| joel miller's baby ♡ | sucker for horror | acrylic markers obsessed |pigeons & goats supremacy | lana del rey devotee | marvel girly | resident evil + silent hill 2 my beloved | fleabag coded | southern gothic heart, cozy soul | dilfs + salt 'n pepper lover | make up addict | lilies lover | cinema enjoyer | vanilla smell | taste of bitter coffee |
What I write:
• mostly joel miller in all his ruin (TV) • sometimes tommy miller or jack abbott • no other pedro characters • adult, heavy, explicit, icky themes • daddy kink, power dynamics, age gaps, fluff and cozy smut • occasional angst and heartbreak • be aware of the warnings
Requests:
I truly love seeing your ideas, they always brighten my day. But my writing is very mood‑based and a little chaotic, so I can't promise I'll get to every request. Some things spark inspiration instantly, and others just don't, and that’s okay. If your request doesn't get written, please don't feel sad or ignored—it's never ever personal<3
*when my requests are closed, anything sent in will be deleted.
DNI:
• minors • anti-fanfiction • bigots • people who can't separate fiction from reality • anyone who can't behave in my inbox.
thank you for being here ♡ I hope you feel safe and cozy in my little corner.
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haiii requesting some more fauxcest fat!reader x dadbf!joel 😵💫 in particular i would love if he called reader “little dove” and “kiddo” YEAHYUH
The Pie Contest
Summary: there is a pie contest in your neighbourhood. and joel makes sure you know you're the sweetest pie.
Warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, FAUXCEST, huge age gap, fat!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, clit rubbing, nipple pinching, pet names (kiddo, peanut, little dove), (1) bite, slight pervy!joel, body worship i think, no outbreak,
A/N: this is fiction. not real. a fantasy. words. it cannot hurt you. in fact, it can do nothing. it doesn't exist. please scroll if you don't like any of this. also this is not proofread at all bc the heat is turning me into bacon. Enjoy ducky and my pookies! <333
In the warm glow of a sunlit afternoon, where the neighborhood hummed with the excited buzz of a pie contest in the air, little you found herself lingering in the kitchen longer than actually needed.
The cherry pie you made sat cooling on the counter, its sweet scent wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, but your mind wandered to the big, old man out in the garage.
You tugged on the hem of Joel's old flannel on your body, the soft fabric brushing against your plush belly and thick thighs, with nothing underneath to shield the way it clung to your full curves.
"Dad?" you called out softly at first, your voice sweet as pie with a little whine creeping in. "You reckon this pie's gonna win? I added extra cherries just like you like 'em."
From the garage came that low southern rumble, voice carrying through the open door as he worked on his truck:
"That so, peanut? You better make sure it's perfect, now. Ain't no sense in half doin' things 'round here."
He sounded stern, like an old man set in his own ways, but there was that underlying sweetness, that always made you feel like his special little dove.
"I did it all for you, dad. Made it real sweet, just how you taught me. But...you think the neighbors'll like it?"
Joel grunted, the sound of tools clinking echoing out. "Neighbours ain't what matter, kiddo. You focus on makin' ya old man proud. Come on out here when you're done fussin' with that pie. I could use a taste of somethin' good after sweatin' over this damn engine."
His drawl thickened already with that pervy edge, the kind that made your cheeks flush.
You qufkly picked up a warm slice on a plate, padding barefoot across the floor, the flannel riding up to expose the curve of your ass with each step.
The garage smelled like grease and sweat when you arrived, Joel bent over the hood, his broad shoulders stretching his own flannel tight, sweat glistening on his strong neck and arms.
"Here, dad," you called, holding out the fork. "Taste it for me? But I can't give ya more...the rest is for the pie contest."
He straightened up slow, wiping his hands on a rag, those kind but stern eyes raking over your body with hunger.
"Now hold on there, little dove. You bringin' me a slice and then sayin' that's all? That ain't right, peanut. Your daddy worked hard out here, fixin' this car so it runs smooth for you. Least you can do is let me have my fill." His voice dropped lower, a bit stern as he stepped closer, one big hand settling on your wide hip. "You know what else you can give me, don't ya? That sweet little body of yours, all soft and warm, just beggin' for attention."
You shifted, the flannel parting slightly over your belly, your thighs pressing together as a whine escaped.
"Dad...that's not fair...the pie's gotta be perfect."
But Joel's hand only slid lower, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you against his sweaty chest.
"Fair ain't got nothin' to do with it, kiddo. You been dancin' 'round in my shirt, nothin' under it, shakin' those thick hips like you want your old man to notice. And I notice, peanut. Every damn jiggle and curve."
He lifted you easy onto the front of the car, the hood warm from the sun and solid under your soft ass. "Let's see how good I fixed this hood, little dove. Spread them pretty thighs for daddy."
His fingers found your slick heat quick, roughly stroking through your folds with a slowess that drew out every single sensation. Your body reacted with little, small shivers and gasps as he circled your clit.
"Daddy...neighbours might see," you whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, your fat belly pressing softly against him.
Joel didn't falter, didn't stop, didn't care.
"Let'em look, sweet girl. Ain't no shame in lovin' on my girl like this," he growled. "God damn. Your body’s a masterpiece, all them rolls and that full, beautiful belly I get to hold while I fuck you deep."
He freed his thick cock with that, pushing inside you in one slow, filthy thrust, stretching your dripping cunt with a steady power that made the car creak under your weight.
He rocked into you, hips rolling in drawn out, slow strokes that met your g-spot with a soft 'tudtudtudtud.'
In and out, In and out.
He worshipped every damn curve, hands roaming to your heavy, pretty breasts, squeezing that soft flesh in his big hands and tracing the lines of your waist like they were treasures.
"That's it, honey, take your dad's cock. That's what ya made for."
Your whines quickly filled the air, sweet and needy, body jiggling with each thrust as he pounded harder. His thumb found your clit, head bend down to watch how he disappeared in your cunt.
"Fuck, baby...Look at all that cream coating Daddy's cock every time I pull out. You're makin' such a mess on your old man's dick."
"Dad, please...it's too much," you gasped, but he only chuckled, bending to kiss your neck, his thrusts only speeding up.
"Shhh, little dove. You can take it. Daddy knows ya can." He nodded his head at you, softly brushing your hair from your face and putting jt behind your ear.
Then suddenly, he took you into his arms, cock still nestled deep inside you while he carried you to his workbench, turning you around and bending you over it as gentle as he could, the wood cool against your skin.
You gasped, looking back at him.
He started searching through his stuff when he grunted "there we go," and a small, dirty mirror appeared right in front of you. He pulled your hair back just enough to make you meet your own eyes in the reflection.
"Look at that beautiful body, peanut," he rasped, sliding back into your dripping cunt from behind, his cock stretching you full once agaun.
Your reflection showed every jiggle, every curve he adored—your thick thighs trembling, belly soft and pressed down, breasts swaying as he thrust deeper.
"Watch ya self, honey. See what I adore every single day."
Your cunt clenched around his cock as the words sank in, that pride in his voice making your pussy ache even harder.
You watched your own face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with all that need.
He leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back, the grit of his skin grinding against your soft flesh. His hand—rough, calloused, black under the nails—slid up your belly, gripping a handful of your breast. His thumb found your nipple, pinching it hard enough to make you gasp, and he chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in your ear.
"Mhm, look at you," he rasped, nodding at the mirror. "My beautiful girl."
He pulled his hips back slowly, letting you feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls, then slammed forwards with a big grunt.
In the mirror, your whole body quaked—thighs rippling, ass bouncing, belly slapping against the cool wood of the workbench. The sound was wet, slick, obscene. His balls slapped against your cunt with each thrust, sticky with your own juices and the sweat dripping off of his thighs.
He reached around with his other hand, dirty fingers finding your clit. "Feel that? Feel Daddy's filthy fingers on ya? You like that, don't ya? A dirty girl needs a dirty man."
You whimpered, watching your reflection—your mouth open, drool starting to leak from the corner, your eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot deep inside.
He noticed, grinning, and pulled your hair harder, forcing your chin up so you had to watch yourself fall apart.
"Don't look away, peanut. See how your tits bounce? See how your pussy grips me? Fuckin' soaked. You're drippin' down my balls, girl. Makin' a mess on my damn workbench."
He spat then—a thick, gooey glob of saliva—right onto your lower back, then used his thumb to rub it into your cunt, mixing with the cream and the grime from his hands. The feel of it, warm and wet and dirty, made your cunt clench so hard he groaned.
"Yeah, that's it. Squeeze me. Come on, let me feel that pussy cream on my cock."
He started pounding faster, less rhythm, more desperation. His grunts were animalistic, his breathing ragged.
He leaned forward, bit your shoulder—hard enough to bruise—then licked the mark, tasting salt and grease. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, little dove."
Then suddenly, two fingers wrapped in your own slick, pushed into your mouth without warning. You tasted yourself—tangy, salty, mixed with the grit of his dirty skin. He pumped his fingers in and out of your mouth, smearing you on your lips.
"Suck 'em clean," he growled. "Suck 'em clean for ya Dad."
You did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks, your eyes locked on the mirror: you looked completely used, fucked, utterly debauched. And you loved it.
He pulled his fingers out with a pop, then wrapped both arms around your hips, lifting you slightly so he could angle deeper. The new position shifted your weight, and in the mirror you saw your cunt stretched around his cock—slick, pink, swollen—and the ring of white cream forming at the base, your body's slick mixed with his pre-cum and the sweat from his groin.
He grunted, his rhythm turning into a hard, punishing series of thrusts. "Gonna fill ya up, peanut. Gonna pump ya full of cum so deep inside this pussy, it'll leak outta ya for days. You want that, don't ya? Want Dad to paint your insides with his cream?"
You nodded, a broken whimper escaping your throat. Your reflection showed tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks, your hair a tangled mess, your lips swollen.
"Yeah, you do. Dad knows, baby."
He slammed home one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his cock twitch and pulse, hot cum flooding your womb in thick, ropey spurts. It was so much, so warm and wet, that your own orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing, your cunt milking him, your moans turning into a guttural, ragged cry.
You watched yourself come undone—face contorted, legs trembling, belly jiggling with aftershocks. He stayed buried, grinding slow, letting every last drop of his cum spill inside you.
Then he pulled out with a wet schlick, and a trail of his seed dripped from your cunt, sliding down your thigh.
You saw it: the milky white mixed with your juices, running over your skin, landing on the ground.
He kissed the back of your neck, his lips gritty and chapped. "Look at you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's my good little dove. Now go and win that contest for yer Dad."
Guys, i'm going to take a step back from heavy fauxcest and certain icky themes for a bit. I've noticed some of it just doesn't feel right for me personally rn, so I'm sticking to what I'm comfortable with. But i'm gonna keep writing, still unhinged, filthy and sweet but less fauxcest-y for a tiny bit. I hope yall can understand.
Also that damn pie in her hands just vanished into the backrooms. Don't focus on that, focus on the filth😀🙂↕️
haiii requesting some more fauxcest fat!reader x dadbf!joel 😵💫 in particular i would love if he called reader “little dove” and “kiddo” YEAHYUH
The Pie Contest
Summary: there is a pie contest in your neighbourhood. and joel makes sure you know you're the sweetest pie.
Warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, FAUXCEST, huge age gap, fat!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, clit rubbing, nipple pinching, pet names (kiddo, peanut, little dove), (1) bite, slight pervy!joel, body worship i think, no outbreak,
A/N: this is fiction. not real. a fantasy. words. it cannot hurt you. in fact, it can do nothing. it doesn't exist. please scroll if you don't like any of this. also this is not proofread at all bc the heat is turning me into bacon. Enjoy ducky and my pookies! <333
In the warm glow of a sunlit afternoon, where the neighborhood hummed with the excited buzz of a pie contest in the air, little you found herself lingering in the kitchen longer than actually needed.
The cherry pie you made sat cooling on the counter, its sweet scent wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, but your mind wandered to the big, old man out in the garage.
You tugged on the hem of Joel's old flannel on your body, the soft fabric brushing against your plush belly and thick thighs, with nothing underneath to shield the way it clung to your full curves.
"Dad?" you called out softly at first, your voice sweet as pie with a little whine creeping in. "You reckon this pie's gonna win? I added extra cherries just like you like 'em."
From the garage came that low southern rumble, voice carrying through the open door as he worked on his truck:
"That so, peanut? You better make sure it's perfect, now. Ain't no sense in half doin' things 'round here."
He sounded stern, like an old man set in his own ways, but there was that underlying sweetness, that always made you feel like his special little dove.
"I did it all for you, dad. Made it real sweet, just how you taught me. But...you think the neighbors'll like it?"
Joel grunted, the sound of tools clinking echoing out. "Neighbours ain't what matter, kiddo. You focus on makin' ya old man proud. Come on out here when you're done fussin' with that pie. I could use a taste of somethin' good after sweatin' over this damn engine."
His drawl thickened already with that pervy edge, the kind that made your cheeks flush.
You qufkly picked up a warm slice on a plate, padding barefoot across the floor, the flannel riding up to expose the curve of your ass with each step.
The garage smelled like grease and sweat when you arrived, Joel bent over the hood, his broad shoulders stretching his own flannel tight, sweat glistening on his strong neck and arms.
"Here, dad," you called, holding out the fork. "Taste it for me? But I can't give ya more...the rest is for the pie contest."
He straightened up slow, wiping his hands on a rag, those kind but stern eyes raking over your body with hunger.
"Now hold on there, little dove. You bringin' me a slice and then sayin' that's all? That ain't right, peanut. Your daddy worked hard out here, fixin' this car so it runs smooth for you. Least you can do is let me have my fill." His voice dropped lower, a bit stern as he stepped closer, one big hand settling on your wide hip. "You know what else you can give me, don't ya? That sweet little body of yours, all soft and warm, just beggin' for attention."
You shifted, the flannel parting slightly over your belly, your thighs pressing together as a whine escaped.
"Dad...that's not fair...the pie's gotta be perfect."
But Joel's hand only slid lower, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you against his sweaty chest.
"Fair ain't got nothin' to do with it, kiddo. You been dancin' 'round in my shirt, nothin' under it, shakin' those thick hips like you want your old man to notice. And I notice, peanut. Every damn jiggle and curve."
He lifted you easy onto the front of the car, the hood warm from the sun and solid under your soft ass. "Let's see how good I fixed this hood, little dove. Spread them pretty thighs for daddy."
His fingers found your slick heat quick, roughly stroking through your folds with a slowess that drew out every single sensation. Your body reacted with little, small shivers and gasps as he circled your clit.
"Daddy...neighbours might see," you whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, your fat belly pressing softly against him.
Joel didn't falter, didn't stop, didn't care.
"Let'em look, sweet girl. Ain't no shame in lovin' on my girl like this," he growled. "God damn. Your body’s a masterpiece, all them rolls and that full, beautiful belly I get to hold while I fuck you deep."
He freed his thick cock with that, pushing inside you in one slow, filthy thrust, stretching your dripping cunt with a steady power that made the car creak under your weight.
He rocked into you, hips rolling in drawn out, slow strokes that met your g-spot with a soft 'tudtudtudtud.'
In and out, In and out.
He worshipped every damn curve, hands roaming to your heavy, pretty breasts, squeezing that soft flesh in his big hands and tracing the lines of your waist like they were treasures.
"That's it, honey, take your dad's cock. That's what ya made for."
Your whines quickly filled the air, sweet and needy, body jiggling with each thrust as he pounded harder. His thumb found your clit, head bend down to watch how he disappeared in your cunt.
"Fuck, baby...Look at all that cream coating Daddy's cock every time I pull out. You're makin' such a mess on your old man's dick."
"Dad, please...it's too much," you gasped, but he only chuckled, bending to kiss your neck, his thrusts only speeding up.
"Shhh, little dove. You can take it. Daddy knows ya can." He nodded his head at you, softly brushing your hair from your face and putting jt behind your ear.
Then suddenly, he took you into his arms, cock still nestled deep inside you while he carried you to his workbench, turning you around and bending you over it as gentle as he could, the wood cool against your skin.
You gasped, looking back at him.
He started searching through his stuff when he grunted "there we go," and a small, dirty mirror appeared right in front of you. He pulled your hair back just enough to make you meet your own eyes in the reflection.
"Look at that beautiful body, peanut," he rasped, sliding back into your dripping cunt from behind, his cock stretching you full once agaun.
Your reflection showed every jiggle, every curve he adored—your thick thighs trembling, belly soft and pressed down, breasts swaying as he thrust deeper.
"Watch ya self, honey. See what I adore every single day."
Your cunt clenched around his cock as the words sank in, that pride in his voice making your pussy ache even harder.
You watched your own face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with all that need.
He leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back, the grit of his skin grinding against your soft flesh. His hand—rough, calloused, black under the nails—slid up your belly, gripping a handful of your breast. His thumb found your nipple, pinching it hard enough to make you gasp, and he chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in your ear.
"Mhm, look at you," he rasped, nodding at the mirror. "My beautiful girl."
He pulled his hips back slowly, letting you feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls, then slammed forwards with a big grunt.
In the mirror, your whole body quaked—thighs rippling, ass bouncing, belly slapping against the cool wood of the workbench. The sound was wet, slick, obscene. His balls slapped against your cunt with each thrust, sticky with your own juices and the sweat dripping off of his thighs.
He reached around with his other hand, dirty fingers finding your clit. "Feel that? Feel Daddy's filthy fingers on ya? You like that, don't ya? A dirty girl needs a dirty man."
You whimpered, watching your reflection—your mouth open, drool starting to leak from the corner, your eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot deep inside.
He noticed, grinning, and pulled your hair harder, forcing your chin up so you had to watch yourself fall apart.
"Don't look away, peanut. See how your tits bounce? See how your pussy grips me? Fuckin' soaked. You're drippin' down my balls, girl. Makin' a mess on my damn workbench."
He spat then—a thick, gooey glob of saliva—right onto your lower back, then used his thumb to rub it into your cunt, mixing with the cream and the grime from his hands. The feel of it, warm and wet and dirty, made your cunt clench so hard he groaned.
"Yeah, that's it. Squeeze me. Come on, let me feel that pussy cream on my cock."
He started pounding faster, less rhythm, more desperation. His grunts were animalistic, his breathing ragged.
He leaned forward, bit your shoulder—hard enough to bruise—then licked the mark, tasting salt and grease. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, little dove."
Then suddenly, two fingers wrapped in your own slick, pushed into your mouth without warning. You tasted yourself—tangy, salty, mixed with the grit of his dirty skin. He pumped his fingers in and out of your mouth, smearing you on your lips.
"Suck 'em clean," he growled. "Suck 'em clean for ya Dad."
You did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks, your eyes locked on the mirror: you looked completely used, fucked, utterly debauched. And you loved it.
He pulled his fingers out with a pop, then wrapped both arms around your hips, lifting you slightly so he could angle deeper. The new position shifted your weight, and in the mirror you saw your cunt stretched around his cock—slick, pink, swollen—and the ring of white cream forming at the base, your body's slick mixed with his pre-cum and the sweat from his groin.
He grunted, his rhythm turning into a hard, punishing series of thrusts. "Gonna fill ya up, peanut. Gonna pump ya full of cum so deep inside this pussy, it'll leak outta ya for days. You want that, don't ya? Want Dad to paint your insides with his cream?"
You nodded, a broken whimper escaping your throat. Your reflection showed tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks, your hair a tangled mess, your lips swollen.
"Yeah, you do. Dad knows, baby."
He slammed home one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his cock twitch and pulse, hot cum flooding your womb in thick, ropey spurts. It was so much, so warm and wet, that your own orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing, your cunt milking him, your moans turning into a guttural, ragged cry.
You watched yourself come undone—face contorted, legs trembling, belly jiggling with aftershocks. He stayed buried, grinding slow, letting every last drop of his cum spill inside you.
Then he pulled out with a wet schlick, and a trail of his seed dripped from your cunt, sliding down your thigh.
You saw it: the milky white mixed with your juices, running over your skin, landing on the ground.
He kissed the back of your neck, his lips gritty and chapped. "Look at you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's my good little dove. Now go and win that contest for yer Dad."
Guys, i'm going to take a step back from heavy fauxcest and certain icky themes for a bit. I've noticed some of it just doesn't feel right for me personally rn, so I'm sticking to what I'm comfortable with. But i'm gonna keep writing, still unhinged, filthy and sweet but less fauxcest-y for a tiny bit. I hope yall can understand.
Also that damn pie in her hands just vanished into the backrooms. Don't focus on that, focus on the filth😀🙂↕️
haiii requesting some more fauxcest fat!reader x dadbf!joel 😵💫 in particular i would love if he called reader “little dove” and “kiddo” YEAHYUH
The Pie Contest
Summary: there is a pie contest in your neighbourhood. and joel makes sure you know you're the sweetest pie.
Warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, FAUXCEST, huge age gap, fat!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, creampie, clit rubbing, nipple pinching, pet names (kiddo, peanut, little dove), (1) bite, slight pervy!joel, body worship i think, no outbreak,
A/N: this is fiction. not real. a fantasy. words. it cannot hurt you. in fact, it can do nothing. it doesn't exist. please scroll if you don't like any of this. also this is not proofread at all bc the heat is turning me into bacon. Enjoy ducky and my pookies! <333
In the warm glow of a sunlit afternoon, where the neighborhood hummed with the excited buzz of a pie contest in the air, little you found herself lingering in the kitchen longer than actually needed.
The cherry pie you made sat cooling on the counter, its sweet scent wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, but your mind wandered to the big, old man out in the garage.
You tugged on the hem of Joel's old flannel on your body, the soft fabric brushing against your plush belly and thick thighs, with nothing underneath to shield the way it clung to your full curves.
"Dad?" you called out softly at first, your voice sweet as pie with a little whine creeping in. "You reckon this pie's gonna win? I added extra cherries just like you like 'em."
From the garage came that low southern rumble, voice carrying through the open door as he worked on his truck:
"That so, peanut? You better make sure it's perfect, now. Ain't no sense in half doin' things 'round here."
He sounded stern, like an old man set in his own ways, but there was that underlying sweetness, that always made you feel like his special little dove.
"I did it all for you, dad. Made it real sweet, just how you taught me. But...you think the neighbors'll like it?"
Joel grunted, the sound of tools clinking echoing out. "Neighbours ain't what matter, kiddo. You focus on makin' ya old man proud. Come on out here when you're done fussin' with that pie. I could use a taste of somethin' good after sweatin' over this damn engine."
His drawl thickened already with that pervy edge, the kind that made your cheeks flush.
You qufkly picked up a warm slice on a plate, padding barefoot across the floor, the flannel riding up to expose the curve of your ass with each step.
The garage smelled like grease and sweat when you arrived, Joel bent over the hood, his broad shoulders stretching his own flannel tight, sweat glistening on his strong neck and arms.
"Here, dad," you called, holding out the fork. "Taste it for me? But I can't give ya more...the rest is for the pie contest."
He straightened up slow, wiping his hands on a rag, those kind but stern eyes raking over your body with hunger.
"Now hold on there, little dove. You bringin' me a slice and then sayin' that's all? That ain't right, peanut. Your daddy worked hard out here, fixin' this car so it runs smooth for you. Least you can do is let me have my fill." His voice dropped lower, a bit stern as he stepped closer, one big hand settling on your wide hip. "You know what else you can give me, don't ya? That sweet little body of yours, all soft and warm, just beggin' for attention."
You shifted, the flannel parting slightly over your belly, your thighs pressing together as a whine escaped.
"Dad...that's not fair...the pie's gotta be perfect."
But Joel's hand only slid lower, squeezing the plush flesh of your ass, pulling you against his sweaty chest.
"Fair ain't got nothin' to do with it, kiddo. You been dancin' 'round in my shirt, nothin' under it, shakin' those thick hips like you want your old man to notice. And I notice, peanut. Every damn jiggle and curve."
He lifted you easy onto the front of the car, the hood warm from the sun and solid under your soft ass. "Let's see how good I fixed this hood, little dove. Spread them pretty thighs for daddy."
His fingers found your slick heat quick, roughly stroking through your folds with a slowess that drew out every single sensation. Your body reacted with little, small shivers and gasps as he circled your clit.
"Daddy...neighbours might see," you whimpered, clinging to his shoulders, your fat belly pressing softly against him.
Joel didn't falter, didn't stop, didn't care.
"Let'em look, sweet girl. Ain't no shame in lovin' on my girl like this," he growled. "God damn. Your body’s a masterpiece, all them rolls and that full, beautiful belly I get to hold while I fuck you deep."
He freed his thick cock with that, pushing inside you in one slow, filthy thrust, stretching your dripping cunt with a steady power that made the car creak under your weight.
He rocked into you, hips rolling in drawn out, slow strokes that met your g-spot with a soft 'tudtudtudtud.'
In and out, In and out.
He worshipped every damn curve, hands roaming to your heavy, pretty breasts, squeezing that soft flesh in his big hands and tracing the lines of your waist like they were treasures.
"That's it, honey, take your dad's cock. That's what ya made for."
Your whines quickly filled the air, sweet and needy, body jiggling with each thrust as he pounded harder. His thumb found your clit, head bend down to watch how he disappeared in your cunt.
"Fuck, baby...Look at all that cream coating Daddy's cock every time I pull out. You're makin' such a mess on your old man's dick."
"Dad, please...it's too much," you gasped, but he only chuckled, bending to kiss your neck, his thrusts only speeding up.
"Shhh, little dove. You can take it. Daddy knows ya can." He nodded his head at you, softly brushing your hair from your face and putting jt behind your ear.
Then suddenly, he took you into his arms, cock still nestled deep inside you while he carried you to his workbench, turning you around and bending you over it as gentle as he could, the wood cool against your skin.
You gasped, looking back at him.
He started searching through his stuff when he grunted "there we go," and a small, dirty mirror appeared right in front of you. He pulled your hair back just enough to make you meet your own eyes in the reflection.
"Look at that beautiful body, peanut," he rasped, sliding back into your dripping cunt from behind, his cock stretching you full once agaun.
Your reflection showed every jiggle, every curve he adored—your thick thighs trembling, belly soft and pressed down, breasts swaying as he thrust deeper.
"Watch ya self, honey. See what I adore every single day."
Your cunt clenched around his cock as the words sank in, that pride in his voice making your pussy ache even harder.
You watched your own face—flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with all that need.
He leaned over you, his chest pressing into your back, the grit of his skin grinding against your soft flesh. His hand—rough, calloused, black under the nails—slid up your belly, gripping a handful of your breast. His thumb found your nipple, pinching it hard enough to make you gasp, and he chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in your ear.
"Mhm, look at you," he rasped, nodding at the mirror. "My beautiful girl."
He pulled his hips back slowly, letting you feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls, then slammed forwards with a big grunt.
In the mirror, your whole body quaked—thighs rippling, ass bouncing, belly slapping against the cool wood of the workbench. The sound was wet, slick, obscene. His balls slapped against your cunt with each thrust, sticky with your own juices and the sweat dripping off of his thighs.
He reached around with his other hand, dirty fingers finding your clit. "Feel that? Feel Daddy's filthy fingers on ya? You like that, don't ya? A dirty girl needs a dirty man."
You whimpered, watching your reflection—your mouth open, drool starting to leak from the corner, your eyes rolling back every time he hit that spot deep inside.
He noticed, grinning, and pulled your hair harder, forcing your chin up so you had to watch yourself fall apart.
"Don't look away, peanut. See how your tits bounce? See how your pussy grips me? Fuckin' soaked. You're drippin' down my balls, girl. Makin' a mess on my damn workbench."
He spat then—a thick, gooey glob of saliva—right onto your lower back, then used his thumb to rub it into your cunt, mixing with the cream and the grime from his hands. The feel of it, warm and wet and dirty, made your cunt clench so hard he groaned.
"Yeah, that's it. Squeeze me. Come on, let me feel that pussy cream on my cock."
He started pounding faster, less rhythm, more desperation. His grunts were animalistic, his breathing ragged.
He leaned forward, bit your shoulder—hard enough to bruise—then licked the mark, tasting salt and grease. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, little dove."
Then suddenly, two fingers wrapped in your own slick, pushed into your mouth without warning. You tasted yourself—tangy, salty, mixed with the grit of his dirty skin. He pumped his fingers in and out of your mouth, smearing you on your lips.
"Suck 'em clean," he growled. "Suck 'em clean for ya Dad."
You did, obediently, hollowing your cheeks, your eyes locked on the mirror: you looked completely used, fucked, utterly debauched. And you loved it.
He pulled his fingers out with a pop, then wrapped both arms around your hips, lifting you slightly so he could angle deeper. The new position shifted your weight, and in the mirror you saw your cunt stretched around his cock—slick, pink, swollen—and the ring of white cream forming at the base, your body's slick mixed with his pre-cum and the sweat from his groin.
He grunted, his rhythm turning into a hard, punishing series of thrusts. "Gonna fill ya up, peanut. Gonna pump ya full of cum so deep inside this pussy, it'll leak outta ya for days. You want that, don't ya? Want Dad to paint your insides with his cream?"
You nodded, a broken whimper escaping your throat. Your reflection showed tears tracking through the dust on your cheeks, your hair a tangled mess, your lips swollen.
"Yeah, you do. Dad knows, baby."
He slammed home one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his cock twitch and pulse, hot cum flooding your womb in thick, ropey spurts. It was so much, so warm and wet, that your own orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing, your cunt milking him, your moans turning into a guttural, ragged cry.
You watched yourself come undone—face contorted, legs trembling, belly jiggling with aftershocks. He stayed buried, grinding slow, letting every last drop of his cum spill inside you.
Then he pulled out with a wet schlick, and a trail of his seed dripped from your cunt, sliding down your thigh.
You saw it: the milky white mixed with your juices, running over your skin, landing on the ground.
He kissed the back of your neck, his lips gritty and chapped. "Look at you, kiddo," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's my good little dove. Now go and win that contest for yer Dad."
Guys, i'm going to take a step back from heavy fauxcest and certain icky themes for a bit. I've noticed some of it just doesn't feel right for me personally rn, so I'm sticking to what I'm comfortable with. But i'm gonna keep writing, still unhinged, filthy and sweet but less fauxcest-y for a tiny bit. I hope yall can understand.
Also that damn pie in her hands just vanished into the backrooms. Don't focus on that, focus on the filth😀🙂↕️
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i’ve got an idea for a fic, a priest!joel au but i literally haven’t done an ounce of creative writing since i left high school lol. i just genuinely have no idea where to start so i’m asking the professional lol
do you have any tips on how to structure a fic? like how to plan it all out? i have a bad issue with kinda just rambling and word vomiting when it comes to writing unfortunately, any help would be greatly appreciated!!! <3
bae!! Rambling word-vomit is literally a form of writing method…i do it all the damn time! You would be surprised by the amount of fics i have sitting in my notes with incoherent sentences, unfinished thoughts and concepts that I'd promised to clean up later. Really, start with those ramblings, write everything that comes into your mind. Is it dialogue? Perfect, write dialogue first. Is it characterisation? Write that too. A flashback? Write that down. I honestly never have tips either bc i just make a mess and clean it up later. The one things that really help me is: vibe, photos, parting the fic in section.
Vibe is basically: Whats the mood? Forbidden? Soft? Sinful? Or just all of them?
Photos: This one genuinely helps me paint out the fic in my brain bc the pictures on Pinterest, as corny as it sounds, inspire me lol! Like i had soooo many fics just spawning intp my brain by just finding a specific photo!
Then the section parting thing: you don't need a real structure right now. But sectioning your idea into categories is a great way to keep track of things like for example: 1. The character introduction. 2. Comes the Flashback. 3. Comes the 'fight' 4. Comes the confession and bla bla bla.
Also, don't feel like you need to start at the beginning—I always write the scene i'm most excited about first and build around it. Music really helps too!
Really, you need to take that rambling "problem" of yours and use it as an advantage. Write everything your sweet brain cooks up, and then clean it out!
Hello I hope you are doing good. So I wanted to ask if you could write about Tommy Miller and young reader. Cause I feel that I can't find a lot of good Tommy fan fictions. Thank you💗
Hi!! I'm actually working on a Tommy fic right now that was requested! It's about mean but sweet brat tamer Tommy, with young reader! If that's not the vibe you're looking for, you're very welcome to send me a different concept!🫶🏻
would you ever be interested in writing anything with rimming/ass eating for joel?? 🫣🫣 like specifically reader rimming joel? completely fine if not!!!
Ooo babe, that's unfortunately not something i'm interested in😬 I'm so sorry! You're very welcome to send me a different request tho!🫶🏻
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girl queen i feel like you’d eat so bad if you wrote for tommy like that man is sooooo fuck i drool thinking about him.
like unsure if you take requests for him but if you do… i’d love to request
Baeee, i actually do write for Tommy! I just never had many solo ideas for him, so he usually ends up paired with Joel in my fics 😭 but my requests are open again, so if you have something in mind, feel free to send it in! I'd love to see your idea 🫶🏻
I don’t know why people keep sending you hate when they don’t have to read anything your writing?! I LOVE your fics and i’ve taken them international by reading them in Jamaican! 😌 You are so talented so keep doing you diva! 💐💐💐
omg this is actually the sweetest thing ever!??!! reading them in Jamaican?? that's sooooo cool. thank you so much for the love, it really means a lot to me!!! Big smooch!😘🩷
I'm sick of people that just can't take what they like and enjoy it or hate it and just move on.
When I readed the complains about your fanfiction work about the topics I were like "dude just don't read it then. Move on."
I myself not into that fics where reader is friend with Sarah or Ellie because I can't help picture them like kids. For me is not nice a fic where Joel fucks up with his daughters friends. But is simply as ignore them and look for things that are your thing. There's plenty of authors than can write such good thing. Why insist on a specific one to write or not something that person isn't into??
Xoxo. I love your fics. Don't listen to them. ❣️
Thank you for this!!! I agree that everyone should stick to what they enjoy and ignore what isn't for them. There's space for every preference in fandom. your support means a lot to me!!🩷
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Hey!! Question, do you think Joel was justified in his decision in the hospital?
-💤
Oof, that's a really hard question bc I don't think there's a clear right or wrong answer.
Morally speaking, yeah—murdering people and taking away the chance to make a difference for the world is wrong, obviously. But there are layers upon layers to this.
Joel is thrown into a situation where he's about to lose a daughter again. This time, his mind tells him he can actually stop it, that he can save her. That fear and adrenaline kick in, and it activates all that survival trauma he's been carrying.
The Fireflies want a cure, but they don't give Ellie any real choice or explain what the procedure involves. I think for one it also undermines the sucicidal tendencies from Ellie…she feels like her life finally had mattered somehow. But she also doesn't know she'll die in the process. I think later, it was more of a coping mechanism for her and a layer of guilt she couldn't explore.
In the end, Joel's choice created a chain of consequences that eventually led to Abby's revenge. Abby does almost the exact same thing Joel did in that hospital. It's the fallout of his actions. It all ties back to that classic trolley problem.
Yes, Joel's choice was selfish. Yes, we'll never know if the cure would have even worked. And yes, he took the decision away from Ellie. But that choice came purely from fear—fear of losing someone of his own again. I also think a lot of people would act the same way Joel did, even though the consequences would still be there and completely unavoidable.
Sooo Joel's decision wasn't morally justified, but it was emotionally understandable and narratively essential.
it's been a while since I played the first game, so I hope this is somewhat coherent 😭
NOT a request!! I swearrr. I was just wondering if you would ever be interested in writing a Joel x reader fic where reader and Joel are just having a conversation? a spicy conversation obvi hehe
Oo that actually sounds fun to explore in a fic 👀 if you wanna, send it as a proper request now that they're finally open again—just add a bit more detail so I know what vibe you're thinking, and how their conversation is supposed to go.🫶🏻
