#dad!joel

[thechaoticcherub]

More Than Air

Pairing: Dad!Joel x female reader

Summary: The power is cut in your apartment in the Boston QZ, your dad, Joel wants to keep you warm and teach you a few things.

Warnings: 18+, Incest, DDDNE(dead dove do not eat), Legal age gap, Dubcon, daddy kink(?), Virgin!reader, Joel is REALLY icky, innocence kink, male masturbation, fingering, bordering on size kink, emotions, lots of feelings, pet names, reader is not described besides having boobs, hair and a vagina, no use of y/n.

notes: OOF. Okay I'm diving head first into this. This is an icky, gross, incest fic and I'm not sorry. I'm going to get hate for it but eh, I write whats fun and idc if it disturbs people...when it comes down to it, you have to take responsibility for what you consume. if this isn't for you, move along and thats fine. Don't come whining to me about how you hate it. anyway! I hope that if this is your jam, you enjoy! Also: obviously, I do not condone this in reality. Fiction is fiction and doesn't hurt anyone.

Also I'm going to thank my friend @strang3lov3 for being my dad!joel buddy and giving me the guts to keep writing him.

Word Count: 5k

The first time Dad actually crossed a line with you was a year into living in the Boston QZ. You had never known you could feel such a strange mix of emotions; anger, disgust, excitement and a deep, abiding admiration and love for the man who had been your maker and savior. Joel had been finding himself deeper and deeper into the smuggling world here in Boston but you only knew this because of what you had picked up from others, and what you overheard. Joel closed you out of that part of his life, which was his whole life, and only told you what was absolutely necessary. 

Before the night where everything changed, shifting into a different and more confusing plane of existence, there had been little moments that sent shivers cascading through your body. His eyes lingering on your body when you scamper to your room from your shared bathroom after a chilly shower. Joel had noticed the way your shirts fit you, taking note that you really weren’t his little girl anymore,

“Aint ya got a a shirt that covers you more?” He asked while you sat at the table and ate your plain, gloopy oatmeal. 

“It’s the end of the world, Dad. My choices are pretty limited,” You responded. You watched his eyes slip down, noticing where your shirt gaped and showed off your cleavage. 

“Just…never realized what a woman you are now,” He commented, sipping his coffee as he unabashedly examined your chest. You tugged your shirt up, and pulled a face at the comment,

“Don’t say that, Dad, ’s’weird.” You said, but there was a small part of you, a part you didn’t like to look at too closely that liked that he had noticed. 

There had even been a time where  he came to wake you up one morning and waited around while you started to get changed. You had urged him to leave, 

“Dad, I’m changing!”

“I’ve seen it all before, kiddo.” He griped, leaning against the doorframe and watching you peel off the sweatshirt you slept in and turn away from him so all he could see was your back. You shifted uncomfortably, you had always been a little innocent, too trusting, gullible almost but this just felt wrong. But even in the wrongness of it you found a spark light up inside you that made you arch your back a little when you hooked your bra behind your back, knowing his eyes were on you.

“You don’t need to make sure I get dressed, I’m not a little kid.” You mumbled as he turned back to him, pulling your shirt on over your bra.

“Cut me some slack,” he said, “You’re always goin’ to be my little girl,” He smiled as you crossed your arms over your chest and stalked towards the door. Joel grabbed your waist as you passed him and squeezed, making you giggle. 

But before the night that FEDRA cut the power to your block of apartments it had never really crossed a line. He had never touched you or done anything of the sort. Maybe if it hadn’t been a cold winter night whatever tension that had been building in your father wouldn’t have snapped. Maybe if FEDRA hadn’t been needing to conserve energy you would still be the completely innocent girl you once were. Maybe it just came down to this being cordyceps fault, like everything else. Daddy would have just been a word you had called Joel growing up, sex would have been something you learned from a college boy, fumbling in a dorm, not from the broken man you called father. 

No use dwelling in what ifs. It was the what ifs that would kill you if you let them in this infected and decaying world. 

There hadn’t been a complete blackout since summer and it was an especially cold winter night so it didn’t take long for the whole apartment to chill when the power went out. But it wasn’t until around 2 AM when the cold in your room became unbearable. You were shivering under the weight of two quilts when your door opened,

“Dad?” You asked, turning your head to look at the broad shape of your father in the darkened doorway. 

“It’s too cold to sleep alone, babygirl, scoot over.” He said. You immediately felt uncomfortable at the idea of sharing a bed with your father. You never would have thought twice about it in the before times but things had felt so different, so shadowy, and strange now. You moved over to accept Joel into the space next to you. 

“Why did they do this now?” You whined, as Joel lifted the quilts, causing cold air to rush in. He slid his big body into the space next to you. 

“I dunno, darlin’ to torture us but I’m sure they’d give some bullshit explanation like conserving energy,” He griped, settling down close to you. You had a double bed which was plenty big for you but now with Joel it felt tiny and his body felt inescapable. You swallowed back your anxiety and reminded yourself that this was your dad, the man who had raised you and protected you, saved your life on many occasions. There was no real reason to be scared of his touch. 

You started to relax and even as you did, you wondered if you were so tense because of him or because of you. You were lying on your back, looking up at the ceiling, cursing your own feelings as Joel jostled in the bed more,

“Make some more room, hon, you ain’t that big you don’t need to hog.” He said. You grumbled and rolled over onto your side, facing away from him. 

“It’s fuckin’ freezin,” he added, tugging the quilts up higher. You felt him turn so he was curled towards you, scooting closer, you could feel his front pressed into your back. He was warm, delightfully so, you couldn’t help but tuck yourself close to him. “Atta girl,” he breathed, reaching up and brushing your hair back away from your face so he could see you a little better. You hummed out a soft noise as you finally felt comfortable in the bed, his warmth mixing with yours to make it decently pleasant under the covers. “You jus’ go to sleep while your old man tries to finally warm up,” Joel half laughed. You smiled and let your eyes drift closed. 

Waking up, you thought it must have been close to morning but as you opened your eyes finally you realized it was just as dark as before and the apartment was quiet. Your dad was behind you still, his hand had made its way to your belly, his big fingers stretched out,  thumb just under your breast bone, pinky reaching down towards your belly button. He had you in a possessive grip, fingers digging into your flesh. As you struggled out of your hazy sleep state you could feel rapid motion behind you. 

Your whole body stiffened and Joel’s grip tightened on you, you knew what he was doing behind you, you could feel the jeans he had laid down to go to sleep in were unbuckled, the hand not on your tummy was tucked into his pants and he was touching himself. And now he was aware that you were awake,  you started to try and move away from him, wanting to get out from under the blankets despite how cold it was outside. Joel’s hand tightened on your stomach and he pulled you back towards him,

“Don’t you go anywhere, sweetheart. It’s too cold out there,” He breathed, as if he wasn’t touching his dick right behind you, as if he wasn’t your father masturbating while holding onto you. Your brow knit in confusion but at the same time, your body warmed even further. There was heat in your cheeks that was mirrored in your belly, the low down part of your belly and even lower than that, the part of your body that had rarely been explored and had been left abandoned due to the apocalypse. 

“Dad!’” You gasped out as he held you back. 

“I’m sorry, babygirl,” He said, and his voice sounded truly regretful. “Just let Daddy do this,” He said, he tugged you back and you felt your butt pressed into his crotch. You were jostled by his hand moving inside his pants. You let out a nervous whimper,

“Dad, this…this is weird-“ You tried to swallow back the feeling of strange need you had, the need to experimentally push your hips back and feel him more. 

“I know it feels funny, I’m sorry.” Joel breathed into your ear, his hand speeding up. “But I’m just…just lovin’ on you, peanut,” He spoke. You twisted yourself so you were laying on your back again, staring up at the ceiling. Your heart hammered in your chest and you couldn’t parse out what was disgust and what was excitement rising up inside of you. Your lower lip trembled, it was overwhelming to feel so many things all at once. Joel must have noticed your glassy eyes,  and your trembling lip because a calm came over his body and he tugged his hand from his pants.

“Babygirl,” he reached up and took your chin in his fingers, “Don’t cry, I’m sorry.” While he still sounded truly remorseful for his violation, it didn’t seem like it was the end. You wanted to be upset that you could tell more was going to happen but you couldn’t help but notice relief wash through you. You wanted more and that thought horrified you. 

 “I’m sorry, but you do have to learn this stuff sometime…and who better to teach ya than your old man?” He leaned over you and pressed a delicate kiss to your cheek. You had felt him kiss you so many times, your lips when you were a very little girl, your cheek, the top of your head, and forehead as your grew up but this felt so different. Like a lover places kisses against the skin of their paramore, not the way a father loves his daughter. It both made you cringe and tingled, adding to the warmth in your belly.

“Daddy,” You said, your voice came out sounding weak and whiny, not like the voice you typically used, even with him. You hadn’t called him ‘daddy’ since you were small, and now you were grown up and the childish word sounded horribly sexual in your mouth.  You were unsure of your every move, you questioned all of your feelings but Joel seemed so sure of himself, even as he apologized, as if he knew this was bad behavior but it had to happen. Joel reached under the blankets to the hem of your shirt and started to tug it up, you instinctively put your hand on his to stop him,

“Shh, peanut.” He said, “I’m just goin’ to take a quick look. I know it can be scary, but you’re my brave girl, aint ya?” You watched him smile encouragingly. He was so handsome and it warmed you through so you loosend your grip on his hand. Joel pulled the shirt up to expose your naked breasts to him, the air in the bedroom was frigid so goosebumps erupted on your chest, puckering the skin around your nipples and making them harden. You shivered and whimpered. Joel scooted closer to you, “Lets just get this off of you,” Joel murmured, barely speaking to you, just mumbling the words to himself as he pulled the shirt off of your head. 

“There’s my girl,” He said. “Ya know, I ain’t seen your whole body since you grew up, darlin’” His fingers dragged down your chest and excitement and heat bubbled up and then the shame squashed it a little. Disgusting. Terrible. Naughty but needed. Joel looked down at you, you could barely meet his eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind, he was examining your chest. “Didn’t realize just how beautiful the girl I made was,” his fingers traced over one of your nipples, circling the hardened point. You shuddered at the feeling and he smiled at your reaction. 

“Dad,” You said, your voice trembled over the word. “This feels-“ He cut you off by pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” He said, “Daddy’s jus’ got to give you a little lovin’ so you understand,” he said. You wanted to tell him that you did understand, that you didn’t need to understand anymore but your body was betraying you because his fingers did feel good and the heat in your tummy was building. “Plus it’s still so cold, and if we get undressed we’ll get warmer,” he convinced. Undressed? More undressed than this? Did he mean he wanted to be naked too? The thought of your dad, in your small bed, pressed so close to you made you feel so many emotions you couldn’t focus on one in particular.

Joel’s pants were already undone, it was easy for him to slip them off and you watched, unable to stop him as he did so, lifting his hips to get them down his legs and then kicking them off. You could feel the heat of his lower body now and you knew there was the heavy presence of his cock right next to you, almost pressed into your pajama clad hip. 

Joel was lying on his side, his eyes roaming over your bare chest, he moved closer and closer to you until he was wedged against your side. Your dad’s dick was pressed into your side but you hadn’t looked. You hadn’t turned your head towards him. You couldn’t, you felt like if you looked at him, this would all be real and you would have to actually face it.

It was getting warmer and warmer under the covers and you wished so badly you didn’t love the feeling as much as you did. Joel reached out and his big hand cupped one of your tits, “Fuck,” Joel breathed as his fingers dug into your flesh, dimpling the skin under his fingers. “Let’s get your pajama pants off of you, babygirl.” Joel rolled over so he was on top of you, he pushed your legs open enough to accommodate his body between them. You whined and closed your eyes, it felt too wrong to look up into the face of your dad while he was just in his dirty flannel shirt, his cock out, so you found every excuse to keep your eyes away. 

“Look at me, peanut. Look at your Daddy,” He told you. Your heart skipped a beat, making you squirm in pleasure and embarrassment. Reluctantly, you opened your eyes to gaze up at him, his eyes were wild, his hair was a mess and you knew if you dropped your eyes you’d see his cock hard and angry with need. Joel seemed like a man possessed. Possessed with a need for you, his daughter, his sweet little girl. In the darkest corners of your mind, you loved that. You loved you could make him look like that. 

“Lift your hips up,” He instructed. You pressed your hips up and felt his fingers dig into the side of your pajama pants and underwear, he gave them a tug, pulling them off of you. The cold air hit your body and you shivered. “I know it’s cold,” Joel whispered. “We’ll warm up together,” Joel told you. Your brow knit,

“Daddy,” you whined, squirming underneath him and closing your legs. “This is embarrassing,” You mumbled. 

“No,” Joel said, his voice turning stern. “Don’t be embarrassed of your pretty body, Daddy’s going to appreciate every inch of ya,” He took your knees and pushed them open more, eyes glued to your pussy. You squirmed at the feeling of his gaze on your most intimate part and you looked up at him, trying to convince yourself that this was so wrong, that you needed to push him away and say no but you didn’t want to. You wanted to feel him. The desire for him was too strong. He was familiar, strong, everything a man should be and you wanted him. No matter how much you wished you could fight it off, no matter how much you felt disgusted by him, by your own needs, you wanted to explore his body. 

“You ever had an orgasm, babygirl?” he asked, his fingers dragged from your knee down your thigh towards your bare pussy. You were taken aback by the question, orgasms weren’t something you thought about anymore. You felt a little anger that he felt like he could ask that question, but you were naked and splayed out in front of him, of course he felt like he could ask. You didn’t say anything, “C’mon, peanut. You can tell Daddy the truth, I won’t be mad.” He encouraged. 

“Yes, just by myself,” You told him, “Not for a long time though,” You tried to remember the last time you had felt like this, this rush of excitement, wetness building in your core and heat burning through you.

“Poor girl,” Joel rubbed over your hip and stroked the backs of his fingers down your pubic bone, feeling the hair there, stroking over it. Your heart felt like it was going to stop at any second. Like it would beat so hard that it would just explode from the fear and longing that was working you up into what felt like a frenzy. “Daddy can help make you feel better,” he huffed as he scooted down a little to get a better angle to touch you. 

Joel’s fingers slipped over your slit and you realized how wet you had gotten from your own fucking father, everything felt like it was melting away from you. You felt like you were losing sight of reality, partially because it felt so good and partially because of how horrible it was that you liked this. 

Joel tsked under his breath as he gathered your wetness on his fingers, “God girl, you make a mess a’yourself like this often?” He asked with a chuckle. The sound of it eased some of the fear in you, it felt familiar to joke with him, even though his touch like this felt so completely unfamiliar. 

“N-no,” you managed. You shivered again in the cold air as his other hand joined the one  stroking your slit and gently started to spread your lips open. You instantly squirmed at the feeling and tried to close your knees. 

“Aw c’mon, peanut, your daddy wants to see what he’s doin’, it’ll feel good.” He coaxed your legs back open and you whined in a feeble protest,

“But Dad, it’s…I’m-“ 

“None of that bashfulness shit, you think I’ve never seen a pussy before?” He asked. You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “How the fuck do ya think you got here?” That shut you up instantly.  You let him spread your pussy lips open, his eyes focused on your wet cunt spread out in front of him. 

It was so cold in the room you were thankful that your feet were still tucked under the blanket but the rest of you was covered with goosebumps, even your pussy started to get the little bumps as you shivered, despite the heat inside your body. 

“That’s my good girl,” he purred as his fingers started to stroke up and down you spread pussy, not quite touching your clit but grazing around it. He knew exactly how to touch you, he knew exactly what you needed in each second. “How’s that, peanut?” He asked, looking at your face twisting in pleasure and then back down at your pussy that he was keeping spread open and softly stroking. 

“So…s-so good.” You squeaked out, pressing your hips up, wanting him to stroke your clit properly but knowing he was doing everything with the clear purpose of working you up. 

“That’s right,” Joel nodded, “Daddy’s got ya,” he said. “I knew you needed some lovin’” he breathed. The pad of his pointer finger grazed along your clit and it made you convulse, you felt so sensitive there, it had been so long since you had given it any attention. Joel chuckled, “That your special spot, right there?” he asked, teasing around it again. You whined, unable to form words as he teased your clit. He knew it was your clit, he could see that but him confirming that it was special wormed into your brain. He understood that was how you liked it, that your favorite, your special favorite, was having your clit gently played with. 

“Dad,” You moaned, you reached out to him, wanting to grab hold of any part of his body. You came in contact with his bare knee and you dug your fingers into it. 

“I know,” he said, “It feels good, don’t it?” he asked around a smile, you nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. His fingers lovingly stroked around your clit, teasing you, bringing you closer and closer to a release you hadn’t felt in so long. You were so close, teetering there on the edge of bliss but then Joel pulled his fingers back, dropping his other hand too, leaving you desperate for more. 

“Daddy!” You whined out, you wondered if he was doing this on purpose, making you ask for an orgasm from your own father. You watched his familiar features turn to worry at the whine in your voice,

“What is it, honey?” He asked in mock concern, he knew how frustrated you were, how much you wanted to come and he was teasing you anyway. 

“I-I…I want more-“ you whined, pressing your hips up, it was harrowing to admit it outlaid. You watched Joel nod, the look of fake concern still plastered on his face. 

“I know you do,” he half laughed, breaking through the concern. “Daddy’s still got stuff to teach ya,” He stroked down the lips of your pussy again to your entrance. You stiffened again as you felt him starting to push his middle finger inside of you. “I know it’s tight, babygirl.” His dark eyes met yours and you tried to express everything you were feeling to him through just a look. Joel had always been able to know what was wrong with you at just a glance and he had always been there to take care of whatever the problem was. You wanted him to understand the uncertainty, the desperate need and the horror at your own desires. When your eyes met, he softened slightly at the sight  of the expression,“I’m sorry,” He said and you wondered how sorry he actually was. Was he sorry for teasing you? For making you need it? For all of it? “I just wanna be the one to teach my little girl all this,” he said, his voice was rough and earnest but his finger nudged again at your entrance. “It’ll probably hurt a little but I’ll go slow for ya,” he started to push his finger into you again. There was a little pain, but you were soaked and his finger slipped in fairly easily. Your cunt stretched to accommodate the thickness of your father’s finger and you longed for more at the same time as you wished you had the will to push him away. “I know, babygirl.” He said, trying to placate you. “C’mere, give me a kiss, it’ll make it feel better.” He leaned over you while his finger worked its way inside of you and pressed his lips to yours.  Your heart lept into your throat. The thrill of a kiss that was so utterly forbidden was too much. You were a revolting girl. Revolting for how much you liked it. You found yourself kissing him back while he worked you open with his finger. Joel pumped his finger in and out of you, your cunt tightened around him with each thrust. You moaned into his mouth, lips parting enough for his tongue to press inside of your mouth, teasing your tongue.

“Dad,” You said as he pulled back, “Dad, it feels so good,” You said it like you couldn’t believe it, like if you didn’t get more you might go completely insane. Joel stroked your cheek with his free hand, 

“I know, I’m goin’ to make you come around my fingers.” He assured you. You nodded, looking down between your bodies, his cock was hard between his legs, neglected while he paid attention to you. You had never seen a cock in real life before, your mouth hung open as you looked at it. At the same time, Joel’s thumb nudged against your clit, sending a spasm of pleasure through you. 

“Daddy,” You gasped, Joel noticed your gaze on him and he chuckled. 

“You see Daddy’s cock?” he asked. You nodded, your mouth hanging open in awe at it. Joel let his free hand drop to his cock and started to stroke it, showing it off to you. His cock was so big, imagining it inside of you made you squirm against his finger. Joel kept pumping his finger in and out of you, curling it up to stroke you from the inside while his thumb stroked over your clit in tantalizing circles. It was overwhelmingly good and now you couldn’t take your eyes off the mesmerizing sight of your father stroking his cock up and down, lavishing attention around the dusky head. Joel laughed again and your eyes snapped up to his face,

“You want your daddy’s cock, dont ya?” he asked. You squirmed, you couldn’t admit it, that was a horrible, disgusting thing to want but you couldn’t deny your body’s reaction. “Awww,” he laughed, “I can feel how bad you want it, peanut. You’re clenchin’ down on my finger- oh are you goin’ to come?” Joel was surprised by the way your face twisted, the way your whole body tightened. “C’mon, tell Daddy,” He growled. You nodded, unable to form words anymore as his finger filled you up repeatedly and his thumb teased your clit. “That’s my good girl, daddy’s got ya,” he breathed. The tension inside of you snapped, like spring finally releasing and you came around his fingers, gasping, the heat from your cunt seemed to spread up, enveloping you as you started to shake through your orgasm.

“Oh god, Daddy!” You moaned, watching now as Joel touched himself in earnest. “Daddy…daddy I wanna…” You started to babble almost incoherently, “I want your co-cock, Daddy, please give it to me—I…I need it.” You whined, not even fully realizing what you were saying. Tears pricked your eyes as you admitted your most shameful thoughts. Joel seemed to love the sound of you pleading with him, his hand tightened on his cock, pumping it up and down above you. He sat up on his knees and you desperately reached out for his cock, but your needy fingers were met with his hand closing around your wrist. 

“No, no, no, little girl.” He said. “Not yet. Your little pussy isn’t ready for Daddy’s big cock yet,” he explained. You let out an angry whine and wanted to hide away from him, to reel back from him in frustration. As if reading your mind, he reached out and grabbed your hip, “Nuh-uh, stay right there. I want somethin’ to come on,” He growled. Your lower lip trembled, you felt so disgusted with yourself and still so needy that sob built in your chest. It was threatening to burst out, but you didn’t want to ruin it for him. Tears spilled out of your eyes as Joel continued to work his hand up and down his cock. 

“Aw poor girl, I know Daddy’s bein’ mean,” he fucked into his own fist, teasing you with the visual of his cock gliding in and out of his hand faster and fast.  You watched Joel’s facial expression change, tiny micro-expressions of pain, lust, desperation, anger and intense desire flitted over his features, or maybe it was just feral need. Determination to find his orgasm, but the words he choked out next made you sure there had been moments of real pain in his expression,

“I’m s-sorry,” He actually sounded sorry, sorry for so much. Sorry for the world that you were living in, sorry that his pain and suffering had turned into darkness that had nursed a need for you, his daughter. His heart, soul, flesh and blood.  Sorry that he had decided it was time to act on it. Sorry that you enjoyed every depraved fucking second. “You goin’…goin’ to look so pretty with my come painted on your tummy,” he groaned and watched him squeeze around the head of his cock and direct it down as thick ropes of his spend spilled out over your tummy and pubic bone. You let out a sob as he groaned through his pleasure. “Fuck,” he breathed as you cried. “I’m so sorry, babygirl. Let Daddy hold ya,” he said even as he came down from his own high. 

“Aw, peanut, you’re freezing,” He said as he wrapped his arms around you and gathered you up. He kissed the side of your head, “Daddy’s sorry, so sorry. Felt so good.” He shuddered and tugged the quilts up around the two of you. You took a deep breath of his familiar, comforting smell and allowed yourself to relax against him, he squeezed you tighter as he felt you relax. 

“Do you love me, dad?” You asked, unsure of why you needed the reassurance more than anything now but you asked and waited for his answer. 

“More than air, peanut.” He breathed. 

“I love you too,” You said even as your naked body warmed against your father’s under the quilt and his come dried on your skin. 

[pascalluvur]

Babysittin’

pairing: (24) dad!joel x (20) uncle!tommy x (2) toddler!daughter

summary: Dad goes on a date for the first time since your mom and uncle Tommy babysits you.

warnings: none, just fluff.

setting: Austin, Texas. 1990

pov: 3rd person

wc: 2.3k

@white-wolf-buckaroo since she enjoyed by last dad!joel and baby girl post!

Joel stood in front the fogged up mirror and checked his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

6:35 pm.

His date was at 7pm.

Joel hadn’t been on a date since before you were born. Now at twenty-four years old, he felt like a teenager again. Getting ready to go to the drive-in, get a half-assed hand job in the back of his dad’s truck and watch some shitty movie. God, he was rusty. He’d showered, cleanly shaved, changed his shirt—twice and even used the aftershave he’d had ever since he was nineteen that was probably out of date.

The only hard part that was left was leaving you.

His boots thudded quietly on the old wooden floor as he walked across the upstairs landing towards his baby girls room. The door was open enough for him to see you. There you were. Perched on top of your rocking horse, Bouncing back and forward furiously like you were on a mission. How the fuck was he going to leave you?

“You playin’ on your horsey, sweetheart?” He said, walking in the door and towards the toddler.

You didn’t reply, just looked up at your daddy and smiled. A soft giggle escaped you everytime the rocking horse moved. It made Joel’s heart ache. You were just the sweetest baby ever. Joel crouched down beside you, hand brushing some of your hair out of your face. “You remember what daddy told you? That he was leavin’ for a while?”

“Uncle Tommy coming!” You replied, an excited grin on your face. Joel scooped you up into his arms, sitting you on his hip as he started walking toward the stairs.

“Uh huh, uncle Tommy is comin’. He’s gon’ watch your cartoons with you and then put you to bed. And when you wake up tomorrow, daddy’ll be home. How’s that sound?” As if it were on cue, there was a knock on the door. When Joel eventually made it down the stairs and opened the door, Tommy was there. Grinning like an idiot.

“Hey, big brother.” He said, clapping a hand down on his back. He had a six pack in one hand, his car car keys in the other which he threw into the bowl beside the door when he stepped in. “Finally gettin’ your dick wet, huh?”

Joel shot him a glare. You were talking decent enough sentences now and he definitely didn’t want you picking up on Tommy’s intresting choice of words.

“Shit, right.”

Joel, handed you over to tommy, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever. I’ll be back later on. Keep her alive, don’t let her stay up too late and please call the restaurant if somethi-,”

“Joel. We’re gon’ be fine. Stop stressin’.”

Tommy didn’t expect babysitting you to be this easy.

The little munchkin was sitting cross legged on the floor, Sesame Street playing on the tv, munching on crackers. Tommy had cracked open a beer but it was long forgotten on the coaster on the coffee table. He just couldn’t take his eyes off his niece. It sometimes baffled him that she was already two years old. It felt like it was just yesterday since he met her for the first time.

You giggled at whatever big bird said on Sesame Street and crawled over to Tommy, climbing up between his legs, tugging on them. “Tomm-eee, tomm-ee.” You chanted like a mantra. Tommy chuckled and reached down to scoop you up. He perched you onto his lap, bouncing you the way joel taught him you liked. You squealed a little, grabbing onto his shirt. “Big-bird funny.” You said.

Tommy brushed a piece of hair behind your little ear. “He is huh? Big ol’ chicken.” He says,

You giggle at that, little fingers tugging on his collar. “Chickie.” You babbled. You were warm in Tommy’s arms, munching mindlessly on a goldfish cracker — getting crumbs all over Tommy’s damn jeans, not that he minded.

Sometimes all of this still felt unreal. Joel having a baby, raising her alone at twenty—four years old —being a real grown up. Tommy always tried to help as much as he could. Coming over often, making Joel smile on a particularly hard day. Sometimes he wondered how Joel managed at all.

But right now? He understood. From the little Angel in is arms. Your little body molded into his, clinging to him like a little koala, and when he shifted even slightly, you let out the softest sigh that could’ve melted steel.

“Alright, alright. Uncle tommy ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Elmo’s squeaky voice bounced off the walls as Sesame Street returned from its commercial break and your head snapped up immediately.

“Mel-mo!” You squealed.

“That’s right. Your boy’s back.”

Your baby-lotion soft fingers reached up again, but not to his shirt— this time into his hair, running through the black strands. “Like kitty.” You stated like it was obvious.

“Like kitty? You think Uncle Tommy’s hairs like a cat?” He said, chuckling.

“Kiiity.” You said, dragging out the word almost to check if it sounded right coming from your mouth. You were still experimenting with words. You could speak decent enough sentences— nothing like tommy when he was your age, Joel had kindly told him. You tugged on his hair a little harder causing tommy to wince.

“Hey! Watch it, ya little rascal!” He said, bringing his hand to your side and tickling it, making you squirm and giggle. “Huh? Tuggin’ on uncle Tommy’s hair like that?”

You squealed, batting Tommy with your little fist. Tommy let out a playful growl, picking you up and holding you above his head, peppering your forehead and cheeks with kisses.

Meanwhile, Joel was at dinner with Lisa. She was nice, laughed at his jokes — not someone he necessarily saw a future with, but someone to see once in a while to feel like something other than a father. But of course, Joel couldn’t relax completely, you were still in the back of his head. He trusted tommy — well, enough that a big brother could trust his twenty year old brother. Lisa seemed to understand his worries though she wasn’t a mother herself.

They finished up dinner — Joel payed of course like his piece-of-shit father taught him to while drunk on cheap beer back when he was fifteen. And.. one thing led to another, and they went back to her place.

It wasn’t necessarily anything romantic, just a rough fuck, bent over the arm of the couch. But Joel needed it. Needed to release some sort of stress — and Lisa was nice. Real nice. Said that they should do it again sometime.

Back home, Tommy was still on the couch. Cradling you in his arms. Your little thumb was halfway in your mouth, cheek resting against Tommy’s chest. You weren’t asleep — not yet, just calm. Zen in a way tommy wasn’t even aware he was able to make a baby feel.

“Your daddy must be havin’ a nice time, huh? Considerin’ he ain’t home bein’ grumpy.” He mumbled, knowing you didn’t understand him. He ran a hand down your chest, your pyjamas soft beneath his hands. “He deserves it. He don’t do much f’ himself no more.”

“Daddy home soon?” You mumbled sleepily into his chest. Your tiny hand had his shirt crumpled from how grabby you were. His heart broke a little at the tone of your voice.

“Yeah, sweetheart. He’ll be home real soon. You missin’ him?” He asked, voice hinted with nervousness like you were going to break down any second.

You rubbed your eye with your little fist and shook your head. “Nuh uh. Like with you, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy’s throat tightened a little. “.. yeah? You like it with Uncle Tommy?” He asked, almost hesitant, like he didn’t believe it.

You nodded with a sleepy smile. “Funny like big-bird.”

Tommy chuckled, smoothing your hair with his hand. “I’ll uh, I’ll take the compliment, kiddo.”

At that joel parked the car out in the yard, taking a deep breath to prepare himself from the potential mess of his house. But still — there was a dumb smile on his face from the date. Joel opened the door, toeing off his boots when he entered.

“… I used to miss your daddy when he’d leave when I was younger.” He said, oblivious to the fact that joel was just down the hall. “When i was eleven and he was fifteen.. he used to go out with his friends. I used to hate it..”

Joel paused at the living room door. He knew you were probably dozing by now — It was nearly ten pm. Tommy’s voice was softer than usual, almost vulnerable. He remembered going out with his friends when he was a teenager, smoking half cigarettes stolen from his dad’s ashtray with his boys like they were goddamn drug lords — he remembered tommy seeming a little off when he’d leave, but never payed much attention, so he continued to listen at the door.

“.. our daddy wasn’t that nice to us. Joel was my big brother, used to stick up f’ me. But when he wasn’t there.. it was fair game. But he always came back. Sometimes with a coke from the store, or some comic from his friend. I used to think he was the coolest damn kid.” He said with a chuckle. You were out like a light now, chubby cheek mushed against his chest.

Joel swallowed thickly. He never heard tommy talk like that. He was always wise cracking — teasing. Not.. like this. He ran a hand over his face and pushed the door open, pretending he heard nothing.

“Hey,” Joel greeted, slightly taken aback from the cleanliness of the living room — the exact way he left it. Tommy straightened up, careful not to jostle you. “She okay?”

Tommy cleared his throat, rubbing your back. “Yeah, yeah she’s fine. Been a damn Angel actually.”

Joel nodded, sitting down next to tommy. He carefully took you from Tommy’s arms, watching as he gave you a final kiss on your forehead. You mumbled something incoherent in your sleep and settled into your daddy’s chest. “You okay?” He asked, his lips quirking a little.

“Fantastic,” He said, patting Joel’s shoulder. “But more importantly.. how’d your little date go?” He asked with a grin, resting his chin in his hand.

Joel chewed the inside of cheek, trying not to seem as happy as he actually was. “Was fine.”

Tommy gave him a look, cocking his head. “Just fine?”

Joel rested his chin on top of your head, his lips twitched upward in a barely-there smile. “We mighta went back to her place..”

Tommys grin widened and he shook Joel’s shoulder. “Atta boy!” He said chuckling. “You better’ve used a rubber, you know what happened last time.” He said, nodding to the bundle in Joel’s arms.

Joel shook his head but it did little to hide his smile. “Thanks for that, but I’m well aware of how that works by now.”

Tommy chuckled.

“Well, I’m gonna head off.” He said, standing up and stretching his limbs with a sigh. Joel stood up too — carefully so he didn’t wake you. He then did something he hadn’t done in probably years.

He hugged tommy.

Just a side hug considering the baby in his arms, but it was there. Spare hand patting his back. “Thanks for lookin’ after her, man.”

Tommy looked at Joel like he was a little crazy. Tommy was hugger for sure, but not Joel. “You dyin’ or somethin’?”

“What?”

“What was that all about?” Tommy said, sneer in his voice.

“Jesus, cant a guy be nice to his brother?” He asked.

“Okay, okay.” He replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

After Tommy left, Joel took your upstairs, rubbing his hand up and down your back. He enjoyed his date for sure — but god, did he miss his baby girl.

You whined softly when he changed you into a fresh diaper, but Joel soothed you with his voice until you fell back asleep. Once he was done he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your little belly and scooped you up, this time not turning for your crib, but leaving your room and taking you to his. He settled you down onto his bed, quickly getting his shirt off and getting into some pj pants. He then settled into bed, pulling you up to lay against his chest. Your little cheek snuggled into his chest, fingers curling and resting on his belly.

He ran his hand down your back, smiling softly down at you. “Daddy’s home baby girl. He’s right here,” he whispered. “And he loves you so damn much.”

[carcharina]

. . . ۶ৎ jackson!dad!joel. jd!joel who you're paired up with on patrol when jesse's bedridden, maria insisting you'd be fine going out with him. jd!joel who you thought hated you. he barely looked at you and almost did nothing but grunt. jd!joel who you start getting paired up with more and more. jd!joel who finally starts talking, but only about small things like football. jd!joel who you start putting trust into, and who proves he deserves it. jd!joel who gets beat up real bad on a run, wounds all over him and a bullet wound in his stomach. "joel! oh my goodness, what happened? are you bit?" you ask in panic, frantically running your hands over him and lifting up his clothes to check for marks. he coughs, looking at you with a glint of something softer in his eye for just a second. "'m fine, kid. you don't gotta worry." jd!joel who you barely manage to haul onto your horse, riding him back to jackson as fast as you can. "you scared me," you said, looking off to the side and wrapping your arms around yourself. you were sat next to him as he laid in the hospital bed, shirtless and barely awake. "things like that just happen out there. you're fine." "don't go off on me like that. what if something awful'd happened to you? what would i have done then?" you trailed off, sniffling a bit. "like i said, you would've been fine." "what don't you get? you could’ve died," you said, voice trembling. "and over what? supplies? you think i'd have cared if we'd come back empty handed?" "it's none of your goddamn business what happens to me. we ain't family. why do you care so much, huh? what do you want from me?" "because da–joel, it felt like we were, but i guess i was wrong." he sighed. "i just... i ain't used to having someone to look after no more." jd!joel who, after he gets patched up, treats you to ice cream. he sits beside you on a bench, handing you a cup of your favorite flavor. "didn’t mean to scare ya," he muttered. "i ain’t any good at whatever this is no more, but i figured ice cream might help." you took a spoonful. "it's okay. i know." "hey, i'm better with a pistol than you y'kn–" "don't. you almost gave me a heart attack last time!" you laughed. jd!joel who might've been thrown into the darkness since sarah, but found the light in you. you who weren't his daughter, and jd!joel who sure as hell wasn't your dad, but who the world'd managed to make a family out of.

a/n–he's LITERALLY my dad guys like come on

[lucymmiller]

Moving In: Part 2

The Millers, a year later. 

—------- 

Pre/no-outbreak AU. Husband!Joel, Wife!Reader, and Sarah. 

Tags: fluff, slice-of-life, domestic!joel, fem!reader, mild profanity, pregnancy (reader), minimal reader description, no use of y/n, reader is sarah’s mom, girldad!joel is canon, joel miller is in looooveee!, camcorders, sarah is a menace, but also so smart, fluff, fluff, fluff!!! 

Author’s Note: dedicated to anon who asked about a second part to Moving In! from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all of the love on the first part, and alsooo on Check Me Out!! you all are actual sweethearts. the camcorder plays a very central part in this because i just found my camcorder from one of my short film projects in high school and got incredibly sappy about it. i hope you all enjoy :) 

Word Count: 2.3k 

—------- 

“And how many spots does Miss Ladybug have?” 

Sarah taps her finger against each black dot on her beloved plushie, eyebrows furrowed with the most concentration you’ve ever seen from the 5-year old. 

“Seven?” She looks up at you, lifting the fluffy red insect up as if you need to count how many spots are on its back too. 

“Mhm, she’s got seven spots. Good job, bug.” You smile, pinching her cheek before flopping down onto her tiny bed and hauling her into your side. 

Sarah picks up one of her toy cars that’s been swallowed by the soft cotton of her blanket, balancing it onto the bump of your belly. “Not sure your sister likes being used as a race track.” 

You’re about to ask Sarah how many purple butterflies are on her pillowcase, an attempt to get the plastic vehicle off of the hill of your tummy, when someone knocking interrupts you.

Joel stands in the doorway of Sarah’s room, smiling when he sees you two cuddled up on her bed. “Where was my invitation?” He teases, stepping forward on the plush carpet. You don’t miss his quick glance to your stomach. 

You smile, about to tease him back, when you notice something in his hand. Something you forgot about up until this moment. 

“Is that-?”

“S’from your aunt,” Joel holds the silver camcorder up for you to see better. Its metallic paint glimmers against the early-noon light bleeding through Sarah’s sheer, pinkish curtains. He sits down on the bed, mattress sinking under his weight as you move to sit up, practically snatching it from his hands. 

“What is it?” Sarah squeezes in between you and your husband, ever the curious one. 

“It’s my video camera from high school.” You say, barely a whisper. Your fingers trace over the puffy stickers adorned onto the back of the display screen. “Where did she find this?” You smile in disbelief. 

Joel shrugs, lifting his daughter up and onto his lap with a soft grunt. “Didn’t come with a note or anything, just showed up on the front porch. Came with the charging cord too.” 

You huff out a little laugh, flipping the display screen open and pressing the on button. As if the device is frozen in time, it immediately unveils the last thing you recorded before the camcorder was tucked away in the attic of your childhood home. “Oh, geez- I don’t want you seeing this.” You cringe, hiding the display against your chest as Joel tries to peek at it. 

“Uh- might’ve already looked.” He admits with a guilty look. 

You glare at your husband, eliciting a nervous laugh from him. 

“Only watched a couple’a seconds, I swear.” 

You hum before revealing the display to the both of them, pressing play and letting it run. 

“Hey! We’re at uhm- quit that!” 

You watch as the much-younger version of you on the screen giggles and fumbles with the camera before pointing it at the mirror in front of you. 

“We’re at Lindsey’s house, gettin’ ready for prom. Look at their pretty dresses.” 

The speaker whirrs as teenage-you zooms in on the sparkly material of your friends’ attire. You sigh, looking up at Joel to distract yourself from your awful haircut from a little over a decade ago. Side-swooped bangs clipped back with a flowery-purple hairclip that matched your dress. He’s grinning so wide that his eyes almost disappear, a boyish look that shaves ten years off of him. 

“Look at your momma, ain’t she just the cutest thing-” he chuckles.

“Joel,” You groan, setting the camcorder down on one of Sarah’s pillows and covering your face with your hands. 

He picks it up and lets Sarah hold it as they both continue watching, a perplexed look on your kid’s face. You realize how peculiar this may be for the both of them– Sarah seeing a version of you before she even existed, Joel seeing a version of you before you were each other’s. 

“You two can have fun with that, I’m gonna go- I don’t even know.” You mumble, quickly getting up before the squeaky voice emanating from the device makes you curl in on yourself. 

—------- 

It’s been a year since you moved from your apartment on the outskirts of downtown Austin to the quieter, tree-lined cul-de-sac a little further south of the city. Your home. 

Joel’s words from a year ago echo in your brain as you stand in the office-turned-nursery that sits across the hall from your own bedroom. We’ll figure it out, he said then. And you did. 

Now, just a couple months from your due date, the four green walls surrounding you feel surreal to stand in, even now. 

So lost in your head, you don’t immediately register the hand that rubs at your lower back. Soothing. Always there. 

“Thinkin’ about movin’ the crib again?” Joel murmurs against your temple. 

You giggle, tilting your head to look up at him. “Now that would be cruel.” 

He smiles, detaching from you to readjust the blanket that’s fallen from the rocking chair in the corner. 

“Could build you a crib for every corner of this room.” He says quietly.

“I know.” You reply. Because he would, if you asked him to. Maybe, even if you didn’t.  

He walks back over to you in gentle strides, big palms resting on your belly. “Sorry for peakin’ at your video camera earlier. Should’ve asked first.” He kisses the crown of your head. 

You scoff, lifting your arms to wrap around his shoulders. “Please. I was being dramatic.” 

He pulls back to look at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wish I knew you back then. Would’a been whipped for the pretty girl in the purple dress. Had you on my arm the whole dance.” 

“I think I would’ve despised you.” You tilt your head. Joel raises his eyebrows. “Don’t take it personally. Just had a thing against dating in high school.” You shrug. 

“Reckon I would’ve tried anyway.” He leans down for a proper kiss. Smug. 

“I reckon you would’ve.” You repeat in a whisper, just before pressing your lips against his. 

—------- 

“Careful now, sweetheart,” Joel calls out over his shoulder as Sarah holds the camcorder in both of her hands, the dim, red recording light turned on. She’s been glued to the thing all day, sitting on the couch, watching the videos that you double-check and deem appropriate for her to watch. She’ll have to wait a little longer for some of the other ones, you decide. 

At one point, she asked you if she could record her own video on the device, and you hesitated. “Not sure if there’s still space in this thing to record another video, bug.” Your heart clenched when you saw her deflate, so you decided to try anyway. To you and Joel’s surprise:

RECORDING… 

The word began to blink in the corner of the display screen, and you quickly handed the thing off to your kid. 

Now, while you sit on the porch steps with an icy glass of water and the latest edition of a parenting magazine flopped-open on your belly, Joel hammering together a narrow flowerbed that lines the porch railing, your mini-Spielberg wanders around the front yard with the most serious expression on her face. 

“Hi, my name is Sarah, and this is my house.” She speaks to the camera, brilliantly lifting it up to make sure your home is in-frame. “That’s daddy, and momma-” She lowers it down, pointing the lens at you both. 

She waddles closer to you, propping one foot up on the step you’re sitting on and pointing the camcorder directly at you. You have to hold back a chuckle. 

“My lil’ sister’s in her belly.” Your heart melts at the sweet drawl of her voice, unarguably something she picked up from Joel. Before you can say anything, she’s already walking over to where her dad is crouched on the grass, the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk of the hammer in his hand securing the final nail in the flowerbed. 

Arm lifting to block the sun from his eyes, Joel turns to look at his Sarah. “Is it still goin’, baby?” He asks, awkwardly hobbling over to her on his grass-stained knees to look at the display. He hums contently when he sees that it still is. “Should show ‘em momma’s new flowerbed.” He nods at the camera with a smile. 

To his disappointment, Sarah lets out a little hmph before turning away and deciding to film the Adler’s front yard instead. You gasp, jaw dropping as your head whips over to see your husband’s deflated expression. “Ouch, Miller. Your own blood thinks your craftsmanship isn’t worth the memory card space.” 

He looks at you, completely defeated as your kid busies herself with filming the rainbow windspinners dotting the lawn. You nearly burst out laughing as he flops down on the step next to you, a grown man sulking. He sighs loudly, seemingly on purpose, as it draws Sarah’s attention. 

She quickly skips over with stiff arms, making sure not to drop your camcorder, before nudging her way into her dad’s lap. Joel damn near melts. He smiles at you over her shoulder when she hugs him in a silent apology. 

“S’okay, babygirl.” His hand soothes up and down her back. 

Joel takes the video camera from her hands, flipping the display screen so that it faces the three of you. His arm extends with the camera and he squints his eyes. You want to tease him for his poor eyesight, to tell him that he’s gettin’ old, that he needs those readers that you got him as a joke for his last birthday. 

But as he’s blabbering to the camera about something that makes Sarah squirm with laughter, all you can think about is how perfect the three of you look, squished together in the small, rectangular frame. 

—------- 

“Joel,” you giggle, attempting to nudge your husband away with your elbow. “I’ve got carrots to cut.” 

The sound of your knife against the wooden chopping board resumes when he finally stops trying to kiss your neck, amidst your ticklish protests. 

“Should’ve let me cook tonight. Give you and the baby a break.” He sighs, reaching for a stalk of celery. 

“A break from… painting candle jars and reading parenting magazines?” You quirk an eyebrow up at him, tipping the chopping board and letting the carrots fall into a bowl. 

“It’s tiring work.” He says, dead-serious as he sets the celery down and inspects one of your upcycled jars sitting on the window above the kitchen sink. 

“Asshole.” You mutter, gently kicking his foot with yours. He laughs. 

“Sarah, honey, dinner’s almost ready- Jesus-” Joel’s hand comes up to rest over his heart in shock. You give him a weird look, then turn around, understanding why he was startled. 

Your kid, silent as ever, standing in the archway of your kitchen, camcorder pointed directly at the two of you. 

“You really love that thing, don’t you, bug?” You shake your head lightheartedly, moving to pull up a seat for her at the dining table. 

She nods, finally setting the camera down and reaching for her dinner with eager hands. 

“It’s for my sister.” 

You and Joel pause, glancing at each other, wondering if the other understood what in the world your 5-year old is trying to say. 

“What is?” Joel inquires. 

“The movies I’m making.” She replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Pregnancy hormones be damned, you nearly start crying. It seems like Joel might break too. 

“S’that right, sweetheart?” He lets out a teary laugh, hand coming up to run his fingers through her curls. “Movies for the baby.” 

—-------

Only when you’re curled up with Joel in bed do you watch all of Sarah’s videos. 

The first one you watch, it’s you and Joel in the kitchen just hours prior. Your two figures are silhouetted by the warm lighting of your kitchen, your giggles echoing from the old speaker as you cook. 

The second one, Sarah’s voice comes through. The camera shakes as it passes from your hands to Sarah’s tiny ones. 

“Hi, my name is Sarah, and this is my house.” 

“That’s daddy, and momma- my lil’ sister’s in her belly.”

Your heart aches like it did when you first heard her say it. You move your head against Joel’s chest to look up at him, and the ache grows stronger when you see him tearing up. 

“Sap.” You tease, never ever giving him a break. 

“Can’t wait to show these to her.” He sniffs. 

You don’t have to ask to know who he’s talking about. 

When you press the button to go to the previous video, you’re met with a still-frame of teenage-you, all dressed up for her last prom. It feels like a shock to your system, like dunking your head in ice-cold water. 

But when the shock subsides, you can’t help but feel a little pride. 

You remember how unsure you were about your future at the time. You were terrified, and there was so much pressure on you to make scary decisions that you thought would change your life, for better or for worse. 

The display screen blinks to black, the aged battery giving up for the day. It remains steady in your hand. 

What you see now is just you. A little older, a lot wiser. But, it’s still you. 

The decisions you made then, as scary as they seemed, led you right to where you are now. In your home, in Joel’s arms, in the room next to your daughter’s, with your second one coming soon.

And you can’t imagine having it any other way.

[thewritergx]

Caught in the Act: Stepdad!Joel Miller X F!Reader

Summary: Joel catches his stepdaughter with her boyfriend and decides to show her who’s really in charge. 

Warnings: Unhappy marriage, mommy and daddy issues, drinking. Smut Containing: Age Gap (Reader is 18+ with undisclosed age, Joel in late 30s), Joel is your stepdad (don't read if your not into that), Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Caught in the Act (Reader with secret boyfriend), Jealousy, Cheating, Spanking, Fingering, Kissing, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Creampie, Pet Names: Darling, Baby girl, Little girl, Daddy. 

Word Count: 4.5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune. Free color text generator. If you'd like more Joel Miller stories, please go check out @pearlessance.

In the beginning, Joel Miller had hoped he would make a great stepfather. He hoped he would get along with you, find ways to make you laugh, get to know all your interests, and maybe help with schoolwork. He had been a father before, after all. He was sure he could do it again, even if you were already a teenager with your own life. He could guarantee you were safe, loved, and had a warm bed to come home to.

But, it turned out, you were completely different than what he had experienced with his daughter, Sarah. She was grown now, off to a big city hours away from him. Joel always thought she was easy to raise, but after living with you for the past two years, he was one hundred percent sure being a stepdad was nearly impossible. Now, he would settle to know he was a ‘kinda okay’ stepfather. 

Joel knew that you hadn’t really done anything wrong. You were a good girl, always coming home before curfew, making all A’s in your senior year, and never bringing around any shitty dudes. But fuck, if you weren’t slowly ruining his life with your little outfits and teasing glares. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, the way your eyes lingered on him, but he could feel you in the back of his mind all the time.

Maybe it would have been easier for him to manage if it happened slowly, the gutted feeling he got when looking at you. But it came on fast, like a truck traveling ninety miles per hour into a brick wall the day you moved in. He hated to admit it, but a part of him deep down in the darkest pits of his decaying soul, loved it. A kind of unimaginable pain he craved constantly, like when you get a small bruise and can’t help but press into the discolored skin. You know that icky, repulsive feeling you get when you touch wet food in the sink? That was how he felt every time he looked at you, his skin recoiling into itself as you hugged him goodbye, your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

The fantasies were the absolute worst, haunting him like an uninvited spirit watching in a dark corner of every room. He would imagine the most ghastly, devilish images when he was alone. Ones where you would be all spread open for him, letting him devour your swollen pussy while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Ones where you were waiting on your knees at the front door, a perfect set of lingerie displaying your tits as you sat with your mouth open, waiting for him to come home from work and fuck your little throat. Ones where you were screaming into your pillow as he stretched you open with his thick cock, pounding you into the mattress until you were begging him to stop. It was driving him insane. Insane like he couldn’t control himself. Insane like he wondered if he might have needed to get some serious professional help.

There was a time when he had truly loved his wife. At least he thought he did, hoped it. But she was always so busy, traveling out of town for some important work conference or meetings. He hated being lonely in his own home, hated that he fell asleep knowing you were right down the hall, no one stopping him from sneaking into your room and taking you like a dirty little whore. You didn't deserve it. He knew you were a good girl, an intoxicating innocent clouding his mind. It was exhilarating but left a bad, sour taste in his mouth, sort of like biting into a rotten piece of fruit. His wife was becoming more of an annoyance, her body never helping ease the pain of you. He would try, truly he would. But every time her hands landed on his skin, he thought of you, sleeping alone down the hall. 

“Joel?” Tommy waved his hand in front of his face, “Joel?”

Joel shook his head, eyes darting to his brother and thoughts snapping back to reality. “Huh?” Joel pitched the bridge of his nose before running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. Uh, what were you sayin?” He sat quietly across from Tommy, his broad shoulders pressed lazily into the small booth, red vinyl sticking to his back. 

“You okay? You haven't listened to a word I’ve said.” Tommy laughed, taking a swig of his beer and eating stale french fries. 

“Actually, I ain't feeling very good. Think I might be sick,” Joel muttered his words, hoping he was putting on a believable show. He felt fine. He just wanted to be back home. Back with his girl. As much as he loved his brother, he was begging to be close to you, not in some shitty dive bar avoiding the flirty glare from the bartender. 

“You should get home, rest.” Tommy stood, throwing down a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. 

“Yeah, it's getting late anyway”. Joel dragged his body from the booth, slamming down the rest of his drink and grabbing his keys. 

It took everything in Joel’s body not to sprint to his truck, his boots stomping across the gravel parking lot. He jumped into the truck, the engine rowing to life. His jaw was clenched, music vibrating through the speakers as he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white and tight against the worn out leather. 

He stumbled into the house, shoulders dropping and his eyes falling to the cold hardwood floor as he walked inside. The house was eerily quiet, the living room dark and empty. He had expected you to be in your usual place, sitting on the couch, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top that somehow showed way too much and nothing at the same time. His hands rested at his sides, eyes darting to your bedroom with a slight frown. 

You knew it was wrong, the way your panties instantly soaked in a pool of arousal anytime you were alone with Joel Miller. It was happening at an alarming rate lately, your mother always gone on work trips or fancy dinners. It was agonizing, your skin constantly on fire for a man you could never touch. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact day or even moment when you started pinning for the man. He was just always around, messy hair always falling in his eyes in the morning, eyes sparkling in the sun as he mowed the grass, and the way he rolled his sleeves up, the material hugging his toned shoulders as he washed the dishes. He was a goddamn masterpiece waiting for you to fall apart and end up in arms. It was wrong on every account. He was rough, older than you by a good fifteen years. Not to mention, he was married to your mother. 

You relished in the fact you were finally home alone, the perfect opportunity to get yourself some type of release from the constant yearning. Joel didn't like leaving you alone. Your mother was already gone all the time and he wasn’t going to be another person in your life too busy to show up when you needed him. As much as you loved being around him, feeling his gaze from across the room, you needed a night to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t. You wanted to respect Joel and his house, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop you. 

You laid on your bed, a loose t-shirt hanging off your shoulders, goosebumps rising over your body. You had been seeing a guy for a few months, keeping him a tightly wrapped secret. He was sweet, tall, and smart. The boy hovered over you, his hands falling to your hips as you grind into him, lips lightly parting and panting breaths flowing from you. His fingers grazed the hem of your red panties, the material hugging your waist. He brushed his lips over ours, pulling you into a gentle kiss. Not enough to send any sparks but enough to leave you whining and body raving. His hands traveled lower, dipping just inside your panties. You gasp, bucking your hips into his hand for any type of friction. You were so close to a release, hoping it would help settle the growing need for Joel. You had to stop yourself from imagining him, stop yourself from moaning his name as the boy dipped a finger inside you. 

Joel stood in the living room, debating on whether to knock on your door. Maybe you were hungry? Maybe you needed help with that new anatomy project? He lingered towards the door, hand hovering over the handle when he heard a quiet whimper. He listened for a moment longer, the sound of small moans reverberating on the other side. He should knock, he knows that. But in a second of impulse, he was swiftly throwing the door open.

“What the fuck?” Disdain dripped off his tongue, his broad shoulders standing in your doorframe as you lay on the bed, legs spread open. The boy’s hands roamed over your body, kissing your neck and palming at your panties. 

“Joel, oh my god! Get out,” you yelped, quickly pushing the boy off of you. You watched as the muscles in Joel’s jaw tightened, the veins in his throat contracting as he swallowed a huff of air. 

The boy stood in front of you, helpless fear written all over his face. “I’m uh...I-I’m gonna go,” he muttered, quickly throwing on a pair of Nike Sneakers. God, he looked pathetic. Weak and small next to the man you had really been longing for. 

“Yeah. You do that.” Joel cut his eyes at the boy, begging him to give Joel a reason. Joel wanted nothing more than to throw that kid against the wall and fuck him up so bad the cops would have to drag him out. But, he held back, hands crossed around his chest, the muscles in his shoulders flexing against his body. The boy awkwardly slipped through Joel, his eyes on the floor and shoulder shrugging. He squeezed himself between Joel’s large frame and the doorway, quickly leaving with a slight slam of the front door. 

You felt your body trembling, the edge of euphoria quickly fading and leaving you feeling empty. You felt your throat go dry, fingers shaky as you looked at Joel, your eyes darting between him, the floor, and your quivering fingers. 

“Who the hell was that?” Joel stepped into the room, scanning the way your bottom lip pouted, eyes full of regret and fear. It was cute, the way you were avoiding looking at him, but he needed to see the look in your eyes when he was talking to you. 

“No one,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of Joel’s hitched breaths.

“No one? You let…no one touch you like…that?” Anger rose higher, Joel’s voice thick with venom and a hint of disgust.

“N-No. I-I.” You shifted in your bed, sitting on the mattress with a ‘thud’. “He’s just some guy I’ve been talking to”.

“Does this ‘guy’ have a name?” Joel stood at the foot of your bed, his feet planted in the carpet. His eyes filled with darkness. 

“R-Ryan.” You spoke matter-of-fact, skin growing hot with embarrassment. 

“Ryan?” Joel sucked his teeth, his tongue pressed against his lips as he repeated the boy's name. Stupid and plain, he thought. He wasn’t even hot. He looked like a fucking nerd. Were these the kind of guys you actually liked? He definitely wasn't good enough for you and Joel could guarantee whatever he was about to do with you would have been over in five minutes. You deserved so much more than that. Deserved a real man. A man who could give you everything you needed, leave your body exhausted and voice raspy from screaming. “And what were you and ‘Ryan’ doin’?” 

You somehow mustered up the courage to look up at Joel, your cheeks flustered and on the verge of tears. “Nothing,” you mumbled again, eyes quickly falling down Joel’s body.

“Didn’t look like nothin’. Looked like you were about to spread those little legs for him. Were you gonna let that kid fuck you?” Joel stalked towards you, his large frame lingering over you like a lion stalked its prey. 

You cringed at his words hating the way it made your body all hot. “N-No! I swear. I wasn’t. I just…” You shifted again, pulling your shirt down in hopes of hiding the wetness formed in between your thighs.

“Just what? You were just under him, lettin’ him rub your pussy and you weren’t gonna fuck ‘em?” Joel grabbed your chin, his calloused fingers pulled at the soft skin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze as his thumb stroked your cheek softly. 

“I-” You tried to speak, words harshly cut off.

“Were you gonna suck his dick?” Joel dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, pressing into the soft skin. “Think that kid could actually give you what you need?”Joel chuckled, a sinister vibration shuddering through you. “You need to learn some goddamn respect, sweetheart. Bringin’ a boy like that into my house”. 

“I-I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I-I thought you would be gone longer.” Every nerve on your body is electrified with the soft touch of Joel's callous hands, a heavy contrast between his words. He was so close, the smell of whisky on his breath wafting between you.

“You’re sorry?” Joel huffed, “I don’t think you’re sorry, darlin’. Think ya’ liked it. Think ya’ wanted more, huh?” 

You stared up at Joel. You hesitated but voiclessly shook your head yes. There was no point in trying to hide it, not with your flustered cheeks and glossed-over eyes.

“Think I need to teach a lesson about what happens to little girls like you.” Joel sat next to you, his chest expanding with each breath as he pulled your arms, directing your body until you were all sprawled out, ass in his lap and face in the blankets. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, bunching the material at your waist to finally reveal those tiny red panties, your cunt swollen and outlined under the lace.

“Look at these fucking panties. Got all dressed up for him, huh?” Joel’s fingers travel to the thin material between your legs, hooking at the fabric before letting it go with a loud ‘pop’. He caressed your skin, calloused hands squeezing at the fat of your thighs. 

You flinched, your skin begging for more of him. Goosebumps rose across your body and your breath hitched in your throat, waiting as Joel’s hands lingered on your ass. 

“Joel, What are you-,” A loud slap echoed across the room, Joel’s strong hands striking the curvy fat of your ass cheek hard. Your body rejected the sensation, causing you to stur against him, hips writhing in a stinging pain. 

“Stay still,” Joel demanded, his words rushing through you like lightning strikes a metal pole. He struck you hard again, hand lingering on your skin a moment too long, caressing you before he spanked you again.

“Ow!” You immediately cried out at the unexpected impact. Your skin stung, and a red handprint started to form. 

Joel ignored your plea, slapping you again. This time, harder, enough to almost make you cry.

“Joel, ow!” A tear formed in your eye and your back arched with each impact. “I’m sorry, Joel. Please, I’ll be a good girl”. 

“Don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet, darlin’,” Joel hit you again, fingers traveling down to your panties for the second time.

“Look at how fucking wet you are. You're dripping all over my lap, sweetheart.” You moaned at his words, his hands palming at the sensitive skin, panties adding a rough sensation as he rubbed small circles on your clit. “This all for me or did that dumb boy do this?” 

“Fuck, Joel. P-please,” You bucked your hips, ass on fire but begging for more. 

“Answer me,” Joel growled, striking you again. His fingers moved just slow enough to work you up, but leave you whining for more. 

“Ahh! J-just y-you. I don’t e-even like h-him,” you yelped, cold air hitting your body as Joel reached for your top, swiftly pulling it over your arms and past your head. 

“Ya’ don’t even like him? Then why was he in my house? Why were you lettin’ him touch what’s mine?” His fingers returned to your cunt, settling on your soft skin and tugging on the lace. Finally, he was pulling the fabric down your legs, exposing that glistening pussy he had been craving for an eternity. 

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You swallowed hard, mouth going dry as you laid completely naked over him. Your ass stung and your pussy was crying. 

Joel spread your swollen lips, using two fingers to expose the arousal leaking from your tight hole. “Look at that,” Joel whispered, his fingers softly rubbing the outside of your soft lips, gathering your arousal thick on his fingers. He moved slowly, expertly rubbing your clit in a figure eight motion. You shuddered, the feeling just enough to add a sense of pleasure under the pain of your abused skin. You bucked your hips back into his hand, little moans falling out of you. 

His free hand traveled lower, lightly circling the soaking skin of your cunt, tight and swollen as he pressed his finger gently inside. 

“Oh god,” you squealed, Joel’s finger pressing right against that sweet spot. 

“So responsive. This is what ya’ like, huh?” He curled his finger up, his other hand still massaging your clit. “Like makin’ a mess on your stepdaddy's fingers?” He whispered, quickly adding a second finger to pump into you. “I know you do. You’re fuckin’ drippin’, baby girl”. 

Every muscle in Joel’s body was flexing, his toned arms stiff as he hits that sweet spot over and over again. The sensation is almost too much, your stomach tightening as he stretches you out. 

“Fuck, daddy. Please”, you cry, your mouth falling open as Joel ignores all your pleas for mercy. That tight feeling in your stomach grows, and shaky legs cause your hips to falter.  

“I know you're close, baby girl. Cum on your daddy’s fingers. It’s okay.” Joel struggled to keep you from sliding off his fingers, your walls tightening around him as his fingers press into your velvet skin.

“Joel!” You’re practically crying, eyes gripped close as a rush of euphoria flows through you. Everything in you relaxes, that sweet sensation leaving you vibrating with pleasure. 

“Good girl,” Joel mutters, eyes locked on the way your body is sucking his fingers in, your juices running down his hand. Joel hesitates for a moment. He thinks about fucking you with his fingers until you're a burning pile of ash under him. Reluctantly, he decides to show some type mercy, gently helping you lay back on the bed. 

He positions you on your back, your knees bent so your feet lay flat against the blanket. Before he can think, before he can force himself to get up and walk out the door, he is sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around your thighs. 

“Let me clean you up, darlin’,” Joel mutters, placing gentle kisses down your stomach.

He settles on your thighs, lightly biting at the skin and sucking harsh red marks. He spreads your legs wider, hovering his face above your core. He can guarantee your little boyfriend was not planning on doing this. 

Jole’s breath lands on your pussy, hot and slow as he licks a long stripe through your folds. Fuck, that’s the taste he had been dreaming of, like heaven oozing out of you and onto his tastebuds. He uses the tip of his tongue to tease your clit, flicking it up and down against you. Your hands fall to his thick hair, tugging at the loose strands that fall down his forehead. Joel hums, sending a vibration through you as his spit mixes with your wetness. 

His tongue traces every part of your core, settling back on your clit. This time harsher, like he's on a mission. His teeth graze the gentle skin, fingers digging into your thighs as you fuck his mouth. You're a mess under him, bucking your hips into his mouth as he sucks at the plump skin. 

“That’s it. Just like that. Cum on your daddy’s mouth, little girl”. Joel’s words echo through you, his tongue ripping another orgasm through you like a hot blade cuts through rubber. It's gentler but just powerful, leaving your mind foggy and breathless. 

“Such a good girl,” Joel growls, quickly forcing himself to stand. Finally, he gets a real look at your body. Your hair is already messy, red strands falling down your shoulders. Your nipples are swollen, the dark pink buds standing on edge. Fuck, you were breathtaking. 

Joel knew this was the moment that he truly couldn’t come back from. Maybe there was nothing wrong with just helping his girl get off. It was safer with him, he thought. But actually, fucking you? It would be too much. He should leave. He taught you a lesson. Taught you who you really belong to, right? He thought it would be easier. Thought he could stop whenever he was getting too close to crossing that line of no return, but his feet were planted in the ground and his cock was throbbing against the zipper of his jeans. 

Your eyes pleaded up at him, pupils dilated as you watched in silence. You didn't look scared and he found no hint of regret in your eyes. You looked happy even, a slight smile on your face.

“Think you can take your daddy’s dick?” He stood above you, watching your pussy dripping with his saliva. 

You nodded your head, arms grazing the soft skin of your stomach. He shouldn’t fold this easily. He should’ve made you say it, how much you wanted him. But that little nod was all he needed to kick off his boots and pull the zipper of his blue jeans down. 

“Just, fuck…Your mom can never know”. Joel pulled at his shirt, swiftly throwing it up over his head. His broad shoulders were finally on display, the muscles in his arms all toned. You had never seen him like this, his chest sprinkled with greying hair. He was like a Roman painting, his stomach firm but with a little bit of extra fat to grab onto. A true dad bod, you thought. 

“I know. J-Just want you. All of you,” you muttered, sitting up on your forearms as you watched him pull his jeans down his legs, leaving him in a pair of dark briefs. You could tell from here just how hard his cock was, the fabric strained and tight against him. 

“I know, baby girl. Think I don’t see it? The way you're always watchin’ me? Or the way you grab my arms when ya’ laugh? Fuckin’ drives me crazy, ya know.” Joel stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest. God, he really was about to fuck the little girl he was supposed to be helping raise. I mean, it’s not like you shared blood or anything. He wasn’t actually your dad. He was just a guy…married to your mom. 

“Just let me know…if gets to be too much,” Joel groaned, closing his eyes as he swallowed. He cursed himself for this, pulling his boxers off his hips. As much as he hated it, his cock sprang free, dripping with precum as he dragged his body to hover over you. It was a sweet relief, the air hitting him as he pumped his hand up and down his dick. 

Joel spread your legs wider, his hips falling over yours as pulled you into a hungry kiss. His lips meet yours with a subtle taste of whiskey and you. His tongue slowly licks at your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up to your entrance. You open your mouth a bit, letting him trace his tongue against yours, exploring every crevice of your mouth. The tip of his cock brushes against your clit, his large member teasing you and gathering your wetness. 

“Please,” you whine. Your arms fall down Joel’s shoulders, meeting his eyes as he gently presses his tip past your folds. 

“Fuck, baby. So fuckin’ tight.” Joel growled, pushing himself inside you with a sweet burning stretch. 

“Oh, Joel!” You moan, your throat tightening around your words as he sinks deeper inside you. You're taking half his cock now, so much bigger than the boy you had been seeing. 

“I got you, baby. Doing so good.” Joel’s head fell into the crease of your neck, placing hot kisses as he hit the back of your pussy. He stayed like this for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of him before he pulled back. “That’s a good girl. Takin’ her daddy so well.” Joel dragged himself out, leaving the tip inside before falling completely back into you, brushing against your g-spot like a pro. 

“Feel so good,” you whine, your nails dragging down his back as he picks up speed. 

“God, baby girl. Fuckin’ doing so good.” He tries to hold back, hips growing just slightly rough as he fucks deep into you. 

Your body is trembling again, your heart sinking with every thrust and a single tear runs down your cheek. He was so big, hitting your cervix over and over again. 

That feeling was quick to creep back, your chest tightening as he pounded into you, cock pumping in and out faster and rougher. 

“Daddy, please,” You cried, your body fighting off the euphoria as Joel pressed his weight against you. 

“It’s okay. Cum on Daddy’s big dick,” Joel growled, no longer stopping himself from making a complete mess of you. He watched your eyes flutter close, your back arching off the bed and your hands digging into the blankets. He snapped his hips, a loud echo ringing out across the room and you clenched around him, thick white cream coating the base of his cock. 

Just like that, you were crying out his name and shaking uncontrollably. Your orgasm ripped through you, hard and undeniable. 

“Daddy! Fuck yes!” You screamed, your hips bucking into him as you bit into his shoulder. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” Joel ground against you, hips never faulting as you withered under him. “Like Daddy’s cock, huh?” He growled, his own high building as he watched you shudder at his touch.

“I love it, daddy. Love your dick so much,” You whined, forcing your walls to open up for him. 

“Yeah? Wish I was fucking you a long time ago baby. Wanted to since I met ya’.” Joel’s rhythm grew messy, hips slapping into you at an unprecedented pace. “Gonna let your daddy cum inside your little pussy?”

“Yes, please Daddy. Want your cum,” You stuttered, your voice all raspy and barely audible. 

Fuck. Joel couldn't stop himself and he was thrusting as deep as he could, sinking all the way inside you until his balls landed on your clit. You were so beautiful, so tight around him that his mind was all clouded and drunk. 

“Goddamn. That’s my good girl. Lettin’ her daddy get her pregnant. Want to carry my baby huh? Get all swollen while your mom’s out of town. Bet she wouldn’t even notice.” Before he could stop himself, he was painting your walls white, fucking every drop of his cum deep inside you with a painful need. 

“Yes, Daddy!” You whined, watching as Joel slowly pulled out, his cum dripping down your leg. He dragged himself off of you, hitting the mattress with deep panting breaths. 

“Love ya’, sweetheart. Always have.” Joel muttered, his words spread out and uneven as he pulled your back against his chest. His mind was racing, the reality of what he had just done weighing on him like a ton of bricks.

He should have knocked.

[strang3lov3]

What about having a baby with dad!Joel?

Nope. In fact we are snipping dad!joel at some point (and making him cum 20x to get it all out of his system) because that’s never happening

[blondedlvfe]

you and joel miller

[prawntendo]

making myself cry with pre-outbreak holiday doodles (x)

[nehi-soda]

Bound in Bloom -

Jackson!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: Joel Miller never thought he’d find peace, not after all the years of running, fighting, and surviving. But here you were, standing in the kitchen of your farmhouse, your belly swollen beneath his favorite sundress on his birthday.

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: breeding kink, pregnancy kink, farmhouse!joel, dad-to-be!joel, Jackson!joel, stablished relationship, pregnancy, talk about your body changing, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), mention of unprotected P in V sex, creampie, smut, fluff, soft!joel, pet names (baby, darlin'). No use of Y/N. Mood board is for aesthetics only; the reader's features aren't specified. Basically just sickly sweet love!

A/N: I just know this would be Joel's DREAM, so I wanted to gift it to him for his birthday (and you cannot tell me this man does not have a breeding kink). Yes, Joel, you can keep me barefoot and pregnant, sweetie.

for @justagalwhowrites' joel miller birthday celebration (I chose Jackson Joel and breeding kink).

The soft morning light filtered through the kitchen window, painting everything with a golden haze. The sweet smell of cake filled the room as you stood at the sink, hands submerged in warm, soapy water, humming to yourself as you scrubbed the last of the cake mix off the various utensils. The worn farmhouse floor creaked beneath your bare feet, familiar and comforting. The air outside was still and quiet, except for the occasional rustle of the wind through the tall grass surrounding the house.

It was peaceful out here. Away from the chaos, from Jackson, from all of it. Joel had finally given in to the idea of a quieter life. After years of running, fighting, and surviving, he got what he'd wanted— a simple life. And you, you were part of that dream, tethered to him in ways you’d never been able to escape since the moment you met him.

Your little floral sundress clung to you a little differently now, tighter around your hips and shorter than it used to be, the fabric barely grazing mid-thigh. The hem lifted just slightly as you shifted, the soft cotton pulling tighter across the swell of your belly. You absently brushed your hand over the curve and smiled softly.

You didn’t expect to outgrow your clothes so quickly, but the last few weeks had caught you off guard. It seemed like overnight; your belly had swelled, pushing at the seams of your favourite dresses and making your jeans a distant memory. Lately, you’d been relying more and more on Joel’s t-shirts and flannels, the worn fabric soft against your skin, offering that extra room you needed. You liked the way they smelled like him—like woodsmoke and fresh pine, wrapping you in his presence even when he wasn’t there.

You could see it in his eyes every time he caught you wearing something of his —how much it did something to him. How the sight of you in his clothes, with your belly rounding beneath the fabric, lit something deep inside him.

But you didn’t try to get pregnant.

There wasn’t some grand plan, no careful conversations or conscious decisions about what you were doing. It had been the way he groaned when you begged for it, the way his breath hitched and his grip on your hips tightened like he was holding on for dear life. You loved the power it gave you, how those simple words could unravel him completely.

“Put a baby in me, Joel.”

You’d whisper it in his ear in those moments when he was deep inside you, moving slow and steady, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to keep control. Sometimes, you’d say it soft, barely a murmur against his lips. Other times, it came out all breathless, a plea mixed in with the sound of your moans. Sometimes it would be a loud scream.

And every time, it hit him like a goddamn freight train.

You felt it in the way his body would react—his hips driving harder, deeper, as if your words unlocked something in him, something primal. He couldn’t hold back when you said it. The way his voice would break, that low, guttural groan spilling from his throat as his fingers dug into your skin, his grip almost bruising, made you want him more.

“Please cum inside me, please, please, please…”

“You want that, huh? Want me to fill you up?”

And you did. You wanted it so badly in those moments; the idea of being swollen with his child, of him claiming you in the most permanent way, made your entire body burn with need.

His movements would become more purposeful as if he was consumed by the thought of it too.

But you weren’t trying to get pregnant. Not really. 

You just loved the way it made him lose himself, how he’d bury himself so deep inside you, hips flush against yours, as he came with a broken moan, spilling himself into you over and over again, filling you up as you’d asked.

You could hear him behind you, the sound of his heavy footsteps announcing his presence before his hands did. You smiled to yourself, letting the warmth of the sun match the warmth that spread through your chest. There was something so comforting about his presence—solid, dependable.

“Morning, darlin’,” his voice was rough from sleep, but there was something softer there, too, the edge he used to carry dulled by the peacefulness of this new life. His hands found your hips easily, warm and firm as they slid over the fabric of your dress, fingers grazing the swell of your belly like it was second nature to him now.

“Morning,” you murmured, smiling as he leaned in closer, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“How’s my girls?” he asked, his hand resting protectively on your stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles over the fabric as if he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of you.

From the moment you’d found out, Joel had been convinced you were carrying a girl. His baby girl.

“They’re just fine,” you teased, leaning back into him, letting the warmth of his body sink into yours. “She’s still baking.”

Joel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter.

"You look real pretty today," he murmured, voice gravelly and thick with that Southern drawl. You felt his hands slide across you in a slow, deliberate grip, the curve of your waist sliding down to rest on your widening hips. His breath was warm against your neck, the thick scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine as he planted soft kisses along the sensitive skin there. His touch was slow, tender, not rushed—like he had all the time in the world; like you were something precious.

“Gonna need to get you some new dresses soon,” he murmured. “Can’t have you walkin’ around in this one when it’s barely coverin’ ya.”

"You used to love this dress. Couldn't take your hands off me when I wore it, remember? Are you saying I'm getting too big for it?" you laughed softly.

“Nah,” he whispered, “Just sayin’ you’re growin’ right where I want you to.”

"Well, I wore it especially for you. Happy birthday, old man." you teased, raising your hand to dab bubbles on his cheek before giving him a soft kiss. You bit your lip and focused back on the dishes, the feel of the soap between your fingers suddenly became more acute. But it was hard to stay focused when his hands were moving like that. His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, teasing, lifting it ever so slightly.

"Joel, I’m almost done—" you giggled, but the words caught in your throat the moment his lips pressed against that sweet spot just below your ear. His hand slid higher, bunching the fabric, exposing more of your thighs, the cool air brushing against them.

“Good, 'cause I want my birthday present now." he growled softly between kisses, his voice low and rumbling. His fingers danced over your thighs as his mouth continued its slow, deliberate assault on your neck.

You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, your body already responding to him, the ache growing with every passing second. He knew it too—the way you shifted slightly, pressing back against him, craving more even as you tried to stay focused.

“So damn beautiful.” he whispered, his voice full of affection, his lips brushing your ear. A hand slid higher again, teasing along the edge of your underwear now, and you could feel your breath hitch, your whole body tensing.

You tried to protest again, half-hearted, knowing it was useless. His fingers slid beneath the thin fabric of your panties, brushing over your folds, finding you already wet with need making him groan softly.

“Always fuckin’ ready for it, huh?” he muttered, his fingers moving with a slow, torturous rhythm that had your knees trembling. “You were made for me, made for this, to carry my babies.…”.

All you could do was hum in agreement and let out a breathless moan, your head falling back against his shoulder as the pads of his rough fingers traced hypnotic circles against your swollen clit, the sensation overwhelming. His breath was hot against your ear, his free hand cradling your belly with a kind of possessive tenderness.

“God, you drive me crazy.”

He kissed your neck again, harder this time, nipping and sucking, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. You could feel him growing harder against your back, the heat of his body pressed flush against yours.

“You want me to stop?” he whispered, his fingers still moving in slow, agonising strokes. He knew the answer before you even said it, his voice thick with a kind of smug satisfaction that only made the heat between your legs burn hotter, your pussy fluttering around nothing.

“No…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, dizzy with need.

“Didn’t think so,” his voice deep, and then his fingers dipped lower, slipping two fingers inside you, pulling a soft moan from your lips, filling that ache you always seemed to have inside you that only Joel could satisfy.

"That’s it, mama, let me take care of you.”

You could hear the soft squelch of your pussy, accepting his fingers over and over as Joel gently swayed you in his arms.

Just when you were getting lost in his heavenly touch, he pulled them out making you whimper, your pussy clenching at the sudden loss. A firm hand between your shoulder blades pushed you forward, your pulse thrumming with anticipation.

Your palms braced against the cool surface of the sink as your body instinctively arched for him.

You felt him sink to his knees behind you, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against the wood floor.

You could barely catch your breath, the feel of his hand sliding down the curve of your ass, his fingers gripping the fabric of your soaked panties, tugging them down your thighs. You gasped as the cool air hit you, your legs spreading automatically.

He pressed his lips to the back of your legs, kissing his way up slowly, reverently, as if he were worshipping you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he groaned, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

His mouth was on you before you could even register the heat of his breath, his tongue slipping between your folds, lapping up the wetness. You let out a moan, loud and breathless, your body jolting forward as the first wave of pleasure hit you like a lightning bolt. His hands were firm but loving on your hips, pulling you back just enough so he could fit his mouth where you needed him most.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your entire being as his tongue slid over your sex, slow and demanding. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t devouring you like a man starved. No, you were a luxury that had to be savoured.

His tongue dragged a long deliberate stroke from your clit to your entrance. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you steady as he began to devour you, his mouth relentless, his tongue dipping and circling with a precision that left you shaking.

“Joel.”

His name was all you could manage, and it came out in a desperate moan.

He fucking loved how his name sounded when you moaned it.

He pressed a kiss to your swollen clit, soft and tender, before sucking it gently between his lips.

Your head dropped forward, your body trembling as the pleasure built inside you, hotter and hotter, until it felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh, fuck…” you whimpered, your fingers digging into the edge of the sink till your knuckles turned white, the pressure inside you building faster than you could handle.

Each lick was thorough and purposeful, his tongue exploring every inch of you like he was committing it to memory.

“God… Joel… feels so fucking good.” You could barely speak, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his mouth worked you over.

You rocked your hips back, settling his tounge further into your cunt.

“Mhm, mhm,” Joel hummed against you, his hands gripping your hips tighter, pulling you down harder onto his face, his words vibrating against the overstimulated bundle of nerves. “Atta girl, just like that, let go, baby.”

You could feel the orgasm building inside you, the heat coiling tighter and tighter. You were right there, teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he pushed you closer and closer.

“Joel… I’m gonna—" you tried to warn him, but it was too late. The orgasm ripped through you like wildfire, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out and came hard on his tongue. But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, drinking every drop of your sweet ambrosia release until you were spent, legs giving way, chest heaving.

When he finally pulled away, you were a quivering mess and could barely stand. You felt your juices dripping down the inside of your thighs and shivered.  

Joel wiped his mouth on his sleeve before he rose behind you with a groan. “Jesus, I'm gettin’ too old for this.” His hands slid up your thighs pulling your panties back up with him. His large arms settled around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

"Don’t be too worn out," you teased, your voice soft, still giddy with the afterglow. “Ellie and everyone are coming over, remember? And we’re having cake.”

“Baby, you know…I'm feelin’ a little full, actually.” He joked.

Your jaw dropped incredulously at his vulgarity before he planted kisses all over your flushed face.

Each year, when he blew out the candles on a small cake you’d make from whatever ingredients were available, he’d always wish for the same damn thing: To keep loving you.

 And if he were extra good,��maybe he’d be given another shot at fatherhood. 

Joel knew that this year, even if he never let himself fully believe he deserved it, you had already given him his greatest wish.

divider credit to @mikeykuns

[big-poppa23]

In The Pines

synapse: in a place built to strip humanity away, a hardened man and a broken girl find something neither expected—each other. as the games push them to the brink, what begins as survival becomes something deeper because sometimes, the smallest hand can pull you back from the edge.

pairing: hwang in-ho x teen!reader (obviously platonic/father and daughter type bond)

contains: violence, attempted assault, death, blood, pre-front man in-ho, father figure in-ho, during 2015 games

a/n: obviously this is not romantic. this is a father daughter type bond based around joel and ellie from tlou. i really want to write more for this man cuz he’s fine af but my daddy issues scream for him as a dad to cure some of his trauma

. . .

The dormitory was filled with silence and trembling breaths. No one dared speak above a whisper, like their voices alone might trigger another massacre.

In-ho sat on the lower bunk, his back against the cold wall. His shirt clung to him with sweat, and the metallic scent of blood still coated the inside of his nose. He hadn’t blinked since the game ended.

Four hundred and fifty-six had become two hundred and one.

And yet, somehow, the kid made it.

He’d noticed her—not because she stood out, but because she shouldn’t have been there. A girl, barely old enough to ride the subway alone, with scrapes on her knees and a look in her eyes that said she’d been surviving long before today.

She hadn’t cried.

Not even when the bodies dropped.

Footsteps approached. He glanced up just in time to see her plop herself down across from him on the floor, cross-legged like she was at a sleepover.

“You got a smoke?”

In-ho blinked. “What?”

“A cigarette. You look like you’re dying for one. Figured you might have a spare.”

He stared at her. Her voice was hoarse from screaming during the game, but she held herself like she wasn’t afraid of him. Or anything.

“You’re a child.”

“No shit. Thanks for the observation, Sherlock. And you’re grumpy. This gonna be our thing?��

He didn’t answer. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Y/N didn’t move. She just kept sitting there, arms draped over her knees.

“You didn’t watch me,” she said after a moment.

His eyes opened again.

She was picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “During the game. Everyone was watching the people getting shot. But you were watching who was gonna trip. Who was using bodies as cover. You were looking for weaknesses.”

In-ho didn’t speak, but something in his jaw twitched.

“I was behind you,” she added. “You didn’t notice me, but I noticed you. You were calm. Not normal calm. Cop calm.”

That made him shift, just a little. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? I think I do.” Her gaze was steady now. “You’re not here just for the money. You’re looking for something. Or someone.”

In-ho finally sat up straighter, leaning forward. “Listen, kid—”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“My name. Since we’re roommates now, figured you should know. Y/N.”

He stared at her.

Then, to her surprise, he said, “In-ho.”

She smiled. “Hi, In-ho.”

He shook his head and leaned back again, muttering, “Goddamn kid.”

But he didn’t tell her to go away.

And that, as far as Y/N was concerned, was a win.

In-ho hadn’t said another word, but Y/N didn’t seem to mind. She leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the rows of bunks like she was casing the place.

“I counted sixteen guys with twitchy eyes and shaking legs,” she murmured. “Bet they crack by lights out. You think they’ll let us sleep?”

“No.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Should’ve known. Most places that claim to be ‘safe’ usually aren’t. Group homes, shelters… dormitories with masked gunmen. Same shit.”

In-ho glanced at her again.

She was too calm.

“Where are your parents?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked over at him, surprised. “You tell me.” When he didn’t respond, she shrugged. “Dad ran off before I could spell his name. Mom’s… probably in a ditch somewhere. Or married to a guy who doesn’t like kids.”

She said it with a smirk, like it was a joke. But it wasn’t.

“I’m not looking for a sob story,” she added quickly. “I’m just here to win. Get out. Get a dog. Maybe a PlayStation.”

He let out a breath through his nose—something close to a scoff. “That simple, huh?”

Y/N looked at him seriously now. “It has to be.” She leaned forward again, whispering like they were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “You’ve got the eyes of someone who thinks too much,” she said. “You keep doing that, you’re gonna break before the sixth game. You need something to keep you going. Like me and the PlayStation.”

In-ho raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s gonna keep you alive?”

“I think people underestimate girls who still want childish things.” She smirked again. “Besides. I’m scrappy.”

She stood up with a grunt and dusted off the seat of her pants.

“Anyway. You seem like a guy who wants to be left alone, so I’ll stop bothering you. Just thought I’d say hi since, you know… shared trauma and all.”

She turned like she was really going to walk away.

And she did.

But halfway to her bunk, some older guy bumped into her hard on purpose. “Watch it, brat.”

Y/N stiffened. She looked like she wanted to mouth off, but silently flipped him off and just kept walking.

In-ho watched the man keep walking too.

Something shifted inside him. Not violently. Not dramatically. Just a slow ignition of something primal and terrifying.

He’d seen girls like her on crime scenes. He’d zipped their bags. Filed their reports. Called names from cracked ID cards no one came to claim.

But not her.

Not this one.

If anyone here so much as touched a strand of her hair again…

He’d burn this whole fucking place down.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe because she reminded him of the boy he used to be. Or the brother he lost. Or maybe because, for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, someone had looked him in the eye and seen him.

She had named him. Spared him the shame of being just “132.”

Hi, In-ho.

She had no idea what she’d just done.

And now he would kill for her.

. . .

The lights snapped off without warning.

A second later, the screaming began.

Metal clanged against metal. Shoes thundered across the concrete. Shadows darted through what little light remained—chaos made flesh.

In-ho was already on his feet, eyes straining in the dark, fists clenched. He’d expected this.

What he didn’t expect was the small voice shouting his name.

“In-ho!”

He spun.

Through the chaos, he saw her. Y/N. Stumbling backward between two bunks, cornered by three grown men who looked less like players and more like predators who’d been waiting for this moment.

“She’s just a kid,” one of them said.

“That’s the point,” another sneered, brandishing a shattered glass bottle.

In-ho didn’t think. He moved.

He lunged into the fray like a reaper, grabbing the nearest man by the collar and slamming him against a post. Someone else threw a punch—he ducked, drove an elbow into the attacker’s ribs, then kicked the third man’s legs out from under him.

The sound of violence surrounded them. People were dying in the dark. But he didn’t care. Not about them.

Only her.

Y/N was frozen in place, eyes wide, back against the steel bars of the bunk. “I—I’m okay,” she whispered, even though she clearly wasn’t.

Then a fourth figure emerged from the shadows, quickly pinning her to the floor.

He hadn’t been part of the first group. No. This one had been watching.

Tall. Greasy. Smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man crooned. “You don’t gotta be scared. I’ll take care of you…”

In-ho was too far. He saw it happen in slow motion—he couldn’t get there in time.

But Y/N moved.

Fast. Sharp. Terrified.

A glint of silver flashed in her hand.

The fork.

He hadn’t even noticed she pocketed it after dinner.

The man grabbed her wrist, but she twisted—stabbed—right into his neck.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He collapsed with her on top of him, and she didn’t stop.

She kept stabbing.

Over and over, shaking, growling through her teeth like a wounded animal cornered in a cage.

In-ho finally reached her.

“Y/N!”

She didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him.

Just the blood. Just the monster beneath her who almost—

He grabbed her wrists and gently, but firmly, pulled her off.

She resisted at first, like she didn’t know who he was. But when he whispered her name again—

“Y/N. It’s me. It’s me.”

—she finally let go of the fork.

Her hands were soaked. Her whole body trembled as she stared at him with wide, wild eyes.

“He—” she choked, her voice cracking. “He tried to—”

She didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

In-ho wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight against his chest. She didn’t resist. She crumpled into him like a collapsing building.

“I got you,” he whispered, over and over, as chaos roared around them. “I got you. I got you. I got you.”

He looked down at the blood on her hands. The way her small fingers curled into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.

That was the moment he knew.

He would never let anyone touch her again.

Not while he was still breathing.

Not even if it meant dying himself.

. . .

The dormitory reeked of sweat, blood, and the sterile tang of iron.

Guards had come hours ago, dragging away the bodies like they were trash instead of people. No one spoke. No one mourned. Death was routine now.

In-ho sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, knuckles split open from punching one of the men last night—he hadn’t even noticed when it happened.

But it wasn’t his wounds he was thinking about.

It was her.

She hadn’t said a word since.

Y/N had curled up beside him after the chaos ended, small and trembling in the crook of his arm, but she hadn’t cried. Not one tear.

Now, in the pale morning light, she was returning from the bathroom—silent, shoulders stiff, face unreadable.

In her hands: a soggy paper towel.

She knelt in front of him without a word.

Carefully—like she wasn’t 14 and covered in the memory of blood—she reached for his hand and dabbed at the torn skin on his knuckles.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t make a sarcastic remark or complain about the smell. No playful jabs. No “tough guy” jokes.

Just silence.

In-ho watched her, heart sinking like lead in his chest.

She cleaned his hands like it was a chore. Routine. Mechanical.

Her eyes weren’t wide anymore. They were smaller somehow. Hardened. Distant.

And when she finally finished, she sat back on her heels and said nothing.

“Y/N,” he murmured.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his—but it wasn’t her. Not all the way. Something behind them was gone.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice low. Flat. “You don’t have to ask.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he replied gently. “I was going to tell you… that wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” she said too fast. “It was him. He tried to hurt me. I stopped him. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

She was trying to convince herself.

“Still,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “I didn’t know it’d feel like that. Killing someone.”

She rubbed her palm against her pants like the blood was still there.

“I thought I’d feel… strong. Or safe.” Her lip trembled, just once. “But I don’t. I just feel less.”

In-ho’s breath caught.

He reached out, slow and careful, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away.

“You’re not less,” he said quietly. “You’re still you.”

But even as he said it, he saw the lie in her eyes.

She wasn’t the same girl who sat cross-legged in front of him cracking jokes two nights ago. That girl had left the second she drove a fork into someone’s neck to save herself.

This one was still here, but she was different.

Harder. Quieter. Changed.

And he hated this place for it.

He hated the guards, the games, the piggy bank that glowed with blood money. He hated the man she had to kill. He hated that he hadn’t seen him sooner. He hated that he hadn’t protected her from everything.

But most of all, he hated how quickly she was adapting.

How quickly she was becoming like the rest of them.

He looked at her small, blood-scabbed hands.

He swore to himself once again, right then—

No matter what, he’d keep her alive.

But more than that… he’d keep what was left of her human.

Y/N sat back, her hands now empty, gaze unfocused as she stared down at the blood-stained paper towel on the floor.

In-ho’s hand hovered above it for a moment before he set it aside. Quiet settled between them like fog, and for once, she didn’t try to fill it with words.

She just waited.

Like she knew there was something he hadn’t said yet.

“You asked me why I’m here,” he said at last, his voice low and rough.

She looked up.

He wasn’t meeting her eyes.

“My wife,” he began, jaw tightening. “She got sick. Acute liver cirrhosis. When we were going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant.”

Y/N blinked, sitting up straighter.

“The doctor gave her a choice,” he continued. “Terminate…and she might live. Or go through with it, and…she probably wouldn’t.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “What’d she choose?”

“You see, my wife is stubborn. She didn’t even hesitate.” He let out a breath that could’ve been a laugh in another life. “Said she didn’t care if it killed her. She wanted to meet our child, even just once.”

His fingers twisted together in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I tried to be strong, tried to raise the money, find a donor, anything. But the transplant…the meds…even just keeping her comfortable…” He swallowed. “I was desperate.”

Y/N’s voice was soft. “So you borrowed money.”

He nodded. “From someone I shouldn’t have. Then one of my oldest vendors offered to help. I thought I could pay it back. Thought I’d fix it before anyone noticed.”

“But they did,” she guessed.

“They thought I took a bribe.” His voice was bitter now. “Didn’t matter that my record was spotless. Or that my wife was dying. My superior didn’t even look me in the eye when he fired me. Just said I ‘should’ve known better.’”

He finally glanced at her.

And what he saw wasn’t judgment.

It was understanding.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him like he was a failure.

She just asked, “Is she…?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “When I joined this place, she was still holding on. I just… I thought maybe if I won, I could give her a second chance.”

His voice cracked for the first time.

“I didn’t want this life for my kid,” he whispered. “I didn’t want them to be raised without a mother. Or worse… not be born at all.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She stared at him, wide-eyed—not in pity, but something deeper. Like she’d just found the last good part of this place and it happened to be him.

Without saying anything, she reached for his hand.

And this time, he let her hold it.

“You know,” she murmured, “if your baby’s anything like you… he or she’s gonna be okay.”

He looked at her then—really looked—and saw not just a kid, but someone trying to believe there’s still something worth saving.

He gave her a small nod.

But inside, something else burned.

A vow.

If he couldn’t save his wife… if he never saw his child…

He’d save her.

This girl who cleaned his wounds and carried his secrets and still had blood under her nails. This girl who should’ve been at a school desk, not stabbing a man to death to stay alive.

He couldn’t undo what she’d done.

But maybe he could keep her from doing worse.

Maybe, in the end, saving her could be enough.

. . .

The lights never truly turned off anymore—not after that night. It had only been a day since then, more people died and there was only eight of them left.

They only dimmed to a sickly hum, casting long shadows across the room filled with rusted bunks and broken people.

In-ho sat on the floor, back against the metal frame of the lower bunk. His knuckles were still raw, his eyes heavy, but he didn’t let himself sleep.

Not while she was here.

Y/N had crawled into his bunk without saying a word. She hadn’t asked for permission. She hadn’t needed to. She just curled up, back to the wall, and passed out the second her head hit the thin mattress.

It had taken her three whole minutes to start twitching in her sleep.

Nightmares, probably.

She hadn’t talked about that night again. The man. The fork. The blood on her hands.

She hadn’t needed to.

He saw it in the way her shoulders stayed tensed even while she slept. In the way her fingers still curled like she was holding a weapon.

Quietly, gently, In-ho stood.

He pulled the thin blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it behind her back to keep her warm. She didn’t stir.

Then he lowered himself back to the floor, knees pulled up, eyes scanning the room. Watching. Waiting.

If anyone even looked at her wrong again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

He’d kill them before they got close.

He was supposed to be a police officer. A protector of the law. But right now, the law didn’t mean shit.

Not in here.

Here, he was just a shield with a heartbeat.

Time dragged. He rubbed his tired eyes, almost drifting off, until—

She mumbled something.

He turned.

Her brow furrowed in sleep, her lips parting.

“…Appa…”

His breath caught.

He froze, as if the floor might crumble beneath him.

She shifted, curling into the blanket, a quiet sigh escaping her lips.

“Appa…” she whispered again, softer this time. Like a memory she was chasing in a dream.

In-ho swallowed hard.

His throat burned.

He hadn’t heard that word in months. Not from his wife. Never from his unborn child. Not even from his own mind—he’d buried it, shut it away to survive this place.

But here it was again.

From her.

She didn’t even know she’d said it.

And he wouldn’t tell her.

But he reached up—slowly, with trembling fingers—and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

His voice barely escaped him, a whisper only the dark would hear.

“I’ve got you, baby girl.”

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t close his eyes.

He kept watch. For her. For the child he never got to hold. For the piece of himself he thought was long dead.

Now tucked under a threadbare blanket, breathing soft and even, calling him appa in her dreams.

And maybe… maybe that was enough to keep him going.

. . .

The dormitory was silent again.

Too silent.

In-ho stood in the middle of it—alone except for the sleeping bodies around him, blood beginning to pool beneath their bunks. The air smelled of iron and death. Again.

He was still holding the knife.

His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as he looked down at the last man he’d killed—still curled under his blanket, eyes open now, but empty. He had barely stirred. Same with the rest.

It had been easy.

Too easy.

Four lives taken in under five minutes. Silent. Efficient. Controlled.

It wasn’t like the other times. This wasn’t defense. This wasn’t panic or fear.

This was strategy.

This was survival.

This was what Oh Il-nam wanted—what the masked old man offered. A chance. A deal. An out.

There couldn’t be a final game with only two players left. Not according to the rules. So if In-ho eliminated the rest before sunrise, it would end.

They would win.

She would win.

And right now, that was the only thing that mattered.

He turned slowly, knife still trembling in his hand, and walked to the last occupied bunk.

Hers.

Y/N was curled on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, the other loosely holding the edge of her blanket. Her lashes fluttered every now and then—dreams, maybe. Nightmares. He hoped not.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t hear the wet sounds of his blade in the dark.

Didn’t smell the blood.

Didn’t see him become something else entirely.

He dropped to one knee beside her bunk, lowering the knife to the floor.

And for a long moment, he just looked at her.

She was older now. Not in years, but in her eyes. In the way she held herself. In the way she moved. She hadn’t called him appa since that first week—but he still heard it when she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world that felt safe.

He wondered what she’d say when she found out.

If she ever did.

Would she understand? Would she hate him?

Would it matter?

He reached for the blanket and gently pulled it higher, covering her shoulders. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh—but didn’t wake.

His hand hovered over her hair, then dropped.

And then he sat beside her bunk on the floor, back to the steel frame, knees drawn up.

The knife stayed by his foot.

He didn’t cry.

Didn’t tremble.

Just stared ahead at the far wall, coated in shadow, until morning would come. Until the loudspeakers would crackle to life and declare them winners. Declare them alive.

And maybe when she asked what happened to the others, he would lie.

Or maybe she’d just know.

But for now… for these last few hours…

He sat in silence, a blood-streaked guardian in the dark, keeping watch over the only person left worth saving.

Even if it meant damning himself to do it.

Soon, the overhead lights flickered to life with a low, electrical hum.

In-ho didn’t move.

He hadn’t slept. His back ached from the concrete, his hand still curled near the knife, dried blood crusted beneath his fingernails. His eyes were open, locked on the far wall, but he wasn’t really seeing it.

He was waiting.

For the moment she’d look at him and see what he’d become.

A sharp crackle from the speakers broke the silence, followed by the cold, sterile voice of the announcer:

“Players 045, 177, 229, and 412 have been eliminated. The game is over.”

The words echoed off the dormitory walls like a funeral bell.

Y/N stirred beneath the blanket, groggy, confused. “What…?

She sat up, blinking into the harsh light—and then she saw them.

The beds.

Empty.

Or stained.

Bodies gone, but not the aftermath.

Her breath caught as she looked around. Then—

Her eyes landed on him.

In-ho didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

He waited for the inevitable shift in her face. The betrayal. The fear. The look that would gut him more than any blade ever could.

But it never came.

Y/N looked at him for a long moment. At his blood-splattered suit. His still body. The knife by his foot.

And then—she crawled down from the bunk.

Slowly. Quietly.

She sat beside him on the floor.

Their knees touched.

She reached for his hand.

He hesitated—but only for a breath—before letting her take it.

Her fingers curled around his.

Then, softly, her voice broke through the suffocating quiet. “That wasn’t your fault.”

His throat clenched. His jaw locked to keep the tremor from escaping.

But she wasn’t done.

“You’re not less,” she whispered. “You’re still you.”

The words echoed in his mind like a mercy he didn’t deserve.

The same words he had once spoken to her, when her hands were shaking and covered in blood. When she had looked at him like she didn’t recognize herself.

And now she was giving them back.

To him.

Not with pity. Not with fear.

But with something closer to faith.

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand, slow and grounding.

“I know why you did it,” she said, still looking ahead, not pressuring him to speak. “And I’m glad you did.”

He closed his eyes.

A tear slipped out before he could stop it.

But he didn’t pull away.

She didn’t let go.

And in that moment, In-ho wasn’t just the man who killed four people in cold blood. He wasn’t the monster the Games had tried to shape him into.

He was her protector.

Her family.

And the last flicker of humanity still burning in his chest stayed alive—because she let it.

Because she saw him.

And still chose to hold his hand.

[daisybvck]

Pedro Pascal

𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙎:

Take it easy kid (coming soon)

| Joel helps you destress after studying takes a toll on you

[thechaoticcherub]

A Problem Pt 2

Part One

Pairing: Dad!Joel x reader Summary: You're each other's problems and that finally becomes clear. Warnings: NSFW 18+, INCEST, DDDNE, age gap, reader is 18, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), orgasms, size kink, daddy kink( iguess?), reader is a terror, not proofread or beta-ed oopps, Joel's POV Notes: here's part two! I hope it lives up to the hype, I liked writing it. I kinda went all over the place with it so idk. it's not tightened up at all and i'm pretty sure I talk about their foreheads pressed together A LOT and the POV jumps around a bit but you know, i'm tired. Enjoy!\

Tagging people who asked for a pt two: @ohmillerbaby @jiminstinypinky @bloodygoree @shivispunk @monicasblues @scened0ll @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @jakesmysterio @neobangverse @thottiewinemom @thebumbqueen @fallout-girl219 @dilflover-3

Tess had been a necessary distraction for Joel. He needed someone  to take his mind off his problem. This problem wasn’t a typical one. It wasn’t the mortgage needing to be paid, it wasn’t his brother needing to be bailed out of jail, it wasn’t the roofing guys not answering his numerous texts. Those were issues he needed to work out but they weren’t Joel Miller’s biggest  Problem. They weren’t what he needed Tess for. Joel’s biggest problem was also the love of his fucking life. Joel’s problem was a little demon child who lived in his house, occasionally still slept in his bed, and drained his bank account. Joel’s problem was created by him, raised by him. You. 

You were the problem that had plagued him for so long, had buried yourself into his loins and heart and refused to let go. You had always hated when he went on dates when you were younger. You threw fits until he came home. You would hate Tess and yet, you were the reason he needed to keep seeing Tess. To stave off his disgusting problem. The problem that Joel knew snooped through his bedroom when he wasn’t home, that washed his t-shirts for him. You were a Problem with light shining in your eyes and lips that teased him when you ran your tongue along them. 

So really, you were the reason Joel invited Tess over that night when you headed off to a sleepover at your friends house. Unfortunately, you were also the body he envisioned underneath him as he fucked Tess. He was a sick man. He had a beautiful women in his bed and yet his mind always wandered to his pretty little daughter. So when you walked into the room, throwing the door open, he half wondered if it was some kind of debauched fantasy he was having. But then you were shouting and running like the bratty little girl you had always been. 

Tess had made a remark about you knocking and it pissed Joel off, but at the same time, she had a point,  and he felt bad that this would be the first interaction Tess ever had with you.

You flung insults and anger when he followed you down the stairs and that didn’t surprise Joel at all. When Tess made it out the door, you tried your best to hurt him but you had never been tough enough to learn how to throw a punch. 

Joel knew he had to have the awkward conversation with you now, apologizing, mentioning his own needs, and you would stand there looking so…good. Being the subject of all his needs, his desires. You would continue to burn in his guts and the words he spoke would make you uncomfortable because obviously talking about your dad’s sex life was not something you would find appealing. 

Then he caught something, the way your eyes lingered on his undone pants, seemingly taking in the hair he was trying to cover by doing up his jeans. Your little tongue poked out and touched your bottom  lip, your eyes fixated for a moment. Then the things you said, 

“No, Daddy. I’ll never want that from boys in college.” 

“I hate that you were doin’ that with Tess.” 

If Joel didn’t know any better, he’d think- no. That was his imagination—wait, did you say, Tess? When Joel posed the question to you, the words hung in the air for a long time. You went still and your eyes darted from his face to his hands to the floor and back. You were trying to come up with a lie, Joel could see that.  You had lied to him enough times for him to know that. 

*

“I-“ You started, you were searching for a way out of this. A way to explain how you knew or a way to derail your father from his questioning but the only idea that came to mind was crazy. “What?” You asked him, to buy time. 

“How did you know her name is Tess?” he asked again, putting his hands on his hips, stepping back from you. You answered quickly, trying to brush past his question with your own question,

“I don’t know! But…but daddy, I don’t understand what you were doing…” You said, feigning innocence. 

“Oh you don’t know how you knew-wait..what?” Joel asked, confused, “You don’t know what it was we were-honey, c’mon now.” He said, looking down at you. The lines on his forehead creased further as his confusion took over. You stared back with wide eyes, praying he forgot about the Tess question. You were making rash decisions now, but hey, the only way forward was through so you pushed on,

“I-I mean…I do, I think.” You started, taking a step forward towards him. Joel was looking down at you in utter confusion, you sucked on your lower lip and then reached out and took his hand. “That’s…that’s sex, right, Daddy?” You asked and Joel let out a nervous laugh at that. Underneath the fake innocence you tried to smother the intense gleam of mischief, of manipulation. 

“Ye-yeah, honey…I don’t understand. You should know this, kid.” He said, “I mean, I could have been better about havin’ that conversation with you but I kinda thought school took care of that.” You were pulling his hand towards you and it wasn’t like he was resisting but you could feel his trepidation. 

“I just always thought…” You cut yourself off, stealing yourself to finally say it to come face to face with what you wanted and what you were sure would send your father spiraling. “I always thought that was somethin’ we were goin’ to do someday.” You tugged his hand up to your waist like you were going trying to make him hug you. Joel tugged his hand away instinctively,

“What!?” He asked. “No, babygirl…are you…you’re jokin’” He started to laugh and you furrowed your brow in anger. 

“No!” You said, “I’m not joking!” You snapped. “I thought that was something daddy’s did with their daughters! You always said I was your special girl!” You accused, glaring at the man in front of you. You watched something flicker across Joel’s face. Pain and desire. It was there, clear as day now. You and your dad shared a problem. 

“No. Baby, No. Where did you get this idea that…that…” He shook his head. 

“Aren’t I your special girl?” You asked. 

“Yes but…this…” he gestured between the two of you. “This wouldn’t be right. It’s not-“ You  interrupted him by standing up on your tip toes and pressing your lips into his. Joel’s whole body stiffened and he grabbed your shoulders, trying to push you away from him but you reached up, wrapping your arms around your dad’s neck and pulled yourself into him, pressing your body into his. 

You silently prayed this wouldn’t backfire. You hoped to God he wouldn’t shove you away and have you committed for trying to fuck your own father.  He didn’t. He melted. At first the kiss could have almost been something a father and daughter shared when the daughter was a lot younger but it quickly devolved into something so inappropriate it gave you butterflies. Thoughts of Tess vanished and Joel’s hands found your waist. His lips were rough and warm and you cherished your first kiss like it was made of gold and in your mind, it was. 

It was Joel who ripped away first. 

“No. Babygirl, No. This isn’t supposed to happen,” but even has he said it, he was caressing your cheek, stroking your hair back away from your face. 

“Yes it is.” You said before pressing your lips to his again, he kissed you back but then was pulling back once again. 

“This is wrong.” He said but it was his lips that engulfed yours this time. His arm tightened around your waist and he lifted you up so your feet dangled off the floor and he took a few steps into the living room, in front of the couch and let you down again. 

“But I like wrong, Daddy.” You said, staring up at him. “I’ve always  liked wrong.” You explained to him. It was quiet for a moment as he stared down at you, your eyes glinting in the dim light in the living room. Joel knew you were a sneaky little shit. You always had been but it had never occurred to him that it would manifest like this but if you were going to say you liked “wrong” he could give you “wrongness” in spades. 

“I think I like wrong too, babygirl.” He said and then you took his arms and pushed him back onto the couch so he was sitting down. He looked up at you and reached out to take your hands, to pull you close to him but you had other plans. You dropped down onto your knees in front of him, settling yourself between his knees. Before he could say anything you reached up and started to undo the pants he had so recently done back up. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel said, looking down at you on your knees in front of him. You got his pants undone  and your fingers ran through the wirey, course pubic hair there and your eyes traveled up his body to look into his eyes as you smiled. Joel let you tug his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring free, “This…this is so wrong.” Joel said but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and running his fingers through your hair. You giggled, reaching out towards his cock, you had been wanting this for so long you could barely believe it was right there in front of you. As you wrapped your fingers around the base Joel shifted, his brow furrowed, 

“Where the fuck did you learn this darlin’?” He asked, sounding nervous for the answer. You just shrugged and you stuck your tongue out and very slowly and deliberately licked the tip of his cock. 

*

Watching his daughter get on her knees in front of him, and start licking his hard cock made Joel’s brain go haywire. How the fuck did you know just how to do that? You were supposed to be his good little girl who didn’t like boys, didn’t fuck around. Your mouth slid over his cock, little lips enveloping his cock-head and worry filled him. Had you been doing this with boys behind his back? Nights where you claimed to be at a friends house, had those been lies? Joel sat up and very suddenly grabbed your chin, tugging you off his cock with a quiet, wet, pop. He forced you to look up at him and you still looked like the picture of sweet innocence, even with your face flushed, your mouth wet, eyes wide. 

“Where did you learn it? You been with a bunch of boys I don’t know about?”he asked. He felt protective and jealous. You had been playing innocent, saying you thought that it was something the two of you would do together. Joel practically scoffed at the thought now.  “You tell the truth now,” he said, giving you a little shake. You didn’t falter though.  

“Well I watch porn sometimes, daddy. I’m sorry.” You said, your lip trembled slightly. “I’ve never been with a boy…I’ve…” your cheeks reddened, “I’ve just wanted you. Always. Only you.” Joel softened at your words. You weren’t lying. He could tell but God, it had made him nervous. This sickness inside him was making him paranoid…jealous. Something he had never been before. “And…well I wanted to make you like me better than Tess.” You continued and Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at you, still kneeling between his knees. Tess. Her name again. 

Joel looked down at you and without speaking, you both remembered the question from earlier. How do you know her name is Tess? Joel stared at you, his brow furrowing as he held your chin.  He watched as a smirk slid over your face, mischievous, sly and excited. Of course, you had known that Tess was coming over from the second you had left for your friends house for a fake sleepover. Joel nodded  slowly as the realization dawned on you. 

“You’re a brat, babygirl.” He said. Joel let go of your chin and grabbed your hair, pushing you down towards his cock. “You hated the idea of your daddy fucking someone else that bad, huh?” he asked. Your mouth wrapped back around the head of his cock but this time it was Joel’s hand guiding you down, pressing his cock into your mouth. 

*

You gagged as his cock plunged deeper into your mouth, he had seen porn but that didn’t prepare you for a cock being shoved into your throat. You struggled back but Joel held your head, not letting you off entirely. 

“Answer me, babygirl. You hated it so bad you had to ruin it, right?”he asked. You couldn’t speak with his cock in your mouth so you whimpered and nodded. “What was that, darlin? I can’t hear ya,” He mocked and you whined, managing a garbled, 

“Yeeeea,” around his cock. Joel chuckled and his fingers caressed in your hair as you caught your breath, your tongue working over the tip of his cock. You had never imagined you would ever actually get to be here, you had wanted it so bad you hadn’t ever stopped to think it would actually be possible. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and looked down into your eyes, 

“My sweet, destructive little girl.” Joel said softly, he leaned forward, bending to plant a kiss on the top of your head. You glowed with pride and warmth. This felt like everything you had ever wanted from him, this was supposed  to happen, it was meant to be, you and him. You were from him and now he got to take you properly as his own. “You need your good ole’ dad, don’t ya?” he asked into your ear, his fingers still in your hair. You nodded and he pulled back, “Get up here then,” he breathed and patted his knee. You stood up, looking down at him for a second, your heart pounding a million beats per second it felt like. You took in how he looked there, everything you had ever wanted. The man who had not only made you, raised you, taught you everything but had etched what it meant to need into every vein, crevice, line, pore in your body. His stubble was greying around his chin, flecks of gray in his mustache. His shirt was pulled up slightly, showing off his belly and his pants were still undone, cock resting against the soft part of his stomach. His arms were held out, ready to accept you into them, they’d feel just like they always had, holding you but it would be different, better, right now. So right for everything you needed and so, so wrong. 

You put your knee on the couch just outside his knee and then swung your other leg around to the other side, straddling him. The dress you were wearing pulled up and Joel helped it along, gathering it up around your waist before wrapping his arms around you. 

“You’re my good little girl, right?” he asked as you pressed your forehead into his. 

“Mhm,” you answered. 

“So Daddy gets to take your virginity, right?” he asked, confirming what he thought he already knew. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You breathed, his lips were so close to yours and you were tempted to subdue your nerves just by kissing him  but you let the space between you two linger for another moment, savoring the build up. 

“Good,” he said. “I want you to promise me that if I’m goin’ to have you, I’m goin’ to be the only one.” Joel’s hands were under your skirt now, working on tugging your undies down, “Lift your leg up for me baby,” he added, tapping the side of your thigh indicating which leg he was tugging your undies off of. You did what he said as you thought of his other words. He wanted to be your one and only and you would gladly agree but you knew what you had to ask for. Once you undies were dangling off of one leg, Joel’s fingers inched up the inside of your thigh, so close to feeling you for the first time. Heat was radiating off of your pussy and he was so close. Your breath hitched in your chest as he grazed his pointer finger along your lips. 

“Yes, daddy. I wont have anyone else…but you need to promise the same thing. Just me.” You said. Joel’s eyes opened, looking into yours, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling. His fingers stroking down your slit, towards your entrance, needing to feel just how tight you were. 

As his finger sunk into you, his eyebrows raised, your mouth fell open in a gasp and he nodded, “Yes, babygirl. I promise. Just you.” He said. Your dad’s finger curled inside of you, stroking a spot you had never been able to reach on your own. You melted into him, your mouth hanging open as he pumped his finger into you. There was nothing like this in the world. Nothing that could possibly compare to the one person you had loved your whole life pumping his finger in and out of you. 

“You like that, dont you?” he cooed to you as you pressed yourself down onto his finger. “Daddy hasn’t even touched your clit yet and you’re soaking my hand.” You could hear the smile in his voice even though your eyes had fluttered shut. 

“I want that, Dad.” You gasped, your clit was already aching with need, with neglect. You felt him maneuver his thumb  up to your clit, finding a rhythm to stroke it in tight circles while his middle finger pressed up into you. You were sure it could possibly get better but you knew his cock would be so much more. “Daddy, daddy…please will you put your cock in me?” You asked. 

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that, peanut.” He said. 

“I don’t care…I want you to take me.” You whined. “I want it Daddy’s cock to stretch me,” You moaned, barely cognizant of what you were saying. 

“It could hurt-“

“I want you to hurt me, daddy! Please.” You practically begged and Joel had never been able to resist that sound. The plaintive pleading of his daughter. How could he? How could he resist sinking his cock into your pussy when it was this tight and you were begging for it. Begging for the pain, the stretch and the relief of finally connecting the way you needed. Joel reached down to his cock, stroking it a few times. He watched as you looked between your bodies, your mouth hanging open as you watched him touch himself. You groaned and lifted your hips, trying to get him to get going.

“I know she needs it, “He breathed as he lined himself up with your cunt, notching the tip right at your entrance. “Take a breath for me, baby, daddy’s going to put him in and it’s goin’ to hurt.” He explained. 

“Yes, Dad! Please.” You whined and accepted his cock inside of you, the stretch of your cunt opening for him was an all encompassing feeling but that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted to feel it in your pussy, in your breasts, stomach, toes. Everything tightened up as he pushed himself deeper. “Oh god!” you moaned. 

“Look at me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on your dad, I got you.” He said as you felt every part of you open up for his cock. You opened your eyes, pressing your forehead into his, taking slow gulps of air. His eyes comforted you and sent sparks of excitement through you, making it tingle, making the pain feel so fucking good. 

“More,” you moaned as his hips started to rock up into you, pumping his cock into you. 

“Good girl,” he said, “You take Daddy’s cock, that’s right.” Joel said. He reached down between your bodies and started that same rhythm of tight circles around your clit. It made your head swim with pleasure. “That’s right,” Joel said, “Dad will take care of you.” He said. 

You felt like it would be impossible to cum from your first time, but you had underestimated the power of your dad’s ministrations to your clit. His attention was so good, your eyes on his was so wrong, and so right, exactly what you had always wanted that you felt yourself building up to an orgasm unlike any other you had ever had. Your heart lept into your throat as you realized how close you were, you cunt tightened around his cock. 

“Oh hold on, pretty girl, you wait for Daddy to cum,” Joel growled, you let out a whine, shaking your head. 

“I can’t, dad! I can’t! I’m so close-“ You moaned, grinding your hips down. His movements around your clit slowed and you felt your clit pulse with need. “Daddy! Please!” Joel’s hips moved faster, sloppier. 

“You can wait, Dad’s goin’ to cum too. I wanna fill you up while you cum, honey.” Joel’s voice was ragged and needy. You whined louder as he pounded into you, bruising your cervix with every thrust while his fingers teased around and around your clitoris, closing you in on your release. 

“Daddy, please! I can’t hold it, I need it,” you whined. With a final thrust of his hips, Joel was coming and his fingers continued to stroke across your clit, pushing you over the edge. You felt the spasms of his cock inside you, filling you with the same seed you came from and your own orgasm split through you, making you shake and moan until you finally collapsed into his chest. “Daddy,” you sobbed. “Daddy, I’m all yours.” You said. 

“I know,” Joel whispered, he reached down and gathered your hair up in his hands, holding it off your neck. “You’ll always be mine.” He said. “My babygirl, my little problem.” He said it and you couldn’t stop the smirk creeping in. You had a problem too. It was your dad and how much you longed for his cock, you didn’t think that problem was ever going to resolve. 

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[pyros-hollow]

Okay hear me out on this. Dad!joel checks your phone without you knowing and sees that reader got alot of pics of her male celebs that are as old as joel. Joel gets jealous and sad because why do you have pics of male celebs?? Is he not attractive/hot enough?

This one is silly lol so I'm just gonna do a short lil thing I hope you don't mind

Ain't Good Enough?

Dad!Joel

Don't Like Don't Read pleaseeeeee

I don't condone this type of relationship IRL but it could be read as a normal relationship if you change it around in your head

Just silly jealousy, and some Pedro-ception

---------------------------------------

Finally, he was home from work. A couple hours of making framework for one of the countless new homes in Austin was backbreaking and all Joel wanted to do was relax.

Except you weren't home. He knew about your plans to go to the mall with your girls; but then he heard a little ping come from the dining room table.

Your phone.

Which was odd to Joel since you hardly ever left home without the damn thing. So he went over and picked it up, seeing whatever notification you got.

Instagram: lensofstacy sent a reel

A reel? What was a reel? Joel shook his head and tried what he thought was your password on your phone. But it didn't work. Did you change it? The phone buzzed again.

Instagram: lensofstacy: omg our man looks so good in this

Our man?!

Joel had to get into your phone now.

He tried your birthday, his birthday, 12345, password, anything he could think of. Then he was subsequently locked out of your phone for five minutes. Damn it!

He paced around a bit before going to your room, he knew you kept a notebook in here maybe that has the new password...

So he checked around and found the damn thing, flipping to the most recent pages with writing on them. Scanning each and every line for something he could use. Then there it was.

Papi's birthday: 4/2/75

Who the fuck was papi?!?!?!

This was just riling him up by now but he pulled out your phone again and typed in 4275. Unlocked.

"Fuck's sake..." Joel muttered to himself, finally swiping onto Instagram and seeing whatever your friend sent you. It was a flashy montage of someone he didn't know exactly who he was. Too old for you though. His eyes scanned the caption, Pedro? Is Pedro papi? He huffed to himself and decided to see what else you were hiding.

Joel knew enough about phones and you to know you probably kept all your secrets in your gallery. So that's what he opened and good lord-

You must have needed some help. All the guys in here were old, older than he was. Did he not raise you right? Did he give you daddy issues?

Joel recognized a few of these guys. One that was in those X-Men movies, some other superhero physique having men. They all seemed so much better than him. It made him feel... hurt.

Did he not look as good as these guys? Were they better than he was? Joel didn't really know. So he decided it was time to stop looking for his own sake, and put your phone down elsewhere. Maybe sulk a bit.

After around a half hour, Joel was laid up on the couch watching reruns of whatever sitcom came on that day. And the front door clicked open. There you were.

"Dad? What are you doing?" You asked, setting down your purse. Not waiting for him to respond, you started talking again. "Also, did you see my phone? I forgot it here."

"Yeah I saw it alright." Dad huffed, not moving from his spot curled up on the couch. You raised a brow, going and plopping onto the couch next to him with a sigh, cuddling close like you always have. But he still wasn't having it.

"Tell me what's wrong." You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder and blinking up at him a few times.

"Who the hell is 'papi' and why is he your new password?" And you were both silent for a second.

Before you burst out laughing. Joel didn't understand it, he was serious damn it!

"Dad, holy shit- wait you went through my phone!" You gasped, reaching and hitting him gently with one of the pillows on the couch; where he promptly scolded you.

"Maybe. Why the hell do you save so many pictures of those old fuckers anyway? Dad ain't good enough?" He shook his head, shoving at you lightly.

"So what I've got crushes dad. I've seen how you look when Reba is on TV."

"Well, Reba is timeless-"

"Still a crush." You nudged your head into his. He gave a little sigh of a growl, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Fuckin' rascal. I can't stay mad at you." He shook his head, patting your back. "You're gonna end up givin' me gray hairs."

"You're already gettin' em." You stuck out your tongue, rubbing one of your fingers on his graying stubble. He gave you a tighter squeeze, a silent plea to shut up.

"Whatever you say, kiddo. Whatever you say..."

[lovelybucky1]

in honor of fathers day, i am taking drabble requests for dad!steve, dad!matt, dad!frank, dad!bucky, dad!reed richards, and dad!joel miller !!

[carcharina]

. . . ۶ৎ dad!joel. dad!joel who teaches you how to ride a horse, chuckling when you struggle to get on at first. dad!joel who tucks you in at night when you’re fast asleep, tugging the blanket over you just a bit further. dad!joel who hates singing but hums a little as soon as you ask him to. dad!joel who teaches you guitar and gives a great big smile every damn time you strike a chord. dad!joel who doesn’t care who you love n just warns you not to get into trouble. dad!joel who’d come up with excuses like “you need to learn how to fish in an apocalypse” just to go out on trips with you. “da- i mean joel, how do you feel it in?” “baby, you haven’t caught a bite.” dad!joel who drinks out of the same mug and wears the same coat nearly every day of his life. dad!joel who’s always in charge of bringing something easy like pie to family reunions. dad!joel who ends up making you bake it after burning it for the umpteenth time. dad!joel who always manages to get you the perfect birthday present even when the winter’s rough and the summer’s searing. dad!joel who lost himself after sarah and found himself again in you.

a/n—raise your hand if you could tell joel was my father figure heh… also sorry for being MIA i’ve had a rough go of it but im back now