes over the flames to snuff them out. He then walks up the creaky steps, calling out your name. Nothing. He turns left into your bedroom, his hand lingering on the knob that doesn’t match his own. He replaced that one and the bathroom door knobs to ones without locks. It wasn’t an easy find, but it was necessary. Joel finds your bed made, light pink sheets with little yellow stars folded neatly over the warm, worn, navy plaid comforter. The book you’ve been carrying around isn’t on your nightstand like it usually is. Joel moves throughout the room, touching your belongings. He wiggles the pane of the window, making sure he can’t open it - because that means you can’t, either. 

Bathroom across the hall is open and empty, lights off. Where the fuck are you? Joel’s heart is beginning to pound. He’s trying to keep calm, not get angry or panicked like he’s prone to do. You didn’t run off again, right? Joel felt a little sick to his stomach after he caught you trying to leave last time. What he did to you, the marks he left, the way you cried and looked so scared - fuck, it broke his fragile heart. But you had to learn somehow. 

Joel’s bedroom door is cracked open. Fuck. He’s sure he’d left it locked before he left. Maybe he forgot. There’s been a lot on his mind lately. He spends a lot of time worrying about you. He doesn’t keep his window bolted shut like he does yours, but you wouldn’t jump from the second floor, would you? Surely you’d break your leg and he would have heard you crying from a half mile away. This time, he’d let you sit with the broken leg for a day. Make the lesson stick. Joel’s a little afraid of what he’ll find in his bedroom. What weapons did he leave here? What if the window’s open, curtains blowing with the wind, and you’re nowhere to be found? Maybe you’re hidden behind the door, waiting for him to walk in. You’ll try to hurt him, get some good hits in probably. But he’ll subdue you with ease, just like he always does. Joel keeps his hand on his holster as he pushes the door open. 

A light snore, a quiet murmur of something incoherent. The curtains are drawn and you’re in Joel’s bed, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, tucked under his blankets the way he tucks them in for you each night. He breathes a sigh of relief. What are you doing here?

Joel thinks about waking you, berating you for leaving the fire unattended. But he can’t bring himself to. You look so peaceful right here, lips plump and drooling onto his pillow, eyes gently shut as you sleep on your stomach. Joel pushes a bit of hair out of your face to admire how beautiful you look, you’re always so beautiful. Your skin is so soft under the rough calluses of his fingertips, a little cold to the touch. Poor thing. 

He strokes your back, warm palms gliding over his rough and scratchy flannel shirt you’re wearing. He chuckles. That warms his heart a little. He pulls the covers down your hips and exposes your ass, pulls the shirt back a little to get a better look. You’re wearing thin, lily-white panties that he can see your pubic hair through, a simple lace detail lining them. “Goddamn,” he murmurs. You don’t know what you do to him. 

Joel considers himself a patient person but Christ, he’s only a man. He’s been waiting to take you, make you his. When he’d asked if you’d ever been touched by a man before you had told him no. “You nervous?” he asked as his fingertips danced across the bare skin of your thigh. 

You nodded. “Yeah.” 

“S’normal,” he replied. “But you got nothin’ t’be afraid of. I’ll be right there with ya.” 

But that didn’t ease your anxiety much. “Will it hurt?” you asked.

“It might,” Joel said. You looked away and bit your inner cheek anxiously. Joel took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and made you look at him, his eyes dark and his brows raised. “But I’ll try an’ go easy on ya, hm?” 

You nodded, a small, tight smile on your lips. “I want it to be special,” you said.

“I’ll make it special,” Joel said. “Make it real special for ya, kiddo.” 

-

Joel’s been so patient it hurts. And you on display like this isn’t helping the cause. There’s something so special about you, you’re so submissive. Inviting. That dark desire flows through Joel like ichor, filling him with need, animalistic in nature. With the careful slipping of his finger Joel could be finally feeling your soft folds, the warm, slippery arousal at your entrance. 

He can’t help himself. Joel uses his thick finger to push your panties to the side, exposing your cunt. He drags his finger up and down, teasing your clit, watching how you become wet from his gentle touch. He sucks your slick off of his fingertip and groans, “Fuck, sweetheart.” Fuck, he needs more than just a quick taste. But he should wait until you’re awake, take what he wants from you while you’re lucid. Make it special, just like he promised. Joel watches your slick hole drip with that little bit of arousal and he wonders, if you’re not awake, would it really be happening?

No. Not really, at least. The way a tree falling in an empty forest doesn’t make a sound.

Joel quietly lifts off of the bed, careful to not let the springs creak too loudly. You stir a little in your sleep, mumble something incoherent. While you lie prone on his bed, Joel kneels behind you. He leans over you to grab a pillow you’re not hugging or resting your head on and wriggles his other arm under your tummy. He lifts you up just enough to slip the pillow beneath you, then sets you down on it. You tense up and stretch, your toes wiggle and spread out. Joel smiles to himself - you’re too precious.

He pushes the fabric of his flannel up and over your ass and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, down your legs, crumpling them into a ball before shoving them in his back pocket. 

Joel palms your ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh so that it billows beneath his fingertips. He sinks low behind you so that he’s lying on his stomach, then spreads your lips with both of his thumbs. He blows hot air on your cunt and watches you twitch. “Mm,” he hums, teasing your dripping hole with his finger before pushing it inside, all the way down to the knuckle. “What a mess you’re makin’. She fuckin’ needs me, baby.” 

He presses a couple of kisses against your inner thighs before touching his lips to your pussy, feeling your clit pulse against him. He dips his tongue inside you. Sweeter than honey, just like he expected. 

Joel drags his tongue up and down your folds, circling your clit every other time as he teases you, and feels you begin to soak his face, his nose still cold from the chilly air outside. He loves how warm your skin is against his. 

Joel doesn’t even have to make you come if he doesn’t want to. Could just get your pussy wet enough for him to fuck. Joel kisses you, sucks your clit, finds exactly what makes you tick. What makes you arch your back into him, what makes you stir and whimper softly in your sleep. He savors it all, the taste of your innocence and your pleasure. His tongue parts your sensitive flesh, the coarse and wiry hairs of his beard and mustache tickling you. “Mmm,” you mumble. 

“Shhhh,” Joel hushes. He pulls away from you for a moment and watches your body relax into his bed again before going back for more, swirling and flicking his tongue against you. When Joel sucks your clit, you squeeze his pillow and whine. “Oh, I know, I know, I know,” he coos. “I know.” 

It’s probably best if he stops here. He got his taste, anyway. He’ll smell you in his facial hair as he pumps his cock, he’ll come thinking about your soft folds under his tongue. Joel unbuckles his belt and shoves his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, palming his hard shaft. He squeezes himself and rubs his thumb over his slit, spreading that bead of precum over his thick head. What he wouldn’t give to be inside you right now. 

He leans over your body and drags the tip of his cock through the folds he just tasted, all wet and slippery. He moves it up and down, catching himself against your clit and then your hole, deciding if he wants to push himself inside you. 

Just the tip, he decides, notching himself inside you. He pushes in, then pulls out, then pushes in a bit further. Your cunt squeezes around him, welcomes him so kindly. If he wanted to, he could slide all the way in, bury himself in your wet, pulsing folds and you’d be none the wiser. Because you’re not here, and this isn’t happening.

That slow, gradual slide inside you has Joel sucking his breath between his teeth as he watches his cock disappear inside you, a deep groan spills from his lips when his hips meet your ass. His brows are knitted together in concentration, his eyes flutter shut as he breathes deeply. He pulls out all the way, then pushes in again. “Ohh, s’good,” he moans. “You’re takin’ it so good, kiddo.” 

Joel imagines how much better you’ll take him when you’re awake. Eyes tear stained and rolling back into your skull, your arms and legs wrapped around him, clinging for dear life. Your sweet moans, your face buried in his chest.

Joel sets a slow pace, slower than he likes. He feels the warmth and wetness of your walls, if you were awake right now you’d feel every vein and detail of his thick cock. He pumps himself in and out of you, rolling his hips achingly slowly. You throb and arch against him without any say in the matter. 

“Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. 

“Shh,” Joel whispers, slowing his body. He bends down to stroke your hair and press a kiss against your cheek. “S’just a bad dream. You’re alright. I gotcha.”

Once again, Joel waits for you to relax. When you do, he continues those slow strokes. Against his better judgment, Joel reaches under you to press his fingers against your clit. He moves them in steady circles against your swollen, sensitive bud, and wears a crooked smile when he feels you begin to twitch and jerk a little. Little breathless and desperate moans of Joel’s name catch in your throat as you tremble. Joel fucks you a little deeper and there it is, you’re coming for him. You whimper and moan, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Yeah, there it is, sweetheart,” he breathes. “What a good girl.” 

Miraculously, you stay asleep through it all. Joel fucks you steadily, chasing his own release. Sweat is dampening his hair, dripping down his forehead and down the tip of his aquiline nose. He pulls you flush against his body as he comes, your back warm against his thick middle. His muscles tense and relax and he groans as quietly as he can, mumbling your name. His cock throbs as pleasure surges through him and he paints your insides with his spend, rope after rope until he’s milked himself entirely. 

After catching his breath, Joel pulls out of you carefully and slowly, watching the mess drip from your swollen cunt. He pushes a little back inside you, then sucks his finger clean. He tucks himself back inside his jeans, buckles his belt back up and then folds his comforter back over your body. The loss of his weight on the bed is what finally wakes you. 

“Joel?” you murmur. 

Joel tenses a little. He turns around to see you, confusion painted over your face, all puffy with sleep. “M’sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to wake ya.” 

“Mm,” you grumble. Joel chuckles silently. You’re always grumpy when you wake.

 “Got a bone t’pick with you, y’know,” he says. “You shoulda’ been watchin’ that fire while I was out.”

“Sorry,” you say. “I was tired.” You’re so confused. You know it’s cold outside, but Joel’s face is flushed like he’s warm.

“I gotta be able to trust you,” he chastises. “S’what we talked about, hm?”

You nod and close your eyes as you shift in his bed, but you feel something wet and sticky between your thighs. You wonder if you started your period. You lift your sheets and find milky-white between your thighs, your underwear gone. You’re embarrassed when Joel sees the mess too, quickly covering your lap back up with the sheets. 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that,” Joel says. “S’just your system’s way of cleanin’ itself out. Nothin’ to be ashamed of. We could go take a bath, hm? Clean you up.” 

You nod again. “Yes, daddy.” 

Joel smiles. “What’re you doin’ in my bed anyway?”

“There was a spider in my room.”

“Spider, huh?” Joel presses his palm against your cheek.

“Mhm. All big and black and scary. I couldn’t sleep in there.” 

 Joel pouts mockingly. “I’ll find him later and put him outside,” he says. He pulls his covers and sheets all the way off your body, then sits you up. Joel takes your hand and helps you off the bed, then leads you to the bathroom. “Let’s go wash ya off, now.”  

Please please please reblog with your thoughts or send me an ask!!! Your kind words go so far in keeping me motivated to write 💜

[irisskies]

all the users tagged are some of the best writers i have come across since making my account. there’s nothing i look forward to more than reading all the fics you guys put out. please know the time you guys spend on all your work has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated by me. whether it’s romance, angst, smut, platonic or anything else in between, i always feel like i am actually in the story and i love it ALL. so this is my thank you to you all and i can’t wait to read more of your future works. i also look forward to discovering more Pedro fic writers. live laugh love Pedrito 🤪 (FRANKIE AND JAVI SUPREMACY THANK U VERY MUCH)

p.s. - this also goes out to every single writer on tumblr regardless of what fandom you write for. you are all amazing and do an amazing service to us readers. <3

@jrrmint @ezrasbirdie @gracieispunk @jwritesfanfics @jksprincess10 @wardenparker @theidiotwhowritesthings @elvinaa @strang3lov3 @prolix-yuy @urf1lterr @tightjeansjavi @frannyzooey @l0ngschl0ngking @psychedelic-ink @absurdthirst @joelscruff @the-ginger-hedge-witch @astroboots @grnherbs @toxicanonymity @guess-my-next-obsession @pettyprocrastination @heartpascal @pedgeitopascal @joels6string @whatsnewalycat @coffeeshades @girlboybug @proxima-writes @pr0ximamidnight and many more to come!

[beefrobeefcal]

Round two is done, friendos!

Now the real fun begins...

Once again, the comments on the prev poll were absolute GOLD. Roll the highlight reel:

@neverwheremoonchild: All I'll say is even if Peepaw doesn't like little Caesars my 🐱is always hot and ready for him 💜

@hellfire-state-of-mind: am i the only one who thinks Pedro kinda looks like the Red Baron on the box

@merci-killing: whole foods or (similar) store brand. it’s giving green juice and a cigarette.

@rifflovesjoey: I think he’s a Digiorno girlie bc of that big, soft crust. He wants all the carbs in his big, soft tummy. ����

@noxturnalpascal: if you vote Tombstone we're gonna have to have a conversation | tombstone tastes like cardboard. | thats why it got 0 votes

and @strang3lov3 who is on an anti-pizza campaign: Pizza roll supremacy that’s what I ate for lunch today

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

HE WHIMPERED GUYS. JOEL FINALLY WHIMPERED AGAIN. THIS IS IT. THIS IS EVERYTHING IVE EVER WANTED. #ifhedoesntwhimperiaintfreakinit

outfuckingstanding job on this bookie. live laugh fucking loved this shit. i was reading this and it’s talking all about how ciggies feel and i’m like ohhh yeah yeah right. i’ve literally never touched a cigarette before. and yet i was absolutely freakin with this shit 😏😏😏😩😩✋😋 (gobble gobble)

anyway i literally made this before i even finished the story

Bad Habit

“Don’t you ever start smokin’. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it,” he said, exhaling smoke. “I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

After Joel catches you smoking, he gives you something else to put between your lips. (7.2k)

Tags - dbf!joel, neighbor!joel, pervy/sleazy yet comforting Joel, cock from a man who could be your second father, smut, smoking, dubcon elements, blowjobs, masturbation, joel jorks it, oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, joel makes you smoke until you’re sick to your stomach, vomiting, gratuitous use of the nickname ‘kiddo’ because I am who I am, dubcon, the other stuff Fic help - thank you my dearest @noxturnalpascal for editing <3 and @pinkypromisepascal for giving me your eyeballs and leaving lovely comments, my other main squeezes for brainstorming with me!! @endlessthxxghts @beefrobeefcal A/N - heddo!I sorry for the delay on getting this out. fic posting will continue to be sporadic and weird for a while so thank you for being patient <3 i hope you all have a safe week and I love you very much 🫂💕 definitely didn’t skip class to finish this and watch gilmore girls btw so if you hear that rumor about me it is bullshit it is not true at all

The cool, late-summer air blows gently on your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you sit next to your open window, headphones on, Fiona Apple’s When The Pawn… playing in your ears. You take a long drag of your cigarette and let it fill and burn your lungs, then blow the smoke outside. The sun is setting, the dim light making everything in your room look like a black and white movie, even your own hand in front of you. You love nights like these. 

Eyes gently shut, you’re lost in thought when a tapping on the glass startles you. You gasp when you see Joel, his big hand clutching a large garbage bag. He must have seen you on his way taking the trash out. 

Joel’s your neighbor, he’s been your neighbor all your life. He’s your dad’s closest friend as well, and had a heavy hand in raising you. You used to eat at his house for dinner on Sunday nights, a tradition that’s lasted to present day. As a teenager, you’d spend days and nights at his house when you and your dad weren’t getting along, needing some space from each other. Joel was always a safe person for you to go to. His guest room practically became your second bedroom by the time you graduated. Joel taught you card games, and would make you root beer floats while you played round after round of Rummy. 

Joel was actually the first person to introduce you to smoking. Unintentionally, of course. You can remember him always smelling warmly of tobacco, smelling it on his hair, skin, and clothes when you’d hug him. When you were younger, he told you once, cigarette in his mouth, “Don’t you ever start smokin’. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it,” he said, exhaling smoke, “I will make you fuckin’ regret it.”

“Hey, trouble,” Joel drawls. “You ain’t ‘sposed to be smokin’ that.” 

Joel reaches for your cigarettes and pulls it from your mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He examines it, chuckling quietly at the feeling of the stickiness of your lipgloss on the rolling paper. He brings it to his mouth, then takes a couple puffs before stubbing the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, then disposes it in his garbage bag. Your dad doesn’t need to see your old cigarette stubs when he’s mowing the lawn. “Don’t let me catch ya again,” he warns, then presses a warm kiss to your forehead, mustache tickling your skin. “Get some sleep. G’night, kiddo.”

This isn’t the first time Joel’s caught you smoking. The first time he did, you were probably around eighteen years old. You remember that it was around Thanksgiving, the leaves were still falling off the trees and the air was chilly. It was an evening when Joel and your dad were hanging out in the kitchen, watching a Bears and Cowboys game on TV. Rooting for the opposite teams, your dad and Joel were barking at each other, getting loud and rowdy. There was no escape from the noise, so you snuck out of your bedroom window and just started walking. Joel left his garage door open, so you decided to hang out there. You admired the posters on the wall, Nirvana and The Rolling Stones. Different liquor brand artwork, picked up from when he used to work as a bartender. The garage never changed, always had that faint smell of cigarettes permeating the air. 

Cigarettes. They were on the workbench in the back of the garage, a pack of Marlboro reds just sitting there, waiting to be smoked. To the left of the pack, a little white Bic lighter. You weren’t sure what came over you at that moment but you palmed both items, then peeked over your shoulder to make sure you really were as alone as you thought you were. You held your breath and focused hard, and found that you were able to hear the faint sounds of Joel and your dad yelling. You were in the clear. 

You opened the worn pack of Marlboros and pulled out one of the cigarettes, the first time you ever held one in your hand. You rolled it between your fingers, inspecting it, before you brought it to your nose to smell the tobacco. With trembling hands you placed the cigarette between your lips, and as you fumbled with the little white lighter, Joel’s warning played over and over again in your mind. If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it.

But Joel wasn’t there. And what Joel didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. So you lit the cigarette and inhaled, then coughed a bit at the sensation. It was harsh, made your throat feel itchy and scratchy. You didn’t like the way the smoke burned your lungs and you couldn’t wrap your head around how Joel - anyone, for that matter - could become addicted to something as unpleasant as this. You took another puff for the sake of experimenting and you were met with the same experience. Unpleasant. But by the third or fourth drag, you felt the beginning of that headrush everyone talks about. A lightheaded, hazy sort of feeling. Now that…that wasn’t quite so unpleasant. You could see exactly how cigarettes could relieve stress. Taking another puff, you thought maybe you’d steal one or two more from the pack, save them for the end of the week. Smoke them when you’re home from school, before your dad or Joel could see you. And then you’ll shower real quick, wash your hair and brush your teeth and toss your clothes in the washer and -

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” 

Shit. 

You pulled the cigarette out of your mouth and stubbed it out in a nearby ashtray on Joel’s workbench. “N-nothing.” 

“Bullshit, you’re smokin’,” Joel bit, approaching you through the open garage door. “So help me god, kid...” He snatched his pack of cigarettes from you, along with his lighter. “Stealin’, too. These are my smokes. What the fuck’s the matter with you?” 

“Joel, I’m sorry. I-” 

“You ain’t sorry, yet. Get in the truck.” 

“Joel-”

“Get. In. The fucking. Truck.” he seethed. He wore such a threatening scowl, and his face and neck were red, veins bulging in his skin as his anger grew. 

You scurried into his truck that sat on the driveway and Joel followed suit, slamming the door shut before turning the key into the ignition. Even the truck sounded angry as it roared to life. Joel shifted into reverse and drove you down the street, to the nearest gas station. “Stay there,” he ordered. 

You awaited his return anxiously, picking at your nails. Joel returned with a new pack of Marlboro reds and drove back to his home. “Garage,” he said. 

“But my dad-”

“Garage.” 

 If I catch ya with one of these in that mouth of yours, I’ll make you regret it.

Joel made good on his promise. He sat you down in front of the workbench, right where you were before. He lowered the garage door until it rested just about a foot off the ground so that the smoke had somewhere to go. Then he sat in front of you, hit the pack of cigarettes on his palm five times before unwrapping the cellophane and opening the pack. Joel took one cigarette out and flipped it upside down in the pack. 

“What are you doing?”

“Christ almighty,” he sighs. “You’re so fuckin’ young. You pack the cigarettes first, so they burn smoother an’ longer.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. And then you flip your lucky - just the one cigarette.” Joel pulled the upside down cigarette from the pack to demonstrate. “Old World War II tradition, if I’m not mistaken. ‘Sposed to be a good luck charm.” 

Joel pulled one cigarette from the pack for you, placed it between your lips and lit it. He could see the confused expression on your face as you inhale and exhale. 

“Just you wait,” he said. “I promise you, this is a punishment.” 

“How?”

“You’re gonna sit here with me and smoke every last cigarette in that pack. I don’t care f’your lungs start to burn and you feel sick to your stomach, you’re smokin’ ‘em all,” he said. “Now get to it.” 

Joel watched you as you smoked cigarette after cigarette. He was right, your lungs did start to ache and hurt and your stomach had begun to feel queasy from all the nicotine. After about the sixth or seventh, you had figured out that you could make things a little easier on yourself by not breathing in the smoke all the way, just let it hang out in your mouth instead. 

“I started smokin’ when I was around your age,” Joel said as he lit another cigarette for you. “Couldn’t ‘a been older than seventeen.”

You nodded. 

“Why’d you pick this habit up, huh? You know these things aren’t any good for ya.” 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, ashing onto the garage floor. “I just…I don’t know. Stressed out.”

“‘Bout what?”

You shrugged. “Just everything, I guess.” 

Joel nodded. “I get it,” he said. “But there’s other ways of relievin’ stress that ain’t smokin’.” 

“Like what?”

“Well,” Joel began, looking down at his lap. “The cigarettes are causin’ that brain of yours to release those feel-good chemicals. You gotta find something else that feels good, hon. M’sure you’ll figure out what that means.” 

 You felt your cheeks heat up at the implication of how to get your endorphins flowing, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. You nodded shyly. 

“Now keep smokin’.” 

“Joel,” you whined, coughing dryly. 

“Keep it up,” he threatened, “I’ll make it two packs.” 

What felt like hours passed until you finally made it to the last two cigarettes in the pack, and you felt ill. “C’mon,” Joel said. “Last two. I’m smokin’ the last one with ya, and then we’re done, both of us,” he promised. He lit his cigarette first, then yours, and then took a drag. You did too, though it was agony. 

“I don’t feel so good, Joel,” you told him, clutching your stomach and squirming in your seat as the nauseating feeling in your stomach worsened. 

“Good,” Joel retorted. “Means the punishment’s workin’. You ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” You looked at Joel with glassy eyes, your skin a little damp with sweat. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You shook your head. Your stomach churned harder, you felt your mouth salivate as your heart began to beat faster. There was no more staving off the feeling - you dropped your cigarette and sprinted inside, making a beeline for Joel’s bathroom. Joel followed close behind and rubbed your back as you emptied your guts into his toilet until you were dry-heaving. “Oh, I know, I know,” he whispered, patting you gently. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Fuck,” you groaned, lifting your head up and leaning back to rest against Joel. He flushed the toilet for you, then helped you up so you could rinse your mouth out in the sink. 

“It don’t feel too good, huh?” he murmured, stroking the side of your face. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna quit smokin’?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Attagirl,” Joel smiled. 

Joel offered you some Pepto-Bismol and guided you to his couch, where he held you and talked. After about forty-five minutes, he sent you home. Your dad was none the wiser, probably passed out on his own couch after the game. Joel kept your secret under the condition that you’d quit smoking for good, and he quit too. In all honesty, he was shaken that it was his cigarettes you’d stolen, and disturbed by the fact he was the one to introduce you to tobacco - your dad didn’t smoke, never has. He had unknowingly introduced you to it, of course, but Joel still held himself responsible. Joel meant it, smoking that last cigarette with you. He decided that night he was quitting cold turkey. He was done.

-

You should have been done too. You shouldn’t still be doing this. And that pack of Marlboros in your purse shouldn’t be there, you should have thrown it out the other night when Joel caught you smoking out of your window. But you’re in Joel’s backyard, cigarette between your fingers as you listen to the sounds of the family barbecue taking place in your own backyard. 

It was just too much. Your family increases in size every year, be it a new partner, new family friends, new children. And your family is loud. Every conversation happens using raised voices, even if no one is speaking in anger. Boisterous laughter, dogs barking, shrill squeals of excited kids running through sprinklers. There’s no escape from it at all, unless you’re to escape it entirely - so that’s exactly what you did, and why you’re at Joel’s house instead of your own. You needed a momentary reprieve. Separated by nothing more than a thin fence and yet it makes all the difference. Joel’s backyard is quiet, serene. He keeps his fence lined with flowers that he had you pick out at the nursery, he has a nice deck with a comfortable patio furniture set. You rock back and forth in one of the chairs as you smoke, promising yourself after this cigarette - or maybe just one more - you’ll go back to the party. 

The glass patio door slides open, causing you to jump and scramble to put your cigarette out, but you’re too late. Joel’s always a step ahead, somehow. “What are you doin’, kiddo?” he asks in a low, accusatory tone. 

“Nothing,” you lie. 

“You’re smokin’.”

You hang your head. Joel sits in the chair next to you and holds out his hand, palm facing up. You sigh and place your pack in his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Uh-huh,” Joel says. “Why’re you still doin’ this? You’re poisoning yourself, sweetheart. It’s breakin’ my heart.” 

You shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit. You open your mouth to speak again, then exhale when you give up. 

“I want you to try,” he urges. “Jus’ talk to me, hon, you’re not in trouble right now. Tell me what’s goin’ on.” 

“Okay,” you nod. You take a deep breath, then begin to explain. “I want to quit, Joel. I do. I tried gum and patches…”

“Go on. I’m listenin’.” 

“They worked for a while, I guess. I was even able to stop entirely, get past the nicotine withdrawals. They weren’t even so bad.” 

“Right,” Joel nods, “But what?”

“It’s stupid.” 

“S’not stupid. Keep tellin’ me.” 

“I missed the ritual of it all, if that makes sense,” you confess. “ Lighting it, holding it. Watching the smoke. Feeling it in my mouth.” You find the courage to look at Joel, and he’s not making fun of you for your admission. He’s nodding along, listening intently. “It’s sort of soothing.” 

“I get it,” he says. “I do.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. S’called an oral fixation, sweetheart. Means it calms ya down to have somethin’ in that mouth of yours. You heard of it?” You shake your head no, and Joel explains further. “Same reason some people bite their nails or chew on straws. Jus’ somethin’ people do.” 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm. You should try keepin’ your mouth busy with somethin’ else.” 

Your mouth goes dry, and you feel yourself becoming flustered. “Joel…” you whisper. 

“Quite the imagination you got there, huh?” he smirks, nudging your knee with his own. “M’not talkin’ about that, dirty bird. Do you have a sweet tooth at all?”

“Um,” you hum, “I guess.” 

“I got a sweet tooth myself,” Joel replies. “C’mon inside.” 

Joel leads you inside, and he doesn’t bother to sneakily throw your cigarettes in the trash. He makes sure you can see it, hear the thud of the pack hitting the bottom of the can. You stand in his kitchen as he opens his freezer and rifles through some items. “Pick a flavor,” he says, “I got green apple, grape, cherry, and lemon.” 

“Cherry,” you answer. 

Joel pulls out a cherry-flavored popsicle and unwraps it for you. “Open,” he says, then places the cold, sweet and tart ice on your tongue. Your hand brushes his when you grab the wooden stick, watching him. You can see the way his pupils dilate when you suck on it, how his chest rises when he sucks in a deep breath. Joel feels his cock begin to thicken in his jeans and abruptly clears his throat. “So, uh, anyway,” he stutters, “It helps to suck on somethin’ sweet. I’ll keep my freezer stocked with these for ya, you just let me know if you have any flavor requests. You help yourself anytime you’re havin’ one of your cravings.”

You pull the popsicle from your mouth, your lips stained red. “Thanks, Joel,” you smile. 

“You’d best get back to that party, hon. I’ll catch up with ya in a minute, nature’s callin’,” he teases, quickly excusing himself into his nearby bathroom. He hears you giggle and whine, “Gross,” as you leave his house. Joel watches you through the frosted bathroom window as you sneak back into the party. He’s palming his growing bulge, pressing his hand firmly against it until he can’t see you anymore, then quickly unzips his jeans and pulls out his cock, leaking and hard. He spits into his hand and strokes himself, his rough palm sliding up and down his thick, veiny cock, squeezing hard. He pumps himself and groans when he comes, spilling into his palm and on his fingers. Joel washes his hands, tucks himself back into his jeans and makes his way back to the barbecue. 

-

You’re in Joel’s truck. It was a long day of work, the phone was ringing nonstop and you could hardly catch a break, though Joel gave you extra time on your lunch to make up for the crappy day. He has you helping him out with his contracting job, having you answer phones and schedule estimates and whatnot. He likes having you around, giving you a little money to burn as you expand your resume. 

At six, Joel tossed you his truck keys and told you he’d be right out there, but that he’s gotta finish up with a client real quick first. “Go ‘head and start up the truck for me, hon, I’ll be out there soon. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes,” he promised. But that was an hour ago, and it’s beginning to get dark. You’re itching to leave. On days you work with Joel, he’s your ride. Oftentimes it’s a blessing as he’s the one paying for gas and driving through traffic, but other times, it’s a curse. You’re on Joel’s time, itching to leave and he’s…doing whatever he’s doing.

You’re getting that feeling again. You’re not sure why, but it’s been happening more and more lately. You’ve been absolutely craving a cigarette recently. Just one, maybe two. You shouldn’t have done it, but you bought a pack at the gas station. Promised yourself you’d save it for special occasions but after this pack, you’d be done. For good. 

You’re just dying for one right now. Turning the pack over in your hand, you watch, anticipating seeing Joel leaving the building. But it never happens. Fuck it. You take a cigarette out of your pack and place it between your lips, and just before you light it, you stop. You look around in his truck, see if he’s got a straw from a fast food restaurant in his glove box that you could chew on, maybe a toothpick. At least you tried. It certainly doesn’t help that it smells like cigarette smoke in here anyway, what with Tommy always smoking when he drives with Joel. You resign yourself to lighting the cigarette, inhaling that smoke you missed so much. That familiar burn doesn’t quite hurt the same way it used to and in fact, it’s a welcome pain now. You love that tingly, heady feeling of the nicotine entering your bloodstream. You exhale the smoke out of the window of the truck and close your eyes. 

You think about lots of things, what you’re gonna eat for dinner when you get home, what movie you’re gonna watch. What flavor popsicle you’ll steal from Joel’s freezer. You think about which vibrator you’re gonna use between your thighs, which ones are charged and which aren’t. 

You’re not being subtle. Shamelessly blowing smoke out of the window, Joel can see you. And in fact, he’s been watching you. He’s fuming as he walks toward his truck and opens his door, startling you and causing you to drop the lit cigarette on your lap. “You are un-fuckin’-believable,” he seethes as he leans over you to pick it up off of your thighs and tosses it out of the window. “In my truck? Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Joel, I’m sorry–”

“Shut up,” he interrupts. “You pissed me off. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

You shrink into your seat and stare at your lap, anxiously circling your thumbs around each other as Joel breathes deeply. He leans back in the driver’s seat and pinches the bridge of his nose, groaning angrily. 

“Joel–”

“Don’t.”

In Joel’s head, he counts backwards from ten, attempting to let go of some of his rage. He looks at you, your eyes are big and pleading, those plump lips of yours are pouting, just begging, aching for something to fit snugly between them. “What am I gonna do with you, kiddo,” he whispers, reaching for your face and cupping your cheek. Fuck, that goddamn soft spot he has for you. “All sorts ‘a trouble you could go an’ get yourself into and you pick the one that’s makin’ you sick.” 

You nod, feeling guilty for putting Joel through this stress. You know he’s right. You’re gonna drive him to pick up the addiction again himself.

He rubs his calloused thumb back and forth over your cheekbone, looking at you with those big, brown eyes of his. They’re sparkling under the diminishing daylight, looking darker than they usually do. He’s so handsome. He’s always been so handsome. 

“Maybe you need to get into a different kinda trouble,” Joel murmurs. 

You pause. “Like what?”

“You know what kinda trouble,” he answers softly, assertively. You look down at his lap and notice that with his free hand, he’s begun palming his crotch, cock hardening in his jeans. “Somethin’ else to satisfy that fuckin’ fixation of yours.”

Joel unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, half hard and growing. “Gimme your hand,” he instructs. He doesn’t wait for you to comply, and takes the pack of Marlboros you had forgotten you were holding out of your hand. He takes your hand and first spits in it, then wraps it around his cock, his fingers wrapped around your wrist as he helps you stroke him. His cock grows to full length in your hand, so thick and hard and meaty. “On your knees, now,” he says. “C’mon. You know what you’re doin’.” 

You sink to your knees and Joel slides to the center of the seat so you’re as close to him as can be. He spreads his legs apart and you slot yourself snugly between them, a hand on each one of his thick thighs. It feels surreal, being in this position. Joel senses your nervousness, and you look so vulnerable on your knees for him. Poor thing. 

He leans forward a little to tangle his fingers in your hair and then pulls you down, ushering you toward his hard cock. “Open up f’me,” he says. You part your lips and he presses the warm, blunt head against them. You open your jaw wider and he pushes you down on his cock, filling your mouth entirely. “Nice an’ wide. That’s it.” 

Joel keeps pushing you down, past the point of comfortability and you choke and sputter on his cock when he hits the back of your throat. “Just relax a minute,” Joel says. “An’ breathe through your nose, kiddo. You’ll get used to it.” 

With his hand tangled in your hair, it’s less of you moving of your own volition and more of Joel guiding you, making you take him down your throat the way he wants you to. You like that. As your head dips lower and bobs back up again, you swirl and drag your tongue along his shaft, tasting that heady, musky flavor of his cock, the salty precum when your tongue slides over his small slit.“Yeah, you know what to do,” Joel groans. “Ohh, that’s it. Good girl.” 

You feel his cock pulsing under your tongue, a welcome experience. There’s something so intimate and satisfying about learning all of the exact, fine details of what Joel’s pleasure looks and tastes like. He rolls his hips to meet you where you’re at, taking control of his pleasure, doing all the work himself. Sweat is beginning to gather on his body, dripping down his temples and gathering on his soft tummy. He can’t help but feel a little like he’s taking advantage of you right now, but he doesn’t feel bad enough to stop. In fact, it turns him on more. Joel thinks that maybe it even turns you on, too, what with the way you let out quiet, sweet little moans. “You like it, don’t you, baby?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you hum. 

“I know you do,” Joel coos. “Feels good, don’t it?”

You nod your head, moaning as you slide your tongue along his length, swirling it around his head before dipping lower again, your nose buried in those thick curls spattered around the base of his cock, dampened by your saliva. “What a mess you’re makin’,” Joel murmurs, enjoying those wet, sloppy noises you’re making. “Such a good girl f’me, you’re takin’ it so good.” 

You reach for his balls, cupping them and rolling them gently in your palm, eliciting a sharp gasp from Joel. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, “That’s it, kiddo, keep doin’ it jus’ like that. Goddamn.” 

Joel basks in the feeling of being inside your hot, wet mouth, feeling you suck and slobber on him, the dizzying feeling of your tongue teasing his shaft and his head. It’s all so soft, so slick and warm. He can feel it in his stomach, his balls begin to tighten as he approaches release. Joel takes your head in both of his big, masculine hands and fucks your mouth hard. “Oh, Christ,” he hisses. “Fuck, ohhh, fuck.” 

With just a few more deep, frenetic thrusts, Joel comes in your mouth without a warning, just a guttural, deep groan. He paints your tongue with his hot, salty spend, ropes and ropes of it spurting from his thick, twitching cock. He fucks your mouth through his orgasm, his thrusts turning slower, more shallow in time as you take every last bit of his come, swallowing it all. 

“Up,” he tells you, his voice raspy. “C’mere.” 

You sit next to Joel as he comes down from his high, his deep breathing beginning to regulate. Joel looks at you, wipes a bit of his come from your bottom lip with his thumb and pushes it inside your mouth, where you suck the digit and lick the spend. “S’all you needed, huh? My cock in your mouth?” Your face is hot and a little damp with sweat, your lips all swollen as you nod, a little sheepish. “No need to be bashful, sweetheart. S’okay. F’it works, it works.” 

Joel adjusts his jeans and turns up the air conditioner, then scoots back over into the driver’s seat. He pulls you close to his body, tucking you into his side as he shifts the truck into reverse, then drives out of the parking lot. “When that fixation of yours starts actin’ up again or you’re gettin’ nicotine cravings, you to come to me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “I will.” 

“Good girl,” he says. “I’ll get ya taken care of.” 

-

Your craving for a cigarette hits as early as the following night. To test you, Joel had surreptitiously dropped your last pack of cigarettes in your purse last night in his truck. You only noticed a little bit ago, when you were digging through your belongings to find your lip gloss. You could smoke them if you wanted to. You do want to. You could be sneakier about it, go for a walk and smoke somewhere Joel won’t see you. 

You slip on a pair of sneakers and throw a light sweatshirt over your shoulders, then walk out of your room and past your father in the living room. “Where you off to, sweetie?” he asks. 

“Just for a walk,” you answer quickly. To be honest, you weren’t expecting him to be awake. It’s late and the TV’s on, which usually means he’s sleeping. He can’t stay awake through any movie or TV show. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Be safe, honey. Come back soon, I don’t like you out too late all by yourself.” 

You promise your dad you’ll be back soon, then leave out of your front door and make a left. As you walk past your yard, then Joel’s, you realize he’s in his garage, tinkering with something at his workbench. He doesn’t see you, and you could walk on by without him noticing, smoke your secret cigarette and he’d be none the wiser. 

But you’d feel guilty. You feel guilty for even thinking about it. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, contemplating. Maybe Joel’s right, that you need to get yourself into a different kind of trouble. You used to feel thrilled when you’d drink underage or smoke when you shouldn’t have been. But Joel’s cock down your throat, on your knees for your dad’s best friend, a man who’s like a second father to you…Well, nothing compared to that thrill. 

You walk up Joel’s driveway and quietly into his garage, he’s got an old CD player on and he’s listening to Nirvana. “Joel?”

Joel turns to look over his shoulder and smiles at you. “Hey, you.” 

“I…” you struggle to get the words out. Joel nods in understanding, he knows exactly why you’re here. You’re such a good girl for him. Always been a good girl.

Joel pauses his CD player and takes your hand, then leads you inside his house. When you’ve finished sucking his cock, he tells you he’s glad you came to him and that he’s very proud of you. On your way home, you throw that pack of Marlboros away. And for once, you really are done. 

You suck his cock the next week at work, when you’re watching Tommy take a smoke break through the window next to your desk. You’re on the phone with one of Joel’s clients who’s been giving both you and him trouble all week, and you’re reaching the end of your rope with this guy. He’s old, impatient, and speaks so rudely to you. After you’ve argued with him in circles for about twenty minutes, he interrupts you and demands that you put him on the phone with a man. You’re livid. “Absolutely, sir. Let me place you on a brief hold and I’ll transfer you to my boss,” you tell him as sweetly. You press a few buttons on the phone and slam it on your desk, then march into Joel’s office, slamming the door and then locking it. 

Joel’s eyes light up. He rolls back in his chair and reaches behind himself to twist the blinds shut, then unzips his pants as you drop to your knees .

The routine happens day to day, week to week. Joel notices that there are days when you suck his cock aggressively, like you’re angry or you’re restless and antsy. But after a few weeks, they don’t quite feel that way anymore. You focus on his pleasure, and not your need to curb an addiction. It felt satisfying to have Joel’s cock down your throat before, and that certainly helped to satisfy your particular fixation. You’re more satisfied now at the notion of bringing Joel to absolute ecstasy, memorizing the way his breathing changes when you trace your tongue along his shaft and around his head. You’ve begun kissing up and down his length, gently sucking his balls and kissing his thighs, his tummy. You used to grip his thighs tight, digging your fingers into his flesh, but you hold his hand, now. It’s passion, adoration, maybe even love. You deserve the same pleasure, Joel thinks. 

Your dad’s out of town for a few days, he’s staying overnight in some city a few hours away for some work conference. He had stocked the fridge with different snacks and had tasked Joel with making sure you have something hot and filling each night for dinner, so you’ve spent the past few evenings at Joel’s house. 

 You’re on Joel’s couch, watching old reruns of Will and Grace on TV as Joel does the dishes. When he’s done, he joins you on the couch. When the show pauses for a commercial break, Joel mutes the TV. “Wanna talk to you ‘bout somethin’,” he says. You turn your attention to him. Joel’s hand drops to your thigh, and he scratches your skin lazily. His touch sends a jolt of excitement to your core. “You’ve been real good f’me, you know that, don’t you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Been a long time since your last cigarette, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Couple months, I think.” 

“S’what I thought,” he whispers. “An’ it’s why I wanna do somethin’ for ya.” 

“Do what?”

“Well,” Joel begins, inhaling deeply. His hand goes higher with every pass, fingers closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. You’re starting to feel hot. “I think it’s awful unfair ‘a me to be leavin’ you high and dry the way I’ve been. Not very gentlemanly, huh?” 

Joel’s fingers are wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts, gently skating along your thin cotton panties. “Joel,” you whine. 

“I’m gonna make it even,” he murmurs softly into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. Joel drags the tip of his sharp, aquiline nose over the curve of your ear, then gently bites your earlobe, causing you to squirm. He smirks at that. “Gonna taste you.” 

Joel hovers over you, laying your body across his soft couch. He kneels as he hooks his fingers around your shorts and panties and pulls them down and off your legs, tossing them on the floor. 

His warm, big hands slide up your legs until he reaches your knees, “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he says, and you part your thighs for him. He spreads them wider, pushing your knees toward your chest. Your nerves are on fire as he slides your shirt up your chest, exposing your bare body to him. “C’mere,” he mumbles, dipping his head low to kiss all over your torso, up your belly until he reaches the soft flesh of your breasts, nipping at the skin there before he sucks a nipple into his mouth. 

“Joel,” you gasp, your hands reaching for his head, fingers tangling in his thick, graying curls. He smirks against you as he kisses his way across to your other breast, repeating the same actions and kissing, licking down your stomach until he’s hovering over your pussy. Under the soft, warm light in the room, he admires your body. Your chest is rising and falling with shaky, nervous breaths. Your legs spread wide gives Joel the perfect view of your pussy, curls framing the shape of your cunt. Skin darkened and glistening wet, pearly ribbons of arousal delicately decorating your slick folds. He can’t wait any longer, he needs to taste you now. 

Joel quickly pulls his shirt off and unbuckles his belt, then kicks his jeans off where they join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor. He settles on his stomach and pulls your body close to his face, his hot breath fanning over your damp, aching pussy. To tease you, he kisses his way toward your center, inching closer and closer to where you need him most yet not giving all the way in. “Please, Joel,” you whine. 

“Ohh, I know,” he rasps. He kisses the other thigh, then uses his thumbs to spread your soft folds apart for easier access and licks one long, fat stripe up your pussy. “Oh my god, yes,” you gasp. Joel chuckles at your excitement. He traces up and down with his tongue, his nose buried in the hair that covers your mound. You rock your hips into his face and he holds you tight, limiting your movement so that he holds all control. He’s feeling generous, and you’re going to take all that he gives you. 

“Fuck, right there,” you whimper when he licks your clit in circles. His tongue dips lower, circling your tight, wet hole before dipping inside to taste your sweet arousal. Joel hums in pleasure, he loves everything about this - the way you writhe and moan, how your dripping pussy feels against his face. He dips his tongue and swirls it inside of you before replacing it with two of his calloused, weathered fingers, rhythmically curling them inside you so that he’s hitting your g-spot. 

You’re moaning, babbling his name along with some other dirty words as Joel licks you and pumps his fingers, soaking him so intensely he thinks he could drown. He’d be happy to. There’s nothing he loves more than eating you out right now, passionately lapping your cunt like you’re the first meal he’s had in days. Your moans are becoming quicker, more frantic as you reach for his free hand and suck and bite his fingertips - always needing something in your mouth. He knows you’re close. Joel focuses on bringing you to the edge and sending you over, unwaveringly fucking you with his fingers and his tongue as your thighs are trembling and twitching, then squeezing the sides of his head as you come hard for him. “Joel,” you cry loudly. 

“Yeah, s’it. Give it to me, kiddo. That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.” 

Joel works you through your orgasm until the feeling subsides, and then pulls away from you. As you steady your breathing, you close your legs gingerly, hips sore from the position Joel held you in. Joel holds your knee, preventing you from moving any further. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“You made it even,” you breathe, reaching for his hand and placing yours on top.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We ain’t square yet,” Joel spreads your legs again, then reaches for his cock. It’s rock-hard, the tip is blushed and swollen as he pumps it with his fist. “You gotta come on my tongue a couple more times than that before we’re even. And-” he grunts, adjusting his position before lowering himself over your body. He wraps your legs around his waist and notches his tip inside of you, “M’only a man. I’m gettin’ mine tonight too.” 

With that, he begins to push himself inside you. That slow, deep slide inside your cunt has him groaning in pleasure, Christ, you’re fucking tight. And so warm, soft, and wet. You squeal a bit as you adjust to the feeling of his cock inside of you, his cock splitting you open. “Shhh…” Joel quiets your moans. “Give it a minute, kiddo, you’ll get used to it.” 

You watch Joel as he slowly pulls out of you about halfway, then inches his way back inside you incrementally, little by little until your face relaxes and you let out that first sigh of pleasure. “Oh, there it is,” Joel coos. “Right there, huh?”

You nod, then wrap your arms around Joel's broad shoulders as he sets a steady pace. It’s slow, but not quite gentle at first, before it builds to something faster and harder. He rolls his hips at the perfect angle to have you squirming and writhing in pleasure, the head of his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You bury your face into him, biting softly where his neck and shoulders meet. His skin is so soft, slightly salty under your tongue. 

“Fuck, good girl,” he praises, kissing the side of your head where your hair is slightly damp with sweat. With each of his thrusts, you feel every inch of him. The scruff on his face brushing against you, his weight on your body, his skin on your skin, his pubic bone grinding against you. He fucks you passionately, sometimes quickening his thrusting, sometimes slowing it down, fucking you with longer, slower strokes. You bask in the sensation, entirely consumed in it all, in Joel. “You’re doin’ so good.” 

You rock your hips to match each one of his thrusts, needing more friction against your clit. “M-more, Joel,” you beg. “I wanna come. Please, Joel, make me come again.” 

Still fucking you, Joel spits onto his fingertips and wriggles his hand between your body. He searches for your swollen, sensitive bud and then paints steady circles into it, using the motion of his thrusting to help bring you to the edge once more. “Right there,” you tell him. “Don’t stop, please.” 

“I know, I gotcha,” he says. “Go ‘head and come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

You’re right there, right fucking there as he rounds your clit again and again with his fingers. Your reaction is more intense than before; your moans are louder now, pleading, more urgent. Your brows are knit together, mouth wide open when you go quiet - you’re gonna come, and it’s gonna be long and fiery and intense. 

Pure, unadulterated pleasure is all you feel when you finally reach your climax, moans and whimpers falling from your lips like honey until you’re crying Joel’s name, begging him as he fucks you through it. Begging for what, you don’t know. “Joel, Joel, Joel.” 

Your orgasm propels Joel’s own, and he’s growling into your ear as he spills into you, milking himself entirely. His come feels so warm inside you, so satisfying. “Oh, fuck me. Jesus, hon,” he groans. “Ohhh, god.” 

His thrusts slow, slow, then stop. He whimpers a little when he pulls out of you, then sits back on the couch. His head resting against the back of it, he turns to you. His eyes travel down your body, where some of his spend drips from your pussy. He pushes it back inside you, finger buried all the way to the knuckle, then pulls you into his side. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. 

You look up at him, “Why?” 

Joel smirks. “ Could use a cigarette,” he answers. “Hits the spot right after sex.”

“Fuck off,” you giggle. “You said we’re done.” 

“We are done,” he affirms. “But our deal’s still in place. Which means…” Joel gently pushes you onto your stomach, then pulls you up by your hips. “We’re goin’ for another round.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog/send an ask with some nice comments! Your words keep me motivated to write.

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

OKAY BUT Joel slaps your cheek, hard. “Easy,” he scolds, “I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that.” Joel his nose against the side of your head and bites your ear, the way a dog does with a pup. A warning. “An’ I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he adds. “Adjust the fuckin’ attitude and try it again before you piss me off.”

FUUUUCK ME DUDE I CANNOT GO ANOTHER MINUTE WITHOUT HAVING HIM. I WANT HIM SO BAD. Also super duper really like this ver. of dark joel😏😏😏 I like to consider myself a woman with a very good relationship with my dad but the moment joel says kiddo that shit goes WHOOP out the door

Clean

Joel makes a mess on you, then keeps you in the bathtub until the water goes cold. (3k)

Tags - dark!joel, one shot, smut, fingering, come shot, manspreading, masturbation, overstimulation, forced orgasms, dubconnnnnn, daddy kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, biiiig girthy yet unspecified age gap, weird feelings and some good ol' fashioned shame, hitting, Joel is fatherly in a hot and disgusting way, calls himself 'your old man', gratuitous use of the nickname 'kiddo'. Say the affirmation with me: The ickier it is, the harder I nut.#bushnation, MORE DEPECHE MODE REFERENCES. TRY AND STOP ME. Like car sex, I write bathtub sex uniquely in that I’m not bound by bullshit ass physics or logic so yes, both people fit in the tub and everything is fine. Reader is bathed by Joel, her hair is washed and finger-combed by him too, but length and texture are not described. This was a decroded fic for me to make i can't lie Fic help - @endlessthxxghts, thank you for always seeing my disgusting visions and giving me your eyeballs A/N - thank you for all the birthday wishes, dear friends in my phone! I celebrated with you all last year when I was writing Mall Rats and it’s special that a lot of you are still with me today, but some I have new friends too ❤️ I love you. Having readers like you in my corner all this time has been beyond special and so rewarding and I hope you know I mean it when I say that I love you.

You’re washing the dishes tonight, your least favorite of the chores Joel makes you do. You prefer doing laundry or plucking the weeds with him, because he lets you collect flowers and put them in vases. He even taught you how to press them between heavy books, and how to frame them nicely. 

Joel calls your name from upstairs. You quickly wash and dry your hands, then scurry up the steps. His door is closed almost all of the way, just a small sliver of light peeks from his room into the dark hallway. “Joel?”

“In here, sweetheart. Need ya for somethin’.” 

You push open the door the rest of the way, and Joel’s naked and sitting upright on the edge of his bed, cock in hand with his bare thighs spread wide. He’s grunting as he squeezes the base, the tip all flushed and swollen. “C’mere. Switch me spots.” 

You don’t yet obey his order. You’ve seen Joel’s cock before, seen him masturbate before, too. Despite that, it still makes you feel nervous to see him and be with him like this. It gives you that icky feeling in your gut and makes you breathe funny. 

“C’mon. You know it ain’t gonna bite ya, kiddo.” Joel stands up  and pats the spot on the bed. “Sit,” he says, his tone sharper than before. “Need somethin’ pretty to come on.”

 Joel doesn’t like repeating himself. You won’t make him ask a third time. 

You sit on the bed, the covers warmed and slightly damp by Joel’s body heat don’t comfort you. He stands in front of you, rock-hard cock bouncing in his loose grip. “Why don’t you give me a hand this time,” he says, reaching for your wrist. He pulls it up to waist level, then wraps your palm around his member, closing your fingers tightly. “Ohhh, fuck,” Joel groans from deep in his chest. Loudly, he breathes in and out through his nose as he twists your hand up and down his shaft. “Jus’ like this. That’s a good girl.” 

This is, however, the first time you’ve ever felt his cock. All of your firsts with Joel have never gone the way you thought they would. The first time he saw you naked, touched you, or that you saw him - it was all surreal and rather abrupt. Joel tells you things like this are always a little new and funny at first. 

His cock feels heavy in your palm. You think about the things you like about it - the warmth, all of his veins and ridges, how smooth and soft the head is. But it’s a little sticky, too, which is unexpected to you. 

“Alright, alright. S’enough,” Joel says, pulling your hand away. “Lift up your shirt.”

You lift your shirt, pushing it up your torso until it’s bunched just beneath your breasts. “Nuh-uh. Like this,” Joel murmurs, pushing the garment up above your chest, exposing yourself entirely to him. He rubs his thumb in circles over both of your nipples so that they pebble under his touch, then gropes and squeezes your flesh. “Lie back,” Joel says, pushing you down on the bed. “Attagirl.”

You watch as Joel pumps his cock above you, the end of his fist slapping against his softened belly repeatedly. He breathes heavily, and his dark eyes are wild like an animal as his gaze is fixed on your naked form. Joel breathes quicker as he approaches his release, grunting a slew of swears he doesn’t allow you to say. “Fuck, goddamn. Oh, goddamn,” he hisses as ropes of his hot come spurt onto your body. He covers you like a canvas; his favorite painting, and for his eyes only. 

Joel collects a bit of his spend up with his first two fingers. “Give it a taste,” he says. “Want you to try it.”

You open your mouth, and Joel pushes his calloused digits inside, painting your tongue with his come. “Suck,” he says, and you do. You furrow your brows at the salty, bitter flavor, how it tastes dissimilar from its scent. “Don’t like it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

Joel chuckles, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. “S’okay. Y’don’t have to.” Joel yawns then, patting your cheek gently with his weathered hand. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time. Daddy made a mess a’ ya, didn’t he?”

Joel walks you to the bathroom with him, holding your hand the whole time. He puts the little rubber stopper in the drain of the bathtub, then turns the water on. “Warmer, pl-”

“Don’t need a reminder, sweetheart. Know you like it hot. Daddy won’t let you freeze.”

“And bubbles.”

“I know, baby girl. I won’t forget your bubbles.”

As the bathtub fills, Joel opens the oak cabinet under the sink and pulls out the old bottle of bubble bath, the one he’s been refilling just for you. He pours a capful under the water, bubbles immediately building. It smells mostly of nothing, but a bit of that original bubblegum scent remains. Your image reflected in the mirror begins to blur as steam fills the bathroom, and when the tub is full, Joel shuts off the water. He helps you undress and then gets in the tub first, carefully lowering himself until he’s sat with his back against the wall. “Jesus, s’hot. Gonna turn us both into soup,” Joel laughs. You smile shyly. 

 He spreads his legs, then outstretches his arm to you. “C’mon. Hop in.” You take Joel’s hand, squeezing it while wobbling a little on your one foot as you step into the bath. “I gotcha, kiddo,” he says. 

The water is warm on your feet, nearly burning you but you enjoy the tingle. Joel helps you down, lowering you until you’re submerged in the water, your back against his warm chest, his thick package pressing against your ass. 

Joel fills an old, plastic measuring cup with the soapy bath water and brings a hand to your chin, tilting your head back so he can rinse your hair. The hot water feels soothing on your scalp, and Joel repeats the action until your hair is soaked all the way through and dripping down your back. 

You giggle at the noise the bottle of shampoo makes when Joel squirts a bit into his hand. He lathers it between his palms, then scrubs your scalp. “Eyes closed, kiddo. Don’t wanna hurt ya,” he whispers. 

Your eyes flutter shut as Joel works the soap into your hair, scrubbing your scalp all over. He alternates between scratching you gently with his dull nails, to massaging you with the tips of his fingers. He uses his thumbs to rub the base of your skull in circles, the other four fingers of each hand drawing lines up and down and all over. Once Joel’s built a thick lather, he uses the same plastic cup to rinse out the shampoo.  

He conditions your hair next, working the cream into the strands. He uses his fingers to loosely detangle, “Ow, daddy,” you complain as he tugs on a knot. 

“I know, I know. M’sorry, baby girl.” Joel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Was an’ accident. M’tryin’ to be gentle.” He rinses out the conditioner next, “Grab me that bar of soap, will ya?” he asks. 

“Mhm.” You lean forward and reach for the orangish, rectangular bar of soap in front of you on the shower niche, then grab it and hold it over your shoulder. 

Joel takes the soap, “Thank ya kindly, darlin’.”  He dips it in the soapy bathwater before lathering it between his palms that are already beginning to prune. Gently, he pushes you forward to scrub your back and your neck, then pulls you right back into himself. “Gimme an arm,” he says, a slight rasp in his voice. You raise your arm for him and he washes you with the lather, “An’ the other,” Joel adds, now washing your other arm, massaging you with his strong hands. “Here-” Joel taps your shoulder with the soap. “Your daddy’s gettin’ old,” he grumbles. “Can’t bend like he used to. Wash your legs f’me, sweetheart.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, taking the soap back from him. You lather the soap just like Joel did, then wash your legs one at a time, bending them at the knees. When done, Joel reaches over you to take the soap back. He pulls you back against his soft middle and puts his soapy hands on your torso, sliding them up and down your skin, washing off his now dried spend. He groans quietly as he washes your breasts, kneading the flesh there and circling your nipples with his slippery fingers. You feel his cock twitch against you. 

Joel washes down, down your stomach. “Spread ‘em,” he says, and you part your legs wider. Your stomach jumps when his hands rub past your pubic hair and he washes your folds, that soft, private place between your thighs. You whimper when his thumb catches your clit. 

“That feel nice, kiddo?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you search for an answer. 

“I-”

“You can tell your old man. I know it does,” Joel coos, rubbing his thumb left and right over your clit. You lean your head back and turn your head to the side, burying yourself in his bicep as you whine. “You don’t take much at all, do ya, sweetheart?”

Joel’s made you come before. It’s one of the first things he did when he brought you home, actually. But you amaze him every time, how quickly and easily you fall apart on his fingertips. He thinks about tasting you for the first time, how sweet you’ll be on his tongue. Or his cock, down your throat or between your thighs and splitting you in two. God, you’ve so much to learn, and Joel gets to walk you through it all. His favorite innocence. 

Joel adjusts you both so that you’re sitting more upright and he can reach around you with both hands. “Rest on me,” he says, pressing the side of your head against his so that his scruff is tickling you, but not scratching you. It’s too long for that.

 Joel peers over your shoulder to watch what he’s doing, and to watch how you react. Your soft tummy rising and falling with big breaths, thighs twitching. Joel circles your clit with his middle and ring fingers, patiently working you up. “How’s that feelin’?” he asks, “Can you tell daddy?”

“Mm,” you hum, “Yeah…”

Joel chuckles, dragging the tip of his aquiline nose along the side of your face. “Use your words, baby girl,” he instructs. “Good girls use their words, hm?”

“Feels g- feels good,” you whimper, voice breaking as Joel works you. He rubs your clit faster now, and you’re rocking against his palm, splashing the water a little. 

Joel brings his other hand to your core and lines two fingers up with your entrance, slowly pushing in while he massages your clit. You wince in pain, squeezing his bicep as he pushes them in further. 

Joel hums in sympathy. Being in the bath means you’re not a slick, slippery mess like usual. “Know it hurts, kiddo, but you gotta get used to it.” Joel’s fingers are all the way inside you now, and he pulls them back out. “You’ll get used to it,” he drawls, now pumping those fingers in and out of you, slowly. “You’re bein’ so brave for me, baby girl.” 

The ache of Joel’s fingers stretching you out dissipates eventually, and he changes the action - instead of drawing his fingers in and out of your cunt, he curls them repeatedly inside of you - Joel knows you love when he does this to you. 

You moan freely, relishing in the pleasure. Joel’s right, he’s always right. You’re used to him now, and he feels so good. Swirling his fingers around your clit, stroking that sweet spot inside you with the other hand - it takes no more than five minutes until your breathing turns ragged and you feel that hot, sticky feeling in your gut, the one that feels both bad and good all at the same time. 

“Ask for it,” Joel mumbles, reminding you of your manners as he senses how close you are. “Be polite.”

“Please,” you say, “Can I come?”

“‘Course you can, sweetheart. Of course.”

The orgasm washes over you quickly. You come with a symphony of breathy moans, saccharine in nature. Joel’s never heard anything like it, and he’s grateful he has enough of his hearing left to be able to. 

With his weathered, wrinkled fingers, Joel fucks you through your climax until the last of it courses through you. You come down, but Joel doesn’t stop touching you. 

Maybe he thinks it’s not yet over. Joel keeps doing those same tight circles on your clit, and you start to squirm. “Joel–” you wrap your hands around his forearm and attempt to move him, but his strength is far too great for your efforts to mean anything at all.  

“Sit still. You’re givin’ me another one.” 

Joel keeps your back pinned tightly against his hairy chest, your legs spread wide with his hand in between them, patiently swirling his middle and ring fingers around your swollen and over-sensitive clit. Your hips are starting to ache and the sensation of Joel pleasuring you has turned uncomfortable, downright painful. 

“I wanna be done, Joel. I can’t do another one,” you whimper, voice shaking as tears well up in your eyes. There’s nowhere to run, and you know you just have to take it. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he whispers soothingly, his ministrations on your pussy unfaltering. Joel’s holding you back. You’re not supposed to tell him no. “Know you can.”

His words serve more to frustrate you than encourage you. “I. Can’t,” you huff as you try to pull away from him and close your legs shut in the now lukewarm and soapy water, but Joel keeps you in position in his vice grip. 

“Knock it off,” he growls. Joel has to hide his amusement. You’re quick to anger, just like he is. Just like your daddy. “Jus’ relax.”

You’re close, and whether you realize it or not, Joel does. Your twitching legs, the way you’re breathing. Release is right around the corner if you’d just calm yourself down. Poor thing. You always did struggle with regulating yourself.

“Get - I told you-“ you interrupt yourself to groan, “You’re not listening to me, daddy. I said I c-can’t fucking—” you don’t finish the sentence and instead seethe in frustration, jerking and splashing bath water onto the floor. “F-”

Joel slaps your cheek, hard. “Easy,” he scolds, “I didn’t raise you to speak to me like that.” Joel his nose against the side of your head and bites your ear, the way a dog does with a pup. A warning. “An’ I don’t have to listen to you. You listen to me,” he adds. “Adjust the fuckin’ attitude and try it again before you piss me off.”

Your voice cracks as you whimper Joel’s name, a sob then escaping your chest. Your cheek stings and tingles, like you never stopped feeling the impact of Joel’s hand meeting your skin. 

“Don’t start cryin’, just breathe. Breathe. Go slow,” Joel instructs, pleased when you inhale steadily. On your exhale, Joel whispers, “You need me to talk you through it?”

You nod against him, sniffling. “Then I’ll talk you through it. Focus on my voice, focus right here, kiddo,” he tells you. “Relax, just a minute. Calm yourself.”

You rest against Joel, and he pauses his ministrations on your clit. “I can’t do it again, Joel,” you plead. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I know what you think. It don’t matter, ‘cause it ain’t up to you, sweetheart. We’re tryin’ it again.” 

Joel restarts, circling and massaging your clit with that same pressure from before. And just like before, it’s uncomfortable. It hurts, and you don’t like it. 

“Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it ride.” 

Frustrated, you shake your head. “Daddy–”

“You need to let it happen. Got all night, sweetheart. Water’s gettin’ cold.” 

“Joel.” Your voice cracks.

Joel ignores you. He pumps his fingers, focusing specifically on your g-spot as he knows how sensitive you are there. Your protests begin to quiet, replaced by soft noises of pleasure. “There it is,” Joel purrs. “Make those pretty noises for me. You’re doin’ good.” 

Pleasure begins to build, just like Joel said it would. It almost makes you mad, mad that he’s right. Always right. Mad that Joel knows your body like the back of his hand, better than you do. The stubborn part of you wants to stave off release, but a bigger part of you doesn’t wanna fight Joel on this. You don’t like to fight with him anyway. You always lose. So, you allow yourself to bask in the pleasure Joel knew you’d feel.

“You gonna come one more time? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?”

“Yeah,” you nod. Your eyes squeeze shut as the feeling builds, almost exponentially. Your gasps and moans halt and there it is - Joel’s pulled another orgasm from your body. More powerful than before, the feeling washes over you like the tide, waves of warmth and electricity flowing over your body with each movement of Joel’s fingers. “Yeah, attagirl,” he breathes. “Manners, sweetheart. What do you say?” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, out of breath. 

Joel rinses you with the water as you come down from your second orgasm of the evening. He taps you twice on the hip, “Up,” he says, and you stand up on shaky legs. 

Joel reaches for an old, floral-patterned towel and dries himself off first, then wraps it around his waist, thick belly bulging over the edge of the fabric. He grabs another towel for you next, drying your legs and arms one at a time before wrapping the towel snugly around your shoulders. 

“You finish those dishes?” Joel asks, pulling the drain stopper out of the tub. 

“Not all of them,” you answer. “I’m sorry.” 

“Nah, don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll do the rest, hm?” 

You wear a small smile, “Okay.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ that I could make us popcorn, like you like. Put on a movie. One of those girly ones I picked out for you, huh?”

Your smile grows. “Yeah,” you answer. 

Joel smiles too. “Good. Let’s get you dressed, then.” 

thank you for reading! please consider engaging by reblogging, hopping in my inbox, and/or commenting. your words go so far in keeping me motivated to write ♡

More dark!joel

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

EHEHEHI GHEEVEVHWE. R DJWOQCWVEI

oh MY golly GOSH

WHY IS IT LIKE SO INSANELY… tasty? TO HESR HIM USE *that* NICKNAME??????? MA’AM THIS WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS

Catnap

Joel interrupts your nap on his thighs. (1.5k)

Tags - dubcon, pervy!joel, blowjob, joel jorkin’ it just a little, manspreading, napping Fic help - @beefrobeefcal thank you for giving me your eyeballs! A/N - for @toxicanonymity’s Manspreading Olympics. I realize this has only a smidgeon of manspreading but I figure better some than none, right? That’s the general rule of thumb with manspreading anyway.

On Joel’s worn, overstuffed couch, you find your eyelids becoming heavy as the old movie plays on an old CRT TV; the screen looks fuzzy and the sound is tinny. Joel’s right next to you, and unlike you, intently watching the movie. He pays you no mind until he feels your head gently fall to the side, now resting on his shoulder. He looks down at you and feels your cold hands wrap around his thick forearms as you snuggle into his side. “Hey, you,” he whispers. “You fallin’ asleep on me?”

“Mm-mm,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck to shield your eyes from the light pouring in from the window. You inhale him, the sweat on his skin and the faint smell of his soap. The wiry, graying hairs of his beard scratch and tickle your forehead. “I’m not even tired.” 

“Oh, sure you aren’t,” Joel teases. He nudges you with his shoulder, “Why don’tcha lay down, kiddo. I know you need it.” 

“Mm-mm.” 

You’re speaking in just syllables now, low-effort hums and mumbles as your head becomes cloudy and Joel’s voice feels like it’s getting farther and farther away.

“Just a catnap,” he urges, speaking in a low and gentle tone, “Twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. You can do twenty minutes. An hour or more is too much, you’d be waking up even more tired than you are now. Ten minutes is too little, doesn’t give you enough time to actually drift off into sleep. Twenty minutes is perfect. “Okay.” 

“Hop off’a me for a second,” Joel gently pushes you in the opposite direction and gets up from the couch to adjust the blinds. He twists the rod until the blinds block out most of the light coming from outside, then sits back down at his place on the couch and pats his lap. “Lay down.”

You lay down and rest your head on Joel’s thick, meaty thighs, your face turned toward his soft belly, where you can see the trail of hairs traveling down his abdomen. You hadn’t noticed before that his jeans were undone. “Go to sleep, now,” he murmurs. He pulls an old crocheted blanket off of the armrest of the couch and lays it over your body, making sure it’s tucked over your shoulders and under your toes. Joel then snakes his hand beneath the blanket and tugs your shirt up your back to gently scratch your skin, lazily dragging his fingers up and down your spine. With his free hand, he turns down the volume of the TV. It’s not five minutes before you’re sleeping peacefully on his lap, curled up like a kitten. 

When the movie ends, Joel peers down at you. Your lips are plump and parted as you breathe steady, short breaths. You look so relaxed, so innocent and peaceful as you sleep. Joel can’t help but to stroke your cheek with the back of his hand, push some hair out of your eyes. He chuckles quietly when he notices that you’re drooling on him, soaking a little damp spot right onto the crotch of his jeans. Joel uses his thumb to swipe some of that spit away and fuck, there’s a lot. 

He finds himself staring at your lips, all wet and warm. He thinks about that warm, wet mouth of yours, how good your lips would feel wrapped around his cock. He sighs and palms his growing erection, massaging his member over his jeans. But it’s not enough, and Joel’s growing anxious to relieve himself. 

Delicately, cautiously, Joel reaches beneath his jeans and pulls his half-hard cock out, not-so accidentally brushing the head across your lips. He spits into his palm and begins to stroke himself, sliding his hand up and down his length. But it’s still not enough - he’s cramped, limited like this. What he really needs to do is spread his legs, give himself room to breathe, room to cup and gently squeeze his balls. He spreads his legs and he knows he should be careful not to wake you, but his mind quickly changes. At this point, that’s his intention. To wake you up, slide his cock down your throat. He strokes his cock, deliberately nudging your face with it. 

It works like a charm. You stir a little, brows knitting together before you wake up with slightly bloodshot eyes, staring in confusion as Joel touches himself. “Shoot, I didn’t mean to wake ya,” he lies. You sit up a little, Joel notices the indentations of his denim on your cheek. He rubs his thumb over the marks, soothing them. “M’sorry, kiddo.” 

Joel continues stroking his length as you watch. “Oh, fuck. Goddamn,” he curses, then presses his thick, blunt head against your lips, smearing his precome on them. “Open,” he tells you, making the decision for you. “You’re gonna take care of it.” 

He adjusts you a little, then pushes his cock harshly into your mouth so that you gag and sputter on it. “Ohh, I know,” he coos. “You’ll get used to it.”

Joel tangles his fingers in your hair, eyes rolling back into his skull as you take his length down your throat. He rocks his hips up and down, drawing in and out of your mouth. His cock has now stiffened to its fullest size, and you have to open your mouth wide to accommodate him. “Fuck, baby. That’s it, that’s it.” 

His cock pulses under your tongue as he rolls his hips, doing the majority of the work himself. He can see it on your face that you’re not entirely lucid, with your droopy, glassy eyes. He fucks your mouth all the same, head leaning back onto the couch, a little bit of sweat begins to gather on his tummy and on his forehead. You let out a quiet, sweet little moan for him. “Atta girl, baby. Make some noise for me,” he grunts. “Tell me how much you like my cock down your throat. S’it feel good, pretty girl?”

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head as your eyes flutter shut. 

“Makin’ such a mess of me,” he murmurs. In your drowsy state, you’ve completely soaked him. Spit dribbles down your lips, down your chin, matting that thick patch of graying curls that surrounds his shaft. He fumbles around and reaches for one of your hands, then guides you to cup his balls gently. You squeeze them gingerly, rhythmically as he fucks your throat. 

Joel yanks the crocheted blanket off of your body and slides his hand down your back, then tugs your pants down your thighs, exposing your ass to the cool air. His hands are warm as he gropes fistfulls of your flesh in time with each of his thrusts. He feels your tongue traveling along his shaft, tracing up and down that swollen, pulsing vein that climbs the underside of his cock, causing him to gasp and bite down on his own moans. “Oh, fuck. You take it so good, kiddo.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he revels in the feeling of being enveloped in your heated mouth, absentmindedly pushing you down on his cock, then pulling you back up again. He’s losing his gentle touch as he approaches climax, but he can’t help it. Your mouth, your tongue. It’s all so velvety, so warm and inviting and wet. “Fuck, right there. Right there. Don’t move, sweetheart, just stay like that. I’m comin’.” 

His fingernails dig into your skin, dangerously close to your pussy as he rolls his hips at a quicker pace. You’re whining, crying softly as he fucks your mouth. With a few more shallow, quick thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling in his gut. His balls tighten and his cock twitches between your lips and he lets out a deep and guttural groan, emptying himself down your throat. You swallow every drop of that salty, warm spend that he gives you, humming when he finally pulls out of your mouth. Joel’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, and you press a couple of kisses onto his heavy balls. “You’re a good girl, baby,” he praises. “You’re so good.” 

Joel notices a stray bead of his come sitting on your swollen lips, then collects it with his thumb and pushes it back into your mouth. He tucks himself back into his jeans, then helps you adjust to a comfortable position on his lap, similar to the one you rested in before. “There you go,” he mumbles. “That’s all better, hm?”

You lazily nod your head, “Mhm.” 

Joel pulls the blanket back over your body, just like he did before. “Alright, honey. Go back to sleep.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog, send an ask, tell me your thoughts! Your kind words keep me motivated to write.

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

*dj voice* W W W W W W W W WAAAAAXXXX PLAAAAAAAAAY *air horns*

hehehehehvshehe unfortunately, I have, once more, read this at 7 o’clock in the morning. ✊😪 now I, also unfortunately, have a bad case of the horn horn which UNFUCKINGFORTUNATELY I cannot cure at the moment

#thugitout #CREAMERNATION

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

HEHEHEHE FUCK I LOVE ME A MAN WHO LIKES STRETCH MARKS AND CELLULITE 😩🫶 BUG YOU HAVE DONE IT AGAIN!! ABSOLUTELY SCRUMPTIOUS.

poor little joely-woley was just trying to get his freak on in peace and stupid (wonderful) tommy just had to send him those no no links 🫣 (let’s be honest we’ve all been there..)

Click Here

You and Joel both know how he got that virus on his computer, and you can’t help but to relentlessly tease him in more ways than one…until Joel’s had enough.

Alternatively, Joel should really stop clicking on links that Tommy emails him. (7.6k)

Tags - neighbor!joel, grumpy!joel, pre/no outbreak, porn watching, joel straight jorkin’ his peanits, teasing, lingerie, handjobs, upside down blowjobs (like what happened in spider man), rough sex, manhandling, oral (f receiving), come eating, fingering, overstim, soft dom!joel, porn watching, reader has a bush but is otherwise not described Fic Help - @joeloverture, @joelsgreys, and @endlessthxxghts for their beautiful brains, and @noxturnalpascal and @beefrobeefcal for editing and patiently explaining dial up internet to me for this fic 🩷👾📀🖥️ Patti, I seriously cannot thank you enough. You made this fic fucking perfect. A/N - sorry for the delay on getting joel out to you in a timely manner, he should be cumming a lot more frequently…maybe. I do have a vacation I’m leaving for in less than a week. Also, thank you for all the well wishes and participation on my anniversary/5k celebration, I love you all so very much 🩷

masterlist

You know what you came here for. Grumpy, technologically inept Joel fucking the daylights out of you below 👇🖥️🦠🛜👾😍🍑👅💦🍆

It's early evening on a Saturday and finally time for Joel to enjoy his day off. He spent the day doing yard work, grocery shopping, and chauffeuring his daughter to and from soccer games. Saturdays are never really very relaxing for him, so when he has a quiet moment, like right now, he takes advantage. 

Joel draws the curtains closed in his kitchen as he stares at his computer setup and contemplates, even though his mind is already made up. It’s a sign - there’s a Victoria’s Secret coupon set that’s been sitting on his kitchen counter since this morning, addressed to you of course. Damn mailman can’t get anything right. 

He sits down on the chair in front of the monitor and powers the machine on, opens the tower’s disc drive and inserts his AOL CD before opening the matching AOL application. He has a post-it taped to the bottom of a drawer next to him that he reads from every time to remember his username and password. Joel grumbles to himself as he unzips his jeans, something about ‘damn thing’s always takin’ too long to load’ as the screen goes from dialing to connecting to connected. Netscape takes even longer to load, but when it finally does Joel visits his favorite website, victoriassecret.com. He works his half-hard cock in one hand, feeling it stiffen in his palm as the screen loads slowly, images of lingerie-clad models coming to life bit by bit. Joel groans and squeezes himself. 

He knows that jerking off to Victoria's Secret advertisements is juvenile at best. He knows other porn exists, he’s got old dirty Playboy magazines from his teenage years and even some bootleg VHS tapes that his brother Tommy copied for him. He’s tried to watch them, but they’re all sort of sterile and awkward, the dialogue fake and the women’s moans exaggerated and over the top, it takes him out of the fantasy. They can also only be played on the television in the living room, which is not ideal for a number of reasons.

 Joel also knows that the women in these advertisements are not real, that they’re airbrushed and photoshopped to the point of looking like Barbie dolls. He knows that they have more curves and body hair than what he’s looking at on his screen, that they have cellulite, stretch marks, and all of the other things he loves on a woman’s body. But Joel is nothing but a man, and a lonely one at that. A hard worker and a dedicated father, he doesn’t have much time for dating. And importantly to Joel, Victoria’s Secret advertisements allow him to do something his dirty magazines and bootleg VHS tapes can’t - use his imagination. 

Oh yes, Joel loves when a little mystery is left for him, to pique his interests. He loves to imagine what the model’s breasts look like, if they’re more round-shaped, or like tear drops. Would they hang heavy, swaying when she moved, or would they point outward, petite and perky? How dark or light are their nipples and what would they look like when hard? He loves to picture their vulvas, to visualize what their folds would look like spread in front of him, to envision how they maintain their pubic hair. He wonders what they look like when they’re wet, lips all swollen. It thrills him, excites him. 

His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s pumping his cock when a loud email notification from tommyboy69er@aol.com interrupts him. “Fuckin’ Tommy,” he mutters, clicking on the popup. 

here’s this for your spank bank pervert 

No greeting, no goodbye, nothing capitalized and no punctuation. Just one blue link and nothing else. Joel rolls his eyes but clicks the link anyway, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.

Just like before, it takes a moment to load but when it finally does, Joel blushes. It’s a porn site where people appear to upload their own porn. It seems expansive, all sorts of categories. Immediately, Joel’s intrigued - he didn’t realize that this kind of stuff was available online. He guesses that he probably should have known that, but rationalizes that he doesn’t use the internet much. His computer is meant for a few things - playing Microsoft Pinball, emailing clients, and browsing Victoria's Secret during times like this. But this - this might’ve just changed the game. 

From the thumbnails, these appear to be real people. People of all ages, from young adults to older lovers. Nudity plastered across his screen in all different shapes and sizes, a variety of lengths and cup sizes before him. There are people consensually exploring kinks and couples in love, everyone engaging in a variety of different sexual acts from solo stuff to threesomes to orgies. This has it all, gay, straight,  and everything in between. After scrolling through, Joel notices that there’s a little magnifying glass to search for whatever one may fancy. Joel clicks on this and he first searches ‘boobs’. Then ‘big boobs’, ‘small boobs’, ‘blowjobs’, ‘doggy style’. With each search term he types in, the screen loads with various videos of his request. And then, just for shits and giggles, he searches for his favorite - ‘lingerie’.

The results are everything he dreamed of. Forget Victoria’s Secret, this has it all. Women of different sizes and skin tones, all in various stages of undress. Some wearing bras and panties, others wearing lace babydolls and teddies. One particular thumbnail has his interest piqued, though. It’s a woman in a robe, leaning towards the camera so her cleavage is showing. “Let me strip tease you ;)” is the title of her video. 

CLICK HERE TO WATCH.

She doesn’t need to tell Joel twice. Joel clicks the link and watches a little popup on his screen indicate that a video is downloading. Once downloaded, he opens the file and begins to watch the video. The woman featured is cute, he thinks. She’s a curvy redhead and she’s teasing, smiling - he likes that. Those Victoria's Secret models don’t smile like this. She lifts her lacy pink robe and shows her ass where there’s a cute little heart-shaped peekaboo cutout in her panties. Joel likes that too. Joel’s been absentmindedly stroking himself and he sighs in contentment. She’s about to open her robe, show him her breasts and–

Windows System Alert

Error Code: 0x80070070

Your computer has encountered a critical issue due to a potentially harmful program. This issue has affected system files and may cause instability or loss of data.

Please take the following actions immediately:

Save all work in progress.

Disconnect from the internet.

Run a full system scan with your security software.

For further assistance, contact technical support.

“Well, that ain’t right,” Joel mumbles. Joel clicks on the little red X in the top right corner to make it disappear, but the popup is right back where it was, blocking that cute redhead from giving Joel a virtual show. He tries closing the message again, it pops right back up. Growing slightly irritated, Joel closes the media player altogether and reopens the downloaded strip tease video. It won’t open. “The fuck?” He tries opening an old untitled document from months ago, and yet again he’s met with the same error message. The popup is arriving in multiples now, blocking his screen. It’s like whack-a-mole, the way he’s closing one and two more pop up in its place.

Joel’s out of his depth here, so he decides to consult an expert. He lives right across the street from a total computer whiz, so he’ll ask her for help. He tucks himself back into his jeans with a soft groan, zips and buttons his jeans before making his way to her house. 

-

You’re vacuuming your floor when you think you hear the faint sound of knocking, so you turn around to see a figure standing on your porch through your window. It’s Joel. Devastatingly handsome, grumpy, single dad. 

You and Joel got off to a rocky start when you moved into the neighborhood a couple years back. He used to hound you about letting your grass grow too long, and you’d argue back by telling him that it’s good for the environment. Growing tired of your protesting, Joel decided to start mowing your lawn for you, without your consent. Not that you really minded, he always wears his grass-stained white and navy New Balance sneakers, his few-inches-too-short denim cutoffs and an old white tank top, stained with grease and his own sweat. It clings to his body, outlining his soft belly. His slightly graying but dark, damp curls cling to his perspiring forehead as his thick thighs clench with every step he takes, pushing that heavy lawnmower up and down your front yard. You compensate him with glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade, offer him a cool wash rag that he wipes his forehead with, the sweat and water dripping down his temple, over the stubble on his jaw. Tensions softened then, and Joel’s been a nice neighbor to have ever since. He, his brother and daughter are good people. 

You tap the button on the bottom of your vacuum cleaner with your toe, shutting it off before opening the door for Joel. He looks a little disheveled - he’s breathing heavily, pupils blown wide. “You busy right now?”

“For you? You know I’m always too busy,” you smirk, tapping your foot against his shoe. 

“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I’m findin’ myself in need of your computer expertise. Would you be able to help me, darlin’?”

It’s the way Joel calls you darlin’, how he flashes those sparkling, chocolate eyes at you, bats his long lashes and smiles at you in such a way that you’re sure he’s deliberately trying to send you to an early grave. You’re wrapped around Joel’s finger but nevertheless, you work your angle. “My time is precious, Joel. How will you make it worth my while?”

Joel rolls his eyes, “Oh, give me a break. I’ll mow your lawn. Does that work for you, princess?” 

“You already mow my lawn.” 

“Yeah, and I’ll keep mowin’ it. How’s that?” 

“Cheap,” you quip. But you still smile and close the door behind you, and Joel blushes as you unknowingly take the hand Joel was just pleasuring himself with in yours, swinging your arms between you playfully as you cross the street to his house together. Your skin tickles when Joel places a hand on your lower back, guiding you to his computer setup before pulling out the chair for you. You log into his computer using his own username and password, something you know by heart. Joel has forgotten his password so many times, he used to call you - at a minimum - twice a week to ask you what it was. The only solution to that issue was for you to write it down on a post-it note and stick it next to the monitor for him. He absolutely hates that you’ve made him put dollar signs and exclamation marks in his password. “Seems unnecessary,” is what he would say, annoyance lacing his tone. 

You retorted with, “Well if you can’t even get into your own computer, how could anyone else?” and Joel shrugged and nodded.

Joel pours both himself and you a glass of ice water, then sits down at the dining room table behind you. “So it’s uhh…” he starts, interrupting himself to sip his water. “Got this error message thing when you click on a file.”

Clicking a file, you see the error popup Joel’s referring to. “I see,” you mumble, clicking on a few others. Joel watches your brows furrow in concentration, a frown painting your lips. 

Oh, shit. Joel didn’t even think to delete that file. “W-what is it? Why’re you makin’ that face?”

“I’m diagnosing.”

Right. Of course you are. You haven’t seen anything you’re not supposed to see, because it’s not like the files would magically start opening for your eyes only. Right? “What’s the verdict, doc?” Joel jokes, hoping you don’t hear the way his voice wobbles slightly with anxiety. 

You suck in a breath through your teeth, “Not good,” you reply. “All of your files are corrupted, I thin–”

Joel interrupts, “What’s that, what’s corrupted? Is that bad?”

“Your turn,” you interrupt back, cocking an eyebrow at his impoliteness. It’s very unlike him.

“M’sorry, hon. Go ‘head, sorry.”

 Joel needs to get it together. He’s fidgety and high-strung. He needs to calm down. It’s fine. It will be fine. You’re gonna work your magic and you’re not gonna see anything you’re not supposed to see. When you’re done, you’re gonna go home and Joel will go right back to his private time as previously scheduled - that’s probably what his biggest problem is, he’s blue-balled himself and he’s all wound-up. Problem will be fixed, easy peasy.

 “When did you say this problem started again?”

“Uh, just a little bit ago,” Joel answers, walking over to the sink and getting himself a glass of water. “Thirsty?”

“No, thanks. What websites do you visit?”

Joel watches you browse his files and mess with the system preferences on his computer. “The weather mostly, or Amazon.. Orderin’ books for Sarah.” Which is a total lie, but he justifies this in his head by telling himself that you don’t need to know what website he visits the most. It’ll embarrass you both. And actually, Sarah prefers to go to the library. She even went today.

“Anything else?”

Joel lies again, “Check the news from time to time, check my team’s scores.” 

You hum in response and continue typing. Joel wishes he could type like that, watching your fingers effortlessly fly across the keyboard. He likes the sound it makes, the quiet clicking and the tapping of your manicured fingernails. “What about emails, you avoiding those scams I told you about?” 

“Yes.”

“Clicking on chainmail?” 

“I am not.”

“Not anymore,” you mumble under your breath. Joel rolls his eyes. You’ll never let it go, will you?

-

Chainmail is how you became Joel’s IT girl. For a couple of months, you’d received various emails from him that were just copy-paste chainmail messages. You know, the ones that say things like ‘Click here to verify your account information. Send to 10 friends and family members to verify their accounts as well.’ You’d just delete, delete, delete, and reply back asking him to stop emailing you these things. But Joel never stopped, day after day he’d send you chainmail. After receiving what felt like the eightieth spam email from jmiller@aol.com, you decided to confront him. 

Joel awoke from an accidental afternoon nap to rather incessant knocking coming from his front door. He opened it only to find you on his porch, where you then proceeded to invite yourself inside. “What happened to hello?” he asked, his voice all sexy and raspy and his eyes tired, lines indenting his face from laying on the couch. He yawned, running his fingers through his curls to try and tame the bed head. You wondered if he always looked this handsome when he woke up.

“Sorry, hi,” you corrected. “Need to borrow your computer. Please.”

Yawning again, Joel sleepily gestured to his computer in the kitchen. “Knock yourself out. Damn thing ain’t actin’ right, though.”

You powered the machine on logged in using the post-it taped to his wall, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. Upon logging in and connecting to the internet, you noticed all sorts of glitches. Not even your computer ran consistently smoothly, but Joel’s was a wreck. Popups and error messages of all different kinds littered the screen, blocking the cute picture of himself and Sarah he had set as the background. “Wow, I couldn’t tell,” you teased. “You have more errors than you do applications on this thing, Joel.” Joel only shrugged in response. “Come sit by me,” you said.

Joel pulled up a seat next to you. “I wanna show you something. Can I open your email?”

“Go right ahead, hon.”

You opened Joel’s email and found his ‘sent’ box, where the last sent email was addressed to you. You clicked it and it opened to his last sent piece of chainmail. “I’ve asked you to stop sending me these emails,” you told him. 

Joel looked crushed almost, a look of puzzlement and what might’ve been hurt momentarily painting his features. “You have?”

“I have.”

The chainmail on the screen was a common one he’d send you, the one asking you to give up your information to protect yourself. “I was only tryin’ to be neighborly. I thought you’d like ‘em, y’know - want you to keep yourself safe.”

It was endearing, the way he explained himself. How he wanted you to stay safe. Your frustration dissipated, only to be renewed as you looked in his spam folder to find all of your replies to him in there instead of his main inbox. “Joel, why am I in your spam folder?” you asked, sighing. Joel simply shrugged and you didn’t even have words. By the look on his face, he probably didn’t even realize he had a spam folder, much less knew what one was. But you had greater concerns. “What are those emails supposed to keep me safe from?”

 “Well, from…” Joel’s mouth hung open as he thought about it, looked up and to the side as he began to realize he didn’t have an answer. “Uhh–”

“You don’t know, do you?” Joel shook his head. “Exactly. It’s called phishing, these emails you’ve been sending me aren’t real. They’re trying to get peoples’ personal information, like, look–” you pointed to the screen, showing Joel an example, “See? Here, it’s asking for your bank information.”

“And I wasn’t ‘sposed to give them that?”

You tilted your head in disappointment, “Joel.” 

Joel groaned and leaned back in his chair, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Fuckin’ idiot.”

You were about to tell him to call his bank, but he was already on it. He pulled his Nokia phone from his belt clip and called his bank to explain the situation. As you went through his inbox and deleted each and every one of the hinky-looking emails, you listened to Joel on the phone. 

“Didn’t realize there were these uh…email scams…Yeah, that charge was me. And that too…

 …Will you call me f’ya see anything suspicious? Okay.

 …Okay. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. You too.”

From what you heard of the phone call, it seemed that he was safe. You guessed that Joel’s technological ineptitude is probably what had saved him, that he likely mistyped or misunderstood what the scam was attempting to do. You continued to delete scams and other malware-adjacent things from his computer as Joel hung up the phone call and sat back down with you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, s’all good.”

Joel looked shaken, though. You touched his hand sympathetically and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna learn some internet safety today.”

“Figured. I need it.” 

“Yeah, you do,” you smiled. You went through his email, pointing out all the different scams. You told him not to click on links that look like this and that. This is a scam, this is too. You told him that anything attempting to sell fireworks, guns, or anything else at the low, low price of x amount isn’t real. And no, these emails here do not mean that you won a new TV or the lottery or a cruise. Anything that seems too good to be true definitely is. “...Actually,” you began, “All of these are from Tommy. New rule, don’t click on anything from Tommy.”

“Noted,” Joel replied. “I didn’t know any ‘a this.”

“Most people don’t. It’s new, yet. But you know now, so it’s okay.”

Joel breathed a sigh of relief, but he still looked overwhelmed. This time he took your hand and squeezed it. After a moment, he asked you where you learned all of this from. You explained you picked a lot of it up in school, just learning things here and there. Joel let you talk about it all and seemed genuinely interested and impressed.  

“I went through and fixed all that was giving you trouble, by the way. Your computer should be running smoother,” you said. “And I changed your password.  ‘abcde’ is not a good password, Joel.” 

From that day forward, you became Joel's official computer girl. He’d call you and have you help him when he couldn’t get his computer connected to the printer, when he screwed with the settings and the computer didn’t look or act the way he was used to. Even the most basic things, like whenever he had a new picture of himself and Sarah he wanted to change the background to. Not that you minded, you’d jump at any opportunity to poke fun at your handsome neighbor’s lack of computer knowledge.

-

“Did you click on any links from Tommy?”

Joel goes quiet at that, remembering your very specific rule to not engage with him over email. He looks down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs together. “I might’ve…one or two, maybe”

“What kind of links?”

“There– Fuck, I don’t know. You know, just…websites. They take me to websites. But I don’t give ‘em my information,” he insists. 

“What’s on these websites?”

Joel thinks fast. “Truckparts,” he answers too quickly, and the two words come out as one. “Just truck parts,” he says again, slower.

“Well, you must’ve been looking at some sketchy truck parts. You’ve got a virus.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Figured as much. But you’ve fixed those before for me, haven’t you?”

“I have, but this one means business,” you reply, shaking your head. You start to type a bit, click the mouse as you go through and attempt to delete corrupted files, but it’s not working the way it should. You open Netscape and check the browsing history to see if that can clue you in as to what website could have done this to Joel’s computer. “You said it just started?”

“Just started, yeah,” Joel affirms.

Which…tracks. 

Today, Saturday, June 25, 2003

5:06 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/lingerie

4:54 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/doggy-style

4:50 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/blowjobs

4:49 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/small-boobs

4:49 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/big-boobs

4:45 pm https://xxxmyvideos.com/home

His search history is nothing but porn, which you’re 99% sure is exactly what caused the virus. The time stamps all show that the site was visited within the last hour, and Joel says it just started, so… 

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

“Well,” you say, hesitating before answering fully. “I am looking at your search history.”

Joel stares at the monitor like a deer in the headlights. “There’s - my uh…” he swallows thickly, “They keep records of that?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I told you - just….lookin’ at parts,” Joel’s hand wobbles slightly as he sips on his water.

“Yeah, lady parts.”

Joel sputters on his drink, choking and coughing as he slams the glass down and water spills everywhere. He uses the bottom of his t-shirt to clean his mess as he begins to turn red, feeling his chest and neck and cheeks begin to warm. He can’t even look at you, but he hears your giggles and he can picture your smug grin and he wishes so badly he was dead right now. You’ve seen it all, you know everything. You know it and so does he. He’s gaining the courage to look at you and oh god - you’re scrolling through the dirty website. Giggling, you’re looking at everything he looked at, fucking everything. You’re seeing the same dicks he saw, the same pussies, seeing the purple links that indicate exactly what he’s already clicked on. “Yeah, laugh it up,” he says angrily, defensively. “Ain’t that funny.”

Joel’s world is ending, but it’s really not as bad as he thinks it is. The porn is tamer than what’s often found on the internet, much tamer than the shit you watch. You continue to explore the site as you listen to Joel tell on himself behind you.

“It’s just somethin’ to pass the time,” he says. “It’s natural, alright? And I know you do it too.” He’s deflecting. Even still, he’s not wrong, you certainly do take part. 

You just let him keep talking, relishing in having the upper hand in this situation. “You’re blushing,” you tell him when he quiets down, just to get him started and riled up again as you browse the site. You notice a lot of videos are duplicates, prompting users to download the same thumbnail uploaded by different usernames. Whatever Joel clicked on was probably not uploaded by a real person, though. He clocked on a gibberish username made up of random letters and numbers, unlike some other videos uploaded under actual names. Like Joel’s new found friend ‘cherry_girl_xo’, whose username link is purple. You smirk at that, turning around to look at Joel who definitely recognizes her. He’s bright red everywhere.  

You’re sure this website is the culprit, but you check the rest of his search history to see if any other clue lies in there, but see nothing of import. All you notice are various links to victoriassecret.com, over and over and over again. Based on that and his last searched term on that shady porn site, you can safely assume he’s got a thing for lingerie. Which - funnily enough, you’re wearing right now. Not the kind of lingerie Joel’s been beating off to, but similar. You’re wearing your laciest undergarments, a lavender colored bra with a matching thong. They’re your laundry day underwear, you know the kind - five years old and been sitting at the bottom of your underwear drawer untouched for four of those years, not very comfortable and only to be worn when you’ve just gotten off your period and all of your cotton bikinis and boyshorts are in the wash. That kind. 

After toying with Joel’s computer for a while longer while he twists uncomfortably in agonizing humiliation, you decide there’s not much else that can be done. “I think we have to wipe it all, Joel,” you tell him. “Delete everything and start fresh.”

Joel nods quietly. “Will I still be able to play pinball after?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure you can play pinball,” you chuckle.

“Wipe it, then.”

And so you start the process, which will take a long while. The screen loads and loads as you and Joel wait quietly. You look at Joel, who’s got an elbow on the table as he rests his forehead in his palm. “What?” he snaps, noticing you staring at him. You can’t fight the giggles from erupting. “Would you quit fuckin’ gigglin’ like that? You know that a man’s got needs and I ain’t hurtin’ anyone–” You contort your lips into a forced frown, pressing them into a thin line and then covering your mouth to keep your laughter at bay, but you’re struggling. Joel can see the amusement still sparkling in your eyes and says your name in a warning tone. 

“I’m sorry,” you smile, raising your hands in surrender. “I won’t laugh. I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Better be,” he grumbles. He drinks the last of his water quietly as you think about something, something that’s been heavy on your mind for the last couple of minutes. What if Joel knew what you were wearing beneath your clothes? You’ve made this afternoon absolute hell for him and you know that - but you don’t care. You’ve had too much fun getting under his skin to stop now. 

The real dirty work begins when you unzip your sweatshirt and hang it over the back of your chair. When Joel looks at you, you bring your hand to your shoulder and gently pull up on your bra strap, letting it snap your shoulder.

Joel shifts in his seat and clears his throat, “You warm or somethin’?”

“Yeah, it’s a little hot in here.”

“Mm,” Joel spins his now empty glass between his thumb and pointer finger. When he looks back at you, he flips the glass. You’ve pulled the top of your tank top down, your lacy bra and cleavage on full display. He tries to make two moves at once, catch the rolling glass and cover his crotch because he’s just gone erect.  “Cute. I would appreciate it if you’d knock that off now, I get the picture. S’real funny,” he mutters as he scrambles.

“What picture?” you ask innocently. 

“Oh, don’t you start. You know exactly what damn picture,” Joel snaps. “You figured it out. Got a certain fondness for ladies in lace. You feel clever or somethin’?” 

You really can’t bite back your smile this time, “Mhm.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re exploitin’ my vulnerabilities, takin’ cheap shots and–” Joel’s jaw drops as he watches you unbutton your jean shorts and show off your panties, the little bow at the center of them nicely on display. His look of shock quickly turns into a glare as you take off your tank top. “Like that, that’s playin’ dirty. Put your shirt back on and zip yourself back up. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. You really don’t. This is just as surprising to you as it is to Joel, but the look on his face tells you that you’re definitely having way more fun than he is. 

“God, you’re killin’ me,” he groans. The way you’re so cavalier about this all has Joel both flummoxed and irate. 

But you’re not this bold usually, not really. Joel must not have noticed the way your hands have been trembling, must not have heard your slightly shaky breaths. He’s been avoiding eye contact too much to notice you’ve been doing the same. “Why?”

“Why? Cause I’m only a man and you’re gettin’ me all worked up. You’re takin’ advantage of me and my biology,” Joel gestures angrily to his crotch. He’s not even bothering to hide it anymore - you’ve seen it all and know what you’ve done to him. “You proud?”

“You’re–”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ hard - been hard. Didn’t get to take care of myself ‘cause of the fuckin’ virus and here you are teasin’ and temptin’ me and…Hon, what’re you -” Joel’s angered expression turns to momentary confusion when you stand up, then turns to contentment when you straddle his lap. You press your core into his thick bulge, holding onto his shoulders for stability. “What are you doin’?” he sighs, his head falling backward.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For teasing.”

“Yeah, so you say, princess.”

You grind yourself on his lap and when Joel brings his head forward to search for your eyes, he notices how your eyes flicker away from his. Like maybe you’re not as in control of this situation as you appear to be. 

“I am.”

“Mm,” Joel hums. You’re reaching between your bodies and fumbling with the button on his jeans. He sucks in his soft belly to unbutton them for you, wraps his strong hand around your wrist and brings your hand to his mouth. “Gimme this,” he mumbles, spitting into your hand before he shoves it under the waistband of his boxers. A pang of arousal floods your gut at the action.

You palm his warm, heavy cock, feeling him thicken in your hand, though he’s already so hard. You can feel his rigid member throb and ache as you work his shaft up and down, up and down, your knuckles brushing against his thatch of coarse curls and his tummy. It’s evident how much he’s needed this, what with the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths, soft groans escaping his lips as he does so. 

Joel enjoys himself as you work him. “Fuck,” he whispers. You look down between your bodies to admire his member, the blushed, leaking tip and the thick and prominent veins. And he’s so smooth, his skin almost silky. You watch his blissed out face, contemplate kissing those pink, pouting lips of his. You’re gonna do it, bringing your face close to his. Brushing your lips ever so softly over his, Joel moves to kiss you fully when you pull back. His computer makes that signature Windows startup sound,

“I have to take care of that,” you murmur. You dismount Joel and he picks up where you leave off, stroking his own cock just like you were. He watches your nearly naked body with hooded eyes that flutter shut as you work, typing quietly on his keyboard. You set his username and password the same, make sure that things open as they should. For Joel’s own protection, you block tommyboy69er@aol.com. 

“Finished?” Joel asks as you stand up from your seat in front of his computer. 

“Mhm,” you reply, gripping his shoulder with your hand as you bend over halfway to pick up your discarded top and kiss his cheek. “Have fun with your Victoria’s Secret girls, Joel.”

Your work here is done. You’ve fixed Joel’s computer and by the look on his face, broken his heart. “What are you doing?”

You smile, too proud of yourself as you begin to walk away. Before you can walk further, Joel stands up and reaches across the table, grabbing you by the forearm and forcing you onto your back. “You ain’t gettin’ away from me that easy, princess,” he says. “I still got somethin’ that needs fixed.” Joel displays strength but is as gentle as can be, though the cold, hard wood against your spine and your shoulder blades hurt you for a moment. Your eyes widen in shock, but it’s a welcome pain. “Knew you weren’t fuckin’ sorry,” Joel spits. Your head dangles off the edge of the table and Joel uses a hand to open your mouth, forcing two of his thick fingers inside. Instinctually, you curl your tongue around the digits, sucking and licking. You can taste his cock on his fingers from when he was pleasuring himself just moments ago.

Joel pumps himself in his hand for a second before guiding his thick head to your lips, pushing past them in one quick thrust, right to the back of your throat so you gag. He likes that noise. “I give you an inch,” he grunts, “And you take a mile.” You slide your tongue over those thick veins of his you’d previously traced with your fingertips. Joel draws out of your mouth slowly, allowing you to lick his weeping slit before pushing himself back in. “It would’ve been courteous of you to keep my dirty secret to yourself, but you couldn’t even do that. Went an’ humiliated me instead, then you got the nerve to try ‘n leave me high and dry? I don’t think I deserve that.”

  Joel wants to fuck your mouth until your lips are raw and swollen, show you just what he thinks of your stunt. But he demonstrates self control, allows you to take him at your own pace and yet, you continue to tease. It’s like it’s innate or something, the way you continue to only give little by little, savoring the saltiness of his precome. He gives you one last warning, “You really should learn when to quit while you’re ahead, hon.”

You persist anyway. Wrong move. Joel fucks himself into your mouth with no regard for your comfort, taking what he needs from you. It’s sloppy and messy, his heavy balls bouncing off the tip of your nose. You wish you could see him, see the way he’d glare at you. He’s flipped like a switch, previously holding himself back from having his way with you like he wanted to. He’s taking it now. All the softness in him is gone, and you fucking love it. You reach forward, sliding your hand down your stomach, dipping it beneath your panties. You spread your legs wide and your fingers hover over your pussy, feeling that wet heat radiating from your core. Just as you let your fingers drop to touch your aching clit, you feel Joel lunge forward and pull your hand away. “Nuh-uh, not where I eat. Where are your manners, princess?” 

He fucks your mouth relentlessly, holding the sides of your head in his big hands. He watches the way your lace-covered tits bounce with his every thrust. He pushes himself deeper and deeper, ignoring your sputtering and choking on his cock. Your eyes prick with tears as your jaw begins to ache, really fucking ache. Joel doesn’t stop himself, and it’s not like he would if he knew you were crying like this. He fills the air with his own grunting and groaning, relishing in the warmth of your wet, soft mouth.

And then he’s done. No slowing to a standstill, just abruptly pulls out. You hear his heavy footsteps as he rounds the kitchen table, hooks his fingertips beneath the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down, pulls your hips close to his so your face is no longer dangling off the edge. He pulls your panties to the side, drags his thumb up and down your slick folds and it’s like the quiet before the storm. 

He notches himself in your entrance and pushes himself in, inch by inch by inch. Slowly, deliberately, so that you feel all of the stretching and aching he wants you to. “Joel,” you cry. “Fuck, Joel, please, I can’t–”

“You’ll get used to it,” he purrs. He leans over you as he fucks you slowly, holding your neck with his thumb on your jawbone while he kisses you to quiet you down, licking into your mouth and swirling his tongue around with yours. You whimper softly into his mouth with his every thrust, the pain not yet completely dissipated, but pleasurable in its own way. “Spread your legs. Wider.”

You open yourself up for him, allowing him to fuck himself deeper into you. You accept it all as he wraps your legs around his waist, your heels bouncing on his ass. The head of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside of you, pleasure beginning to take over your senses and you moan. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Feels good, don’t it? Maybe this whole virus fiasco was a blessing in disguise, darlin’,” Joel says, “Feels good f’me too.”

You cry out loudly when he puts your legs up on his shoulders, the new angle has him inside you even deeper than before. He sits you up a bit, putting your arms behind your back and pressing your palms down flat on the table with his own. 

He draws out of you and fills you up again, over and over and over. “Fuck, look at us,” he kisses your ankle a couple of times, “Look,” Joel looks down where your bodies meet and you join him, watching how his cock slides in and out of you, all wet and coated in your slick. Panties still pulled to the side, your skin is irritated where the fabric tugs and scratches at your skin. He maintains a quick rhythm, rolling his hips into yours. 

“Make me come, Joel, I want to come.”

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt you do. But maybe I’ll leave you high and dry like you were gonna do to me, see how you like it. What a waste that’d be, huh?” You whine at the threat and Joel smiles deviously, he likes having you at his mercy like this. All pathetic and begging for him to let you come undone. “You’re nothin’ but talk, aren’t you?”

“Make me come, please.”

“You’ll have to convince me,” he says. “You heard me, convince me. Better make it quick.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, you can’t even process what Joel said and begin to make your case. You feel him twitching, his hips stuttering and before you know it, he’s spilling into you. He paints your insides with his hot spend, milking himself entirely in your cunt and your disappointment is incalculable. Tears of frustration well up and threaten to spill down your cheeks. It was all fun and games before, but you suddenly feel so used and betrayed. You can’t say he didn’t warn you. 

“Ohh, I know,” he coos, wiping your eyes. “Bit off more than you could chew, didn’t you?”

You nod, sniffling quietly. 

“You can still convince me. I’m all ears, ya know.”

“How?”

“Well,” Joel says. He’s beginning to soften inside of you, and so he pulls out with a soft ‘fuck’, his spend spilling out of you and onto his table. “Can start with an ‘I’m sorry, Joel’. And I want a real one this time.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

“S’a good start. Wanna give me some more? Tell me why?”

“F-for teasing you and stuff.”

“For teasing me and stuff,” he repeats your words slowly. Joel pulls off his t-shirt and folds it tightly, places it at the end of the table and lowers your head onto it. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Joel kneels before you and wraps his arms around your thighs. He presses a kiss over your cloth-covered core, feeling the dampness of your arousal and his spend on his lips. He spreads your legs wide, exposing your wet cunt for him, lips all swollen and ribbons of his spend clinging to your folds. He admires the thick curls framing your pussy, “I gotcha,” he whispers. “C’mere.”

You gasp when Joel finally, finally begins to explore you, his tongue parting open your folds. He pulls back and pushes one, then two fingers inside you, humming in satisfaction at the way you suck him in, so eager and needy for his touch. He curls his fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and jerk as you try to keep yourself still. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan as he laps at your cunt, feeling that warm, sticky feeling flow through your hips. His mouth and fingers work together to bring you closer to your edge, humming as he rhythmically strokes that sweet spot inside of you. His tongue is so hot, wet, and firm as he drags it up and down your sex, circling your clit with the muscle. “Mmm, fuck. Oh, god.”

Joel doesn’t know what’s more satisfying, the sweet taste of this most private place between your thighs or the sounds of your pleasure as he eats you. He devours you voraciously, sucking one fold and nipping at the other as he curls his fingers, never faltering in their movements. With his free hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he reaches around and pulls the hood of your clit back to suck and lick the sensitive bud. His dark, slightly graying and wiry stubble drags across the skin of your inner thighs, scratching you gently. It’s building up quickly, that familiar feeling deep in your spine.

“I’m–” a moan rips through your chest and interrupts you, “Fuck, I’m–”

“I know, hon,” he whispers, escalating his efforts. He sucks, licks, and curls his fingers harder, feeling the slow build of you beginning to come apart for him. You come on his lips and spill into his hand as Joel works you through your orgasm. You’re a gushing, moaning mess, your hands fly to his scalp and you tug on his soft curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt. And then another, slower. Another yet, even slower. 

You expect him to pull away from your center with a satisfied grin, his mustache and beard dampened by your slick. But he stays put, licking more long stripes up and down your pussy. Your thighs twitch and flutter uncontrollably and Joel holds you apart for him as he continues to tease, circling the tip of his perfect, aquiline nose around your clit. 

“Too much, it’s too much,” you cry. 

“Mhm. But you got one more in you, I know you do.”

“Joel–” 

You think you might break. You’re not sure where you feel Joel’s tongue, you just feel him fucking everywhere. You don’t know where your orgasm begins and ends, just that by the time Joel decides you’re done, you’re in sweet agony and he luxuriates in the taste of your second release. He’s made such a pretty mess of you. He presses one last kiss to your core, “Yeah, that was a good one, wasn’t it?”

Joel pulls away from your center, wiping his lips on your thighs. His cheeks are flushed and his dark eyes sparkle. He lets you catch your breath as he fills a glass of water for you and brings it to your lips helping you to drink as your hands are still trembling from it all. 

When the moment passes, you gather your clothes. You pull on your tank top and put your shorts back on. “Oh,” you say. 

“Hm?”

“I blocked Tommy’s email, just so you know. He’s trouble.”

Joel chuckles. “You, my darlin’, are trouble. But that’s probably for the best, thank you for fixin’ my computer again.” 

“It’s no problem,” you reply. 

“Oh–” Joel grabs something from his stack of mail on his countertop and hands it to you. It’s some Victoria’s Secret coupons.“This was addressed to you. Ended up in my mail. Fuckin’ mail guy.”

You giggle quietly, what a curmudgeon he is. “Actually, I think you need it more than I do. You can beat off to your angels in analog,” you tease.

Joel rolls his eyes. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he says, taking the coupons back from you. “And actually, think I will hang on to this. Maybe I’ll even buy you somethin’ pretty an’ we can do this again soon.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, comment, send me an ask, just tell me something nice <3 your words keep me motivated to write.

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

EHEHEHHEHEHE OKAY WHAT A QUINKY DINKY TWINKIE LINKY THAT THIS COMES OUT RIGHT AFTER MY PERIOD ENDS ✋😩😩😩😩😩😩

OKAY BUT MR JOELY WOELY BEING LIKE SWEET BUT KIND OF A CUNT WAS LITERALLY PERFECT 🫡😍😘 ALSO ALSO ALSO I JUST LITERALLY LOVE WHEN YOU WRITE ABT THE READER HAVING A BUSH!!! LIKE YES BITCH YOU SHOW THAT FUR OOFFFFFFFF

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder. 

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.” 

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.” 

 You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps. 

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?” 

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.” 

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice. 

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” 

“I said yes,” you snap. 

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.” 

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being - 

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected. 

-

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. After fetching your pad and underwear for you, Joel spent the night tinkering with the unpredictable VHS player so that it would play movies for you as you rested on the couch. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.” 

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.” 

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that. 

-

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song. 

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.” 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.” 

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch. 

“The other one.” 

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace. 

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him. 

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?” 

 “Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.” 

“No. It was burning me.” 

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.” 

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.” 

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you. 

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.” 

“You can ask, you know.” 

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.” 

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.” 

“Yes.” 

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?” 

“It’s not your business.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.” 

“I don’t want to,” you whine. 

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.” 

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.” 

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.” 

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip. 

“All of it.” 

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.” 

“Yeah. I see that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.” 

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?” 

“Somewhere else.” 

“Right. Somewhere else.” 

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you. 

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?” 

“Yes.” 

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.” 

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass. 

-

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is. 

“Joel.” 

No answer. 

“JOELLLL,” you yell. 

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?” 

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.” 

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?” 

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too. 

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you. 

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.” 

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel. 

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” 

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now. 

 “Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. 

“Exactly.” 

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says. 

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs. 

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while. 

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that. 

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it. 

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name. 

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.” 

 You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before. 

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure. 

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.” 

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it. 

And fucks you, and fucks you. 

And keeps fucking you. 

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.” 

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

 “Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?” 

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

 “But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.” 

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.” 

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.” 

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head. 

“Super, yeah. Sore.” 

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

EHEHEHEHEHEHE oh my tits THIS JOEL 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 THE WAY YOU WRITE HIM HAS GOT ME FEELIN THINGS 😩😩🐕🫣🫣😩🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕 he’s so babygirl istg if you put a little pink bow in his hair he’d be twirling through a meadow full of flowers okay I don’t know where the fuck that came from

Dirty Laundry

Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

Tags - 18+, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation on a washing machine, dirty boxer sniffing (you fucking freak), fantasizing about a dirty old man, unprotected piv, creampie, curmudgeon joel talks you through knife safety, washing machine repairs, and overstim. 8k words, idk what the fuck happened. Thank you to @noxturnalpascal , @beefrobeefcal , and @papipascalispunk for helping me edit this monstrosity and @joelsgreys for letting me scream about washers and dryers for days <3 A/N - i have worked harder on this than my finals, but that should surprise no one. i only have one more left and then you should be seeing more of me this summer <3 i have a lot a lot a lot planned and I've been so excited to share new shit with you. Roman girlies, I haven't forgotten about you. He's up next. Anyway, you maniacs know what you’re here for, so please enjoy.

Joel’s best kept secret is his Whirlpool brand washer and dryer set, which is hidden deep in his basement. You stand before it now, loading your dirty laundry into it, using what is definitely too much of Joel’s detergent. 

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say his washer and dryer set was his best kept secret, until you came along and forced his hand. Everything was fine, and then you showed up, both yourself and your basket of laundry soaking wet, leaving Joel with no choice but to lend you a hand. Biggest mistake of his life. 

As great as Jackson is, it still comes up short sometimes. Not with everything; you’re beyond blessed to live in the safety of its walls. Just technologically, sometimes it can leave you missing the finer things. It's not Jackson’s fault society is twenty years into an apocalypse, thus running on twenty-plus year old appliances. The older ovens, refrigerators, and other appliances that were built in the seventies to the nineties or so are surprisingly doing alright, but the ones built when manufacturing began to take a turn for the worse around the later nineties and 2000s are beginning to crap out, especially the washers. God, you hate laundry day. The washers at the laundromat in Jackson always give you a hard time. Week after week, your chosen washer won’t start, or it’ll stop mid-cycle. The laundry attendant, Patti, often helps you wash your clothes by hand which is nice, but still frustrating for you both. 

On a busy and gloomy Sunday a couple months back, you were lucky enough to pick one of the less temperamental washers and hardly had to fight or beg and plead with it to get it to wash your clothes. However, your luck ran out when it came time to dry, your dryer wouldn’t run. Refused to start, even with Patti’s help. Worse yet, every other dryer was in use at the moment.  You were shit out of luck. Patti offered you a sympathetic smile and sent you home with a baggy full of clothes pins and a wagon to carry your basket of sopping wet clothes. The clothespins were a nice gesture, but didn’t help much as you didn’t have a clothesline. And - you had to laugh - most of them were broken. Oh dear, sweet Patti.

Once at home, you did your best to hang up your clothes on your porch, laying them out over the thick wooden railing, securing them with rocks. The wind was blowing something fierce that day, and then you felt it – a raindrop. And then another, and another. Before you knew it, you were caught in a torrential downpour, with your clothes blowing every which way. Working to gather your clothes as quickly as possible, you haphazardly chucked the rocks that were keeping them still in every direction, your neighbor Joel interrupting the task when he came outside and started to shout at you. Joel’s a man that can only be described as crotchety. A curmudgeon, even. 

“The fuck are you throwing rocks at my window for?” he shouted, but you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the rain smacking your porch. 

“What?” you yelled back, “Joel, I can’t hear you.” 

“ROCKS,” he shouted again, “Why are you throwi–” Joel realized it was a lost cause then. He could see in your face that you couldn’t hear him, you looked puzzled and annoyed for a moment before you returned to throwing rocks and gathering clothes. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself. Through the pouring rain, he marched across both his and your lawns and right up the steps of your porch. “What are you doing?”

“I was at the laundromat and the dryer stopped working so Patti gave me clothespins but I don’t have a clothesline so I tried to lay them out on my porch with rocks so they could dry but then it started to ra–” Getting the picture, Joel had stopped listening to you and joined you in gathering your clothes tossing stones back into the rock edging surrounding your house. “What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Nothin’, just– come on. Let’s go – we’re goin’ to my house,” he answered, dumping the last of your clothes into your basket. 

“Why?”

Lightning shoots from a nearby cloud, with booming thunder following suit. Joel’s soaking wet, as are you. His hair was dark and stuck to his forehead, his thin t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his soft, pillowy tummy and belly button and his thick, muscular biceps. “Go, go, go,” Joel shouted, waving you away. “Just go. Move.” he grunted as he lifted up your laundry basket and hauled it across the grass in quick strides. He held the basket on his hip as he opened his door for you, guiding you inside with a push to your lower waist. 

Your shoes squeaked as you followed Joel through his house. He took your basket down his basement stairs, “Be careful for me, stairs are steep,” he warned you, “Don’t need you crackin’ your skull open. Got enough shit to deal with.” It was sweet, knowing that he was looking out for you – even with the irritation lacing his tone. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes as you saw what Joel had led you to. A washer and a dryer, olive green in color. He opened the door of the dryer and shoved your wet clothes inside it, then took off his own soaked shirt and pants and tossed them in too. “They’re clean,” he told you. 

In another lifetime where the world doesn’t go to shit and fungus is the least of your problems, the mundane appliances in front of you would be the very last thing on your mind. You’d be focused on Joel, watching rivulets of water slide down his jaw, past his Adam’s apple and pool in the hollow of his throat. You’d be tracing the outline of his body with your eyes, following that thin line of hair that spreads down his lower stomach, disappearing under his boxers. You’d be eyeing his thick bulge and the way that if you squint, you could see the outline of his cock. But in this life, in this moment – where the world went to shit a long time ago – you’re more amazed by the washer and dryer he stands next to. “This is why I never see you at the laundromat? The whole time, you’ve had a washer and dryer?” you asked, astonished. 

“M’not supposed to, but yeah,” Joel answered, shutting the dryer door before turning to you with his chin tilted down, eyebrows raised. Don’t you go tellin’ anyone, now.”

“I’m gonna tell Patti.”

Joel looked betrayed and puzzled. “I’m doin’ you a favor,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“You want me to dry your clothes or not?” You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as you shrugged. “Oh, Christ,” Joel grumbled under his breath. “Why the hell would you go and rat me out?”

“Because, Joel, ” you began explaining, “All of the washers and dryers are breaking and you’re hoarding your own? I don’t think so – if everyone else has to share the washers, then you do too,” you scolded. “It’s selfish.” 

“Life ain’t fair, sweetheart.” You stared at Joel for a moment before turning on your heel to go tattle on him, just like you swore you would. “Wait–” Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you. Despite being long gone from Boston QZ, Joel couldn’t quite shake those smuggling and bargaining habits of his. You were serious about this threat, and he knew it. You’d march your ass through the pouring rain to go snitch on him to Patti. And really, the worst that would’ve happened to Joel would be a scolding from Maria and the washer and dryer removed from his home and placed in the laundromat. It’s not like he’d be placed in a pillory and have rotten tomatoes thrown at him. But still. Joel liked his washer and dryer. He sighed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything, Joel. I just want to better our community.” 

Give me a break. “What do you want,” he repeated, his voice lower. 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, eyeing those pretty olive green appliances of his. It’s not a far walk to Joel’s house… And you wouldn’t have to wait in line to wash your clothes behind twenty other people. You did want to better your community, that much was true. But you weren’t opposed to bettering your own life. “Let me use your washer and dryer. Whenever I want.”

Joel was quick to counter in a stern voice, “Twice a week, tops.” 

“Three times,” you tried.

“Once,” Joel lowered his offer and then looked at you with his eyes squinted, his head cocked to the side. “Who does laundry three times a week?” 

It was a fair point. Even with your very own washer and dryer, you wouldn’t do that much laundry. “Fine. Twice,” you agreed, and Joel held out his hand for you to take and you shook on it. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm. In that moment you met his eyes, taking in the beauty of his face. Those sparkling, big brown eyes and the beautiful curve of his aquiline nose. Your eyes traveled lower still, and it hit you both at that moment - the realization that Joel was wearing nothing but his boxers, and that you were still shivering in your cold, wet clothes. Joel dropped your hand quickly and grabbed a clean t-shirt from one of his own laundry baskets on top of the dryer. “Here. You can change into this and toss your clothes in there too, f’ya want.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the shirt from his hand. “Do you have something to wear?”

“I’m a little behind on laundry, actually…” Joel trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. You scoffed and chuckled at that. The luxury of his very own washer and dryer, right in the comfort of his home, and Joel had the audacity to be behind on laundry. “Uhh, anyway. You just turn the knob on the dryer to ‘high’ and press the start button. I’ll give ya some privacy to change, you can meet me upstairs when you’re done,” he said, and then shuffled past you. 

Once Joel was up the stairs, you took off your clothes and put them in with the rest of the clothing in the dryer. You changed into Joel’s t-shirt, the fabric was soft with time and many wearings, and it smelled like him despite being washed. It was a muted teal in color, littered with a couple of bleach stains here and there. You liked it. 

Upstairs, Joel made a couple of mugs of hot tea to warm you both up. ���Honey?” 

“Yeah, Joel?”

“N- no, like…Was askin’ f’ya wanted honey in your tea.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Y– yes please. Thank you.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. You watched as Joel stirred a bit of honey into your cup of tea, smirking as he then handed you the mug. Asshole. “Thought you were a coffee drinker,” you mused awkwardly, attempting to change the subject after taking a sip of the hot liquid, “You like tea?”

Joel grimaced in disgust as he took a sip of his own tea. “No. Just tryin’ to be polite for ya.” 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, you know,” you smiled into your mug. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aaand there it is. Curmudgeon Joel was back, Neighborly Joel never lasted long anyway. 

You sat on Joel’s couch, warming up with your cup of tea. Joel had noticed goosebumps on your thighs and pulled a blanket over your lap. He sat next to you with his mug steaming in his hands and just stared at you, not even realizing how deeply he was admiring the way his shirt hugged your curves just right, highlighting all the right parts of you. He jolted when he felt his cock thicken in his boxers, spilling his scalding hot tea all over his bare thighs. “God bless it,” he swore. Without thinking, he pulled the blanket from your legs and covered his own lap to hide his growing erection from you. 

“Joel, what the fuck?” 

“Nothin’. Just– m’cold,” he lied. “Jesus fuckin’- just - c’mere,” Joel huffed as he patted the spot next to him and urged you closer, then laid the blanket back over your legs. You sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as you sipped your tea and Joel’s went cold. Dork. 

Moments passed. You sat in silence, the only sound was the rain pounding against Joel’s windows as your heart fluttered in anxiety, or maybe excitement. You might’ve even called it butterflies in your tummy. But you knew better. It was just the close proximity to Joel. And the fact that you were wearing his shirt, and he was practically naked. All of it pretty insignificant, honestly. It was basically nothing.

Joel finally spoke first, “Was thinkin’ it’d be best if you’d come by at night, when I’m on patrol or somethin’. Nobody’ll see you with your laundry and it’ll stay our lil’ secret, yeah?” You nodded, still a little bashful with everything that had happened. You aren’t often like that. It’s cute, Joel thought. “An’ you can use my detergent and whatnot. Whatever you need, s’yours.” 

“Thank–” an especially bright flash of lightning followed by nearly deafening thunder interrupted you. You startled and sort of hurled yourself closer to Joel, grabbed his forearm and held it tight. It was just a reflex, probably. Basically nothing. 

“It’s just a storm, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna bite ya,” Joel teases with a grin. 

“Oh, shut up,” you let go of his arm and missed the warmth of his skin beneath your palm almost immediately, but your longing for his touch was quickly soothed. Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side as you listened to the sounds of the storm together. You stayed like that, inhaling the sweet scent of him, masculine and heady. He smelled like the rain, too, and the hair on his underarms tickled your skin but you didn’t mind. When your laundry dried, he carried your basket home for you. You thanked him and moved to shut the door, but Joel stopped it with his hand, “Washer can be sorta delicate sometimes, so just be careful with it.”

“Noted,” you replied. “See ya, Joel.”

“See ya, hon.”

A few nights later, you returned to his home with your basket of laundry. Joel was gone, on patrol as he often is at night. Doing the laundry was uneventful , even though you probably used too much detergent, but whatever. Joel didn’t have to know. The next time you did laundry, Joel was at home. He told you not to worry about whichever nights you come by, that he’d always leave the washer and dryer empty in the evenings for you to use. He was even generous enough to make you dinner that night. 

It all worked out. Joel’s washer and dryer stayed unknown to the rest of Jackson, and your laundry was cleaned in a much more efficient way. There really weren’t any flaws in your and Joel’s system, as long as you didn’t include the one laundry night where Joel was gone on patrol again, but had come home just as you were leaving. You bumped into him accidentally, causing a lacy pair of your panties to fall right out of your basket and onto his shoe. He bent down and picked them up for you, not even realizing what he was holding. “Oh. My bad,” he blushed, once he recognized the garment. “I’ll just…” and put them back in your basket. From that point forward, he was always careful to stay out of your way. Aside from that it really did all work out. 

-

After loading your clothes into Joel’s washer, you shut the washer door and turn it on. You make your way upstairs and there’s a note on Joel’s table – Leftovers in the fridge are yours if you wanna heat them up.

Opening the fridge, you see a neatly packed container of what looks to be chicken and vegetables. Yum. God, you’ll miss these vegetables when it gets cold again. You take advantage of the offer and heat up the food in a pan on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you stir the food to keep it from burning. A light flickers above you. Weird. It flickers again, and then finally goes out. But it’s no big deal, you’ve seen in Joel’s basement that above the washer and dryer is a shelf full of supplies and you know there’s a couple of bulbs there. You go back downstairs where the washer hums, working its way through the cycle.

“Hmm,” you hum to yourself. You’d never quite realized just how high up that supply shelf is. And the bulbs are in the middle of the shelf, so there’s no good way to get them without climbing on top of the washer, which Joel would probably kill you for doing. He did ask that you be careful with his fragile washer, after all. Whatever. It’ll take like six seconds, tops. You hoist yourself on the washer and first try kneeling on it to see if you can reach one of the bulbs. No luck. You stand on your feet then, raising yourself up carefully, slowly, feeling the washer shake slightly beneath your feet. Joel would be absolutely irate if he saw you like this now. When you finally grab one of those light bulbs, you carefully lower yourself to a seated position on the washer to catch your breath. You’re not usually prone to vertigo, but Joel’s wobbly washer brought the dizziness on. You know better than to try and move right now, so you just settle yourself down to avoid fainting.  

The washer vibrates under the flesh of your thighs. It’s a gentle sensation, lessened by the angle you’re sitting at. But if you focus really hard, you can feel it in your core. Curious, you spread your legs and turn to the corner of the washer, tilting your hips to the floor, and oh, this is it. You’re not even thinking about potential consequences when you shimmy your shorts and panties off, then find that sweet spot once more. The metal of the washer is cool against you as it vibrates, sending sweet little buzzes through your hot core. You’re not quite wet yet, just enjoying the sensation. Letting it build and build, seeing where it can get you. You let your mind wander, not really thinking about much in particular. The low hum of the washer fades away in your mind and you’re starting to become wet. Shifting your position, you extend your arm to find something to grab onto when you feel fabric. Joel’s clothes. He’s still a slacker with keeping up on his dirty laundry. Usually it would irritate you. It does irritate you, this exorbitant waste of an advantage he has. You look at the shirt in your hand, the same shirt Joel had lent you. You think back to that first time you did laundry here at Joel’s, how he sat next to you nearly naked. The feel of his skin and the smell of him - sweat and rain and musk. And Joel being the beautiful, incognizant man he is, probably had zero clue of how sexy he looked. Or smelled, for that matter. 

With Joel now on your mind and his shirt in your hand, you decide to experiment, create a better ambiance. You keep those images of him in your mind, those feelings too. You remember the low timbre of his voice, the rain splashing against the windows, the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. And with his dirty t-shirt clutched in your fist and its armpit pressed against your nose you remember his scent. Smell is a powerful sense, closely linked to memory and emotion, his shirt and what it’s doing to you is a testament to that fact. Legs spread wide, your hips angled down with your clit pressed to the corner of Joel’s washer, the machine vibrating under you as you inhale his scent deeply - you’re back in that memory. And then some. 

In your mind, your back on Joel’s couch. You can smell him, feel him, and if you really concentrate, you can even taste him. You’re on your knees and he’s drawing lazy patterns on your back as you suck his cock and fondle his balls, and he’s moaning, grunting and whimpering your name. He tastes like he smells, heady and all masculine. He grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, guides you to straddle his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, he notches the tip of his cock inside you and pulls you down slowly, careful so as not to hurt you but it does, of course it does. Not that you mind, you love the stretch and the ache of his thickness splitting you in two. You rock yourself, grind your clit against that unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock. You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re coming. 

You’re coming. Loudly, whimpering Joel’s name as you rut against the vibrating machine. As you finish, so does the washer. It sings you a little chiming song indicating the load is done washing. You can’t help but giggle at that as you bask in the discovery of this fortuitous delight. You’ve got private access to a washer and dryer and a vibrator now too? Lucky, lucky, lucky. 

God, Joel’s shirt smells good. You inhale it deeply, wondering if he wears cologne. It smells almost woodsy…smokey, even. 

Fuck. You’re smelling smoke. 

You pull on your pants and sprint up the steps, racing to Joel’s kitchen only to find that the chicken and veggies you were heating up are no more. They’re black and shriveled, cemented to the stainless steel pan, and there’s no salvaging that. No amount of scrubbing can erase your masturbatory mistake. Fuck, Joel’s gonna kill you. Your only choice is to conceal the evidence. Surreptitiously, you take the pan and hide it under a bush outside Joel’s backdoor.

You’ll be more responsible next time - yes, there absolutely will be a next time. Gas off before you get off. 

The next time came and went. And the time after that, and the one after that. Laundry was always your least favorite chore, but with access to Joel’s washer and dryer and this new trick up your sleeve, it’s not so bad. Getting off on Joel’s washer has become a weekly thing and it’s been lovely, relieving, dirty, and exciting, but you’d be lying if you were to say it’s been perfectly fine the whole time. 

You’ve been abusing the poor machine. It’s no secret. You get every bang for your buck out of the washer, taking full advantage of Joel’s twice a week offer and then some. Some nights you’ll sneak over and do an extra load, wash a blanket or something just to make the washer run for your masturbatory purposes. And so, the vibrating sensation the machine produces has begun to weaken. In order to compensate, you’ve been rocking yourself harder on it, which probably isn’t helping. But it’s still washing your clothes, right? 

…Yes. Mostly. It still washes, but it’s become sort of finicky. And the door doesn’t quite shut the way it used to, and it makes an odd noise now that it never made before. 

Tonight you’re at Joel’s doing a double load of laundry. There were no ulterior motives on your part when you came over, honestly and truly. Your first load is drying, the second load is in the washer. Joel’s home tonight, he’s gonna cook you dinner like he always does when he’s around. For such a grouch, he wears his heart on his sleeve. 

It would be more accurate to say you’re cooking dinner together. Joel came home with a basket full of fresh vegetables from the market and actually put you to work, his reasoning being that he was starving and wanted dinner ready yesterday, and that having your help cutting up the vegetables for the meal he was making would have dinner ready that much sooner. He places a cutting board in front of you and hands you a knife, “Chop chop,” he says, then laughs at his own pun as he rifles through some cabinets. “Missin’ a saucepan…” he mumbles to himself. Oops.

You start by peeling the carrots. As you begin to chop them, you realize he didn’t give you any sort of instruction. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“How small do you need me to cut the carrots?”

“Uhhhh,” he thinks. “Lemme see.” Joel turns around and watches you with a look of disappointment and repulsion painting his features. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“Why are you tryin’ to cut off your fingers?”

You look down at your hand holding the carrot and your other hand holding the knife, then up at Joel. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m not trying to cut off my fingers.”

“Sure looks like it to me. Is that always how you handle a knife?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna cut off your damn fingers, dammit, that’s why. C’mere,” Joel stands behind you where you stand at the island, then lifts up your left hand and curls your fingers underneath themselves. “Keep your fingers like this,” he instructs. “Holdin’ your fingers out flat like that are a sure fire way to cut ‘em off. Now show me how you chop.” 

With your fingers in the proper position now, you begin to cut the carrots. They wobble beneath you, you hate the way Joel has you holding them. “This is uncomfortable,” you tell him. 

“You know what’s more uncomfortable? Missin’ fingers. Keep goin’.” You groan but keep chopping per his demand. He’s pressed against your back, one of his palms lays flat against the countertop, semi caging you in as he watches you work. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re makin’ me nervous. Gimme this.” Joel wraps his hand around yours on the handle of the knife. He moves the knife for you, cutting the carrot slowly, your hand securely in his. “You’re liftin’ the knife too much, sweetheart. Just rock it back and forth for me. Just like this,” he whispers, showing you how he rocks the knife in a fluid motion to cut the carrots. His hands are warm, his grip on your hands is firm. His breath is hot and tickles your ear, sending goosebumps erupting down the back of your neck. He chops the carrots quietly, and you feel him against you - the rise and fall of his chest and tummy with each inhale and exhale he takes, his wiry scruff kissing the side of your face. “That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl.”

Fuck. His words go right to your core. As if him holding your hands and caging you in to teach you how to cut vegetables wasn’t enough, he had to call you ‘good girl’ as well. That had to be deliberate on his part, you’re almost certain of it. And now you’ve got to pay his washer another visit. His fault, honestly. “Laundry,” you blurt out, pushing his hands off of yours and shrinking away from his hold. “Sorry. Gotta check the laundry.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” Joel watches you pace down the basement stairs and listens to you pretend to check on your clothes, opening and shutting the washer and dryer doors. He’s waiting for you to come upstairs, but you never do. “You comin’ upstairs?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” you call back.

“There’s spiders down there, you know. Big an’ fuzzy too.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you yell as you unbutton your shorts and pull them down your legs. “I don’t mind them.”

Your reply immediately has Joel feeling suspicious of you. Even a mention of a mere ant should have sent you running into his arms and pleading with him to get rid of it. On more than one occasion, Joel’s woken up to you pounding on his door in the middle of the night begging him to come kill a spider that’s in your bedroom. And he always does, of course, even when the spider is miniscule and simply minding its business in a corner somewhere. He’ll scoop it into the palm of his hand and set it outside in a bed of flowers, call you a wimp and be on his merry way, grumbling the entire walk home. He wonders why the hell you’re so brave all of a sudden. 

A loud, clunking noise interrupts the silence. “Oh, fuck,” you swear. And Joel’s deaf, but not deaf enough to not hear you. “What was that?” he calls from up the stairs. 

“Nothing!”

Joel knows it wasn’t nothing, it certainly didn’t sound like nothing. You quickly pull your shorts and panties back on when you hear him stomping down the stairs to investigate. Wracking your brain to think of a lie to tell Joel, you realize you’re fucked, utterly and completely. It would’ve been more appropriate to think of one before now, probably around the time the washer started to make weird noises. Now you’re faced with god knows what consequences. 

Joel greets you with a puzzled and angered expression. “What the hell happened?”

“I d– I don’t know. Just something… Happened, I guess,” you stutter. Subtly, you stuff the used pair of his boxers you were smelling down the back of your shorts to hide the evidence of your even dirtier secret. Joel sees that you’re avoiding eye contact, looking up and away, scratching your head. The silence hangs heavily in the air and Joel sees the guilt on your face and that your shorts are undone for some reason. “You have ten seconds to tell me the truth before this becomes a much worse day for us both.”

“Nothing happened–”

 “Nine, eight…”

You fold instantly. “I sit on it,” you confess, Joel exhales in frustration. “Sit? As in… this is a regular occurrence, you’ve been sittin’ on my washer,” Joel asserts. You nod in confirmation. “Why.”

 “I don’t know,” you shrug, another lie. 

“Well, how much have you been sittin’ on it?” 

“Just like…a lot, I guess.” You look down at your feet, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.  

“Why?” he asks again.

“It…uhh…sort of…” you mumble, picking at your fingernails. 

“Sort of what?”

“Vibrates.”

Joel’s face falls at the admission. “You’re not serious,” he says, but he knows you are. “Oh my god.”

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Your voice wavers as you try to soften the blow with a joke. 

“Unbelievable,” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “No. Stranger things than you have not happened, sweetheart.” After taking a few deep breaths, he pushes you to the side and reaches for the shelf above the washer for a toolbox. He takes out a putty knife and wriggles the front of the washer off, then drops to his knees to inspect the washer. “Did I not ask you to be careful with it?” It’s a rhetorical question. Joel groans when he sees what’s broken inside of the washer. 

“What is it?”

“Belt’s broken,” he answers. “You’re lucky s’fixable.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, it’s good you can fix it, right?”

 “Oh, no. You are fixin’ it, my darlin’. You broke it.”

Joel’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re putting his washer back together. “I don’t know how,” you tell him. You’ll make it up to him in any other way than this, but there’s no way he’s serious. Besides, he’s now the first to know that your track record with washers isn’t to be trusted.

 “I’ll walk you through it,” Joel replies plainly. “Get down there. On your knees, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at him. “Now,” he says, unimpressed with your defiance.

You drop to your knees in front of the washer, looking for the broken belt that Joel speaks of. You find one of the big and fuzzy spiders he was talking about instead. “Jesus!” you yelp, launching backwards and nearly knocking Joel over in the process “There’s a spider, Joel - kill it, kill it, kill it, Joel - kill it, please,” you beg. 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s harmless.”

“Joel!”

Joel nudges you out of the way to find the spider sitting right at the bottom of the washer. He scoops it into his hand, then holds it in front of you, “I thought you said you didn’t mind ‘em,” he taunts. 

“I lied. Get it away from me,” You shove him away from you, and he clutches the spider more carefully in his hands, laughing. 

“Yeah, I know you lied. You’re very bad at it,” Joel opens one of the basement’s egress windows and sends the spider on its way, then closes it and returns to you, first grabbing what looks to be a replacement belt for his washer from a nearby shelf. Leave it to Joel to have the most convenient yet obscure supplies right in his basement twenty years into an apocalypse. “Back to work.” You’re in front of the washer once more, and Joel takes his seat right behind you. “See that black belt at the bottom of the drum?”

“No.”

“This thing here,” he points at it with his finger. “Take it off,” You reach for the belt and tug on it a bit, “Gotta wiggle it a bit,” following his instruction, you wiggle the belt and it falls off the drum. “Attagirl. Now put this one on,” he hands you the new belt and takes the old one from you. “S’gonna be snug.”

You struggle to stretch the rubber over the drum and it snaps your hands when it slips. “Fuck.”

“Keep tryin’. Put some elbow grease into it, hon,” Joel hovers over your shoulder, just as he did earlier in the kitchen. “M’just checkin’ to make sure you got it lined up properly,” Joel tugs on the rubber belt, making sure it’s sitting where it needs to. “So tell me again how long you been doin it for,” he whispers. “Long time?”

You answer cautiously, “Uhhh…a while now, I guess.”

 “Yeah, I figured. S’it feel good?” 

The question throws you off, makes you nervous. But his voice is low and gravelly, and his tone isn’t pointed or accusatory. He seems curious, but for what reason, you’re not quite sure yet. “It does.”

“Better than your fingers?” Joel tightens the belt a bit and leans back. He’s watching you, but you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes. You gasp when you feel his warm palm sliding underneath your shorts. “What the–” Oh, fuck. Joel found his pair of boxers. He holds the fabric in his hands, a knowing grin on his lips. “These are mine. What’re you doin’ with my dirty boxers?” he asks. He doesn’t allow you time to stutter out an excuse. “You’re a dirty lil’ bird, aren’t you?”

“Joel.”

He tosses his pair of boxers onto the dryer and whispers in your ear again, “I asked you somethin’. My washer feel better than your fingers?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “Better.”

Joel hums in amusement. He slides his hand down the front of your pants, still unbuttoned from earlier. “Saved me the trouble, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” he breathes. Your breath hitches when his fingers find your mound, as he toys with the curls there. He traces over your lips, then dips a finger between them, circling your hole, then circles your clit. “Better than mine?” he asks, dipping a finger into your center and you moan.  He holds one hand on your hip as the other pumps in and out of your center, and you lean back into his chest, relaxing with his touch. You sigh deeply. “Don’t get all cozy on me, now. You ain’t done. Gotta put the front of the washer back on, should just click right into place.”

Joel pulls his hand away from you so you can lift the front piece of the washer. “It’s not–” you complain, struggling to click it into place the way Joel says it should. You push and push, but it doesn’t budge. “Joel, it’s not–”

“It will. Just try.” 

“I am,” you argue, shoving it once more but to no avail. You’ve grown frustrated by his washer, by the task Joel bestowed upon you in fixing it, and his teasing, too. In a fit of anger, you stand up and kick it.

 “Hey, easy,” Joel scolds. “Look, like this,” Magically, the front piece of the washer fits right into place, just like he said it would. He does nothing different than what you did, it just works out for him. Of course it does. “You’re impatient, huh?” he murmurs, moving behind you. You gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, tugging the fabric of both your shorts and your panties down to your ankles, he helps you out of the garments and tosses them elsewhere. His hands are on your hips again, this time guiding you, whispering, “Back, back,” as he positions you where he needs you, spreading your legs apart. You’re leaning on his washer and he’s on his knees behind you, using his nose to tease and part your slick folds. He inhales you deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your arousal before he tastes you. He traces your lips with a pointed tongue, up and down, before he dips his tongue into your heat, savoring you. 

“How ‘bout my tongue?” he purrs, whispering against your skin. You don’t answer, and it’s not like you could anyway, with the way he devours you. His arms are wrapped around your legs, his fingertips are digging harshly into your thighs like he means to bruise you, tear the flesh off your bones even. It’s possessive in nature, but not abusive or aggressive. You know his actions aren’t borne of anything except pure pleasure and you indulge in it, in him. He moves slow like honey as he tastes you languidly, kissing you. He laps your velvety heat, his tongue teasing all of your sensitive, slick flesh. Now and then the wiry hairs of his beard will tease and scratch your inner thighs, a sensation that tickles you and rubs you raw all the same. “Oh my god,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to take hold of his head, fingers tangling in his graying curls and waves. “Joel, oh my god.”

Joel takes your lack of a real answer to his question as a no, his washer pales in comparison to his tongue. Good. He bets you’ve fantasized about him, all those times you’ve used his washer for those needs of yours besides washing your clothes. And he bets that you probably grind yourself on it, picturing it’s his warm flesh beneath you and not the cold metal of the machine. He’d be right. He sucks your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. He nips at your folds, sucking one, then the other between his plump lips, then focuses his attention back at your clit. You’re moaning his name, the only word you know anymore. Joel keeps you still, held tight in his arms so that you can’t push your ass back and grind against his mouth like he knows you’re fighting to do. All you can do is take it, feel his perfect aquiline nose tease between your cheeks. He’s buried himself face first in your most private place as he consumes you voraciously, his tongue flicking and swirling and painting you. You’re biting into your own arm, seeing stars as you come on his tongue. It’s an elusive sort of orgasm, the kind where you don’t exactly know where it begins and it ends. All you know is that you’re sensitive, so fucking sensitive and Joel is relentless. Your knees buckle as he toys with your clit, gives you a break for a moment before he’s right back there again, continuing to eat you. He keeps going and going, repeating the actions over and over again just to make you cry and beg, “Stop - please - I can’t, I can’t, Joel. T-too much.”

“Know it’s too much, sweetheart, s’why I’m doin it,” Joel coos. But he obliges, places one last kiss to your heat, soaked by his spit and your own arousal before he stands up behind you. He wraps one arm around your stomach, pulling himself close to you. You can feel his hard cock against your ass, separated only by his denim as he uses his other hand to turn your face to the side, meeting him beside you. He kisses you, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, then feel his hand leave your face to reach for his fly. You hear him unzip his jeans slowly, and then he’s pulling his cock out, still kissing you as he lines up with you, first parting your thighs with a gentle nudge of his knee before notching his tip at your entrance. He finally pulls his mouth away from yours and gently forces your chest down toward the washer. He pushes himself into you, careful so as not to hurt you but deliberately so that you still feel that ache, the stretch of his thick cock separating your insides. Joel continues holding your body close to his as he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlacing his fingers in between your own.  “How about my cock, sweetheart? You like it better, worse?” he whispers, kissing, nipping at your ear in between words. He pulls out of you nearly all the way, then pushes back into your dripping cunt. 

You try to answer, “Bet - oh, ahhh,” 

Joel chuckles at the way he’s reduced you to nothing but broken syllables and moans. “Ohhh, listen to you. I think it’s better, huh? S’that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” You nod frantically. “Yeah, I know, beautiful.”

His pace is slower to start, but it builds in quick time. You can feel he’s fighting with himself to be more gentle than he actually wants to be, his thrusts sloppier than he intends, like he’s losing himself in you. You’re lost in him, lost in the moment all the same. You take it all in, the lewd and obscene sounds of the pleasure he creates with you - his thighs slapping against yours and the gushing of your cunt on his cock. Your moans, your cries, all babbling nonsense. And Joel’s deep breaths in and out, shaky and stuttering as he does it. His grunts and his swearing, a whimper here and there if you listen closely. He fills you up perfectly, hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over and over…

“You coulda had me like this the whole time,” he pants, “Didn’t have to go an’ break my washer f’ya needed somethin’ more than those fingers of yours, sweetheart. Know you been needin’ some lovin’.”  He reaches for your breasts, squeezing and groping the flesh, twisting your nipples and smirking when you twitch and whine. “All you had to do was ask.” You don’t respond, but he doesn’t expect you to anyway. What he did expect, however, were your moans of displeasure as he pulls out of you. He knows, oh, he knows how empty you must feel, you poor thing.  He’ll soothe that. He flips you around, seats you on his washer. “I’m gonna make you come again,” he promises, “I’m gonna watch.”

 “Too much, Joel, I can’t,” you cry. You want to come again, really. But you don’t think you have it in you, still so worked up, overstimulated by the endless teasing of his tongue on your pussy.

 “Oh, don’t cry. You can do it, hon. You can take it,” he says, “Open up those legs for me, darlin’.” Joel pushes your trembling legs wide so he can slot his hips between them, then wraps your legs around his waist before sliding his cock into you once more. He thrusts just once, rather harshly, before he’s met with another rather loud noise from the washer. Joel halts and scratches the back of his neck. God, he hopes he didn’t just do it in. “Probably shouldn’t…uh…”

“Yeah,” you agree. 

“Did you use my dryer too?”

“Duh,” you answer. “How else would I dry my clothes?”

Joel rolls his eyes, “No, smartass. Were you usin’ it for your dirty work, is what I’m askin’.”

“No.” 

Still inside you, Joel slides you over to his dryer. “Good girl. Poor washer’s been abused plenty by you already.”  

“But I will,” You whisper defiantly under your breath, wrapping your arms around his neck as he adjusts. 

“Wrong ear, sweetheart. My right one’s deaf. I heard that loud and clear.”

Joel’s back to fucking you in an instant. He wastes no time in making good on his promise, thumbing your clit as he rolls his hips into you. “See, look at you. Takin’ me just fine,” he praises.The way you squirm and take your shallow little breaths fills him with satisfaction and delight. He knows this isn’t easy, that you’re tired and sore and overstimulated. He’ll be done with you soon. “Come with me, wanna feel you come with me, sweetheart,” he says. “Focus here, eyes on me. You’re gonna come with me.” 

It’s a few moments of Joel painting your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you hard and deep. There’s a push and pull to it, where you’re not sure who this is for - yourself or Joel. Just like before, you’re not sure where it starts and stops, but you’re there. God it’s intense, you’re gonna break and you know it. Joel’s got his palm on the back of your neck, squeezing you. His jaw clenches and he’s coming undone first, but he never loses focus on you. His thrusts stutter as he milks himself in you but doesn't yet stop - he’s making sure you’re gonna come. “C’mon baby, c’mon. Give it to me,” he says. “One more for me. Last one.” 

His words are all it takes. You whimper and moan, cry his name as you find your climax. Release washes over you the way waves crash onto sand - it’s repeated, the way the tides push and pull. Deafening. Powerful. 

But there’s a calmness yet. The rolling of his hips slows, slows, stops. He presses his damp forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay?”

You nod and smile, “Yeah, I’m good.” He smiles with you and helps you off of the dryer. Joel finds your clothes and dresses you in them, steadying your shaky legs. 

Joel tentatively restarts the washer. It chugs a bit, but makes all the right noises and he breathes a sigh of relief. You’re a bit startled when he takes you by the arm and marches you up the stairs. “New rule,” he says, “You stay with me when your clothes are washin’.”

You bite your lip to hide your guilty smirk. “Yes. Joel.” 

“And I still need you to cut them veggies for me, too.” 

I struggled heavily with this fic, comments and reblogs would be much appreciated if you were feeling so inclined🙏 they keep me motivated and I look back at your words when I’m writing to remember that I’m capable of pleasing you all

[ghostlovesbaguettes]

IM DEEEEAD. THIS WAS LIKE SO FUCKING PANTY DRENCHINGLY HOT 😩😩😩😩

like listen I knew tommy miller was hot as fuck but AUGHEKRBRBJE THIS WAS FUCKING WAAAAAY ABOVE HOT AS FUCK LIKE… fucktastic😏😏😏😏

ANYWAY POOKIE POO YOURE LOOKING AT A SUPREME CAVITY FILLING HAVER… I brush my teeth I promise… it’s not bad at all as long as they give you enough drouges

it’s like they put a really weird vibrator in your mouth but they’re also moving it and also they try to talk to you but you’re like “i can’t fucking move my mouth”…. or maybe that’s just me

On Display

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.”

You crave more than just Joel’s eyes on you, so he gives you an audience. (6.1k)

Tags - smut, voyeurism/exhibitionism, tommy in the cuck chair, hella dom/sub vibes, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, orgasm delay/overstimulation, little bit of manhandling action, little bit of panty sniffing/licking, being instructed/talked through it by both Tommy and Joel, threesome adjacent - tommy just watches, the sex happens between reader and joel. Fic help - @noxturnalpascal, @endlessthxxghts, and @beefrobeefcal for their eyes and help editing!! thank you all my sweet loves <3 A/N - hello! we’re not making eye contact for this one. If you’re into this please tell me so because I think I wouldn't mind writing a little more about this trio 👀

Joel’s driving you fucking nuts, in more ways than one. He’s antsy, and he’s handsy, and he’s ready to walk you home. He always walks you home, no matter what, no matter who you’re working with. You’re safe and protected in Jackson, but that doesn’t keep Joel from wanting to protect you further. 

You’re working with Tommy at the bar tonight and it’s late and past closing time, but there’s still shit to do. There always is. Joel watches you from across the room as you wipe down tables and put the chairs upside down on top of them. You’re taunting him, you must be. Wearing those jeans, that pair that fits your ass like a glove and hugs all of Joel’s favorite curves of yours. To add insult, you’re wearing that sexy perfume that Joel loves. He could smell that fruity, musky scent when he walked into the bar. Fuck, he could lick it right off your skin. Fucking eat you. There’s nothing in the world he wants more than to be inside of you, feel your warm and wet walls clenching around him.

 Joel downs the rest of his bourbon and saunters through the bar until he’s pressing himself against your back, his warm hands sliding over your hips as you gather the billiard balls on the pool table. “Let’s get outta here. S’late,” he whispers, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your neck. 

“Joel,” you whine, reaching behind yourself to cup his face. He kisses your hand as you complain, “We can’t. I gotta finish–” you gasp as he sucks one of your fingers into his mouth. 

“Correct. You do gotta finish,” he growls against your skin.

“Joel. I need to finish closing down the bar with Tommy.” You pull your hand from his mouth and turn around to face him, to show him you mean business. All of your efforts are futile when he looks at you with those dark eyes of his, a devilish grin on his lips.

“Tommy can handle cleanin’ some dishes, sweetheart.” 

 “Joel, I’m serious.”

He’s kissing your neck now, his hands making their way down to your ass and squeezing you there. He lifts you onto the edge of the pool table and spreads your legs to fit himself between them. “You tell me all about it. Go ‘head and tell me how serious you are,” he murmurs, taunting you. “S’not like it really matters. You ain’t callin’ the shots.” 

He’s insatiable. You have to pull away from his kisses to beg him please not here, not the pool table. He shushes you gently, “I’ll tell you when and where, my darlin’. You just take what I give you.” His hands are finding their way beneath your shirt, his rough and calloused palms warm on the skin of your tummy. You let out a shaky breath as he unbuttons your jeans and shoves his hand inside them, pulling your panties to the side and running his fingers up and down your lips. 

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Tommy’s just in the other room, and you shouldn’t be doing this. He could walk out at any moment, see you and Joel on the pool table and you’d never hear the end of it. It’d be so humiliating, so shameful and unseemly. 

And it happens. It fucking happens. 

Joel doesn’t seem to hear it, but you do. The quiet footsteps behind the closed office door, the creak of the office door’s hinge as it opens. Tommy appears in the doorway and quietly approaches the sink, turns on the water to wash some glasses. Joel’s in his own world, his eyes closed as he kisses your skin and his fingers dip between your lips, chuckling when he feels just how wet you are. But you - your eyes are on Tommy. And maybe it’s because you were anticipating seeing him but you’re not startled by his appearance, really. You’re just watching him. 

You feel guilty. Joel’s circling your clit now and you should be focusing on how good it feels, and it does feel good. But then Tommy looks in your direction and it feels better - your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops. His eyes linger on you, simply observing as you lose yourself in the sensation, as Joel’s fingers dip lower and press against your entrance, he pushes them slowly inside and you groan quietly, your eyes still on Tommy, Tommy’s eyes still on you. You’re not sure if you or he should feel more ashamed. 

Tommy smiles at you before opening his mouth to speak. “Hey Joel,” he shouts, “Quit harassin’ my employee.”

“Fuckin’ dick.” Joel huffs quietly and pulls away from you, subtly pulling his hand from out of your jeans and sucks his fingers into his mouth as he rolls his eyes at you. He turns around and blocks your body so that Tommy doesn’t see you buttoning your pants, as if he doesn’t know what Joel was just doing to you. “Wouldn’t have to f’ya would let her clock out. Place is clean as a whistle, Tommy.” 

“Yeah, but not that pool table,” Tommy quips. When you slide off of the table, Tommy’s looking at you again as if he were waiting for your reaction. You shy away as you feel your face and neck warming up. Tommy does his final walk through as you wait awkwardly, Joel standing next to you impatiently. “Place looks good. She’s all yours, Joel,” Tommy says with a smile, a smile that almost makes you dizzy. “G’night, sweetheart,” Tommy opens the door for you and Joel and sends you on your way. You don’t tell him goodnight back. 

Joel walks you home quickly, practically drags you. You have trouble keeping up with his long and quick strides. He doesn’t make it to his bedroom and instead takes you in the living room, the blinds wide open as he pulls you down onto his cock. You look out the window as Joel fucks you knowing full well anyone could walk by and see you like this, that Tommy could see you like this. 

Tommy could see you, he could see all of you. Joel’s between your thighs, whispering praises in your ear and all you can think about is Tommy, the thrill of his eyes focused only on you. Back on the pool table, you felt so good with Joel’s fingers buried in your cunt, but even better under the heavy-lidded gaze of Tommy. It was all so arousing yet so wrong. It made you feel sexy and ashamed, taboo and salacious all at the same time. You come on Joel’s cock thinking of the smirk on his brother’s lips as he watched you from feet away. 

-

The next time Tommy’s in your line of sight is the following night at dinner. You and Joel didn’t feel like cooking, so you’re eating at the community diner. Tommy’s sitting just a few seats down from you and Joel, he’s chatting it up with some friends. Tommy’s mostly focused on his conversation but he glances at you now and then, and it makes your heart beat a little faster each time with the memory of last night. You’re lost in thought and barely even realize you’re staring at him until you notice him smiling at you. 

Joel’s low voice interrupts your thoughts. “Thinkin’ about trading me in for the newer model, aren’t ya?”

“Joel!” 

“No, no. I get it,” he teases, no real hurt in his voice. “Tommy’s younger, he’s stronger, less gray…” 

You smack his arm. You’re not sure if you’re more offended by his implication or the fact he caught you ogling his brother. “No. It’s not that.” you tell him flatly. Joel raises his eyebrows at you, waiting for you to continue. “It’s…” you sigh, and Joel’s expression turns from amused to concerned. 

“You can tell me.”

“Last night,” you begin, tugging his sleeve to bring him closer to you. He tilts his head for you to whisper in his ear, “Last night, when Tommy and I were closing the bar and you came to visit. And you - we - on the pool table…Tommy watched us.”

Joel eyes Tommy after hearing your admission, but doesn’t quite glare. “Right,” he says.

“Just for a second,” you add quickly. “Just for a second.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “That’s all.” 

Joel pauses. He studies you, his dark eyes darting between yours. “I don’t think that really is all,” he says. He knows all your tells, and he knows that you’re lying right now. At the very least, he’s certain you’re not sharing the truth in full. And what he finds most amusing, is that he knows the way you look when there’s something you want. He knows exactly what you want. “You liked it, didn’t you? His eyes on us. His eyes on you.” Busted. You press your lips together to keep yourself from smirking. “S’okay if ya did.” 

Before you can respond to him, Joel presses a kiss to your temple and takes both of your dirted plates in his hands and stands up. He does a subtle nod in Tommy’s direction, imperceptible to you but one that Tommy can see, and Tommy surreptitiously joins Joel as he places your dishes on a nearby countertop to be cleaned. 

 Joel returns to you moments later with two slices of blueberry pie. “Check it out. S’your favorite,” he says. You eat your pie with Joel, and when you look in Tommy’s direction, his chair is empty.

-

Later that evening, you and Joel walk home hand in hand. He’s oddly quiet, and when you look at him you swear you see the faintest smile on his lips. Joel walks with you up the staircase and you’re immediately intrigued by your shut bedroom door, some light peeking out at the bottom. Maybe you or Joel forgot to turn a light off this morning. It could mean nothing. 

“Good evenin’, sweetheart.” 

It’s not nothing at all. Tommy’s there, in that old, navy blue La-Z-Boy recliner that sits in the corner of your room and faces your bed, gently rocking back and forth. 

“Tommy,” you breathe shakily.

Joel approaches you from behind and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Told Tommy about your dirty little secret,” he says. It takes half a second for you to pick up what he’s putting down, and your breath hitches in your throat. “You know the one. That you liked when he watched us.” 

You turn your head, “Joel–”

“At him. Look at him.” Joel turns your head back in Tommy’s direction. His gaze on you is intense, and you find yourself unable to bear it, looking down at the floor instead. “But Tommy says,” Joel whispers in your ear, his breath hot on your neck, “That if you want him to watch, you need’a ask him yourself.” Blood rushes to your core and your mouth goes dry at Joel’s words. You’re unable to form thoughts as arousal takes over your senses, that dizzying, heady feeling building inside your body, enhanced by the fact that you and Joel aren’t the only ones in the room.

 By the way Tommy’s eyes flicker above you, you have no doubt Joel’s smiling in sick delight behind you. It comes as no surprise that Joel’s gonna make you work for what you want, he does so with everything else. You don’t come without his permission, you don’t touch yourself without his permission. You can’t even touch him without his go-ahead. He knows how to make the wait and the work worth it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It’s agonizing every time in the best possible way. Joel nudges you. “Well get on with it, then. Don’t make him wait.”

“Tommy,” you mumble, your voice barely audible.

“What is it, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous. The compliment spills from his lips like syrup. Tommy’s always had a sweet spot for you, and no matter how many times he makes that known through his words and his actions, it always, always exhilarates you. 

“Will you - will you watch?” 

“Watch what?”

You wonder if Joel primed him, it wouldn’t surprise you. If he told Tommy to coach you through it all, make every step of the process as tedious for you as could be. Or maybe this is Tommy all on his own, and he’s cut from the same exact cloth as Joel.

“Well, spit it out,” Joel says, not allowing you hesitation for a moment further.

“Will you watch Joel fuck me?” 

 “Nuh-uh, try it again. Let’s mind our manners this time,” Joel says to you. “Now what do you say?”

“Please,” you whisper.

 “And remember to tell him thank you f’he says yes,” Joel reminds softly.

“Pleasure would be all mine, darlin’,” Tommy replies with a smile. “Be happy to.” 

“Thank you.” 

Joel presses a kiss to your head. “S’a good girl,” he murmurs.

He undresses himself first, first unbuttoning his flannel and then pulling his white t-shirt off his torso. You’re not sure where to look - him, or Tommy - when he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans drop to the floor. 

You’re up next. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your body as he unbuttons your own shirt, peering over your shoulder as he undoes the buttons slowly, one by one until he reaches the bottom. He peels the fabric off of your shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, joining his pile of clothes. He unzips your jeans and bends down to help you step out of them and you’re stood there in front of Tommy, clad in nothing but a bra and panties. Not for long, though, as Joel stands back up and unclasps your bra. When the garment falls, you instinctually cover your chest. “Let him see you,” Joel whispers, and you drop your arms. 

Tommy lets out a low whistle as he scans you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, one of his hands palming the sizable bulge in his jeans. “Need ya to do me a favor, sweetheart, give ‘em some lovin’ from me.”

You maintain eye contact with Tommy as you bring your hands to your chest and knead the flesh of your breasts between your fingers. You sigh in pleasure as you massage yourself, circling your nipples before pinching and rolling them between your fingers. “Oh, that’s it. Jus’ how I’d do it,” Tommy praises. 

The moment lasts just a little longer, and then Joel’s guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Tommy. Gently, he takes hold of your wrists and lays both of your palms flat on the bed, allowing himself access to you. He tilts your chin up so he can kiss you, then kisses down your jaw and your neck, sucking and biting your skin on his way down. He kneels before you, teasing your nipples himself, one in his mouth and the other between his fingers, doing a much better job than you were. His mouth and his hand trade places, a trail of spit in their path. When he's done, he kisses down, down, down until he’s reached your pussy. He presses a kiss over the already damp fabric of your underwear and hums in satisfaction. “Lift up,” he says, pulling your panties down your legs before tossing the garment behind himself in Tommy’s direction. 

Tommy catches the fabric, and for the first time he pulls his eyes from you. “Goddamn. What a mess she made,” Tommy comments, rubbing his thumb over the damp spot of your panties. His eyes flicker back up to you as he brings them to his face, inhaling your scent deeply. “Shhh,” he mouths, his pointer finger in front of his lips. When he drops his hand, his tongue darts out to lick the arousal-soaked fabric and you gasp, gasp as Joel licks a long stripe from your ass to the top of your pussy. The room is quiet, save for the heavy breathing between the three of you. 

You moan louder than you’d like to when you feel Joel’s tongue travel lower before circling your tight hole again, and you can’t help but feel self conscious.  Joel presses a couple of kisses to the surrounding area, all wet and sloppy before he dips his tongue inside you. You squirm and wonder what Tommy thinks of this, of you, as he has a perfect view of what's being licked and what’s not. 

One of your hands finds Joel’s scalp and tugs on his graying curls and waves, your free arm is bent and supporting your body as you lean back. He swirls his tongue one, then two more times around your asshole before his lips travel higher. He kisses your slick folds, sucking one into his mouth and then the other. Joel dips inside your heat, all warm and slick just for him as he inhales you, tastes you - your musk, your sweet arousal, just like honey on his tongue. He uses the muscle to trace you lazily, more for himself than you before he finds your clit, licking and sucking the sensitive part of you. And as he does, it’s just you and Joel. You fall in love with him all over again every time he’s like this, between that heated, soaking wet and private place between your thighs, his favorite place to be. His big doe eyes sparkle as he eats you the way he wants to - savoring you and your body. He’s all passion and devotion, full of love, love for both you and the performance itself. He blinks slowly, in a feline sort of way - relaxed yet laser-focused, the only time he breaks eye contact with you. You feel like you’re his prey, the mouse that the cat eats for dinner tonight. 

“Quit lookin’ at Joel, honey. He’s not goin’ nowhere. You look at me tonight,” Tommy demands, his voice is less kind than it was before. 

You find him in the corner, steadily rocking back and forth in that old chair, twirling the end of his mustache around his finger as he watches you. Instinctually, you find yourself looking back down at Joel between your thighs, seeking his permission to obey Tommy. He turns his head to the side and bites your thigh, not hard but enough to startle, the way a dog does to discipline her pup. “What’d Tommy just tell you?” Joel scolds. “My apologies, Tommy,” he mumbles against your skin.

“S’alright. I know she’s new to it.” Tommy’s words go straight to your core. It’s that condescending tone, paired with that sugar-sweet smirk on his lips as he says it. 

Joel’s tongue and lips on your clit continue to work magic. He eats you the way he does every time - like it’s not something he’s doing for you, but to you, his own endeavor. It’s all lust and hunger, fingertips bruising your skin under his vice-like grip, tongue relentlessly laving over your sex. His patchy beard gently scratches your inner thighs, rubs you raw so that you’ll be feeling him in the coming days after this. Your skin will burn under the hot water of your bath and the lather of unscented soap on Joel’s hands as he washes you, and he’ll hush you as you wince at the sting. “Shhh. M’almost done,” he’ll tell you, like he tells you every time. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You writhe and grind against Joel’s mouth, attempting to take some semblance of control over your pleasure. Joel swats your ass cheek and holds you still. You’re gonna take what he gives you, feel exactly what he wants you to. Feel his aquiline nose circling your clit, his tongue dipping in and out of your slick hole. You let out moans, pleasure building quickly. You feel it everywhere - deep in your gut, up your spine, down your legs.

Tommy listens intently to all the noises you make as Joel eats you. Your cunt and those lewd, sloppy, wet sounds it’s making as it’s licked, sucked, lapped at and kissed. Your moans, how they turn from loud and spaced out between each other, to quick and breathy, shorter and higher pitched. When you begin to go quiet Tommy watches you closer, your eyebrows knit together, the muscles in your thighs begin to jerk and flutter. “You close, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, “S-so close.”

“Not yet, Joel,” Tommy says. And Joel listens. Your mouth drops, your eyes wide and dismayed like a wounded animal as he retreats from you, his lips and chin shiny with your juices. You look at Tommy with that same hurt expression.

“Hey. Don’t you pout at him like that,” Joel barks. “S’rude. Tommy’s a guest in our home. You need’a apologize.” 

A contrite look washes over your face and you apologize quickly, “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy looks impressed by the way you submit yourself so readily to him. “S’water under the bridge, darlin’,” he purrs.

Joel rises then, groaning as his joints softly pop and crack. He rounds the bed and props a couple of pillows up against the headboard, sighing softly as he sits on the bed and leans against them. He spreads his legs and reaches forward to grab you by your armpits and pull you back against him, his bare chest against your back, his warm, stiff package pressing into you. You’re still facing Tommy as Joel spreads your legs apart. “Can you spread ‘er a bit wider?” Tommy asks him. 

“Certainly,” Joel says. “Your wish is her command. Isn’t it, baby?” Joel nudges the side of your face with his nose, you can smell your arousal on his skin. “Show Tommy what he wants to see.” You spread your legs a little further apart, “Keep goin’,” Joel whispers. “You know what to do.” 

You do know what to do. You’re about to feel so exposed, so bare. With trembling hands, you reach for your center and spread your own lips a little wider for Tommy’s gaze. Joel kneads your breasts as Tommy takes you in and watches your pussy drip onto the bed sheets. “Prettier than a picture,” he says. 

“Yeah, ain’t she just,” Joel says. He pulls your hands away and replaces them with one of his own to cup your mound, the other sliding up your torso, your neck, until your jaw is held securely in his hand. He’s making sure you don’t look anywhere but where you’re supposed to.

Joel kisses the side of your head and pulls your earlobe between his teeth, biting you gently as he dips two fingers into your slick hole to gather your arousal, and then he drags it up your seam and circles your clit. 

“You takin’ requests, Joel?” Tommy inquires. Your eyes flicker to his and he meets you with a lopsided grin. It’s a dangerous one at that, one that tells you he’s going to like making you suffer, ache, and beg for it just as much as Joel does. 

“Name it.” 

“Go a little slower. Don’t give it all to her yet.” 

You whine and squirm at Tommy’s instruction. “Relax,” Joel grunts. “You’ll be fine. We’re goin’ nice an’ slow for Tommy tonight.” Joel whispers, his fingers no longer circling your clit but prodding gently at your hole. “Nice…and slow.” 

There’s no gratification at his touch, no relief. You stay upright and facing Tommy, willing yourself to stay focused on him, knowing that he’d probably find satisfaction in ratting you out to Joel should you look away. Tommy watches you carefully, watches the way your bottom lip wobbles and how you writhe with Joel’s teasing. He holds his palm against his erection and presses down hard on himself. He groans, he almost sounds like he’s in pain. He’s been denying himself his own touch for far too long and unzips his jeans to pull his cock out. It springs up, long and thick, his tip blushing an angry red color. 

You study him as he tends to himself. He spits in the palm of his hand and wraps it around his member, tightening his fist as he watches your pussy being teased. A couple of his dark curls fall forward over his eyes as he tilts his head down, and he frantically pushes them out of his face. You swear you’ve seen Joel do the same thing before. You watch all of Tommy’s mannerisms and expressions, and see them mirroring those of his brother. It’s almost jarring.

You wonder if he’d tease you like this too. If the tables were turned, and it was Joel in that old recliner instead of Tommy, if he’d tease you as agonizingly. Probably, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t think so. Tommy’s impulsive at times, impatient. Joel’s not - he’s calculated, careful. Intentional. You wonder if Tommy’s hands would have the same warmth that Joel’s do. 

Tommy chuckles as you buck your hips into Joel’s hand. “You’re torturin’ that poor girl, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Joel goads, his mind apparently thinking the same thoughts as yours.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Tommy replies., winking at you. 

Joel lazily draws patterns up and down your folds, circling around your clit now and then. You grip his forearms, nails digging into his skin, feeling his muscles flex under your palms as your hole clenches, arousal dripping from it and furthering the mess on the sheets. “Joel,” you whine, “Please.”

“M’just the middleman right now,” Joel purrs. It’s the most frustrating thing he could say. You know he’s at the top of the totem pole right now, that he holds all the power. But the way he pretends he doesn’t is what makes it all so fucking frustrating. 

You look at Tommy, begging him silently. “Give her a little,”  he says. “I’m feelin’ generous.”

Only then do you feel Joel's fingers dip inside you. Finally, you feel that stretch you’ve been craving as he pushes them as far as they can go, down to his scarred knuckles. You sigh in relief, “Fuck,” you breathe. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you a couple of times, simply stretching you. 

“Hey Tommy,” Joel says. “You wanna see somethin’ cool?”

Tommy nods, still pumping his cock up and down. Joel adjusts himself some and begins to curl his fingers inside of you repeatedly, hitting that sweet spot he’s come to know so intimately. “Fuck, fuck,” you whine. The effect the action has on you could not be more glaringly apparent. You’re squirming, eyes rolling back into your skull as your thighs clamp around Joel’s arm, your toes curling as the feeling builds and intensifies. His other hand has left your jaw and he’s tweaking your nipples now. “Joel, oh my god, it - you - s’good–”

“Look at her go,” Tommy marvels. “Fuckin’ Christ.” He pumps himself more furiously now, watching as you melt under Joel’s touch. He’s so beautiful like this, fucking himself into his fist to your image. But it’s all too much, you retreat into yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you lean back onto Joel’s shoulder. He nudges you forward, “Don’t be gettin’ lazy on me, now. C’mon, up–” Joel pulls his fingers from your core unceremoniously, slick and shiny with your juices. He stuffs them in your mouth and has you suck on them, taste the tangy sweetness. When he pulls them out, you know what’s coming next. “On your hands and knees, sweetheart.” 

You move into position like Joel’s asked you to. Your legs and arms tremble as you do, garnering a soft chuckle from Tommy. “You’re alright,” he soothes, still chuckling a little. “One step at a time.”

Joel pulls his boxers all the way off and kneels behind you. He pushes your chest down a bit, angles your hips up as he uses a knee to spread your legs wider. He planned it this way - there’s a mirror on the wall opposite the bed that will not only allow him to admire your body rocking with his every thrust, but that allows him to see your face. To check in on you. To make sure you’re looking at Tommy, Just as you’re supposed to. 

Joel runs a palm up and down your spine before taking his rock hard and leaking cock in the other hand, pumping it a couple times and rubbing the tip over the swell of your ass before he lines it up with your entrance. He notches himself at your entrance and sucks in a deep breath as he pushes himself into you fully, in one swift thrust. 

You whine. It hurts, really hurts. It always does, always takes you a minute to adjust and get used to the delicious, aching stretch of his cock sliding inside of you to the furthest depth. “Just look at Tommy,” he tells you in a hushed tone, his way of distracting you from the pain. “Focus on him. You’re okay.” 

“T-Tommy,” you sob. 

“S’right, you just keep lookin’ at me, beautiful,” he coaches. “Look at how good you’re doin’. Doin’ so good.” 

Your eyes flutter shut and you arch into it, into Joel, allowing your body to welcome his intrusion. He pulls out of you slowly, admiring the way your arousal has coated his cock, and then buries himself inside you again. Tommy watches the way your fingers twitch as you grip the bed sheets. 

Joel grunts as he rocks into you at a slow and steady pace, working himself deeper and deeper inside your cunt. He loves the way his cock disappears into your body with each of his slow, calculated thrusts, the whimpers that fall from your lips to match. “Oh, there she is,” Joel purrs. “I know, baby. I’m listening. Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good,” you moan. You’re inundated by him, just like always. Lost in his touch, his palms so warm and heavy on your skin. Lost in the pleasure flowing between your hips as he fucks you. 

“Joel,” Tommy calls his name softly. Fuck. When your eyes find him, he’s looking right at you. “Your girl ain’t lookin’ at me. Beginnin’ to wonder what I came down here for, you know.” 

Joel laughs. “You’ll have to give her a minute, Tommy. She has trouble listenin’ when I got her stuffed full like this. Don’t you, sweetheart?” Joel leans forward and wraps a hand around your throat so he can whisper in your ear, “Don’t make him say it again.” It’s a warning, your one and only.

“Yeah, you said she’d do that,” Tommy says. “Poor baby.”

You watch him like you’re supposed to. He’s watching just as intently, his eyes are dark and his gaze is unwavering. He’s completely mesmerized by you as his stroking becomes faster, harder, sloppier. 

“Tell Tommy how much you like havin’ him watch you,” Joel pants. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “Tell me, sweet girl. I wanna know.” 

“I like it, Tommy,” you rasp. You didn’t even realize tears were brimming in your eyes until a few fall down your cheeks. Your stay focused on Tommy. He’s biting his bottom lip, breathing heavily through his nose as he pumps himself. “I love it.”

 “I do too, honey. I think you’re so pretty, gettin’ fucked like this.” 

Joel fucks you just like that for a little while longer, slamming his hips into you at a frenzied pace. He winks at Tommy as he curls himself a little closer to you and reaches between your legs, the pads of his fingers finding your clit to massage the sensitive part of you. Tommy quickly smiles before his face contorts in pleasure again as he focuses on you. Tommy can see it happening, and Joel can feel it - your walls begin to flutter around his cock, your sharp breaths begin to quicken and become unsteady. You squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate hard on the familiar pleasure building deep inside of you, because it’s too hard to concentrate on Tommy. 

“She’s off in her own world again,” Tommy’s complaint is barely audible to you as you really are lost in your own world. “She just don’t listen, huh?”

“We’ve been workin’ on it. But why don’t you remind her, Tommy. Maybe you’ll get through to her.” 

Your stomach drops at that. Tommy rises and approaches you and all you can feel is anticipation, excitement. Maybe even a little fear. He extends his free arm and cups your jaw, the other one now lazily stroking himself. He stands above you in an almost domineering sort of way, just like you love. You’ve got no choice but to look at him, admire his beauty - his dark curls, the freckles on his nose, a different shape than his brother’s but just as beautiful. His wide barrel chest, his cock from a closer view. His pubic hair neatly trimmed, and you wonder if maybe he did it for you. 

Tommy admires you right back. Your wide eyes, your lips parted and wet with drool. Your skin is damp with sweat as your body bounces under Joel while he fucks you. Tommy lets go of his cock and holds his hand under your chin, “Spit,” he tells you, loosening his grip on your jaw. You spit into his palm and he tightens his hold on you again and goes back to pleasuring himself. He notices that you watch him stroke his cock instead of his face, but he doesn’t mind that. Tommy rubs his thumb back and forth over your cheek in a soothing manner. 

“You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?” Joel asks. “You gonna come?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod as best as you can with your head held by Tommy and Joel never faltering in his pace. “I’m gonna –” 

“Go ask Tommy. Ask him if you’re allowed to come on my cock.”

“Tommy?” your voice is small, weak. “Please.”

“Wait on it, sweetheart.” 

You groan, fighting as hard as you can to stave off release as Joel rounds your clit with his fingertips over and over. You know it’s coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it as you squirm and whimper. You’re desperate, and feel pathetic. Tommy wears a pitying sort of smile as he looks down at you. You look pathetic, getting fucked on all fours, your limbs trembling uncontrollably, your eyes tear-stained as you sniffle. “Christ, she’s makin’ me soft,” he groans, rubbing your cheeks affectionately. “Let her come, Joel. She earned it.” 

Finally, release. You moan loudly, coming immediately, your vision turning blurry from the intensity. You feel like you’re going to break into a million little pieces as Joel fucks you apart. It’s surreal, feeling Joel’s frenetic thrusts inside of you while you’re looking right at Tommy. 

Joel doesn’t stop. You can tell he’s close too, but he keeps it together, all for the sake of pushing you past your limit. “Joel,” you cry. “Joel, I can - I can’t.” 

“Bet Tommy thinks you can,” he grunts. “Tommy?”

“Mhm, I do,” he replies. “Let it ride, baby. Gimme one for the road.”

It’s all a blur even when you come again. Your own orgasm coaxes Joel’s, and you feel that familiar, comforting warmth as he spills inside you, “Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck.” The steady decline from pleasure is overwhelming, you’re not sure if it’s even happening - it’s all so endless, no clear beginning or end. Joel fucks you through his own orgasm and Tommy’s grunting, moaning as he spills into his fist. 

The rest of it happens in a daze. Joel pulling out of you, flopping back onto the bed. You collapse onto your stomach but he pulls you into his chest again, scooping up your body to hold you through the comedown. Tommy licks his hand and Joel notices how you watch, practically salivating  at the sight. Tommy looks at Joel for permission, and Joel nods.

“Be a lamb,” Joel says as Tommy holds his hand in front of your face. The implication is clear. In Joel’s arms, you lick Tommy's hand clean of his spend, humming at the taste. When you’re done, Tommy bends to kiss you on the forehead. “You did so good,” he whispers. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Tommy leaves then, and the moment settles. Your breathing slows as you come back to earth in Joel’s arms. “I spoil ya,” he says. “You know that?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Was it everything you wanted?” 

You nod again. It’s true, it was perfect. 

Perfect in the way you’ll be replaying this night in your head for weeks to come. You’ll think of it in bed and during mundane activities, you’ll think about it the next time Joel fucks you. You’re already thinking of it - the way Tommy lingered in your mind before, how he watched you being fucked on Joel’s fingers as he washed those glasses - the same thing happens tonight. Though it’s not Tommy’s image that you think of. It’s not Tommy pumping his cock and admiring you, it’s not his smile or his sweet praises. It’s his touch that haunts you. You can still feel the weight of his palm on your cheek, and can still feel his kiss on your forehead. 

And Joel knows you’re not yet satiated. 

If you enjoyed please reblog, send me an ask, leave a comment 🩷 your words keep me motivated to write for you all

Also if you read this and have had cavity fillings before, please tell me some encouraging things 🥲 I have my first fillings tomorrow and I am very nervous