#real estate in oklahoma | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 1 year

Text

A Weight Off Your Shoulders ║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| A WEIGHT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 7.0k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), cheating, negative body image, negative self-talk, discussions of body image struggles, the savagery of puberty, but mostly just indulgent pussy worship lmao, etc.

| SYNOPSIS: [AU no outbreak] After finding out your fiance was cheating on you with the younger, skinnier intern at his work, you pack up and head home to Texas where you meet your friendly DILF neighbor Joel. He doesn’t seem to mind your fuller physique, but you’re still plagued with insecurities that have followed you for most of your life. Can he make you forget about all that for just a moment or will you stay wracked with self-conscious, negative thoughts? Spoiler: We all know Joel is a smooth talker and is down to do whatever it takes to convince you that you’re perfect just the way you are.

✧this is the first installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 5 ║ Part 6 ║◦◦✧

The moving van’s AC went out about 75 miles ago, and you can’t bother getting too upset about it. It goes right along with the absolute dogshit spectacle your life has become. The sweat trickles down your back as you keep your eyes focused on the road. The GPS says it’s not too much longer. Your ass is sore from sitting and driving all day, for the past three days.

It should’ve been two at most - more like one and a half at even a leisurely pace - but the engine had started smoking and making an awful clicking sound somewhere in between Colorado and Oklahoma. You waited 6 hours for the moving truck company to meet you and switch out vehicles. At least the van hadn’t gone up in flames and destroyed all your messily packed cardboard boxes.

The string of down-on-your-luck events provided you with some sort of distraction from the reason you were cooped up in this incinerator of a vehicle and heading home to Texas where your parents still lived, a far cry from the life you had carved out with your fiance - ex-fiance, you correct yourself – in Colorado.

Ah, yes. Mike. Michael, you think to yourself bitterly. He always hated whenever anyone used his full name instead of his nickname. You were at that level of petty, insulting him in any way that you could. You knew you’d never get close to matching his efforts at hurting you, though.

It had been a great relationship for the first few years. You had met him at his job where you were logging unpaid internship hours so you’d have something to put on your resume when you graduated with your finance degree. Math and economics had always been easy and interesting to you, although it didn’t make you very popular at parties.

Mike– No, MICHAEL, had been sweet and teased you about how you were “too cute” to be an accountant. You had thought to yourself on numerous occasions that accountants could really use a PR overhaul. Most of your coworkers were nerdy introverts with a dark sense of humor and a penchant for getting ripshit wasted after The Hellfire Summit was over. (That’s what you all called Tax Day.)

But you weren’t “too cute” to be an accountant. Too cute for Michael, maybe, but definitely not some knockout. You had always been on the heavier side starting in middle school. You were vertically challenged, which meant there was a lot less real estate for any additional poundage you racked up through puberty. Your mom had done her best to not give you a complex, but you weren’t stupid and it wasn’t hard to figure out why she was so insistent on you being in sports throughout most of the year. You had taken to soccer pretty quickly, and the endless running kept your weight from climbing into absolute fat pig territory. Not that you didn’t think of yourself that way regardless.

While all your other teammates cried about their boobs not growing - something you had absolutely no way of relating to - you cursed the puberty gods for not giving you a growth spurt of 6” so you could be tall and lean like your friends. By the time college rolled around, you just stuck to running as a stress reliever, but it wasn’t the same level of activity that had kept you smaller throughout high school. The bathtub jungle juice frat parties and 2 am pizza slices didn’t really help matters, either. You put on a respectable “freshman 8,” but your hips and ass delivered it as more of a “freshman 23.”

Michael always talked about how he liked “somebody that didn’t just order a salad,” whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. You didn’t pay it much mind, though, when your sex life was pretty good together. He made you come more than other guys you’d been with, but it wasn’t hard to exceed expectations when the bar was so low it was in hell. And yet, Michael had found a way to sink it down ever farther.

You should’ve seen it coming. In hindsight it was so painfully obvious that something had changed for the worse. You had chalked it up to him getting nerves after FINALLY proposing to you. You were so happy when he finally asked you to marry him. Even his 15 year old son from a previous relationship had made a remark about his dad “finally growing some balls” and proposing.

A wash of sadness rolled over you at the thought of Ethan. He was such a good kid, and you had become attached to him after being with Michael for so many years. You’d moved in together, and Ethan thoughtfully cleared off a shelf of his video game things so that you’d have a nice spot in the living room for some of your DVDs and books. How on earth that was the child of the piece of shit cheating scumbag Michael was beyond you. Ethan must have taken after his mother more than you previously knew.

Michael had been married before and had Ethan with his ex-wife Patty. They had just “grown apart” as he’d put it. They got together when they were young, and it wasn’t until his 38th birthday party that he realized they just weren’t meant for each other anymore.

You’d been upset at first to learn that Michael had started seeing you before he had “made it official” with Patty that things were over. You weren’t into the idea of being the other woman, and you didn’t blame Patty for hating your guts. Of course she would assume that you knew they were still married and that they had a young son together. You were the homewrecker whore, and it was humiliating to tag along to family events where Patty and some of their mutual friends gave you a not-so-subtle stink eye.

The friends that did readily accept you weren’t exactly top of the line human beings. Luke had clapped you on the back once after having three too many beers and cackled about how he knew Michael wasn’t crazy for switching things up and breaking things off with Patty “for you.” When you shrugged his sloppy hand off your shoulder and asked what the fuck he was on about, his shit eating grin was the icing on the cake when he slurred, “Well’ya knowwwwww what’hey say, dontcha?” You shook your head, nonplussed and not really interested in learning “what they say.” He giggled and leaned in close when he revealed that “gotta be takin’ care’uhhh him ‘cause they say thah big girls give’thuh bes head ‘cuz they’re al-huways hungry.”

Trevor had intervened before you slammed your mojito into Luke’s Neanderthal brain. “Hey man, fuck off. Don’t be saying shit like that. Fuckin’ rude, dude.” Luke had made a fuss about how he was “jusss jok-eeen,” but Trevor wasn’t having it. “Whatever, man. Everybody knows you don’t go around talking about girl’s bodies, you fucking idiot. And you’re watching too much porn if you think she’s fat. She’s normal, man. Real women aren’t walking around like stick figures with tits and ass glued on.”

You groaned while Luke howled with laughter at Trevor’s defense of you. Calling you fat was somehow worse than big girl. Luke hadn’t said fat. Trevor hadn’t either, but his off the cuff remark that clarified what “type of big” you obviously were only drove home the idea that you took up too much space, one way or another.

Michael had taken a while to propose, and he always claimed that, while he loved you with his whole entire heart, he was nervous about getting married a second time. He started getting snippier with you and not wanting to have sex as often. His job was stressful, and he had been working tons of overtime to help pay for his part of the wedding. Thank god you kept your finances separate and never actually did walk down that aisle.

His late nights at the office were verified by his bigger paychecks, and you didn’t have a reason to be suspicious. You did think it was a little strange when he started getting up early to go to the gym so he’d “look nice for the wedding.” But hey, what a breath of fresh air, right? A man being the one concerned about how he was going to look in his wedding photos? Hitting the gym at an ungodly hour just to shed a few pounds? It was kinda like some weird form of feminist allyship, subverting societal body expectations. Right?

When you popped in to surprise him with a late dinner at work one night - you still had your keycard from your unpaid internship that nobody had remembered to disable – you found him balls deep in the tiny little blonde you later learned was the daughter of some higher up in the company that was “following in his footsteps at the company with an internship.”

Michael was such an uncreative asshole that he couldn’t even come up with a different meetcute for the leggy, fit blowup doll he’d replaced you with. At first you were enraged, but that quickly dissolved into despair. You were supposed to be getting married in 8 months. He was supposed to be the love of your life. You had wasted your 20s on this piece of shit, waiting around like a moron for him to decide he wanted to spend his life with you.

So here you were, sweating your ass off, moving your shit several states away, and starting at square one. The dark, moody sky made you roll your eyes. You figuratively and literally had a little black cloud over your head that followed you everywhere. If the impending bad turn of weather could just hold off for a little bit, you could get your “FIRST NIGHT IN NEW PLACE” box unpacked and inside unscathed.

Of course it started pouring buckets about 5 minutes after you’d parked the van in the driveway of your rental. Your new home. Where you lived by yourself. Alone. That’s all you were now. Alone. You dragged in your soggy cardboard box of necessities, only unpacking your phone charger before plopping down on the bare mattress your parents had been nice enough to drop off before your arrival.

You spend the first night at your place crying yourself to sleep.

Texas had gotten hotter since you’d left. No way was it always this hot. You used to play outdoor sports here, for chrissakes. There was no way on earth it had always been the same temperature as Satan’s ballsack in a pair of wool underwear. Maybe it’s hotter because you’re fatter than before your inner voice suggested. You were drenched in sweat by the time 11am rolled around and you’d finished unpacking your small collection of belongings. You never realized how much of your Colorado apartment was mainly Michael’s stuff until you had to clear all your shit out for the move. Humble beginnings, I guess you think to yourself.

Your tank top stuck to your drenched back, and your thighs were slightly chaffed from the hard rub of denim over and over while you moved in. Your stupid, fat thighs and the stupid, fat chubrub they gave you. That unfortunately was something that hadn’t changed about Texas. You always carried your weight in your hips and butt, and your thighs came to join the party shortly thereafter. You had gained a few pounds after dating Michael for a year or so, settling into that comfortable couple space where you sometimes go for donuts when you know you shouldn’t or indulge in breweries too many weekends in a row.

You were fat and happy together, though. Now you were just fat and sad all by yourself.

You stared at the lawnmower and imagined it bursting into a ball of flames. Your landlord had agreed to knock $100 off your rent if you mowed the lawn once a month. It was a no brainer, even if you had never mowed a lawn before. How hard could it be? Turns out, very.

You gave yourself a pep talk through figuring out how to put the gas into the stupid thing, but it had petered out into an irritated chant of “you piece of shit” and “fucking work, goddamit” when you couldn’t get it to start. You’d pulled and pulled and PULLED the stupid chord, but it wouldn’t start up. You wanted nothing more than to finish your chore and head inside before it got way too hot. You’d planned on already being finished by now. Michael had always made quick work of it, and if that room temperature IQ fuckwit could figure this out then so could you. Maybe.

When you pulled back again and nothing happened, something sort of cave woman happened in your brain, and you started kicking the mower in a fit of frustration. “FUCKING-PIECE-OF-SHIT!” you yell, accentuating each kick to the machine with a malice-laden word. When you propped your hands on your hips and took a step back to really give it a good, solid glare, you saw a man the next house over watching you with an amused look at the edge of his property.

“Need some help?” he called out, his smile growing.

“EVERYTHING’S GOING REAL FUCKING GOOD OVER HERE, BUT THANKS FOR THE OFFER,” you quip with way more acidity than this man deserved.

He took your stinging remark in stride and just smirked more. If he wasn’t so good looking you probably would’ve yelled at him for real. You needed a break and didn’t really care for your handsome neighbor to watch you fail at life, so you wordlessly stomped inside and plopped down with a bottle of water in hand. Was it too early for this water to turn into a beer? 11 am. Damn. You were pretty low these days, but you weren’t sure you wanted to take a trip down “drinking by yourself before noon” lane.

You sigh and play with the bottle cap as you try to ignore your growing embarrassment of being so rude to your hot neighbor. The sound of a lawn mower finally registers in your brain, and you scramble to the window to confirm your suspicions. Yep, there was your fine as fuck neighbor pushing your broken lawnmower around your backyard. It was definitely broken. He must have fixed it. It definitely wasn’t that you were entirely clueless about all this.

You groan and muster up some resolve before heading back outside. You wave at the absolute DILF-iest of DILFs you’ve ever seen in your life to get his attention. As though he was expecting you, he calmly turns off the engine and jerks his head up once in your direction.

“What are you doing?” you blurt out.

There’s that smile again. Damn, he must practice that in the mirror because holy shit it is very hard to think right now with him looking at you with it.

“Bein’ friendly to my new sailor-mouthed neighbor,” he drawled casually.

Goddamit. His voice was smooth and deep up close. And his hair, oh my god his hair. Peppery brown and slightly disheveled and wavy in all the right spots. And his eyes? Those puppy dog brown eyes that you thought just gave you a quick once over? You were kicking yourself for not being nicer earlier.

“Look, you don’t have to–”

“Name’s Joel Miller. What’s yours, sweetheart? And tell me quick, ‘cause I really think it might turn into Popeye if you don’t give me an alternative,” he teased.

Popeye? What on earth– Oh. Christ almighty. Right. Popeye. The “sailor man.” Because you have a “sailor mouth.” Okay, now the DILF was knocking out some dad jokes? You needed to find the box you’d packed your vibrator in that plugs into the wall after this little interaction.

“Kinda wanna tell you that you can call me whatever you want if you’ll just teach me how to turn that stupid thing on,” you say, motioning toward the traitor of a lawn mower.

“Hm, anything I want, huh? Temptin’. Maybe next time I’ll give ya a 101, but lemme just finish this up right quick.” Without giving you the chance to argue, he ripped the chord with a salivating flex of his bicep and resumed his task.

You awkwardly walked back up to your porch and tried to busy yourself with something. You didn’t want to go back inside and wait for him to finish. That’d be rude, him out in the sun doing your chores while you cooled off in the AC inside. You gave enough “lazy slob” vibes as it was. Luckily it didn’t take him much time at all to finish, and his sweaty brow was very distracting as he clambered up your steps. You had to keep your jaw shut when he pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe it across his forehead, revealing a respectably toned middle. He was fitter than you by far. Not that that was a hard feat.

This DILF to end all DILFs had a toned body that shouldn’t have been such a surprise to you after seeing his muscular arms as they maneuvered the lawn mower. You suddenly felt self-conscious in your tank top and denim shorts. You were sure you were bulging out all over the place and looked like a sweaty pig. You hated how easy it was these days to get down on yourself, but seeing the blonde bombshell Michael had traded you for was all you could compare yourself to. The phrase “you can’t compete where you don’t compare” turned over and over in your head.

“See? Easy. Now about that name…” he trailed off, smiling now with a mischievous, friendly look.

“Oh. Yeah, um. Roxanne. But Roxy is fine,” you say.

Joel tilted his head as though he was considering how your name stacked up to how you looked, to see if it fit you or not. Heat crept up your cheeks under his gaze, and a fresh wave of insecurity engulfed you.

“Pretty,” he remarked.

“Huh?” you ask, sounding dumber by the minute.

Joel just keeps smiling at you, no matter how braindead you sound. “I said pretty. Your name’s pretty. Fits you,” he said.

You really wanted to believe this man was flirting with you, but it was wishful thinking.

“Hmm. Th-thanks. Um. Do you want money or?” you clumsily offer. You didn’t want to send him off empty handed after he just did you such a big favor.

“Two beers,” he posed.

You went inside and grabbed two cold beers from the fridge and loped back outside, extending them to Joel. He opened them both and made himself comfortable in one of your patio chairs. He set the second bottle on the arm of the chair next to him and pulled a long swig from his bottle. You watched the bob of his adams apple as he swallowed, and you knew your panties were gonna be absolutely wrecked by the time you finished your beer.

“Thanks.”

“Cheers.” He tipped his bottle towards you and leaned back, comfortable as ever as if this was his porch and not yours. “Didn’t see ya movin’ in. Musta been in the middle of the night to unpack a whole house without anybody knowin’.”

“Eh, not hard to move when you’ve got less than 20 boxes of shit,” you shrug.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. He clearly hadn’t been thinking you’d come into your new place with bare bones belongings. Someone your age would have at least a few pieces of bigger furniture and a couple of boxes of niche hobbies.

“Rest of it comin’ later, or…?”

“Nope. That’s it. Just me and my less than 20 boxes and a piece of shit lawnmower.”

Joel chuckled, and you found yourself giving him a small, shy smile.

“So you the neighborhood watch captain? Keep tabs on all the fresh meat?”

He laughed like heading up a community group was as likely for him as you figuring out that lawn mower by yourself.

“No quite. Just didn’t realize I had a new neighbor, is all. No car in the driveway. House has been up for rent for a few months,” he explained.

“Oh, yeah. I had a moving van, but I had to turn it back in to them a few days ago unless I wanted to pay for more days. They gave me a ride back. My parents are supposed to let me use one of their cars.”

You and Joel chatted back and forth about the neighborhood, how you’d grown up here and were now back - although you dutifully omitted the reason why - and what you did for work. When he told you he worked in construction with his brother in their small family business, it made a lot of sense. No wonder he was so toned.

Joel actually laughed when you told him you were an accountant. He didn’t believe you at first. When you started citing federal tax law addendums, he held his hands up in mock surrender. You laughed at his teasing. It felt nice to just interact with somebody without having to talk about your recent breakup and all the hard changes you’d been navigating.

“Should make you the poster girl for accountants because damn if I don’t imagine a blue haired lady sportin’ a big pink cardigan and goofy lookin’ glasses whenever I hear the word ‘accountant.’ You’d be the perfect brand image overhaul, sweetheart.” He chuckled, and you did your best to not think about how Michael had once told you that you were “too cute to be an accountant.”

“So, you got an accountant helping with your family business? Or are you just cookin’ the books?” you joke.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Nah, we got some somebody at H&R whatever, but the bigger we get the more it seems they wanna charge. Lots of confusin’ shit with all kinds of tax laws. Wouldn’t know if we were gettin’ ripped off by ‘em, if I’m bein’ honest.”

You weren’t sure why you offered. Maybe because he had been kind enough to offer you help and then mow your lawn for you even though you had been an ass. Regardless, you offered to look over some documents and paperwork if he really wanted another set of eyes on it. You dismissed him with the wave of a hand when he started talking about paying you for it.

“Two beers is my rate, Joel,” you say with feigned solemnity.

“Two beers? You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart. I know you’re worth it, though. You free this weekend? Saturday mornin’?”

And that’s how you ended up with plans to help Joel go over his company’s financial information in two days time when Saturday rolled around.

Joel was singing your praises when you’d already found two instances where they could save some money by changing a few boxes on their taxes and getting things more streamlined with a different organization method for W2’s. You had applied for a few jobs in the area, but most of your pending applications were for virtual jobs that you could work from home. It was good to keep up practice in the meantime.

Joel made you lunch - a nice turkey sandwich with cheddar cheese. He’d mistakenly offered provolone, which you’d chosen, only to find that he had run out and could only offer cheddar instead. You teased him about being an awful host, but really you were glad to not have your favorite cheese on the sandwich because it would help you not eat as fast in front of him.

You hated feeling like this. You’d spent so many years of puberty pacing your bites with those around you, afraid to eat faster than everyone else. Nobody even gave a shit. You were just so terrified of being humiliated for being the plus sized girl who got that way in the first place because she inhales her food.

“You always eat like a baby bird?” Joel questioned through a large bite of his own sandwich.

“Only when I’m trying to concentrate on taxes and finances,” you lied with a fake giggle. You felt like Joel clocked your put-on nonchalance, but he thankfully didn’t say anything even if he had.

You tugged at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it away from your stomach. You caught Joel watching you do this, but again, he didn’t comment.

He did, however, raise a brow when you insisted you were “too full” to finish the entire sandwich. He played it off with a “damn, you really wanted provolone, huh?” You stuck your tongue out at him but dropped the playful demeanor the second he took the plates to the kitchen. Of course you were still hungry, but you weren’t going to gorge yourself in front of your super attractive neighbor. It wouldn’t kill you to cut a few calories here and there anyway, that familiar voice in your head points out.

Stupid, fat thighs the voice adds quickly, helpful as always.

You’re quick to adopt a smile when Joel comes back, but you aren’t sure you were quick enough for him to have missed the sad, fat, and alone girl’s real expression before flipping the switch.

It’s Saturday number two of your pro bono accounting skills. Well, it was actually a Thursday since Joel had some construction something or other this Saturday, but every day was a weekend when you were unemployed.

You had already hung out with Joel three times this past week and shared a few celebratory beers over your work from home job offer that you’d accepted and would be starting next week. Conversation came easy with Joel. He talked about his daughter, who was away at school for the semester, and you realized he must feel very lonely without her home. At least you could relate to him on that level.

You tell him the reason for your move back to your home town. He actually seemed genuinely pissed off when you told him Michael was cheating on you with a pretty little blonde thing and had been for months. You scoffed when Joel said it was Michael’s loss to have fumbled a girl like you.

“Hey,” he asserted, making you pause from the sip of beer you were about to have. “I’m serious. He’s a dumbass for havin’ let you slip through his fingers. You’re funny and smart and got a good head on your shoulders. Sure, you can’t figure out a lawn mower, but we can’t all be perfect.” His goofy grin was a sweet little addition to his playful teasing.

Maybe it was the beer talking, but you couldn’t hold back. “Yeah, well. There’s something you left out of that list there, and it’s probably the reason he did cheat on me.”

Joel shook his head in confusion. He wasn’t sure what he had left out.

You laughed hollowly to yourself, swirling your beer mindlessly as you spoke. “Funny. Smart. Good head on my shoulders. But not pretty, right? Not attractive. Not skinny enough.”

Joel’s expression shifted into something sympathetic and warm, and you hated yourself for having just let that word vomit happen.

“To be honest, sweetheart, I didn’t wanna say anythin’ that might make you uncomfortable. But I can give you a list a mile long with all the things that are beautiful about you. Inside and out.”

You flush at his appeal to your assets, but you know he’s just being nice. You were pathetic. You were going through a breakup from a relationship that had ended because your fiance was shoving his dick into his coworker. Of course Joel was going to try to boost your self-esteem and give you compliments.

When you didn’t respond, Joel placed his large, warm hand over yours. You looked at it and up to him. He grazed his other hand, a ghost of a curve against your cheek, like he wanted nothing more than to stroke your face and cradle your neck while he drew you into a long kiss and grabbed at your—

No. No he wasn’t. He was just being nice.

“I mean it. That prick is gonna look back and regret losin’ you.”

You wished you could believe him.

When Joel brought you a turkey sandwich for lunch on your second day of helping him, he made sure to point out the provolone. “Got it special for my girl, huh?”

Your tummy flipped at the way he called you his girl, but it was just another one of his terms of endearment that he probably used with everyone. He’d called you angel, sugar, honey, sweetheart, and even Popeye a couple of times. It didn’t mean anything. You weren’t special.

When you pushed your half eaten sandwich away, Joel set his down and waited for you to look at him.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“No, it’s great. Thanks for the provolone, by the way. You didn’t have to do that. Really. I’ll um, I’ll just save the rest for later. I’m good for right now.”

Joel’s jaw clenched from side to side before he leaned over in the chair next to you.

“Darlin’, you should eat somethin’. Half a sandwich ain’t shit.”

You shrugged and insisted you weren’t hungry. Joel chewed his cheeks against his molars for a moment before adjusting in his chair and leaning in even closer than before.

“This about that asshole? Messin’ with that blonde?”

You froze at his words. You heart was about to leap out of your chest.

“N-No,” you lie. “I, um, I’m not sure what you mean, Joel.”

“What I mean is you got the idea that you’re not beautiful. That you can’t compare.”

You took a deep swallow to clear the lump in your throat. Your eyes were getting a little blurry. Dammit, you really didn’t want to cry in front of Joel. Not over this stupid bullshit.

“Just leave it, Joel,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the papers on the table.

“Not gonna do that, sweetheart,” he said firmly.

When you looked back at him, there was a dark hunger in his eyes. His usually lax, friendly features were drawn into a stony scowl.

“I meant what I said the other day. You’re beautiful. Everythin’. Everythin’ about you is beautiful.”

“Look, I appreciate you being nice and trying to make me feel better, but you don’t have to–”

“You think I’m lyin’?” he challenged. You swallow hard at his commanding tone, and his words went straight to your pussy. You shook your head, feeling a little more convinced Joel might not be embellishing his opinion of you.

“Jus’ … Hard to think of myself that way, after…” You want to tell Joel every last detail of your life. Every time someone made you feel like you were eating too fast. Every time your friends got flirted with in the mall while you quietly hung at the back of the group. Every time you put something back on the rack after seeing how it accentuated the shape of your body too much to be a cute garment anymore.

Joel turned and was now angled directly at you with a knee tucking itself between your legs. His sinewy, large arm crossed your chest, his hand firmly planting onto the arm of your chair. He dipped his mouth right next to your ear. “You give me the word, sweetheart. Gimme the green light, and I’ll show you just how gorgeous I think you are.”

You’d been here before. The guy begging to show you a good time but only ever ending as a hookup. You were never girlfriend material, but you were a warm, round body for them to get their rocks off for the night. You knew Joel was different. He wasn’t like that. But you still can’t bring yourself to say yes.

“Tell me,” you whisper. Joel pulled back to look at your face. “Just your words.”

“After you let me kiss those sweet lips of yours?” he countered. You nod yes. It was only a kiss.

Joel stood and grabbed your hand, leading you to the couch. He tried to pull you onto his lap, but you knew he’d change his mind about all of this the second your too heavy body crushed his.

He tilts your chin for you to look at him after you sit. His eyes searched for any hesitation or unease. You can’t handle another rejection, so you lean forward. Joel meets you halfway and presses the gentlest of kisses against your mouth. It was feather light in a way that conveyed an intent to go slow rather than a hesitant partner.

His tongue gently flicks against your bottom lip, and you swallow a moan as you let him in. The kiss is agonizing in its slow, mindful pace as Joel makes no rush of exploring every part of your mouth. You suddenly feel very needy. You haven’t been kissed like this in a very long time. You pull at Joel’s shirt, dragging him on top of you as you lay back on the couch. His broad chest easily envelops you, and his large hands twitch with restraint to not smooth over every inch of you.

His grip tightens around your waist as he delves into a hungrier kiss. When he pulls back to adjust his body parallel to yours, the sight of your reddened mouth and blown out pupils almost have him crumbling into you.

“Tell me,” you breathe. “I just-I just want to feel pretty.” You curse the goblin part of your brain that tacked that pathetic sounding plea onto the end of your comment.

“Want me to start slow or you want me to tell you exactly what comes to mind?” he questioned with a flick of his tongue against your earlobe before drawing it into his mouth and sucking.

“Ohhh–ssh-shit– the s-second one,” you manage.

Joel’s deep chuckle sends goosebumps all over your body.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout the first time we met. Wanted you even then. Kept thinkin’ about us sittin’ on your porch. The way you were holdin’ onto that beer bottle? All I could do was imagine how your pretty fingers would look wrapped around my cock,” he murmured into the shell of your ear. “Bringin’ it to those pouty little lips of yours. Goddamn I thought about your tongue on me, baby. Takin’ me in real good in your mouth. Lickin’ this cock that gets hard just for you. That wet, warm mouth just for me.”

Your breath hitches in between Joel’s incredibly specific and detailed account.

“And when you were havin’ that little spitfire spell’uh yours, kickin’ the lawn mower?” he continued, earning a moan from you in half arousal and half embarrassment remembering your temper tantrum that day. “When you kicked it, your tits jiggled all in that little tank top you had on. Had to stop myself from marchin’ over right then and there and shovin’ my dick right in between ‘em and fuckin’ ‘em.”

You would’ve rubbed your thighs together just for the friction right now, but Joel had slotted himself in between your legs and was pushing his hard-on against your clothed pussy in a teasing grind that was driving you insane. Your hips canted at the hint of contact.

“Sittin’ in those cute little cutoffs,” he groaned low. “Your thighs spreadin’ on the seat. Wanted to grab you up and make my face your new seat, baby. Wanted those thighs on either side of my face while you rubbed your pretty little cunt all over my mouth.”

“J-Jesus christ,” you whimper. This man was giving you the dirtiest play by play of all the ways he’d envisioned himself exploring your body. Your pussy had already bottomed out by the time he got to the part about the lawn mower.

“‘N I jus’ know, baby, I just know it. Know your pussy is made to take this cock, baby. I know it’s perfect. Know it tastes so fuckin’ sweet. Know I’d fuck you ‘til you couldn’t think straight. Make you come on my cock over and over.”

Okay, maybe you could let him do more than just describe how much he wants you.

“‘N then after I work my tongue over you, ‘n after you take this cock so good, I’d grab you up, all to myself. Soft skin against mine. So soft, baby. Pull you in close and never let go. Press you right against me, hold you all night, cuddle up real close. Then wake you up with my dick hard against your perfect ass and fuck into that sweet little hole all over again.”

“Joel,” you whine.

“Hhmmm?” he drawled innocently, but you could feel his smile against your skin.

“I-I think I changed my mind. About telling me and not showing me. I think that, um, I think I’d really like for you to show me h-how much you want me,” you mumble against his cheek.

“S’that right, honey? You want a little show n tell now?” he teased. For good measure he rocked himself against the apex of your thighs, causing your hips to jerk up involuntarily to meet the movement. He chuckled at your eager change of heart.

Joel wasted no time nibbling and sucking your neck and his hands snaked up your shirt and under your bralette. The pads of his thumbs circle your pebbled nubs, and you let out a choked sigh. He shoved your clothing off with a few tugs and stopped to marvel at your bare top half. “God, even better than I imagined.”

His greedy eyes raked over every inch of you, a reverential gaze at your curvy figure. Heat spread between your legs when he dipped his mouth to your chest, leaving a wet trail with his tongue and lips in a freeform pattern before drawing your erect nipples between his teeth. Your back curved off the couch in a jerk at the delightful tease.

His hands covered large swaths of your abdomen where he enthusiastically massaged and kneaded into your flesh like he couldn’t grab enough of it at once. You lifted your hips when he pulled your shorts and panties off, and you would’ve been self-conscious about being completely nude while Joel was still fully dressed if you hadn’t seen the way his eyes glazed over with want as he absorbed the sight of you.

“Goddamn,” he breathed. “So pretty. Been wantin’ to drink this pussy from the first time I saw you.” His eyes flitted up to your face with a degree of effort as though he had to tear his gaze away from your heavenly body. He searched your features, checking in and making sure you still wanted this. You nod in consent, and no sooner is his tongue lapping between your folds.

You fist a handful of his hair at the overwhelming feeling of wet heat against you, and Joel groans in a deliciously lewd way that takes you even closer to the limit. He lathes against your heat with the fervor of a devout addict, and you come with a slamming jolt when he simultaneously slips two large fingers into you and sucks your clit.

“There’s my girl,” he coos, working you with a steady drag and push of his fingers as you come down from your high. “Knew you’d look so fuckin’ pretty comin’ undone, baby.” Your first orgasm quickly rolled into a second when Joel drove a third finger into you with a steady thrust. You cry out, clenching around the painfully sweet stinging stretch of his fingers.

You grab desperately at the tent in his pants. “S’about you today, baby,” he murmured into your thigh where he’s planting slow, sweet kisses.

“Please, Joel. Want to see you. Taste you,” you rasp out, still pulsing weakly around his digits. You groan when he pulls his fingers from you and laps all the glistening slick from them before standing in front of you. You sit up in a rush, eager to see more of him. He obliges and unfastens his jeans. His impressively thick

length made you gasp when he sprang it free from his underwear. You don’t hesitate to fit as much of him into your mouth as you can, and he lets out a satisfied hum when his tip nudges the back of your throat.

“Shit, I’m gonna come, baby,” he croaked. Apparently working you over had done a number on him already, and it made you want him even more. You wordlessly released him in a sloppy, wet pop from your mouth and tilt your head back, stroking his length with one hand and fondling his balls with the other. When his breathing picks up and he’s on the edge, you stick your tongue out expectantly and continue to fist him until his hips stutter and jerk, his spend cascading onto your cheeks, lips, and tongue.

You both just sprawled out on the couch like two chalk outlines haphazardly jutting into odd angles on pavement. You giggled when Joel asked you if you believed him now, and you said he had indeed made a believer out of you.

That was the first night you stayed over his place, and just like he had told you earlier that day, he scooped you in close to him, cuddling and shamelessly grabbing at your belly, thighs, and anywhere else he could reach while he peppered the back of your neck with kisses. It was the first time in a very long time that you didn’t once think about how much space you took up.

This one’s for all my baddie thickies out there!

I have hope that one day Miss Thickums® will come to love on herself a bit more because she deserves it, dammit. Also that and the fact that I get down bad for a lil Rubenesque cutie ha ha.

I hope y’all liked this little pairing! I have been working on Endless Night and Feral Woman but couldn’t get this idea out of my head so I just churned it out. I’m a sucker for fluff and praise, so this was a nice detour from my heavier series (but you should def go check those out too lmao).

I have so many more ideas for this pairing. I just know that AU friendly DILF neighbor Joel Miller has always been a “more cushion for the pushin” kinda guy and would love to nibble every pudgy roll on your body. His favorite spot is your lil muffin top. That’s my headcannon, and I won’t hear any differing opinions.

Let me know if y’all want more from these two. :)

Catch ya later,

♥Puddles♥

#fic: a weight off your shoulders #joel miller #joel miller x plus size reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #joel miller hbo #the last of us fanfiction #oneshots

261 notes · View notes