peepeecotelette

[peepeecotelette]

javier peña in every episode of narcos

2x03 our man in madrid

today's daily front row neck show 😉 (hmm yes, neck...and everything else...

[peepeecotelette]

the end of the world- a joel miller x reader

summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff

note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!

Joel used to be rough.

He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.

He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.

He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.

Then, something changed.

Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

A mantra, a promise, a prayer.

Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.

Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.

Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.

Only ever him.

His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.

And then one day, he swore you off.

"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.

"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.

"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."

"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.

"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."

"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"

"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."

You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.

"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."

That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.

This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.

Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.

A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.

It was the same every day.

Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.

For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.

You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.

You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.

You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.

A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.

When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.

Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.

Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.

"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.

"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."

Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"

The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.

You blinked the memories of him away.

With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.

"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.

Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.

His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?

"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.

"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,

His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.

"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.

When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.

The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.

That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.

"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.

Why does the sun keep on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

Cause you don't love me, anymore?

As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.

You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.

Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don't they know it's the end of the world,

it ended when I lost your love.

You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.

"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.

"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"

The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.

You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.

Joel.

Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.

“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.

“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”

Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.

Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.

You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.

“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.

“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”

Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.

Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.

“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”

“What?”

“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”

You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.

Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.

You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.

“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”

You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.

Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.

You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.

“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”

He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.

“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.

“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”

“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”

He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”

You nodded quickly.

“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”

“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”

“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”

You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.

“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”

You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.

Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.

“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.

Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.

Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.

“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.

You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.

When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”

You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.

You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”

And kiss you he did.

His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.

You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.

“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”

“Then make it up to me.”

The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.

You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.

Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.

“Think you can cum on my cock?”

You nodded.

A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.

Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.

You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.

He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.

"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.

Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.

He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."

You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."

Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.

"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.

"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.

"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.

Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.

"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."

You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."

Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.

"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"

He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."

You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:

"I love you, too."

[peepeecotelette]

Tired of washboard abs propaganda. We must post more tummy.

[peepeecotelette]

Tired of washboard abs propaganda. We must post more tummy.

[peepeecotelette]

snowflakes, a fireplace, and you | joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist | main masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: bed and breakfast owner!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 13.9k

summary: you get more than you bargained for when you end up snowed in at miller's inn on christmas eve. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] fluff, the softest joel you'll ever meet in your life, some mentions of grief, brief smut, reader celebrates christmas, food, alcohol is consumed but no one gets drunk, reader has some family angst (specifically some mother issues), reader's father is dead and the fic will touch on how he died, reader can fit into joel's sweater, found family trope, sexual tension, sweet joel kisses, unprotected p in v sex, brief oral (m + f receiving), joel gets both his daughters, this takes place in upstate new york because i said so. no use of y/n. *note: this reader is basically an ofc. she has a backstory, a family, and several details about her life are relevant to the plot. i wanted to tell a full story with this one. i hope you will still find it immersive and enjoyable.

a/n: thank you to everyone who willed this fic into existence! i had the very best time with it. she's tropey as hell, but ya'll knew what you were signing up for. love yas and merry christmas (one day late) to all those who celebrate! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics

dec. 23 - the arrival

Just beyond the quaint village borders of Cooperstown, New York, lies the cozy, family-owned Miller's Inn. Housed beneath a cover of pines in the lush surrounding forests, this historic cottage has been lovingly refurbished and meticulously kept-up in order to maintain its original charm and architecture. With just four fully furnished rooms, every guest at Miller's Inn can expect to be treated with unparalleled care and service during their stay.

Whether you're here for one night or one week - at Miller's Inn, you're home.

It's all warm and fuzzy - and you're sure it's true to a certain extent - but the sweet little blurb on the simply designed website fails to mention the inn's most appealing feature:

It's not your fucking mother's house.

Christmas spirit be damned, that had been the deal. You'll make the trip home from Austin (half a day's travel complete with flight and drive), you'll even come for Christmas dinner and play along with the whole happy family charade. But only on your own terms, and only with an appropriate level of space. If that means spending your nights somewhere several miles away from the house you grew up in for the few short days you're back in town, so be it.

An uncomfortable sense of familiarity passes over you as you drive through your hometown. Main Street looks much the same as it had when you'd left all those years ago, blanketed now by a thin layer of snow, every storefront decked with garland and fairy lights. Fog rolls off the distant mountain, barely visible through the grey, overcast sky.

You think you catch someone waving at you from the sidewalk; maybe an old neighbour, maybe a family friend, maybe a stranger - if one could really call anyone in Coopertown a stranger.

You don't stop.

No, you keep your eyes straight and drive clear out of town, following the directions on your GPS until the village dissipates into dense, green forest.

It's even further out than it had looked on the map, a solid twenty minutes of driving before you see billowing smoke rising above the treetops, another five before you come upon a clearing and the sign that lines the road beside it: Miller's Inn.

"Turn right and you've arrived at your destination," the robotic, pleasant woman in your phone tells you.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," you grumble, turning off the app and chucking the phone into the passenger seat beside you.

There are three vehicles already parked out front, two with out-of-state license plates and one a rusted old pick-up truck. You pull in beside the sedan from Ohio.

Despite the short walk from the car to the front door, you bundle up in your mittens and coat, steeling yourself before ducking out into the cold winter's day with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder. The flecks of sun peeking through the clouds sting your eyes, reflecting uncomfortably off the layer of snow on the ground, thicker here than in town.

Standing before the front steps of the cottage, you assess it for the first time. A wraparound porch surrounds the small, two-storey cottage, which appears to be built mostly of stone. Christmas lights don the railings of the deck, and a lush, pine wreath hangs on the red-painted door. In the centre of the wreath, there's a neatly decorated wooden placard, painted over with the words, Happy holidays, welcome home - The Millers.

It makes you cringe.

A bell rings above you as you open the front door and cross through the threshold. Inside, you're greeted by an air of warmth, the faint sound of Christmas music, and the smells of burning wood, fragrant pine, and sugar. A front desk, littered with garland trim and popcorn strings stands unattended before you, and you frown, peering around you towards the cozy common area to your right, complete with burning fireplace, mismatched couches, a large, haphazardly decorated Christmas tree, and altogether no people.

"Hello?" you call out to no one in particular.

"Crap - " a voice says to your left. You whirl to face the source of sound, and take in the other half of the main floor of the inn. A long wooden table takes up most of the space there, accented with candles and nutcrackers and a festively patterned runner. Roughly ten chairs surround it, the entire scene bathed in daylight from the wide window on the far side of the room, revealing snow-covered forest just beyond its frosted glass.

Amidst it all, a young girl, tall and curly-haired, barely older than fourteen, clamouring out of a room you can't see beyond the dining set-up, clapping what appears to be flour off of her hands. She all but sprints to take her place behind the front desk, muttering, sorry sorry sorry under her breath the whole way there.

"Hi!" she says, nearly out of breath when she finally meets your gaze with a put-on, beatific smile. "Welcome."

"Um, hi, I'm just checking in," you tell her, hearing the way your voice tilts up a bit at the end like you're asking a question.

"Great!" she exclaims, but then she frowns as she peers down at a mess of papers on the desktop, and you get the feeling she doesn't normally handle this part.

"Um...okay...so...name?" she asks, her curls bouncing as she looks up at you, then down at what appears to a sign-in sheet, then up at you again.

Uncertainly, you tell her and she nods with feigned confidence, glancing back down at the list of names and furrowing her brow.

Who the fuck is in charge here?

"Uh...shit," she murmurs and now you frown, suddenly terrified there's been some sort of mistake.

"Is there a problem?"

The girl chews her lip before hastily shaking her head and softening the worry on her face, for your benefit, you assume. "No, no! I just can't read his stupid writing. Hey, Dad?"

She calls that last bit over her shoulder, towards an open door behind the desk. No one responds.

The girl rolls her eyes. "One sec," she tells you.

"Okay..."

She flits behind the door and you tap your foot impatiently, starting to get uncomfortably warm under all your layers.

You hear another voice now, deep and gravelly, but you can't quite make out the words. Then, a moment later, the girl returns with someone new in tow.

A man, at least forty-five, a smile painting his weathered face adorned with greying scruff under a mop of messy brown curls. He's broad, framed by thick arms and wide shoulders, deliciously accentuated by the green flannel he's wearing, the sleeves of which are rolled up the elbows, revealing tan skin and a black-banded watch on one wrist.

Unconsciously, you stiffen, stand a little straighter in his presence - what's that about?

"Alright, what's the issue?" he's asking the girl, both of them rifling through the stack of papers. His accent gives you pause; it's one you're used to hearing back home, but not here.

"The issue is your chicken scratch," she gripes, pointing at the list of names accusingly.

The man just chuckles, clearly unbothered by the gentle ribbing.

"It ain't that bad," he grumbles. Finally, he looks up at you, his eyes all soft and brown, the right side of face dimpling as he smirks at you crookedly. "Welcome, miss. Sorry 'bout all the confusion. Name?"

You repeat it, your voice coming out a little breathier this time as your body responds to his low drawl and his unwavering eye contact.

Something flashes across his face when he hears your name, something like recognition, something like sympathy, something that makes your insides twist as you drop your gaze and he quickly collects himself.

"Alright..." he hums to himself, the girl peeking up over his shoulder as he trails the tip of a pen down the list.

When he finds your name, he rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Come on, kiddo, it's right there," he says to the girl, glancing up at you like he's trying to loop you in on the joke. You smile tightly.

She leans in close to see the name he's pointing at and scoffs.

"Is her name Scribble McScribbleton?" she jokes and her Dad laughs like it's the funniest fucking thing he's ever heard.

"Shut up," he chuckles, noting something beside your name before checking you off his list and playfully hip-checking the girl away.

She's laughing, the sound all trilling and soft as she pops out from behind the desk and starts to make her way back to the kitchen.

"Hey!" her Dad calls after her. She turns back to face him without hesitation. "Go find your sister, please."

She salutes him and then darts off in the other direction, calling for an, "Ellie" as she goes.

"My daughter, Sarah," the man tells you once you're alone, cocking his chin towards where the girl - Sarah - had just disappeared.

"Hm," you nod, fully sweating under your winter coat now, distinctly uncomfortable at all the family comradery. You've never understood how it seems to come so naturally to other people.

"I'm Joel. Joel Miller," he goes on, reaching across the desk to extend a hand out to you. You fumble with your duffle bag as you take his hand in yours and shake, his massive palm engulfing yours, even wrapped in your fluffy mittens.

"Oh, hold on there," he says, hurriedly rounding the desk to take your bag off your hands and hook it over his shoulder.

"Uh, thanks," you mutter, finally slipping your woolly mittens off and unzipping your coat. Your hands are clammy and your mouth feels dry, but with the way Joel's eyes are glimmering in the warm light of the inn, you get the feeling it's not just because of the fire.

"Quick tour," he announces, already turning to lead the way into the room to the left, the one with the long table and the wide window.

"Dining room, obviously," he grins. "Breakfast is from 7-10 every day. Coffee, eggs, cereal, all that kinda thing. Even got oat milk now, if that's your thing."

"Just cow is fine," you tell him. He chuckles.

Properly in the room now, you take it in in all its understated glory. It's clear the space had been an extension from the original structure, the walls here lined with wood panels rather than the stone you could just make out in the living room. There's a small radio on the windowsill, which you now recognize as the source of the Christmas music, the sound slightly scratchy and hollow now that you're hearing it up close.

It strikes you how it all feels less like some stodgy hotel and more like the dining room of a loving family. You swallow hard against the emotion that stirs in you.

"Kitchen's just back there," Joel says, pointing towards the door Sarah had come from earlier, where the smell of cinnamon and ginger is steadily wafting in your direction. "You ever need anythin'; food, water, coffee…just holler for me or one of the girls."

"Great, thank you," you mutter. Then your curiosity gets the better of you. "Are you from the South?"

He smiles as he guides you out of the dining room and back through the front hall.

"S'it that obvious?" he asks, casually placing a hand between your shoulder blades to herd you towards the living room. You're not prepared for the way it makes your stomach flutter.

"I just - I live in Austin. I mean, I grew up here, but I live there now."

That flash of recognition crosses his features again when you tell him you'd grown up here but again, he swiftly reins it in, something more like curious disbelief taking its place.

"Get out," he laughs. "S'where I'm from."

"Oh," you nod, glancing around the quaint little common area, the bright red stockings marked Joel, Sarah, and Ellie that hang above the stone fireplace, the smattering of ornaments dangling from the real pine tree, the various rugs that cover the hardwood. Family photos and vintage photographs of Cooperstown line the stone walls, and towards the back of the cottage, you can just make out the end of a staircase, along with a door leading out to a mudroom marked Staff Only.

"So how the hell'd you end up here?" you find yourself asking, regretting it the minute it slips out. 

When he doesn't answer right away, you backtrack.

"Sorry - I didn't mean - " you stammer. "The inn is beautiful, that's not what I - "

But Joel just laughs, clearly not offended by you putting in your stupid foot in your mouth.

"I just can't imagine choosing to live in Cooperstown when you could live well...literally anywhere else in the world," you confess.

Joel's laughter dies down and then he's looking at you in that way again, all quiet sympathy and understanding. You stare down at your boots.

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.

"Came up here with my brother a while back," he explains. You breathe a sigh of relief. "We loved it so much we brought the girls with us the next summer. We all kinda fell in love after that. Then this place went on the market and we just couldn't say no. Mind you, it was in shambles when we got our hands on it. But Tommy and I fixed it up." He pauses, deep in thought as he remembers. Then he turns to look at you with an affectionate smile, answering your silent question. "S'my brother, Tommy. He's moved on - got a wife and kid out in Wyoming. Just me and the girls now."

You nod, working to keep the conversation away from the past. "They help out around here?"

His smile widens. "Yeah, they're good kids."

You nod, wishing the fondness in his voice didn't make your chest pang with a deep-seated ache.

It twists open into a gaping hole when he speaks his next words.

"Hey, I don't mean to pry or nothin' but when you said your name, I - "

He's blissfully cut off by the door to the mudroom cracking open, bringing with it a gust of cool air and Sarah, accompanied by another girl now, the one you can only assume is Ellie. She's shorter than her sister, though they appear roughly the same age. Her pale cheeks are painted pink with cold and she shakes snow out onto the doormat when she removes her hat to reveal knotted brown locks, dampened with sweat against her forehead.

You note that the two girls don't particularly look alike.

"Found her!" Sarah announces, while they both remove their coats and boots and leave them strewn messily in the mudroom. With the door cracked, you can see a large pile of wood stored there, and what you think must be a chest freezer.

Ellie seals the door shut behind her, locking out the cold and following Sarah to their Dad's side.

"Didn't I tell ya we got check-ins today?" he admonishes Ellie lightly.

"I was just goin' for a walk; don't have a cow, old man," she teases, already helpfully taking your duffle bag from him and slinging it easily over her tiny shoulder. Sarah erupts into a fit of giggles and you're stunned to see Joel take it all in stride, shaking his head with a fond little smirk.

"Well how 'bout you make yourself useful and walk our guest to her room?" he teases right back, mussing up her hair even more with a big hand on the crown of her head which Ellie slinks away from smoothly.

"Okay, okay," she laughs, attempting to smooth out the stray hairs to little effect.

"Room Four," Joel tells her, pulling a key from his pocket and tossing it her way. She catches it with practiced ease.

"Yes, sir," she says with mock obedience.

You all turn towards the kitchen then as a loud beeping noise echoes through the cottage and Sarah throws her hands in the air excitedly.

"My cookies!" she squeals, and in the blink of an eye, she's gone.

"Cookies?" Ellie asks, looking at Joel expectantly.

He hums. "Think she's got gingerbread goin' or something."

"Fuck yeah," Ellie says, the casual curse falling from her lips in a way that feels both completely natural and totally jarring. You can't help but laugh. Joel, on the other hand, gives her a stern look.

"Let's mind our manners, please," he warns her, in a voice that makes it sound like it's not the first time he's had to remind her of that. 

"Yeah, yeah," she mutters absently, waving a hand at him dismissively with a playful smirk. "This way, miss," she says to you, already making her way towards the staircase.

"Thanks again," you murmur awkwardly to Joel as you make your way after Ellie. He nods in response, his smile a little tighter than before, that knowing look back in his eyes.

"'Course," he says, burying his hands in his pockets. "You need anything at all - "

"I'll holler," you finish for him, repeating his words from earlier with a friendly smile.

-

The old, wooden floor creaks below your feet and Ellie hasn't stopped talking for a second.

"Room Four is the best," she's telling you as she leads you down the narrow hallway, past all the other rooms and a few more doors marked Staff Only. "You get the best view, if you like looking at the brush, I guess. Sometimes there's an owl that hangs out on one of the trees but I haven't seen him yet this winter. You'll definitely see a deer though. Do they have deer in Texas? I can't remember. Joel would know."

Joel, you note. She calls him Joel.

"I'm pretty sure they have deer in Texas," you grin.

She shrugs, reaching the last door on the left, the one adorned with a large, white 4.

"Ah, well," she says as she unlocks it and leads the way inside, still chattering away. "There's also the turkeys, they're kinda funny. And Sarah says she saw a bear once but that's bullshit."

She plants your duffle bag down onto the hardwood and spreads her arms wide.

"Here you go," she grins. 

It's cozy, a corner room so there are actually two windows, one that faces the forest beside the cabin and another that looks out onto the back lawn. The snow-covered grass is bordered by even thicker woods, nearly impossible to see through, especially as the already grey sky above begins to darken, evening rapidly closing in.

The room itself consists of a queen sized bed, made up with quilts and a superfluous amount of pillows beneath an intricately-whittled wooden headboard. Warm light bathes the space from the lamp on the nightstand, bringing into view the embroidered wall art and the large multi-coloured accent rug under the foot of the bed.

"Thank you," you tell her.

"Shared bathroom's just across the hall, breakfast's at seven, and uh....I think that's it," she concludes, though she quickly corrects herself when she remembers another detail. "Unless - sorry, shit - do you have any other questions?"

"I'm good."

"Cool," she nods, handing you the key and making her way back towards the door. You inch further into the room, twiddling the key marked 4 in your fingers.

"Oh, one other thing," Ellie calls from behind you. You twist around to find her halfway out the door. "Um, cell service is kinda shitty here, so if you need to make a call or something, just come to the front desk."

Great.

"Thanks."

She gives you one last little nod and a smile, and finally ducks out of the room.

-

It's freezing.

Not at all wanting to trek down to the front desk to call your mother, you'd opted for a text instead, just a note to let her know you'd made it to town and were safe at the inn. It had taken forever but eventually it had sent, and with little else to do, you'd changed into your sweats and curled up into bed, exhaustion quickly catching up with you after your long day of travel.

You'd slept barely an hour before you'd been awoken by the sound of your own teeth chattering, your toes numb even beneath the two quilts you'd burrowed yourself under. 

A glance at your phone tells you it's just after 8 p.m. and that the absence of daylight has apparently caused the temperature outside to drop; it’s now well below freezing. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you now see that it's snowing, the flakes all fat and fluffy where they stick to your window and coat the pines outside.

There's no fucking way you're going to be able to sleep like this.

You pad out of bed, on a mission to find more blankets if it kills you. One of those doors marked Staff Only had to have been a linen closet, surely.

Only when you creep out into the dimly lit hallway, you immediately come face to face with Joel. More accurately, you walk right into him, colliding with his solid chest and stumbling back until two of his hands on your shoulders steady you.

"Whoa, careful now," he hums.

He's still clad in his green flannel, only now paired with a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a thick pair of wool socks.

"Shit, sorry," you mumble, shaking your head as you try to wake up. Joel drops his hands.

"S'alright. You need somethin'?"

"Um." You point a thumb back over your shoulder towards your room, your bravado fading in an instant. You suddenly feel distinctly guilty for having to voice your discomfort. You've never exactly been good at asking for help. "It's just kinda cold in my room. I was looking for blankets if you have any but, I'm sure I'll be fine, it's not - "

"I got blankets," he cuts you off with a smile and if you didn't know any better you'd think he looks a little endeared.

"Oh - great."

"C'mon," he says, beckoning for you to follow him down the hall. Sure enough, he leads you to one of the Staff Only rooms, flinging it open to reveal shelves of sheets and towels and indeed, several blankets.

"How many you need?" he asks, already fishing out two and stacking them in his arms.

"Two is probably fine."

He grabs a third anyway. You hold your hands out for them but he keeps them in his grasp as he walks you back down the hall to your room.

"Sorry 'bout the cold," he adds. "Heat's actin' up. I'm gonna take a look at it tomorrow. What with this storm comin' and all..."

"Storm?"

"Some big winter storm comin' through tomorrow. I think they're oversellin' it," he smirks.

"I hope so." As if things weren't already shitty enough. 

"Don't you go worryin' your pretty little head, darlin'. You're in good hands here."

Your heartbeat inexplicably stutters at that, the way his drawl curls around the pet name and the casual use of the word pretty. You freeze up as the two of you reach your door, Joel at last handing out the pile of blankets in his arms.

"By the way," he murmurs, his voice dropping like he's telling you a secret. He leans a little closer and your breath hitches in response. "You don't gotta go sneakin' around. F'you need somethin' - don't matter the time - you just knock on my door. I'm right down the hall. Okay?"

You nod back at him somewhat dazedly. "Okay."

He pulls away, flashing you that disarming smile again and crossing the hall towards the bathroom.

"See ya at breakfast," he says.

"See you at breakfast," you reply but he's already closing the bathroom door behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway.

You fumble your way back into your room, fan the blankets out onto your mattress one at a time before curling back into bed with just one thought on your mind:

The bed and breakfast owner is really kind of handsome.

dec. 24 - the storm

You unceremoniously jolt awake at the sound of whistling wind kissing at your windows.

Under layers of woolly insulation, your body is warm and sticky with sweat. But the second you free your arms from your mountain of blankets, you're hit by a stinging kind of cold, pricking at your skin and making you shiver violently.

The forest outside your windows is almost completely invisible, cloaked by a thick fog of blowing snow. You wrap your blankets tightly around yourself, all the way up to your neck, and roll over to check your phone. You must have beaten your alarm.

You tap the screen once, twice, a third time, finally frowning confusedly when it doesn't immediately come to life. Then you realize - it's off. But you'd had it charging all night. What the fuck?

You press down on the power button but are granted only the low battery symbol in return. You check the cord and it's definitely plugged in. Unless...

You reach one arm free from your cocoon of warmth to flip the switch on the lamp on the nightstand and -

Nothing. No power.

Goddamnit.

With a heavy sigh, you steel yourself and throw the blankets off, finally rising up out of bed. Even the rug on your bare feet is cold. The hardwood is worse. Your entire body shakes as you layer up in three pairs of socks and hurriedly slip into the one sweater you'd packed. It's still not good enough. As silly as it feels, you decide to add your winter coat for good measure before ducking out into the hallway.

In the bathroom, you brush your teeth and attempt to warm your hands under the faucet but it's no use; the water stays cold no matter how long you run it.

It occurs to you then that you don't even know what time it is. What if you've missed breakfast?

"Shit," you curse under your breath, stuffing your freezing hands into the pockets of your coat and rushing downstairs.

It gets warmer and warmer the closer you get to the living room, the smell of burning wood tipping you off to the fire there. Unconsciously, you drift closer, allowing the warmth to seep into your bones and bring your frozen fingers back to life.

There are no guests on any of the couches, you note, no teenage girls or handsome bed and breakfast owners.

And as much as you'd like to stay right here in the glow of the fire, your empty stomach is screaming at you to find some food, and fast.

The sound of laughter has you whirling towards the dining room and you breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe you haven't missed breakfast after all.

Only when you reach the threshold to the dining room, you find there are no guests here either. Just Joel and Ellie, sitting beside each other at the table with playing cards in their hands, and Sarah, jotting idly in a notebook across from them. They're all dressed in sweaters and woolen hats.

"Read 'em and weep, old man," Ellie grins, slapping her cards down onto the table with triumphant relish. "Full house."

Joel raises his eyebrows and nods, his expression unreadable as he carefully assesses her hand, and then his own.

"Hey, Sarah," he says to the other girl.

"What's up?"

She looks up from her notebook and Joel cocks his chin, beckoning her to come around the table and join him. She smirks, flitting to his side to peer over his shoulder and peek at the cards he's displaying for her.

"What do you think?" he asks her.

Sarah considers his hand for a moment, eventually pursing her lips and shaking her head sympathetically at Ellie.

"Aw, what?" Ellie groans. "No fuckin' way!"

"Sorry, kiddo," Joel shrugs, fanning out his cards beside hers. "Four-of-a-kind."

Ellie throws her head back in frustration while Sarah laughs hysterically, turning to retake her place on the other side of the table when at last she notices you, wrapped in your winter coat, curiously watching the entire ordeal from your place in the kitchen doorway.

"Oh! Morning!" Sarah greets you, her brows furrowing when she notes your getup. "Uh...Dad?"

He twists in his chair to face you, his eyes widening at you wrapped up in your coat before his expression softens into a smile.

"Mornin' sleepyhead," he chuckles, rising to meet you in the entryway and walk you into the dining room with an arm around your shoulders.

He pulls out a chair for you and you uncertainly take a seat.

"Sorry - my alarm didn't go off. Is the power out?"

"'Fraid so," Joel says, rummaging in a cabinet behind him and setting a plate and utensils out on the table before you. "We got the gas goin' at least, so I can get some breakfast goin' for ya."

"Oh, I didn't miss it?" you ask up at him. He smirks.

"Oh, no, you missed it," he admits. At that, Sarah and Ellie snigger but Joel easily silences them with a look. "S'just after 11:30."

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Embarrassment washes over you - how had you overslept so much? "You don't have to make me anything, it's my own fault - "

"S'okay, darlin'," Joel assures you, placing a comforting hand on your upper back. "We're all holed up here till this storm passes anyway. You want some coffee?"

"Um, sure, okay." 

He nods Ellie and she rises from the table without question, darting to the kitchen in the blink of an eye.

"Sarah, can you see if we still got some fruit?"

"Mhm," she replies easily, closing her notebook and following Ellie into the kitchen.

It strikes you how happy and willing the girls are to help him out, and not in a way that makes it seem like they're afraid of him. It's like they genuinely want to do right by him. You can't begin to understand how he's managed to cultivate that kind of relationship with them; it's completely foreign to you.

"How do you like your eggs?" Joel asks you, backing away towards the kitchen after the girls. "I gotta use 'em up before they go bad."

"Um, scrambled is fine but - Joel, what do you mean we're holed up here till the storm passes?"

He stops in his tracks, staring back at you in confusion like the answer should be painfully obvious. "I mean it's a mess out there, darlin'. Got about three feet of snow last night."

Oh, god.

You turn towards the window for a better look and now you see it - thick layers of snow blanketing the earth and the road and the hood of your car. Ice and snow pellet the window ceaselessly, and the force of the wind outside vibrates violently against the exterior of the cottage.

You also note that your car is now the only one parked out front, alongside the rusted old pick-up you can deduce must belong to Joel.

"Did the other guests leave?" you ask, frowning.

Joel strides back towards the table, and when you turn to face him, you think he looks a bit bashful.

"There was a lull in the storm this mornin' and they got outta here when they had the chance. Most of 'em were here to see family in town for the holidays so..."

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Joel must see the worry that's begun to creep across your features because then he sighs and shakes his head, and his bashfulness shifts to look a lot more like guilt.

"I'm sorry, I shoulda woke ya," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Just - let me get you some breakfast and maybe this'll clear up."

He doesn't sound particularly hopeful. But he seems so eager to please that you can't help but give in and accept. You give him a tight-lipped nod and he smiles, excusing himself and disappearing beyond the kitchen door.

The second you're alone, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan. This can't be happening. Your first Christmas back home in years, your first genuine attempt to bridge the gap between you and your mother, to show everyone that you are the bigger person, willing to forgive and make amends and now - what? You're just the daughter who didn't show up, who couldn't even be bothered to call with an explanation. You can practically hear her voice the second she finds out the truth, when she discovers you're stuck just outside of town, in the bed and breakfast you'd willingly chose to stay in -

This never would have happened if you'd just stayed with me instead.

"Um, miss," a small voice calls and you look up at once to find Ellie poking her head out of the kitchen door. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Oh, um," you clear your throat to dislodge the lump there. "Two milk."

"Cool." She shoots you a thumbs up and slips back into the kitchen.

You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself. There's still a chance the storm will clear. You can still make it for Christmas dinner tonight. Maybe the power will come back and you can at least charge your phone.

Another moment passes and then Sarah and Ellie emerge from the kitchen at the same time, Ellie clutching a steaming mug and Sarah with both her hands behind her back.

Ellie carefully places the mug on the placemat before you while Sarah stands across the table with a mischievous smile.

"Pick a hand," she grins.

You sniff a laugh out through your nose and Sarah's smile widens.

"Um, left?" you say warily, playing along.

"Aha, good choice."

She frees her left hand from behind her back to reveal an orange. 

"What if I hate oranges?" you ask, but you're already reaching out to take it from her outstretched hand.

"That is unfortunate but we have a strict no take-backs rule around here."

You nod with put-on solemnity. "Of course. I wouldn't want to go breaking any rules."

It elicits a chorus of laughter from both Sarah and Ellie and something warms in you at the sound. You can't help but smile in response.

"Do you need anything else?" Ellie asks from beside you, and her tone lets you know she's hoping the answer is no. You tell her just that, that you're fine for now, and as you'd suspected, she collects the deck of cards off the table and darts into the other room with Sarah in tow.

You set your orange aside for now, much more drawn to the warm mug of coffee that feels like heaven when you take it in your hands. You sip it slowly and let the heat trickle down your throat, let it warm you from the inside out.

A few quiet minutes pass, Ellie and Sarah chatting away in the living room and the wind outside whipping wildly against the glass. It's almost peaceful, watching the storm from inside- if you let yourself forget you're stuck here on Christmas Eve.

"Alright," Joel's voice is suddenly saying, pulling you from your reverie as he comes through the kitchen door with his big hands full. Leaning over you, he sets down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, followed by a small bowl full of various spread packets. With his body so close, you're bombarded by the scent of firewood and pine rolling off him, transfixed by the exposed skin of his arms where he's folded up the sleeves of his cable-knit sweater.

"Scrambled eggs," he says, still leaning in close and pointing with one thick finger at each of the offerings before you. "Bit of local sourdough. And then we got butter, peanut butter, jam, uh...marmalade, I guess."

His delivery wavers on the last one and it makes you both laugh. Marmalade must not be too popular. 

"Thanks," you tell him earnestly, reaching for a butter packet. You expect him to leave you then - go join his girls in the living room - but instead, he pulls up a chair at the head of the table. He grunts as he settles in and stretches his arms up over his head. His sweater rides up his belly a bit, and your eyes widen at the hint of skin that pokes out, soft and faintly hairy.

You shift your focus to toast before he notices.

"Sorry about all this," he says, shaking his head as he drops his arms to place his elbow on the tabletop. "S'bad luck."

"I should've checked the weather," you shrug around a bite of your toast. "It's been so long since I've been up this way. I forgot how bad the winters can get."

"Nah, this is somethin' else, though," Joel posits, glancing out the window and the raging storm. "Been a while since I've seen a storm this bad."

"Figures," you grumble, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone. Joel seems to notice, his brow furrowing as he searches your face. You burn under that stare, keeping your own eyes fixed on the plate of food in front of you.

You quickly change the subject.

"They're nice girls," you say, nodding in the direction of the living room, where you can still hear Sarah and Ellie giggling away.

Joel's brows even out and he smiles at that, fondness setting in like it always seems to do when you mention them.

"Yeah, they're alright," he agrees.

You tuck into your eggs, falling into comfortable silence. You see Joel open his mouth like he's about to ask a question - the one you're sure he's been dying to ask since he'd heard your name - but you cut in before he gets the chance.

"I don't mean to be presumptuous or anything but Ellie, she's..."

Your voice trails off, not really sure how to finish the sentence.

"Adopted," Joel fills in for you, clearly unoffended. You nod; you'd thought as much. Not that it matters, of course, but something in you wants to understand their family dynamic. Maybe because of how much it differs from yours. 

You're not really sure what to say to that and you don't want to pry, so you just keep eating and wait for him to tell you more if he wants to.

And he clearly wants to.

"Her parents were old friends of mine," he explains. "We lost 'em when she was real young. She didn't have no one else. It was either I take her in or she ends up in the foster system. And I wasn't gonna let that happen to her."

"Wow," you whisper, genuinely moved and frustratingly envious. Ellie isn't even Joel's daughter by blood and the two of them seem to share a stronger bond than you and your parents ever did.

"Wasn't always easy, raisin' two girl on my own but...if I could do it all again, I would," he smiles, staring off distantly in the direction of the living room with his big arms crossed over his chest.

Christ.

He's too good, you think. Too kind. Too...annoyingly handsome.

You're staring. Until something outside catches your attention.

For the first time since you'd awoken, the films of white outside have cleared, a break in the constant precipitation finally appearing. 

"Oh, shit," you murmur, scarfing down the last of your eggs and hurriedly rising from the table. "I gotta go."

Joel frowns, watching you with concern in his eyes as you quickly shuffle past him.

"Darlin', I don't know if you - "

"It's fine, look, it's clearing up," you insist, gesturing towards the window and the slowly clearing sky.

"For now," he argues. "And the roads - "

"It's Christmas Eve, Joel," you interrupt, your voice oozing finality. "I have to at least try."

He still looks unsure - and maybe a little disappointed - but he doesn't argue it further. Not wanting to waste any time, you race out of the room, flying up the stairs to your bedroom to grab your bag and your boots. You'd been planning to sleep here tonight too but with the weather as bad as it is, you have no idea if your plan to go between your mother's and the inn will even be feasible. You'll just have to cut your time at Miller's Inn shorter than expected. 

You leave your key on the front desk and hurry out of the cabin to your car, ignoring the looks of concern that Sarah and Ellie shoot you as you pass them in the living room.

The wind is still blowing hard, the air bitingly cold against your cheeks. You trudge through the dense, wet snow to your rental car, your hope fading fast when you see the windows coated with ice and the roof buried in snow.

Determined, you wipe at the snow with your arms, desperately attempting to clear it off your windshield. You try not to think about the dense snowbank blocking back tires, how there is absolutely no fucking way you're going to be able to back out of here like this.

You have to at least try.

God, and it's always you who has to try, isn't it? Frustration boils over into wet tears that freeze the minute they spill from your eyes, as you fight with the icy handle of your car door, frozen stuck no matter how hard you pull it. God forbid your mother ever put the effort in - when was the last time she came to visit you? When was the last time she called to talk for more than ten minutes? About something other than herself?

Why is it that everyone else got to shut down when dad died and you had to be the one who kept trying?

You stumble backwards when your fruitless tugging suddenly pries the door open and you fall on your ass, right into a snowpile.

"Fuck!" you curse exasperatedly.

Two hands are on your shoulders then, a gentle voice murmuring, "Hey, hey, you're okay, I got you," before you can even start to hoist yourself back up to standing.

"You okay?" Joel's asking, unwitting tears still pouring from your eyes. "You hurt?"

You wipe away the wetness from your cheeks, putting on a brave face while Joel hooks his arms under your armpits and pulls you upright with impressive strength.

"I'm fine," you insist, pulling yourself free from his grasp. He's still got his arms outstretched like he wants to help you further, his cheeks all pink against the bitter air. He's only in his sweater, his jeans haphazardly tucked into his untied boots.

"Darlin' - "

You ignore him, stubbornly getting into your car and slamming the door shut behind you. You can see him in your periphery, watching you worriedly as you jam the key into the ignition and turn.

All it gets you is a metallic, grinding noise.

"Fuck, come on," you whisper to no one, turning the key again and saying a silent prayer under your breath.

That hollow, clanging sound echoes out for the second time, your car still refusing to start. 

A quiet sob catches in your throat and your head falls forward into the steering wheel. Defeated, you sigh, long and ragged.

A tap on the glass has your head snapping up. It's Joel, of course, peering at you through the ice-coated window.

"Why don't you come back inside, sweetheart?" he suggests, cocking his chin towards the cabin.

He looks so earnest, his brown eyes all soft and full of concern. He really is so handsome. You sigh again and accept your fate, pulling your key from the ignition and letting Joel guide you back into the inn.

-

It's quiet at Miller's Inn. Maybe the quietest it's been since you got here.

Your miserable musing is soundtracked only by the crackling fire and the faint sound of Sarah humming away while she decorates cookies at the kitchen table. You, meanwhile, are curled up on the couch in the living room, basking in the warmth of the fireplace while you try not to stare out the window.

You're not doing a very good job of it, you realize, slung over the back of the couch to get a better view of the scene taking place beyond the frosted window.

Just at the edge of the woods, Joel is chopping wood with Ellie. More accurately, Joel is showing Ellie how to chop. Sure and confident when he wields the axe, Joel demonstrates the swinging motion with practiced ease and breathtaking strength. You watch with wonder as he repeats it, over and over, imagining the soft grunting sounds he's making with each downswing, resisting the urge to bite your lip when his face screws up a bit with the effort.

Perhaps even more affecting is the way he watches Ellie when it's her turn, his gaze intent and protective each time she takes the axe in her little hands. There's something so endearing about the competent manner in which he corrects her grip and adjusts her stance, the approving nod he offers her every time she makes a clean split.

You quickly avert your eyes to the fire when you see them start to make their way back towards the cabin, cradling stacks of chopped wood in their arms.

"How's that fire doin'?" Joel calls to you as he steps inside through the back door and kicks off his snowy boots.

"Uh..." You squint into the fireplace just as a big log in the centre collapses into embers and stifles the burning flame.

"Could use some help," you admit.

Joel grins and gives you a nod, crossing the room with an armful of firewood. He sets it down by the hearth and you try not to stare as he shucks off his brown leather coat and tosses it onto the other couch beside him.

Once again, though, you find it's impossible to look away. Not when he crouches and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, not when he prods at the dying flame with an iron rod, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he does. Certainly not when he expertly places a few fresh logs onto the embers and purses his plush lips to blow into the coals, the dwindling sparks catching new life as a bright, thriving fire begins to spread.

"You see how I did that, kiddo?" he asks over his shoulder, bringing you right back down to Earth as you finally register Ellie standing behind him, watching him work with rapt attention.

"Add some wood, poke it, blow on it - boom, fire," she shrugs. "Looks easy enough."

Joel rolls his eyes as he hoists himself back up to standing with a hand on his knee, grunting a little in the process.

"You say that now," he grumbles. "But if you ain't careful, you'll singe your damn eyebrows off."

"That would look cool," she argues.

You giggle at that and Joel rounds on you. "Don't you go encouragin' her now," he says.

"What? I think she could pull it off."

"She could!" Sarah yells from the kitchen.

Joel raises his eyebrows in mock disbelief, betrayal written all over his face.

"Here I am tryin' to teach my girls fire safety - "

"Which you've taught us a million-billion times," Ellie interjects.

" - and all I'm gettin' is ganged up on."

You laugh at that, a proper throaty laugh, maybe your first real laugh since you'd arrived. Joel glances over at you at the sound, smiling warmly, his sweet eyes crinkled at the edges like he's genuinely pleased to see you enjoying yourself.

You get momentarily lost in that gaze, the way it lingers a little too long, the corners of his lips dissolving into something more pensive. It makes your cheeks warm, the intensity of his stare hitting you in a rush of fluttering butterflies. Suddenly shy, you pointedly avert your eyes.

Joel clears his throat.

"How 'bout we get some dinner goin'?" he suggests, tearing his gaze away from you at last. You exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes.

"Hell, yes!" Ellie agrees, already taking off towards the kitchen.

You take it as your cue.

"I'll just leave you to it then," you say to Joel, rising up off the couch. He frowns.

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Well, I - I don't want to intrude on your Christmas dinner. I'll just go hang out in my room."

His confusion only seems to grow the more you go on.

"But it's freezin' up there," he protests.

"I mean, yeah, but - it's Christmas Eve. I can just...let you be with your family."

"Darlin'."

He places two big, warm hands on your shoulders, his gentle touch somehow placating and exhilarating all at once. His eyes all doleful and inviting, he minutely shakes his head, effectively silencing any further arguments.

"You're part of this family tonight. M'not gonna let you spend Christmas Eve all by yourself. Understood?"

It's all you can do just to nod in response.

"You just stay here by the fire," he goes on, rendering you breathless when he moves one hand to loosely cup the side of your face and trace his thumb across your cheekbone. "And keep warm, alright?"

He does it so casually, letting you go so quickly you almost can't believe what's actually just happened.

"Alright," you agree as though you could possibly say anything else at the moment.

He smiles. "Good. I'll take care of ya, alright? No one's gettin' frostbite or goin' hungry under my roof."

"Thank you," you tell him, and there's an unexpected reverence that coats your words, one you hadn't intended.

You realize you can't remember the last time someone took care of you.

-

As afternoon fades into evening, the storm returns full swing.

Fresh snow begins to fall, squalls of white licking at the window as darkness overtakes the sky outside. You gaze out into the cold and try not to think about your mother's disappointment, all the snide remarks she'll make to the rest of your family when you don't show up tonight, bailing on Christmas dinner with no explanation.

The smell of salt and herbs saturates the cabin and you let the promise of a home-cooked meal distract you. Sarah brings you cookies and lights candles all around you, muttering to you how, "The tree looks kind of sad without all the lights."

But the tinsel there glistens in the glow of the fire, sparkling against all the mismatched ornaments you can only assume were crafted by much younger Sarahs and Ellies. The sight of them makes your heart swell in an unfamiliar way and you think, actually, it might be the most beautiful tree you've ever seen in your whole, entire life.

You eat dinner around a candlelit dining room table, situated between Joel and Sarah, almost like you belong there. Wrapped in the sweater Joel'd loaned you, feasting on the meal he'd cooked up with his daughters, you'd be forgiven for starting to believe it. Outside, the storm rages on, but in here, it is warm - safe.

Joel makes a toast to family and his girls roll their eyes but clink their glasses with his all the same. You do too, internally correcting the sentiment as a toast to this family, this family that seems so happy and comfortable and fond of one another, this family that had so generously let you in on their evening they could have just as easily turned you away. To Joel, who keeps peeking over at you from the corner of his eye, who smiles softly at you and encourages you to eat seconds, who - every so often - places his massive hand on your upper back soothingly and rubs, a gesture that feels so naturally comforting you're not even sure he's doing it consciously.

Of course, you don't miss the way Sarah and Ellie exchange mischievous little glances across the table each time he touches you. Your skin burns every time you catch them.

Clean-up consists of depositing your dirty dishes into the kitchen sink to become tomorrow's problem, the four of you eventually finding your way back into the living room to cozy up around the fire.

The girls are quick to take the bigger couch, eyeing you and Joel expectantly as you shyly sit side by side on the loveseat, your knees just barely brushing.

Something sparks there, at the place your bodies touch, torrid as the crackling fire.

"I have an idea," Ellie says, sitting up excitedly.

Joel leans back into the couch, fanning his palm out over his full belly and spreading his knees a little wider so his thigh bumps up against yours in the process. "What's'at?" he asks.

"Why don't you play us all a song?" she grins, but she's looking at you.

At that, Joel...blushes? He huffs out a laugh that almost sounds nervous, maybe a little embarrassed.

"Seriously?"

"Come on, it's not like we have anything better to do," Sarah adds.

"Oh, well, now I really want to," he retorts sardonically.

"You know what I mean."

"Please, pops?" Ellie softly pleads. "I'll sing with you."

Joel looks between the two of them doubtfully, but ultimately caves, sighing with a shake of his head as he rises up off the couch to the room behind the front desk.

"Christ..." he's muttering to himself as he disappears from your view.

The girls are sniggering again, watching your confused expression turn to realization as Joel returns with an acoustic guitar in hand.

Oh.

"Can't believe I'm doin' this..." he grumbles as he retakes his place beside you. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as you watch him carefully tune the strings by ear before strumming out a simple chord and nodding to himself.

"What do you wanna hear?" he asks the girls.

"The one with the drunk tank!" Sarah suggests.

Joel laughs and shakes his head. "'Fairytale of New York'?"

"Yeah, that one."

Joel sighs resignedly, sitting up a little straighter in his seat and dancing his fingers along the neck of the guitar. You hold your breath as you wait to hear him begin, but before he does, he looks up at Ellie with raised eyebrows.

"You'll sing with me?" he asks her.

She mirrors him, straightening her spine and giving him an encouraging nod.

There's a beat, as Joel once again appears to steady himself, his eyes quickly darting over to you, watching him with curious wonder and then - he starts to play.

It begins with a stirring introduction as his thick fingers press expertly into the strings, already gorgeous enough to make your heart pang. Then he opens his mouth.

It was Christmas Eve, babe...

You practically feel your jaw hit the floor as the dulcet tone of his singing voice rings out through the cabin. Rich and low with just a hint of rasp, he carries the melancholic opening verse beautifully, with all the comfort and familiarity of someone who's sung these words hundreds of times before.

It's like he disappears inside himself as he sings, his eyes slipping shut almost of their own volition. You're instantly transfixed, your gaze flitting between his lips and his fingers, the shadows cast onto his cheeks by his eyelashes, the relaxed set of his features even as his voice effortlessly moulds around the winding melody.

It's so earnest and raw, you're shocked to feel a stream of salt trickle down your cheek when he sings,

I've got a feeling

This year's for me and you

It's only when his eyes snap open and he nods over at Ellie, counting her in as he concludes his verse, that you tear your eyes away from him and yank yourself free from your trance.

The atmosphere shifts then as the tempo increases. Joel taps his foot and Sarah claps along as Ellie's lilting voice melds seamlessly with her father's. It's all smiles and laughter then, for them and for you, as you allow yourself to join in on their fun - even if it still feels sort of wrong. You clap your hands in time with the song and for the first time, you feel less like an audience to their joy and more like a part of it. That feeling only lingers when his duet with Ellie ends and Joel artfully shifts into a chorus of "Jingle Bells" that has the four of you singing along in varying shades of pitch.

Your voice blends in with theirs more fittingly than you would have expected, and even you have to admit that right now, it sure feels a lot like you're part of the family.

-

Eventually it comes time for the girls to go to bed, their reluctance evident as they bid you both goodnight - hugs for you and Joel - and trudge upstairs to their room. You pretend you don't see it when they flash a pointed look at their father, then you, a look he returns with a bemused frown and a shake of his head.

The moment they're gone, Joel cocks his eyebrows at you and ducks away to the office behind the front desk, returning with a cloth bag full of wrapped gifts.

"Ho, ho, ho," he chuckles and you smile too, thoroughly endeared as he sets them out beneath the tree; a few for Ellie, a few for Sarah, a grocery bag full of stocking stuffers which he splits evenly among all three hanging socks.

"You're a good dad," you find yourself saying as he finishes up.

Joel grins, appearing genuinely affected before he quickly deflects. "That's Santa to you."

"Okay, Santa," you laugh and Joel shoots you a playful wink before disappearing again to chuck his empty Christmas sack back into his office.

"I'll just wait for this fire to die out," Joel says as he retakes his place beside you. "You're welcome to stay." A brief pause. "I'd like you to stay."

"I'd like that too," you reply truthfully.

Joel grins and the fire dances in his sweet, brown eyes.

"You want a drink?" he asks then.

You smile - alcohol and the holidays; now that sounds more like the Christmas you know.

"What are we having?"

"Well - " Joel rises up off the couch with a soft groan, and you ogle at his back as he goes to rummage in a cupboard under the stairs you hadn't noticed before. "Got this nice bourbon a guest left for me or - "

"That."

He twists to smirk at you over his shoulder. "Good choice."

You can't help but return his smirk as he hurries out of the room to the kitchen and returns a moment later with two crystal glasses. He pours you each a generous, neat drink, candlelight glowing in the amber liquid. He leans into the couch beside you and clinks his glass with yours and once you've both taken a long, warming pull, he sighs and stretches an arm out behind you, opening his broad body to yours.

Maybe it's the drink - or maybe it's the way your skin has been prickling from your proximity to Joel all night - but now you're finally alone, you decide to test the waters.

"Why do I feel like you're putting the moves on me?" you tease him, keeping your tone light even though you'd really, really like for him to be putting the moves on you.

"Shit," he laughs, but he doesn't move his arm. "Would you hate if I was?"

"No at all," you assure him, sipping at more liquid courage while your heart rate increases tenfold. "Please, continue with any and all moves."

He laughs at that. "Let me work up to the next one."

"Aright," you grin, holding up your glass for another cheers. "I will patiently await your next move."

Then you both laugh, eventually falling into comfortable silence backdropped by the raging storm outside and the dwindling fire before you.

"Thank you, by the way," you say after a moment. "For all of this. You've been more generous than I deserve."

Joel tuts. "Don't mention it, darlin'. It's Christmas. Season of givin'."

While he speaks, the arm he has behind you moves and his hand comes down on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knee. Tingles shoot up your spine, both at his touch and the double entendre, but you work to stay level.

"Is that your next move?" you ask, glancing down at his fingers spreading wide over your leg.

He chuckles. "How's it workin'?"

"Little cheesy," you admit but your pulse is pounding in your ears as warmth from his palm saturates straight through your leggings and seeps into your skin.

He nods, not bothering to argue it. "That's fair. Can I keep this here?"

He twiddles his fingers around your thigh to punctuate his request and you nod.

Another few moments of quiet sipping pass, charged by his hand taking up your thigh. You lie your head back into the couch and let the warmth of the bourbon drip through your veins, oddly at ease in spite of your circumstances.

"My mom's gonna be so pissed at me," you confess.

Joel frowns. "Pissed?"

You sigh and take another long pull of your drink, more out of necessity now that you're apparently opening up to this man.

"I haven't been home for Christmas in years," you begin. "Honestly, me and my mom barely even talk. But she decided that this year - this year was gonna be the one we spent Christmas together like a family."

You shake your head and down what's left of your drink. Joel doesn't speak, just tops up your glass and waits for you to go on.

"Of course, all that means is that I had to make the trek up here, to this place that makes me...miserable - which she knows. Paid for all of it by myself, by the way. Just so she can look like the big hero who saved Christmas when I come through the door."

You stare into the fire as the admission pours from you but you can feel Joel's eyes boring into your face. His fingers tighten around your thigh and you take a deep breath.

"And then I didn't show," you shrug, the words escaping you in the form of a humourless laugh. "Came all the way up here just to - "

You cut yourself off, not really sure what you'd been about to say next. Just to...what? Spend the night with a loving family? Get cozy on the couch with a handsome bed and breakfast owner? Smile and laugh and sing and feel cared for, for once in your life?

It feels shameful to admit it, but you think part of you might be grateful for the storm after all.

"Anyway," you conclude around another sip of bourbon, the alcohol starting to tickle sweetly at the edges of your brain. "Guess I ruined Christmas."

You tilt your glass towards his with a self-deprecating smirk and Joel clinks it almost reluctantly.

"Well if that's what she thinks, then..." Joel shakes his head like he's searching for the right words. "I'm glad you ended up here with us instead."

Emotion licks at your insides and you smile in spite of yourself. "Me too."

He shifts a bit in his seat to face you full-on. He's smiling too, soft and sweet, as he reaches between your bodies to pick a small piece of fluff off the chest of the sweater you're wearing - his sweater.

The proximity is overwhelming and for a moment it feels like time stops altogether. You watch his eyes as he traces a line down your arm to take your hand in his. You let him turn your palm over in his grasp, feeling the way his calloused thumb catches on your skin when he drags it over the lines in your open hand.

"This alright?" he asks.

"Mhm," you assure him, breathless as his delicate touch lulls you into a state of peace, underscored by a sudden, burning twist of desire.

"Hey, uh..." His brows knit together, his smile fading a bit even as he maintains the steady patterns he's drawing over your palm. "Somethin' I've been wantin' to ask you..."

That look from yesterday is back in his eyes, the sympathetic knowing. But it doesn't scare you now. You've already opened your heart to him more than you've opened it to anyone in years.

You wrap your fingers around his, stifling his motions to grip his hand like a lifeline. 

"Yes, I'm who you think I am," you tell him.

His eyes remain fixed on the place your bodies are connected.

"I remember you," he whispers. It doesn't surprise you. There are no strangers in Cooperstown. "What happened to your old man...Jesus, what you went through."

He shakes his head and takes a long, ragged breath and you're certain he's thinking about the two girls upstairs, safe and warm in their beds. Doing the math in his head like he's realizing they're about the age you were when you watched your own father die in a boating accident.

"It's okay," you say quietly, squeezing his fingers a little tighter. "It was a long time ago."

"I just can't imagine..." he sighs. "And after all that, for your mama to still treat you like that..."

You shrug dismissively, bringing the rim of your glass up to your lips. "Yeah, well, we all process that shit differently, I guess."

It comes out sounding more bitter than you mean it to and you sip your drink to dull the pang of deep-seated anger in your guts.

Joel just shakes his head again, stealing your breath when he lifts your conjoined hands up to his mouth and lightly kisses the back of your knuckles. There's something so reassuring about the gesture, something so genuine in the way he whispers, "I'm sorry," into your skin.

But something else is clawing its way up your neck, something screaming at you to steer this conversation away from dead parents so you can keep feeling his lips on your skin.

"Is that your next move?" you ask him, your voice shaking just the tiniest bit as his mouth hovers hotly over your hand.

He grins against you. "Why? S'it workin'?"

You take a deep breath, and then you take a chance.

"You could...kiss me somewhere else," you suggest.

His eyes flash up to meet yours from beneath his long, dark lashes, the same thing burning bright in your core reflected back at you in his gaze. You watch with bated breath as he slowly lets your hand fall, collecting your glass and placing it on the coffee table along with his own.

He moves at a careful pace as he turns back to face you, his eyes trained on your already parted lips. His tan skin glows in the orange firelight and you want to taste him.

Unconsciously, you lean in closer as he takes your face in both his hands, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones as his gaze darts from your lips to your eyes, searching.

"Yeah?" he checks in, like he's asking permission.

"Yeah," you nod, eagerness bordering on desperation as he finally closes the space between you to press his lips over yours.

You can't remember the last time someone kissed you like Joel does. Soft and patient, his chapped lips fit perfectly against yours like puzzle pieces. You let him take the lead, let his tongue pour into your mouth and sigh when it does. Bourbon lingers on his tongue, but there's something else there too - a scent and taste that's distinctly Joel, woodsy and warm and male.

Neither of you in any rush, your lips move in a tender dance as your hands loop around his neck and your fingers find purchase in the curls at the back of his neck. A low sound rumbles in his chest in response and ignites a pang of arousal in your core.

And yet...you almost think you'd be content to just keep kissing him forever. One of his massive hands moves to cradle the back of your neck and tilt your head back so he can kiss you deeper and you press your body impossibly closer to his, until you're sure he can feel your heart beating in your chest.

He kisses you until you're breathless and dizzy, finally pulling away to meet your faraway gaze with a sweet little smile.

"How was that?" he asks.

You try to think of a smart response but all your brain can conjure up is, "Good."

"Fire's out," Joel breathes, nodding behind you.

Still entwined in his embrace, you twist to see what he's seeing; the remaining logs burnt away to black, the flue now shrouded in darkness. You shiver, but you don't feel cold.

"I guess that means it's time for bed," you say, refocusing on him, his face only inches from yours.

"C'mon," he hums, unraveling your bodies to help you to your feet. Together, you blow out the candles, sheathing the cabin in near-total darkness. You wait at the foot of the stairs while Joel checks the locks on the front door and closes all the curtains, shielding you from the storm outside for the last time tonight.

He finds you there, and in the black of the night, he guides you up the stairs, sure of his footing in spite of the darkness. He leads you down the hallway, past his room to yours, unlocking it for you with his master key.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispers and your heart falls a bit - you don't want to leave him yet.

"Oh. Goodnight, Joel," you respond reluctantly, reaching out blindly to cradle his face in your hands. Scruff scratches at your palms and you can't help yourself; you crane your neck to kiss him again, quick and chaste. "Merry Christmas."

He hums lowly and presses his lips to your forehead.

"You need somethin', you just knock on my door, okay?"

He pulls back just in time for you to tell him, okay, and then he's turning away, his form lost to the darkness the moment he's out of arm's reach.

Longing overcomes you the moment you close the door behind you.

In spite of everything, Joel had somehow managed to give you the happiest Christmas of your life. Just by opening his home to you, offering you a seat at his family's table, making you feel something close to loved; you're not sure he'll ever know how much it had meant to you.

Warmth emanates from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, curling incessantly in your tummy. It keeps you standing firmly in place, refusing to accept that the night is truly over.

As your eyes adjust to the blackness, something comes into view, something left on your dresser by Sarah or Ellie or Joel - and it shatters what's left of your resolve.

You snatch up the flashlight in a giddy haze and hurry out of your room before you change your mind.

Your feet carry you down the hall to the door marked Owner and then Joel is throwing his door open before you've even had the chance to knock. His eyes rake over you, hungry and curious.

"I need something, Joel," you tell him.

Without a word, he smiles, holding a hand out to you to pull you into his chest.

He's less patient here, in the dimly lit safety of his room, the flashlight falling to the floor as he snakes his arms around your back and crushes his mouth against yours. The moment the door closes behind you, he's crowding you towards his bed as his lips traverse your neck and his hands peel at layers of clothing.

It's all hushed and heady as you let him strip you bare and lay you out beneath him, melting at the way he gazes down at you in wonder, his palms trailing over your skin and leaving traces of heat in their wake, warm enough to combat the whipping winds of cold licking at his windows.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, shaking his head like he can hardly believe it.

"Joel," you softly plead, your fingers clawing at the edges of his sweater. "Let me see you."

He nods, a low growl echoing in his chest as he quickly obeys and lifts away his top layers.

"Oh," you sigh at the sight of him, unconsciously sitting up to run your hands over his belly, dotted with a light smattering of hair leading downward, invitingly soft beneath your touch.

Joel chuckles at your reverence, watching you as you glide your palms up and over his chest while he undoes his jeans and lets them fall away with his boxers.

And his cock might be only the thing perfect enough to draw your gaze away from his belly, thick and hard and right at your eye line. You don't wait - can't wait - just take him in your hand and stroke, peering up at him when he gently cups the side of your face. Something about his soft, lustful stare makes you smile.

His own parted lips twitch up at the corners, and it spurs you on; you lightly pull back his foreskin and sink the tip of his cock between your lips, swirling your tongue around his slit and tasting salt. Joel curses above you and you take him deeper, his musky scent all-encompassing, intoxicating. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head and tangles in your hair just as you begin to bob on him, your eyelids fluttering closed as you sigh around him.

But Joel has other plans. He pulls you off his length with gentle but insistent force, dropping to his knees and pressing you down into the mattress with his hands splayed across your stomach.

"Can I kiss you here?" he murmurs gruffly, spreading your thighs apart to make a home between them, his scruff already dragging across your skin as he nears your wet centre.

"Oh, god, yeah - yes," you nod fervently, breathless just at the offer. Merry fucking Christmas to you.

Joel groans, licking his lips before diving forward to close his mouth around your heat and lap hotly at your core.

He's fucking greedy with it, devouring you like you're his favourite meal in the world, as meticulous and patient as he'd been when he'd kissed your lips by the fire. It doesn't take him long to bring you to the edge, not with the way his tongue easily finds your clit and massages it with such caring intent you swear you feel a tear well in your eye when you come, when firelight burns behind your eyes and Joel holds you flush against his mouth with two arms hooked under your thighs.

It's all a blur after that, Joel repositioning you so he's hovering over you on the bed, hooking one of your legs up over his hip, some exchanged words about protection and not needing it and Joel's grateful groan in response. His skin is soft beneath your fingernails as he sinks inside you, your body making space for him with ease, slotting into the warmth of your cunt like he was made to be there.

He fucks you slow and urgent all at once, his whispered ramblings about how perfect and beautiful and good you are lost to the wind outside. Below the cover of his body, his strong arms braced on either side of your head, you feel perfectly protected, shielded from the storm in every way - shielded from anything bad at all - and as he crashes onto his elbows to connect his mouth with yours, you think that maybe this was always where you were supposed to end up this Christmas Eve, that maybe all the stars had aligned to bring you this; Joel grunting softly against your lips, your bodies and breaths becoming one until he's hastily pulling out to come steaks of white across your stomach.

"You okay, sweet girl?" he asks when it ends, when he's finished wiping you clean with an old t-shirt and pulled you into the solid warmth of his embrace.

"Mhm," you smile into his chest, kissing the skin there and committing the taste of him to memory. "Can I stay here with you?"

Joel strokes your hair, tugging his blankets up over your naked bodies before kissing the top of your head.

"'Course, baby," he whispers. "'Course you can."

dec. 25 - the goodbye

You're awoken by the bright light of day and the sound of knocking at Joel's door.

"Wake up!" a voice is yelling from the hallway. "Joel, wake up! It's present time!"

You blink against the daylight and exchange a sleepy smile with Joel, his soft eyes all bleary with sleep and only half-open when he calls back, "Alright, meet ya down there!"

You laugh as your head falls forward into his chest, feeling his lips press into your hair. You linger in the cover of his body and his blankets for perhaps a little too long before you finally roll out of bed.

-

It doesn't feel strange to be here anymore, sipping coffee around the Millers' fireplace, slotting into their Christmas morning as if it were yours too. You rejoice right along with the girls when they open their presents, soften when the two of them surprise Joel with a gift of their own - a songbook full of Hank Williams songs and a framed photo of Joel and his brother from when they were kids.

The power returns and Ellie calls it a Christmas miracle, the lights on the tree coming to life as the electric heaters whir all around. The storm has passed, and reality is quickly settling in, that as much as you'd like to stay, you have a flight to catch tonight and a family of your own you should make one last attempt to see before you leave New York.

Joel's hand on your knee beneath the dining room table as you share your last breakfast together only makes it harder to imagine leaving. 

But leave, you must.

The sky outside has cleared to blue, the snow having finally stopped falling some time in the night. Sarah and Ellie shovel away heaps of snow and with some careful coaxing from Joel, you're finally able to start your car.

You never could have imagined when you'd pulled into this place two days ago what a lasting impact it would have on your heart. You'd been dreading coming here, and now you can hardly stand to go.

"Thank you," you say to the Millers, your temporary family, who'd given you so much in so little time and asked for little in return. "For everything."

"Come back soon," Sarah pleads, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. Ellie joins it, pressing herself into your side and muttering a simple, "Merry Christmas."

Joel watches on till the girls untangle themselves from you to glance between you and their dad.

"We'll just, uh, leave you guys alone for a sec," Sarah says, making Ellie giggle as the two of them hurriedly make their way back into the cabin.

Alone in the driveway, Joel saunters closer to you with a small half-smile.

"Little matchmakers, huh?" you joke.

Joel shakes his head, but his smile widens. "Yeah, they like to think so."

"With them on your side plus those moves of yours..." You whistle softly. "Good luck to the next helpless young woman who gets snowed in here."

He laughs. "I don't exactly make a habit of this kinda thing, sweetheart."

"So what, I'm just that special?"

You mean it like a joke but Joel's smile fades, his tone deadly serious when he says,

"You are."

You swallow hard against the sudden lump in your throat, overcome with emotion as you throw your arms around his middle to bury your face into his chest. You breathe in the scent of his leather jacket while his own arms encircle you and squeeze.

"What'll you do now?" he asks when he pulls back to hold you by the shoulders.

You take a deep breath, a sigh that turns to vapour between your bodies.

"I'm gonna go spend what's left of this Christmas with my mom," you decide. "And I'm gonna tell her I'm sorry. Then I'm gonna get on a plane, and I'm gonna go home."

Joel smiles, something like pride in his eyes as he leans forward to press his lips to your forehead.

"You're always welcome here," he says.

"Thank you," you sigh. "Thank you, Joel."

He finally lets you go, his hand trailing down your arm as you turn away. You look over your shoulder with one hand on your car door, the two of you exchanging one last fleeting smile.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he says.

"Merry Christmas, Joel."

-

Guided by muscle memory and sheer will, you drive towards your mother's house, your nerves mounting with each passing mile. Your dread reaches a fever pitch when you pull into the driveway and your mother comes bursting through the front door, her face all screwed up with some emotion you can't place.

You take a deep breath and prepare to face the music, bracing yourself for the wrath as you reluctantly climb out of your car and meet your mom halfway through the driveway.

"Mom, I'm sorry - " you begin but you're cut off when she throws her arms around you in a suffocating hug and it's only then you realize she's crying, wet sobs catching on your jacket as she all but squeezes the life out of you.

"Oh, sweetie," she cries and she doesn't sound angry at all. Not snide or cruel or cutting. Over her shoulder, you can see the rest of your family gathering on the front porch, varying shades of relief on their faces.

"Mom - " you mutter confusedly, too stunned to even hug her back. "It's okay, mom, I'm okay."

She releases you at last, patting at your arms and your shoulders and your head like she's checking you to be sure. You frown at her tear-streaked face, not finding any trace of malice there.

"Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're here," she says hoarsely and your heart swells at how much it sounds like she means it. "We were so worried."

"You were?"

Fresh tears well in her eyes, another ragged sob getting stuck in her throat.

"The storm was all over the news - I thought - " She shakes her head stubbornly trying to dispel whatever horrible scenario she'd imagined you in. "I'm just so relieved you're safe."

"Oh," you mutter. "I thought...I thought you'd be mad."

The suggestion seems to genuinely pain her, more hot tears pouring over her cheeks as she cups your face between her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she croaks.

You're not sure either of you know what for exactly, but you let the words wash over you all the same.

"It's okay, mom," you assure her, and least for now, you choose to let it be true.

"Can you stay? For a little while?"

"Yeah, mom. I can stay."

And you do, spending your final few hours in Cooperstown in your childhood home, allowing yourself to feel at peace there. Surrounded by your blood family, you carry with you the memory of the Millers in your heart, all their unconditional love for each other and the unwavering kindness they'd shown you when you'd needed it most.

You think, probably, you'll carry them with you forever.

[peepeecotelette]

Pharmacy

Summary: (mall rats 6) Surrounded by medical supplies is a convenient time to slice your hand open. Joel wrestles your stubborn ass to treat your wound, then fucks you how you like.

Tags: Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars opinions, manhandling, descriptions of injuries (I tried to keep it as short and sweet as I could, bc I myself am a squeamish girl!! I was squirming the whole time writing this!!!) blowjobs, f masturbation, kinda rough unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, reader and Joel have googly eyes for each other

A/N: as always thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. Thank you all for your continued patience with my writing, I am a busy busy lady and you may not get another fic from me for two weeks or more with the whole finals thing, but I do have lots of shit planned! One thing at a time bug one thing at a time. I wish I could write smut for my history of Indiana final essay but I don’t think that would fly with my nun-obsessed professor. Also, thank you @noxturnalpascal and @speckledemerald for hyping me up ❤️❤️

Joel is standing in front of a map of the mall, studying it intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been at the mall with Joel, actually. With the weather getting worse with more and more snow, Tommy is trying to keep travel limited to patrol. Supply runs for necessities only, and Jackson is in need of medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, first aid supplies. There’s actually a medical building not far from Jackson, but it’s pretty well picked over at this point. 

“Mall has a pharmacy. A CVS or Walgreens, somethin’ like that. I’ll go,” Joel had volunteered in Tommy’s office. 

“I’ll come too,” you added as you were helping Tommy fill out patrol logs.

Joel sighed, “No.” 

“Why not?”

“Supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. Don’t need you gettin’ distracted by lotions and perfumes again.”

“Those are necessities,” you argue, “Besides, buddy system. It’s important for us to stick together.” 

“We are not buddies,” Joel scoffed. Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No? What are we, then?” 

Joel opened his mouth as if to answer with something sharp and argumentative, but no words came out. His cheeks turned rosy as you both shared an odd look, with Joel’s hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. The pencil you wrote with felt heavy in your hand, held awkwardly on the paper as you stared at Joel. You didn’t mean for that question to come out the way it did. What was the answer to the question, anyway? 

Tommy filled the silence with his own answer. “I know what y’all are,” he smirked. 

Joel shot Tommy a warning look, then took your jacket from behind your chair and held it open for you. “Let’s go, then,” he said. You put your arms through the sleeves, zipped yourself up and left. You could hear Tommy chuckling to himself as you walked out with Joel.

You rode horseback to the mall. Still feeling awkward from the interaction at Tommy’s, you both stayed silent, but the ride wasn’t uncomfortable. You hugged Joel tightly, and Joel savored the warmth of your cheek on his back. 

“Found it,” Joel taps the map, “I remember now. It’s downstairs.”

“Ha!” you brag, “I told you. I knew it was downstairs. I was right.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll throw a party when we get home,” Joel replied, taking off towards the dilapidated staircase. You follow close behind, dragging your fingers against the railing, letting your hand tap each of the thin rods that support it. One breaks off and falls with a clatter. Joel doesn’t bother turning around to see what it was. “You break these stairs, you find us a new way out of here,” he warns. Dramatic. You pick up the thin rail and twirl it as you walk behind Joel, then poke his ass with the piece of metal. Already exhausted by you, he sighs, “What’d you find now, trouble?”

“Lightsaber,” you answer. 

“What?” Joel tilts his head and turns around to finally see what all the noise and clattering was. You’re holding one of the thin rods from the railing, still twirling it. “No, put that down,” he tells you, “You’re gonna give yourself tetanus. Put it down, sweetheart.”

“Ellie lent me this DVD. Did you ever see this old movie, Star Wars?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “Ain’t that old, smartass. And of course I’ve watched Star Wars, who do you think introduced it to her?”

“Oh,” you reply, “Well, there was this character, Jar Jar–”

“Nope,” Joel cuts you off, “You’re done. Lost your talkin’ privileges. Drop your lightsaber and zip it.”

Still twirling the rod you ask, “You don’t like Star Wars?”

“I like Star Wars. What you watched is not Star Wars.”

“Yes it is, Joel. It was on the DVD.” 

Joel turns back around and keeps walking, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah I do. Mesa–”

Joel interrupts, “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns, “God, that movie was so stupid. Took Sarah to see it when it came out, we ended up leavin’ halfway through and gettin’ ice cream instead.” You watch Joel smile at the memory as you approach the pharmacy and he holds the door open for you. You smile with him. Joel doesn’t talk about Sarah much with you, but he mentions her now and then, at least more than he used to.

You and Joel find the first aid aisle of the pharmacy. He knows what to look for, so he peruses the aisles and stuffs his bag full of supplies. Watching him bend over, you can’t help but poke his ass again. “Knock it off, space cadet,” he says, annoyed.

You giggle to yourself and toss the rod aside. You hadn’t realized the end that you were holding was damaged when you broke it off the railing. Fuck. It’s sharp, jagged, and slices your palm all the way across. The rod clangs on the ground and startles Joel. 

Joel turns around to see the rod on the ground, and you clutching your fist tightly. “What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” you answer, feeling your hand become warm and wet. 

Joel connects the dots. He bends over and checks the rod for rust and there’s none, thank god. But the end is very jagged, almost serrated like a knife. “Open your hand.”

“No,” pressing your lips together, you lower your gaze and open your fist slightly to check your hand, then quickly shut it. Joel watches your eyes go wide and the color draining from your face. “It’s n–mmm,” you hum, your voice shaky, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine,” Joel reaches for your hand, “You’re hurt. Need to see how deep that cut is, clean it and–”

You shove Joel backward with your free hand, and he looks momentarily taken aback. There was a lot more strength behind that shove than he would have anticipated. You’re not playing, not teasing like usual. “Do you wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Don’t touch me.” 

Joel takes in your expression. You’re not trying to start a fight with him, you look worried, anxious, and defensive with pale lips and trembling hands. You had mentioned not handling blood or pain well before, but he didn’t know you were this squeamish, you poor thing. “I have to, hon.”

“Joel…”

Joel raises a hand in your direction, “Don’t argue with me on this. You need to sit down, I can tell you’re gettin’ freaked.”

“Joel,” you say his name again in a warning tone, much sharper than before. 

“I know,” he says softly, as he steps closer to you, and you step back, your feet hitting the wall behind you. You’re feeling more amped up now. “Just let me look,” as he reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, his grip tightening when you struggle against him and try to pull your arm away. “Quit squrimin’,” he grits his teeth as he fights against your strength. Minding his own strength, and with one hand gripping your wrist, he moves the other to your shoulder and forces you to the ground as gently as he can. A sliced hand is bad enough, he doesn’t need you fainting and cracking your skull open. You kick your legs and punch against him, but he pins his body on top of yours, your free hand between your body and his leg.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you spit, “Get off, get off, get–”

“Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, “Breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous.”

You stare at Joel with fiery eyes, breathing heavily through your nose. Shallow breaths, probably not getting enough oxygen to your brain, but at least you’re breathing. Joel gives you a moment to settle down.

“I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, “I don’t know how deep your cut is. I need you to let me look.”

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m gonna be gentle,” Joel promises as he flips your wrist up, gently beginning to pry your fingers open, “You look at me. Don’t look at your hand. Just look at me. Will you trust me?” 

Nodding apprehensively, you keep your focus on Joel. He nods in response, then examines your palm. He bites his cheek and frowns. 

“Is it bad?” you ask shakily.

“Uhh,” he hums, “It’s not good,” he answers you honestly. You’re cut in multiple areas and by the looks of it, the gashes go pretty deep. “You might need stitches.”

Fuck that. You squirm under Joel with all of your might to force him off of you. 

“Stop thrashin’. Stop it,” he says, holding your jaw firmly and looking into your eyes, “I’m not gonna stitch ya. We can cross that bridge when we get to Jackson. But you are risking infection. So I’m going to stop the bleeding, wash it, disinfect, then wrap your hand. That’s all.”

He has a tendency to get frustrated with you, and you’re sure he’s beyond frustrated with you right now, but he’s not showing it. He looks sincere, but you’re still on edge and lacking assurance. “Promise?” you whisper.

“I swear,” he assures softly, rubbing your jaw gently with his thumb. When you nod in response, Joel takes his coat off and folds it, then slides it under your head. He needs you as comfortable as you can be. 

“We are gonna have to amputate, though,” he jokes as he pulls out a rag from his bag and presses it into your hand. You give him a dirty look. “Kidding,” he says. 

Joel removes the rag to see if your hand is still bleeding. You catch a glimpse of the cut and the blood in your palm, running down your wrist, “Oh god, my hand, Joel–”

“Don’t look,” he repeats, “Just keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You can’t seem to peel your eyes away, and you feel lightheaded. Joel notices.

“Tell me somethin’ new,” he says, distracting you from the pain.

“Joel, please,” you whine.

“Somethin’ new,” he reminds you.

“I saw a cat yesterday.”

Joel nods in response. “What color?” he asks.

“Uh, calico,” you reply. He’s reaching into his bag, pulling out his canteen and rinsing your hand out with his water. The cool water feels soothing on your palm. 

“What’s calico?”

“It’s when a cat has three colors, Joel,” you answer impatiently, as if the answer should be glaringly obvious to him. “Fuck,”  you hiss, as he pats the wound dry. The fabric feels irritating and painful against you. 

“Tell me more. Tell me good things.”

Following his instructions, you begin rambling. It’s not hard once you start. “I saw a cat and I kicked Tommy’s ass in a board game and his baby is so cute, by the way. Almost as cute as the cat.”

“You think cats are cuter than babies?”

“Obviously. Babies are gross and they’re noisy and I finished the sweater I was crocheting for Maria and the snow looks pretty and I love you and I…” 

Joel pauses his work on your hand momentarily. He doesn't hear anything else you say after those three words. I love you. It’s a fuzzy sort of quiet, he’s in disbelief. I love you. When your hand twitches, he pulls his focus back to you.

“...And I watched Star Wars.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “You said that already, you said–”

“I did? Oh yeah. I guess I did.”

You’re clearly delirious, in panic mode, and not thinking straight. You don’t remember talking about Star Wars an hour ago, you don’t even realize what just slipped your lips a second ago. Joel smiles to himself. He’s suspected it for a while. He loves you too. But that’s a conversation for later. There’s a more pressing issue at hand, quite literally.

Joel clears his throat and blinks a couple of times. “Uhm,” he hums, thinking of something to say, “And you said you got that movie from Ellie? The Phantom Menace?” 

“Star Wars.”

“Yeah, Star Wars Episode I, The Phantom Menace,” he corrects you. You shrug. “Unbelievable,” Joel says, “Thought I taught that girl better.” He reaches for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and keeps your hand open in his. “Alright, deep breath in and out. This is the worst part, then we’re done.” 

Before you have time to breathe in and out as instructed, before you have time to argue, Joel dumps the alcohol in your palm. You yelp and tug your hand away, but he holds it still.

“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “Almost done.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“Look, all done,” he whispers as tears off a piece of gauze and lays it over your gash. “See? All done. Just need to wrap it,” Joel prepares more gauze, “Makes sense you’ve identified with Jar Jar, of all characters.” 

“What do you mean?”

Joel begins to wrap the bandage tightly around your hand. “Clumsy,” he murmurs, “Troublemakin’... accident prone.” 

“I don’t think you like Star Wars,” you tell him.

“Not the prequels,” Joel replies, “Only good thing about the outbreak is that they couldn’t finish that godforsaken mess of a trilogy.”

“What do you mean, ‘prequels’?”

“There was an original trilogy that came out before that movie you watched. Ellie didn’t show you them?”, and you shake your head no, “So you don’t know Han Solo or Princess Leia. That means nothin’ to ya?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ. What about C-3PO? R2-D2?”

“Oh, yeah. I know them. They were in that movie.”

“No,” Joel disagrees, then looking baffled for a second before nodding his head as he remembers the hour he spent watching that movie with Sarah years and years ago. “Mm, yeah, you’re right. Guess they were,” Joel concedes, “We’ll have to rectify this, you know. Have a movie night sometime.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, “You can make me popcorn.” 

“I’ll make you popcorn,” Joel says, watching a smile form on your lips. “There it is,” he praises, “Missed that smile. Don’t like seein’ you upset like that,” he murmurs, finishing your bandage wrap and securing it in place. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks as he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets your hand go. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin as he watches you and your cheeks begin to warm.

“I know what you’re gonna do with me,” you whisper. 

I’m gonna kiss you, and I’ll tell you that I love you too. That’s what I’m gonna do with you, Joel thinks, his heart beginning to race.

“Tell me, sweetheart.” 

“You’re gonna listen to my Jar Jar impression.”

Joel sighs. He watches you with adoration, and he wants nothing more than to express that adoration for you. It’ll happen when it happens. He decides to let it go for now and play along with you instead, however you want to. You deserve it, after all. He’ll put up a facade like you drive him crazy and he’ll let you believe you’re really getting under his skin, just to watch you smile and hear you laugh like you really got him this time. And he’ll tease you back, at least once more. 

“Please spare me until I lose my hearing in my other ear.” 

You oblige, smiling and rolling your eyes. Still holding eye contact with Joel, you become acutely aware of the position you’re in, that all too familiar position. Faces close, bodies closer and staring into his sparkly, warm brown eyes with his weight pressing into you. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way he took care of you, who knows. Out of the blue, you’re turned on and Joel knows. Joel cocks an eyebrow when your breath hitches, when you bite your lip and begin to squirm underneath him, seemingly now uncomfortable, aroused no doubt. “Time and place, hon,” he smirks smugly.

Heat rises up your neck and your cheeks at his accusation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah, you do. I know how you operate,” he asserts. “What’s got ya all worked up all of a sudden?” Joel asks, his hand caressing your cheek, your jaw.

“Nothing,” you lie. Your skin burns where his fingers trace.

“I think you’re lyin’. I know you like when I get rough with ya, just wasn’t expectin’ ya to like it now of all times, when I had to wrestle you down to fix that gash in your hand,” Joel taunts, “You’re very stubborn sometimes, you know that?” 

“Challenging,” you counter his claim, “And I wasn’t being stubborn. I could have taken care of my hand myself. I didn’t really need your help.”

Joel knows that’s a lie. You did, in fact, need his help. Badly. 

“That right there is stubborn.”

“No,” you argue, “And I’m not worked up right now, either.” Joel makes an amused face at you, and you wince internally. 

Shit. You fucked that up. Overcompensated.

“Right. Course not.” 

Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to argue further but Joel hushes you. “What do I get if you’re wet right now, sweetheart?” he whispers, unbuttoning your jeans. Your tummy flutters with desire as his fingertips skate across your skin. “You’re more than welcome to stop me right now,” he purrs. He’s giving you an out, a moment to make a choice, but you don’t dare stop him. And Joel grins. He snakes his hand down your pants, underneath your thin cotton panties. The anticipation builds with the tickle of his fingers lightly dragging over your mound, his middle and ring fingers tracing over your lips. You gasp quietly when he dips his fingers at your core, his fingertips collecting your arousal. You stifle a whine as he pulls his hand away from your body, showing you his two fingers glistening with your slick. Joel clicks his tongue, “Can’t be comfortable,” he murmurs, his tone sarcastic and sympathetic all at the same time. “This all for me?”

“No,” you breathe shakily. Yes. 

“You’re lyin’ to me,” he mumbles, bringing his two fingers to his lips. His mouth makes obscene noises as he sucks them clean of your arousal, humming at the sweet taste. Before you can think, he’s pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his fingers finding their place back at your pussy. “You could tell me the truth and I’d go easy on ya,” he offers, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You love the thrill, that feeling in your stomach. Joel gives you a moment to answer, but you don’t. “No?”  he asks before situating himself on the ground with you, backing himself against a wall and pulling you into his lap. “Gonna make it worse for yourself,” he says, spreading your legs apart and hiking up your shirt, one hand playing with your pussy and the other kneading your breasts, teasing your nipples, “Why don’t you tell me how much ya needed this, hm? How you want me to make it all better.”

You sigh, a soft Joel falling from your lips as you become wetter, more sensitive as Joel’s fingers dance through your slick folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, fingers curling into that spot that he so loves. His thumb rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and he flicks the thumb of his other hand across your sensitive nipples, the combination of actions filling you with a deep, hot pleasure. You rest your head on his shoulder, the scratchy hairs on his cheek pressing against your forehead. You reach behind yourself to touch him, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” Joel shoves you forward, careful not to use too much of his strength but enough to let you know that he’s in charge. He’s always in charge. He takes his folded coat from the ground and positions it in front of himself. He stands up tall, knees popping as he rises. “Since you have nothin’ better to do with your mouth than tellin’ lies…”  Joel snaps and points to his coat, “Might as well keep you quiet instead. Down,” he instructs, “On your knees. Do it now.”

“Yes, Joel,” as you assume the position.

“Ah, now she speaks,” he taunts, the quiet metallic clang of him undoing his belt buckle sending excitement shooting through you. “Open,” is his next command, “Nice n’ wide, hon, you know how,” he instructs as he pulls out his cock, hard and with a pearly bead of precum glistening on his head. You open your mouth for Joel, eyes wide and Joel taps his member on your tongue. “Keep ya from doin’ that stupid fuckin’ impression, too.”

Your eyes light up as you think of something quippy to say, but Joel slides his cock into your mouth to keep you from doing so. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, “Quiet.” He’s delicious, masculine, heady, and intense. He fills your mouth entirely and you swirl your tongue around him, tracing thick veins and salty skin. “Attagirl,” Joel praises you, gripping the back of your head and pushing himself further into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you, “Right there.”

He pushes you further than you’re used to, but not to the point of discomfort. His tummy nudges your forehead as your nose presses against dark curls at the base of his dick and you use your hand to cup his balls. As you hum against him, you wonder if Joel intends for this to be a punishment. His tone and the way he conducts himself is commanding, but the way he fucks your mouth is gentle. 

“Still not worked up, right? Don’t need me?”, he asks, staring down at you with raised eyebrows. You shake your head no, lying again. “Okay,” he says, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t come. Not until you tell me what I wanna hear.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring your fingers to your core, feeling your arousal. You push two fingers into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out and trying to mimic the way it feels when Joel does it.

As you fuck yourself, you hollow your cheeks around his thick cock, letting him feel every inch of your soft and wet mouth. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your cheek is gentle, caressing your skin softly. He looks down at you through hooded lids and as your eyes flutter shut, you wonder what he’s thinking. 

The way you’re touching your pussy hardly counts as fucking yourself, it’s teasing at best, and excruciating at that. You rub circles around your clit steadily, subtly, needing more than what he’s told you to give yourself. With your fingers working your clit and your mouth working Joel, the familiar pleasure of your climax is just within reach. Feeling yourself reaching your peak, you look up at Joel, “What are you doin’?”, he asks, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

You pull your mouth off of his cock to whisper, “Please, Joel,” which garners an irritated look from him. Joel bends lower to grab you by your bicep and force you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over an empty shelf of an end cap. He parts your legs and drags his cock through your folds with one hand, the other gripping your hip. 

“Need those magic words, sweetheart. Say it, ‘I need you, Joel’. Go on, now. You got it.”

With the leftover feeling of your ruined orgasm and Joel’s cock teasing your pussy, you fold immediately. “I need you, Joel,” you breathe, “I need you.” 

“Tell me more. How do you need me?” as he continues to tease. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, “Please.”

“Need me to fuck ya,” he repeats, amused. Joel notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, “How ‘bout that. Tell me somethin’ I didn’t know.” 

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t give you time to answer before he buries himself inside of you. You groan at the sudden intrusion, how deeply he enters you and how full you feel. 

He doesn’t need to experiment with you, doesn’t need to vary how he fucks you. You grip the edge of the end cap with both hands as he finds his pace immediately. His cock hits you right where you need him. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaching for your bandaged hand, “Don’t hold that. S’gonna hurt your hand. Hold mine instead,” as he wraps his palm around yours. “Better?”

“Better.”

You’re lost in it all, his hand holding yours tightly and his thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. His face is right next to yours, his nose buried in your hair as he nips at your ear. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as he fucks you. He moans softly, his breath feels warm. Each thrust feels deep and intentional. “Good girl. Takin’ my cock so good.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. 

He makes stuttering, strangled sort of noises. His breathing is sharp and unsteady through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture him perfectly, his messy salt and pepper curls and that deep set line between his brows. 

He fucks you hard and rough, both of you panting and moaning. Soon enough, his rhythm becomes frenetic and stuttering. “Squ– fuck, squeezin’ me too good, I’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

“Let me come, Joel,” you plead, “Please.”

“I know, I know. Don’t need to beg me, darlin’,” Joel coos. He snakes his hand between your thighs and quickly finds your clit, his thrusts still steady and deep. He expertly paints circles around your clit as he becomes sloppier and frenzied. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls begin to clench and squeeze him, “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah, s’it, let go for me,” he pants. 

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud gasp, gripping his hand hard. Even after he helps you ride out your orgasm, he doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. You bite your lip to stifle yourself as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting your insides with his seed.

You catch your breath with Joel as he begins to go soft inside you. You feel empty when he pulls out of you, craving the weight of his hand on yours after he lets go. As your breathing slows, turn around to face Joel. His dominant, taunting demeanor is gone and he helps you back into your clothes, then examines the bandage on your hand. He frowns when he sees he’s crumpled it and dampened it with his sweat. “Hang on,” he murmurs, quickly reaching for more gauze to rewrap it. 

You touch his shoulder, “Just– let’s wrap it again at home. It’s just gonna get ruined again.”

“No, I promise I’m not gonna clean it again, I just wanna–” Joel stops talking when you reach for his hand. He looks at where his hand connects with yours, then looks at you. “Okay,” he says. He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say more. You look like you want to.

Hand in Joel’s, you walk together out of the mall. The horseback ride home is quiet. You hug Joel tightly, and Joel savors the warmth of your cheek on his back again.

“Joel?” you ask. 

“Yeah, hon.”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna hear my impression?”

“I’m sure,” Joel says, but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

as always, i appreciate all of my readers. please please please leave a comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed, your comments really do mean the world and keep me going <3

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[peepeecotelette]

#5 Joel dealing with his fiesty preggo wife - angry af

Can be read with others in the series or standalone

Notes: Pedro chewing gum between takes on set does things to me.

Warnings: unprotected rough sex, Daddy kink, degrading language, reader being mean at first but Joel gives it right back *winkwink*

18+ ONLY

- - - -

The two of you are sitting in the living room on your respective sofas. You keep giving Joel the devil eye from your book in your lap as he watched the football game on TV.

Eventually, you roll your eyes, slam your pages shut and stand up, barreling past him and intentionally knocking your shin angrily against his knee.

"The fuck?" He coughs.

"You're fucking annoying, Miller."

"Funny, thought that was your name too now?" He quips, eyes staring back ahead to the TV while he points to the gold band on his left finger. "What have I done now?"

"Your chewing."

Joel side eyes you, expression unchanged as he blows the most obnoxious bubble from his gum imaginable before letting it pop! and sucking back in his mouth to chew. "What about?"

“It's annoying. And you're disgusting."

"Am I now? What else?"

"You've got a big ugly ass nose, too."

As much as Joel suspected this angry outburst out of nowhere was just the pregnancy setting every little nerve on edge with you, he want exactly privy to being attacked with your foul words.

"S'that right? you didn't seem to have a problem with my big ugly ass nose last night when you came four times from this snout nudging your little clit when I ate ya out."

"I was fakin' it," you scoff unconvincingly, the both of you knowing it’s a lie. But you refuse to back down. "While we're at it, here's another thing: You eat pussy like a bitch."

Joel Miller did not like it when a woman had to fake shit around him. Let alone his woman obviously lying about faking it. He stands up, the broad physique of his body instantly shadowing yours. "Ya know, I don't really like your tone today, young lady." He approaches you calmly but with a threatening predatory aura.

You tilt your head mockingly. “Yeah? My young lady self is stuck here with your old, miserable, lazy ass." You don't shuffle away, feet staying planted where they are until he's directly on top of you. Your eyes narrow, challenging one another. "It's a honestly a miracle that you even knocked me up with your wrinkly, shriveled, limp dic—“

 - 

Being married is a funny thing. Sometimes you don’t even have to say what it is you don’t realize you need, but your spouse is very adapt at picking up on it. Like right now, with face being shoved into the headrest of the couch by your husband’s meaty hand on top of your head, pregnant belly hanging over the curve of the cushion while you’re knees rub against the plush seat, Joel’s incessantly powerful hips driving forcefully into your stuffed cunt over and over again like a screen door in a hurricane. 

You’re smiling like a happy drunk, moaning off the top of your lungs as Joel’s cock continues to fill you effortlessly. He’s grunting and swearing, drips of his sweat trickling on to your arched back. Normally this position would hurt, especially with the extra 30 pounds of weight in your middle completely weighing you down, pressing uncomfortably into the couch, but my, oh my does it feel like a incredulous weight off your once aggravated mind.

“Ugh--ahh! FUck!” You cry, teeth sinking into the plush leather.

“What? Ya tired already?" he taunts, panting gleefully at your submissive state. "You wanted this. Remember? Just needed a good fucking, is that it?” He seethes, rutting his hips like daggers. 

You nod dumbly, elbows fighting to keep you and the baby from being plowed into the cushion. You throw as much of your weight back on to him with each thrust, forcing him deeper.

“Yeah, oh fuck me baby— yeah that’s it.” He licks his lips, watching the spot where your swollen and glistening pussy continues to suck his length back in. “My poor little wife, needed her cunt fucked stupid to get that little brain to shut off. Little cumdump gettin all antsy, startin’ a fight when she just needed a fresh fillin'. Don’t you worry, angel. Daddy’s here to put ya back in your place.”

With one hand still forcing your face into the headrest, the other is gripping your meaty hip, bringing you flush against his thighs with each puncture. You can feel him reaching the deepest part of you, the part that you didn’t know needed itched until Joel knew to stick his cock in it.

“Ye-yes daddy!” you whine when he hits that squishy spot inside that has you seeing stars, finger nails biting into the leather as you milk his cock with your orgasm.

“Ah-fuck yeah baby, keep goin’, keep cummin’ on Daddy’s dick—that’s my whore—my good wife—FUCK yeah!—fuuucckkk, ya needed that cum, I can feel it. Squeezin’ me so god damn tight. That’s it, just let go, give me everything, Daddy’s got ya.”

And what made Joel Miller so different, so husband and now soon-to-be-father worthy, is that, even though he’s railing his heavily pregnant wife in a position that would cause most women pain, you were as comfortable as can be. Despite the aggression that poured from his lips and hips, his hands occasionally cradled your tummy, checking on the baby’s movements. Glides down your back, massaging your spine to ensure you’re relaxed and not cramping. Listens for your breathing, the sounds that escape your throat, waiting for any sign that you might be in pain. He’s constantly making small adjustments for your comfort without you even fully realizing it. You couldn’t be more in love with him.

And his big fat delicious cock that put a beautiful baby in you and hopefully, will continue to do so for many years to come.

- - - -

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[peepeecotelette]

Cream

Summary: (horny husband!joel x reader) Joel is insatiable. He convinces you to get it on at his aunt's house on Thanksgiving. He's also got a lot of dirty Thanksgiving jokes he thought of last year that he's been saving to annoy you.

Tags: Whipped cream play, unexpected breeding kink, unexpected daddy kink, unexpected praise kink, biting, (this fic was very unexpected as a whole) piv, creampie, smut, oral (f receiving), joel is your husband but that doesn’t stop him from relentlessly flirting with you, dirty thanksgiving jokes, fear of getting caught

A/N: idk what happened sunday night when I conjured this shit up. shoutout @gracieispunk because i love her. shoutout @noxturnalpascal because i love her too, and she strokes my ego and fixes my silly little mistakes when she sneak peaks my fics. and also shoutout @papipascalispunk because i love her as well.

It’s Thanksgiving. A truly underrated holiday. Yeah, you’re at your husband Joel’s eccentric Aunt Jackie’s house, and yeah, the kids are screaming and it’s loud as hell, but you’re happy. A full belly and your jeans undone to accommodate. Sarah and some of her cousins are in another room playing video games, and you’re with Tommy in the living room, dozing off to the sound of distant cheering on the TV as the football game plays. Tommy had noticed you falling asleep, so he laid a blanket on you and turned the volume down. Such a gentleman. 

Unlike Joel. 

It would seem that Joel is a gentleman, but you know better. Joel loves to get under your skin, and has a habit of being unable to keep his hands to himself. Earlier in the kitchen, Aunt Jackie was preparing sides for dinner and you were at the oven, basting the turkey and enjoying a nice conversation with her when Joel snuck up behind you and squeezed your ass. You yelped and felt your cheeks warm, embarrassed that he chose that moment out of the entire day to grope you. “You really are the master baster, honey,” he whispered. He tried to keep his voice low, but his aunt had heard his dirty mouth. She glared at Joel. “Really, Joel? It’s Thanksgivin’.”

“What’d I do now? Why am I always in trouble?” Joel wasn’t exaggerating. He really was always in trouble with Aunt Jackie, and rightfully so. She used to babysit him and Tommy when they were boys, and Joel was always a troublemaker. That trait has lasted well into adulthood. 

“I’m gonna wash that mouth of yours out with soap,” Jackie chastised Joel, who rolled his eyes. When Joel dipped his finger into the bowl of mashed potatoes you made to steal a taste, Jackie smacked him in the arm with a wooden spoon. “Go bother someone else, you animal. Leave us girls alone,” Joel raised his arms in surrender before giving you a kiss on the cheek and stealing another bite of potatoes. You shooed him away and when he left, Jackie turned to you and said, “They’re dogs. All of them. Tommy’s a good boy, though.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Tommy is a good boy.”

-

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in your food coma, curled up on the couch and resting your head on a pillow. You’re in that half asleep, half awake sort of state where you’re slightly aware of your surroundings, but not entirely. You wake up a little when you feel a weight by your feet. It’s Joel. “Hey, sleepy,” he whispers. “You want some pie? S’blueberry. Got it before everyone else.” 

Ooh, that’s your favorite. “Yes, please,” you say groggily. 

“Where’s my piece, Joel?” Tommy asks. 

“You ain’t my bride. You’re the younger brother I never wanted,” Joel taunts, though his tone is a little more spiteful than joking. “Go get it your own damn self.”

“I’ll get you a piece, Tommy,” you offer. Joel looks offended, and Tommy smiles at you with kind eyes.

“You’re too nice, sweetheart,” Tommy tells you, stretching out on his chair and rubbing his belly. “Don’t worry about it. Could use the extra steps after all that turkey, anyway.” 

Tommy leaves to go into the kitchen, and you’re left with Joel and your slice of pie. He looks so handsome today. Facial hair neatly trimmed, but the hair on his head a little longer and curlier than usual. He likes to grow it out in the colder months. He’s wearing a plain green flannel, many years old and somehow both softer and scratchier than all the other flannels he owns. 

Joel hands you your plate. He knows you so well, knows your perfect pie to whipped cream ratio. And then you look at Joel’s plate and just sigh. Oh, Joel. His slice of pie is paper thin, nearly translucent. You could hold it up to a lamp and see light through it, probably. The rest of his plate is filled with ribbons and ribbons of whipped cream. 

“What?” Joel asks you. 

“Joel, maybe have some pie with your whipped cream,” you tease. 

“I do have pie,” Joel argues, gesturing to his plate. “See?” He takes a bite, and you’re not even sure there was any pie on that fork. You wipe some whipped cream from his lip with your finger, then bring it to your mouth and lick it clean. Joel smirks, wiggling his eyebrows, “Got somethin’ else you could lick if you like cream.” 

You roll your eyes, then take a bite of your own pie. “Classy, Joel.”

“Yeah, you want it,” he purrs seductively. 

You roll your eyes, but you do. You can’t lie to yourself. You really made out like a bandit, marrying Joel. Not only is he handsome, generous, and a wonderful man, he’s an excellent lover. You read once in a magazine that some 40% of women in heterosexual relationships don’t have orgasms with their partners. Those poor, poor women. Hopefully Santa gives them some vibrators in their stockings for Christmas. This Thanksgiving, you’re grateful you’re not part of that 40%. This Thanksgiving, you’re thankful for the never-ending orgasms so eagerly given to you by your absolute horndog of a loving husband.

Joel’s mindlessly eating his whipped cream and watching the game. He smiles when he hears Sarah giggling with her baby cousin, and you smile too. “So I’ve been thinkin’,” Joel starts. 

“Oh no. That’s not good,” you say. 

“Yeah, usually ain’t. But I think this is one of my better ideas,” You take a bite of pie and motion for him to go on. “Well, Sarah’d be a good big sister, don’t you think?”

You know exactly where this is going. “I do,” you smile. 

“And you’d look so sexy with a bump,” he whispers. 

“I would,” you agree. 

“...All swollen with my baby,” Joel continues, biting his lip. Somehow his plate is already licked clean. You have to laugh, he’s a bottomless pit. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing your thigh. “Let’s go make one. Now.”

“Now? At Jackie’s house?”

“Now,” Joel confirms.

You scoff and remove his hand from your thigh. “No way. Not here.” 

“Yeah,” he encourages you, putting his hand back on your thigh, it creeps upward. “Yeah, we can do it here. Quick an’ dirty. And I know Jackie wants more babies in the family. What do you think, nice Christmas gift for Auntie, huh?” You giggle, trying to remove his hand again. He keeps it firm on your thigh. “We could at least practice.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I thought I married a nice man.”

“You knew what you were gettin’.” 

True as that may be, you politely decline his offer. “Pass,” you say. “Go master baste your own turkey.” Joel chuckles, and turns his attention to the game. You cut off a big piece of pie with your fork and bring it to your mouth– 

“Aw, fuck!” 

“What?” Joel turns to you, concern in his eyes before he smiles. The pie fell off your fork, with some of it falling down your cleavage and the rest falling on your nice sweater. And you love this sweater. It’s your favorite. Fuuuuuuck. 

Joel follows you as you get up from your place on the couch and find Jackie. Jackie helps you to the bathroom and gives you some cleaners to try and work out the purple blueberry stains, then gives you one of her favorite Christmas sweaters to wear so your own sweater can dry. “It’s okay, honey. Just wear this,” she tells you. It’s a hideous sweater, but an incredibly sweet gesture. “Shit happens!” Jackie laughs. 

Joel had planned to follow you into the bathroom, but his Aunt Jackie whisked you away so quickly he couldn’t keep up. The sound of whipped cream coming out of the can caught his attention instead. 

Joel walks over to Tommy, who has the same habit of making his plate 90% whipped cream and 10% pie. They come by it honestly.

“Gimme that,” Joel mumbles as he rips the can of whipped cream from Tommy’s hand. “I need this more than you.” 

“What the hell?” Tommy’s baffled as Joel takes off in your direction, then it clicks for him. What exactly Joel’s planning on doing with the whipped cream. “Oh Jackie,” Tommy draws out in a singing tone.

Joel shakes the can in Tommy’s direction. He whispers, “If you snitch, I snitch.”

Tommy scoffs, “You don’t got any dirt on me, brother.” 

“Jackie’s Chevy. Sophomore year.”

Tommy turns bright red, stutters a little, and Joel walks away confidently. He doesn’t know how exactly Tommy fooled Jackie into thinking he was a good kid, but Joel knows for a fact Tommy was just as bad if not worse than Joel.

Joel knocks on the closed bathroom door. “S’me,” he says. 

You open the door just a crack, and Joel shimmies in. You’re in just your bra with your sweater laid out on the counter of the bathroom sink, aggressively rubbing the fabric together. “Fucking sweater is stained,” you complain. “Trying to get it out.” 

“We can just toss it in the wash, hm?”

“No, Joel, we cannot just toss it in the wash,” you huff. “It’s not–fuck, it’s not coming off.”

Joel leans over your shoulder, his large, warm hands finding their way to your waist where he rubs his thumbs back and forth. “You’re stressed,” he whispers, pressing kisses into your shoulder and neck. Desire flutters through your insides when you feel his hard bulge pressed against your ass. “Don’t be. We’ll get it out.” 

“Joel, it’s my favorite–”

“I know it is, sweet girl,” he kisses higher on your neck, behind your ear. Your breath hitches and you try to push him away, but he remains right where he is.

“Need to get the stain out, before it—”

Kshhhhh

Joel squirts a ribbon of whipped cream across one of your shoulders and begins to lick it up. You stop working the stain out of the fabric and look up at his reflection in the mirror. You have so many questions. Why does he have a can of whipped cream? Why is he doing this now, of all times? And how in god’s name is he still able to stuff his face? 

You open your mouth to speak, and in a swift motion Joel spins you around and fills your mouth with whipped cream. He dots it on your shoulders, your chest, between your breasts, where he finds that piece of pie you dropped. He picks it out of your bra and eats it without a second though. “Mmmm,” he hums, licking up the cream dotted over your body. 

You swallow the whipped cream, “Joel, what are you doing? Someone’s gonna hear us and my sweater–”

Kshhhhh

“No one’s gonna hear us,” he purrs. “And I’ll buy you more sweaters. Just not tomorrow. Fuckin’ hate Black Friday.” 

Oh, he’s such an ass. Shutting you up with whipped cream. You try to argue, but he’s undoing your bra and dotting your nipples with the cream, then a long curved line on your tummy. A smiley face. You married a middle school aged boy in an adult man’s body. 

He kneels before you, sucking one of your nipples and moaning at the way it hardens beneath his tongue and the sweet taste of the whipped cream, then repeating the action with the other. He drags his tongue over the curved stripe on your tummy, then unbuttons your jeans and pulls them down your thighs, helping each leg out of the clothing.  

“Joel,” you whine, “Joel, serio–ohh, god,” as he pulls your panties down too, tosses a leg over his shoulder and licks a long, fat stripe up your slit. 

“M’done with the whipped cream now,” he breathes, his hot breath tickling your core. “S’is…much better.”

Your fingers find his head and tug on his salt and pepper curls, your eyes fluttering shut as he eats you like a man starved. Which, he probably is. For both food and your body, he has a voracious appetite. 

He drags his tongue through your velvety folds, dipping at your core and tasting your arousal. He circles and sucks your clit, holding your standing leg tight with his arm as you wobble. You’re a shaking mess of crying and moaning. 

You whine as he pulls away, “Had this all under control,” he tells you, “But you’re bein’ too loud. We are gonna get caught,” You drop your mouth open in shock. Joel’s not one to leave you high and dry. But quickly, he rectifies your displeasure by stuffing your mouth full of whipped cream again. “Quiet.”

You nod and cover your mouth, sitting on the sink countertop and spreading your legs wide for Joel. “So thankful for you. My beautiful wife,” he coos. “S’thankful for this pussy. So fuckin’ good t’me.” 

“I love you, Joel,” you breathe. 

“Love you more, honey.”

His knees pop as they press into his aunt’s hideous mauve rug covering the floral tile floor. He dives right back in, licking and tasting your wetness, savoring the feeling of your soft folds under his tongue. He inserts one, then two fingers into your pussy, curling his fingers repeatedly into your sweet spot that he knows so well. With his free hand, he reaches for yours and holds it tight. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, teases the sensitive area with the tip of his tongue. You do your best to keep yourself quiet.  

You come undone, short, breathy whimpers stifled by your hand. With his tongue and fingers, he works you through it until you’re shaking, clamping your thighs around his head. He loves this part. Loves to play with you until you’re a writhing, squirming mess under his tongue. 

Joel stands up to meet you, holds your face into his hands and kisses you in a way that is so very Joel. Rough, but gentle. Urgent yet slow. Biting your lips softly and tasting the sweet combination of whipped cream and your arousal. 

His hands leave their place on your jaw to unbuckle his belt and pull out his member, already fully hard and leaking precum. At any other time than now, your mouth would be watering. You’d love to return the favor. But you just can’t right now. 

“Joel,” you place your hand on his to stop him.

“Yeah, you want my wishbone”

Oh, Jesus Christ. You bite your lip to hide your smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh at one of his dirty Thanksgiving jokes. The man doesn’t have an off switch. “Joel, seriously, I’m bloated and full and–”

Joel ignores your protests and pulls you off the counter, turns you around and spreads your legs wide. His eyes are soft and warm in the mirror’s reflection. “So am I. Don’t worry about it. We’re fat an’ happy, right?” he asks, “Why don’t you just stay pretty like this f’me, and I’ll fuck you real nice, hm? Ya won’t have to lift a finger. Let me burn off some calories.”

You don’t need much convincing. “Yeah, I want that,” you agree.

“Good. Turkey’s not the only thing getting stuffed this Thanksgivin’.”

Oh. dear. lord. 

“I’m divorcing you for that.”

“S’fine,” Joel grunts as he adjusts your hips, pushes your chest down a little and lines up with your center. He drags his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick. “Just marry you again. Wasn’t too hard the first time. Now how about I give ya some baby gravy.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you giggle, “Gross.” 

“Yeah, that–that wasn’t great. M’sorry.” 

With a low chuckle, Joel enters you in one swift motion. You watch his face in the mirror, that look of euphoria on his face, how his brows knit together and he groans softly. He runs his hands up and down your spine, squeezing your ass and sides before finding a comfortable place at your waist. 

“Oh,” you moan, “Mmm, yeah.” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Love those pretty noises you make f’me.”

Joel lets you get used to him for a moment, kissing and biting at your neck. When you’re ready, he pulls out of you again and pushes right back in. “S’it,” he murmurs. “Such a good pussy.”

When Joel finds a steady pace, not too fast, you back your hips into him. You watch him in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue peeking out as he focuses. Eyes darting from your face, contorted in pleasure, down to your bouncing breasts and back to your face. You’re so beautiful like this and you’re all his. 

Joel adjusts your stained sweater on the sink countertop and presses down on your head gently, lowering you so you can just relax while he fucks you, just like he promised. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to control your noises, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans muffled. You don’t even realize the words fall from your lips, but they do. “Yeah, daddy,” you moan. 

“So that’s who I am, huh? Daddy?” Joel pants, and you feel your cheeks heat up. “I can be daddy if that’s what ya want. Y’want that, sweetheart?”

You nod shyly. “Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah, daddy’ll take good care of ya. I always do, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” you agree in a breathy tone.

“Attagirl,” he praises you, “Just relax for daddy. That’s it, now. Gonna look so pretty with my baby in ya.” 

You don’t have enough energy to move with him, back your hips into him like you usually would. So you lie there, bent over the counter and just take him. You’re lost in him, lost in Joel, the way he makes you feel, the noises he makes. His thighs hitting your ass, jeans at his knees and his belt buckle hitting your legs, his balls slapping against your clit. One of his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You feel good, s’good, mama.”

Joel lets out choked and quiet groans, trying to keep himself quiet. You can hear his sharp and unsteady breathing through his gritted teeth, and you know exactly how he looks in the mirror. His messy curls bouncing with each of his thrusts and his brow furrowed, his attention all focused on you, fucking you just how you need.

He wriggles a hand under your torso, then holds your jaw in his hand and guides you to look in the mirror. “Look at yourself, sweetheart,” he coos, but you can only look at Joel. His neck and cheeks are flushed and he’s got that hungry look in his eyes, a crooked smile on his lips. “You look real pretty with Daddy’s cock in ya, baby,” His hand trails back down your torso before he reaches between your thighs and finds your clit, tracing you those circles he’s perfected.

“M’close, Joel,” you whine. 

“Alright, now,” he breathes, “Keep lookin at us when you come,” as if you could peel your eyes from the sight in front of you. He rubs your clit expertly as his once calculated and steady thrusts turn frenzied and he begins to lose his rhythm. He’s close too.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel,” you gasp, feeling your walls begin to pulse and squeeze him. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Go on, let go f’me,” he pants. “Let go f’me, sweet girl.” 

Within moments, you fall apart on him. Joel covers your mouth before you can moan, his hand feels damp and warm on your face. Your orgasm is deep and powerful and so satisfying like you didn’t realize how much you needed this. Joel fucks you through it, chasing his own release. The sensation becomes overwhelming. “Too much,” you try to say, but the words hardly come out.

Your frantic moaning is muffled by his hand, “I know, mama. I know,” he groans. “Quit squirmin’, need t’fuck you deep. Gotta fill you - ohh, fill you up,” as he thrusts into you deep, his hard cock kissing your cervix and making you ache. He speeds up before he leans forward, his teeth biting softly into your shoulder as hespills into you with quiet shuddering breaths and grunts, filling you deep with his spend. He soothes the bite marks with his tongue as he comes down from his high. 

His come is warm as it drips from your pussy and down your thighs when he pulls out of you. You turn around to face Joel, both of you panting as you catch your breath. He wears a mischievous smile and wiggles his eyebrows at you, like he’s taunting you. He won. He fucked you at his aunt’s house. On Thanksgiving. He wears that goofy smile as he bends down to clean you up a little and dress you back in your clothes and his aunt’s spare sweater, green with a little embroidered snowman on it. Yeah, that stain isn’t gonna come out of your sweater. 

Joel opens the bathroom door and guides you to exit first. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, wiggling yourself between Joel and the door. “You first. We can’t walk out together. Everyone’s gonna know what we did,” you say as you push him. “And here–take this,” as you shove the now room temperature can of whipped cream into his hand. 

“Yeah, alright,” Joel rolls his eyes. “But wait, I gotta tell ya somethin’.” 

“What?”

“On a turkey I do love dark meat, but when it comes to you I’m a breast man through and through,” he teases as he gropes your tits. You swat his hand away, but Joel looks proud of himself.

Middle schooler. In an adult man’s body.

“How long have you been saving that one, Joel?” you taunt. Joel shrugs and kisses your cheek, then leaves.

When you come downstairs after counting to 100, ‘one Mississippi, two Missisippi…”Tommy wears a disappointed frown as he tries to squirt ribbons of whipped cream onto another slice of pie. Hardly anything comes out. You notice Joel wearing a sly smirk, and Tommy glares at Joel. 

“There you are. Been lookin’ for you,” Jackie startles Joel and grabs him by his bicep, marching him to her kitchen sink. “I’m putin’ you to work. You’re doin’ dishes,” Joel protests but gets to work anyway, he knows his place. Jackie makes her way back to you.

“What can I help you with?” you ask her, eager to assist this sweet lady with whatever she needs. 

“Nothin’, sweetheart. You just take it easy. You got enough on your plate, dealin’ with that husband of yours.” 

“Yeah,” you agree with a chuckle, “He’s a handful.” 

“But do let me know when you see those two little lines on that stick, hmm?” she winks, a knowing look in her eyes.

Busted.

please comment, reblog, send me asks! i love you and your words keep me going

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Pedro Pascal out in Beverly Hills

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JAVIER PEÑA’S HOTTEST MOMENTS

9. 79/139 votes → Javi leaning on desks

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Pedro Pascal Character Posters (requested by anon)

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thinking about men who start babbling out the cutest promises when they’re inside you. supporting themselves on their hands that are planted on either side of your head, hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over their face and just endless moans of “‘m gonna marry you angel, fuck, and ill buy you a big house…ahh, gonna give you babies…we’ll grow old together yeah? make you so happy-” all while your back is arching and you’re creaming around him, nodding rapidly at his words and knowing his words are true when he pushes in to the hilt with a final groan of your name against your lips

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It’s okay, baby girl. You’re safe. I got you. THE LAST OF US 2023- • 1.01 // 1.09

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the hottest thing a man can do is tilt his head and say ‘yeah?’ —like no need to be a slut, calm down.

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stuffing

summary: javier has never been able to get enough of you, but it's only gotten worse ever since you've become pregnant.

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); fingering; established relationship; pregnancy sex/kink; squirting; cum eating; cum play; creampie; some dirty talk

• masterlist •

Life in Laredo was boring.

Boring people, boring houses, hell, even the birds singing here seemed boring.

But that’s how Javier liked it.

The biggest news here was barely worth a mention compared to what he had seen in Colombia.

He was more than fine with this boring life, no more chases, no more heavy protection tact vests. No looking over the shoulder, no suspicious staring.

Though, he still did that from time to time.

Couldn’t quite shake the habit of suspecting people planned something bad, occasionally checking his car for bombs.

He’d probably never lose these things, it was too deeply embedded into his being now, had become a part of him.

But that’s why he loved this boring life.

Coming home to the little plot of land they had purchased right next to his father’s, staying close to Chucho and helping out whenever they could.

Coming home to a warm home, decorated with silly little trinkets, pretty paintings.

Everything neatly organized but with a certain chaos to it. He didn’t like things too neat, and while their home was tidy and clean, it looked lived in.

Maybe a little wild at times.

Not bare or sparsely decorated like safehouses or his apartment back in Medellín.

He loved coming home to the smell of food wafting to the front door.

Loved coming home to her.

His lovely wife, her back turned towards him as she worked on something, hair up and out of her face.

Moving her pretty hips and ass as she hummed along to whatever song the radio was playing. Completely in her own world.

He smiled when he saw her, walking up to her and pressing himself close, hands on her hip and kissing the back of her head before pressing one against her exposed neck.

She was warm and inviting, letting out a small sigh when she felt him, leaning back while still working on whatever food she was making.

“Looks good, cariño.” He said, kissing that spot behind her ear that let her sigh even deeper before resting his chin on her shoulder to watch. 

“Thank you, it’s the stuffing for the poblano peppers I wanna make at the cookout tomorrow.” She said, her skilled hands cutting vegetables into small portions. “I know I could whip it up tomorrow, but I have so many things still planned and I don’t know how I’ll feel.”

A smirk stretched his lips wide, his hands roaming to her large, round belly. Just letting his hands smooth over it for a moment, they wandered to the underside of it, gently lifting it.

The sigh of relief that spilled over her lips echoed loudly in the kitchen and he watched how she put down the knife, just leaning back into him, hands gripping the counter.

It was a heavy weight in his hands and he couldn’t imagine carrying that around every day.

But she was such a champ, despite her swearing and complaints. And she had never looked more beautiful.

“We could make a different kind of stuffing.” He suggested, tone teasing. “Together.”

A small laugh bubbled in her chest, and fuck, how he loved hearing it.

“Pretty sure there’s enough stuffing inside of me already.”

Javier had always been pretty insatiable when it came to her, whether it was for the basic need of wanting to fuck his beautiful wife or because his past was plaguing him and he needed a respite, seeking comfort in her body rather than his usual vices.

But ever since she had become pregnant, he truly couldn’t get enough of her, hands all over her round belly and swollen breasts, needing some part of himself buried inside her pussy.

Not that she minded, he always made sure to make her feel good.

“C’mon, nena.” He said, letting her belly down again gently, taking notice of how she slumped a little. “There can never be enough stuffing inside of you.”

She rolled her eyes with a groan, partially from the heavy weight returning, partially because he was ridiculous. In the best way, of course.

“Better keep that talk to a minimum tomorrow.” She warned with a grin, turning around in his arms and leaning back against the counter.

“Yes ma’am.” 

His lips on hers were gentle at first, moulding languidly together, his hand roaming up and down her side. Moustache tickling her upper lip.

Letting his tongue find hers, he could taste some of the vegetables she had chopped up, smiling at that. She tasted amazing and Javier couldn’t wait to have whatever she was making tomorrow.

But first, he wanted her.

Deepening the kiss, his hands wandered down to her ass, squeezing hard which made her moan.

The most beautiful sound he knew, soft and already high-pitched, a song no one else would ever know.

“C’mon, nena” He rasped against her lips, a small groan leaving him when her hands wandered into his hair. “Let me take care of you.”

She chuckled at his words.

“Take care of me or of your dick?”

Javier had to laugh at that as well, forehead coming to rest against hers, looking into her eyes.

“Is that what you think of me?”

She shrugged her shoulders, upside down smile on her lips.

Her hands moved to his cheeks, squishing them just lightly. She really wanted him, feeling wet already at the thought of him inside her.

But she needed to finish chopping the vegetables first, knowing she wouldn’t come back here once he had her in bed. And he wouldn’t do it.

“Can I finish this first, Javi?” She placed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, right over the small scar there. “I know you won’t let me out of bed once you get me there.”

Javier sighed but nodded. Anything for his wife.

Kissing her forehead, he let his lips linger there as she hummed. “I’ll help you, cariño.”

It took them longer than expected to land in their bedroom, with Javier trying to get things done the fast way and getting reprimanded by her more than just once for how sloppily he diced the vegetables.

But, they had managed somehow, leaving the mess to get cleaned up in the morning.

She giggled when he pushed her onto the bed, gently, before kneeling before her.

Hands on her belly, lips back on hers.

“Wanna taste that pussy so bad.” He said, one hand sliding to her thigh and slowly pushing up the hem of her dress. “Wet and sweet for me.”

Kissing down her jaw to her neck, he could feel the moan vibrating in her throat, her hand at the back of his neck.

“Please, Javi.” She sighed, enjoying the way his lips felt against her skin, how tantalisingly slow he moved his calloused hand up her thigh. 

Her legs spread further, allowing him to trace his fingers up the inside of her thigh before reaching the hem of her panties, already wet.

A soft gasp echoed between them when he pressed a knuckle over her clit, applying just a little bit of pressure.

Her fingers curled into his neck, eyes closed.

She was much more sensitive now, every little touch so much more intense as he languidly dragged his knuckle over the damp material.

“Feels good, huh, nena?” He asked, leaning back to look at her face, drinking in her pleasure as he pressed a little harder. 

She nodded, humming, biting her lip when he brushed over her clit again.

“Take them off, Javi.” 

He grinned, fingers hooking under the waistband and tugging them down her legs when she lifted her hips to help him.

Both his hands were back on her immediately, bunching up her summer dress so he could look at her soaking pussy when she leaned back on one arm. The other caressed the back of his head still.

No matter how often he saw her, he always looked mesmerised somehow, like this was his first time.

Made her feel special, the low, quiet whistle and grin on his face making her giggle.

“Pretty pussy all soaked for me.” He said, eyes still on her middle as he used his thumbs to spread her open, the air chilly against her. “You're stunning, cariño.”

She couldn’t quite see, her belly too big already, but she felt the rough pad of one thumb press into her clit, making her hips jerk forward.

“Always for you, Javi.” She smiled, nails scratching against his scalp.

His dark eyes found hers, sparkling and so loving and he leaned up towards her face, pressing a long kiss to her lips.

“Let me taste you, nena.” He said.

Just a few years back, when she had met him between his stays in Colombia, he would have just dived in without even asking, merely announcing it.

It made her happy that he had settled a little, had found enough rest to allow himself to change just a bit.

Just a little though, still falling into his old ways more often than not.

Exactly how she liked it.

“‘Course, Javi, you fucking know that.” She chuckled, kissing him again before he settled back down, grinning like he’d just won the damn lottery.

In his mind, he did.

With a woman so stunning, so perfect with her charm and wits and that round belly only making her angelic.

He felt like he had done something right for once when he put a ring on her, just them in a tiny ceremony.

Only Chucho with them.

They never liked the big celebrations, just them was enough.

“Scootch back and lay down, cariño.” He said, helping her to move back on the bed, making it easier for both of them.

That growing stomach of hers had made it just a little harder to do all this, but they found a way.

She hummed when he kissed down the insides of her thighs, occasionally biting her while his hands kept them spread for him.

Her hand in his hair tugged weakly on his dark locks, making him hum in return.

“So fucking pretty.” He murmured, right before finding her middle, tongue twisting around her clit, seeing how her back arched off the bed, her fingers curling tighter into his hair. “So fucking sensitive, cariño.”

Licking a broad stripe up her folds, he focused solely on her clit, tongue flicking over it before he sucked on it, making her moan and whimper.

“Javi, fuck, that feels good, baby.” She whined loudly, writhing on the bed already, one hand twisted in the sheets while the other still gripped his hair tightly.

She wished she could watch him, watch his face as he ate her out. He always looked so pretty when he did.

So she closed her eyes and imagined his staring up at hers, brows furrowed in concentration. The wet sounds growing louder, mingling with her moans.

Her hips bucked against his mouth and he laid one of his hands on her hip to keep her still, the other finding her wet entrance, two fingers teasing her and making her whine.

“Oh- Baby, please, fuck me with your fingers, please.” She rushed out, trying to inch closer to him but he kept teasing her, letting them glide over her aching hole but not pushing inside. “You’re a mean man, Javi.”

He hummed against her, the vibrations running up her spine and pushed his fingers in, taking her by surprise.

She clenched around him, moaning loudly and throwing her head back as he slowly started pumping in and out of her, fingers curling against that spongy sweet spot inside of her.

“That’s my girl.” He mumbled, grabbing her hip harder as he continued to lick and suck at her clit. “Sweet pussy gripping me so tight, nena.”

Her orgasm was building rapidly, feeling so sensitive as he touched all the right spots.

A different, unfamiliar sensation built alongside it, faster and faster as she writhed below him, whines growing louder.

“Baby- I’m gonna-” She choked out, unable to finish her sentence as her orgasm crashed into her so suddenly and so violently that she couldn’t even make more sounds.

Then she felt it, a warm, wet gush, her hand in his hair managing to tug him away as he kept pumping his fingers, fucking her through her orgasm as she soaked his shirt.

He just looked stunned. This was the first time this had ever happened and seeing her body tremble, legs shaking and her thighs and the sheets wet…

Could he possibly be more in love and crazy for her?

“‘M sorry, Javier.” She gasped out when he removed his fingers once she had calmed down again, breathing hard. “I don’t know-”

“Stop.” He cut her off, rising to his feet so he could crawl over her. “That was fucking hot, cariño.”

His eyes were hungry when he looked down at her, lips crashing into hers.

His moustache was wet, as was his chin and she could taste herself on him when he pushed his tongue into her mouth.

She could practically feel how excited he was, not that he ever wasn’t, but all the shame she might have felt at what she did was melting away as he kissed her so roughly and passionately, his hands moving to push down the straps of her dress.

Quickly his fingers unclasped her bra and she helped him take it off, groaning when his rough hands cupped her sensitive breasts.

“God, I love you pregnant.” He said, kissing down her neck to her chest.

She giggled, the sound broken by a gasp when his mouth closed around one nipple.

“Just ‘cause my tits get bigger?”

Javier had to laugh at that. “Exactly, and you’re fucking sexy like this.”

She rolled her eyes, moaning again when his tongue curled around her nipple, back arching into him.

“Can you finally fuck me?” She asked, hands in his hair. “Please, baby, it hurts.”

He sat up, taking off his soaked shirt and throwing it to the side, revealing his toned chest and soft stomach.

“Hurts for me, nena?” He said, brow raised as his fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. “Gonna need my dick to help you feel better?”

She nodded, biting her lip as she watched him take off his jeans, then his underwear, his hard cock springing free.

“Say it.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to coax him closer. 

“Need your cock in my aching pussy, Javi. Want you to fuck me.”

His hands wandered to her dress, still bunched around her hips and pulled it off of her.

“My pretty little wife.” He chuckled, lining himself up with her, her legs draped over his hips. “You sound so sweet, you’re always so good to me.”

Slowly he pushed in, watching for her reactions as he pushed in deeper, until he was settled all the way.

She moaned, eyes closing and her hands reaching for his thighs, needing to hold onto him in some way.

“Feels good?” He asked, running his hands over her legs, then placed them over hers.

A low hum left her and she nodded. “Move, baby. Wanna feel you.”

Javier obliged almost immediately, rolling his hips slowly, pulling out before pushing himself all the way in again. 

Dragging low moans from her, short gasps and pants.

Watching her face contort in pleasure when one of her hands left his leg to squeeze her own breast.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, cariño.” He groaned, feeling her clench around him. “My dirty, little wife.”

A new orgasm built rapidly, his dick hitting all the right places inside of her, his groans and moans only helping the waves of pleasure grow.

She opened her eyes to look at him, watching his muscles flex as he slammed his hips against hers, when he lifted her legs to lay them against his shoulders, changing the angle and moving faster.

“Oh- Javi, fuck!” She gasped, feeling herself so close already as he kept fucking her. “You feel so good!”

“I know, nena.” He rasped, his eyes moving back and forth between her face and her bouncing breasts. “Be a good girl for me and let go, yeah? Wanna feel that pussy all tight, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this, cariño.”

Just a few more thrusts, looking at his face, teeth bared and brows furrowed, her second orgasm crashed into her, making her tense up and moan his name, squeezing him so tightly he had to stop for a moment.

“Just like that, nena, yes.” He breathed out, picking up his speed as he fucked her through it, rhythm faltering. “That’s my girl, fuck-”

His hips pressed into her, a guttural groan ripped from him as he came, fingers curling into her thighs.

“So fucking pretty with your belly, fuck- Gotta give you more.”

She barely understood his rambling over the blood rushing in her ears, struggling to breathe as she still felt the pleasure running through her.

But something about it was just incredibly hot.

He let her legs down gently before pulling out carefully, spreading her legs to watch his cum leak out of her.

She felt hot under his gaze and watched as he used his fingers to push it back into her, making her groan and roll her eyes.

“Javi, I am already pregnant.” She said, watching his face closely.

He hummed in response, still pushing more back into her.

“Just gotta make sure.” He said, hearing her laugh at that. “Love seeing my cum inside you, cariño, you know that.”

“Just gotta make sure…” She mumbled under her breath with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

Happy with what he’d done, he leaned forward to kiss her belly before leaning over her again, putting his fingers to her mouth.

“Open.”

She did, sucking his fingers into her mouth and humming at the salty taste, both of them together.

When he pulled them out again, he kissed her, soft and tender now, his hand smoothing over her belly.

“We do make good stuffing.” She said, trying not to laugh but feeling herself unable to when he started grinning.

He laughed too, loving her laugh and kissing her forehead.

“We do, and I’ll make sure there’s more where that came from.” He said, eyes twinkling.

“Not tomorrow.” She warned.

He kissed her cheek.

“I won’t have to mention it, everyone can already see how well I stuffed you.”

That earned him a playful swat on the arm, pushing him off of her with a laugh.

Yeah, she really loved this Javier.

And she could imagine letting him stuff her just once or twice more.

He was pretty good at this, after all.

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PEDRO PASCAL as JAVIER PEÑA Narcos | 3.03: Follow the Money